Philip Hale's Boston Symphony Programme Notes

Variation I. Poco più andante. The violins enter, and their figure is accompanied by one in triplets in the violas and violoncellos. These figures alternately change places. Wind instruments are added.

II. B flat minor, più vivace. Clarinets and bassoons have a variation of the theme, and violins enter with an arpeggio figure.

III. There is a return to the major, con moto, 2-4. The theme is given to the oboes, doubled by the bassoons an octave below. There is an independent accompaniment for the lower strings. In the repetition the violins and violas take the part which the wind instruments had, and the flutes, doubled by the bassoons, have arpeggio figures.

IV. In minor, 3-8. The melody is sung by oboe with horn; then it is strengthened by the flute with the bassoon. The violas and shortly after the violoncellos accompany in scale passage. The parts change place in repetition.

V. This variation is a vivace in major, 6-8. The upper melody is given to flutes, oboes, and bassoons, doubled through two octaves. In the repetition the moving parts are taken by the strings.

VI. Vivace, major, 2-4. A new figure is introduced. During the first four measures the strings accompany with the original theme in harmony, afterwards in arpeggio and scale passages.

VII. Grazioso, major, 6-8. The violins an octave above the clarinets descend through the scale, while the piccolo doubled by violas has a fresh melody.

VIII. B flat minor, presto non troppo, 3-4. The strings are muted. The mood is pianissimo throughout. The piccolo enters with an inversion of the phrase.

The finale is in the major, 4-4. It is based throughout on a phrase, an obvious modification of the original theme, which is used at first as a ground bass—“a bass passage constantly repeated and accompanied each successive time with a varied melody and harmony.” This obstinate phrase is afterwards used in combination with other figures in other passages of the finale. The original theme returns in the strings at the climax; the wood-wind instruments accompany in scale passages, and the brass fills up the harmony. The triangle is now used to the end. Later the melody is played by wood and brass instruments, and the strings have a running accompaniment.

The late Max Kalbeck in his long-winded and ponderous Life of Brahms has much to say about these Variations. Which St. Anthony was in Haydn’s mind is immaterial. Kalbeck decided that Brahms’ hero is the St. Anthony of Thebes. Brahms was a friend and admirer of Anselm Feuerbach, the artist, who had painted a life-size Temptation of St. Anthony, the monk kneeling with a book, a scourge, and a skull near him, while a woman begs him to leave his religious meditation and enter into life. This picture was so ridiculed that the sensitive Feuerbach destroyed it, but it had been engraved and photographed.

Kalbeck finds a crescendo of musical psychology in the Variations, which, as they are developed, remind him of musical dissolving views. The seventh Variation pictures the severest test undergone by the saint: “The most atrocious because it is the sweetest.” In this Siciliano he sees the apparition of the tempting woman. The music is “the quintessence of human voluptuousness, which according to Master Eckhart is ‘mixed with bitterness.’ After it comes death. Blessed is the man that has withstood the temptation! The finale, which includes seventeen and more variations, celebrates him.”

Did Brahms have all this in mind when he wrote these Variations? Was not Kalbeck like the man “of meager aspect with sooty hands and face” seen by Captain Lemuel Gulliver at the Academy of Lagado engaged for eight years upon a project for extracting sunbeams from cucumbers?

“TRAGIC” OVERTURE, OP. 81

The Tragic overture is among the greatest works of Brahms; by its structure, and by its depths of feeling. There is no hysterical outburst; no shrieking in despair; no peevish or sullen woe; no obtruding suggestion of personal suffering. The German commentators have cudgeled their brains to find a hero in the music: Hamlet, Faust, this one, that one. They have labored in vain. The soul of Tragedy speaks in the music.

Although the Tragic overture is Op. 81 and the Academic is Op. 80, the Tragic was composed and performed before the Academic: it was performed for the first time at the Fourth Philharmonic Concert at Vienna in 1880.

The Tragic overture may be said to be a musical characterization of the principles of tragedy as laid down by Aristotle or Lessing; it mirrors, as Reimann puts it, the grandeur, the loftiness, the deep earnestness, of tragic character; “calamities, which an inexorable fate has imposed on him, leave the hero guilty; the tragic downfall atones for the guilt; this downfall, which by purifying the passions and awakening fear and pity works on the race at large, brings expiation and redemption to the hero himself.” Or as Dr. Dieters says: “In this work we see a strong hero battling with an iron and relentless fate; passing hopes of victory cannot alter an impending destiny. We do not care to inquire whether the composer had a special tragedy in his mind, or if so, which one; those who remain musically unconvinced by the unsurpassably powerful theme, would not be assisted by a particular suggestion.”[21]

The overture was composed in 1880 and published in 1881.

ACADEMIC FESTIVAL OVERTURE, OP. 80

Johannes Brahms desired to give thanks publicly to the University of Breslau because he had received from the illustrious dignitaries of that university the degree of Doctor of Philosophy. How best could he express his thanks in music? By something stately, pompous? Or by something profound and cryptic? Brahms acted with shrewdness in the matter; he took for his thematic material well-known students’ songs. These songs are familiar throughout Germany, and it is not as though a composer called upon, for instance, to write an appropriate overture for an approaching jubilee at Yale should take songs peculiar to that college; nor is it as though a composer should take “Eli Yale” and “Fair Harvard” and a Dartmouth or Williams song for his themes. Wherever Brahms’ overture is heard by a German student, whether of Heidelberg, Bonn, Berlin, or Breslau, the themes are old friends and common property.

But where is the reckless gayety of student life in this overture? Much of it is dry, on account of the orchestration. For even when you admit that Brahms was a master builder of musical structures, you are not thereby estopped from saying in clear, bell-like tones that he was also color deaf.

The Brahmsite turns triumphantly to the Fuchslied—“Was kommt dort von der Höh”—which is introduced by two bassoons, accompanied by ’cellos and violas pizzicati. “There! there!” he exclaims, “that is excruciatingly funny. Only a master, only a Johannes could make so easily a master stroke!” If you cross-examine him you will find that the humor consists in the choice of instruments.

Somebody once said that the bassoon is the clown of the orchestra. Therefore the double bassoon should be twice as funny—perhaps even a Shakespearean clown. And simply because somebody gave the poor bassoon this name, it must be regarded as funny per se. “Funny”? The bassoon is lugubrious, ghostly, spectral, weird, unearthly, demoniacal. It smells of mortality. It suggests the glow-worm and the grave. The wicked nuns in Robert le Diable heard it and obeyed the spell, for corruption called to corruption. It lends a flavor of the charnal house to Tchaikovsky’s Pathétique. It pictures the mood of Leonora without Di Luna’s tower. It chatters and gibbers as the murderous artist in the Symphonie fantastique goes his wretched way to the scaffold. It is the instrument dear to all that inhabit the night air, the cemetery, the diseased mind.

But these bassoons appear in Brahms’ overture “etwas plötzlich”—a phrase I once heard used in a Berlin beer hall by a dapper and corseted and monocled officer, who was extremely thirsty and thus addressed the waiter. And I defy any sober-minded person who has not the fear of Brahms before his eyes to find the introduction or the treatment of the song spontaneously gay or humorous. The song itself is a good freshman hazing song.

Some of the books—and books of authority—say that the Academic was written for performance at Breslau on the occasion of Brahms’ receiving the degree of Doctor of Philosophy. He did receive the degree, but it was on March 11, 1879, and if anyone doubts this I shall be happy to quote to him the degree in the original Latin—which I cannot construe, except as regards the date. I like to think of Brahms as a doctor of philosophy. The degree goes so well with the man. It also explains some—not all—of his music. Let the overture be considered and weighed as the night work of a Doctor of Philosophy.

Brahms wrote two overtures in the summer of 1880 at Ischl—the Academic and the Tragic. They come between the Symphony in D major and that in F major in the list of his orchestral works. It is said by Heuberger that Brahms wrote two “Academic Festival overtures”; so he must have destroyed one of them. When the Academic was first played at Breslau, the rector and Senate and members of the Philosophical faculty sat in the front seats at the performance, and the composer conducted his work. Brahms was not a university man, but he had known with Joachim the joyous life of students at Göttingen—at the university made famous by Canning’s poem:

—the university satirized so bitterly by Heine.

Brahms wrote to Bernard Scholz that the title ‘Academic’ did not please him. Scholz suggested that it was “cursedly academic and boresome,” and suggested Viadrina, for that was the poetical name of the Breslau University. Brahms spoke flippantly of this overture in the fall of 1880 to Max Kalbeck. He described it as a “very jolly potpourri on students’ songs à la Suppé”; and, when Kalbeck asked him ironically if he had used the “Foxsong,” he answered contentedly, “Yes, indeed.” Kalbeck was startled, and said he could not think of such academic homage to the “leathery Herr Rektor,” whereupon Brahms duly replied, “That is also wholly unnecessary.”

The first of the student songs to be introduced is Binzer’s “Wir hatten gebauet ein stattliches Haus” (We had built a stately house, and trusted in God therein through bad weather, storm, and horror). The first measures are given out by the trumpets with a peculiarly stately effect. The melody of “Der Landesvater” is given to the second violins. And then for the first time is there any deliberate attempt to portray the jollity of university life. The “Fuchslied” (Freshman Song) is introduced suddenly by two bassoons. There are hearers undoubtedly who remember the singing of this song in Longfellow’s “Hyperion”; how the freshman entered the Kneipe, and was asked with ironical courtesy concerning the health of the leathery Herr Papa who reads in Cicero. Similar impertinent questions were asked concerning the Frau Mama and the Mamsell Sœur; and then the struggle of the freshman with the first pipe of tobacco was described in song. “Gaudeamus igitur,” the melody that is familiar to students of all lands, serves as the finale.

CONCERTO FOR PIANOFORTE, NO. 1, IN D MINOR, OP. 15

I. Maestoso

II. Adagio

III. Rondo: allegro non troppo

This concerto was played for the first time at Hanover, on January 22, 1859. Brahms was the pianist; Joachim conducted.

Brahms, living in Hanover in 1854, worked in the spring and summer on a symphony. The madness of Schumann and his attempt to commit suicide by throwing himself into the Rhine had deeply affected him. He wrote to Joachim in January, 1855, from Düsseldorf, “I have been trying my hand at a symphony during the past summer, have even orchestrated the first movement and composed the second and third.”

This symphony was never completed. The work as it stood was turned into a sonata for two pianofortes. The first two movements became later the first and the second of the Pianoforte concerto in D minor; the third is the movement “Behold all flesh” in A German Requiem. The sonata for two pianofortes was frequently played in private in the middle ’fifties by Brahms with Clara Schumann, or his friend Julius Otto Grimm, who had assisted him in the orchestration of the symphony. Grimm (1827-1903), philologist, conductor, lecturer, doctor of philosophy, composer of a symphony, suites and other works, declared that the musical contents of this sonata deserved a more dignified form, and persuaded Brahms to put them into a concerto. The task busied Brahms for two years or more. The movements were repeatedly sent to Joachim, whose advice was of much assistance. In 1858 the Signale reported that Brahms had arrived in Detmold, and it was hoped that some of his compositions might be performed there. “He has completed, among other things, a pianoforte concerto, the great beauties of which have been reported to us.” The musicians at Detmold were not inclined to appreciate Brahms; it is said that the Kapellmeister, Kiel, was prejudiced against him; but the concerto was rehearsed at Hanover, and Joachim, in spite of a certain amount of official opposition, put it on the programme of the Hanover Subscription Court Concerts, the third of the series for 1858-59.

The concerto was then coldly received. The Hanover correspondent of the Signale wrote, “The work had no great success with the public, but it aroused the decided respect and sympathy of the best musicians for the gifted artist.” Brahms played the concerto at a Gewandhaus concert in Leipsic on January 27, 1859. The public and the critics were unfriendly. The composer wrote to Joachim: “A brilliant and decided failure.... In spite of all this, the concerto will please some day when I have improved its construction.” Breitkopf & Härtel refused to publish it; but Rieter-Biedermann gave it to the world in 1861.

CONCERTO NO. 2, IN B FLAT MAJOR, FOR PIANOFORTE AND ORCHESTRA, OP. 83

I. Allegro non troppo

II. Allegro appassionato

III. Andante

IV. Allegretto grazioso

The choice of this concerto shows the high purpose and the pure aim; for the Second concerto of Brahms is not one to tickle the ear, stun the judgment, and provoke cheap and boisterous applause. And as the Second symphony of Brahms is to the First, so is the Second concerto of Brahms to the First. In each case, while the passion is less stormy, the thoughts are less crabbed and gnarled. Only in the first movement of the B flat major concerto does Brahms “keep up a terrible thinking.”

The second fascinates by its sturdiness and rhythmic capriciousness; the third movement is Brahms at his noblest, when his thought is as lofty and serenely beautiful as a summer sky at noon. And who can describe in words the enchanting, haunting delight of the finale—music like unto the perfect verse of a supreme poet whose imagination is kindled by wild or melancholy tales told him in youth by gypsy lips.

This concerto was performed for the first time at Budapest, from manuscript, November 9, 1881, when the composer was the pianist.

On April 8, 1878, Brahms, in company with Dr. Billroth and Carl Goldmark, made a journey to Italy. Goldmark, who went to Rome to be present at the last rehearsals of his opera Die Königin von Saba—production was postponed until the next year on account of the illness of the leading soprano—did not accompany his friends to Naples and Sicily. Returning to Pörtschach, Brahms sketched themes of the Concerto in B flat major on the evening before his birthday; but he left the sketches, in which “he mirrored the Italian spring turning to summer,” undeveloped.

His violin concerto originally contained a scherzo movement. Conferring with Joachim, he omitted this movement. Max Kalbeck thinks that this scherzo found a home in the second pianoforte concerto.

In March, 1881, Brahms set out on a second journey in Italy. He visited Venice, Florence, Siena, Orvieto, Rome, Naples, and Sicily. He returned to Vienna on his birthday of that year with his mind full of Italian scenes in springtime and with thoughts of the pianoforte concerto inspired by his first visit. On May 22 he went to Pressbaum near Vienna and lived in the villa of Mme Heingartner. In 1907, Orestes Ritter von Connevay, then the possessor of the villa, erected a monument to Brahms in the garden. A bronze bust stands on a stone pedestal. An iron tablet bears this inscription: “Here in the summer of 1881 Johannes Brahms completed Nänie, Op. 82, and the pianoforte concerto, Op. 83.” Brahms was moved by the death of Anselm Feuerbach, the painter, to set music for chorus and orchestra to Schiller’s poem, “Nänie.”

Miss May says in her life of Brahms that the manuscript of Nänie, and portions of the concerto, were soon lent by Brahms to Dr. Billroth, “the concerto movements being handed to him with the words, ‘A few little pianoforte pieces.’” “It is always a delight to me,” wrote Billroth, “when Brahms, after paying me a short visit, during which we have talked of indifferent things, takes a roll out of his greatcoat pocket and says casually, ‘Look at that and write me what you think of it.’”

CONCERTO FOR VIOLIN, IN D MAJOR, OP. 77

I. Allegro non troppo

II. Adagio

III. Allegro giocoso, ma non troppo vivace

This concerto was written, during the summer and the fall of 1878, at Pörtschach on Lake Wörther in Carinthia for Joseph Joachim, dedicated to him, and first played by him under the direction of the composer at a Gewandhaus concert, Leipsic, on January 1, 1879.

Brahms, not confident of his ability to write with full intelligence for the solo violin, was aided by Joachim, who it appears from the correspondence between him and Brahms, gave advice inspired by his own opinions concerning the violinist’s art. Richard Specht, in his Johannes Brahms (1928), says that Brahms agreed to scarcely anything but “bow marks and fingering; otherwise he adhered to his text, and not always to the advantage of his notation, which has often been misread by violinists.” There was a dispute concerning the writing of “ties over staccato dots, which has not the same meaning for the violinist as for the pianist.” Joachim tried to explain this difference, but Brahms obstinately refused to alter his notation, “which was afterwards duly misinterpreted.”

The concerto was originally in four movements. It contained a scherzo which was thrown overboard. Max Kalbeck, the biographer of Brahms, thinks it highly probable that it found its way into the Second pianoforte concerto. The adagio was so thoroughly revised that it was practically new. “The middle movements have gone,” Brahms wrote, “and of course they were the best! But I have written a poor adagio for it.” Specht suggests that Brahms may have intended to save the rejected two movements for a second violin concerto, “of which he made sketches immediately after the first.”

Florence May in her life of Brahms quotes Dörffel with regard to the first performance at Leipsic: “Joachim played with a love and devotion which brought home to us in every bar the direct or indirect share he has had in the work. As to the reception, the first movement was too new to be distinctly appreciated by the audience, the second made considerable way, the last aroused great enthusiasm.” Miss May adds that the critic Bernsdorf was less unsympathetic than usual.

Kalbeck, a still more enthusiastic worshiper of Brahms than Miss May, tells a different story. “The work was heard respectfully, but it did not awaken a bit of enthusiasm. It seemed that Joachim had not sufficiently studied the concerto or he was severely indisposed.” Brahms conducted in a state of evident excitement. A comic incident came near being disastrous. The composer stepped on the stage in gray street trousers, for on account of a visit he had been hindered in making a complete change of dress. Furthermore he forgot to fasten again the unbuttoned suspenders, so that in consequence of his lively directing his shirt showed between his trousers and waistcoat. “These laughter-provoking trifles were not calculated for elevation of mood.”

In spite of Leipsic, Brahms soon recovered his spirits. He wrote to Elisabet von Herzogenberg from Vienna in January: “My concert tour was a real downhill affair after Leipsic; no more pleasure in it. Perhaps that is a slight exaggeration, though, for friends and hospitality are not everything on a concert tour. In some trifling ways it was even more successful; the audiences were kinder and more alive. Joachim played my piece more beautifully with every rehearsal, too, and the cadenza went so magnificently at our concert here that the people clapped right on into my coda. But what is all that compared to the privilege of going home to Humboldtstrasse and being pulled to pieces by three womenkind—since you object to the word ‘females’?”

The composition is fairly orthodox in form. The three movements are separate, and the traditional tuttis, soli, cadenzas, etc., are pretty much as in the old-fashioned pieces of this kind; but in the first movement the long solo cadenza precedes the taking up of the first theme by the violin. The modernity is in the prevailing spirit and in the details. Furthermore, it is not a work for objective virtuoso display.

The orchestra which Brahms requires in his symphonies is practically the same as that which Beethoven used in the first three movements of his Ninth: two flutes, two oboes, two clarinets, two bassoons and double bassoon, four horns, two trumpets, three trombones, kettledrums, and strings. This is the orchestration of Brahms’ First symphony (the trombones being reserved for the final movement). The Second omits the double bassoon but adds a tuba. The Third lists the same orchestra as the First. The Fourth adds a piccolo, and in this symphony the trombones are not heard until the opening chords of the finale.

To the above basic orchestration Brahms added, in his Tragic overture, a piccolo and tuba, and in his Academic overture, a piccolo, a third trumpet, tuba, bass drum, cymbals, and triangle. The Variations add piccolo and triangle but omit trombones. The concertos follow the usual orchestration, with but two trombones in the piano concertos—none in the violin concerto.—EDITOR.

ANTON
BRUCKNER

(Born at Ansfelden, in Upper Austria, September 4, 1824; died at Vienna, October 11, 1896)

Both the admirers of Bruckner and those that dislike his music lay stress on the fact that he was born a peasant and was essentially a peasant to the day of his death, although the Rector Magnificus of the University of Vienna bowed before him when he presented him with the honorary degree of doctor. The detractors find in Bruckner’s peasanthood his salient faults. The former say that by reason of the simplicity and purity of his character Bruckner was as Paul caught up in the body or out of the body, they cannot tell, to the third heaven, caught up into paradise where he heard unspeakable words, which it was not lawful for him to utter, but it was allowed him to hint at them in music. The latter insist that his peasant naïveté is revealed in his interminable chatter, in his vague wanderings, in his lack of continuity and cohesion in the expression of thought.

The wretched game of politics is still played with Bruckner. Because he worshipped Wagner and because Brahms, or rather Hanslick—who was to Brahms both elephantier and thurifer—was opposed to Wagner, the Wagnerites therefore pitted Bruckner against Brahms and proclaimed the former the great successor to Beethoven in the field of absolute music. As a matter of fact, Brahms was neither bitterly hostile toward Wagner nor did he sneer at Bruckner. There was room for both Brahms and Bruckner—except in Vienna and except in the shaggy breasts of Wagnerites. Hanslick is dead, “the executioner of Bruckner,” as William Ritter characterizes him, “the man who derided all the true glories of the music of his time for Brahms’ sole benefit”; but Hanslick in his lifetime did not kill Bruckner, who had friendly audiences in Vienna before his death, whose fame has steadily grown.

In order to appreciate fully and yet with discrimination the indisputable talent, the irregular, uncontrolled genius of Bruckner, it is not necessary to inquire curiously into Bruckner’s humble origins, or into the character of his father and mother. It was the theory of Sainte-Beuve that the superior man is found, at least in part, in his parents, and especially in his mother; but I doubt in this instance whether an intimate acquaintance with Therese, the daughter of the innkeeper and administrator Ferdinand Helm, at Neuzeng, would explain the inconsistencies and contradictions in her son’s music. She was no doubt a strong, lusty woman, and she bore her husband a dozen children. As for Bruckner being a peasant, poor, now rude in behavior and speech, and now almost cringing in his desire to be courteous, shabbily educated, very few of the greatest composers have been born in rooms of purple hangings, very few have been distinguished for the elegance of their manners or the depth and breadth of their general learning.

The wonder is that Bruckner, the long-ignored, poor, humble school teacher, grotesque in appearance, a peasant in speech and action, should have had apocalyptic visions and spoken musically with the tongues of angels.

SYMPHONY NO. 7, IN E MAJOR

I. Allegro moderato

II. Adagio: sehr feierlich und langsam

III. Scherzo: allegro. Trio: etwas langsamer

IV. Finale: bewegt, doch nicht schnell

This certainly is a gigantic work, abounding in lofty and noble pages, abounding also in trivialities, tiresome repetitions, and fussy and insignificant details. As in the other symphonies of Bruckner that we have heard, there is a lack of continuity in each movement; there are impressive preparations that lead to nothing: “In the name of the Prophet—Figs!” The composer had little sense of structure. To use Disraeli’s phrase, he was intoxicated with his own verbosity. His taste in ornamentation was more than doubtful. He could crown a noble façade with gingerbread work; he would plan an extension of cheap stucco to a pure temple of marble.

And yet in the Seventh symphony there are pages that come closer to Beethoven at his greatest than we find in the symphonies of other composers. There are grand thoughts expressed in a masterly manner in Franck’s symphony and in the symphony in B flat by Vincent d’Indy; the introduction to the finale of Brahms’ First symphony has elemental grandeur and spiritual intensity; but Bruckner’s spirit in the adagio and in the main body of the scherzo of the Seventh symphony is nearer akin to that of Beethoven.

Bruckner’s Symphony in E major was composed in the time between September, 1881, and September, 1883. The first movement was completed December 29, 1882; the third, October 16, 1882; the fourth, September 5, 1883. The symphony is dedicated “To His Majesty the King, Ludwig II of Bavaria, in deepest reverence,” and was published in 1885.

The statement is often made that the adagio was composed as funeral music in memory of Richard Wagner. As a matter of fact, this adagio was completed in October, 1882. Wagner died February 13, 1883.

The singular statement has been made that a premonition of Wagner’s death inspired Bruckner to compose a dirge—this adagio. Bruckner, who had what the Germans call “peasant cunning,” may have agreed to this in the presence of those who were thus affected by the thought, but he himself knew, as will be seen by his letters to Felix Mottl in 1885 concerning the first performance at Carlsruhe, that the movement had not in all respects the character of a dirge. Indeed, he pointed out the measures of the funeral music: “At X in the adagio (Funeral music for tubas and horns)” etc.; also, “Please take a very slow and solemn tempo. At the close, in the Dirge (In memory of the death of the Master), think of our Ideal!... Kindly do not forget the fff at the end of the Dirge.”

Bruckner wrote to Mottl in a letter published February 10, 1900: “At one time I came home and was very sad; I thought to myself, it is impossible that the Master can live for a long time, and then the adagio in C sharp minor came into my head.”

The symphony is scored for two flutes, two oboes, two clarinets, two bassoons, four horns, three trumpets, three trombones, four Wagner tubas, bass tuba, kettledrums, triangle, cymbals, strings.

I. Allegro moderato, E major, 2-2. The first theme is announced by horn and violoncellos against the violins, tremolo, and clarinets, violas, and violoncellos add a subsidiary theme. The chief theme appears in a richer orchestral dress. There is a crescendo based on the subsidiary theme, and the whole orchestra enters, but there is quickly a diminuendo, and the mood becomes more nervous, more uncertain. The second theme, one of complaint, is given to oboe and clarinet, with horns and trumpet in the accompaniment. This theme with its peculiar instrumentation and its changing tonality is in marked opposition to the first. This second chief theme is developed at length. (The first assumes greater importance later.) In this development there are evidences in the manner of leading the voices of Bruckner’s partiality for the organ. The mood becomes more restful, although the theme of complaint is not silent, but soon appears, inverted, in the violins. It may here be said that Bruckner delighted in this manner of varying a theme. A mighty crescendo is based on a phrase of this inverted theme over an organ-point, F sharp, but instead of the arrival of the expected climax a theme of somewhat mournful character is given to wood-wind instruments with counterpoint in the strings. The rhythm of this counterpoint is maintained in the final section of the exposition part. An episode for the brass follows. There is soon a calmer mood, and gentle horn and clarinet tones mingle with the voices of the strings.

The free fantasia begins with an inversion of the first theme (clarinet). The rhythm of the characteristic counterpoint just mentioned appears, but a solemn, religious mood is soon established (trombones, pianissimo). The second chief theme appears in its inverted form, also the “contrapuntal figure.” The mood is now one of doubt and perplexity, but the decisive, inexorable first theme enters, inverted, C minor, in the full orchestra, fortissimo, and with canonic imitation.

The beginning of the third, or recapitulation, part of the movement is quietly worked. The first theme appears piano (violoncellos and horn); there is an inversion of the theme for violins and flute, and there is canonic imitation for oboe and trumpet. As in the first part, the subsidiary leads to the second chief theme, which is now in E minor and is given to the clarinet. There is an end to the delicate instrumentation. There is a great crescendo, which ends in an inversion of the second chief theme, fortissimo, for full orchestra. Other crescendos follow, one with the second theme to an episode of choral character, others based on the “contrapuntal figure.” The great climax comes in the elaborate coda, which is built on a long organ-point on the bass E, with the first subsidiary theme and with the first chief theme, which now has its true and heroic character.

II. Adagio, sehr feierlich und langsam (in a very solemn and slow manner), C sharp minor, 4-4. This movement is thought by many to be Bruckner’s masterpiece and monument. It undoubtedly established his fame when there were few to recognize his irregular genius. The adagio was played in cities of Germany in memory of the composer shortly after his death, as at the Philharmonic Concert, Berlin, led by Mr. Nikisch, October 26, 1896.

In this movement, as in the finale, Bruckner introduced the Bayreuth tubas, to gain effects of peculiar solemnity and also, no doubt, to pay homage to the master whom he loved and venerated.

The chief melody of the adagio is given to the lower strings and tubas and is answered by all the strings.

There is a passage of stormy lamentation, and then consolation comes in a melody for violins (moderato, F sharp major, 3-4). This theme is developed, chiefly by the strings. Then there is a return to the first and solemn theme, with wood-wind instruments and strings in alternation. There is a great crescendo with bold modulations until the entrance, C major, of the chief theme (second violins, supported by horn, oboes, and clarinets), which is soon followed by a variant of the answer to this theme. The answer soon appears in E flat major and in its original form and is maintained for a long time (G major). There is a modulation to A flat major, and the cantilena is repeated. After the entrance again of the chief melody and the restoration of the original tonality there is a crescendo of great and imposing force. This is over, and the tubas chant the answer to the chief theme and after an interlude for strings the chief theme itself, C sharp major. The horns take up the cantilena, and the last chord, C sharp major, dies away in brass instruments to a pizzicato of the strings.

III. Scherzo: sehr schnell (very fast), A minor, 3-4. This scherzo is based chiefly on two themes—the first for trumpet (piano), then clarinet, with a figure for strings; the second, a wild and raging one. The scherzo ends after a great crescendo. Drumbeats lead to the trio, F major, etwas langsamer (somewhat slower), with an expressive melody for strings. The theme of this trio is made at first out of an inversion of the scherzo theme, but the trio is in all respects in marked contrast to the scherzo, which after the trio is repeated.

Finale: bewegt, doch nicht schnell (with movement, but not fast), E major, 2-2. The first theme, given to the violins, has a certain resemblance, as far as intervals are concerned, to the chief theme of the first movement, but it is joyous rather than impressive. Flutes and clarinets enter at times, and horn tones also enter and lead to the second theme, which has the character of a choral, with an accompanying pizzicato bass. The tubas are then heard in solemn chords. A new theme of a dreamy nature follows (strings), and then at the beginning of the free fantasia an orchestral storm breaks loose. This dies away, and a theme appears which is derived from the first and main motive, which in turn enters, inverted, and with a pizzicato bass. The choral theme is also inverted, but it gives way to the chief motive, which is developed and leads to another tempestuous burst, ended suddenly with a pause for the whole orchestra. The repetition section brings back the themes in inverted order. The second chief theme is heard in C major. After a time there is a crescendo built on passages of this motive, which leads to a powerful episode in B major, with a theme in the bass derived from the chief motive. This motive is given to violins and clarinets, and there are contrapuntal imitations. The choral theme, appearing at the end of the free fantasia, is heard no more. The first chief theme dominates to the end. There is an imposing coda.

I am indebted in a measure to the analysis of this symphony by Mr. Johannes Reichert, prepared for the concerts of the Royal Orchestra of Dresden.

SYMPHONY NO. 8, IN C MINOR

I. Allegro moderato

II. Scherzo: allegro—andante—allegro moderato

III. Adagio

IV. Finale: Feierlich, nicht schnell

Bruckner’s Eighth is in all respects to be numbered with his greatest. The structure is nobler, the form more clearly recognized than in his other symphonies. There is less perplexing or boresome detail. The digressions do not cause the main line of musical argument to be forgotten. The interest is more steadily maintained. The instrumentation is richer in color and in contrasts. Above all, the invention shown, both in thematic lines and in wealth of development, is little less than marvelous, for Bruckner was sixty years old when he began work on this symphony.

Much has been said in European cities about the extraordinary length of the work. This length does not seem distressing. Bruckner had a great deal to say, and whereas in other symphonies he sometimes stammers and often falters, as though he were not able to express his thoughts, as though they were so great to him that he hesitated to put them into even musical speech, which comes nearest to the full expression of the inherently inexpressible, in this symphony he is master of his speech; he is convincing, authoritative, eloquent. Furthermore, he is more discriminative in his use of material. In other symphonies he is seen building indifferently with marble and clay. His Eighth symphony is as a stately temple, in which mortals forget the paltry cares and tribulations of earth, and gods appear calm and benignant.

There are pages that remind one of the visions seen by John on the isle of Patmos. “And I heard, as it were, the voice of a great multitude, and as the voice of many waters, and as the voice of mighty thunderings.”

There are also pages of ravishing beauty, as those of the trio in the scherzo, as those devoted to the exposition of the first and second themes of the adagio, as those of the second theme in the finale. The scherzo, with rough humor and its episode of rare melodic beauty finely orchestrated, is of this earth, but the other movements leave the earth behind in a sustained and fearless flight. This is especially true of the first movement and the adagio.

In the finale there is here and there a drooping of the wings, but the opening measures of this finale and the close are towering and exultant.

This symphony, begun in 1885, was completed in 1890. It was performed for the first time in Vienna, December 18, 1892, at a Philharmonic concert led by Hans Richter. Even Hanslick admitted in his bitter review (Neue Freie Presse, December 23, 1892) of the symphony that the concert was a triumph for the composer. “How was the new symphony received? Boisterous rejoicing, waving of handkerchiefs from those standing, innumerable recalls, laurel wreaths,” etc.

The symphony is dedicated to the composer’s “imperial and royal apostolic Majesty Francis Joseph I, Emperor of Austria and apostolic King of Hungary.” It is scored for three flutes, three oboes, three clarinets, three bassoons (and double bassoon), eight horns, three trumpets, three trombones, bass tuba, kettledrums, triangle, cymbals, three harps, and usual strings.

It appears that, when the symphony was first performed, there was an explanatory programme written by some devout disciple. This programme stated that the first theme of the first movement was “the form of the Æschylean Prometheus”; and a portion of this movement was entitled “the greatest loneliness and silence.” The scherzo was supposed to typify “The German Michael.” “Der deutsche Michel” may be translated “the plain, honest, much enduring (but slow) German,” and “Michel” in a figurative sense means yokel, boor, clodhopper. Hanslick wrote: “If a critic had spoken this blasphemy, he would probably have been stoned to death by Bruckner’s disciples; but the composer himself gave this name, the German Michael, to the scherzo, as may be read in black and white in the programme.” The published score bears no motto. The programme-maker found in the scherzo “the deeds and sufferings of Prometheus reduced in the way of parody to the smallest proportions.” And in the adagio was disclosed “the all-loving Father of mankind in his measureless wealth of mercy.” The finale was characterized by him as “heroism in the service of the Divine,” and the trumpet calls in the finale were explained as “the announcers of eternal salvation, heralds of the idea of divinity.” On the other hand, it is said that the beginning of the finale was suggested to Bruckner by the meeting of the three emperors!

In the published score there is nothing to give the idea that the music has any programme, any argument. Yet Johannes Reichert in his analysis[22] of the symphony, referring to Josef Schalk’s vision of “Prometheus Bound” in the first movement, found something of Prometheus or of Faust in the music.

I. Allegro moderato, C minor, 2-2. The first and chief motive is given to violas, violoncellos, and double basses. It is announced pianissimo; it is decisively rhythmed, and its rhythm and its upward leap of a sixth are important factors in the development. After a short crescendo, the strings are about to return to a pianissimo when the theme is proclaimed with the full force of the orchestra.

The first violins have the expressive and questioning second theme. Wood-wind instruments answer the question. The rhythm of the second theme, a rhythm that is characteristically Brucknerian, is used in counterpoint to a new cantilena sung by horns and first violins.

There is a modulation to the dominant of the chief tonality. The second theme now assumes an obstinate, arrogant character. Wood-wind instruments conduct over pianissimo and sustained chords of tubas, with the use of the first measures of the chief motive, to the second subsidiary section. In spite of the interrupting springs of the seventh there is a return to a quiet mood. Then comes a chromatic and mighty crescendo for full orchestra, which reaches a climax with trumpet fanfares. The chief motive returns and is given out thrice pianissimo. The first horn has the chief motive in augmentation, and there is a double echo of it: from first oboe; from tenor tuba.

The “working-out” section begins with the indication “very quietly.” Oboes and tubas introduce constituent parts of the chief motive in augmentation; then the motive itself appears in inversion and as in a stretto. This form of elaboration is long continued. And now the second theme appears inverted, and gives with its compelling rhythm the impetus to a great crescendo which reaches its climax with the encounter of the two themes fortississimo. This shock occurs three times without a decisive result. The orchestra seems to lose its force. There are wandering fragments of the two motives, while the trumpet keeps up monotonously the rhythm of the chief theme. A fragment of the first theme leads to the repetition section.

The repetition is at first free, whereas as a rule in Bruckner’s symphonies it is literal. The first theme, now a lamentation, is given to the first oboe. The clarinet answers in another tonality. After bold modulations the second theme is repeated. The prevailing mood of unrest ends with a long held fermata. The second subsidiary section is repeated quietly, and, as in the first chief section of the movement, it is used in a crescendo; but here the climax is built on a coda motive of a bitterly complaining character, while horns and trumpets repeat incessantly the chief theme. Grief itself soon loses its voice. The violins sigh the chief motive thrice pianissimo. Only the last portion of the theme is then heard, and it dies away in the violas.

II. Scherzo, Allegro moderato, C minor, 3-4. The chief theme (violas and violoncellos) has a rough humor, while violins have a contrasting figure of a whispering and mysterious nature. This figure brings in a great crescendo in which the theme is blown by horns, later by trumpets, and at last by the bass tuba. At the end of the section a rhythm appears (E flat major, bassoons, drums, basses) that is slightly reminiscent of a rhythm in Beethoven’s Symphony No. 8. The whispering figure is inverted. The first section is repeated.

The trio begins langsam (“slow”), 2-4, softly and delicately (first violins). The horn enters. There are pleasant harmonies in E major. “The whole episode breathes smiling happiness.”

The harp is used here and in the adagio, the only instances of the use of this instrument in a symphony by Bruckner. A second subject brings the return to A flat major. The beginning of the trio is repeated with changes in tonality, and the whole first part of the scherzo is repeated with an ending in C major.

III. The adagio is said to be probably the longest symphonic adagio movement in existence, and there are some that put it at the head of all adagios by reason of its solemnity, nobility, and elevated thought. It begins, “solemn, slow, but not dragging,” D flat major, 4-4. The first violins sing (on the G string) a long and intimate song to the accompaniment of the second violins and lower strings. “This theme contains three moments of mood. For the first four measures the violins complain softly; then sighing clarinets and bassoons enter in gasps; the four last measures are only an extension to strengthen the mood.” A strange organ-point puts an end to the mood of doubt and brings in triumphant certainty. The violins, playing with greater breadth, lead to a calm close in F. There is a repetition of what has gone before, with the exception of a few measures of the chief theme.

The second theme is sung by the violoncellos, and they lead to the serenely quiet song of the tubas. Some measures based on fragments of the second theme bring in the “working-out” section. The chief theme appears. Portions of the long cantilena are combined, and there is fresh and melodic counterpoint. There is at the same time a crescendo. After the climax the second theme becomes prominent, with interruptions by the tubas.

The first theme appears with lively figuration at the beginning of the second section of development. A portion of this theme is used in augmentation. “Then appears suddenly and in a decided manner the rhythm for horns of the ‘Siegfried’ motive in The Ring.” The accompaniment for strings grows livelier; the chief theme is more and more impressive in the brass. The second theme enters, and there are tranquillizing episodes, but there is no checking the course of the crescendo or the acceleration in pace. “À tempo (though in a lively movement).” The third section of the chief theme is now in powerful augmentation. There is a return to the prevailing tempo. The mood is milder. The violins “intimately and softly” remember once more the second theme. The coda brings in a peaceful close. In the third and fourth measures before the end the tubas indicate pianissimo the chief rhythm of the finale that follows.

IV. Finale, C minor, “solemnly, not fast,” 2-2. The heavily rhythmed chief theme contains three important motives. It first appears in F sharp, as the enharmonically changed subdominant of the preceding tonality, D flat major (or as the dominant of the dominant of C minor). Joyful fanfares sound in D flat. The whole is repeated, and there is a modulation from A flat to E flat. Then appears sonorously the conclusion of the whole theme in the prevailing tonality, C minor. Out of the counterpoint arises a lamenting strain for oboes.

There is a pause. The melodious and religious second theme is sung in slower tempo. The accompanying voices for horn and violas might well be reckoned as thematic. The third theme, wood-wind and strings, is practically a double theme, and the lower voice has much importance later. The concluding section of this theme is developed in choral fashion, and it is then combined with the lower voice. After a pause comes the working-out section. As the introduction indicated, it gives the impression of a mighty struggle. A blend of the two just preceding themes leads to a new melody for violins. There is a powerful crescendo for full orchestra. The rhythm of the chief theme of the first movement is heard. The first measures of the finale are now played softly by the horns, then by the flutes. Preceding themes are again combined. The repetition section opens powerfully. The decisive rhythm of the chief theme spurs the full orchestra. The coda begins quietly, but it soon becomes intense. In the triumphant ending in C major, chief themes of the four movements are heard exulting.

I am indebted in a measure for the preceding sketch of the contents of this symphony to the analysis by Werner Wolff, published in the programme book of the Philharmonic Orchestra, Berlin, October 29, 1906; and to the analysis of Johannes Reichert which has already been mentioned. They that wish to study the symphony may consult with profit the analysis by Willibald Kähler (Musikführer No. 262). These analysts are by no means unanimous in their designation of the chief themes. I have followed chiefly in the footsteps of Mr. Wolff.

It may help to a better understanding of the music of Bruckner if light be thrown on the personal nature and prejudices not only of the composer but of his contemporaneous partisans and foes. This simple man, who had known the cruelest poverty and distress, and in Vienna lived the life of an ascetic, made enemies by the very writing of music.