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THE

PIANOFORTE SONATA

ITS ORIGIN AND DEVELOPMENT

BY

J.S. SHEDLOCK, B.A.

[Illustration: MONUMENT OF BERNARDO PASQUINI IN THE CHURCH OF SAN
LORENZO IN LUCINA ROME

SKETCHED BY STRITCH HUTTON]

METHUEN & CO.
36 ESSEX STREET, W.C.
LONDON




CONTENTS

CHAP.                                                        PAGE

   I. INTRODUCTORY                                              1

  II. JOHANN KUHNAU                                            38

 III. BERNARDO PASQUINI: A CONTEMPORARY OF J. KUHNAU           71

  IV. EMANUEL BACH AND SOME OF HIS CONTEMPORARIES              82

   V. HAYDN AND MOZART                                        111

  VI. PREDECESSORS OF BEETHOVEN                               130

 VII. LUDWIG VAN BEETHOVEN                                    160

VIII. TWO CONTEMPORARIES OF BEETHOVEN                         192

  IX. SCHUMANN, CHOPIN, BRAHMS, AND LISZT                     207

   X. THE SONATA IN ENGLAND                                   221

  XI. MODERN SONATAS, DUET SONATAS, SONATINAS, ETC.           235

      INDEX                                                   241




PREFACE


This little volume is entitled "The Pianoforte Sonata: its Origin and
Development." Some of the early sonatas mentioned in it were, however,
written for instruments of the jack or tangent kind. Even Beethoven's
sonatas up to Op. 27, inclusive, were published for "Clavicembalo o
Pianoforte." The Germans have the convenient generic term "Clavier,"
which includes the old and the new instruments with hammer action;
hence, they speak of a _Clavier Sonate_ written, say, by Kuhnau, in
the seventeenth, or of one by Brahms in the nineteenth, century.

The term "Piano e Forte" is, however, to be found in letters of a
musical instrument maker named Paliarino, written, as we learn from
the valuable article "Pianoforte," contributed by Mr. Hipkins to Sir
George Grove's _Dictionary of Music and Musicians_, already in the
year 1598, and addressed to Alfonso II., Duke of Modena. The earliest
sonata for a keyed instrument mentioned in this volume was published
in 1695; and to avoid what seems an unnecessary distinction, I have
used the term "Pianoforte Sonata" for that sonata and for some other
works which followed, and which are usually and properly termed
"Harpsichord Sonatas."

I have to acknowledge kind assistance received from Mr. A.W. Hutton,
Mr. F.G. Edwards, and Mr. E. Van der Straeten. And I also beg to thank
Mr. W. Barclay Squire and Mr. A. Hughes-Hughes for courteous help at
the British Museum; likewise Dr. Kopfermann, chief librarian of the
musical section of the Berlin Royal Library.

J.S. SHEDLOCK.

LONDON, 1895.




THE PIANOFORTE SONATA




CHAPTER I

INTRODUCTORY


In history we find certain names associated with great movements:
Luther with the Reformation, or Garibaldi with the liberation of
Italy. Luther certainly posted on the door of the church at Wittenberg
his famous Theses, and burnt the Papal Bull at the gates of that city;
yet before Luther there lived men, such as the scholar Erasmus, who
have been appropriately named Reformers before the Reformation. So,
too, Cavour's cautious policy paved the way for Garibaldi's brilliant
victories. Once again, Leonardo da Vinci is named as the inventor of
chiaroscuro, yet he was preceded by Fra Filippo Lippi. And in similar
manner, in music, certain men are associated with certain forms.
Haydn, for example, is called the father of the quartet; close
investigation, however, would show that he was only a link, and
certainly not the first one in a long evolution. So, too, with the
sonata. The present volume is, however, specially concerned with the
_clavier_ or pianoforte sonata; and for that we have a convenient
starting-point--the Sonata in B flat of Kuhnau, published in 1695. The
date is easy to remember, for in that same year died England's
greatest musician, Henry Purcell.

Before studying the history of the pianoforte sonata, even in outline,
it is essential that something should be said about the early history
of the _sonata_. That term appears first to have been used in
contradistinction to _cantata_: the one was a piece _sounded_
(_suonata_, from _sonando_) by instruments; the other, one _sung_ by
voices. The form of these early sonatas (as they appear in Giovanni
Gabrieli's works towards the close of the sixteenth century) was
vague; yet, in spite of light imitations, the basis was harmonic,
rather than contrapuntal. They were among the first fruits of the
Renaissance in Italy. But soon there came about a process of
differentiation. Praetorius, in his _Syntagma musicum_, published at
Wolfenbüttel in 1619, distinguishes between the _sonata_ and the
_canzona_. Speaking generally, from the one seems to have come the
sonata proper; from the other, the suite. During the whole of the
eighteenth century there was a continual intercrossing of these two
species; it is no easy matter, therefore, to trace the early stages of
development of each separately.

Marpurg, in his description of various kinds of pieces in his
_Clavierstücke_, published at Berlin in 1762, says: "Sonatas are
pieces in three or four movements, marked merely _Allegro_, _Adagio_,
_Presto_, etc., although in character they may be really an
_Allemande_, _Courante_, and _Gigue_." Corelli, as will be mentioned
later on, gave dance titles in addition to Allegro, Adagio, etc.
Marpurg also states that "when the middle movement is in slow time it
is not always in the key of the first and last movements." This,
again, shows intercrossing. The genuine suite consisted of several
dance movements (Allemande, Courante, Sarabande, Gigue) all in the
same key. But we find occasionally in suites, a Fugue or Fuguetta, or
even an Aria or Adagio; and in name, at any rate, one dance movement
has formed part of the sonata since the time of Emanuel Bach.

In 1611, Banchieri, an Olivetan monk, published at Venice his
_L'Organo suonarino_, a work "useful and necessary to
organists,"--thus runs the title-page. At the end of the volume there
are some pieces, vocal and instrumental (a Concerto for soprano or
tenor, with organ, a Fantasia, Ricercata, etc.), among which are to be
found two _sonatas_, the one entitled, "Prima Sonata, doppio
soggietto," the other "Seconda Sonata, soggietto triplicato." They are
written out in open score of four staves, with mezzo-soprano, alto,
tenor, and bass clefs. To show how the sonatas of those days differed
both in form and contents from the sonata of our century, the first of
the above-mentioned is given in short score. It will, probably, remind
readers of "the first (_i.e._ sonatas) that my (_i.e._ Dr. Burney)
musical inquiries have discovered, viz., some sonatas by Francesco
Turini, which consisted of only a single movement, in fugue and
imitation throughout."

[Music illustration]

Turini was organist of Brescia Cathedral, and in 1624 published
_Madrigali a una, due, tre voci, con alcune Sonate e a tre, Ven.
1624_. Between Turini, also Carlo Farina, who published violin
sonatas at Dresden in 1628, and Corelli (_b._ 1653), who brought out
his first work in 1683, one name of great importance is Giovanni
Legrenzi.

In the eighth volume of Dr. Burney's musical extracts there are two
sonatas, _a tre, a due violini e violone_, by Legrenzi (opera ottava,
1677). The first is in B flat. It commences with a movement in common
time entitled _La Benivoglia_.

[Music illustration]

An Adagio in G minor (only six bars) is followed by an Allegro in D
minor, six-eight time, closing on a major chord; then eight bars
common time in B flat (no heading); and, finally, a Presto
(three-four) commencing in G minor and closing in B flat. None of the
movements is in binary form.

The 2nd Sonata, in D, has five short movements. No. 1 has an opening
of thirty-seven bars in common time, fugato. There is a modulation in
the ninth bar to the dominant, and, later on, a return to the opening
theme and key; in the intervening space, however, in spite of
modulation, the principal key is not altogether avoided.

Sonatas of various kinds by Legrenzi appeared between 1655 and 1677.
Then there were the "Varii Fiori del Giardino Musicale ouero Sonate da
Camera, etc.," of Gio. Maria Bononcini, father of Battista Bononcini,
the famous rival of Handel, published at Bologna in 1669, and the
sonatas of Gio. Battista Vitali (Bologna, 1677). Giambatista Bassani
of Bologna, although his junior by birth, was the violin master of the
great Corelli. His sonatas only appeared after those of his
illustrious pupil, yet may have been composed before. Of the twelve in
Op. 5, most have many short movements; some, indeed, are so short as
to be scarcely deserving of the name.

By the time of Arcangelo Corelli, who, as mentioned, published his
first work (Op. 1, twelve sonatas for two violins and a bass) in 1683,
sonatas answered to the definition given by Mattheson in his _Das neu
eröffnete Orchester_ (1713), in which they are said to consist of
alternate Adagio and Allegro. J.G. Walther, again, in his dictionary
of music,[1] which appeared at Leipzig in 1732, describes a sonata as
a "grave artistic composition for instruments, especially violins."
The idea of grouping movements was already in vogue in the sixteenth
century. Morley in his _Plain and Easy Introduction to Practical
Music_, printed in 1597, speaks of the desirableness of _alternating_
Pavans and Galliards, the one being "a kind of staid musick ordained
for grave dancing," and the other "a lighter and more stirring kind of
dancing." Contrast was obtained, too, not only by difference in the
character, but also, in the measure of the music; the former was in
common, the latter in triple time.

With regard to the grouping of movements, Corelli's sonatas show
several varieties. The usual number, however, was four, and the order
generally--slow, fast, slow, fast. Among the forty-eight (Op. 1, 2, 3,
and 4, published 1685, 1690, 1694, and 1700 respectively) we find the
majority in four movements, in the order given above[2]; of the twelve
in Op. 3, no less than eleven have four movements, but--

No. 1 (in F) has       Grave, Allegro, Vivace, Allegro.
No. 6 (in G),          Vivace, Grave, Allegro, Allegro.
No. 10 (in A minor),   Vivace, Allegro, Adagio, Allegro.

There are, however, eight sonatas consisting of _three movements_; and
as this, a century later, became the normal number, we will give the
list:--

Op. 1, No. 7 (in C)            Allegro, Grave, Allegro.
                               (Middle movement begins in
                               A minor, but ends in C.)

Op. 2, No. 2 (in D minor)      Allemanda (Adagio)
                               Corrente (Allegro), Giga
                               (Allegro).

Op. 2, No. 6 (in G minor)      Allemanda (Largo), Corrente,
                               Giga.

Op. 2, No. 9 (F sharp minor)   Allemanda (Largo).
                               Tempo di Sarabanda (Largo).
                               Giga (Allegro).

Op. 4, No. 8 (D minor)         Preludio (Grave).
                               Allemanda (Allegro).
                               Sarabanda (Allegro).

Op. 4, No. 10 (G)              Preludio[3] (Adagio) and Allegro.
                               Adagio and Grave (E minor).
                               Tempo di Gavotta (Allegro).

Op. 4, No. 11 (C minor)        Preludio (Largo).
                               Corrente (Allegro).
                               Allemanda (Allegro).

Op. 4, No. 12 (B minor)        Preludio (Largo).
                               Allemanda (Presto).
                               Giga (Allegro).

It is interesting to note that each of the two sonatas (Op. 1, No. 7,
and Op. 4, No. 10), most in keeping with its title of sonata, has the
middle movement in a relative key. Op. 1, No. 7, begins with an
Allegro in common time; and the short Grave is followed by a light
Allegro in six-eight time. The first movement, with its marked return
to the principal key, is very interesting in the matter of form. The
other sonatas with suite titles have all their movements in the same
key. Locatelli in his _XII Sonate_ for flute, published early in the
eighteenth century, has in the first: Andante, Adagio, Presto; also
Nos. 3, 5, etc. So, too, in Tartini's Sonatas (Op. 1) there are also
some in three (No. 3, etc.). But Emanuel Bach commenced with that
number, to which, with few and unimportant exceptions, he remained
faithful; likewise to the slow movement dividing the two quick ones.
The three-movement form used by J.S. Bach for his concertos and
sonatas no doubt considerably influenced his son. But already, in
1668, Diderich Becker, in his _Musikalische Frülings-Früchte_, wrote
sonatas for violins, etc. and _continuo_, in three movements. (No. 10,
Allegro, Adagio, Allegro. Again, Sonata No. 19 opens with a movement
in common time, most probably an Allegro; then comes an Adagio, and,
lastly, a movement in six-four, most probably quick _tempo_.) These
sonatas of Becker _a 3_, _4_ or _5_, with _basso continuo_, are
unfortunately only printed in parts. As a connecting link between the
Gabrielis and Corelli, and more particularly as a forerunner of
Kuhnau, Becker is of immense importance. We are concerned with the
clavier sonata, otherwise we should certainly devote more space to
this composer. We have been able to trace back sonatas by German
composers to Becker (1668), and by Italian composers to Legrenzi
(1655); those of Gabrieli and Banchieri, as short pieces, not a group
of movements, are not taken into account. Now, of earlier history, we
do know that Hans Leo. von Hasler, said to have been born at Nuremberg
in 1564, studied first with his father, but afterwards at Venice, and
for a whole year under A. Gabrieli. Italian and German art are thus
intimately connected; but what each gave to, or received from, the
other with regard to the sonata seems impossible to determine. The
Becker sonatas appeared at Hamburg, and surely E. Bach must have been
acquainted with them. Becker in his preface mentions another Hamburg
musician--a certain Johann Schop--who did much for the cause of
instrumental music. Schop, it appears, published concertos for various
instruments already in the year 1644. And there was still another work
of importance published at Amsterdam, very early in the eighteenth
century, by the famous violinist and composer G. Torelli, which must
have been known to E. Bach. It is entitled "Six Sonates ou Concerts à
4, 5, e 6 Parties," and of these, five have three movements (Allegro,
Adagio, and Allegro).

Corelli was the founder of a school of violin composers, of which
Geminiani,[4] Locatelli,[5] Veracini,[6] and Tartini[7] were the most
distinguished representatives; the first two were actually pupils of
the master. In the sonatas of these men there is an advance in two
directions: sonata-form[8] is in process of evolution from binary
form, _i.e._ the second half of the first section is filled with
subject-matter of more definite character; the bars of modulation and
development are growing in number and importance; and the principal
theme appears as the commencement of a recapitulation. We should like
to say that _binary_ is changing into _ternary_ form; unfortunately,
however, the latter term is used for a different kind of movement. To
speak of a movement in sonata-form, containing three sections
(exposition, development, and recapitulation) as in binary form, seems
a decided misnomer.

The violinists just mentioned were the last great writers of sonatas
in Italy. Emanuel Bach arose during the first half of the eighteenth
century, and, henceforth, Germany took the lead; Bach was followed by
Haydn, Mozart, and Beethoven. The influence of the Corelli[9] school
was felt in Germany and also in England. Sonatas were published by
Veracini at Dresden in 1721, and by Tartini and Locatelli at Amsterdam
before 1740. Again Veracini was for a time solo violinist to the
Elector of Dresden (1720-23); Tartini lived for three years at Prague
(1723-26), while Locatelli, during the first half of the eighteenth
century, made frequent journeys throughout Germany. Emanuel Bach, the
real founder of the modern pianoforte sonata, must have been
influenced by their works.

In a history of the development of the sonata generally, those of
Corelli would occupy an important place, for in them we find not only
fugal and dance forms, but also hints of sonata-form.

Dr. Parry, in his article on "Sonata" in Sir G. Grove's _Dictionary
of Music and Musicians_, has named the Corrente of Corelli's 5th
Sonata in Op. 4 as offering "nearly a miniature of modern binary
form." The well-known Giga Allegro of the 9th Sonata (Op. 5), and the
Allemanda Allegro of the 10th Concerto in C, also present remarkable
foreshadowings.

Handel, however, furnishes a very striking illustration--

In the six "Sonatas or Trios for two Hoboys with a thorough bass for
the harpsichord," said to have been composed already in 1696, we find
quick movements in binary form. In some, the first section offers both
a first and a second subject, while in the second section, after
modulation, there is a return to the opening theme, though quite at
the close of that section. A brief description of one will make the
form clearer. The second Allegro of No. 4 (in F) has two sections. The
first, which ends in the dominant key (C), contains forty-six bars.
The opening theme begins thus:--

[Music illustration: _a_]

At the twenty-ninth bar, a passage leads to the second theme--

[Music illustration: _b_]

This second theme is, in a measure, evolved from the first. In any
case, it is of subordinate character; and it differs slightly as given
by first or second oboe, whereas the principal theme appears in
exactly the same manner for both instruments.

The second section opens with developments of _b_, and modulation from
C major to D minor; _a_ also is developed, the music passing from the
last-named key back to the opening one. There is a full close in that
key, and then modulation to F. The remaining twenty-two bars give the
first section in condensed form: first and second subjects and
coda.[10]

It would be interesting to trace the influences acting on the youth
Handel at the time when he wrote these sonatas. Most probably they
were Johann Philipp Krieger's[11] sonatas for violins and bass; N.A.
Strungk's sonatas published at Dresden in 1691; and more especially
Agostino Steffani's "Sonate da Camera" for two violins, alto, and
bass, published in 1683. An opera by the last-named, which appeared at
Hanover in 1699, has an "Air de Ballet," which contains the first
notes of "Let the bright Seraphim"; besides, it is known that Handel
culled ideas and "conveyed" notes from works of other composers; also,
that he turned them to the best account.

In the same year in which Corelli published his Op. 1 (1683), Domenico
Scarlatti, the famous harpsichord player, was probably born; in the
history of development his name is the principal one of importance
between Corelli and Emanuel Bach. In the matter of technique he
rendered signal service, but, for the moment, we are concerned with
his contribution towards development. Scarlatti does not seem to have
ever considered the sonata in the sense of a work consisting of
several contrasting movements; all of his are of only one movement.
The title "sonata" as applied to his pieces is, therefore, misleading.
Whether the term was actually used by the composer himself seems
doubtful. The first thirty of the sixty Scarlatti sonatas published by
Breitkopf & Härtel appeared during the lifetime of the composer at
Madrid. They are dedicated to John the Just, King of Portugal, and are
merely entitled

     _Essercizi per Gravicembalo._

In editions of the eighteenth century the composer's pieces are styled
Lessons or Suites. However, twelve published by J. Johnson, London,
are described on the title-page as _Sonatas modernas_.

From the earliest days of instrumental music dance tunes were divided
into two sections. The process of evolution is interesting. In the
earliest specimens, such as the _Branle_ given in the Orchésographie
of Thoinot Arbeau, we find both sections in the same key, and there is
only one theme. The movement towards the dominant note in this
_Branle_ may be regarded as a latent modulation. In time the first
section was developed, and the latent modulation became real; then,
after certain intermediate stages, the custom was established of
passing from the principal to the dominant key (or, in a minor piece,
to the relative major or dominant minor), in which the first section
closed. But in Corelli,[12] and even in Scarlatti,[13] we find,
occasionally, a return to an earlier stage (_i.e._ a first section
ending in the same key in which it commenced). In most of his pieces
Scarlatti modulates to the dominant; in minor, to the relative major.
Some exceptions deserve mention. In the Breitkopf & Härtel collection,
No. 26, in A major, passes to the minor key of the dominant; and No.
11, in C minor, modulates to the minor key of the dominant, but the
section closes in the major key of the dominant.

Scarlatti's sonatas consist, then, of one movement in binary form of
the early type. Only in a few of these pieces is there a definite
second subject; in none, a return to the opening theme. [Music
illustration] In No. 26 there is just a return to the first bar (see
second section, bar 11), but the previous ten bars show no modulation,
and one can scarcely speak of thematic development. After the few bars
of development and modulation, in some cases, the second section is
found to consist merely of a repetition of some part of the first
section, the key being tonic instead of dominant. This is,
practically, embryonic sonata-form. The tonic and dominant portions of
the first section are becoming differentiated; but the landmark,
_i.e._ the return to the opening theme in the second section which
divides binary from sonata form, is, in Scarlatti, non-existent. His
first sections often consist of a principal theme and passages, also
phrases indirectly connected with the opening one; sometimes of a
chain of short phrases more or less evolved from the opening thought
(see Nos. 1, 21, 29). (These and the numbers which follow refer to the
Breitkopf & Härtel edition of sixty Scarlatti sonatas.) The composer
often passes through the minor key of the dominant (in the first
section) before arriving at the major; sometimes the major is
introduced only late in the section (Nos. 7, 17, etc.), or minor
remains (No. 26). We meet with a similar proceeding in Beethoven.
Minor pieces often pass to the dominant minor, but end in major
(_i.e._, first section). In Scarlatti there is, for the most part, no
second subject, but frequently (Nos. 5, 7, 9, etc.) a concluding
phrase which can, at times, be traced to the opening theme. Sonata 6,
in F, shows a second subject of a certain independence. The best
examples are to be found in Nos. 24 and 29 (in A and E); in these the
character of the second subject differs from that of the first, and it
is also in a minor key, which offers still another contrast.

And now a word or two respecting Scarlatti's method of development. He
alters figures (Nos. 12 and 54), extends them (Nos. 9 and 54), but
often merely repeats passages on the same degrees as those of the
first section, or on different ones. He makes use of imitation (Nos. 7
and 36). Sometimes he evolves a phrase from a motive (No. 11). In No.
19 the development assumes a certain importance. It commences, not, as
in most cases, with the opening theme or figure of the first section,
but with a group of semiquaver notes which appears later in that
section. In No. 20 Scarlatti preserves the rhythm, but with total
change of notes (No. 20)--

[Music illustration]

The same number gives another interesting specimen of change of
rhythm. In No. 48 he picks out an unimportant group of notes, and
works it by imitation and sequence. There are some interesting
specimens of development in the thirty sonatas printed from
manuscripts in the possession of Lord Viscount Fitzwilliam by Robert
Birchall. Scarlatti's development bars are seldom many in number.

After modulation and development, the music slides, as it were, into
some phrase from the first section,[14] and allowance being made on
account of difference of key (there the music was passing, or had
passed from tonic; here it is returning to that key), the rest is more
or less a repetition of the first section. _More or less_: sometimes
the repetition is literal; at other times there is considerable
deviation; and shortenings are frequent. With regard to style of
writing for the clavier--a few canonic imitations excepted--there is
no real polyphony. Most of the sonatas are in only two parts. The
composer revels in rapid passages (runs, broken chords, simple and
compound), wide leaps, difficult octaves, crossing of hands, and, of
course, short shakes innumerable. Domenico Scarlatti was indeed one of
the most renowned _virtuosi_ on the clavier. Handel met him at Rome in
1708, and Cardinal Ottoboni persuaded them to compete with each other.
We are told that upon the harpsichord the victory was doubtful, but
upon the organ, Scarlatti himself confessed the superiority of his
rival.[15]

Johann Kuhnau published a sonata for clavier in 1695, and this was
followed up by a set of seven sonatas ("Frische Früchte") in 1696, and
a few years later (1700) by the seven "Bible" Sonatas. That he was the
first composer who wrote a sonata for the clavier is a point which
cannot be overlooked, and in the evolution of the sonata he occupies
an interesting position. In the "Frische Früchte" there is, as Dr.
C.H. Parry truly remarks in his excellent article "Sonata" in Sir G.
Grove's _Dictionary of Music and Musicians_, an awakening sense of the
relation and balance of keys; but in the "Bible" Sonatas the form and
order of the movements is entirely determined by the Bible stories. As
specimens of programme-music they are altogether remarkable, and will,
later on, be described in detail; they do not, however, come within
the regular line of development. It was, of course, natural that such
a new departure should attract the notice of John Sebastian Bach, who
was Kuhnau's immediate successor as cantor of St. Thomas' School,
Leipzig, and Spitta, in his life of Bach, refers to that composer's
_Capriccio sopra la lontananza del suo fratello dilettissimo_, and
reminds us that "Kuhnau as well as so many others had some influence
on Bach." Of course, among the "so many others," Froberger's name--as
we shall see later on from Kuhnau's preface--deserves a prominent
place. In addition to what Kuhnau says, Mattheson has recorded that
"Froberger could depict whole histories on the clavier, giving a
representation of the persons present and taking part in them, with
all their natural characters." When writing the Capriccio above named,
Spitta believes that Bach was specially influenced by the last of the
"Bible" Sonatas (we may perhaps add that Spitta tells us that Bach
was intimately acquainted with Kuhnau). He indeed says: "We might
doubt the early origin of the Capriccio if its evident 'dependence' on
Kuhnau did not solve the mystery." Then, again, in a Sonata in D by
Bach, published in the Bach Gesellschaft edition, Spitta calls
attention to the opening subject in D, and does not hesitate to
declare that "it is constructed on the pattern of a particular part of
the story of Jacob's marriage" (the 3rd of the "Bible" Sonatas). His
description of the Bach sonata would, doubtless, have attracted more
notice but for the fact that copies of the Kuhnau sonatas were
extremely rare; they were, we believe, never reprinted since the
commencement of the eighteenth century. The first two have now been
published by Messrs Novello & Co. The Kuhnau influence on Bach seems,
however, to have been of short duration; for, after these juvenile
attempts, as Spitta observes, "he never again returned to this branch
of music in the whole course of a long artistic career extending over
nearly fifty years." The fugue form absorbed nearly the whole
attention of that master; and the idea of programme-music remained in
abeyance until Beethoven revived it a century later.[16] Emanuel Bach
inherited some of his father's genius, and he may instinctively have
felt the utter hopelessness of following directly in his footsteps.
J.S. Bach had exhausted the possibilities of the fugue form. It was
perhaps fortunate for Emanuel Bach that, while still young, he left
his father's house. After residing for a few years at
Frankfort-on-the-Oder, he entered the service of Frederick the Great;
and at the court of that monarch he came, at any rate, directly under
Italian influence.

An interesting link between Kuhnau and E. Bach is Mattheson, who
published at Hamburg in 1713 a sonata dedicated to the one who can
best play it (_derjenigen Persohn gewidmet, die sie am besten spielen
wird_). The work itself not being available, the following description
of it by J. Faisst (_Caecilia_, vol. 25, p. 157) may prove
interesting:--"It (_i.e._ the sonata) consists of only one movement,
which, considering its evidently intentional wealth of technique,
might be named a Toccata. But in form this one movement clearly
belongs to the sonata order, and, in fact, holds a middle place
between the tendencies towards sonata-form (the term taken in the
narrower sense of form of one single movement) noticeable in Kuhnau,
and the more developed shape which this form has assumed within recent
times. We have here three sections. In the opening one, the theme,
after its first exposition in the key of G, forms the basis of various
passages, and then appears in the key of the dominant, followed again
by passages of larger extent and richer contents; finally, in
abbreviated form, it reappears in the tonic. The second section
commences in the parallel key, E minor, with passages which recall
those of the first section, and continues with the theme in the same
key; afterwards theme and passages are developed through the keys of A
minor, C major, G major, D major and B minor; in the last, in which
the theme occurs, there is a full close. As third section the first is
taken _Da Capo_." It is evident from a remark made by Mattheson in his
_Der volkommene Capellmeister_, which appeared at Hamburg in 1739,
that some of the sonatas written during the transition period, between
Corelli and E. Bach, are lost, or, at any rate, have not been
discovered.[17] Mattheson says: "During the last years successful
attempts have been made to write sonatas for the clavier (formerly
they were for violins or instruments of that kind); still, up to now,
they have not the right form, and are capable of being touched (_i.e._
played) rather than of touching: they aim at the movement of fingers
rather than of hearts."[18]

A little later than Mattheson (_i.e._ in 1721), Pier Giuseppo Sandoni,
husband of the famous vocalist Cuzzoni, published at London "Sonate
per il Cembalo," dedicated to the Duchess of Pembroke. No. 1, in D
minor, has three movements, an Allemande, Largo, and Giga Presto; they
are all short, and in two sections; and, as a rule, the writing is in
two parts. No. 2, in F, opens with an Allegro of peculiar form. It
has four sections, each of which is repeated; the first (seven bars)
modulates to the key of C, closing thus--

[Music illustration]

The second section (also consisting of seven bars) soon modulates to D
minor, closing in that key in a manner similar to the first. The third
section (ten bars) consists of modulation and slight development, and
closes in A minor. The fourth section (fifteen bars) passes by means
of broken chords (in imitation of the last bar of the previous
section) through various keys, ending in the same fashion as the first
section, only, by way probably of intensification at the end, there
are seven instead of four quaver chords; the section, of course, ends
in F. This movement in the matter of form offers an interesting link
between Kuhnau and E. Bach. The second movement is a minuet, with
variations; it certainly has a beginning, but seems endless. The 3rd
Sonata, in A, resembles No. 1 in form, also in grouping of movements.

And in addition to the sonata of Mattheson, the Sei Sonatine per
Violino e Cembalo, di Georgio Philippo Telemann, published at
Amsterdam in 1721, will give us an approximate idea of the clavier
sonata between Kuhnau and Emanuel Bach. Each number, by the way, is
headed--title-page notwithstanding--a sonata. No. 1, in A major,
consists of four movements, Adagio, Allegro, Largo, Allegro, and all
the four are in binary form. The second is naturally the most
important; the others are very short and simple. In this Allegro,
besides the allusion in the dominant key to the theme at the opening
of the second section there is a return to it, after modulation, in
the principal key. Some of the other sonatas are longer, but No. 1
represents, roughly, the other five as to form and contents. No. 6, in
F, by the way, has only three movements: Vivace, Cantabile, and
Presto.

The "Sonate per Gravicembalo, novamente composte," published by
Giovanni Battista Pescetti in 1739, deserve notice, since they
appeared three years before the six sonatas dedicated by Emanuel Bach
to Frederick the Great. They are nine in number. In style of writing,
order, and character of movements, they bear the stamp of the period
in which they were written. Most of the movements in binary form are
of the intermediate type, _i.e._ they have the principal theme in the
dominant at the beginning of the exposition section, and again, later
on, in the principal key. There is considerable variety in the order
and number of movements. No. 1, for instance, has an Adagio, an
Allegro, and a Menuett with variations. No. 2, in D, has four
movements: Andante, Adagio, Allegro, Giga; the short Adagio is in D
minor. No. 3, in G minor: Presto and A Tempo Giusto (a dignified
fugue). The influence of Handel is strong, also that of Scarlatti.
Bars such as the following--

[Music illustration]

foreshadow, in a curious manner, the _Alberti_ bass.

A great number of clavier sonatas were written about the time during
which Emanuel Bach flourished: his first sonatas appeared in 1742, his
last in 1787. An interesting collection of no less than seventy-two
sonatas (sixty-seven by various composers; five anonymous), issued in
twelve parts, under the title _Oeuvres mêlées_ (twelve books, each
containing six sonatas), was published by Haffner at Würzburg,
somewhere between 1760 and 1767. And another collection of symphonies
and sonatas, principally by Saxon composers, was published at Leipzig
in 1762 under the title _Musikalisches Magazin_. We will give the
names of some of the chief composers, with titles of their works,
adding a few other details. It is difficult in some cases to ascertain
the year of publication; and it is practically impossible to say when
the sonatas were actually composed:--

     BACH, Wilh. Friedemann. Sei sonate, No. 1,[19] D
     major (Dresden, 1745). Sonata in C (published in Litolff's
     _Maîtres du Clavecin_), and others in D and G (autographs),
     and in F, A, and B flat (manuscripts).

     BACH, Joh. Ernst. Two sonatas (in _Oeuvres
     mêlées_).

     NICHELMANN, Christoph. Sei brevi sonate, etc., Op.
     2; Nuremberg (between 1745-1756).

     HASSE. Two sonatas in E flat and B flat
     (manuscript; on one is the date of 1754). Two sonatas, one
     in D minor (only one Lento movement); the other in D major
     (only one Allegro movement in old binary form). These are
     both in the Leipzig collection named above.

     BENDA, Georg. Sei sonate (Berlin, 1757). Sonatas in
     G, C minor, and G, also seven sonatinas (Vermischte
     Clavierstücke, Gotha, 1780).

     WAGENSEIL, Georg. Sonata (_Oeuvres mêlées_). Six
     sonatas for the harpsichord (with accompaniment for a
     violin).[20] Opera prima. (A. Hummel, London.)

     SCHAFFRATH, Christoph.[21] Six sonates, Op. 2
     (published by Haffner, Nuremberg, 1754).

     MOZART, Leopold. Three sonatas (_Oeuvres mêlées_).

     MÜTHEL, Joh. Gottfr. Three sonatas, etc. (Haffner,
     Nuremberg, about 1753); three sonatas (autograph).

     UMSTATT, Joseph.[22] One sonata (_Oeuvres mêlées_).
     Sonata consisting of only a Minuetto, Trio, and Gigue
     (Leipzig collection). And the two Italians--

     GALUPPI. Sonate per cembalo (London); and

     PARADIES, P. Domenico. Twelve sonate di
     gravicembalo (London).

     GRÉTRY, Belgian composer (1741-1813), wrote "Six
     sonates pour le clavecin" (1768), to which, unfortunately,
     we have not been able to gain access.

From the two collections, etc., may be gathered many facts of
interest. First, as regards the number and character of movements in a
sonata. Emanuel Bach kept, for the most part, to three: two fast
movements, divided by a slow one.[23] In the second of his Leipzig
collections (1780), there are two with only two movements (Nos. 2 and
3; a few bars connecting the two movements of No. 3). But among other
composers there are many examples; in some sonatas, the first movement
is a slow one; in others, both movements are quick, in which case the
second one is frequently a minuet.[24] All twelve sonatas of Paradies
have only two movements.

Of sonatas in three movements, some commence with a slow movement
followed by two quick movements.[25] (In one instance, in E. Bach's
sonatas, the 1st Collection, No. 2, in F, we even find two slow
movements followed by a quick one, Andante, Larghetto, Allegro assai.)
But the greater number had the usual order:--Allegro or Allegretto,
Andante or Adagio, and Allegro or Presto. Thus Hasse, Nichelmann,
Benda, and other composers. Now in E. Bach's Würtemberg sonatas we
found all three movements were in the same key, and there are similar
cases in Hasse, Fried. Bach, Joh. Ernst Bach, etc.; but for the most
part, the middle (slow) movement was in some nearly related key; in a
sonata commencing in major--in the relative, or tonic minor, or minor
under-dominant; and even (as in a sonata by Adlgasser) in the
upper-dominant. Joh. C.F. Bach, in one instance, selected the minor
key of the upper-dominant, and there are examples of more remote keys
(E. Bach, Coll. of 1780, No. 1). With sonatas commencing in minor, the
key selected for the middle movement was generally the relative major
of the under-dominant, or that of the tonic; sometimes even tonic
major. A very extraordinary example of a remote key is to be met with
in Bach's Collection of 1779, No. 3: his opening movement is B minor,
but his middle one, G minor.[26]

It should be mentioned with regard to sonatas in three movements
commencing in a minor key, that the last generally (in works of this
period) remains and ends in minor. In modern sonatas the major is
often found, at any rate before the close (see Beethoven, Op. 10, No.
1, etc.).

Baldassare Galuppi, born in 1706 on the island of Burano, near Venice,
was a pupil of Lotti's. Two sets of six "Sonate per il cembalo" of
his were published in London. We cannot give the date, but may state
that a sonata of his in manuscript bears the date 1754 (whether of
copy or composition is uncertain; anyhow, the year given acts as
limit). The variety in the number of the movements of the published
sonatas (one has four, some have three, some two, while No. 2 of the
first set has only one) points to a period of transition. This alone,
apart from the freshness and charm of the music, entitles them to
notice. Much of the writing is thin (only two parts), and,
technically, the music far less interesting than the Scarlatti pieces.
Some of the phrases and figures, and the occasional employment of the
Alberti bass, tell, however, of the new era soon about to be
inaugurated by Haydn. There is one little feature in the 1st Sonata of
the first set which may be mentioned. In the second section of the
Adagio (a movement in binary form) of that sonata, the theme appears,
as usual then, at the beginning of the second section, and, later on,
reappears in the principal key, but it starts on the fourth, instead
of the eighth quaver of the bar.

There was great variety in the order of movements. Sometimes a slow
movement was followed by two quick movements;[27] and the third
movement was frequently a minuet. The quick movement sometimes came in
the middle (Galuppi, Sonata in B flat), sometimes at the beginning
(E. Bach, Coll. 1781, No. 3), sometimes at the end (E. Bach, Coll.
1779, No. 2). Then, again, sometimes all, but frequently two of the
three movements, were connected, _i.e._ the one passed to the other
without break.

So much for sonatas in two or three movements. But among the _Oeuvres
mêlées_ there are no less than twenty which have four movements--some
in the old order: slow, fast, slow, fast; others in a new order:
Allegro, Andante or Adagio, Minuet, and Allegro or Presto.[28] Thus
Wagenseil,[29] Houpfeld, J.E. Bach, Hengsberger, and Kehl. Sometimes
(as in Seyfert and Goldberg) the Minuet came immediately after the
Allegro[30] (see Beethoven chapter with regard to position of Minuet
or Scherzo in his sonatas). In a sonata by Schaffrath, the opening
Allegro is followed by a Fugue. Again (in Spitz, Zach, and Fischer)
the following order is found: Allegro, Andante, Allegro, Minuet. In
Fischer all the movements are in one key; only the Trio of the Minuet
is in the tonic minor. In Spitz the Andante is in the under-dominant,
the other movements being in the principal key. In Zach the Andante is
in the minor tonic, and the third movement in the upper-dominant. It
is well to notice that _in none of these four-movement sonatas are the
movements connected_. The same thing is to be observed in Beethoven,
with exception, perhaps, of Op. 110. In the _Oeuvres mêlées_ there is
only one instance of a sonata in _five_ movements by Umstatt. It
consists of an Allegro, Adagio (in the dominant), Fugue Allegro (in
the relative of dominant), a Minuet in the principal key, with Trio in
relative minor; and, finally, a Presto. By way of contrast, we may
recall the two sonatas of Hasse, in one movement, already mentioned,
and also the last of Emanuel Bach's six sonatas of 1760.

The works of many of the composers named in connection with
differences in the number and order of movements are forgotten; and,
in some cases, indeed, their names are not even thought worthy of a
place in musical dictionaries. Yet these variations are of great
moment in the history of development. And this for a double reason.
First, many of the works must have been known to E. Bach, and yet he
seems to have remained, up to the last, faithful to the three-movement
plan. One or two of his sonatas have only two movements, none,
however, has four. Secondly, the experiment of extending the number to
more than three, practically passed unheeded by Dussek, Clementi,
Mozart,[31] Haydn,[32] and by all the composers of importance until
Beethoven. The last-named commenced with sonatas in four movements;
but, as will be seen in a later chapter, he afterwards became partial
to the scheme of three movements.

Let us now consider, and quite briefly, movements in binary form;
again, in this matter, some instructive facts will be gathered from
the works of Bach's contemporaries. As in Scarlatti, so here we find
the first of the two sections into which such a movement is divided,
ending in one case[33] in the tonic, but, as a rule, in the dominant.
There is, however, an instance of the close in the under-dominant
(Müthel, No. 2 of the Sonatas of 1780), and in E. Bach, in the
relative minor of the under-dominant (Sonatas of 1780, No. 3, Finale).
In a minor key, the first section closed either in the key of the
relative major, or that of the dominant minor[34]--much more
frequently the former.

Now, in proportion as the second part of the first section grew more
definite, so also did the approach to it. Everyone knows the pause so
frequently to be found in Haydn and Mozart, on the dominant of the
dominant, _i.e._ if the key of the piece were C--

[Music illustration]

It is instructive to compare the less formal methods of approaching
the new key in E. Bach and his contemporary Paradies; with them it was
generally by means of a half-close. It must be remembered that E. Bach
frequently has a movement quite on Scarlatti lines, _i.e._ without a
definite second subject;[35] also that the second subject in Bach's
time was, as a rule, of secondary importance. But, curiously, in the
Finale of a sonata written by Leopold Mozart (father of the great
genius), after a half cadence on the dominant of the dominant, _tempo_
and measure change (from Presto two-four, to Andante three-four, the
latter remaining until the end of the first section), and the same
occurs in the recapitulation section; by this means the second theme
was made specially prominent. In a sonata of Scarlatti's, in D,
commencing

[Music illustration]

there is a definite second subject in, by the way, the minor key of
the dominant, and it is divided from the first by two bars in common
time (a descending scale and a shake on a semibreve). And then again,
in No. 12 of the "Libro de XII. Sonatas Modernas para Clavicordio,"
the second subject is divided from the first by two bars of common
time (the piece is in Scarlatti's favourite measure, three-eight), an
ascending scale and a shake. There are clear examples of a second
subject, besides E. Bach, in Eberlin, Fleischer, J.C. Bach, and J.C.F.
Bach. Yet even in Haydn's sonatas one cannot always speak of a second
subject. The further history of the development of the contents of the
second half of the first section shows, as it were, a struggle between
two ideals. One was _kinship_, _i.e._ the endeavour to present the
secondary matter in strong relationship to the opening one (the
opening notes or bars of a real second subject were, indeed,
frequently the same, allowance being made, of course, for difference
of key); the other was _contrast_, _i.e._ the endeavour to obtain
variety. Haydn was more affected by the first; Mozart by the second.
In Beethoven the two are happily combined. It is important to notice
the closing bars of many first sections of the period of which we are
speaking. For instance, in E. Bach, the first movement of the sonata
in each of the Collections of 1781 and 1783 has a concluding theme
(as in the sonata of Scarlatti, and frequently evolved from the
opening theme). Though in the complementary key, it cannot count as
"the second subject." It appears after the complementary key has been
ushered in by one cadence, and after having apparently run its course,
it has been wound up by another. Then, again, the portion between the
cadences just mentioned is at times filled with a true theme, so that
the concluding one, like the cave of Abraham's field of Machpelah, is
in reality an appendency. _Sometimes there are several_: the
enlargement of the exposition section by Beethoven, and still more
modern composers, so that it contains sometimes three, and even more
themes, is practically an exposition section on Scarlatti lines, only
on a larger scale: the figure has become a phrase, mere connecting
passages have acquired organic meaning. The second section of
Scarlatti's movement in binary form contained a few bars of
development and modulation. Then a return was made to the opening key
of the piece, _but never to the opening theme_; and in that key a
portion more or less great, more or less varied, according to
circumstances, was repeated. That return to the opening theme is, as
we have already said, the landmark which divides binary from sonata
form.

In sonatas of the middle of the eighteenth century the modulation
section (in a major key) ended in various ways,--on the dominant
chord (of the principal key), on the tonic chord of the relative
minor, the under-dominant, or even on the tonic itself of the
principal key. Later on, Haydn and Mozart kept, for the most part, to
the dominant chord. Beethoven, on account of the distant, and often
abrupt, modulations of his middle sections, generally marked the
approach to the recapitulation by clear, and often prolonged, dominant
harmony; sometimes, however, the return of the principal theme comes
as a surprise. The recapitulation always remained more or less
faithful to the exposition. It is interesting to note how little the
character and contents of the recapitulation section have been
affected in modern times by the growth of the development section. In
the matter of balance the two sections of movements in binary form are
more satisfactory than the two sections (two, so far as outward
division is concerned) of modern sonatas. The grain of mustard-seed in
the parable grew into a tree, and so, likewise, have the few bars of
modulation of early days grown into an important section. However
difficult to determine the exact moment at which a movement in
sonata-form really ceased to be binary, there seems no doubt that that
moment has now passed. We have already noted when the change
commenced.




CHAPTER II

JOHANN KUHNAU


This remarkable musician was born, April 1660,[36] at Geysing, where
his grandfather, who, on account of his religious opinions, had been
forced to leave Bohemia, had settled. Already in his ninth year young
Kuhnau showed gifts for science and art. He had a pleasing voice, and
first studied under Salomon Krügner, and afterwards under Christian
Kittel,[37] organist of the Elector at Dresden. His next teachers were
his brother Andreas Kuhnau, Alexander Hering,[38] and Vincenzo
Albrici. In 1680 the plague broke out at Dresden, and Kuhnau returned
to his parents. He then went to Zittau with a certain Erhard Titius,
who had been _Praefectus_ at the Kreuzschule, Dresden, and received
help from the court organist, Moritz Edelmann, also from the
"celebrated" Weise. A motet of Kuhnau's was given at Zittau under his
direction. After the death of Titius, Kuhnau resided for a time in the
house of J.J. von Hartig, judge at Zittau. In 1682 he went to Leipzig,
where D. Scherzer endeavoured to obtain for him the post of organist
at St. Thomas'; Kühnel, however, was appointed. The latter died in
1684, and was succeeded by Kuhnau, who in 1700 also became cantor of
St. Thomas'. He devoted much of his time to jurisprudence. Among other
things, he wrote a curious satire, entitled _Der musikalische
Quacksalber_, published in 1700. There remain in manuscript,
_Tractatus de tetrachordo_ and _Introductio ad compositionem
musicalem_. Kuhnau had many pupils; we know of two who afterwards
became distinguished men. The one was Christoph Graupner (1683-1760),
who in 1710 became capellmeister at Darmstadt. In 1722, on the death
of Kuhnau, Graupner,[39] who had been prize scholar under him,
presented his testimonials, was examined, and seemed likely to become
cantor as his teacher's successor. Meanwhile, however, John Sebastian
Bach offered himself as candidate, and as Dr. Pepusch before Handel at
Cannons in 1710, so did Graupner retire before his great rival.
Mattheson, in his _Ehren-Pforte_ (p. 410), tells us that "as a
composer for the clavier, Graupner may rank as one of the best of his
time." He wrote suites and sonatas for clavier. Johann Friedrich Fasch
(1688-1758 or 9), the second pupil, soon after leaving Leipzig, where
he had enjoyed Kuhnau's instruction from 1701-7, went to Italy, and on
his return studied for a short time with Graupner. Fasch then filled
various posts, until in 1722 (the very year indeed of Kuhnau's death)
he became capellmeister at Anhalt Zerbst, where he remained until his
death. His son, Carl Friedrich Christian, was the founder of the
Berlin _Singakademie_. In 1756 Emanuel Bach had something to do with
Fasch's appointment as clavecinist to Frederick the Great. The father,
who was then seventy years of age, and who, like old Sebastian Bach,
lived with the fear of God before his eyes, opposed the wish of his
son to enter the service of the infidel king. Emanuel, who wished the
younger Fasch to come to Berlin, wrote to the father to say "that in
the land over which Frederick the Great ruled, one could believe what
one liked; that the king himself was certainly not religious, but on
that very account esteemed everyone alike." Bach offered to take young
Fasch into his house, and to preserve him as much as possible from
temptation. With regard to Graupner, it would be interesting to know
whether in any of his sonatas (the autographs of which are, we
believe, at Darmstadt) he worked at all on Kuhnau's lines. And with
regard to Fasch, one would like to know whether he ever conversed with
Emanuel Bach about his father, who taught him theory, and about Johann
Kuhnau, his father's renowned teacher. It is from such by-paths of
history that one sometimes learns more than from statements showing
how son descended from sire, and how pupils were directly influenced
by their teachers.

But it is as a musician that we are now concerned with Kuhnau, and, in
the first place, as the composer of the earliest known sonata for the
clavier. In 1695 he published at Leipzig--

"Sieben Partien aus dem Re, Mi, Fa, oder Terzia minore eines jedweden
Toni, benebenst einer _Sonata_ aus dem B. Denen Liebhabern dieses
Instrumenten zu gar besondern Vergnügen aufgesetzet." That is--

Seven Partitas based on the Re, Mi, Fa, or minor third of each mode,
together with a Sonata in B flat, for the especial gratification of
lovers of this instrument.

With respect to this sonata, Kuhnau remarks in his preface: "I have
added at the end a Sonata in B flat, which will please amateurs; for
why should not such things be attempted on the clavier as well as on
other instruments?" In such modest fashion was ushered into the world
the first sonata for clavier, or, at any rate, the earliest with which
we are acquainted.[40]

Mattheson, in _Das neu eröffnete Orchester_ (1713), speaks about the
_revival_ of clavier sonatas, so that it is not quite certain whether
that B flat Sonata was actually the first.[41] During the seventeenth
century, sonatas were written for various instruments, with a figured
bass for the cembalo.

It will, of course, be interesting to trace the influences acting upon
Kuhnau. They were of two kinds: the one, Italian; the other, German.
Corelli deserves first mention; and next, the Italian organist and
composer, Vincenzo Albrici,[42] capellmeister to the Elector of Saxony
from 1664-88, and afterwards organist of St. Thomas', Leipzig, who is
known to have encouraged Kuhnau when young, and to have helped him to
learn the Italian language. But German influence must also have been
strong. Of Froberger special mention will be made later on. There was
one man, Diderich Becker, who published sonatas for violins and bass
already in 1668, and these, if we mistake not, must have been well
known to Kuhnau. Apart from the character of the music, the title of
the work, _Musikalische Frülings Früchte_, and the religious style of
the preface, remind one of Kuhnau's "Frische Früchte," also of his
preface to the "Bible" Sonatas. It is curious to find the quaint
expression "unintelligent birds" used first by Becker, and afterwards
by Kuhnau.

Let us describe briefly the above-mentioned B flat Sonata. The first
movement is in common time, but the composer gave it no heading. It is
generally supposed (Becker, Rimbault, Pauer) to be an Allegro;
_moderato_ might well be added, for the stately, Handelian-like (the
anachronism must be excused) music will scarcely bear a rapid _tempo_.
The movement opens with an eight-bar phrase, closing on the dominant.
Then the music, evolved from previous material, passes rapidly through
various related keys. After this modulation section there is a cadence
to F major, and in this, the dominant key, something like a new
subject appears, though it is closely allied to the first. A return is
soon made to the principal key, but there is no repetition of the
opening theme. After a cadence ending on the tonic (B flat), and two
coda-like bars, comes a fugal movement, still in the same key. The
vigorous subject, the well-contrasted counterpoint, the interesting
episodes, and many attractive details help one to forget the monotony
of key so prevalent in the days in which this sonata was written.
This, and indeed other fugues of Kuhnau show strong foreshadowings of
Handel and Bach; of this matter, however, more anon. The counterpoint
to the third entry of the subject is evolved from the opening subject
of the sonata. The third movement consists of a fine Adagio in E flat,
in the key of the subdominant and in three-four time. Then follows a
short Allegro in three-four time, of polyphonic character. At the
close of the movement Kuhnau has written the opening chords of the
first movement with the words _Da Capo_. A similar indication is to be
found in one of the "Frische Früchte" Sonatas. This repetition, also
the third movement leading directly to the fourth, and the thematic
connection mentioned above, would seem to show that the composer
regarded the various sections of his sonata as parts of a whole.

In addition, Kuhnau wrote thirteen sonatas. The "Frische Clavier
Früchte," or "Sieben Suonaten von guter Invention u. Manier auf dem
Clavier zu spielen," were published in 1696, and later editions in
1710 and 1724. In a quaint preface the composer tells us that in
naming his "Fresh Fruits" "sonatas," he kept in mind all kinds of
_inventiones_ and changes (Veränderungen) by which so-called sonatas
are superior to mere partitas. Already a century before this preface
was written, Praetorius had distinguished between two classes of
instrumental music: the one, grave; the other, gay. The composer has
also a word to say about the graces or ornaments, the "sugar which
sweetens the fruits." In modern reprints of Kuhnau the sugar is
sometimes forgotten.[43] These "Frische Früchte" were followed by six
"Bible" Sonatas in 1700. The former, both as regards form and
contents, are remarkable. Kuhnau was a man of deeper thought and
loftier conception than Emanuel Bach, but he was fettered by fugal
forms,[44] and was fighting against them much in the same spirit in
which Beethoven, a century later, fought against sonata-form, in the
most general sense of that term. Beethoven was not only the more
gifted, but he profited by the experiments of his predecessors, and he
enjoyed the advantage of a vastly improved technique; Haydn, Mozart,
Clementi, and others were the stepping-stones by which he rose to
higher things. Kuhnau's attempts at sonata writing were bold, often
rugged; and his experiments in programme-music, extraordinary. The
latter were soon forgotten, while the clever, clear-formed sonatas of
Emanuel Bach served as a gratification to the age in which he lived,
and as guides to the composers who followed him. The "Frische
Früchte," standing between Corelli and Emanuel Bach, are of interest.
The fugal element is still strong; and we find, not so much the smooth
style of Corelli as the vigorous style of Froberger and other
composers of North Germany. In character of subject-matter and in form
there is decided advance as compared with the B flat Sonata. Kuhnau
still seems rather limited in figures, and therefore repeats
himself;[45] then again his movements do not always show gradation of
interest. Their order and number are, indeed, perplexing, and not
always satisfactory. The 2nd Sonata, in D, for instance, commences
with a fine Allegro, followed first by a short Adagio, commencing in
the relative minor, and intermixed with short presto passages, and
then by a lively movement in six-eight time. These three would form an
admirable sonata, yet the composer does not end here. There is still
another short Adagio, and a concluding movement; and in spite of some
fine passages, these appendages form a decided anti-climax. Similar
instances are to be found in the other sonatas.

Now for a few words concerning their form. Some of the opening
movements (for instance, those of Nos. 1, 2) are practically based on
fugue-form, with which, by the way, sonata-form is allied.

The first movement of No. 4, in C minor, is of interest, both in its
resemblances to, and differences from, modern sonata-form. It has
_four_ sections:--

     _a._ Eleven bars, beginning and ending in C minor, and
     containing a characteristic theme.

     _b._ Eleven bars, beginning in E flat (_i.e._ relative major
     of opening key) and closing in G minor (_i.e._ key of minor
     dominant). It contains a theme rhythmically allied to the
     principal theme. _This section is repeated._

     _c._ Nine-and-a-half bars, opening in C minor, and passing
     to, and closing in E flat. It contains imitative passages
     evolved from the principal theme.

     _d._ Exact repetition of first section, only with a close on
     the major chord.

The last movement of the 6th Sonata, in B flat, offers a still more
striking resemblance to sonata-form; the various sections are better
balanced; the middle or development section (with its close strettos)
is particularly noticeable; also the recapitulation, which is not
literal, as in the above example. The slow movements--occasionally
very short--follow no particular plan. The fugal element is always
more or less present, but some of the other movements have somewhat of
a suite character; No. 6, indeed, opens with a _Ciaccona_. There is a
certain formality about Kuhnau's music, and, for reasons already
mentioned, he is occasionally monotonous. But there is an independent
spirit running through his sonatas, and a desire to escape from the
trammels of tradition which are quite refreshing. And there is a
nobility in the style and skill in the workmanship which remind us of
the great Bach. There are, indeed, resemblances to Bach, also to
Handel. Scheibe, in his _Critischer Musikus_, mentions Kuhnau, in
conjunction with Keiser, Telemann, and Handel, as one of the greatest
composers of the eighteenth century. The mention of Kuhnau together
with Handel deserves note. The constant discoveries which are being
made of Handel's indebtedness to other composers suggest the thought
that perhaps Kuhnau was also laid under contribution. No one, we
think, can hear the "Bible" Sonatas without coming to the conclusion
that Handel was acquainted with the works of his illustrious
predecessor. We will just place side by side three passages from the
"Bible" Sonatas of Kuhnau with three from a harpsichord suite of
Handel--

[Music illustration: "Bible" Sonata, No. 2. KUHNAU.]

[Music illustration: Collection I., Suite 7, Ouverture.
HANDEL.]

[Music illustration: "Bible" Sonata, No. 6. KUHNAU.]

[Music illustration: Collection I., Suite 7, Passacaille.
HANDEL.]

[Music illustration: "Bible" Sonata, No. 6. KUHNAU.]

[Music illustration: Collection I., Suite 7, Passacaille.
HANDEL.]

It should be noticed that the three Handel quotations are all from the
same suite. We do not mean to infer that the above passages from
Handel are plagiarisms, but merely that the Kuhnau music was,
unconsciously, in his mind when he wrote them.

C.F. Becker, in his _Hausmusik in Deutschland_, has suggested that
these sonatas were known also to Mozart, and begs us to look on this
picture, the opening of a Vivace movement in Kuhnau's 6th Sonata:--

[Music illustration]

and on this, from _The Magic Flute_:--

[Music illustration]

Faisst, however, justly observes that though the harmonic basis is the
same in both, with Kuhnau the under-part is melody, whereas with
Mozart it is the reverse. He also accuses Becker--and justly, as
readers may see by turning to the passage in the _Zauberflöte_--of not
having represented the passage quite honestly. Reminiscence hunters
need to be very careful.

In these sonatas, as compared with the one in B flat, the thematic
material is of greater importance; and so, too, in the slow movements
the writing is simpler and more melodious.

The rapid rate at which they were composed deserves mention. Kuhnau
seems to have had the ready pen of a Schubert. In the preface to these
"Frische Früchte" he says: "I wrote these seven sonatas straight off,
though attending at the same time to my duties (he was _juris
practicus_, also organist of St. Thomas'), so that each day one was
completed. Thus, this work, which I commenced on the Monday of one
week, was brought to an end by the Monday of the following week."

Kuhnau's second (and, so far as we know, last) set of sonatas bears
the following title:--

Musikalische Vorstellung
Einiger
Biblischer Historien
In 6 Sonaten
Auf dem Klavier zu spielen
Allen Liebhabern zum Vergnügen
Verfüget
von
Johann Kuhnauen.

That is--

Musical Representation
of some
Bible Stories
In 6 Sonatas
To be performed on the Clavier
For the gratification of amateurs
Arranged
by
Johann Kuhnau.

Kuhnau was not the originator of programme-music. In the so-called
_Queen Elizabeth Virginal Book_,[46] in the Fitzwilliam Library, there
is a Fantasia by John Munday, who died 1630, in which there is given a
description of weather both fair and foul. Again, Froberger, who died
in 1667, is said to have been able, _on the clavier_, to describe
incidents, ideas, and feelings; there is, indeed, in existence a
battle-piece of his. And then Buxtehude (_d._ 1707) wrote a set of
seven Suites for clavier, in which he is said to have represented the
nature and characteristics of the planets; these are, unfortunately,
lost. With Froberger's music, at any rate, Kuhnau was familiar. In a
long preface to these Bible stories, the composer refers to the
subject of programme-music. He reminds us how from ancient times
musicians have tried to rival the masters of rhetoric, sculpture, and
painting in terms of their own art. And he expressly refers to
programme pieces, and even to sonatas by the "distinguished
Froberger[47] and other excellent composers." The essence of his long,
elaborate, and, at times, somewhat confused argument (it must be
remembered that he was discussing a very difficult subject; and, also,
that he was the first to write about it) is as follows:--He believes
music capable by itself of producing wonderful effects, but in special
cases, requiring the assistance of words. Music, he tells us, can
express sadness or joy; for that no words are necessary. When,
however, some individual--as in his sonatas--is referred to, words
become essential, _i.e._ if one is to distinguish between the
lamentation of a sad Hezekiah, a weeping Peter, or a mourning
Jeremiah. In other language, words are necessary to render the emotion
definite. Kuhnau gives a quaint illustration of the absolute necessity
of words in certain cases; and that illustration is of particular
interest, inasmuch as it points to still earlier, and possibly,
clavier sonatas. "I remember," says our author, "hearing a few years
ago a sonata composed by a celebrated Chur-Fürst capellmeister, to
which he had given the title, 'La Medica.' After--so far as I can
recall--describing the whines of the patient and of his relations, the
running of the latter to the doctor, the pouring forth of their
sorrow, there came, finally, a Gigue, under which stood the words,
'The patient is progressing favourably, but has not quite recovered
his health.' At this some mocked, and were of opinion that, had it
been in his power, the author might well have depicted the joy at a
perfect recovery. So far, however, as I could judge, there was good
reason for adding words to the music. The sonata commenced in D minor;
in the Gigue there was constant modulation towards G minor. At the
final close, in D, the ear was not satisfied, and expected the closing
cadence in G." In this wise was the partial recovery expressed in
tones, and explained in words.

Except for the unmistakable seriousness of the author, this
description might be taken as a joke, just as in one of the "Bible"
Sonatas the deceit of Jacob is expressed by a deceptive cadence; but
such extreme examples serve to emphasise the author's declaration
that, at times, words are indispensable. Before noticing the sonatas
themselves, one more quotation in reference to the same subject must
be made from this interesting preface. The humblest scholar, Kuhnau
tells us, knows the rule forbidding consecutive perfect consonances,
and he speaks of certain strict _censores_ who expose the clumsiness
of _musical poets_ who have refused to be bound by that rule. "But,"
says Kuhnau, in lawyer-like language: "_Cessante ratione prohibitionis
cessat ipsa prohibitio_." The term _musical poets_ (the italics are
ours) is a remarkable one; Kuhnau himself, of course, was one of them.

Philipp Spitta, in his _Life of J.S. Bach_, devotes one short
paragraph to the Bible stories, and gives one or two brief quotations
from the second; but they certainly deserve a longer notice.

The 1st Sonata is entitled "The Fight between David and Goliath." It
opens with a bold section, intended, as we learn from a
superscription, to represent _the bravado of Goliath_. The giant's
characteristic theme, on which the whole section is built, is as
follows:--

[Music illustration]

Then follows a section in A minor. A Chorale represents the prayer to
God of the terrified Israelites, while the palpitating quaver
accompaniment stands for the terror which seized them at sight of the
giant; the harmonies are very striking. This Chorale setting should be
compared with one by Bach (Spitta's _Life of Bach_, English edition,
vol. i. p. 216), said to owe its existence to the influence of Georg
Böhm, organist at Lüneburg at the commencement of the eighteenth
century. Next comes a little pastoral movement (C major, three-four
time) expressive of David's courage and of his confidence in God. Then
a tone-picture is given of the encounter; the heavy tread of the
Philistine is heard in the bass, while semiquaver passages, evolved
from a figure in the preceding movement, evidently portray the
spirited youth. One realistic bar scarcely needs the explanation given
by Kuhnau that it is the slinging of the stone which smote the
Philistine in his forehead; and the same may be said of the "Goliath
falls" in the following bar:--

[Music illustration: Il combáttere frà l'uno e l'altro, e la loro
contésa. Vien tirata la selce colla frombola nella fronte del
gigante. Casca Goliath.]

This section, limited to sixteen bars, is not only an early, but a
notable specimen of programme-music; it is realistic, but not in the
least ridiculous. Rapid passages with points of imitation tell of the
flight of the Philistines. A bright movement (still in C) bears the
superscription, "The joy of the Israelites at their victory"; in it
there is an allusion to the pastoral movement. Maidens then advance,
with timbrels and instruments of music, to meet the victor, and the
sonata concludes with a stately Minuet, similar in character to the
Minuet in the Overture to Handel's _Samson_; the people are dancing
and singing for joy.

The 2nd Sonata presents to us a very different picture. Here we have
the melancholy of Saul driven away by means of music. There are a few
realistic effects, such as the paroxysms of madness of Saul, and the
casting of the javelin; but the subject is one which readily lends
itself to real musical treatment. The music of the 1st Sonata was
principally objective; here, however, it is principally subjective. In
the first part of the work the music depicts, now the sadness, now the
rage of the monarch. The opening is worthy of Bach, and presents,
indeed, a foreshadowing of the opening of the 16th Prelude of the
"Well-tempered Clavier." Spitta mentions the fine fugue, with the
subject standing for the melancholy, the counter-subject for the
madness of the king; and he justly remarks that these two images of
Saul "contain the poetical germ of a truly musical development." The
"dimly brooding" theme of the fugue brings to one's mind the "Kyrie
eleison" fugue of Mozart's _Requiem_; also the theme of the Allegro of
Beethoven's Sonata in C minor (Op. 111), notwithstanding the fact that
Kuhnau's is slow and sad, but Beethoven's, fast and fiery. Here is the
first half of the former--

[Music illustration]

Let not our readers be deceived by the word "fugue." The movement is
no mere formal scholastic piece of writing such as one might expect;
the preluding of David on his harp, the "javelin" episode, the
paroxysms of rage give to it rather the character of a free fantasia.
One word with regard to the paroxysm passages. We quoted above a
sentence from the preface respecting the violation of the rule
respecting consecutive consonances by certain "poet musicians."
Kuhnau, under this plural mask, was, as we have mentioned, certainly
referring to himself, for in another part of the preface he specially
calls attention to the consecutive fifths by which he depicts the
disordered mind of King Saul. This first movement, opening in G minor,
ends on the chord of G major. We now come to a movement (B flat)
entitled "The Refreshing Melody from David's Harp." The following is
part of David's soothing theme:--

[Music illustration]

At first it is not heard in its entirety. The sweet singer of Israel
plays it, or sometimes only the first two bars, in various keys, and
with varied harmonisation, as if watching the king and trying the
effect on him of different modulations. Besides in the principal key,
it appears several times, and in succession, in the relative minor,
then in the minor key of the supertonic. The key of the subdominant
enters with refreshing effect; after that, a return is made to the
principal key, which continues until the close of the movement.
Between each delivery of the theme, occur passages similar to the
following:--

[Music illustration]

as if to denote the restlessness of the king. And as the character of
the music, especially towards the close, suggests _piano_ and
_pianissimo_, it would seem as though intended to express the gradual
healing power of the music. As a piece of abstract music, the movement
appears long, but not if the dramatic situation be kept well in mind.
At length the sounds of the harp cease, and a closing, peaceful, and
dignified movement in G minor tells of Saul's now tranquil state of
mind.

The 3rd Sonata, entitled "The Marriage of Jacob," opens with a
delightful Gigue; over it stands the superscription, "The joy of the
family of Laban at the arrival of their relation Jacob." The beginning
of the second section has, as usual, the subject inverted. The music
is gay and sparkling. Then comes a section illustrative of Jacob's
seven years' service for a wife. The music expresses effort and
fatigue, but by way of musical contrast sprightly bars intervene from
time to time, to represent happy moments when the lovers meet. Further
on we have the bridal-song of the companions of Rachel: a short,
quaint, and delicate movement in minor and in triple time. It
commences thus:--

[Music illustration]

A short section follows, full of rapid semiquaver passages and points
of imitation (such a mode of procedure is frequently adopted by the
composer); and then comes a sudden change in the character of the
music. No _tempo_ is marked, but, evidently, it must not be rapid. It
is a tone-picture of the deception practised by Laban upon Jacob when
he substituted Leah in place of Rachel. At first, it is a free
recitative. A quotation of a few bars will give a good idea of the
extraordinary harmonies and rhythmical figures:--

[Music illustration]

And again--

[Music illustration]

The Fugue, short and vigorous, has a characteristic theme:--

[Music illustration]

A new section expresses Jacob's happiness until he discovers the
deceit practised on him. The exact moment of displeasure is indicated
by a superscription; the latter, however, was scarcely necessary--the
notes speak for themselves. For there are reminiscences of the Laban
recitative, of the fugue theme, and also (in augmentation) of the
counter-subject. This is, indeed, an early instance of the employment
of representative themes. The composer then naïvely orders the section
descriptive of the wedding festivities to be repeated, to illustrate
the second marriage of Jacob with the beloved Rachel.

The 4th Sonata deals with Hezekiah's mortal sickness and recovery. It
is shorter than the preceding ones, and of simpler structure. It opens
with slow, sad music: the prophet of God has summoned the king to
prepare for death. His ardent prayer to heaven is naturally expressed
by a well-known Chorale, supported by most effective polyphonic
harmony. After a short thematic working of a figure from the Chorale,
the latter is submitted to fresh treatment: the movement (in six-four
time) somewhat resembles the old Corrente. The sonata concludes with a
lively movement in binary form. It is intended to depict the king's
joy at his recovery. There are a few bars _adagio_ in each section:
Hezekiah recalls the past. This is the only one of the sonatas which,
as abstract music, would be satisfactory without any programme.

No. 5 is entitled "Gideon, the Saviour of Israel." From a musical
point of view it is the least interesting of the set, yet it contains
some curious programme effects. It will be remembered that a sign
from heaven was given to Gideon: the fleece was to be covered with
dew, but the ground to remain dry; the next night, however, the order
of things was reversed. Kuhnau expresses the latter by giving a theme
in _contrary motion_. This may almost be described as punning in
music. The composer, however, meant it seriously; from the tone of his
preface, and the narration, with comments, which he has prefixed to
each sonata, in addition to the explanatory words over the music
itself, it is clear that his aim was to elucidate and intensify the
Bible stories by means of his art. He was a man, apparently, of deep
religious belief.

The battle-picture is a curiosity, but, as music, of little value. The
flight of the Midianites is depicted in the following primitive
manner:--

[Music illustration]

The 6th (and last) Sonata bears the title, "The Tomb of Jacob." We
have, at first, mournful music: the sons of the Patriarch are standing
round the deathbed. At length Jacob dies, and they "ponder over the
consequences of the sad event." A quiet, expressive theme

[Music illustration]

is then treated fugally, and with marked effect. Then comes the
journey from Egypt to the land of Canaan. The bass, progressing in
quavers, expresses motion. From time to time a curious syncopated
semiquaver figure is heard in the upper part: it may be intended to
represent sobbing. The following quotation, including one of these
"sobbing" passages, will give a good idea of the character of this
section--

[Music illustration]

A short, solemn phrase is headed, "The Burial of Israel." Then a
finely worked-out fugal section depicts the great grief of the
bystanders. It is in four parts, but in one place the addition of a
fifth part and stretto treatment render the feeling of grief more
intense. A peaceful closing section in the major key and in triple
time expresses the consoled minds of the survivors.

From this _résumé_ of these "Bible" Sonatas, it will be seen that they
have nothing in common with the ordinary sonata of the time in which
they were written. They were bold attempts at programme-music; and,
as we have already said, the form is entirely determined by the
subject-matter.

In the old edition of these "Bible" Sonatas, in addition to the
preface of which we have made mention, Kuhnau has related the Bible
stories in his own characteristic language. We give a translation of
the first two, as specimens.


I. _The Combat between David and Goliath_

The portrait given in Scripture of great Goliath is something quite
uncommon: a monster of nature appears, a giant, tall as a tree. Six
ells will not suffice to measure his length; the high helmet of brass
which he wears on his head makes him appear still taller; and the
scaly coat of mail, the greaves of brass placed about his legs,
together with the enormously heavy shield which he carries, also his
strong spear, tipped with iron, like unto a weaver's beam,
sufficiently show that he is of mighty strength, and that all these
exceedingly heavy loads do not inconvenience him in the slightest. If
the mere description of this man creates fear, how much greater will
not the terror of the poor Israelites be when the living image of this
their enemy appears before them. For he stands before them in his
brazen armour, rivalling the sun in brilliancy, makes with the
rustling of his armour a terrible din, and snorts and bellows as if he
would devour them at one mouthful; his words sound in their ears like
dreadful thunder. He holds in contempt his enemies and their equipage,
and demands that a hero be sent out to him from their camp; this
combat is to show whose shoulders shall bear the yoke of bondage. By
this means he imagines that the sceptre will soon pass from the
Israelites to the Philistines. But a miracle is about to happen! When
courage fails all the heroes of Israel, when the giant has only to
show himself, to cause them to flee, when, also, the terrible warrior
continues, according to his custom, to pour contempt on the enemy,
David, a slim, courageous stripling, a simple shepherd-boy, then
appears, and offers to fight the bully. He is accused of rashness.
This, however, troubles David but little; he adheres firmly to his
heroic resolution, and seeks audience of King Saul. By God's help, he
had fought with a bear and a lion who had taken from him a lamb, had
snatched the prey from the jaws of these cruel beasts, and, further,
had slain them. Thus he hoped would end the struggle with this bear
and lion of a Philistine. Strongly relying upon God, he advances
towards the powerful giant, with a sling, and with some specially
selected pebbles. Then the Philistines think to themselves, "Now will
the great hero blow away the enemy like a speck of dust, or kill him
as he would a fly." All at once Goliath becomes terrible in his rage,
and raves, uttering frightful oaths at David, declaring that he is
treated as if he were a dog, and that David comes to him with
shepherd's staff, and not with weapons worthy of a warrior. David,
however, is fearless. He relies on his God, and prophesies to the
enemy that, though without sword, spear, or shield, he will cast
Goliath to the ground; that he will cut off his head, and leave his
carcase as food for birds and wild beasts. Hereupon David rushes at
the Philistine, wounds him in the forehead with a sharp stone cast
from his sling, so that Goliath falls to the ground. Before he has
time to rise, David, making use of his opportunity, slays him with his
own sword, and bears away from the field of battle, the hewn-off head
as a trophy of victory. As formerly the Israelites fled before the
snorting and stamping of the great Goliath, so now flee the
Philistines in consequence of the victory of young David. Thus they
give opportunity to the Israelites to pursue them, and to fill the
roads with the corpses of the slain fugitives. It is easy to imagine
how great must have been the joy of the victorious Hebrews. In proof
of it, we learn how women came forth from the cities of Judea, with
drum, fiddle, and other musical instruments, to meet the victors, and
sang alternately: "Saul hath slain his thousands, but David his ten
thousands."

Thus the sonata expresses--

1. The stamping and defying of Goliath.

2. The terror of the Israelites, and their prayer to God at sight of
the terrible enemy.

3. The courage of David, his desire to humble the pride of the giant,
and his childlike trust in God.

4. The contest of words between David and Goliath, and the contest
itself, in which Goliath is wounded in the forehead by a stone, so
that he falls to the ground and is slain.

5. The flight of the Philistines, and how they are pursued by the
Israelites, and slain by the sword.

6. The exultation of the Israelites over their victory.

7. The praise of David, sung by the women in alternate choirs.

8. And, finally, the general joy, expressing itself in hearty dancing
and leaping.


II. _David curing Saul by means of Music_

Among the heavy blows dealt to us at times by God, for holy reasons,
are to be counted bodily sicknesses. Of these one can in a real sense
say that they cause pain. Hence the invention of that physician of
Padua was by no means ridiculous, who thus represented in
picture-form, over his house-door, the various sicknesses: a man
attacked by many dogs and gesticulating wildly, through pain. To each
of these dogs was given a name, and each acted accordingly. The dog,
Gout, was biting the man's foot; the dog, Pleurisy, his loins; Stone,
his kidneys; Colic, his belly, and so on. Finally, a great sheep-dog,
representing daily fever, had thrown the man to the ground. The
inventor could easily have known (for that he did not require any
special experience) that sicknesses act upon men in a manner not less
gentle. By the exercise of patience, pain can at length be conquered,
although the soul, so intimately combined with the body, must feel it
not a little. But when the soul is attacked by sickness, patience
always gives way; for bodily, cannot in any way be compared with
mental, suffering. Inner anguish shows itself in restless gestures.
Scripture takes us into a lazaretto of such afflicted persons. Among
others, we meet with a royal and singular patient. Saul is his name.
Of him we read: "The spirit of the Lord departed from Saul, and he was
vexed by an evil spirit from the Lord." Where God is absent, and the
Evil One present, there must dwell all manner of evil. The hateful
aspect of this man in his paroxysms of pain can readily be imagined.
His eyes turn the wrong way, and sparks of fire, so to speak, dart out
one after the other; his face is so disfigured, that human features
can scarce be recognised; his heart casts forth, as it were, a wild,
stormy sea of foam. Distrust, jealousy, envy, hatred, and fear burst
forth from him. Especially does the javelin, constantly flying from
his hand, show that his heart rages fiercely with anger. To sum up:
his soul-sickness is so great that the marks of hellish tortures can
be clearly traced. At lucid intervals (_lucidis intervallis_) or quiet
hours, the tortured king realises his indescribable evil; and he
therefore seeks after a man who can cure him. But under such
extraordinary circumstances can help be hoped for? From human arts,
Saul could not expect any salvation. But God sometimes works wonders
among men. So he sends to him a noble musician, the excellent David,
and puts uncommon power into his harp-playing. For when Saul, so to
speak, is sweating in the hot bath of sadness, and David plays only
one little piece, the king is at once refreshed, and brought into a
state of repose.

Thus the sonata represents--

1. Saul's sadness and madness.

2. David's refreshing harp-playing, and

3. Tranquillity restored to the king's mind.




CHAPTER III

BERNARDO PASQUINI: A CONTEMPORARY OF J. KUHNAU


In the year 1637 was born at Massa de Valnevola (Tuscany) Bernardo
Pasquini,[48] who is said to have been one of the most distinguished
performers on the organ and also the harpsichord. He studied under
Loreto Vittori and Antonio Cesti, but his real master was evidently
Palestrina, whose scores young Bernardo studied with fervent zeal. He
was appointed organist of Santa Maria Maggiore, Rome, and, according
to the monument erected to his memory by his nephew, Bernardo
Ricordati, and his pupil, Bernardo Gaffi, in the church of San Lorenzo
in Lucina of that city, the composer was for a time in the service of
Battista, Prince Borghese. The inscription runs thus:--

"D.O.M.

"Bernardo Pasquino Hetrusco e Massa Vallis Nevolæ Liberianæ Basilicæ
S.P.Q.R. Organedo viro probitate vitæ et moris lepore laudatissimo qui
Excell. Jo. Bap. Burghesii Sulmonensium Principis clientela et
munificentia honestatus musicis modulis apud omnes fere Europæ
Principes nominis gloriam adeptus anno sal. MDCCX. die XXII. Novembris
S. Ceciliæ sacro ab Humanis excessit ut cujus virtutes et studia
prosecutus fuerat in terris felicius imitaretur in coelis. Bernardus
Gaffi discipulus et Bernardus Ricordati ex sorore nepos præceptori et
avunculo amantissimo moerentes monumentum posuere. Vixit annos LXXII.
menses XI. dies XIV."

Pasquini enjoyed reputation as a dramatic composer, and the success of
an opera of his performed at the Teatro Capranica, Rome, during the
festivities in honour of Queen Christina of Sweden (1679), is
specially noted; or, according to Mendel, he wrote two successful
operas, one for the opening of the Teatro Capranica, and a second for
the festivals. He also wrote an oratorio: _La Sete di Christo_.
Pasquini died in the year 1710.

But, it will be asked, Why is he mentioned in a book which is
concerned with the sonata? It is known that he was a skilful performer
on the harpsichord, and some Toccatas and Suites of his appear to have
been published in a collection of clavier music at Amsterdam in 1704.
Fétis, in his _Biographie Universelle des Musiciens_, even states that
he wrote sonatas for _gravicembalo_. Here are his words:--

"Landsberg possédait un recueil manuscrit original de pièces d'orgue
de Pasquini, dont j'ai extrait deux toccates, composées en 1697. Ce
manuscrit est indiqué d'une manière inexacte dans le catalogue de la
bibliothèque de ce professeur (Berlin, 1859) de cette manière:
Pasquini (Bernardo) _Sonate pei Gravicembalo_ (libro prezioso). Volume
grosso _E scritto di suo (sua) mano in questo libro_. Ce même
catalogue indiqué aussi de Bernard Pasquini: _Saggi di
contrapunto_--Anno 1695. Volume forte. _E scritto di suo (sua) mano in
questo libro_. Malheureusement ces précieux ouvrages sont passés en
Amérique avec toute la bibliothèque musicale du professeur Landsberg."

Whether these precious volumes actually went to America seems
doubtful. Anyhow both volumes are now safely housed in the Berlin
Royal Library. It may be mentioned that the first contains no real
sonata: its contents consist principally of suites, toccatas,
variations, and fugues.

In the story of Italian instrumental music, Pasquini is little more
than a name. The fourth volume of A.W. Ambros' _History of Music_
concludes thus:--"So ist uns von dem gerühmten Meister nichts
geblieben, als seine Name u. seine stolze Grabschrift in San Lorenzo
in Lucina." (Thus of the famous master (_i.e._ Pasquini) nothing
remains except his name and his proud monument in San Lorenzo in
Lucina). The writer of the article "D. Scarlatti," in Sir George
Grove's _Dictionary of Music and Musicians_, remarks that the famous
harpsichord player and composer "has been called a pupil of Bernardo
Pasquini." But he considers this "most improbable, seeing that
Pasquini was of the school of Palestrina, and wrote entirely in the
contrapuntal style, whereas Domenico Scarlatti's chief interest is
that he was the first composer who studied the peculiar
characteristics of the free style of the harpsichord."

Of Pasquini as a performer on the harpsichord, Mattheson relates "how
on his visit to Rome he found Corelli playing the violin, Pasquini the
harpsichord, and Gattani the lute, all in the orchestra of the
Opera-house." And, once more, in the notice of Pasquini in the same
dictionary, we are informed that the composer "exercised a certain
influence on German musicians." In C.F. Weitzmann's _Geschichte des
Clavierspiels_ there is an interesting reference to some Toccatas of
Pasquini published in "Toccates et suites pour le clavecin de MM.
Pasquini, Paglietti et Gaspard Kerle, Amsterdam, Roger, 1704." A
Toccata was published (most probably one of those in the above work)
by I. Walsh in his

Second Collection
of
Toccates, Vollentarys and Fugues
made on purpose for the
Organ and Harpsichord
Compos'd by
Pasquini, Polietti
and others
The most Eminent Foreign Authors.

Of Polietti,[49] court organist at Vienna before J.S. Bach was born,
Emil Naumann has, by the way, given an interesting account in an
article "Ein bisher unbekannt gebliebener Vorgänger Seb. Bach's unter
den Italienern" (_Neue Berl. Mus.-Ztg._ Jahrgang 29). The Toccatas of
Pasquini, published by Roger, and a so-called "Sonata,"[50] printed by
Weitzmann in the work just referred to, constitute, we believe, all
that has hitherto appeared in print of this composer.

And yet surely Pasquini may lay claim to a place in the history of
instrumental music and the sonata, for he not only wrote suites, but
also sonatas for the harpsichord, or, to be quite exact, for two
harpsichords. Some, at any rate, of his music is to be found in the
British Museum. There are three volumes (Add. MSS. 31,501-3). On the
fly-leaf of the first is written:--

"Ad Usum Bernardi Felicij Ricordati de Baggiano in Etruria."

Then comes in pencil a note probably made when the volumes came into
the possession of the British Museum:--

"These are original MSS. by the hand of Bernardo Pasquini, 1637-1710,
the greatest organist of Italy in the second half of the 17th century,
and written for his nephew B. Ricordati. They are the only MSS. of
Pasquini known to be in Europe. This vol. is dated at the end, Dec.
3, 1704; at the beginning, May 6, 1703."

And now for its contents. The first piece is a short suite,[51]
consisting of a Tastata (the old term for Prelude), a Corrente and an
Aria; and it shows that Pasquini could write homophonic as well as
polyphonic music. Then follows a piece in the key of D major, headed

     "A due Cembali, 1704, Bernardo Pasquini,"

which consists of three movements. First one commencing with chords,
after which, fugal imitation. Next we have a fugal movement, like the
preceding one, in common time; lastly, one in six-eight time. All
three movements are in the same key. The part for each cembalo is
written on a separate stave, the one below the other. Only the bass
notes are written, and the upper parts are indicated by figures. But
this will be clearer presently, for we shall give one or more
illustrations. At the close of the six-eight movement is written
_fine_, and on the following page another piece begins in C major,
marked merely 2a, commencing thus:--

[Music illustration]

This theme reminds one of Bach's Adagio from the 2nd Organ Concerto--

[Music illustration]

or even Handel's "Along the Monster Atheist strode."[52] The movements
of this second piece are similar in structure and character to those
of the first. Next we have a piece of lighter character in two
movements, and, apparently, for one cembalo: there is, of course, only
one bass part (figured). At the commencement is merely marked _Basso
continuo_. The following piece is headed 3a Sonata (3rd Sonata). It is
in the key of D minor, and it has three movements, all in the same
key. Now, as all the pieces for _two cembali_ in the volume after this
are marked as sonatas, coupled with the fact that before this 3rd
Sonata there are two pieces for two cembali, the latter of which is
marked 2a (second), we may conclude that these two are also sonatas.
The piece for one cembalo between the 2nd and 3rd Sonatas is, as we
have remarked, of lighter character, and was possibly considered a
suite. After the 3rd Sonata comes a fourth, then a _Basso continuo_
(containing, however, by exception, more than one suite), and so on,
alternately, until the 14th Sonata is reached. Then follows the last
piece in the volume. The superscription, "For one _or_ two
cembali,"[53] leads us to believe that the preceding _Basso continuo_
numbers were intended for one cembalo. It should be stated that
movements in binary form are rare among the sonatas, frequent among
the _Basso continuo_ pieces,--another reason for considering the
latter suites.

The structure of the 3rd Sonata[54] is extremely simple. The first,
probably an Allegro moderato, opens with a bold characteristic phrase,
which is repeated in the second bar by the second cembalo; points of
imitation, in fact, continue throughout the movement. At the seventh
bar there is modulation to the dominant, and at the ninth, to the
subdominant, in which the opening theme recurs. A stately antiphonal
passage leads back to the principal key, and the movement concludes
with a cadence such as we find in many a work of Bach's or Handel's.
The Adagio opens with short phrases for each instrument alternately. A
new subject in the relative major is treated in imitative fashion.
After a return to the opening theme, also an allusion to the second
theme, a new figure is introduced, but the movement soon comes to a
close. This slow movement brings to one's mind "The Lord is a Man of
War," and the major section of the duet, "Thou in Thy Mercy," in
Handel's _Israel in Egypt_. The third movement, in structure, much
resembles the first; the music is broad and vigorous. The closing bars
suggest the stringendo passage and presto bars in the coda of the
Scherzo of the "Choral Symphony." Of course it is disappointing to
have only the bass parts for each instrument. The volume, as we have
already stated, was for the use of Ricordati, and probably the uncle
and nephew performed these sonatas together. Musicians will be able to
write out the figured basses, and thus form some idea of the music.
The figures are an outline of what was in the composer's mind; but
these basses, like those of Bach and Handel, so simple, so clear to
the composers who penned them, will always remain more or less a _crux
criticorum_. It will be noticed that the three movements, as in some
of Corelli's sonatas, are all in the same key.

We now give the opening bars of the three movements of the piece for
one or two cembali:--

[Music illustration]

All the other sonatas are more or less after the pattern of the one
given. The other two volumes contain suites, airs with variations,
arias, and a quantity of short figured basses, apparently as studies.

Before closing this short chapter we will add a word or two about
Italian music for the harpsichord at the beginning of the eighteenth
century. A recent writer remarks that "Domenico Scarlatti seems to
spring full-armed into the view of history." But his father, the
renowned opera-writer, Alessandro Scarlatti, wrote music for the
harpsichord, also his pupil, Gaëtano Grieco, who succeeded him as
Professor at the Conservatorio dei poveri di Gesù Cristo (Naples) in
1717. The influence of the master can be clearly traced in the music
of the pupil; and, if one may judge from the simpler character of
Grieco's music[55] as compared with that of D. Scarlatti, he, too, was
a predecessor. Grieco is said to have been born about 1680; D.
Scarlatti was born in 1683; but this, of course, decides nothing as to
the dates of their compositions. The harpsichord music of G. Grieco
has both character and charm, and it is indeed strange that none of
his pieces have been included either in the _Trésor des Pianistes_,
the _Maîtres du Clavecin_, or Pauer's Collections of old music.

This chapter is headed: "A Contemporary of Kuhnau." The latter
published all his known sonatas by the year 1700, while the dates
assigned to the Pasquini sonata volume are, as we have seen, 1703-4.
But at that time Pasquini was over sixty years of age; it is therefore
more than probable that he was really the predecessor of the German
master as a writer of clavier sonatas.




CHAPTER IV

EMANUEL BACH AND SOME OF HIS CONTEMPORARIES


Carl Phillip Emanuel, third son of J.S. Bach, was born at Weimar, 8th
or 14th March, 1714, and died at Hamburg, 14th December, 1788. He
studied composition and clavier-playing with his father. His brother,
Wilhelm Friedemann, his senior by four years, went through a similar
course, but learnt, in addition, the violin under J.G. Graun.
Emanuel's attention, however, was concentrated on the one instrument;
and to this we probably owe the numerous clavier sonatas which he
wrote, and which paved the way for those of Haydn, Mozart, and
Beethoven. In his twenty-first year (1735) Emanuel left his father's
house in order to study jurisprudence at Frankfort-on-the-Oder; three
years later, however, he went to Berlin, and as cembalist entered the
service of Frederick the Great (1740).[56] Already in his father's
house, the young student saw and heard many distinguished musicians;
he himself has told us that no musician of any note passed through
Leipzig without seeking an opportunity to meet his father, so famed as
composer and as performer on the organ and clavier. And again,
afterwards, at the Court of Prussia, he came into contact with the
most notable composers and performers of his day. From among these may
be singled out C.H. Graun (composer of the "Tod Jesu") and Georg
Benda.[57] Graun was already in the service of Frederick when the
latter was only Crown Prince.[58] It would be interesting to learn the
special influences acting upon Emanuel before he published his first
set of sonatas in 1742, but this is scarcely possible. The collection
of symphonies[59] or sonatas published at Leipzig in 1762, mentioned
in our introductory chapter, gives, however, some idea of the music
of that period; and it is possible that many of the numbers were
written before Emanuel Bach published his first works. The "Sammlung
Vermischte Clavierstücke für geübte und ungeübte Spieler," by Georg
Benda, may also be mentioned; it is of great interest, especially the
Sonata in C minor. The character of the music and style of writing for
the instrument constantly remind one of Emanuel Bach. Benda, born in
1721, joined the King of Prussia's Band in 1742, and soon became known
as an experienced performer on the harpsichord. Unfortunately it is
impossible to ascertain the dates of composition of the various pieces
of this collection, and thus to find out whether Benda was an imitator
of Bach or _vice versâ_; the collection itself was only published at
Gotha in 1780.

The Italian taste in music which prevailed at the Prussian Court[60]
had undoubtedly a marked influence on Bach, and one for good. The
severe counterpoint of the North German school and the suave melody of
the Sunny South blended together with happy results.

It is customary to speak _en bloc_ of Emanuel Bach's sonatas; if,
however, the earlier be compared with some of the later ones,
interesting differences may be detected, and developments traced. But
the composer's artistic career, unfortunately, does not show a steady,
regular advance such as we find in J.S. Bach or Beethoven. C.H.
Bitter, his biographer and enthusiastic admirer, has to confess that
he was a practical man, and that he wrote at times to please pupils
and amateurs; while, occasionally, his aim may have been pecuniary
gain.

Of his early period, we shall notice the "Sei Sonate per Cembalo,"
dedicated to Frederick II. of Prussia (1742), and the Würtemberg
Sonatas, published in 1745. Of his middle period, the "Sechs Sonaten
fürs Clavier mit veränderten Reprisen," Berlin, 1760, and the "Sechs
leichte Sonaten," Leipzig, 1766. And of his latter period, the six
collections of "Sonaten für Kenner u. Liebhaber," published at Leipzig
between 1779 and 1787. With regard, however, to the last-named, it
must be remembered that some are of a comparatively early date. Thus
the 3rd Sonata of the 3rd Collection, one of the finest of Bach's
works, was composed in 1763, while the collection itself only appeared
in 1781. But a table of dates will be given further on.

If some of the best sonatas written after 1760 be compared with those
of 1742, there will be found in the later works more character in the
subject-matter, also movements of greater length. Practice, too, had
improved the composer's style of writing. The later Bach did not
return to the principal theme in such a crude, nay, lawless, fashion
as the following:--

[Music illustration: (Frederick) Sonata 1. First Movement.]

In these "Frederick" Sonatas there is as yet no tendency to enharmonic
and other surprise modulation such as Bach afterwards displayed. Then
as to technique, we find here octaves and large chords comparatively
rare,[61] while scale passages are more restricted. Like Beethoven,
Emanuel Bach seized hold of additional notes to the keyboard. In 1742
his highest and lowest notes, apparently, were--

[Music illustration]

but afterwards--

[Music illustration]

In the introductory chapter we noted the change with regard to the
number of movements of a sonata which took place between 1683, when
Corelli published his first sonatas, and 1740, when E. Bach composed
his first set. Instances were given of sonatas in three movements by
Corelli, but with that composer _four_ was the normal number; with E.
Bach, _three_. This change came about in great measure through the
concerto. From E. Bach, we are able to show the links in the chain of
development: Bach, Haydn, Mozart, Beethoven; but though between
Kuhnau, the first writer of sonatas for the clavier, and Bach, B.
Pasquini wrote, as mentioned in the last chapter, sonatas in three
movements, yet we have no knowledge that Bach was acquainted with
them. Kuhnau, in fact, however interesting a phenomenon in the musical
firmament, is not necessary to explain the appearance of Bach. Joh.
Sebastian Bach was undoubtedly acquainted with the "Bible" Sonatas. He
must have admired them, but he may have been afraid of the freedom of
form which they displayed, and of their tendency to programme-music;
and perhaps he did not speak of them to his sons, lest they should be
led astray. For, as we have already mentioned, Sebastian Bach seems to
have yielded for a moment to the Kuhnau influence, but, if we may
judge from his subsequent art-work, he did not feel satisfied that it
was a good one.

In 1742, E. Bach dedicated the six sonatas (composed in 1740) to
Frederick the Great. The title-page runs thus:--

Sei Sonate
per Cembalo
che all' Augusta Maestà
di
Frederico II.
Rè di Prussia
D.D.D.
l'Autore
Carlo Filippo Emanuele Bach
Musico di Camera di S.M.
Alle spese di Balth. Schmid
in Norimberga.

And in the obsequious dedication, the composer describes them as works
"debolissimo Talento mio." As Bach's earliest published sonatas, they
are, for our purpose, of special interest. Their order is as
follows:--

Sonata 1, in F            Poco Allegro, Andante, Vivace.
  "    2, "  B flat       Vivace, Adagio, Allegro assai.
  "    3, "  E            Poco Allegro, Adagio, Presto.
  "    4, "  C minor      Allegro, Adagio, Presto.
  "    5, "  C            Poco Allegro, Andante, Allegro assai.
  "    6, "  A            Allegro, Adagio, Allegro.

The first and last movements of all six are in binary form. In the
five major sonatas, the first sections close in the key of the
dominant, and in the one minor sonata (No. 4), in the relative major.
The opening movement of each sonata is in early sonata-form: the
second section starts with the principal theme, or a brief allusion
to it; but then, after a short development with modulation, there is a
return to the principal key and to the principal theme.[62] The final
movements, on the other hand, are of the usual _suite_ order. Of
interest and, indeed, of importance in our history of development are
the contents of the first section of the opening movements. In some of
the Scarlatti sonatas (see No. 56) there is to be found a fairly
definite second subject in the dominant key, or, in the case of a
minor piece, in the dominant minor or relative major. Here the process
of differentiation is continued; in the 2nd Sonata the contrast
between the two subjects is specially marked. We give the opening bar
of each--

[Music illustration]

In most of the developments the composer steers clear of the principal
key, so that at the return of the principal theme it may appear fresh.
To such a method, since Beethoven, we are quite accustomed; but it is
curious how little attention--even with the example of E. Bach before
him--Haydn paid to such an effective means of contrast in some of his
early sonatas. In Bach's No. 6, in A, the development assumes unusual
magnitude; it is even longer than the first section. And it is not
only long, but interesting. One passage, of which we quote a portion,
has rather a modern appearance:[63]--

[Music illustration]

The return of the principal theme is preceded by an unexpected entry
of the opening bars in B minor,--a first sign of that humour which
afterwards formed so prominent a feature in Bach's music. And the
theme itself, after the opening notes, is dealt with in original
fashion.

The middle movements of Nos. 2, 3, 5, and 6 are in the key of the
relative minor; that of No. 1 is in the tonic minor, and that of No. 4
(C minor), in the relative major. No. 1, twice interrupted by a
recitative (upper part and figured bass),[64] is dignified, yet
tender, and, in form, original. The Adagio, in C sharp minor, of No. 3
is a movement of singular charm; it is based on imitation, but, though
old in style, it breathes something of the new spirit, or rather--for
there is nothing new under the sun--of the old Florentine spirit which
freed music for a time from the fetters of polyphony. The genius of
Johann Sebastian Bach gained the victory over form, and, in fact,
exhausted fugue-form. It is in the clever, but dry fugues of some of
his contemporaries and, especially, successors, that one can feel the
absolute necessity for a new departure. This Adagio is, as it were, a
delicate remembrance, and one not unmixed with sadness, of the
composer's immortal parent.

The light, lively final movements need no description. All the music
of these sonatas is written in two or three parts or voices;
occasionally there are chord passages in which for the moment the
number is increased. We have dwelt somewhat in detail on this work, as
it appears to be little known.

There is a sonata in the key of D major, published in the 3rd
Collection (1763) of Marpurg's _Clavierstücke_ (p. 10), by E. Bach,
which was written in the same year (1740), but earlier than the
"Frederick" Sonatas. C.H. Bitter remarks that if the year of
composition were not known, it would certainly pass as a much later
work. The first movement reminds one of Beethoven's terse, bold style.
Bitter refers to the freedom with which the thoughts are expressed, to
the melodious character of the Andante, and to the humour of the
Finale. He might also have referred to the style of writing for the
instrument, which suggests a later date.

In 1745 (?) appeared the Würtemberg Sonatas (so called because they
were dedicated to Bach's pupil, the _Duca di Wirtemberg e Teckh_, as
he is named on the title-page of the original edition). These sonatas
are marked as Opera seconda. They were offered by the composer to the
Duke in recognition of the many favours shown to him "at the time when
I had the honour of giving you lessons in music at Berlin."[65] Of
these sonatas we have only been able to have access to the two
preserved in the British Museum; the others are probably of similar
character.

No. 1, in E flat, opens with an Adagio, followed by an Allegro assai
(E flat), and then by a Menuet alternato and Trio, both in E flat, and
with the former _da capo_. The first and second movements are in old
binary form; the Allegro shows the influence of D. Scarlatti. The
Minuet is fresh and pleasing. It is evident, taking E. Bach himself
as standard, that this is a suite rather than a sonata.

No. 2, in B flat, is of similar character and construction. Both
sonatas are old in form, but more modern in their subject-material and
style of writing than those dedicated to the King of Prussia. In the
latter there is a solidity not to be found here; in its place we have
lightness, almost merriment; they were written, one would almost
think, expressly for the amusement of the Duke. The rapid semi-quaver
passages (as in No. 1) and the crossing of hands (as in No. 2) tell in
no undecided manner of the influence of Scarlatti. The exceedingly
light and graceful Minuets remind one of the kinship between the
composer and Haydn.

In a letter to Forkel, dated 10th February 1775, Bach writes as
follows:--

"Die 2 Sonaten, welche Ihren Beyfall vorzüglich haben, sind die
einzigen von dieser Art, die ich je gemacht habe. Sie gehören zu der,
aus dem H-moll, die ich Ihnen mitschickte, zu der aus dem B, die Sie
nun auch haben, u. zu 2en aus der Hafner-Würtembergischen Sammlung, u.
sind alle 6 anno 1743, im Töplitzer Bade von mir, der ich damahls sehr
gicht-brüchig war, auf einem Claviacord mit der kurzen Octav
verfertiget."[66]

It would be interesting to know the two sonatas belonging to this
period, "the only ones of the kind that I have ever written." In the
catalogue of musical remains of E. Bach, published two years after his
death, the opening bars are given of a Sonata in B minor (see above
letter) written at Töplitz in 1743--

[Music illustration]

This, surely, must be the one mentioned in the above letter.

In 1760, Bach published six sonatas with varied repeats (_mit
veränderten Reprisen_), dedicated to Princess Amelia of Prussia. In
the preface the composer remarks that "nowadays change or repetition
is indispensable." He complains that some players will not play the
notes as written, even the first time; and again, that players, if the
changing on repetition is left to them, make alterations unsuitable to
the character of the music. These sonatas are of great historic
interest. This preface, also the evident necessity for additional
(inner part) notes at times, especially in the slow movements of E.
Bach and other composers of that day, make one feel that, as it now
stands, much of Bach's music is a dead letter. Here we are face to
face with a question which in a kindred matter has given rise to much
controversy. If the music is to produce its proper effect, something
must be done. To that (in the case of Emanuel Bach's sonatas) all
reasonable musicians must agree. Yet not, perhaps, as to what that
something should be. According to certain authorities, only additions
should be made which are strictly in keeping with the spirit of the
age in which the music was written. Some, on the other hand, would
bring the music up to date; they think it better to clothe
eighteenth-century music in nineteenth-century dress, than to ask
musicians with nineteenth-century ears to listen to patched-up
eighteenth-century music. The second plan would not be approved by
musicians who hold the classical masters in veneration; with a little
modification, the first one, however, ought to meet with general
acceptance. We may write in keeping with the spirit of a past age, but
the music must now be played on an instrument of different character,
compass, and quality of tone; so surely in making additions (and, so
far as certain ornaments are concerned, alterations) these things
ought to be taken into consideration. A certain latitude should,
therefore, be allowed to the transcriber; hard-and-fast rules in such
a delicate task are impossible. The late Dr. Bülow edited six of
Emanuel Bach's sonatas,[67] and though he was well acquainted with the
composer's style of writing, his anxious desire to present the music
in the most favourable light sometimes led him to make changes of
which even lenient judges would not approve. The matter is an
interesting one, and we may therefore venture to refer somewhat in
detail to one passage. In the 3rd Sonata (F minor) of the 3rd
Collection, the passage--

[Music illustration]

has been changed by Bülow: he has altered the C flat in the second
half of the first bar into a C natural, thus smoothing down the hard
progression to the key of B flat minor. Now this very passage had
already, nearly a hundred years previously, attracted the notice of
Forkel, who admitted that, apart from the context, it jarred against
his musical feeling. But he had thought over the composer's intention
in writing that sonata, and had come to the conclusion that, in the
opening Allegro, Bach wished to express indignation.[68] He therefore
asks: "Are the hard, rough, passionate expressions of an angry and
indignant man beautiful?" In this case, Forkel was of opinion that the
hard modulation was a faithful record of what the composer wished to
express.[69] The natural order of history seems inverted here. One
would have expected Forkel to look upon the music from an abstract,
but Bülow from a poetical point of view. C.H. Bitter--also on purely
musical grounds--condemns Bülow's alterations. He says:--"Even
weaknesses of great masters, among which the passages in question are
not to be counted, still more so, special peculiarities, should be
left untouched. What would become of Beethoven, if each generation of
musicians, according to individual judgment, arrogated to itself the
right, here and there, of expunging hardnesses, smoothing down
peculiarities, and softening even sharp points with which, from time
to time, we come into unpleasant contact? Works of art must be
accepted as they are."

The first part of Bitter's argument is sound; but, unfortunately for
the last, the writer in his life of Emanuel Bach and his brothers
insists on the necessity of _not_ accepting Emanuel's clavier works
_as they are_.

He quotes a passage from the Andante of the 4th Sonata of the second
set of the "Reprisen Sonaten," and comes to the natural conclusion
that it was only an outline requiring filling up.

With all his faults, one cannot but admire the spirit in which Bülow
worked. He felt the greatness of the old masters, regretted the
limited means which they had at their command, also the stenographic
system in which they were accustomed to express their thoughts; and he
sought, therefore, to make use of modern means, and thereby was
naturally tempted to introduce modern effects. The restoration of the
old masters is a difficult and delicate task, and in most cases, one
may add, a thankless one. In the matter of transcription, however, it
is important to distinguish between a Bülow and a Tausig: the one
displayed the intelligence of an artist; the other, the
thoughtlessness of a _virtuoso_.

But what, it may be asked, is the character of the changes made by
Bach? The matter is of interest; by examining these sonatas, we get
some idea of the difference between letter and spirit. However, from
what we have said above, a mere imitation of these changes, in playing
Bach's music, would, in its turn, be letter rather than spirit.

As a rule the bass remains the same, though plain crotchets may become
quavers, as in extract from Sonata 1 given below, or notes turned into
broken octaves--

[Music illustration]

or, at times, some very slight alteration may occur, such as--

[Music illustration]

In the upper parts the changes are similar to those found in the
variations of Haydn and Mozart. An illustration will be better than
any explanation, and we accordingly give a brief extract from the 1st
Sonata: first the five bars of the Allegretto, as at the opening, then
as they are changed--

[Music illustration]

The publication of the set of six Leipzig collections of sonatas,
etc., commenced in 1779; but thirteen years previously, the composer
had published a set of "Sechs Leichte Clavier Sonaten," and these, in
one or two respects, are curious. The opening movement of No. 6 has no
double bars, and, therefore, no repeat of the first section. And
again, it has a coda pausing on the dominant chord and followed by an
Andantino. This second movement, peculiar in form and modulation, ends
on the dominant of F, leading directly to the Presto.

The opening of the Larghetto of No. 2--

[Music illustration]

was probably the prototype of many a theme of the classical masters.

The works by which Emanuel Bach is best known are the six collections
of sonatas, rondos, and fantasias published at Leipzig between
1779-1787. The composer died in 1788. The 1st Collection (1779) bears
the title "Sechs Claviersonaten für Kenner und Liebhaber," and, in
fact, contains six sonatas. But "nebst einigen Rondos" (together with
some Rondos) was already added to the title-page of the 2nd and 3rd
Collections; and to the remaining ones, the still further addition of
"Freye Fantasien."

For the sake of reference, the list of sonatas is subjoined--

       Coll.
(1779)  1    Sonata in C                      1773  Hamburg.
        "       "    " F                      1758  Berlin.
        "       "    " B minor                1774  Hamburg.
        "       "    " A (Bülow No. 3)        1765  Potsdam.
        "       "    " F                      1772  Hamburg.
        "       "    " G (Bülow No. 4)        1765  Potsdam.
(1780)  2       "    " G                      1774  Hamburg.
        "       "    " F                      1780  Hamburg.
        "       "    " A (Bülow No. 2)        1780  Hamburg.
(1781)  3       "    " A minor                1774  Hamburg.
        "       "    " D minor (Bülow No. 5)  1766  Potsdam.
        "       "    " F minor (Bülow No. 1)  1763  Berlin.
(1783)  4       "    " G                      1781  Hamburg.
        "       "    " E minor                1765  Berlin.
(1785)  5       "    " E minor                1784  Hamburg.
        "       "    " B flat                 1784  Hamburg.
(1787)  6       "    " D                      1785  Hamburg.
        "       "    " E minor                1785  Hamburg.

Without copious musical examples, an analysis of these eighteen
sonatas would prove heavy reading. It will, therefore, be easier for
the writer, and certainly pleasanter for his readers, to give a
somewhat "freye Fantasia" description of them, laying emphasis
naturally on points connected with the special purpose in view.[70]

In the matter of tonality there are some curiosities. When Beethoven's
1st Symphony appeared, the opening bars of the introduction became
stumbling-stones to the pedagogues of that day. The work was, without
doubt, in the key of C major; yet, instead of opening with the tonic
chord of that key, the composer led up to it through the keys of the
subdominant, relative minor, and dominant. No wonder that such a
proceeding surprised conventional minds, and that the critics warned
Beethoven of the danger of "going his own way." But his predecessor,
Emanuel Bach, had also strayed from the pedagogic path, a narrow one,
yet, in the end, leading to destruction. In the first book (1779), the
5th Sonata (as shown by the whole of the movement, with exception of
the two opening bars) is in the key of F major, yet the first bar is
in C minor (minor key of the dominant) and the second, in D minor
(relative minor of the principal key).

[Music illustration]

There were, no doubt, respecters of tonality also in Emanuel Bach's
day, to whom such free measures must have seemed foolhardy. While
composing this sonata Bach was, apparently, in daring mood. The slow
middle movement in D minor opens with an inversion of the dominant
ninth, and the Finale in F thus--

[Music illustration]

Of the character of the first section of movements in binary form we
have already spoken in the introductory chapter.

In the matter of development, the Bach sonatas are in one respect
particularly striking; the composer seems to have resolutely turned
away from the fugal style, and in so doing probably found himself
somewhat hampered. Like the early Florentine reformers, Bach was
breaking with the past, and with a mightier past than the one on which
the Florentines turned their back; like them, he, too, was occupied
with a new form. Not the music itself of the first operas, but the
spirit which prompted them, is what we now admire; in E. Bach,
too,--especially when viewed in the light of subsequent history,--we
at times take the will for the deed.

We meet with much the same kinds of development as in Scarlatti:
phrases or passages taken bodily from the first section and repeated
on different degrees of the scale, extensions of phrases, and
passage-writing based on some figure from the exposition, etc. The
short development section of the Sonata in G (Collection No. 6) offers
examples of the three methods of development just mentioned. Bach,
like Scarlatti, was a master of his instrument, and even when--as was
said of Mendelssohn--he had nothing particular to say, he always
managed to say that little well. E. Bach has already much to suffer in
the inevitable comparison with Beethoven; and the fact that we have
the full message of the one, but not of the other, no doubt
accentuates the difference.

In many ways Bach reminds one of Beethoven. There are unexpected
fortes and pianos, unexpected crescendos and diminuendos. Of such, the
noble Larghetto in F minor of the Sonata in F (Collection 1779, No. 2)
offers, indeed, several fine examples. Particularly would we notice
the passage just before the return of the opening theme; it begins
_ff_, but there is a gradual decrease to _pp_; the latter seems
somewhat before its time, and therefore surprises. Then, again, we
meet with out-of-the-way modulations. Bach was extremely fond of
enharmonic transitions,[71] and the same can be said of Beethoven in
both his early and his late works. The means employed by the two
composers may be the same, but the effect is, of course, always more
striking in Beethoven, whose thoughts were deeper, and whose means of
expressing them were in every way more extended. And once again, in
some of the forms of melody, in figures and passages, traces can be
found of connection between the two masters. To our thinking the bond
of union between E. Bach and Beethoven is stronger than the
oft-mentioned one between the early master and Haydn: Haydn was
practically Bach's pupil; Beethoven, his spiritual heir. This it is
which gives interest to any outward resemblances which may be
detected, not the resemblances themselves.

In Bach's six sonatas of 1742 the movements are detached. But the
opening movement (an Andante in sonata form) of the 2nd Sonata of the
Leipzig Collection of 1779 ends with a few bars in canonic form (and
with quaint Bebung effect), leading without break to the following
Larghetto. The next sonata also connects the second with the third
movement. In the above case the change was merely from the key of
tonic major to that of minor; but here the movement is in G minor, and
an enharmonic modulation leads to the dominant of B minor, key of the
final movement. The sonata begins in B minor, and the choice of the
remote key of G minor for the middle movement is somewhat curious.
Sonata No. 4 connects first and second movements; and the third is
evidently meant to follow without pause. It must, however be
remembered that the majority of the Leipzig sonatas do not have the
various movements thus connected. It therefore seems to have been an
experiment rather than a settled plan. Examples of the connection of
movements are also to be found in Nichelmann and J.C.F. Bach. The same
thing may be seen in some of Haydn's sonatas (Nos. 18, 22, etc.),
while Beethoven offers a remarkable instance in his sonata, Op. 57.

The 1st Sonata of the 2nd Collection passes from the first to the
second movement (Allegretto, G minor; Larghetto, F sharp minor) in a
curious manner, by enharmonic means. The last bar has--

[Music illustration]

The quotation is in abbreviated form. The second chord would, of
course, be taken at first as dominant minor ninth on G. The 1st Sonata
of the 4th Collection is not striking as music, and certainly not of
sufficient importance to justify serious inquiry into the peculiar
order of keys for the three movements (G, G minor, and E major).

With regard to the number of movements, all except two of the eighteen
sonatas have three; the second and third of the 2nd Collection have
only two.

John Christian Bach, or the "London" Bach, as he was called, dedicated
his fifth work, consisting of six sonatas "Pour le clavecin ou
pianoforte," to Ernst, Duke of Mecklenburg. This cannot have been
before 1759, as that was the year in which the composer came to
London. He describes himself on the title-page as--"Maître de Musique
de S.M. la Reine d'Angleterre." These sonatas, as we learn from the
dedication, were written for the "amusement" of the Duke. The first,
third, and fourth have each only two movements. They remind us less of
E. Bach than of Haydn's early style. There is some very fresh,
pleasing writing in them. No. 5 has some excellent practising
passages, and perhaps the following--

[Music illustration]

may have suggested to Cramer his first study. The middle movement of
No. 6 is a vigorous double Fugue; the whole sonata is, indeed, one of
the finest of the set.

A Sonata in D, by Wilhelm Friedmann Bach, is commented on by Dr. Parry
in his "Sonata" dictionary article. There is another one in C major, a
fresh and vigorous example of a musician whose powers were never fully
developed.

The sonatas of Pietro Domenico Paradies (_b._ 1710), a contemporary of
E. Bach, are of interest. They were published in London by John
Johnson, and bear the title, "Sonate di gravicembalo dedicate a sua
altezza reale la principessa da Pier Domenico Paradies Napolitano."
The edition bears no date; but the right of printing and selling
granted by George II. bears the date November 28, 1754. A second
edition was published at Amsterdam in 1770. The sonatas are twelve in
number, and consist of only two movements of various character: some
have an Allegro or Presto, followed by a Presto, Allegro, or Gigue;
and sometimes (as in Nos. 9 and 11) the second movement is an Andante.
In other sonatas the first movement is in slow time. These
two-movement sonatas would seem to form an intermediate stage between
Scarlatti and Emanuel Bach. As a matter of fact, however, the latter,
as we have seen, had published clavier sonatas in three movements long
before the appearance of those of Paradies. In some of the movements
in binary form Paradies shows an advance on Scarlatti (see Nos. 1 and
10), for in the second section there is a return, after modulation, to
the principal theme. Some have the theme in the dominant key at the
commencement of that section, others not. Thus we see various stages
represented in these sonatas. The music is delightfully fresh, and,
from a technical point of view, interesting. The influence of
Scarlatti both in letter and spirit is strongly felt. In some of the
movements (_cf._ first movement of No. 8 and of No. 12) there is a
feature which Paradies did not inherit from Scarlatti, _i.e._ the
so-called Alberti bass. Of such a bass Scarlatti gives only slight
hints. Alberti, said to have been its inventor, was a contemporary of
Paradies, and the latter may have learnt the trick from him: there are
many examples of its use. In Alberti, "VIII Sonate Opera Prima,"[72]
the opening Allegro of No. 2 has it in forty-four of the forty-six
bars of which it consists, and, besides, each section is repeated.
That convenient form of accompaniment soon came into vogue. It occurs
frequently in the sonatas and concertos of J.C. Bach and Haydn, but it
is in the works of second-rate composers that one sees the full use,
or rather abuse, made of it. No. 8 of the Paradies sonatas is
particularly attractive, and the second movement forms a not
unpleasant reminiscence of Handel's so-called "Harmonious Blacksmith"
variations.




CHAPTER V

HAYDN AND MOZART


I.--Haydn

This composer, to whom is given the name of "father of the symphony
and the quartet," was born at Rohrau, a small Austrian village on the
Leitha, in the night between 31st March and 1st April 1732. At a very
early age the boy's sweet voice attracted the notice of G. Reuter,
capellmeister of St. Stephen's, Vienna, and for many years he sang in
the cathedral choir. In 1749 he was dismissed, the alleged cause being
a practical joke played by him on one of his fellow-choristers. He
was, as Sir G. Grove relates in his article "Haydn" in the _Dictionary
of Music and Musicians_, thrown upon the world "with an empty purse, a
keen appetite, and no friends." Haydn took up his abode in an attic in
the old Michaelerhaus. But it chanced that Metastasio lived in the
same building, and the famous poet took an interest in the penniless
composer, and, among other things, taught him Italian. Metastasio was
extremely fond of music, and we know from his letters that the flowing
compositions of his countrymen delighted him more than the learned
music of Germany. Then Haydn made the acquaintance of Porpora, who
gave him instruction in composition and in the art of singing. And he
is also supposed to have studied the works of San Martini, an Italian
composer in the service of Prince Esterhazy. In addition, Italian
music was much played and much admired in Vienna. Emanuel Bach also,
as we have seen, came under Italian influence, but not until he had
finished his studies under his father's guidance. Once more, we may
conclude that Haydn, before he commenced writing clavier sonatas, had
made acquaintance with those of Paradies and of Alberti. These early
Italian influences should be noted, for one is apt to think rather of
the young composer as plodding through Fux's "Gradus" and playing
Emanuel Bach's sonatas on his "little worm-eaten clavier." During his
last years Haydn told his friend Griesinger that he had diligently
studied Emanuel Bach, and that he owed very much to him. From the
painter Dies, in his biographical notice of the master, we also learn
how fond he was of playing Emanuel Bach's sonatas. And this influence
was undoubtedly not only a strong, but a lasting one; in 1788, the
year in which E. Bach died, Haydn wrote to Artaria, begging the latter
to send him that master's last two works for clavier.

In reference to Haydn, musicians are apt to speak merely of his
sonatas, whereas those of Beethoven are generally described by their
key, or their opus number; or as belonging to one of the three
periods into which that master's art-work is usually divided. There is
good reason for this difference. Haydn's sonatas are not of equal
importance with those of his successor; and then some are
old-fashioned, others second-rate. Beethoven's sonatas are by no means
all of equal merit, yet there is not one but has some feature, whether
of form, or development, or technique, by which it may be
distinguished. And yet a close and careful study of Haydn's sonatas
will show that he, too, had his periods of apprenticeship, mastery,
and maturity. Let not our readers take alarm. We are not going to
analyse his thirty-five sonatas, or to enter into minute details. But
we shall try, by selecting some of the most characteristic works, to
show how the master commenced, continued, and concluded.

The earliest of the published sonatas,[73] No. 1 (33), is somewhat of
a curiosity. It consists of four movements: an Allegro in G major; a
Minuetto and Trio, G major and minor; an Adagio in G minor; and an
Allegro molto in G major. It is the only sonata of Haydn's which
contains four movements. The plaintive Trio and the Scarlatti-like
Finale are attractive.

In the year 1774, J.J. Hummel, at Amsterdam, published six sonatas,
the last three of which appear to have been originally written for
pianoforte and violin;[74] and in 1776 six more were printed by
Longman & Broderip as Op. 14. These may serve as specimens of Haydn's
early style; and in them, by the way, the composer was accused of
imitating, nay, caricaturing, E. Bach.

In the _European Magazine_ for October 1784 there appeared an account
of Joseph Haydn, "a celebrated composer of music," in which occurs the
following:--

"Amongst the number of professors who wrote against our rising author
was Philipp Emanuel Bach of Hamburgh (formerly of Berlin); and the
only notice Haydn took of their scurrility and abuse was to publish
lessons written in imitation of the several styles of his enemies, in
which their peculiarities were so closely copied, and their extraneous
passages (particularly those of Bach of Hamburgh) so inimitably
burlesqued, that they all felt the poignancy of his musical wit,
confessed its truth, and were silent."

Further on the writer mentions the sonatas of Ops. 13 and 14 as
"expressly composed in order to ridicule Bach of Hamburgh"; nay, he
points to the second part of the second sonata in Op. 13 and the whole
of the third sonata in the same work by way of special illustration.

There are many resemblances to E. Bach in Haydn,--notes wide apart,
pause bars, surprise modulations, etc.,--and this is not more
extraordinary than to find resemblances between Mozart and Beethoven;
but the charge of caricature seems unfair. Besides, it is scarcely
likely that Haydn, who owed so much to Bach, would have done any such
thing. It must be remembered that at the date of the _European
Magazine_ in question, E. Bach had not yet published any of the six
Leipzig Collections ("Sonaten für Kenner," etc.), by which he is best
known at the present day.

Of the six sonatas, Op. 13, the first three are Nos. 8 (26), 9 (27),
10 (28) in Pohl's thematic catalogue (_Joseph Haydn_, vol. ii.). The
other three have not been reprinted in modern collections. In the
first three the keys and order of movements are as follow:--

     No. 1. Allegro moderato in C; Adagio, F; Finale, Presto.

     No. 2. Allegro moderato in E; Andante, E minor; Finale,
     Tempo di Menuetto.

     No. 3. Allegro moderato in F; Larghetto, E minor; Presto.

These sonatas are interesting as music, and the workmanship is
skilful. If one can get over the thinness of the part-writing,
especially in the slow movements, there is much to enjoy in them. The
style of movement--Tempo di Menuetto--in No. 2 recalls Emanuel Bach's
"Würtemberg" sonatas of 1745.

Here are the numbers of the sonatas of Op. 14: 11 (20), 12 (21), 13
(22), 14 (23), 15 (24), 16 (25). And here are the keys and movements--

     No. 1. Allegro con brio in G; Minuetto, G; Trio, G minor;
     Presto.

     No. 2. Allegro moderato in E flat; Minuetto, E flat; Trio, E
     flat minor; Presto.

     No. 3. Moderato in F; Adagio, B flat; Tempo di Menuetto.

     No. 4. Allegro in A; Adagio; Tempo di Minuetto con
     Variazione.

     No. 5. Moderato in E; Presto.

     No. 6. Allegro moderato in B minor; Tempo di Minuetto;
     Presto.

During the eighteenth century, both in Italy and Germany, sonatas in
two movements were common, but with Haydn the reduction in No. 5
probably was made on practical, and not artistic grounds. Schindler
once asked Beethoven why he had only two movements to his Sonata in C
minor (Op. 111), and the master replied--probably with a twinkle in
his eye--that he had not had time for a third.

If these sonatas of 1776 be compared with earlier ones (1767), an
immense improvement in the development sections will be observed. In
the earliest but one of the master's sonatas--No. 2 (30)--the whole of
the middle section is in the principal key. No. 4 (Op. 14) has all
three movements connected,--a plan, as we have already seen, adopted
by E. Bach in some of his sonatas. The sonata in question is in the
key of A major. The Allegro ends with an arpeggio dominant chord, and
still in the same bar follows the dominant chord of the relative key
of F sharp minor, leading directly to the Adagio; this movement, in
its turn, closes on the dominant chord of A, the key, of course, of
the final movement (Tempo di Minuetto con Variazioni).

In 1780 six sonatas were published by Artaria, and dedicated to the
sisters Franziska and Marianne v. Auenbrugger. They are Nos. 20 (1),
21-24 (10-13), and 7 (14). No. 20 (1) is a bright little work. No. 21
(10) (C sharp minor) opens with an interesting movement.[75] The
sonata ends with a beautiful Menuetto and Trio, in which the composer
comes very near to Beethoven. The middle movement is a Scherzando, and
thereby hangs a little tale. No. 24 (13) commences with the same
theme. When Haydn sent the sonatas to his publisher he called
attention to this resemblance, and, in fact, requested that it should
be mentioned on the inner side of the title-page. And he added: "I
could, of course, have chosen a hundred other ideas in place of this
one; but in order not to run any risk of blame on account of this
intentional trifle (which the critics, and especially my enemies, will
regard in a bad light), I make this _avertissement_. Or please add
some note of a similar kind, otherwise it may prove detrimental to the
sale." No. 22 (11) has an opening Allegro in Haydn's brightest
manner. The short Largo is quaint and expressive; the _ff_ chord of
the Neapolitan sixth is of fine effect. The movement ends on the
dominant chord, and thus leads without break to the lively Presto
Finale. The concluding movement of the next sonata displays a
crispness and vigour which remind one of Haydn's great successor.
Already in connection with these six sonatas have we mentioned
Beethoven. And from this period onwards the kinship between the two
composers becomes more evident. Haydn, however, did not, like
Beethoven, rise steadily higher and higher; great moments came, as it
were, by fits and starts. He wrote in season and out of season; _nulla
dies sine linea_ seems to have been his motto. With Beethoven, a later
work, unless it be one of his few _pièces d'occasion_, means a fuller
revelation of his genius.

We will now pass on to the latest period, represented by two great
sonatas, both in the key of E flat. The one was written for the
composer's friend and patron, Frau v. Genziger. The opening Allegro
shows earnest, deep feeling, while at the close of the recapitulation
Haydn makes us feel the full power of his genius; the passage
irresistibly recalls moments in the first movement of the
"Appassionata"; those stately reiterated chords, those solemn pauses,
have a touch of mystery about them. It is interesting to see how the
second theme is evolved from the principal subject of the movement; by
a slight modification the character of the music is quite changed;
what was stately is now light and graceful. The Adagio cantabile is
one of the purest examples of a style of music which has become a
thing of the past. The full and sustained tone of modern instruments
has rendered unnecessary those turns, arpeggios, and numerous
ornaments with which the composers of the last century tried to make
amends for the fleeting tones of their harpsichords and clavichords.
Haydn and Mozart were skilful in this art of embellishment, though
sometimes it was unduly profuse; this Adagio of Haydn's is a model of
sobriety. The bold minor section, which Frau v. Genziger, by the way,
found rather troublesome to play, offers an effective contrast to the
major. A graceful Tempo di Menuetto brings the work to an effective
close. The other Sonata in E flat[76] is much more difficult to play.
The writing is fuller, and it contains passages which even a modern
pianist need not disdain. It is really strange that the sonata is not
sometimes heard at the Popular Concerts. In the opening Allegro the
exposition section contains more than the two orthodox themes, and the
development section assumes considerable magnitude; the latter is
full of clever details and bold modulations. The key of the Adagio is
E major, but this is of course the enharmonic equivalent of F flat.
Brahms, in his last Sonata for Violoncello and Pianoforte in F, has
the slow movement in F sharp. This has been spoken of as a novelty,
yet Haydn, as we see, had already made the experiment; and similar
instances may be found in Schubert and Beethoven, though not in their
pianoforte sonatas. The Finale Presto reminds one by the style of
writing, and by a certain quaint humour, of Emanuel Bach; but there
are some bold touches--_sforzandos_ on unaccented beats, prolongation
of phrases, long dwelling on one harmony, etc.--which anticipate
Beethoven. Traces of the past, foreshadowings of the future; these are
familiar facts in evolution.


II.--Mozart

Before Mozart had reached the age of twenty he wrote six sonatas for a
certain Baron Dürnitz, who, by the way, forgot to send the promised
payment in return. Of these, Otto Jahn remarks that "their healthy
freshness and finished form entitle them still to be considered as the
best foundation for a musical education." Freshness is indeed the best
term to describe both the thematic material and the developments. Four
of them (Nos. 1, 2, 3, and 5) consist of the usual three movements;
No. 4 commences with a long Adagio in two sections, each of which is
repeated. Two graceful Minuets (the second taking the place of a Trio)
follow, and the third movement is an Allegro in sonata-form. No. 6 has
for its second movement a Rondeau en Polonaise, and for its third, a
Theme with variations. The Rondo of No. 3 (in B flat) is unusually
long; it contains two episodes, one in the relative minor, the other
in the subdominant. The next three sonatas (in C, A minor, and D) are
of greater importance. They are all said to have been written at
Mannheim. The first was most probably the one mentioned in a letter of
1777 written by Mozart to his father. He describes a public concert
given on the 22nd of October, and says: "Then I played alone the last
Sonata in D, then my Concerto in B flat, then a Fugue in C minor, and
a splendid Sonata in C major out of my own head, with a Rondo at the
end." The "last Sonata in D" was the last of the set of six noticed
above. In reference to the Sonata in C, the expression "out of my own
head" would seem to indicate that it had not at that time been written
out. Mozart was right to speak of the work as "splendid." The bold
opening subject, the well-contrasted second theme, the short but
masterly development, the original leading back to the principal
subject, and the many variations in the recapitulation section, fully
justify his qualification. The slow movement is full of charm, and the
Rondo, with its elaborate middle section, is of the highest interest.
The 2nd Sonata, in A minor, is, next to the one in C minor, Mozart's
finest effort in this department of musical literature. And there is a
story connected with it. Capellmeister Cannabich's eldest daughter
Rosa had captivated the young composer; he wrote to his father about
her, and described her as "a pretty, charming girl," and added, "she
has a staid manner and a great deal of sense for her age (the young
lady was only thirteen); she speaks but little, and when she does
speak, it is with grace and amiability." On the very next day after
his arrival in Mannheim he began to write this sonata for her. The
Allegro was finished in one day. Young Danner, the violinist, asked
him about the Andante, and Mozart replied: "I mean to make it exactly
like Mdlle. Rose herself." This was the picture to which he worked.
One of Beethoven's finest sonatas, the C sharp minor, was inspired by
a beautiful girl: a strong appeal to the emotions calls forth a
composer's best powers. Mozart's first movement was written on 31st
October, and the Rondo on 8th November. The Allegro maestoso presents
many points of interest. The opening theme with its dotted motive is
prominent throughout the movement; the transition passage to the key
of the relative major is based on it, and so is the coda to the
exposition section. Again, in the development and recapitulation
sections it forms a striking feature, while in the final coda it is
intensified by reiteration of the dotted figure, and also by the rise
from the dominant to the tonic. The slow movement, with its expressive
themes, graceful ornamentation, and bold middle section, was not
surpassed by Mozart even in his C minor Sonata. The Presto closes the
work in worthy manner; it forms a contrast to the first movement, and
yet is allied to it in sentiment. The passionate outburst at the
close, with the repeated E's, seems almost a reminiscence of the
Allegro theme. There are two features in the development section of
that movement which point to Beethoven: the one is the augmentation in
the seventh bar of the quaver figure in the two preceding bars; the
other, the phrase containing the shake which is evolved from an
earlier one by curtailment of its first note. The 3rd Sonata, though
in many ways attractive, will not bear comparison with the other two.
In 1779, at Vienna, Mozart composed, among other sonatas, the
beautiful one in A major,--the first example, perhaps, of a sonata
commencing with a theme and variations. This first movement is very
charming, but the gem of the work is the delicate Menuetto; the Trio
speaks in tender, regretful tones of some happy past. The Alla Turca
is lively, but not far removed from the commonplace.

From among the symphonies of Mozart, the three (in G minor, E flat,
and C) which he wrote in 1788 stand out with special prominence; and
so, from the sonatas, do the three in A minor (1778), C minor (1784),
and F (1788). In the first, as regards the writing, virtuosity
asserts itself, and in the third, contrapuntal skill; but in the
second, the greatness of music makes us forget the means by which that
greatness is achieved. The Sonatas in A minor and F are wonderful
productions, yet they stand a little lower than the C minor. The
nobility and earnestness of the last-named give it a place near to
Beethoven's best sonatas. We might say equal, were it not that the
writing for the instrument is comparatively thin; however noble the
ideas, they are but inadequately expressed. This C minor Sonata is
remarkable for its originality, simplicity, and unity; Mozart
possessed qualities which mark creative art of the highest kind. In
writing some of his pianoforte sonatas, he had the public, or pupils,
more or less in his mind; and though he did not become a mere
sonata-maker, like some of his contemporaries, his whole soul was not
always in his work; of this the inequalities in his music give
evidence. In some movements (especially the closing ones) of the
sonatas, the subject-matter is often trivial, and the passage-writing
commonplace. The silkworm produces its smooth, regular ball of silk
without effort, and in like manner Mozart could turn out Allegros,
Rondos, sets of variations _à discretion_. The Sonata in C minor, to
our thinking, is the only one in which he was entirely absorbed in his
art; the only one in which the ideal is never marred by the real. The
last movement is no mere Rondo, but one which stands in close
relationship to the opening Allegro; they both have the same tragic
spirit; both seem the outpouring of a soul battling with fate. The
slow movement reveals Mozart's gift of melody and graceful
ornamentation, yet beneath the latter runs a vein of earnestness; the
theme of the middle section expresses subdued sadness. The affinity
between this work and Beethoven's sonata (Op. 10, No. 1) in the same
key is very striking.

Mozart composed his C minor Sonata towards the end of the year 1784.
The C minor Fantasia, which precedes it in some editions, was not
written until the middle of 1785. The two, however, were published
together by Mozart himself. It is impossible to consider this a new
experiment in sonata-form, as regards grouping of movements; the unity
of character and feeling between Fantasia and Sonata no doubt led to
their juxtaposition. The Fantasia is practically complete in itself;
so too is the Sonata. The two are printed separately in Breitkopf &
Härtel's edition of Mozart's works.

Haydn and Mozart represent an important stage in sonata history: they
stand midway between Emanuel Bach and Beethoven. It is usual to look
upon Bach as the founder, Haydn and Mozart as the builders-up, and
Beethoven as the perfecter of the sonata edifice. Such a summing-up is
useful in that it points to important landmarks in the evolution of
the sonata; yet it is only a rough-and-ready one. Bach was something
more than a founder, while Beethoven, to say the least, shook the
foundations of the edifice. Haydn and Mozart would seem to be fairly
described, for traces of scaffolding are all too evident in their
works, yet they found the building already raised. Some of it,
however, appeared to them in rococo style, and so they gradually
rebuilt. And they not only altered, but enlarged and strengthened. Of
rebuilding and alteration, their slow movements and finales give
evidence; and of enlargement, all the three sections of movements in
so-called sonata-form. Their subject-matter, as it grew in importance,
grew in compass. This in itself, of course, enlarged the exposition
section; but the transition passage from first to second theme, and
the rounding-off of the section, both grew in proportion. The joints,
too, of the structure were strengthened: the half cadence no longer
sufficed to divide first from second subject, or, after development,
to return to the principal theme; then, again, the wider scope of the
development itself demanded more striking harmonies, more forcible
figuration, and more varied cadences.

The subject-matter, we have said, became more important; it differed
also in character. The themes of Emanuel Bach, for the most part, seem
to be evolved from harmonic progressions and groupings of notes; those
of his successors, rather the source whence springs melody and
figuration. The one uttered broken phrases; the others, complete
musical sentences. Italian fashion prevailed during the second half
of the eighteenth century much as it did in the first. The simple
charm and warmth of the music of the violin-composers had penetrated
the contrapuntal crust which covered Emanuel Bach's heart; and the
feeling that he could never hope to rival his father must have
rendered him all the more willing to yield to it. But the influence of
his father could not be wholly cast aside, and Emanuel was, as it
were, drawn in opposite directions; it is really wonderful what he
actually achieved. True lovers of John Sebastian Bach know well that
his music, though of a contrapuntal character, is by no means dry; but
the formal aspect of it must have made its mark on the son ere he
could feel the power, and realise the splendour of his father's
genius.

Haydn and Mozart, on the other hand, were born and bred in the very
midst of Italian music. Of Haydn's early days we have already spoken,
and those of Mozart were not unsimilar. Otto Jahn, in his life of that
composer, says of the father Leopold, that "his ideas were firmly
rooted in the traditions of Italian music"; so firmly, indeed, that he
could not appreciate the mild innovations of a Gluck. This paternal
influence was deepened, besides, by Mozart's early visits to Italy.

Then, again, so far as we can make out, the clavier compositions of
John Sebastian Bach, and, especially the "Well-tempered Clavier," were
unknown both to Haydn and Mozart in their days of childhood and early
manhood. What a difference in the case of Beethoven, who, it will be
remembered, could play the greater number of the forty-eight Preludes
and Fugues before he was twelve years of age! The beauty of Italian
music not only impressed Haydn and Mozart, but kindled their creative
faculties; while its simple, rhythmical character probably aided them
materially in giving utterance to their thoughts and feelings. Nature
had bestowed on them in rich measure the gift of melody, and they soon
began to compose.

Emanuel Bach, we have said, was drawn in two opposite directions.
Haydn and Mozart, though they were spared this dual influence, had,
however, to face a difficulty. They found a form ready to hand, yet
one which, as we have attempted to show, required modifications of
various kinds. The former had to make the old fit in with the new; but
the latter, the new with the old. Hence their inspiration was
handicapped. They were to some extent constructing as well as
creating; and then their sense of order, balance, and proportion was
so strong, that they often turned out movements more remarkable for
their clearness of form than for the strength of their contents.

Mozart profited by Haydn's early attempts, and his best sonatas are
vastly superior to most of Haydn's. After Mozart's death, and even for
some years before, Haydn seemed to have caught much of the spirit of
the younger composer. He showed this especially in his London
symphonies, but also in one or two of his later sonatas. "This mutual
reaction," says Jahn, "so generously acknowledged by both musicians,
must be taken into account in forming a judgment on them."

Haydn, though fully conscious of his own powers, practically
acknowledged the superiority of his brother-artist. On learning of
Mozart's death, he exclaimed: "Posterity will not see such talent for
a century to come!"--a prophecy which, at the time it was uttered,
seemed likely of fulfilment.




CHAPTER VI

PREDECESSORS OF BEETHOVEN


I. Muzio Clementi

Muzio Clementi, born at Rome in 1752, was brought to England by
Alderman Beckford, father of the author of _Vathek_, and at Fonthill
Abbey he had leisure to study the works of Handel, John Sebastian
Bach, Emanuel Bach, Domenico Scarlatti, and Paradies. Clementi, like
Scarlatti, was a _virtuoso_; but although both indulged largely in
technical display, they were true and intelligent artists. In
Scarlatti, the balance between his musical ideas and the form in which
they were presented was almost perfect; in Clementi, virtuosity often
gained the ascendency over virtue. With the latter, however, as indeed
with E. Bach, Haydn, Mozart, and many other composers, the necessity
of earning a living, and therefore of writing for "long" ears, mixed
with the love of fame, produced works which, like the old Eden tree,
contained both good and evil. To judge such great men really fairly,
the chaff ought to be separated from the wheat; and the chaff ought
to be thoroughly removed, even at the risk of sometimes losing a
portion of wheat.

To the true lover of music, choice selections are more precious than
complete collections; the latter are, of course, necessary to those
whose business it is to study the rise and development of the various
composers. The pianoforte sonatas of Mozart, Haydn, Dussek, and
Clementi might be reduced to very moderate compass. To suggest that
any one of Beethoven's thirty-two should be removed out of its place
would now sound flat blasphemy; but art progresses, and some even now
are falling into oblivion. The catalogue of music performed at the
Popular Concerts during the history of the past thirty-five years
shows pretty clearly which sonatas of Beethoven are likely to live
long, and which not. But to return to Clementi. He published his first
three sonatas (Op. 2, Nos. 1-3) in 1770, the year in which Beethoven
was born; and the influence which he exerted over that master was
considerable. In Beethoven's library were to be found many sonatas of
Clementi, and the master's predilection for them is well known. The
world seldom renders full justice to men who prepared the way for
greater than themselves; Pachelbel, Böhm, and Buxtehude, the immediate
predecessors of Bach, and, again, Emanuel Bach, to whom Haydn was so
indebted, and whose works were undoubtedly studied by Beethoven, are
notable examples. This is, of course, perfectly natural: the best only
survives; but musicians who take serious interest in their art ought,
from time to time, to look back and see how much was accomplished and
suggested by men who, in comparison with their mighty contemporaries
and successors, are legitimately ranked as second-rate. Among such,
Clementi holds high place. Beethoven over-shadowed the Italian
composer; but the harsh judgment expressed by Mozart[77] has
contributed not a little, we imagine, to the indifference now shown to
the Clementi sonatas.[78] The judgment was a severe one; but Otto Jahn
relates how Clementi told his pupil Berger that, "at the period of
which Mozart writes, he devoted his attention to brilliant execution,
and in particular to double runs and extemporised passages." And,
again, Berger himself was of opinion that the sonata selected for
performance by Clementi at the memorable contest with Mozart in
presence of the Emperor Joseph the Second (December 1781), was
decidedly inferior to his earlier compositions of the same kind. The
sonata in question was the one in B flat (B. & H., No. 61; Holle, No.
37), of which the opening theme commences in the same manner as the
Allegro of the Overture to the _Magic Flute_. Mozart suffered much
from the predominant Italian influence at court, and the "like all
the Italians" in the letter just mentioned shows, to say the least, a
bitter spirit. But the letter was a private one, probably hastily
written. The judgment expressed was formed from an inferior work; in
any case, it must not be taken too seriously. Mozart, by the way, was
not the only composer who failed to render justice to his
contemporaries.

Clementi's sonatas may be roughly divided into three classes. Some he
wrote merely for the display of technique, while some were composed
for educational purposes. But there remain others in which his heart
and soul were engaged, and in these he reaches a very high level. Our
classification is a rough one, for often in those which we consider
his best, there is plenty of showy technique. With the exception of
Mozart's sonata in C minor, and Haydn's "Genziger" and "London"
sonatas, both in E flat, also some of Rust's, of which we shall soon
have something to say, there are, to our thinking, none which in
spirit come nearer to Beethoven than some of Clementi's. Mr. E.
Dannreuther, in his article on the composer in Sir George Grove's
_Dictionary of Music and Musicians_, justly remarks "that a judicious
selection from his entire works would prove a boon."

In order to trace the relationship between Clementi and Beethoven, it
may be well to state that Clementi in 1783 had published up to Op. 11
(Sonata and Toccata; the Toccata, by the way, is not included in the
Breitkopf & Härtel edition; it appeared first, we believe, together
with the sonata, in a London edition. Beethoven's first sonatas (Op.
2) appeared only in 1796).[79] By 1802, Clementi had published up to
Op. 40; in which year Beethoven composed two of the three sonatas, Op.
31, Nos. 1-3. Between 1820-21 appeared Clementi's sonata, Op. 46
(dedicated to Kalkbrenner), and the last set of three sonatas in
(including the "Didone Abbandonata") Op. 50. Beethoven's sonata in E
(Op. 109) appeared in November 1821. Thus Clementi at first influenced
Beethoven, but, later on, the reverse must have been the case.

Breitkopf & Härtel have published sixty-four sonatas of Clementi; and
of these, sixty-three are to be found in the Holle edition.[80]

The three sonatas, Op. 2, Nos. 1, 2, 3 (25, 26, 27), have only two
movements, and are principally remarkable for their showy
technique.[81]

Clementi, of course, was well acquainted with Scarlatti's music, yet
it would perhaps be difficult to point out any direct influence of the
one over the other. In the next three sonatas, Op. 9, Nos. 4, 5, 6
(11, 28, 12), the first and third are most interesting. In the second,
Clementi indulges in his favourite passages of thirds, sixths, and
octaves; there is, indeed, a Presto movement, a _moto perpetuo_ for
the right hand, in octaves, which, if taken up to time, would tax even
pianists of the present day. The 1st sonata may be noticed for its
bold chords, and its _sforzandos_ on unaccented beats, which sound
Beethovenish. The 3rd sonata reminds us in many ways of the Bonn
master. In the opening Allegro there is a sighing figure--

[Music illustration]

which plays an important part throughout the movement, and therefore
gives a marked character to it. In the development section the bold
contrasts, the powerful chords, the sighing figure in augmentation,
all point to Beethoven. And, curiously enough, the principal theme,
which now appears in major (the sonata is in G minor), reminds one
very strongly of the "Eroica"--

[Music illustration]

It is worth noticing that the "sighing figure" may be traced in the
other two movements of the sonata. The next sonata, No. 10 (44), has
three movements, all in the same key; the Trio of the Minuet is in the
key of the subdominant. In the first movement may be noticed the
extension of a phrase by repetition (_pp_) of its last two notes, a
feature often to be met with in Beethoven (see, for instance, the
first movement of the "Appassionata," development section).

The piano phrase in the Rondo of No. 11 (45), before the organ point
and the pause bar, is striking. No. 14 (2) is interesting. The broken
octaves at the end of the exposition section, and the return by
ellipsis to the principal theme, call to mind passages in Beethoven's
Op. 22 and Op. 109. Sonata No. 16 (4) has a delightful first movement;
the evolution of the second subject from the first deserves attention.
In No. 18 (51) there is one point to notice. The key of the first
movement is in F, but the principal theme in the recapitulation
section appears in E flat; the second theme, however, according to
rule, in the tonic.

Sonata No. 19 (52), in F minor, demands more than a passing word. Our
readers will, perhaps, be tired of our noticing foreshadowings of
Beethoven, yet we must add others here. We can assure them, however,
or rather those who are not familiar with Clementi's sonatas, that the
passages to which we call attention only form a small proportion of
those to which we might refer. The first movement (Allegro agitato) is
concise; there is no padding. Every bar of the exposition section may
be termed thematic. The second subject, in the orthodox relative
major, is evolved from the principal theme. And the latter descends,
but the former ascends--a true Beethoven contrast. The coda to the
first section, with its working of a thematic figure in augmentation,
forms a striking feature. At the close of the development section a
long dignified dominant passage seems a preparation for the return of
the principal theme, but the composer has a surprise; after a pause
bar, the _second_ theme appears, and in A flat. A modulation soon
leads back to F minor, and quite in Beethoven fashion--

[Music illustration]

and the exposition coda is repeated in extended form. In the next
movement (Largo e sostenuto) sombre tones still prevail; the key is
that of the dominant minor. There is evident kinship between the first
and last movements; of this the opening bar of the former and the
closing bars of the latter offer signal proof.

In No. 23 (43) at the end of the last movement, an organ point reminds
us that the full intentions of the composer are not recorded. Thus, in
Clementi's early sonatas at any rate, the interpreter, as in E.
Bach's works, was expected to make additions. In No. 26 (7) the
opening of the theme of the Arietta recalls, and in no vague manner,
the opening of the Finale of Beethoven's Septet. No. 34 (8) is an
excellent sonata; there is considerable freedom in the recapitulation
section. In No. 39 (35) Clementi returns to an old form of sonata:
there are only two movements, a Larghetto and Tempo di Minuetto, and
both in the same key. With sonata No. 41 (32), the first of two
published as Op. 34, Clementi breaks new ground. The idea of
incorporating the subject-matter of an introductory slow movement had
already occurred to Haydn,[82] but Clementi goes to greater lengths.
(It must not be forgotten that Beethoven's "Sonate Pathétique," Op.
13, appeared in 1799; possibly, before Clementi's.) From the opening
characteristic subject of the Largo is evolved the principal subject
of the Allegro _con fuoco_, and there is also relationship between it
and the second subject. In the unusually long development section, a
dramatic passage, evolved from the concluding bars of the Largo, leads
to a slow section in which the opening notes of the Largo are given
out in loud tones, and in the unexpected key of C major (the three
repeated _sforzando_ crotchets remind one of the "fate" notes in the C
minor Symphony); and when the Tempo primo is resumed, the

[Music illustration]

also reminds one of

[Music illustration]

in the same movement of the above-mentioned Symphony. Then, again, in
an important coda the theme is given out in modified, yet intensified
form. In the Finale of the sonata the Largo still makes its influence
felt. Exception may perhaps be taken to the length of the first
movement, and to the prominence throughout the work, of the principal
key; but the evident desire of the composer to express something which
was inwardly moving him gives great interest to the music.

The sonata in B minor, Op. 40, is one of Clementi's most finished
productions. The name of Beethoven must again be mentioned; for depth
of meaning, boldness, style of development, and gradation of interest,
the music comes within measurable distance of the greater master. Not
only is there no padding, but here the technique serves a higher
purpose than that of display; there are no formal successions of
thirds, sixths, or octaves, no empty bravoura passages. The long
development section of the first movement, with its bold contrasts,
its varied presentation of thematic material, its peculiar mode of
dealing with fragments of a theme, and its long dwelling on dominant
harmony previous to the return of the principal theme,--all these
things remind one of Beethoven. This movement is followed by a Largo
(_mesto e patetico_) leading to the final Allegro. These two are
intimately connected; and, moreover, the latter includes reminiscences
from the introductory Adagio. After a brief reference to the Largo,
the movement concludes with a passionate Presto coda. In Mr.
Banister's _Life of Macfarren_ we learn that the latter considered the
B minor of Clementi "one of the finest sonatas ever written"; and many
musicians will, probably, agree with him.

Of the three last sonatas (Op. 50, Nos. 1, 2, and 3), it must be
remembered that when they appeared Beethoven had published up to Op.
106, and possibly Op. 109. If, then, in some of the earlier Clementi
sonatas we spoke of his influence on Beethoven, it is just the reverse
here. Nevertheless, of these sonatas which must have been known to
that master, one may have led him to think again of the idea of
revealing the poetic basis of his sonatas.[83] Clementi gives the
title, "Didone Abbandonata: Scena Tragica" to his work. The
introductory Largo is _sostenuto e patetico_, while the Allegro which
follows bears the superscription, _deliberando e meditando_; the
Adagio is _dolente_; and the Allegro Finale, _agitato e con
disperazione_. The music expresses throughout the sorrow and despair
of the forsaken queen, while certain wild passages (as for example the
coda of the first Allegro) tell also of her anger. This Allegro is an
admirably sustained movement, and, at moments, the composer rises to
the height of his argument. It is interesting, too, from a technical
point of view, for there is no empty display. Whatever degree of
inspiration may be accorded to the music, it will surely be
acknowledged that the composer was full of his theme; that all his
powers of head and heart were engaged in the task of illustration.
This "Dido" sonata, of course, suffers if compared with those of
Clementi's great contemporary; and some of the writing is formal and
old-fashioned, and, at times, too thin to attract the sympathy or to
excite the interest of pianists of the present day, who enjoy the
richer inheritance of Beethoven, the romantic tone-pictures of
Schumann and Brahms, the fascinating miniatures of Chopin, and the
clever glitter of Liszt. Still it does not deserve utter oblivion.
Hear what Fr. Rochlitz says of it in the _Allg. Mus. Zeit._: "It (the
sonata) is indeed a tragic scene, one so clearly thought out and so
definitely expressed, that it is by no means difficult--not only in
each movement, but in its various divisions--to follow literally the
course of changing feeling which is here developed."

Schindler, with regard to the work, also remarks as follows: "Who
understands nowadays how to interpret this musical soul-picture
(written unfortunately in old stereotyped sonata-form!)? At best,
glancing hastily over it, a pianist carelessly remarks that the
poetical contents of this sonata are only expressed in the title." And
again: "In the year 1827, at Baden, near Vienna, Clementi gave me
details respecting the contents and interpretation of this tone-poem.
A new edition of the work by J. André of Offenbach enabled me to
insert a preface with the explanations of the veteran master."[84] And
further, as a tone-picture expressing states of the soul, he knows "of
no other work entitled sonata more worthy of a place beside those of
Beethoven."


II. Johann Ludwig Dussek

This composer comes next to Clementi, in order of time, and, we may
add, of merit. His natural gifts really exceeded those of Clementi;
but the latter made a deep study of his art, and also of the
pianoforte, to which, indeed, like Chopin, he devoted his whole
attention. Dussek was fond of ease and pleasure, and never developed
his powers to the full. It may be noted that both these celebrated
pianists were connected with English music-publishing houses. Clementi
prospered, though not in his first undertaking with Longman &
Broderip; but Dussek was unsuccessful, and left England, so it is
said, to avoid his creditors. There is, indeed, a letter written by
Dussek from Hamburg, dated 12th June, 1801, to Clementi, and apart
from the curious spectacle of these two pianists in commercial
correspondence with each other, the letter is of interest, in that it
belongs to a period of Dussek's life concerning the details of which
there is some uncertainty.[85] Dussek, it may be mentioned, does not
ever appear to have returned to London. In 1803 he became attached to
Prince Louis Ferdinand, to whom he offered advice in pianoforte
playing and composition. There is another letter extant of Dussek's
written in the same year in which that Prince fell on the battlefield
of Saalfeld (13th October, 1806), and this also we will give, as we
believe, like the one above, it has never been published.[86] The
catalogue of Dussek's works, in Sir G. Grove's _Dictionary of Music
and Musicians_, mentions three quartets for strings (Op. 60: in G, B
flat, and E flat), most probably the works referred to in the second
letter.

Dussek, born in the year 1761, studied first with his father J.J.
Dussek, and in his twenty-second year received further instruction
from Emanuel Bach; he soon enjoyed great fame as an executant.
Tomaschek, himself a pianist of note, thus speaks of him in his
autobiography:--

"There was, in fact, something magical about the way in which Dussek,
with all his charming grace of manner, through his wonderful touch,
extorted from the instrument delicious and at the same time emphatic
tones. His fingers were like a company of ten singers, endowed with
equal executive powers, and able to produce with the utmost perfection
whatever their director could require. I never saw the Prague public
so enchanted as they were on this occasion by Dussek's splendid
playing. His fine declamatory style, especially in _cantabile_
phrases, stands as the ideal for every artistic performance--something
which no other pianist has since reached."

The above quotation refers to a concert given at Prague in 1804.

There is, unfortunately, great confusion in the opus numbers of
Dussek's works; and, moreover, it is difficult, if not impossible, to
give the dates either of composition or publication. Breitkopf &
Härtel have published more than fifty sonatas, but we shall only refer
to some of the more important ones. Dussek, like all the prominent
composers of his time, not even excepting Haydn and Mozart, wrote
music on a practical, rather than on a poetical basis; one of the
letters given above acknowledges this in very frank terms. But to
Dussek's credit be it said, his least valuable works are masterpieces
as compared with those which the sonata-makers, Steibelt, Cramer, and
others, fabricated by the hundred. In Dussek we find great charm and
refinement, while the writing for the instrument is often highly
attractive; but the art of developing themes was certainly not his
strong point. That he was at times careless or indifferent may be seen
from such a bar as the following (Op. 47, No. 1, Litolff ed.; Adagio,
bar 9):--

[Music illustration]

The bar before the return of the principal theme in the Allegro of the
sonata in E flat (Op. 75) furnishes another instance. Again, in the
Allegro of the sonata in A flat, known as "Le Retour à Paris," there
is a passage (commencing fifteen bars before the end of the exposition
section) which, with slight alteration, might have been materially
improved.

Of the early sonatas, Op. 10, No. 2, in G minor, is an interesting
work. It consists of two well-contrasted movements: an Adagio in
binary, and a Vivace in sonata form. Of the Presto of Op. 10, No. 3,
Professor Prout, in his interesting article, _Dussek's Pianoforte
Sonatas_,[87] says: "Both the first and second principal subjects
remind us irresistibly of that composer (Mendelssohn), while the
phrase at the conclusion of the first part, repeated at the end of the
movement, is almost identical with a well-known passage in the first
movement of the 'Scotch Symphony.' Is the coincidence accidental, or
did Mendelssohn know the sonata, and was he unconsciously influenced
by it?"

In his three last sonatas (Op. 70, 75, and 77), Dussek rises to a very
high level; he was undoubtedly influenced by the earnestness of
Beethoven, the chivalric spirit of Weber, and the poetry of Schubert.
A new era had set in. These three composers were neither the _fools_
of princes nor the servants of the public: they were in the world, yet
not of it. They looked upon their art as a sacred thing; and most
probably the shallowness of much of the music produced in such
abundance towards the close of the eighteenth century spurred them on
to higher efforts. Dussek had lived an irregular, aimless sort of
life; he had wandered from one country to another, and had acquired
the ephemeral fame of the _virtuoso_. Perhaps he was a disappointed
man; there is a tinge of sadness about these last sonatas which
supports such a view. Perhaps a feeling that his life was ebbing away
made him serious: his music now shows no trifling. Explain it as you
may, Dussek's three last contributions to sonata literature rank
amongst the best of his day; and the indifference now shown to
them--so far, at least, as the concert platform is concerned--is proof
of ignorance, or bad taste. We say ignorance, because the rising
generation has few, if any, opportunities of hearing this composer's
music. It is eighteen years since his Op. 70 was given at the Popular
Concerts; while twenty-three and twenty-nine years have passed since
Op. 75 and Op. 77 have been played there.

The sonata in A flat, entitled "Le Retour à Paris," is known in
England as "Plus Ultra," and in an old edition it is dedicated to "Non
plus Ultra." The latter was meant for Woelfl, a famous pianist and
contemporary. His music is now forgotten, and his name is principally
remembered in connection with Beethoven; like the latter, his talent
for improvisation was great. The late J.W. Davidson, in his long and
interesting preface to Brewer & Co.'s edition of Dussek's A flat
sonata, leads us to believe that Dussek's publisher, and not the
composer himself, was responsible for the change of title to "Plus
Ultra." The opus number, too, was changed from 70 to 71. The following
story is also told by Davidson in a preface contributed by him to the
Brewer edition of the Woelfl sonata:--"Who will play it?" asked the
publisher (Well), looking through the music of the composer. "I vill
it blay," replied Woelfl. "Yes, but you won't buy the copies. No one
but yourself or Dussek can play the Allegro, and I doubt if either of
you can play the variations." Woelfl, however, sitting down before an
old harpsichord, convinced the publisher of his error. "What shall we
call it?" asked Well. "Call it 'Ne plus Ultra,'" said Woelfl, rubbing
his hands with joy, and adding, "Now shall we see if Herr von Esch
vill more blay, or Herr Bomdembo make de variation."

Dussek's "Plus Ultra" (Op. 70) is justly admired; the music is fine,
and in the matter of technique, setting aside a few sensational
passages[88] in Woelfl's sonata, which his very long fingers enabled
him to execute with comparative ease, far surpassed the earlier work.
It must appear strange to many musicians who do not possess a copy of
Woelfl's sonata, that, in any mention of the rivalry between the two
composers, no reference is made to Woelfl's sonata beyond the title.
An examination of the latter, however, would soon solve the mystery.
The plain fact is this: both the music and even the technique are now
absolutely uninteresting. The sonata, in the key of F major, commences
with a brief introductory Adagio, followed by a long, tedious Allegro
abounding in passages of thirds. A brief Andante comes between this
Allegro and the Finale, consisting of flimsy variations on the popular
melody "Life let us Cherish." In a book of small compass such as the
present one, we only wish to dwell upon matters of interest. For some
particular purpose Woelfl's sonatas might possibly prove of importance
and even interest; but not here. The "Non plus Ultra," so far as we
are concerned, may serve to remind us that Woelfl once lived; while
the rest of his music, like some incidents in his life, may be
consigned to oblivion. We cannot say that we have read all his
sonatas, but enough of them, we believe, to judge, generally, of their
contents.

Professor Macfarren's opinion of Dussek, as composer for the
pianoforte, in the _Imperial Dictionary of Biography_, is so
excellent, that we cannot perhaps do better than quote his words:--

"The immense amount of Dussek's compositions for the pianoforte have
by no means equal merit; many of them were written for the mere object
of sale, still more for the purpose of tuition, and some with the
design of executive display. Of those which were produced, however, in
the true spirit of art, expressing the composer's feelings in his own
unrestrained ideas, there exist quite enough to stamp him one of the
first composers for his instrument; and while these are indispensable
in the complete library of the pianist, they are above value to the
student in the development of his mechanism and the formation of his
style. A strong characteristic of the composer is his almost redundant
profusion of ideas;[89] but his rich fecundity of invention is greatly
counterbalanced by diffuseness of design, resulting from the want of
that power of condensation by means of which greater interest is often
given to less beautiful matter."

And then, again, in an analysis of a Dussek Quintet, he remarks that
in that composer's works we may trace "not only the origin of many of
the most beautiful effects with which later writers have been
accredited, but some of the identical ideas by which these very
writers have made their way into popularity."


III. Friedrich Wilhelm Rust

During the years 1744-45 a young man named Johann Ludwig Anton Rust
went to Leipzig to study jurisprudence and philosophy. But he was also
musical, and played the violin at performances given under the
direction of J.S. Bach. On returning to his home at Wörlitz, Rust
tried to inspire those around him with enthusiasm for the music of
Bach. With his younger brother, Friedrich Wilhelm, he was, at any
rate, successful; for the latter, already at the age of thirteen, was
able to play by heart the whole of the "Well-tempered Clavier." Later
on, young Friedrich went to Halle to study law, and there not only
made the acquaintance of Friedemann Bach, but, in return for attending
to the correspondence of that gifted musician, he received from him
instruction in composition, organ and clavier playing. Afterwards, at
Potsdam, he continued his clavier studies under Emanuel Bach. Surely a
finer training never fell to the lot of any pupil. Schumann recommends
young musicians to make Bach their daily bread; and of that, Rust must
have had full weight. But the list of his teachers is not yet
exhausted; he went to Italy in 1765, and studied the violin under
Tartini. Rust composed operas, cantatas, concertos, and sonatas for
violin,[90] and for pianoforte; the last-named, of which he wrote
eight, now concern us.

The earliest, entitled "Sonata Erotica," was composed in 1775; this
work, however, was not published until the year 1888 (edited by his
grandson, Dr. Wilhelm Rust,[91] late cantor of St. Thomas'). It is the
first of a series of works extraordinary in many ways--in form,
subject-matter, developments, and technique. With regard to the
last-named, there is something to say, and it had better be said at
once. Dr. E. Prieger, in his interesting pamphlet, _F.W. Rust: Ein
Vorgänger Beethovens_, remarks as follows:--"While the grandson, full
of enthusiasm, threw his whole soul into the creations of his
ancestor, he gave a reflection, in his edition, of the pictures which
had been vividly formed in his mind." To accomplish this he has
strengthened the writing, and, in some cases, _modernised_ it. Dr.
Prieger, who has seen some, if not all of the autographs, has assured
us that "these additions only concern the exterior, and do not affect
the fundamental, character of the work." This statement is, to a
certain extent, satisfactory, and we receive it thankfully. But a
great deal of the writing is far ahead of the age in which it was
written; it reminds one now of Weber, now of Schumann. Why, one may
ask, did not the editor indicate the additions in smaller notes? Then
it would have been possible to see exactly what the elder Rust had
written, and what the younger Rust had added. At present one can only
marvel at some of the writing, and long to know how much of it really
belongs to the composer. It appears that Rust, as editor of his
grandfather's work, had some intention of describing his editions,
etc., but death, which frequently prevents the best intentioned plans,
intervened.

The "Sonata Erotica" is noticeable, generally, for its charm, poetry,
and spontaneity. The first movement, an Allegro moderato, is in
sonata-form. The second, in the key of the relative minor, entitled
Fantasie, has in it more of the spirit of Beethoven than of Emanuel
Bach. The Finale is in rondo form; the middle section consists of a
playful Duettino, containing free imitations.

The next sonata (1777), in D flat, opens with a graceful Allegretto,
and closes with a Tempo di Minuetto, which, for the most part, points
backward rather than forward. The slow movement, Adagio sostenuto, is,
however, of a higher order than either of these. It has Beethovenish
breadth and dignity, yet lacks the power of the Bonn master: those
magic touches by which the latter makes us feel his genius, and
secures gradation of interest up to the very close of a movement. This
Adagio, however, were the date of its composition unknown, might pass
for a very clever imitation of Beethoven's style.

In 1784, Rust wrote two sonatas, one in F sharp minor, the other in B
flat minor. The latter consists of three movements, and the music,
especially in the Adagio in E flat minor, bears traces of the great
Bach; still there are passages which sound more modern even in this
very Adagio, which points so clearly to him as the source of
inspiration. The modern element, however, admits of explanation, for
Haydn and Mozart, at the time in which the sonata was written, had
appeared in the musical firmament. But in the works we are about to
mention, the composer suggests Beethoven, Weber, and even Schumann. In
writing about Clementi, we were compelled frequently, and at the risk
of wearying our readers, to call attention to foreshadowings of both
the letter and spirit of Beethoven. The cases of Clementi and Rust,
however, are not quite parallel. With the former it was mere
foreshadowing; with exception of a few passages in which there was
note resemblance between the two composers, the music still bore
traces of Clementi's mode of thought and style of writing. But with
Rust, there are moments in which it is really difficult to believe
that the music belongs to a pre-Beethoven period.

The sonata[92] in D minor (1788) opens with a vigorous yet dignified
Allegro; the graceful Adagio is of eighteenth century type; it is in
the key of the relative major, but closes on the dominant chord of D
minor, leading without break to a final Allegro, full of interesting
details. The movement concludes with an impressive _poco adagio_ coda,
in which Rust makes use of the principal theme of the opening
movement. We will venture on one quotation, although a few bars,
separated from the context, may convey only a feeble impression--

[Music illustration]

The sonata in D major, composed six years later, opens with an
interesting Allegro. The second movement, in B minor, bears the
superscription "Wehklage" (Lamentation). Rust's eldest son, a talented
youth, who was studying at Halle University, was drowned in the river
Saale, 23rd March 1794. Matthisson, the "Adelaide" poet, sent to the
disconsolate father a poem entitled "Todtenkranz für ein Kind," to
which Rust sketched music, and on that sketch is based this pathetic
movement, which sounds like some tone-poem of the nineteenth century.
Here is the impressive coda:--

[Music illustration]

There follows a dainty, old-fashioned Minuet, and a curious movement
entitled "Schwermuth und Frohsinn" (Melancholy and Mirth);[93] though
after the "Wehklage" these make little impression.

During four years (1792-96), Rust was occupied with a sonata in C
minor and major. The work is a remarkable one. It opens with an
energetic Recitativo in C minor, interrupted for a few bars by an
Arioso Adagio in C major. Then comes a Lento in six-four time based on
the celebrated Marlbrook song, a dignified movement containing, among
other canonic imitations, one in the ninth. It leads by means of a
_stringendo_ bar to a brilliant Allegro con brio, a movement of which
both the music and the technique remind one of Beethoven's bravoura
style. A second section of the sonata commences with the recitative
phrase of the opening of the work, only in A minor. This leads to a
highly characteristic Andante, which Dr. Rust, the editor, in a
preface to the published sonata, likens to the "mighty procession" in
Lenau's _Faust_. The Finale consists of an animated Allegro, with a
clever fugato by way of episode; there is still an Allegro maestoso,
which, except for its length and the fact that it contains a middle
section, Cantabile e religioso, we should call a long coda. The whole,
evidently programme-music, is a sonata worked out somewhat on Kuhnau
lines.

Now, was Beethoven acquainted with Rust's music? Dr. Prieger, in the
pamphlet mentioned above, remarks as follows:--"During the years
1807-27 Wilhelm Karl Rust (_b._ 1787, _d._ 1855), the youngest son of
our master, was in Vienna, and had the good fortune to make the
acquaintance of Beethoven, who was pleased with his playing, and
recommended him as teacher. Among Rust's lady pupils were Baroness
Dorothea Ertmann and Maximiliane Brentano, both of whom belonged to
Beethoven's most intimate circle of friends, and had been honoured by
having works dedicated to them. The younger Rust was gifted with an
extraordinary memory, and therefore it seems more than probable that
he occasionally performed some of his father's works in that circle.
On the other hand, we have Beethoven's energetic nature holding aloof
from anything which might influence his own individuality."

There, in a few words, is the answer to our question. And it is about
the only one we can ever hope to obtain. Rust was altogether a
remarkable phenomenon, a musician born, as it were, out of due time.
If Beethoven, as seems quite possible, was acquainted with his music,
then Rust exerted an influence over the master quite equal to that of
Clementi. It almost seems as if we ought to say, greater.




CHAPTER VII

LUDWIG VAN BEETHOVEN


Bach's forty-eight Preludes and Fugues and Beethoven's thirty-two
Sonatas tower above all other works written for the pianoforte; they
were aptly described by the late Dr. Hans v. Bülow, the one as the
Old, the other as the New Testament of musical literature. Each fresh
study of them reveals new points of interest, new beauties; they are
rich mines which it is impossible to exhaust. Bach seemed to have
revealed all the possibilities of fugue-form; and the history of the
last seventy years almost leads one to imagine that Beethoven was the
last of the great sonata writers. To this matter, however, we will
presently return. In speaking of the various composers from Kuhnau
onwards, we have tried to show the special, also the earliest,
influences acting on them; and we shall still pursue the same course
with regard to Beethoven. When he went to Vienna in 1792 he found
himself in the very centre of the musical world. Haydn, though past
sixty years of age, was at the zenith of his fame; and Beethoven, for
a time, studied under him. Mozart had died in the previous year, so
his name was still in everybody's mouth. The early works of Beethoven
give strong evidence of the influence exerted over him by these two
composers. Then Prince Lichnowsky, the friend and pupil of Mozart, and
Baron van Swieten, the patron and friend of both Haydn and Mozart,
were among the earliest to take notice of the rising genius and to
invite him to their musical _matinées_ and _soirées_; and one can
easily guess what kind of music was performed on those occasions. But
the little story of Beethoven remaining at van Swieten's house, after
the guests had departed, in order to "send his host to bed with half a
dozen of Bach's Fugues by way of _Abendsegen_" reminds us of another
strong, and still earlier, influence. At Bonn, under the guidance of
his master, Christian Gottlob Neefe, Beethoven was so well-grounded in
the "Well-tempered Clavier," that already, at the age of twelve, he
could play nearly the whole of it. But, if we are not mistaken, he
also made early acquaintanceship with the sonatas of Emanuel Bach. For
in 1773 Neefe published "Zwölf Klavier-Sonaten," which were dedicated
to the composer just named. In the preface he says: "Since the period
in which you, dearest Herr Capellmeister, presented to the public your
masterly sonatas, worked out, too, with true taste, scarcely anything
of a characteristic nature has appeared for this instrument.[94] Most
composers have been occupied in writing Symphonies, Trios, Quartets,
etc. And if now and then they have turned their attention to the
clavier, the greater number of the pieces have been provided with an
accompaniment, often of an extremely arbitrary kind, for the violin;
so that they are as suitable for any other instrument as for the
clavier." Then, later on, Neefe acknowledges how much instruction and
how much pleasure he has received from the theoretical and practical
works of E. Bach (we seem to be reading over again the terms in which
Haydn expressed himself towards Bach). May we, then, not conclude that
young Beethoven's attention was attracted to these "masterly sonatas,"
and also to those of his teacher Neefe? This is scarcely the moment to
describe the Neefe sonatas.[95] In connection, however, with
Beethoven, one or two points must be noticed. In the third of the
three sonatas which Beethoven composed at the age of eleven, the last
movement is entitled: Scherzando allegro ma non troppo, and twice in
Neefe do we come across the heading, Allegro e scherzando (first set,
No. 5, last movement; and second set, No. 1, also last movement).
Then, again, No. 2 of the second set opens with a brief introductory
Adagio, one, by the way, to some extent connected with the Allegro
which follows. In the 2nd of the above-mentioned Beethoven sonatas
(the one in F minor) there is also a slow introduction; the young
master, no mere imitator, anticipates his own "Sonate Pathétique," and
repeats it in the body of the Allegro movement. Lastly, no one, we
believe, can compare the Neefe variations with those of Beethoven in
the 3rd sonata (in A) without coming to the conclusion that the pupil
had diligently studied his teacher's compositions, which, we may add,
were thoroughly sound, full of pleasing _cantabile_ writing, and, at
times, not lacking in boldness. Let us venture on one quotation of
only four bars from Sonata 1, in G, of the second set of six: it is
the opening of a short Adagio connecting the Allegro with an Allegro e
scherzando--

[Music illustration]

The enharmonic modulation from the second to the third bar reminds one
of E. Bach, who was so fond of such changes; also of a similar one in
the "Pathétique."

Beethoven wrote thirty-two sonatas, and in the following table the
opus number of each work is given, also the date of its publication;
some have a title, and the greater number a dedication:--

Sonata                     Published   Dedicated to

Op.  2 No. 1 (F minor)        1796.    Haydn.
  "    No. 2 (A)                "        "
  "    No. 3 (C)                "        "
Op.  7       (E flat)         1797.    Countess Babette Keglevics.
Op. 10 No. 1 (C minor)        1798.    Countess Browne.
  "    No. 2 (F)                "           "
  "    No. 3 (D)                "           "
Op. 13       (C minor, "Sonate
               Pathétique")   1799.    Prince Charles Lichnowsky.
Op. 14 No. 1 (E)                "      Baroness Braun.
  "    No. 2 (G)                "           "
Op. 22       (B flat)         1802.    Count Browne.
Op. 26       (A flat)           "      Prince Charles Lichnowsky.
Op. 27 No. 1 (E flat)           "      Princess Liechtenstein.
  "    No. 2 (C sharp minor)    "      Countess Giulietta Guicciardi.
Op. 28       (D)                "      Joseph de Sonnenfels.
Op. 31 No. 1 (G)              1803.
  "    No. 2 (D minor)          "
  "    No. 3 (E flat)         1804.
Op. 49 No. 1 (G minor)        1805.
  "    No. 2 (G)                "
Op. 53       (C)                "      Count Waldstein.
Op. 54       (F)              1806.
Op. 57       (F minor)        1807.    Count Brunswick.
Op. 78       (F sharp)        1810.    Countess Theresa of Brunswick.
Op. 79       (G)                "
Op. 81A      (E flat; "Das Lebewohl,
             die Abwesenheit,
             das Wiedersehn") 1811.    Archduke Rudolph.
Op. 90       (E minor)        1815.    Count Moritz Lichnowsky.
Op. 101      (A)              1817.    Baroness Dorothea Ertmann.
Op. 106      (B flat)         1819.    Archduke Rudolph.
Op. 109      (E)              1821.    Maximiliane Brentano.
Op. 110      (A flat)         1822.
Op. 111      (C minor)        1823.    Archduke Rudolph.

The autograph of the last sonata does not bear any dedication, but,
from a letter of Beethoven (1st June, 1823) to the Archduke, it is
evident that it was intended for the latter.[96]

The fanciful name of "Moonlight" to Op. 27 (No. 2), the appropriate
publisher's title of Op. 57, and the poetical superscriptions of Op.
81A, have, without doubt, helped those sonatas towards their
popularity. It does not always happen that the most popular works of a
man are his best; but these in question justly rank among Beethoven's
finest productions. The last five sonatas are wonderful tone-poems;
yet, with the exception, perhaps, of Op. 110, in A flat, as regards
perfection of form and unity of conception, not one equals Op. 27 (No.
2), Op. 31 (No. 2), and Op. 57. Apart from any æsthetic
considerations, the digital difficulties of the last five sonatas
prevent their becoming common property. The brilliant technique of Op.
53 has proved a special attraction to pianists, and it has therefore
become widely known. With this one sonata Beethoven proved his
superiority, even in the matter of virtuosity, over the best pianists
of his day.

In order to be able to enter fully into the spirit of the music of
great composers, it is necessary to know the history of their lives.
Beethoven's is fairly well known. But it may be worth while to refer,
briefly, to the principal men and women to whom the master dedicated
his pianoforte sonatas.

Of the thirty-two, as will be seen from the above table, eight have no
dedication.

In the year 1792 Beethoven left Bonn and went to Vienna. There he
studied counterpoint under Haydn, yet the lessons proved
unsatisfactory. But the fame and influence of the veteran master no
doubt prompted the young artist to dedicate to him the three sonatas,
Op. 2. The title-page of the oldest Vienna edition runs thus:--

Trois Sonates pour le Clavecin Piano-forte composées
et dediées
A Mr. Joseph Haydn Docteur en musique par
Louis van Beethoven.

There was perhaps more of sarcasm than respect in the "Docteur en
musique"; Beethoven is related to have said that he had taken some
lessons from Haydn, but had never learnt anything from him.
Nevertheless he paid heed to his teacher's music. There are in the
sonatas one or two reminiscences of Haydn, which seem to us curious
enough to merit quotation. One occurs in the sonata in C minor (Op.
10, No. 1). We give the passage (transposed) from Haydn, and the one
from Beethoven:--

[Music illustration: "Letter V," Pohl, No. 58.[97] HAYDN.]

[Music illustration: Op. 10, No. 1. BEETHOVEN.]

And another--

[Music illustration: "In Native Worth" (_Creation_). HAYDN.]

[Music illustration: Op. 31, No. 1. BEETHOVEN.]

While speaking of reminiscences, a curious one may be mentioned. The
theme of the slow movement of Beethoven's sonata in A (Op. 2, No. 2)
strongly resembles the theme of the slow movement of his own Trio in B
flat (Op. 97):--

[Music illustration: Op. 2, No. 2.]

[Music illustration: Trio, Op. 97. _Andante._]

In Op. 111, again, the second subject of the Allegro recalls a phrase
in the Presto of the Sonata in C sharp minor.

Haydn, as the most illustrious composer of that day, stands first; but
the next name worthy of mention is Count Waldstein, a young nobleman
who had been a guide, philosopher, and friend to Beethoven during the
Bonn days. The well-known entry in the young musician's Album just
before his departure for Vienna shows in what high esteem he was held
by Waldstein. Count Ferdinand Waldstein died in 1823.

Prince Charles Lichnowsky was one of the composer's earliest patrons
after the latter had settled in Vienna. The Prince, descended from an
old Polish family, was born in 1758, and, consequently, was, by twelve
years, Beethoven's senior. He lived mostly in Vienna. In 1789 he
invited Mozart to accompany him to Berlin; and the King's proposal to
name the latter his capellmeister is supposed to have been suggested
by the Prince. Lichnowsky was also a pupil of Mozart's. His wife,
Princess of Thun, was famous for her beauty, her kindly disposition,
and for her skill as a musician. Beethoven had not been twelve months
in Vienna when he was offered rooms in the Prince's house. It was
there that the pianoforte sonatas Op. 2 were first played by their
author in presence of Haydn. Beethoven remained in this house until
1800. In 1799 the "Sonate Pathétique" was dedicated to the Prince, and
in the following year the latter settled on him a yearly pension of
600 florins. In the year 1806 there was a rupture between the two
friends. At the time of the battle of Jena, Beethoven was at the seat
of Prince Lichnowsky at Troppau, in Silesia, where some French
officers were quartered. The independent artist refused to play to
them, and when the Prince pressed the request, Beethoven got angry,
started the same evening for Vienna, and,--anger still burning in his
breast,--on his arrival home, he shattered a bust of his patron. The
composer's refusal to play to the French officers was grounded on his
hatred to Napoleon, who had just won the battle of Jena. Beethoven,
however, became reconciled with the Prince before the death of the
latter in 1814. It should be mentioned that Beethoven's first
published work, the three pianoforte Trios, was dedicated to Prince
Lichnowsky.

The Archduke Rudolph (1788-1831) was one of the master's warmest
friends, and one of his most devoted admirers. His uncle was Max
Franz, Elector of Cologne, to whose chapel both Beethoven and his
father had belonged. The Archduke was the son of Leopold of Tuscany
and Maria Louisa of Spain; his aunt was Marie Antoinette, and his
grandmother the famous Maria Theresa. He is supposed to have made the
acquaintance of Beethoven during the winter of 1803-4, and then to
have become his pupil. The pianoforte part of the Triple Concerto (Op.
58), commenced in 1804, and published in 1807, is said to have been
written for him.

Concerning the Countess Giulietta Guicciardi, for whom Beethoven
entertained a hopeless passion, and the Countess Theresa of Brunswick,
to whom he is said to have been secretly engaged for some years, there
is no necessity to enter into detail. Everyone has probably heard of
the famous love-letters, and of the discussion as to which of these
two they were addressed. Maximiliane Brentano was a niece of the
famous Bettine Brentano.

The Baroness Ertmann was an excellent performer on the pianoforte, and
is said to have been unrivalled as an interpreter of Beethoven's
music. Mendelssohn met her at Rome in 1831, and in a letter describes
her playing of the C sharp minor and D minor Sonatas.

We must now turn to the sonatas, yet neither for the purpose of
analysis nor of admiration. We shall briefly discuss how far Beethoven
worked on the lines established by his predecessors, and how far he
modified them. And, naturally, the question of music on a poetic basis
will be touched upon.

The number of movements of which Beethoven's sonatas consist varies
considerably: some have two, some three, others four. The three very
early sonatas dedicated to Maximilian, Archbishop of Cologne, have
only three movements (the second opens with a brief Larghetto, which,
however, really forms part of the first movement). But the four
Sonatas Op. 2 (Nos. 1, 2 and 3) and Op. 7 all have four movements--an
Allegro, a slow movement, a Scherzo or Minuet and Trio, and a final
Allegro or Rondo. There are examples in later sonatas of similar
grouping; but it is an undeniable fact that in some of his greatest
sonatas--Op. 31 (No. 2), Op. 27 (No. 2), Op. 53, Op. 57--he reverts to
the three-movement sonata so faithfully adhered to by Emanuel Bach,
Haydn, Mozart, and Clementi. And there is evidence that the omission
of the Minuet or Scherzo in Op. 10 (Nos. 1 and 2), in Op. 13, and in
others named above, was the result of reflection and not caprice.

Among sketches for the Sonatas, Op. 10, Beethoven writes: "Zu den
neuen Sonaten ganz kürze Menuetten" (to the new sonatas quite short
Minuets); and also, a little further on, "Die Menuetten zu den Sonaten
ins künftige nicht länger als von 16 bis 24 Takte" (in future the
Minuets to the sonatas not to exceed from 16 to 24 bars). Then, again,
there are two sketches for a movement of the Minuet or Scherzo kind,
which were almost certainly intended for the Sonata No. 1 in C minor.
One of these was afterwards completed, and has been published in the
Supplement to Breitkopf & Härtel's edition of Beethoven's works. Both
these were finally rejected, yet Beethoven made still another attempt.
There is a sketch for an "Intermezzo zur Sonate aus C moll," and at
the end of the music the composer writes: "durchaus so ohne Trio, nur
ein Stück" (exactly thus without Trio, only one piece). So the Minuets
were to be short; then the limit of length is prescribed; and, lastly,
an Intermezzo _without_ Trio is planned. The composer proposed, but
his [Greek: daimôn] disposed; the Sonata in C minor finally appeared
in print with only an Adagio between the two quick movements.

Schindler, in reference to the proposal made by Hoffmeister to
Beethoven to edit a new edition of his pianoforte works, tells us that
had that project been carried out, the master, in order to get a
nearer approach to unity, would have reduced some of his earlier
sonatas from four movements to three. And he adds: "He would most
certainly have cut out the Scherzo Allegro from the highly pathetic
sonata for Pianoforte and Violin (Op. 30, No. 2; the first and third
have only three movements), a movement in complete opposition to the
character of the whole. He always objected to this movement, and, for
the reason just assigned, advised that it should be omitted. Had the
scheme been carried out, a small number of Scherzos, Allegros and
Menuets would have been 'dismissed.' In our circle, however,
objections were raised against this proposal; for among these
Scherzos, etc., each of us had his favourite, and did not like the
idea of its being removed from the place which it had long occupied.
The master, however, pointed to the three-movement sonatas--Op. 10 in
C minor, Op. 13, Op. 14, Op. 31 (Nos. 1 and 2), Op. 57, and others.
The last sonatas--Op. 106 and Op. 110--which contain more than three
movements must be judged in quite a different manner" (_Life of
Beethoven_, 3rd ed. vol. ii. pp. 215-16).

Schindler's statements have sometimes been called in question; the
above, however, bears on it the stamp of truth.

But how came it to pass that Beethoven's first four sonatas--Op. 2
(Nos. 1, 2, and 3) and Op. 7--have four movements? That is a question
easier to ask than to answer. Schindler's remark that he followed
custom is difficult to understand. In our introductory chapter we
spoke of twenty sonatas containing four movements written probably
about the middle of the eighteenth century, also of one of Wagenseil's
for clavier with violin accompaniment; yet among the known sonatas of
that period, these form a minority. Woelfl's Sonata in B flat (Op. 15)
has four movements: Allegro, Andante, Scherzo Allegro, and Finale
(theme and variations), but that work appeared shortly after
Beethoven's Op. 2.

Even Haydn, who is said to have introduced the Minuet into the
Symphony, remained faithful to the three-movement form of sonata.
Beethoven, however, wrote six sonatas consisting of two movements.
This change in the direction of simplicity is striking, for in his
quartets the composer became more and more complex. It seems as if he
were merely intent on exhibiting strong contrast of mood: agitation
and repose, or fierce passion followed by heavenly calm; we are
referring especially to the Sonata in E minor (Op. 90) and to the one
in C minor (Op. 111). The two sonatas of Op. 49--really sonatinas
written for educational purposes--may be dismissed; also Op. 54, in
the composition of which the head rather than the heart of the master
was engaged. Even Op. 78, in F sharp, in spite of the Countess of
Brunswick, to whom it was dedicated, does not seem the outcome of
strong emotion; and therefore we do not take it now into
consideration. The two sonatas (Op. 90 and 111) mentioned above are
strong tone-poems, and the master having apparently said all that he
had to say, stopped. The story, already related, about having no time
to complete Op. 111 must not be taken seriously. Nevertheless, we do
not for one moment imagine that Beethoven was thus reducing the number
of movements, in accordance with some preconceived scheme.

The D minor (Op. 31, No. 2) and the F minor (Op. 57) sonatas, not to
speak of others, form the apotheosis of the sonata in three movements
as established, though not invented, by Emanuel Bach. To say that
Beethoven was the perfecter of the sonata is true, but it is scarcely
the whole truth. The E minor appears a first great step in the process
of dissolution; the C minor, a second. They were great steps, because
they were those of a very great man. The experiments as to number of
movements of which we spoke in our introductory chapter were
interesting; and with regard to the number, and also the position of
the Minuet before or after the slow movement, those experiments
acquired additional interest, inasmuch as Beethoven seems for a time
to have been affected by them. The two works named are, however, of
the highest importance; in them, if we are not mistaken, are to be
found the first signs of the disappearance, as it were, of the sonata
of three movements, and, perhaps, of the sonata itself, into the
"imperceptible." After Op. 90 Beethoven wrote sonatas in four
movements, but that does not affect the argument, neither does the
fact, that after Beethoven are to be found several remarkable sonatas
with the same number. The process of evolution of the sonata was
gradual; so also will be that of its dissolution. The title of
"sonata" given by Beethoven to his Op. 90 and Op. 111 does not affect
the music one jot; under any other name it would sound as well. You
might call the "Choral Symphony" a Divertimento, and the title would
be considered inappropriate; or a Polonaise, and the name would be
scouted as ridiculous; but the music would still remain great and
glorious. Yet taking into consideration the meaning of the term
"sonata" as understood by Emanuel Bach, Haydn, and Beethoven himself,
it can scarcely be the right one for these tone-poems in two sections.
The sonata-form of the first movement in each case may have suggested
the title. The two early sonatas Op. 27 (Nos. 1 and 2) are both styled
sonata, but with the addition _quasi una fantasia_. And in neither
case was the first movement in sonata-form; the one in E flat does not
even contain such a movement. There are other signs of the process of
disintegration in the later sonatas. Op. 109, in E, is peculiar as
regards the form of the movements of which it is composed; and the
fugues of Op. 101, 106, and 109--a return, by the way, to the
past--show at least an unsettled state of mind. The sonata in A flat
(Op. 110) was probably the germ whence sprang the sonata in B minor of
Liszt--a work of which we shall soon have to speak.

Beethoven departed from the custom of his predecessors Haydn and
Mozart, and the general practice of sonata-writers before him, in the
matter of tonality. In a movement in sonata-form the rule was for the
second subject to be in the dominant key in the exposition section,
and in the tonic in the recapitulation section, if the key of the
piece was major; but if minor, in the relative major or dominant minor
in the exposition, and in the tonic major or minor in the
recapitulation. Thus, if the key were C major, the second subject
would be first in G major, afterwards in C major; if the key were C
minor, first in E flat major, or G minor, afterwards in C minor or
major. In a minor movement the second subject is found more often in
the relative major than in the dominant minor. The first and third
movements of Beethoven's Sonata in D minor (Op. 31, No. 2) illustrate
the latter; in each case the second subject is in A minor.

In major keys, besides that of the dominant, Beethoven chose the
mediant (E) in his sonata in C (Op. 53); and in the recapitulation it
occurs first in the sub-mediant (A), and only afterwards, in varied
form, in the orthodox tonic. Then in the B flat sonata (Op. 106) the
second subject occurs in the sub-mediant (G). In the last sonata in C
minor, the second subject is neither in the relative major, nor in the
dominant minor, but in the major key of the sub-mediant. Once again,
in the sonata in D major (Op. 10, No. 3) a second theme is introduced
in the key of the relative minor before the dominant section is
reached. With regard, indeed, to the number of themes and order of
keys, some other movements of the Beethoven sonatas show departures
from the orthodox rules.

In the important matter of the repeat of the first section of a
movement in sonata-form, we find the master, for the most part,
adhering to the custom delivered unto him by his predecessors. And yet
there were two strong reasons why he might have been tempted to depart
from it. The repetition was a survival from the old dance movements in
binary form. E. Bach, Haydn, and Mozart not only repeated, but
introduced various kinds of ornaments, and even harmonic changes; and
they expected performers to do the same. Beethoven, however, allowed
no such licence--one, indeed, which in the hands of ordinary pianists
would be calculated to spoil rather than to improve the music. Part,
then, of the _raison d'être_ of the repeat ceased to exist. But a
still stronger temptation to suppress it must have been the
_programme_ or _picture_ which Beethoven had in his mind when he
composed. The repeat, now become almost an empty form, must have
proved at times a fetter to his imagination. In many ways he was bold;
but in this matter strangely conservative. It was only in the sonata
in F minor, Op. 57, that he first ventured to omit the repeat. It is
not to be found in the opening movements of Op. 90 or Op. 110, yet in
his last sonata (Op. 111) the composer almost seems as if he wished to
atone for his previous sins of omission. He had evidently not settled
the question one way or the other; but the fact that in three of his
most poetical works he departed from custom, deserves note. Before his
time the repeat, like the laws of the Medes and Persians, seemed
irrevocably fixed.

Beethoven added important introductions or codas, or even both, to
some of the movements of his sonatas. Codas are to be found in the
sonatas both of Haydn and Mozart, but not introductory movements; the
idea of the latter, however, did not originate with Beethoven. The
Grave which opens the "Pathétique" (Op. 13) does not merely throw the
listener into the right mood for the Allegro, but the opening phrase--

[Music illustration]

is afterwards made use of in the development section--

[Music illustration]

and, later on, it occurs in double augmentation.

The _maestoso_ which ushers in the Allegro of the last sonata contains
foreshadowings which are better felt than explained.

At times the codas of Haydn are interesting,--as, for example, the one
at the end of the first movement of his "Genziger" Sonata in E
flat,--yet they do not present the thematic material in any new or
striking light. With Beethoven it is different. In the Sonata in E
flat (Op. 7) not only is there contrapuntal working, but the principal
theme, just at the close, is, as it were, rounded off, completed.
Similar treatment may be seen in the first movement of the Sonata in D
(Op. 10, No. 3) (here the effect is intensified by contrary motion);
also in the Allegro of Op. 13, and other sonatas; the opening movement
of Op. 57 offers a striking illustration.

The coda to the first movement of the "Waldstein" Sonata (Op. 53) is
on a most elaborate scale: it is almost as long as the development
section. In the latter, only fragments of the principal theme had been
worked, but in the coda it appears in complete form; fierce chords
seem to retard its progress, and a sinking, syncopated figure is
opposed to it, counteracting its rising, expanding nature. But it
works its way onward and upward, until, as if exhausted by the effort,
two descending scales lead to a quiet delivery of the second theme,
which had not been heard during the development section. Then
principal theme is given for the last time; it has overcome all
obstacles, and proclaims its victory in loud and powerful chords. The
Presto which closes the "Appassionata" (Op. 57) is one of Beethoven's
grandest codas, and all the more wonderful in that it follows a
movement of intense storm and stress. It is a coda, not merely to the
last movement, but to the whole work: it recalls the first, as well as
the third movement. The coda of the first movement of the C minor
Symphony displays similar intensity; there, however, we have an
expression of strong will; here, one of savage despair. The coda of
the first movement of the "Adieux" Sonata (Op. 81A) is another
memorable ending. The farewell notes sound sad in the opening Adagio,
while in the Allegro which follows they are again plaintive, or else
agitated. But in the coda, though still sad, they express a certain
tenderness, and the lingering of friends loth to part. Whatever the
special meaning of the music, the point which we here wish to
emphasise is, that the coda presents thematic material, already amply
developed, in quite a new light.

In the matter of structure, Beethoven may be said, in the main, to
have followed Haydn and Mozart, but the effect of his music is,
nevertheless, very different. By overlapping of phrases; by very
moderate use of full closes; by making passages of transition
thoroughly thematic; by affinity and yet strong contrast between his
principal and second themes; by a more organic system of development;
by these and other means Beethoven surpassed his predecessors in power
of continuity, intensity, and unity. Then, again, his conception of
tonality was broader, and his harmonies were more varied; the fuller,
richer tone of the pianoforte of his day influenced the character of
his melodies; while the consequent progress of technique, as
exhibited in the works of some of his immediate predecessors and
contemporaries, enabled him to present his thoughts with greater
variety and more striking effect than was possible to either Haydn or
Mozart.

Once more, Beethoven seemed to be elaborating some central thought;
Haydn and Mozart (with few exceptions), to be deftly weaving together
thoughts so as to obtain pleasing contrasts. In a similar manner, the
first and last movements of a sonata with Beethoven are of kindred
mood, though perhaps of different degree. Haydn and Mozart seem again
to be aiming at contrast; after a dignified opening Allegro and a
soft, graceful slow movement, they frequently wind up with a Finale of
which the chief characteristics are humour, playfulness, and
merriment, so that the listener may part company from them in a
pleasant frame of mind.

We have been comparing the composer, and to his advantage, with Haydn
and Mozart. But the latter, however, sometimes come within near reach
of the former; and had the means at their disposal been similar, they
might possibly have equalled him. And, on the other hand, Beethoven's
inspiration was sometimes at a comparatively low ebb. Speaking
generally, however, the comparison, we believe, stands good.

John Sebastian Bach devoted the greater part of his life to the art of
developing themes. His skill was wonderful, and so, too,--considering
the restrictions of the fugue-form,--was the imagination which he
displayed. In Beethoven the old master seems to live again, only under
new and more favourable conditions. Bach was brought up in the way of
the fugue, Beethoven of the sonata; and, it may be added, from these,
respectively, neither ever departed. From early youth onward, our
composer was a deep student of Bach, and assimilated some of his
predecessor's methods. One special feature of Beethoven's mode of
development was to take a few notes, or sometimes merely a figure,
from his theme, and to expand them into a phrase; as, for instance, in
the opening movement of the sonata in C minor (Op. 10, No. 1), in
which

[Music illustration]

forms the material for the closing phrase of the exposition section.
And the opening figure of the Finale of the same sonata is employed in
a similar manner at the commencement of the second section of the
movement. The Rondo of Op. 10, No. 3, furnishes good illustrations.
Now let us turn to Bach. In the 13th Fugue of the "Well-tempered
Clavier," the closing notes of the subject

[Music illustration]

are expanded, commencing at bar twenty-four, into a melodious phrase.
Also in the Prelude which follows (No. 14)

[Music illustration] becomes [Music illustration]

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

[Music illustration]

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

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

Very many, probably the greater number, of Beethoven's sonatas rest
upon some poetic basis. Bombet, in his _Life of Haydn_, tells us how
that composer sometimes "imagined a little romance, which might
furnish him with musical sentiments and colours"; and the titles which
he gave to many of his symphonies certainly support that statement. At
other times the romance was already to hand, as in the case of the
32nd sonata, which was inspired by Haydn's dear friend, Frau von
Genziger. Of the poetic basis underlying some of Beethoven's sonatas
we have fair knowledge. Schindler, in the second edition of his
_Biography of Beethoven_, gives a few extracts from the Conversation
Books (Conversations Hefte), in which, on account of the master's
deafness, questions or answers were written down by those holding
conversation with him. Beethoven read, and, of course, replied _viva
voce_. We have not, it is true, his words, yet it is possible, at
times, to gather their purport from the context. For instance, there
is a conversation (or rather one half of it) recorded, which took
place in 1823 between the composer and Schindler. The latter says: "Do
you remember how I ventured a few years ago to play over to you the
Sonata Op. 14?--now everything is clear." The next entry runs
thus:--"I still feel the pain in my hand." A footnote explains that
after Schindler had played the opening section of the first movement,
Beethoven struck him somewhat roughly on the hand, pushed him from the
stool, and, placing himself on it, played and _explained_ the sonata.
Then Schindler says: "Two principles also in the middle section of
'Pathétique,'" as if the teacher had called upon him to give
illustrations from other sonatas of what he had explained concerning
Op. 14. But there is another record of a conversation which took place
between Beethoven and Schindler in the very month (March, 1827) in
which the composer died. "As you feel well to-day," says the disciple,
"we can continue our talk concerning the poetic basis ("wieder etwas
poetisiren") of the Trio in B flat." And after some remarks about
Aristotle's views of tragedy, and about the _Medea_ of Euripides, we
come across the following:--"But why _everywhere_ a superscription? In
many movements of the sonatas and symphonies, where feeling and one's
own imagination might dictate, such a heading would do harm. Music
ought not, and cannot, on all occasions give a definite direction to
feeling." Beethoven must have been alluding to some scheme of his for
indicating the nature of the contents of his works, and its boldness
seems to have astonished Schindler. It is possible that Beethoven,
conscious that his end was not far distant, carried away by the
enthusiasm of the moment, and desirous of giving all possible help to
the right understanding of his music, went far beyond the modest lines
by which he was guided when writing his "Pastoral" Symphony.[98] But
let us return to the conversation.

"Good!" says Schindler, "then you will next set about writing an
_angry_ sonata?" Beethoven would seem to have declared even that
possible, for Schindler continues: "Oh! I have no doubt you will
accomplish that, and I rejoice in anticipation." And, then, as if
remembering that his master was an invalid, and that it would not be
right to excite him by prolonging the argument, he added, probably in
a half-jocular manner: "Your housekeeper must do her part, and first
put you into a towering passion." The above extracts show pretty
clearly that the poetic basis of his music was a subject which
Beethoven took pleasure in discussing with his friends. Beethoven's
back was, however, at once up if he found others pushing the matter
too far. Of this we will give an instance. In the year 1782 Dr.
Christian Müller of Bremen organised concerts among the members of his
family, and, already at the beginning of the nineteenth century,
Beethoven's name figured on the programmes. A friend of the family,
Dr. Carl Iken, who took part in the musical proceedings, was an ardent
admirer of Beethoven's music, and he ventured to draw up explanations
and picture-programmes of the master's works; and these were read out
before the performances of the works in question. It seems, indeed,
that he was the first who felt impelled to give utterance to the
poetical feelings aroused by Beethoven's music. Dr. Iken's intentions
were of the best, and he may often have succeeded in throwing his
audience into the right mood. A poetical programme, if not too
fantastic, would often prove of better effect than the most skilful of
analyses. These "Iken" programmes so delighted Dr. Müller that he sent
several of them to the master at Vienna. Beethoven read, but his anger
was stirred. He sent for Schindler, and dictated a letter to Dr.
Müller. It was a friendly but energetic protest against such treatment
of his or anyone else's music. He drew attention to the erroneous
opinions to which it would give birth. _If explanations were needed_,
he declared, _let them be limited to the general characteristics of
the compositions_,[99] which it would not be difficult for cultured
musicians to furnish. Thus relates Schindler, and there seems no
reason to doubt his word. It is to be hoped that Dr. Müller's letter
will one day be discovered. It was not the plan to which Beethoven
objected, but the manner in which it was carried out.

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

It was undoubtedly this poetic basis that so affected the form of
Beethoven's sonatas. The little romances by which Haydn spurred his
imagination were as children's tales compared with the deep thoughts,
the tragic events, and the masterpieces of Plato, Shakespeare, and
Goethe, which in Beethoven sharpened feeling and intensified thought.
The great sonatas of Beethoven are not mere cunningly-devised pieces,
not mere mood-painting; they are real, living dramas.

In aiming at a higher organisation, he actually became a disorganiser.
"All things are growing or decaying," says Herbert Spencer. And in
Beethoven, so far as sonata and sonata-form are concerned, we seem, as
it were, to perceive the beginning of a period of decay.




CHAPTER VIII

TWO CONTEMPORARIES OF BEETHOVEN


I. Weber

The two greatest contemporaries of Beethoven were, undoubtedly, Carl
Maria von Weber and Franz Schubert, and both wrote pianoforte sonatas.
Many other composers of that period--some of them possessed of
considerable talent--devoted themselves to that branch of musical
literature: Steibelt (1764-1823), Woelfl (1772-1812), J.B. Cramer
(1771-1858), J.N. Hummel (1778-1837), F.W.M. Kalkbrenner (1788-1849),
and others. Of these, the first three may be named sonata-makers. The
number which they produced is positively alarming; but it is some
consolation to think that a knowledge of their works is not of
essential importance. Steibelt's sonata in E flat (dedicated to Mme.
Buonaparte) was given once at the Popular Concerts in 1860, and
Woelfl's "Ne plus Ultra" sonata, several times between 1859 and 1873;
not one, however, of the 105 said to have been written by J.B. Cramer
has ever been heard there.[100] Most of these works justly merit the
oblivion into which they have fallen; some are quite second, or even
third rate; others were written merely as show pieces,[101] and are
now, of course, utterly out of date; and many were written for
educational purposes, or to suit popular taste (sonatas containing
variations on national and favourite airs, light rondos, etc.).[102]

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

Hummel's few sonatas have suffered at the hand of time; but, though
the music be mechanical, and therefore cold, there is much to interest
pianists in the two sonatas in F sharp minor (Op. 81) and D major (Op.
106). These were written after the composer's appointment at Weimar in
1820. His two early sonatas (Op. 13, in E flat, and Op. 20, dedicated
to Haydn) are not easy, yet not so difficult as the two just
mentioned.

Steibelt and Woelfl both measured themselves with Beethoven in the art
of improvisation. The former was so ignominiously defeated that he
never ventured to meet his rival again. Woelfl, however, fared better.
With his long fingers he could accomplish wonders on the instrument;
but only so far as technique was concerned did he surpass Beethoven.

Carl Maria v. Weber (1786-1826) in early youth studied the pianoforte
under two able court organists, J.P. Heuschkel[103] and J.N.
Kalcher,[104] both of whom he always held in grateful remembrance.
Under the direction of the latter he wrote some pianoforte sonatas,
which, according to the statement of his son and biographer, M.M. v.
Weber, were accidentally destroyed. Later on he studied under Vogler
and other masters. He became a famous pianist, and at Berlin, in 1812,
composed his 1st Sonata in C (Op. 24). No. 2, in A flat (Op. 39), was
commenced at Prague in 1814, and completed at Berlin in 1816. No. 3,
in D minor (Op. 49), was also written at Berlin, and in the same year.
No. 4, in E minor (Op. 70), occupied the composer between the years
1819 and 1822; it was written at Hosterwitz, near Dresden, during the
time he was at work on his opera _Euryanthe_.

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

The Weber sonatas have been described by Dr. P. Spitta as "fantasias
in sonata-form," and this admirably expresses the character of these
works. Weber followed the custom of his day in writing sonatas, but it
seems as though he would have accomplished still greater things had he
given full rein to his imagination, and allowed subject-matter to
determine form. Like his great contemporary, of whom we have next to
speak, Weber, in spite of Vogler's teaching, was not a strong
contrapuntist; he relied chiefly upon melody, harmonic effects, and
strong contrasts. His romantic themes, his picturesque colouring,
enchant the ear, and the poetry and passion of his pianoforte music,
both intensified by grand technique, stir one's soul to its very
depths; yet the works are of the fantasia, rather than of the sonata
order. We have the letter rather than the true spirit of a sonata.
Place side by side Weber's Sonata in A flat (the greatest of the four)
and Beethoven's D minor or "Appassionata," and the difference will be
at once felt. In the latter there is a latent power which is wanting
in the former. It seems as if one could never sound the depths of
Beethoven's music: fresh study reveals new beauties, new details; the
relation of the parts to the whole (not only of the sections of a
movement, but of the movements _inter se_), and, therefore, the unity
of the whole becomes more evident. We must not be understood to mean
that Weber worked without plan, or even careful thought; but merely,
that the organic structure of his sonatas is far less closely knit
than in those of the Bonn master; there is contrast rather than
concatenation of ideas, outward show rather than inner substance. The
slow movements (with exception of those of the 1st and 2nd Sonatas,
which have somewhat of a dramatic character) and Finales are
satisfactory, _per se_, as music: the former have charm, refinement;
the latter, elegance, piquancy, brilliancy. Now, in these sonatas,
the opening movements seem like the commencement of some tragedy: in
No. 2 there is nobility mixed with pathos; in No. 3, fierce passion;
and in No. 4, still passion, albeit of a tenderer, more melancholy
kind. But in the Finales it is as though we had passed from the
tragedy of the stage to the melodrama, or frivolity of the
drawing-room; they offer, it is true, strong contrast, yet not of the
right sort, not that to which Beethoven has accustomed us.

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


II. Schubert

The other great contemporary of Beethoven was Franz Schubert, born in
1797, the year in which the former published his Sonata in E flat (Op.
7). Then, again, Schubert's earliest pianoforte sonata was composed in
February 1815, while Beethoven's Sonata in A (Op. 101) was produced at
a concert only one year later (16th February 1816). It is well to
remember these dates, by which we perceive that Beethoven had written
twenty-seven of his thirty-two sonatas before Schubert commenced
composing works of this kind. But though here and there the influence
of the Bonn master may be felt in Schubert, the individuality of the
latter was so strong, that we regard him as an independent
contemporary. The influence of Haydn and Mozart, _plus_ his own mighty
genius, seem almost sufficient to account for Schubert's music. The
new edition of the composer's works published by Messrs. Breitkopf &
Härtel contains fifteen sonatas for pianoforte solo. The first four--

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

had hitherto only been known by name.

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

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

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

Three more sonatas were produced in the year 1817, the first in the
unusual key of B major; and here we find a marked advance in
conception and execution. It opens with an Allegro, the total effect
of which, however, is not satisfactory; the principal theme has
dramatic power, and what follows has lyrical charm, but the
development section is disappointing. The Adagio seems like an
arrangement of a lovely symphonic movement; the orchestra, and not the
pianoforte, must have been in the composer's mind when he penned it.
The lively Scherzo, with its quiet Trio, is a little gem. The
clear-cut, concise form of such movements saved Schubert from all
danger of diffuseness; and in them, as Mozart remarked to the Emperor
Joseph, who complained of the number of notes in his opera, _Die
Entführung_, there are "just as many as are necessary." The sonata in
A minor (Op. 164), which consists of three movements, is short and
delightful from beginning to end. In the opening Allegro the second
subject occurs, by way of exception, in the major key of the
submediant. There is much to admire in the 3rd, in E flat, especially
the Minuet and Trio; yet the music is not pure Schubert. About six
years elapsed between this and the next sonata, in A minor (1823).
Schubert had already written his B minor Symphony, and though the
first two movements of the sonata will not compare with those of the
former in loftiness of conception, there is a certain kinship between
the two works. In both there are fitful gusts of passion, a feeling of
awe, and a tone of sadness which tells of disappointed hopes, of lost
illusions. The Finale, though fine, stands on a lower level. During
the years 1825-26, Schubert wrote, besides one in A major (Op. 120),
three magnificent sonatas: one in A minor, dedicated to the Archduke
Rudolph (Op. 42), another in D (Op. 53), and a third in G (Op. 78). In
these three works we have the composer's ripest efforts. The first
movement of the 1st, in A minor, is well-nigh perfect. That opening
phrase--

[Music illustration]

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

The last three sonatas (in C minor, A, and B flat) were composed in
September 1828, not three months before the death of the composer. In
the opening theme of No. 2, determination and confidence are
expressed, while in the Scherzo and Rondo there is even sunshine,
though now and again black clouds flit across the scene. But in the
Adagio, and in all the movements of the other two sonatas, the mood is
either one of sadness, more or less intense, dark despair, or fierce
frenzy. Music can express both joy and sorrow, though the latter seems
more congenial to it. Mournful strains are an echo, as it were, of the
"still, sad music of humanity." Grief, too, sharpens the imagination;
and music produced under its influence stirs a sensitive soul more
powerfully than the brightest, merriest sounds. But these three
sonatas, though they contain wonderful thoughts and some of Schubert's
grandest, and most delicate harmonic colouring, fall short of
perfection. They are too long, not because they cover so many pages,
but because there is a lack of balance; at times, indeed, the composer
seems to lose all sense of proportion. Then, again, the weakness of
Schubert in the art of development is specially felt; the noble
themes, on the whole, lose rather than gain by the loose, monotonous,
and, in some places, even trivial treatment to which they are
subjected. And what is more fatal than a lack of gradation of
interest? In a truly great work of art, be it poem, tragedy, sonata,
or symphony, the author carries his readers or audience along with
him from one point to another,--he gives no time for rest or
reflection; and when he has worked them up to the highest pitch, he
stops, and there is an awakening, as it were, from some wonderful
dream. If afterwards the work be analysed, the pains with which it was
built up can be traced; the powerful effect which it produced will be
found due, not alone to the creative power, the imagination of the
author, but also to his dialectic skill and to his critical faculty.
It is all very well to talk of great works as the fruits of hot
inspiration and not cold intellect. A masterpiece is the outcome of
both; the one provides the material, the other shapes it. Schubert was
an inspired composer, but most of his works, especially those of large
compass, show that he was mastered by moods, not that he was master of
them. It may be said that many who can appreciate beautiful music have
not the bump of intellect strongly developed, and would not therefore
be affected by any such shortcomings; that they would simply enjoy the
music. That is very likely, but here we are analysing and comparing;
and neither the beauty nor even grandeur of the music, nor the effect
which it might produce on certain minds, concerns us. There are many
persons who have had no technical training, but who possess a true
sense of order, proportion, and gradation; and such instinctively feel
that Schubert's sonatas, in spite of their many striking qualities,
are not so great as those of Beethoven. We have referred more than
once to the Popular Concert catalogue, which is a very fair
thermometer of public taste. One can see how seldom the Schubert
sonatas are performed in comparison with those of his great
contemporary. But to refer specially to the three last sonatas now
under notice. The one in B flat (No. 3) was played by Mr. Leonard
Borwick, it is true, on the 3rd February 1894, but the previous date
of performance was 16th January 1882. No. 2, in A, was last given in
1882, and No. 1 has not been heard since 1879.

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

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

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




CHAPTER IX

SCHUMANN, CHOPIN, BRAHMS, AND LISZT


After Beethoven, the first composer of note was Robert Schumann, one
of the founders of the so-called romantic school. In one of his
letters he refers to Beethoven's choral symphony "as the turning-point
from the classical to the romantic period." By reading, Schumann had
cultivated his imagination, but his musical training was irregular;
and, indeed, when he first commenced composing, practically _nil_. If
his soul was stirred by some poem, or tale, or by remembrance of some
dear friend, he sought to express his thoughts and feelings, and on
the spur of the moment. In a letter he writes: "I have been all the
week at the piano, composing, writing, laughing, and crying, all at
once. You will find this state of things nicely described in my Op.
20, the 'Grosse Humoreske,' which is already at the printer's. You see
how quickly I always work now. I get an idea, write it down, and have
it printed; that's what I like. Twelve sheets composed in a week!" And
thus short-tone poems, or a long piece, such as the "Humoreske," of
irregular form, were the result. Now that was not the way in which he
composed his two sonatas. He was two years, off and on, at work on the
first, in F sharp minor (Op. 11), and eight on the other, in G minor
(Op. 22). One may therefore conclude that the fetters of form were a
source of trouble to him. And he can scarcely have felt very
enthusiastic over his task; in 1839, after both sonatas were
completed, he declared that "although from time to time fine specimens
of the sonata species made their appearance, and, probably, would
continue to do so, it seemed as if that form of composition had run
its appointed course."

Of the two sonatas, the one in F sharp minor is the more interesting.
The Aria is a movement of exquisite simplicity and tenderness, and the
Scherzo, with its _Intermezzo alla burla_, has life and character. But
the Allegro, which follows the poetical introduction, and the Finale
are patchy, and at times laboured. It must not, however, be supposed
that they are uninteresting. The music has poetry and passion, and the
strong passages atone for the weak ones. There were composers at that
time who could produce sonatas more correct in form, and more logical
in treatment, yet not one who could have written music so filled with
the spirit of romance.

The Sonata in G minor resembles its predecessor both in its strong and
its weak points. Considered, however, as a whole, it is less warm,
less intense. It is unnecessary to describe the two works in detail,
for they must be familiar to all musicians, and especially pianists. A
sympathetic rendering of them will always give pleasure; but in a
history of evolution they are of comparatively small moment. It is
interesting to compare them with the Fantasia in C (Op. 17), a work in
which Schumann displayed the full power of his genius.

Chopin was another composer whose spirit moved uneasily within the
limits of the sonata. The first which he wrote (we do not reckon the
posthumous one in C minor)--the one in B flat minor--is an impressive
work. There is a certain rugged power in the opening movement, and the
Scherzo is passionate, and its Trio tender. The picturesque March owes
much of its effect to its colouring and contrasts; while the
extraordinary Finale sounds weird and uncanny. In the hands of a great
interpreter the music makes a powerful appeal; yet as a sonata it is
not really great. It lacks organic development, unity. The Sonata in B
minor, though attractive to pianists, is an inferior work. The first
movement, with exception of its melodious second theme, is dry, and
the Finale belongs to the _bravoura_ order of piece. The Scherzo is
light and graceful. The slow movement is the most poetical of the
four, though spun out at too great length. The real Chopin is to be
found in his nocturnes, mazurkas, and ballads, not in his sonatas.

Among modern sonatas, the three by Brahms (C, Op. 1; F sharp minor,
Op. 2; and F minor, Op. 5) claim special notice. With the exception of
the Liszt Sonata in B minor, which, whatever its musical value, at
least opens up "new paths" in the matter of form, the Brahms sonatas
are the only ones since Schumann which distinctly demand detailed
notice. The composer followed ordinary Beethoven lines; with exception
of the Intermezzo of the 3rd Sonata, the number and order of movement
resemble those of many a Beethoven sonata; while there is enlargement,
not change in the matter of form. Brahms studied the special means by
which his great predecessor, in some instances, sought to accentuate
the unity between various sections of a sonata; he steeped his soul in
the romantic music of Beethoven, Schubert, Chopin, and Schumann, and,
in addition, trained his intellect to grasp the mysteries of
counterpoint, and to perceive the freer modern uses to which it was
put by the classical masters. Brahms' early acquaintance with Liszt
opened up to him, too, the resources of modern technique. And thus,
possessing individuality of his own, in addition to these inheritances
and acquirements, Brahms wrote sonatas, which, though in the main on
old lines, are no mere imitations, pale reflexes of his predecessors.

The 1st Sonata, in C (Op. 1), has for its opening theme one which has
been said to resemble the opening theme of Beethoven's Op. 106. It
will be well to look on this picture (Beethoven)--

[Music illustration]

and on this (Brahms)--

[Music illustration]

There is resemblance in the matter of rhythm, but the up-beat in
Beethoven constitutes a marked difference; and, besides, the
succession of notes differs in each case. Brahms's theme, already at
the eighth bar, recommences in a key a tone lower; a similar
proceeding, by the way, is to be found in Beethoven's Sonata in G (Op.
31, No 1). After a few points of imitation, and digression through
various keys, we meet with a new theme in A minor, the soft, tender
character of which contrasts well with the bold opening one. But unity
amid diversity is Brahms' aim; and here the contrast does not prevent
a certain kinship between them--one, however, which can be felt rather
than explained.[105] Of another pianissimo phrase, still in A minor,
much use is afterwards made. The prominence given in the exposition
section to the subject-matter styled "secondary," and still more so in
the development section, is peculiar; this feature had certainly not
been copied from Beethoven, who, as a rule, made his first theme of
first importance. Brahms concludes his exposition section in the
opening key of the movement,--a return to early methods; Beethoven
adopted a similar course in the first movement of his Op. 53. Brahms'
development section is comparatively short. Of counterpoint we get a
good illustration in the combinations of both first and second themes;
of colour, in the presentation of the mournful minor theme in the
major key; and of originality, in the bars leading to the
recapitulation. In this last instance, the idea of gradually drawing
closer together the members of a phrase was borrowed from Beethoven,
but not the manner in which it is carried out. In the earlier master
it often stands out as a special feature; here we have, besides,
counter rhythm, and ambiguous modulation. When the principal theme
returns, it is clothed first with subdominant, then with tonic minor
harmony. The movement concludes with a vigorous coda evolved from the
opening theme. Five bars from the end, the first two bars of that
theme are given out in their original form; and then, as if repetition
were not sufficient, a thematic cadence is added, in which the notes
are given in loud tones, in augmented form, and, in addition, with
slackened _tempo_ (_largamente_). The slow movement (Andante) was, we
believe, one of Brahms' earliest efforts at composition; it is said to
have been written by him at the age of fourteen. It consists of a
theme with variations; and the former is based on an old German
Minnelied. The words of the folk song are written beneath the notes,
as if to put the listener into the right mood.[106] We need not dwell
on the variations, in which Beethoven and Schubert are the prevailing
influences, though not to any alarming extent. The music is by no
means difficult; for Brahms, indeed, remarkably easy. The movement
opens in C minor, but closes in C major. A Scherzo follows (E minor,
six-eight time; Allegro molto e con fuoco); it has a trio in C major.
The Scherzo, with its varied rhythm, is full of life; the Trio,
interesting in harmony, and also in the matter of rhythm. The Finale
(another Allegro con fuoco; the young composer has mounted his fiery
Pegasus) opens in C, in nine-eight time, thus--

[Music illustration]

a metamorphosis, in fact, of the opening theme of the sonata. And
later on we have a similar re-presentation of subject-matter from the
first movement. This Finale is musically and technically attractive,
yet scarcely on the same high level as the first movement. But the age
of the composer must be taken into consideration; for quite a young
man, it is a wonderful production.

The 2nd Sonata (Op. 2) is in F sharp minor. The Allegro non troppo ma
energico is a movement which in its subject-material breathes the
spirit of Chopin: the weird, stormy opening in the principal key may
claim kinship with the opening of the Polish composer's "Polonaise" in
the same key; while a certain strain in the melodious second subject
brings to one's mind a Chopin Nocturne, also in F sharp minor; in
neither case, however, is there anything amounting to plagiarism. The
exposition section is not repeated. The development is clever, though,
perhaps, somewhat formal. Again here, the secondary theme occupies,
apparently, chief attention; but it is supported by a bass evolved
from a principal motive. And in transition passages of the exposition,
and also in the recapitulation section and coda--

[Music illustration]

in one or other shape, makes itself heard; so that, though outwardly
subordinate, its function is important: it binds together various
portions of the movement, and thus promotes union. The Andante which
follows, consists, as in the 1st Sonata, of a theme with variations.
There is nothing novel either in the theme or its mode of treatment.
Certain chords, cadences, figures, suggest Schubert--an idol whom
Brahms has never ceased to worship; and, in one place, the three
staves, and a few passages, show the influence of Liszt, the pianist
_par excellence_ of the days in which this sonata was written; but the
movement has, in addition to romantic charm, individuality. It
commences in B minor; then after a short expressive passage in major,
an arpeggio chord leads directly to the Scherzo; the following shows
the outward connection between the two movements--

[Music illustration: Commencement of Andante theme.]

[Music illustration: Scherzo.]

This bright, clever Scherzo, with its soft Schubertian trio, need not
detain us. The final Allegro is preceded by a short introduction, in
which the chief theme and other material of the Finale are set forth.
The connection between this and the earlier movements of the sonata is
not evident, like the one, for instance, already noticed, between the
Andante and the Scherzo; with research, and possibly some imagination,
relationship might, however, be traced. We are far from asserting that
movements of a sonata ought to be visibly connected; after all, the
true bond of union must be a spiritual one. But if an attempt be made
in that direction, surely the opening and closing movements are those
which, by preference, should be selected. In his Op. 28 Beethoven
seems to have evolved the themes of all four movements from the first;
in Op. 106 and Op. 109, connection is clear between the first and last
movements. Such an experiment was safe in the hands of Beethoven, and
Brahms has never allowed it to become a mannerism; but second-rate
composers, and superficial listeners run the danger of mistaking the
shadow for the substance. To this matter we shall, however, soon
return. Many references have been made to the composers who have
influenced Brahms, yet we cannot resist naming one more. The opening
section of this Allegro Finale reminds one more than once of the
corresponding section in Clementi's fine Sonata in B minor. The music
of this concluding movement is clever.

The 3rd sonata (Op. 5) is in F minor. The Allegro opens with a wild,
sinister theme, and one which even casts a shadow over the calm,
hope-inspiring strains afterwards heard in the orthodox key of the
relative major. The tender melodies and soft chromatic colouring which
fill the remainder of the exposition section show strong feeling for
contrast. Again, storm and stress alternate with comparative calm in
the development section. The Andante expressivo bears the following
superscription:--

    Der Abend dämmert, das Mondlicht scheint
    Da sind zwei Herzen in Liebe vereint
    Und halten sich selig umfangen.

    --_Sternau_.

And it offers a delightful tone-picture. The moon "o'er heaven's clear
azure spreading her sacred light," the calm of evening, and happy,
though ever-sighing, lovers: 'tis a scene to tempt poet, painter, and
musician. The last, however, seems to have greatest advantage; music
by imitation and association can describe scenes of nature; and it can
paint, for are not its harmonies colours? But the musician can do what
is possible to neither poet nor painter,--he can make a direct appeal
to the emotions in their own language. The soft, dreamy coda--which,
with its Andante molto, its Adagio, and widened-out closing cadence,
seems to indicate the unwillingness of the lovers to part--has
Schubert colouring and charm. The reminiscence, at the commencement of
this movement, of the middle movement of the "Pathétique" cannot fail
to attract attention. Then, again, the opening of the Scherzo[107]--

[Music illustration]

sounds familiar. It must surely have been this movement in which
someone pointed out to the composer a reminiscence of Mendelssohn.
"Anyone can find that out," was the rough-and-ready reply of Brahms.
But if Mendelssohn be the prevailing influence in the Scherzo,
Schubert has his turn in the Trio. The fourth movement is an
Intermezzo, entitled "Rückblick" (Retrospect). The opening phrase, and
indeed the whole of the short movement, carries us back to the picture
of the lovers. Some change has taken place: have the lovers grown
cold? or has death divided them? The themes are now sad, and clothed
in minor harmonies. The Finale, perhaps, shows skill rather than
inspiration; with regard to some of the subject-matter, it is, like
the previous movement, also retrospective.

Liszt's sonata in B minor, dedicated to Robert Schumann, was evidently
written under the special influence of Beethoven's later
sonatas,--perhaps more particularly the one in A flat, Op. 110. There
is by no means unanimity of opinion among musicians with regard to
Liszt's merit as a composer; some consider that his genius has not yet
been properly recognised; others, that he will not for a moment bear
comparison with any one of the great masters who preceded him, and who
wrote for the pianoforte. Among his works which have specially given
rise to discussion stands this B minor Sonata, which has proved a
stumbling-block, both on account of its form and its contents. It
would simplify matters if the one could be discussed without the
other; this, however, is not possible.

We have hitherto considered the sonata of three movements as typical,
and from that type Liszt's work differs; yet not "so widely, as on a
first hearing or reading may appear." Thus wrote Mr. C.A. Barry in a
remarkably interesting analysis of the sonata which he prepared some
years back for Mr. Oscar Beringer. He remarks further: "All the
leading characteristics of a sonata in three movements are here fully
maintained within the scope of a single movement, or, to speak more
precisely, an uninterrupted succession of several changes of _tempo_,
thus constituting a more complete organism than can be attained by
three distinct and independent movements."

The idea of passing from one movement to another without break dates
from Emanuel Bach, nay, earlier, from Kuhnau; and Beethoven
occasionally adopted it, and with striking effect. The wretched habit
at concerts of applauding between the movements of a sonata
establishes a break where--at any rate in certain sonatas of
Beethoven--the composer certainly imagined an _uninterrupted_
succession. The second movement of the "Appassionata" breaks off with
an arpeggio chord of diminished seventh, and the Finale starts on the
same chord. Yet surely after the final tonic chord of the opening
Allegro there should be no break, but only a brief pause. A _fermata_
in the middle of a movement does not constitute a break, neither need
it at the end. In Beethoven's sonatas we find many movements,
outwardly independent, yet inwardly connected; those of the D minor
and F minor may be named by way of illustration. The composer,
however, in one or two of his works, revived, to some extent, the plan
adopted in the suites of early times, of evolving various movements
from one theme. Such outward connection may help to strengthen a bond
of union already existing, but it will not establish it. The question,
then, of Liszt's "more complete organism" depends, after all, on the
contents of the music. So, too, when, in addition to uninterrupted
succession, Liszt makes the one theme of the slow introduction the
source whence he derives the principal part of his tone-picture,
everything depends on the quality and latent power of this fertilising
germ. Discussion of form _per se_ is an impossibility. This Liszt
sonata stands, however, as a bold attempt to modify a form which, as
we have seen, Schumann thought exhausted (was it for that reason that
Liszt dedicated the work to him?), and one in which so many soulless
compositions were written during the second quarter of the present
century. "La sonate," says Charles Soullier in his _Nouveau
Dictionnaire de Musique Illustré_ "est morte avec le dix-huitième
siècle qui en a tant produit." Is Liszt's sonata a Phoenix rising from
its ashes? Shall we be able to say "La sonate est morte! Vive la
sonate!" Time will tell. Hitherto Liszt's work has not borne fruit.




CHAPTER X

THE SONATA IN ENGLAND


In previous chapters we have been occupied with Italy and Germany.
Without reference to those countries a history of the pianoforte
sonata would be impossible. Italy was the land of its birth; Germany,
that of its growth, and, apparently, highest development. During the
sixteenth and seventeenth centuries England furnished notable
composers for the harpsichord. William Byrd and Dr. John Bull are not
only among the earliest, but at the time in which they flourished,
they were the greatest who wrote for a keyboard instrument. At the
beginning of the seventeenth century English music was indeed in a
prosperous state; it was admired at home, and its merits were
acknowledged abroad. H. Peacham, in his _Compleat Gentleman_,
published in the reign of James I., says of Byrd: "For motets and
musicke of piety, devotion, as well as for the honour of our nation,
as the merit of the man, I preferre above all others our Phoenix, Mr
William Byrd, whom in that kind I know not whether any may equall. I
am sure none excell, even by the judgement of France and Italy, who
are very sparing in their commendation of strangers, in regard of that
conceipt they hold of themselves. His 'Cantiones Sacrae,' as also his
'Gradualia,' are mere angelicall and divine; and being of himselfe
naturally disposed to gravity and piety his veine is not so much for
light madrigals or canzonets; yet his 'Virginella,' and some others in
his first set, cannot be mended by the first Italian of them all."
Then at the end of the seventeenth century came Purcell, a genius who
seemed likely to raise English music still higher in the estimation of
foreign musicians. But, alas! he departed ere his powers were matured;
by his death English art sustained a grievous loss, and from that time
declined. The history of instrumental music during the eighteenth
century is dull, and, so far as the pianoforte sonata is concerned, of
little or no importance. Nevertheless, a brief survey of that century
will be attempted, after which reference will be made to a few sonata
composers of the century now drawing to a close. Just as we referred
to the sonatas for strings and harpsichord before commencing the
history of the clavier-sonata proper, so here a few remarks will be
made concerning the sonata before Dr. T.A. Arne--the first composer,
so far as we can trace, who wrote a work of that kind for the
harpsichord alone.

In 1683 appeared Purcell's Twelve Sonatas for two violins and a bass,
the very same year in which Corelli published _his_ "Twelve Sonatas"
(Op. 1). In his preface, Purcell frankly admits that "he has
faithfully endeavoured a just imitation of the most famed Italian
masters." Sir J. Hawkins supposes that "the sonatas of Bassani,[108]
and perhaps of some other of the Italians, were the models after which
he formed them." In our introductory chapter we mentioned the sonatas
("a due, trè, quattro, e cinque stromenti") by Vitali (1677); and of
these, Mr. J.A. Fuller-Maitland, in his preface to the Purcell Society
edition of the "Twelve Sonatas" of 1683, remarks that "it is difficult
to resist the conclusion that these were the Englishman's models."
Vitali undoubtedly exerted strong influence; yet Purcell himself
describes his "Book of Sonatas" as "a just imitation of the most fam'd
Italian Masters." These sonatas of 1683, also the ten which appeared
after his death (among which is to be found No. 9, called the "Golden
Sonata") in 1697, are of great importance and interest in the history
of English music, but there is no new departure in them; this, at any
rate in the earlier ones of 1683, is fully acknowledged by the
composer.

In 1695, John Ravenscroft, a descendant, possibly, of Thomas
Ravenscroft, published at Rome, sonatas for "violini, e violine, o
arciliuto, col basso per l'organo" Opera prima, but they were mere
imitations of Corelli.[109] In 1728 a certain John Humphries published
by subscription "Twelve Sonatas for two violins and a bass"; and
Hawkins, in his _History_, excites curiosity by declaring that they
are "of a very original cast"; he adds, however, "in respect that they
are in a style somewhat above that of the common popular airs and
country dance tunes, the delight of the vulgar, and greatly beneath
what might be expected from the studies of a person not at all
acquainted with the graces and elegancies of the Italians in their
compositions for instruments. To this it must be attributed that the
sonatas of Humphries were the common practice of such small
proficients in harmony as in his time were used to recreate themselves
with music at alehouse clubs and places of vulgar resort in the
villages adjacent to London; of these there were formerly many, in
which sixpence, at most, was the price of admission." We have quoted
this passage at length, because it indirectly confirms our statement
concerning English music of this period. If Hawkins had had anything
better to talk about, he would not have wasted space on the music of
alehouses and "places of vulgar resort." It may, however, be asked
whether Hawkins' report of Humphries' music is trustworthy. Now,
although the sonatas offer nothing of special interest, we may
certainly venture to say that one does not hear such well-written
melodious strains in or near alehouses of the present day. The sonatas
consist, for the most part, of four short movements. First, a slow
introduction, then an Allegro somewhat in the Corelli style. An
Adagio, often very short, separates this from the final movement, an
Allegro in binary form, a Minuet, or a Gigue. This "Humphries" musical
landmark is the only one we have to offer our readers between Purcell
and Dr. Arne. But before proceeding to notice the sonatas of the
latter, let us say something, if not of English music, yet of music in
England during the first half of the eighteenth century.

Of the influence of Corelli we have already made mention. That
influence was materially strengthened by the two celebrated
violinist-composers, Veracini and Geminiani, who came to London in
1714; the former only paid a short visit; the latter made England his
home. Then a greater composer than the two just mentioned had already
arrived in London; this was Handel, whose Rinaldo had been produced
with wonderful success on the 24th February 1710. The genius of Handel
triumphed over all rivals, whether English or foreign, for well-nigh
half a century; and this fact alone explains the decline of English
art. But there was another strong influence which specially affected
harpsichord music: the Lessons of Domenico Scarlatti had made their
way throughout Europe. Thomas Roseingrave, who went to Italy in 1710,
became acquainted with the composer, and on his return pleaded the
cause of the Italian with an enthusiasm similar to that displayed a
century later by Samuel Wesley for Scarlatti's great contemporary,
J.S. Bach. Roseingrave edited "Forty-two Suites of Lessons for the
Harpsichord" by Scarlatti. Still another Italian influence may be
mentioned. "On the day," says Burney in his _History of Music_, "when
Handel's Coronation Anthem was rehearsed at Westminster Abbey (1727)
San Martini's[110] twelve sonatas were advertised." But Handel and
Scarlatti make up the history of harpsichord music in England during
the first half of the eighteenth century. Burney expressly states that
"the Lessons of the one and the Suites of the other were the only good
music for keyed instruments."

Thomas Augustine Arne (1710-78) is principally known as a writer of
operas and incidental music to plays, but he also wrote organ
concertos, and sonatas for the harpsichord. The latter, entitled
"VIII. Sonatas or Lessons for the Harpsichord," probably appeared
somewhere about 1750. With this double title it is, of course,
impossible to regard them as serious sonatas. No. 8, for instance,
consists merely of a Minuet with variations! No. 1 opens with an
Andante in binary form, while two bars of Adagio lead to another
Allegro of similar structure. No. 2 is of a similar kind. The binary
form is of the later type, _i.e._ there is a return to the principal
theme in the second section. No. 3 opens with a Prelude, and a note
states that "in this and other Preludes, which are meant as extempore
touches before the Lesson begins, neither the composer nor performer
are oblig'd to a Strictness of Tune." The pleasing Allegro which
follows shows the influence of Scarlatti-Handel. The sonata concludes
with an attractive Minuet and variations. No. 5, with its graceful
Gavotta, and No. 7 might be performed occasionally. Arne's sonatas, if
not great, contain some neat, melodious writing.

The second half of the century still offers poor results so far as
national music is concerned. We have spoken of Handel and Scarlatti;
but, after them, music in England again fell under foreign rule. In
the very year of Handel's death, John Christian Bach arrived in
London, which he made his home until his death in 1782. During that
period the sonatas of Mozart and Haydn became known; and the two
visits of the latter to England in 1791-92 and 1794-95 gave greater
lustre to his name, and rendered his style still more popular. And all
this foreign influence (strong inasmuch as Haydn and Mozart belonged
to a school with which J.C. Bach was in sympathy) is reflected in the
English music of the period. John Burton published, in 1766, "Ten
Sonatas for the Harpsichord," which are of interest. Some of the
writing recalls Scarlatti, but there are also many touches of harmony
and melody which tell of later times. The introduction of the Alberti
bass is one clear sign of a post-Scarlatti period. Burton paid a visit
to Germany in 1752, and was, we presume, acquainted with Emanuel
Bach's compositions. We may also name six sonatas by I. Worgan, M.B.,
published in 1769. At the head of No. 5, the composer remarks: "Lest
the consecutive fifths at the beginning of the theme of this movement
should escape the critic, the author here apprizes him of them." They
are as follows:--

[Music illustration]

The critic of those days must have been very dull if he required such
assistance, and his ear very sensitive if offended by such
consecutives as these. Lastly, we may give the name of a lady, Miss
Barthélémon,[111] whose interesting Sonata in G (Op. 3) was dedicated
to Haydn.

In the early part of the nineteenth century, John Field, whose
nocturnes are still played and admired, wrote three sonatas (Op. 1),
and dedicated them to Muzio Clementi, his teacher. No. 1 is in E flat;
No. 2, in A; and No. 3, in C minor. They all consist of only two
movements (No. 1, Allegro and Rondo; No. 2, Allegro and Allegro
Vivace; No. 3, Allegro and Allegretto). In the first two sonatas the
two movements are in the same key; in the last, the first movement is
in C minor, the second, in C major. The Rondo of No. 1 contains
foreshadowings of Chopin. Field's music, generally, is old-fashioned,
and not worth revival; none, indeed, of his sonatas have ever been
played at the Monday Popular Concerts.

Samuel Wesley[112] wrote three sonatas (Op. 3), likewise eight,
dedicated to the Hon. Daynes Barrington, yet we fear that not one of
them would prove acceptable at the present day. One looks in vain for
the name of Wesley in the Popular Concert Catalogue. Cipriani Potter
(1792-1871) deserves a word of mention. Beethoven, writing to Ries, in
London, in 1818, says: "Potter has visited me several times; he seems
to be a good man, and has talent for composition." His Sonata in C
(Op. 1, dedicated to Mrs. Brymer Belcher) consists of three movements:
an Allegro non troppo with a Haydnish theme--

[Music illustration]

an attractive Adagio, and a dainty and pleasing Rondo pastorale. The
influence of Beethoven and Clementi is great; the individuality of
Potter, small. But the sonata is thoroughly well written, and--at any
rate as an educational piece--the Rondo deserves reprinting.

Sir G.A. Macfarren composed three sonatas for the pianoforte. No. 3,
in G minor, dedicated to Miss Agnes Zimmermann, is a work which
presents several features of interest. In the first long movement (an
Allegro moderato) there is no repeat. The exposition section really
contains three subjects: an opening one in the principal key, a second
in D flat, and a third in the orthodox key of the relative major. The
development section, in which there is some solid counterpoint, is
decidedly clever; much use is made in it of the second subject
mentioned above. The Andante is a movement of simple structure. A
brisk Scherzo, in the making of which Weber and Schumann seem to have
lent a helping hand, leads to a long Finale,--the last, but by no
means the most successful of the four movements. We have just spoken
of influences; Weber may be said to have presided at the birth of the
opening Allegro, and Mendelssohn at that of the Finale. The appearance
in the Finale of the D flat theme from the Allegro deserves note. This
sonata may not be an inspired work, yet it has many excellent
qualities.

Of Sir Sterndale Bennett's two sonatas, the 1st, in F minor (Op. 13,
dedicated to Mendelssohn), commences with a long movement (Moderato
expressivo), in which there are traces of the master to whom it is
dedicated; it is followed by a clever Scherzo and Trio, a melodious
Serenata, and a weak Presto agitato. The first, second, and last
movements are in F minor, the third in F major. Schumann, in a brief
notice of the work, describes it as excellent. The sonata (Op. 46)
entitled "The Maid of Orleans" commences with an Andante pastorale in
A flat, above which are written the following lines from Act iv. Scene
1 of Schiller's play, _Die Jungfrau von Orleans_:--

    "Schuldlos trieb ich meine Lämmer
    Auf des stillen Berges Höh."

    "In innocence I led my sheep
    Adown the mountain's silent steep."

The movement is graceful and pleasing. Then follows an Allegro
marziale:--

    "Den Feldruf hör ich mächtig zu mir dringen
    Das Schlactross steigt, und die Trompeten klingen."

    Prologue: Scene 4.

    "The clanging trumpets sound, the chargers rear,
    And the loud war cry thunders in mine ear."

Then an "In Prison" section with suitable superscription--

    "Höre mich, Gott, in meiner höchsten Noth," etc.

    Act v. Scene 2.

    "Hear me, O God, in mine extremity."

Lastly, a Finale--

    "Kurz ist das Schmerz, und ewig ist die Freude."

    Act v. Scene 14.

    "Brief is the sorrow, endless is the joy."

The title and the various superscriptions naturally cause the sonata
to be ranked as programme-music, but of a very simple kind. It is easy
to suggest pastoral scenes: a few pedal notes, a certain simplicity of
melody, and a few realistic touches expressive of the waving of
branches of trees, or the meandering of a brook, and the thing is
accomplished.

Dr. C.H. Parry is an English composer whose name has of late been much
before the public. He has written works both secular and sacred for
our important provincial festivals; also chamber music, songs, etc.;
and all his music shows mastery of form, skill in the art of
development, and eclectic taste. For the present, we are, however,
concerned merely with his sonatas. Like Brahms, he at first composed
pianoforte sonatas: No. 1, in F; No. 2, in A minor and major. Brahms
made a third attempt, but the two just mentioned are all that are
known to us of Dr. Parry's. No. 1 opens with a non troppo Allegro, a
smooth movement of somewhat pastoral character; the music, also the
writing for the instrument, remind one occasionally of Stephen Heller.
A bright, though formal Scherzo, with a well-contrasted Trio in the
key of the submediant, is followed by a melodious Andante and a
graceful, showy Allegretto.

No. 2 has an introductory movement marked _maestoso_; it is divided
into three sections. The first opens with a phrase of dramatic
character; the second, in the remote key of G sharp minor, contains
two short, expressive, Schumannish themes treated in imitation; the
third has passages leading back to the opening key and phrase. The
Allegro grazioso which follows is a compact little movement; in form
it is orthodox, yet there is no repeat to the exposition section. The
influence of Heller is still felt, but also that of Schumann. Grace
rather than power distinguishes the Adagio con sentimento, in the key
of C sharp minor. The Scherzo is clever and effective, and the
Allegretto cantabile, though the last, is scarcely the best of the
four movements.

A manuscript Sonata in D flat (Op. 20) by Dr. C.V. Stanford, another
prominent composer of our day, was produced at the Popular Concerts
(4th February 1884). It consists of an Adagio leading to an Allegro
moderato. Then follows an Intermezzo in the key of the relative minor.
An Adagio (F major) leads to the Allegro Finale in D flat major. It is
thus noticed in the _Musical Times_ of March 1884:--"Some listeners
have professed to perceive in the work a deliberate intention to
violate the established laws of form, but we confess that to us no
such design is apparent. In matters of detail, Mr. Stanford shows
himself an independent thinker, but in all essentials his newest work
is as classical in outline as could possibly be desired. The opening
Adagio is exceedingly impressive, and the succeeding Allegro moderato
is worked out with splendid mastery of the subject-matter, the general
effect being that of a lofty design carried into execution by a
thoroughly experienced hand. The succeeding Allegro grazioso, a
modified kind of Scherzo, is vigorous, and the final Allegro commodo,
with its excellent first subject, seems scarcely less important than
the first movement."




CHAPTER XI

MODERN SONATAS, DUET SONATAS, SONATINAS, ETC.


Some mention, however brief, must be made of various sonatas written
by other contemporaries of the four composers discussed in the last
chapter. After Beethoven, the only work which, from an evolution point
of view, really claims notice is one by Liszt. All other sonatas are
written on classical lines with more or less of modern colouring. Even
M. Vincent d'Indy, one of the advanced French school of composers, has
written a "Petite Sonate dans la forme classique."

Moscheles, in Germany, and Kalkbrenner, in France: these were once
names of note. Their music is often clever and brilliant, but, to
modern tastes, dry and old-fashioned; much of it, too, is superficial.

Among still more modern works may be named those of Stephen Heller,
Raff, Rubinstein, Bargiel, and Grieg. The sonatas of Heller are
failures, so far as the name sonata means anything. He was not a
composer _de longue haleine_, and his opening and closing movements
are dull and tedious; some of the middle movements--as, for example,
the two middle ones of the Sonata in C major--are, however, charming.
Bargiel's Sonata in C major (Op. 34) is written somewhat in "Heller"
style, but it is stronger, and, consequently, more interesting than
any of that composer's.

Raff and Rubinstein both wrote pianoforte sonatas, but these do not
form prominent features in their art-work.

Grieg's one Sonata in E minor (Op. 7) is a charming, clever
composition; yet as it was with Chopin, so is it with this composer:
his smallest works are his greatest.

Of duet sonatas there is little more to do than to mention the
principal ones. In the evolution of the sonata they are of little or
no moment. Some, however, are highly attractive. It would be
interesting to know who wrote the first sonata for four hands, but the
point is not an easy one to settle. Jahn, speaking of Mozart's duets,
remarks that "pianoforte music for two performers was then far from
having attained the popularity which it now possesses, especially
among amateurs." We imagine that the

Sonate
à Quatre mains sur un Clavecin
Composé
par
J.C. Bach
----
à Amsterdam
chez J. Schnitt Marchand de Musique
dans le Warmoes-straat

was one of, if not the earliest. The part for the second clavier is
printed under that of the first. The sonata consists of only two
movements: an Allegro and a Rondo. The general style and treatment of
the two instruments reminds one of Mozart, but the music is crude in
comparison. Here is the commencement of the theme of the first
movement--

[Music illustration]

The duet sonatas of Mozart are full of charm and skill, and will ever
be pleasing to young and old. Dussek has written some delightful
works, and Hummel's Op. 92, in A flat, is certainly one of the best
pieces of music he ever wrote. Schubert's two sonatas (B flat, Op. 30;
C, Op. 140) are very different in character: the one is smooth and
agreeable; the other contains some of the noblest music ever penned by
the composer.

Sonatinas are almost always written for educational purposes. No
description, no analysis of such works, is necessary; only a list of
the best. The "Twelve Sonatinas for the Harpsichord or Pianoforte, for
the use of Scholars" (Op. 12), by James Hook (1746-1827), father of
the well-known humorist, Theodore Hook, deserve honourable mention.
Each number contains only two short movements; they are well written,
and, though old, not dry. Joseph Bottomley, another English composer
(1786-?), also wrote twelve sonatinas for the pianoforte.

Those of Clementi and Dussek seem destined to perennial life. The
former composed twelve (Op. 36, 37, and 38), the latter six (Op. 20);
and then, of course, of higher musical interest are the sonatinas of
Beethoven (two) and Hermann Goetz (two). From an educational point of
view, however, these are perhaps not of equal value with many others
of inferior quality; but they are full of character and charm. Kuhlau
(1786-1832), on whose name Beethoven wrote the well-known Canon, "Kuhl
nicht lau," composed sonatas which, owing to their fresh, melodious
character and skilful writing, justly take high rank. Op. 20, 55, 59,
60, and 88 have all been edited by Dr. H. Riemann. Among still more
modern composers may be mentioned: Reinecke, whose three sonatinas
(Op. 47), six sonatinas with "the right-hand part within the compass
of five fingers" (Op. 127A), and (Op. 136) the "Six Miniature Sonatas"
(another term for sonatinas) have given satisfaction to teachers, and
enjoyment to many young pupils; also Cornelius Gurlitt, who has proved
a prolific worker in this department of musical literature. His six
sonatinas (Op. 121) and the duet sonatas (Op. 124,--really sonatinas)
are exceedingly useful, and justly popular. Besides these, he has
issued two series of progressive sonatinas: some by Diabelli, Pleyel,
Steibelt, etc.; some from his own pen. Koehler's three sonatinas
(without octaves), A. Loeschhorn's instructive sonatinas, E. Pauer's
National Sonatinas (Ireland, Wales, Italy, etc.), and Xaver
Scharwenka's two sonatinas are likewise of value.

Among various strange works written under the title of sonata we may
count certain programme pieces. Thus, John Christian Bach, or "Mr.
Bach," as he is named on the title-page, published a sonata "qui
represente La Bataille de Rosbach," and an _N.B._ adds: "Dans cette
Sonate La Musique vous montre le Comencement d'une Bataille le feu des
Cannons et Mousqueterie L'Ataque de la Cavalerie et les L'Amendations
des Blessées." This work consists of one movement (Allegro) in
sonata-form. Except for the title, and the words "Canonade" and "Feu
des Mousqueteries," it would be difficult to guess the subject. The
music, which may be described as a study in the Alberti bass, is
decidedly more correct in form than the French of the title-page.
Then, again, Dussek composed a "Characteristic Sonata" describing "The
Naval Battle and Total Defeat of the Grand Dutch Fleet by Admiral
Duncan on the 11th of October 1797." But he was engaged in a much more
suitable task when he wrote music _expressing the feelings_ of the
unfortunate Marie Antoinette.

There are three sonatas composed by A. Quintin Buée.[113] No. 3 is
"for two performers on one instrument." In the last movement, the
first performer is "Le Français," and he rattles along with the
popular tune "Ça ira," while the second, "The Englishman," steadily
plays his national air, "Rule Britannia"; towards the close, _fors
fuat_, "God save the King" and "Ça ira" are combined.




INDEX


ALBERTI, 109, 112.

Alberti Bass, 26, 30, 33 (note), 109, 110, 239.

Albrici V. 39,
  influence on Kuhnau, 42.

Ambros A.W. Pasquini, 73.

Arbeau T. Orchésographie, 15 and 16.

Arne T.A. 222, 225; _Sonatas_: 226, 227.


BACH C.P.E. 9, 12, 29 and (note), 31, 32, 87, 219, 228;
  _Sonatas_: "Frederick," 25, 85-91,
    Würtemberg, 85, 92, 93, 115,
    "Reprisen," 85, 94-100,
    Töplitz, 93 and 94,
    "Leichte," 100, 161 (note),
    three-movement, 175,
    Leipzig Collections, 85, 101-7;
  Beethoven, 86, 105, 106,
    Dr. Bülow, 96-8,
    Fasch, 40,
    Haydn, 93, 114, 115, 125,
    Kuhnau, 22, 24,
    Marpurg's _Clavierstücke_, 91 and 92,
    Neefe, 161-3.

Bach J.C. 28 (note), 35, 227, 239;
  _Sonatas_: 107, 108, 236.

Bach J.C.F. 29, 35, 106.

Bach J.E. 26, 29.

Bach, J.S. 9, 14 (note), 229 (note);
  Organ Concerto, 76,
    sonata attributed to, 89 (note),
    Forty-eight Preludes and Fugues, 160 and 161,
    and fugue-form, 91;
  Beethoven, 182-5,
    Kuhnau, 20, 21, 48, 87,
    Rust, 152.

Bach W.F. 29;
  _Sonatas_: 26, 108.

Banchieri, 10;
  _L'Organo suonarino_ (with sonata) 3-5.

Banister H.C. Life of Macfarren, 140.

Bargiel, 235;
  _Sonata_: 236.

Barry C.A. 218.

Barthélémon Miss, 229 and (note).

Bassani G. 7, 223 and (note).

Becker D. 10;
  _Sonatas_: 43.

Becker C.F. Hausmusik in Deutschlande, 49-50.

Beethoven L. v. 29, 31 and (note), 32, 33, 35, 45, 125, 194, 219;
  Reminiscences, 133-140, 167, 168,
    patrons and friends, 168-171,
    programme-music, 21,
    opus numbers, 112, 113,
    connection and number of movements, 106 and 107, 171,
    poetic basis, 178, 185-191,
    exposition section, 36,
    approach to recapitulation, 37,
    key of second subject, 177,
    the "repeat," 178, 179,
    Codas and Introductions, 179-181,
    central thought, 182,
    disorganisation, 191;
  _Sonatas_: (Op. 111), 57, 116, 174-6;
    table, 164-5;
    two-, 174-6,
    three-, 172-3,
    four-movement, 173-4,
    sonatinas, 238;
  Symphony in C, 102, 103,
    "Eroica," 135,
    sketches, 171-2,
    theme of Op. 106, 210, 211;
  Bach C.P.E. 86, 87,
    Bach J.S. 160, 182-5,
    Brahms, 210, 211,
    Haydn, 166, 167,
    Kuhlau, 238,
    Kuhnau, 57,
    Neefe, 161-3,
    Potter, 230,
    Scarlatti, 17,
    Schindler, 186-8, 190,
    Weber, 192, 195-198.

Benda G. 28, 83 and (note);
  _Clavierstücke_, 84;
  _Sonatas_: 27.

Bennett S. _Sonatas_: 231-32.

Beringer O. 218.

Birchall R. 18, 145 (note).

Bitter C.H. 85, 92, 94 (note);
  E. Bach, 97 and 98.

Böhm G. _Chorale_, 54, 131.

Bononcini B. 6.

Bononcini G.M. 6.

Borwick L. 205.

Bottomley J. sonatinas, 238.

Brahms J. 120;
  _Sonatas_: 209-18.
  Chopin, 214,
    Clementi, 216,
    Liszt, 210, 214,
    Mendelssohn, 217,
    Schubert, 214.

Bossard, 42 (note).

Buée A.Q. _Sonatas_: 239, 240 and (note).

Bull Dr. 221.

Bülow Dr. H. v. and E. Bach's sonatas, 96-8, 160.

Burney Dr. 4,
  Musical Extracts, 6.

Burton J. _Sonatas_: 228.

Buxtehude, 131;
  Suites, 51 and 52.

Byrd W. 221, 222.


CARLYLE, his "Frederick the Great," 83 (note).

Chopin F. 229;
  _Sonatas_: 209.

Clementi, M. 33, 45, 119 (note), 130;
  _Sonatas_: 131, 132-42,
    sonatinas, 238;
  Beethoven, 131, 133, 134,
    Field, 229,
    Macfarren, 140,
    Mozart, 132, 133,
    Potter, 230,
    Scarlatti, 135.

Corelli A. 3, 6, 7, 8, 9, 11, 12, 13, 15, 16, 42, 45, 46, 74, 77
  (note), 79, 87, 224.

Cramer J.B. 108, 146, 192, 193 and (note).


DANNREUTHER E. 133.

Davidson J.W. 149.

Dussek J.L. 33, 197, 237, 239;
  Letters to publishers, 142-5;
  _Sonatas_: 146-7, 148,'
    _Le Retour à Paris_, 149,
    _Plus Ultra_, 150,
    sonatinas, 238.
  Macfarren, 151-2,
    Mendelssohn, 147,
    Tomaschek, 145-6,
    Woelfl, 149.


FAISST J. 50,
  Analysis of a Mattheson Sonata, 22-3.

Farina C. 6.

Fasch J.F. 40.

Fasch C.F.C. and E. Bach, 40, 41.

Ferdinand, Prince Louis, death of 144, 145 (note).

Fétis F.J. 27, 38, 240 (note),
  extract from _Biographie Universelle des Musiciens_, 72-3.

Field J. _Sonatas_: 229.

Forkel, Letter from E. Bach to, 93-4, 96, 97.

Frederick the Great, 22, 40, 41, 82, 83 (note), 85, 88.

Frescobaldi, 71 (note).

Froberger J.J. 20, 42, 46, 51, 52.

Fuller-Maitland J.A. 51 (note), 223.


GABRIELI A. 10.

Gabrieli G. 2, 10.

Gaffi B. pupil of Pasquini, 71.

Galuppi, 27, 29, 30 and (note) 31.

Gasparini, pupil of Pasquini, 77 (note).

Geminiani, 11, 225.

Gluck, 28 (note).

Goethe, 191.

Goetz H. 238.

Graun C.H. 83.

Graun J.G. 82.

Graupner Chr. 39 ff.

Grétry, 27.

Grieco G. 80.

Grieg E. 235-6.

Grove Sir G. 20, 27 (note), 73, 111, 133, 145.

Gurlitt C. 238.


HANDEL G.F. 13, 14, 19, 26, 40, 57;
  Kuhnau 48-9.

Hasler H.L. 10.

Hasse J.A. 28, 29, 84 (note);
  _Sonatas_: 27, 32.

Hawkins Sir J. 223 ff.

Haydn J. 1, 37, 45, 87, 99, 164, 182, 228;
  New era, 30,
    anecdote, 117,
    programme-music, 185,
    European magazine, 114, 115,
    father of symphony, 111,
    "In Native Worth," 167,
    number and connection of movements, 33 and (note), 106,
    introductory slow movement, 138,
    three-movement form, 174,
    approach to dominant section, 34,
    second subject, 35,
    codas, 179, 189;
  _Sonatas_: 113, 115-20;
  Bach C.P.E. 93,
    Beethoven, 166, 167,
    Metastasio, 111,
    Porpora, 112.

Heller S. 233, 235-6.

Hering A. 38.

Hook J. sonatinas, 237.

Hook T. 237.

Hummel J.N. 192, 194 (Op. 92), 237.

Humphries J. 224.


IKEN Dr. C. Beethoven, 188-9.

Indy, Vincent d', 235.


JAHN Otto, 120, 129, 132, 236.


KALKBRENNER F.W.M. 134, 192, 235.

Keiser, 48.

Kittel C. 38 and (notes).

Krieger J.P. 14 and (note).

Krügner S. 38 and (note).

Kühnel, 39.

Kuhnau A. 38 and (note).

Kuhnau J. 10, 22, 38, 219;
  Writings and pupils, 39-41,
    German and Italian influences, 42,
    Bible Stories, 65-70,
    Seven Partitas, 41,
    Preface to Bible Sonatas, 52-4;
  _Sonatas_: (B flat), 43-4,
    _Frische Clavier Früchte_, 44-50,
    "Bible," 19-21, 45, 46 (note), 48-9, 51, 54-65.


LEGRENZI G. 10;
  _Sonatas_: 6.

Le Trésor des Pianistes, 45 (note), 80, 94 (note).

Liszt F. 235;
  Beethoven, 176
  _Sonata_: 210 and 218-20.

Locatelli 11, 12;
  _Sonatas_: 9.

Loeschhorn A. sonatinas, 239.

Lotti, teacher of Galuppi, 29, 77 (note).


MACFARREN SIR G.A. 140;
  _Sonatas_: 230 and 231;
    Dussek, 151 and 152.

Marpurg, 2, 3.

Martini San, 112, 226.

Mattheson, 7, 20, 23, 38 (note), 39 (note), 40 and (note), 42;
  Pasquini 74;
  _Sonata_: 22-3.

Matthisson, the poet, 157.

Mendel, 27, 72.

Mendelssohn F. 151 (note), 231;
  Dussek, 147.

Morley, 7.

Moscheles I. 235.

Mozart L. 34;
  _Sonatas_: 27.

Mozart W.A. 33, 34, 35, 37, 45, 87, 99, 169;
  Italian influence, 126-127,
    Op. 1, 33 (note),
    Requiem, 57,
    duets, 236 and 237;
  _Sonatas_: 120-5;
  Beethoven, 160-1,
    Clementi, 132,
    Haydn, 127-9,
    Kuhnau, 49.

Müthel J.G. 27, 28 (note), 33, 90 (note).


NEEFE C.G. _Sonatas_: 161-3.

Nichelmann C. 27, 28, 106.


PALESTRINA, 71, 73.

Paradies P.D. 27, 28, 108-110.

Parry Dr. C.H. 13, 20, 108;
  _Sonatas_: 232 and 233.

Pasquini B. (_see frontispiece by S. Hutton_), 14 (note), 74;
  His monument, 71-2;
  Operas and oratorio, 72,
    Toccatas and Suites, 72, 74-5,
    music in Berlin Library, 73,
    in British Museum, 75;
  _Sonatas_: 76-80;
  Fétis, 72-3,
    Handel, 77 (note),
    Kuhnau, 81.

Pasquini E. 71 (note).

Pauer E. 43, 80, 189 (note);
  sonatinas, 239.

Pescetti G.B. _Sonatas_: 25-6.

Pleyel, 239.

Poglietti, 74 and (note).

Potter C. _Sonata_: 130.

Prieger Dr. E. 153, 159, 193 (note).

Prout Prof. E. 147.

Purcell H. 2;
  _Sonatas_: 222-4.


RAFF J. 235, 236.

Ravenscroft J. 224.

Ravenscroft R. 224.

Reinecke C. 238.

Riemann Dr. H. 27 (note), 185, 238.

Rimbault Dr. 43.

Rochlitz F. 141.

Rockstro, 77 (note).

Rubinstein A. 235, 236.

Rudolph, Archduke, 165, 170, 201.

Rust Dr. W. 153 and (note).

Rust F.W. 152 ff.

Rust J.L.A. 152.


SANDONI P.G. _Sonatas_: 23-4.

Scarlatti A. 77 (note), 80.

Scarlatti D. 36, 73-4, 77 (note), 80, 89, 226;
  _Sonatas_: 15, 16-19;
  Bach C.P.E. 92 and 93,
    Paradies, 109.

Schaffrath C. 27 and (note), 31.

Scharwenka X. 239.

Scheibe J.A. _Critischer Musikus_, 48.

Schindler A. 140 (note), 141, 142, 172, 173, 189;
  Conversations with Beethoven, 186-8, 190.

Schop J. 10, 11.

Schubert F. 120, 195;
  _Sonatas_: 198-206, 237.

Schumann R. 152, 200, 202, 206;
  Fantasia, 209;
  _Sonatas_: 208-9;
  Beethoven, 207.

Sherard J. 223 (note).

Shakespeare, 190, 191.

Schoelcher V. Life of Handel, 19 (note), 77 (note).

Spenser H. 191.

Spitta Dr. P. 20, 21, 54, 57, 195.

Squire W.B. 51 (note).

Stanford Dr. C.V. _Sonata_: 233-4.

Steffani A. 77 (note);
  _Sonatas_: 14.

Steibelt D. 192, 193 (note);
  sonatinas, 239;
  Beethoven, 194.


TARTINI G. 9, 11 (note);
  _Sonatas_: 12.

Telemann G.P. 48;
  _Sonatas_: 24-5,
     sonatinas, 89 (note).

Tomaschek, account of Dussek's playing, 145-6.

Turini F. 5-6;
  _Sonatas_, 4.


UMSTATT J. 27 and (note), 32.


VERACINI, 11 and (note), 12, 225.

Vitali G.B. 7, 223.

Vogler, Abbé, 195, 196.


WAGENSEIL G. 31 and (note), 174;
  _Sonatas_: 27.

Weber C.M. v. 192;
  _Sonatas_: 194-8.

Weber M.M. v. 194.

Weitzmann C.F. _Geschichte des Clavierspiels_, 74,
  Pasquini, 75.

Wesley S. 226;
  _Sonatas_: 229-30.

Woelfl J. 174, 192;
  _Ne Plus Ultra_ Sonata: 149-50, 193 (note);
  Beethoven, 194.

Worgan I. _Sonatas_: 228.


ZACH, 31, 32.

Zimmermann Miss A. 230.


MORRISON AND GIBB, PRINTERS, EDINBURGH


FOOTNOTES:

[1] _Musikalisches Lexicon oder musikalische Bibliothek._

[2] Among the four-movement sonatas of Op. 1, No. 6 (in B minor) has
the peculiar order: Grave, Largo, Adagio, Allegro.

[3] The Preludio Adagio only consists of four chords, or two bars; the
Adagio, again, only consists of four bars. The sonata, therefore, may
be considered as of three movements.

[4] 1680-1762.

[5] 1693-1764.

[6] 1685-1750 (Veracini is regarded as of the Corelli school, yet it
should not be forgotten that his uncle, Antonio Veracini, is said to
have published "Sonate a tre, due violini e violone, o arciliuto col
basso continuo per l'organo" at Florence, already in 1662).

[7] 1692-1770.

[8] It is important to distinguish between _sonata_ and _sonata-form_.
The first movement of a modern sonata is usually in sonata-form; but
there are sonatas (Beethoven, Op. 26, etc.) which contain no such
movement. Sonata-form, as will be shown later on, has been evolved
from old binary form. By _sonata_ is understood merely a group of
movements; hence objection may certainly be taken to the term as
applied to the one-movement pieces of Dom. Scarlatti, which are not
even in sonata-form.

[9] It must be remembered that Corelli spent some time in Germany
between 1680 and 1683, the latter being the year of publication of his
first sonatas at Rome.

[10] In J.S. Bach's 2nd Sonata for Flauto traverso and Cembalo (third
movement) there is a return to the opening theme in the second
section; also in the Presto of the sonata for two violins and figured
bass we have an example very similar to the "Hoboy" sonata of Handel.

[11] Krieger, by the way, studied under Bernardo Pasquini at Rome.

[12] Cf. Corelli: Corrente in 10th Sonata of Op. 2; also Allemande and
Giga of the next sonata.

[13] Cf. Scarlatti: No. 10 of the sixty sonatas published by Breitkopf
& Härtel.

[14] When there is clearly a second subject, that of course offers the
point of return. (See Nos. 24 and 39.)

[15] See V. Schoelcher's _Life of Handel_, p. 23.

[16] See, however, chapter on the predecessors of Beethoven.

[17] See ch. iii. on Pasquini.

[18] "Seit einigen Jahren hat man angefangen, Sonaten für's Clavier
(da sie sonst nur für Violinen u. dgl. gehören) mit gutem Beifall zu
setzen; bisher haben sie noch die rechte Gestalt nicht, und wollen
mehr gerührt werden, als rühren, das ist, sie zielen mehr auf die
Bewegung der Finger als der Herzen."

[19] The public did not support the undertaking, and the other five
never appeared.

[20] The copy in the British Museum has no violin part, which was
probably unimportant.

[21] Emanuel Bach's predecessor as clavecinist at the Prussian Court.

[22] This name is not in Mendel, Riemann, Grove, nor Brown. Fétis,
however, mentions him as Joseph Umstadt, _maître de chapelle_ of Count
Brühl, at Dresden, about the middle of the eighteenth century, and as
composer of _Parthien_, and of six sonatas for the clavecin.

[23] See, however, the early Würtemberg sonatas.

[24] Examples to be found in Rolle, Müthel, and Joh. Chr. Bach, etc.

[25] Gluck's six sonatas for two violins and a thorough bass,
published by J. Simpson, London (probably about the time when Gluck
was in London, since he is named on title-page "Composer to the
Opera"), have three movements: slow, fast, fast,--the last generally a
Minuet.

[26] E. Bach did some strange things. One of his sonatas (Coll. of
1783, No. 1) has the first movement in G major, the second in G minor,
and the third in E major.

[27] Galuppi, No. 4, first set: Adagio, Spiritoso, Giga Allegro.

[28] Sometimes the last movement was a Tempo di Menuetto, a Polonaise,
or even a Fugue.

[29] Wagenseil's Op. 1, Sonatas with violin accompaniment. No. 4, in
C, has Allegro, Minuetto, Andante, and Allegro assai.

[30] As this experiment of Seyfert and Goldberg, in connection with
Beethoven, is of special interest, we may add that Goldberg has all
the movements in the same key, but Seyfert has both the Trio of the
Minuet, and the Andante in the under-dominant. This occurs in two of
his sonatas; in both, the opening key is major.

[31] There is, however, one curious exception. The first of the two
"Sonates pour le clavecin, qui peuvent se jouer avec l'Accompagnement
de Violon, dédiées à Madame Victoire de France, par J.G. Wolfgang
Mozart de Salzbourg, agé de sept ans," published at Paris as Op. 1,
has _four_ movements: an Allegro in C (with, by the way, an Alberti
bass from beginning to end, except at the minor chord with organ point
near the close of each section, the place for the extemporised
cadenza), an Andante in F (Alberti bass from beginning to end), a
first and second Menuet, and an Allegro molto, of course, in C. The
brief dedication to Op. 1 is signed:--"Votre très humble, très
obéissant et très petit Serviteur, J.G. Wolfgang Mozart."

[32] There is one exception: a sonata in G major, one of his earliest.
See chapter on Haydn and Mozart.

[33] Scheibe; a return for the moment to a practice which was once of
usual occurrence.

[34] Mention has been made in this chapter of a first section in a
minor piece of Scarlatti's ending in the _major_ key of the dominant.

[35] In the Sonatas of 1781, for instance, the first movement of No.
2, in F, has a definite second subject, but that is scarcely the case
with the first movement of No. 3, in F minor.

[36] This is the date given by Mattheson. In some dictionaries we find
1667; this, however, seems to be an error, for that would only make
Kuhnau fifteen years of age when he became candidate for the post of
organist of St. Thomas'. Fétis, who gives the later date (1667),
states that in 1684 Kuhnau became organist of St. Thomas', but adds:
"Quoiqu'il ne fût agé que de dix-sept ans."

[37] This Kittel must surely have been father or uncle of Johann
Christian Kittel, Bach's last pupil.

[38] Mattheson, in his _Grundlage einer Ehren-Pforte_, published at
Hamburg in 1740, complains that the names of Salomon Krügner,
Christian Kittel, A. Kuhnau, and Hering are not to be found in the
musical dictionaries. The first and third have not, even now, a place.

[39] In a letter written by Graupner to Mattheson, the former, after
mentioning that he studied the clavier and also composition under
Kuhnau, says:--"Weil ich mich auch bei Kuhnau, als Notist, von
selbsten ambot, u. eine gute Zeit für ihn schrieb, gab nur solches
gewünschte Gelegenheit, viel gutes zu sehen, u. wo etwa ein Zweifel
enstund, um mündlichen Bericht zu bitten, wie dieses oder jenes zu
verstehen?" ("As I offered myself as copyist to Kuhnau, and wrote some
long time for him, such a wished-for opportunity enabled me to study
much good (music), and, whenever a doubt arose to learn by word of
mouth how this or that was to be understood.")

[40] In the _Dictionnaire de Musique_ by Bossard (2nd ed. 1705) no
mention is made under the article "Sonata" of one for the clavier, and
yet the above had been published ten years previously.

[41] See also next chapter.

[42] Nearly the whole of this composer's works are said to have been
destroyed at the bombardment of Dresden in 1760.

[43] The sonata is given in _Le Trésor des Pianistes_ with the
ornaments, yet even there more than a dozen have been omitted.

[44] The clavier by its very nature tended towards polyphony; the
violin towards monody. And, besides, Kuhnau prided himself on the
fugal character of his sonatas.

[45] Even in the later "Bible" Sonatas, figures from these sonatas
recur.

[46] Cf. _The Fitzwilliam Virginal Book_, edited by J.A.
Fuller-Maitland and W. Barclay Squire (Breitkopf & Härtel).

[47] Johann Jakob Froberger died in 1667.

[48] Meyer thinks he was probably the son of Ercole Pasquini, born
about 1580, and predecessor of Frescobaldi at St. Peter's.

[49] Weitzmann and other writers, in referring to the work published
at Amsterdam, spell the name Paglietti; it should, however, be
Polietti or Poglietti.

[50] This piece was printed from a manuscript in the British Museum,
which bears no such title. Judging, however, from the title of the
_libro prezioso_ mentioned on p. 71 [Transcriber's Note: p. 73], that
name may originally have been given to it.

[51] The suite is printed in the _Pasquini-Grieco Album_ by Messrs.
Novello.

[52] Pasquini was no doubt one of the many composers who influenced
Handel. When the latter visited Italy before he came to London in
1710, he made the acquaintance of the two Scarlattis (Alessandro and
Domenico), Corelli, and other famous musicians at Rome; of Lotti and
Steffani at Venice; and surely at Naples he must have known Pasquini,
whose name, however, is not to be found either in Schoelcher or
Rockstro. Only Gasparini, who was a pupil of Pasquini's, is mentioned
by the former.

[53] "Si puo fare a Due Cembali."

[54] See the _Novello Album_.

[55] See the _Novello Album_.

[56] The post was offered to Bach in 1738, while Frederick was as yet
Crown Prince, but he only entered on his duties in 1740.

[57] The four sons of Hans Georg Benda (Franz, Johann, Georg, and
Joseph) were excellent musicians, and all members of the band of
Frederick the Great. Georg, the third son, composer of _Ariadne_ and
_Medea_, two _duodramas_ which attracted the attention of Mozart, was,
however, the most remarkable.

[58] Cf. Carlyle's _Frederick the Great_, vol. iv. p. 134:--"Graun,
one of the best judges living, is likewise off to Italy, gathering
singers."

[59] The symphonies appear to be three-movement overtures transcribed
for clavier. As a rule, the pieces marked as symphonies in this
collection have no double bars, and, consequently, no repeat in the
first movement. A "symphony" of Emanuel Bach is, however, marked as a
"sonata" in the _Six Lessons for the Harpsichord_, published in London
during the eighteenth century.

[60] The king was extremely fond of Hasse's music, but this composer,
though German by birth, was thoroughly Italian by training.

[61] Yet, curiously, there is no chord in the later sonatas so large
as the two on page 29 (6th Sonata)--

[Music illustration] and [Music illustration]

which, of course, are played in arpeggio.

[62] Excepting in the fifth, which, by the way, was, for a long time,
considered to be the composition of J.S. Bach, and was published as
such by J.C. Westphal & Co. This return to the opening theme is to be
found already in the sonatinas for violin and cembalo by G.P. Telemann
published at Amsterdam in 1718. See Allegro of No. 1, in A; the main
theme is given as usual in the key of the dominant at the beginning of
the second section. Then after a modulation to the key of the relative
minor, a return is made to the opening key and the opening theme.

[63] Similar passages are to be found in the opening Vivace of J.G.
Müthel's 2nd Sonata in G. He was a pupil of J.S. Bach, and either a
pupil or close follower of E. Bach. His six published sonatas are of
great musical interest; in his wide sweeping arpeggios and other
florid passages he shows an advance on E. Bach. His 2nd Arioso with
twelve variations is worth the notice of pianists in search of
something unfamiliar. There are features in the music--and of these
the character of the theme is not least--which remind one strongly of
Beethoven's 32 C minor variations.

[64] A recitative is also to be found in a Müller sonata.

[65] "In tempo in cui ebbi l'onore di darle Lezzione di Musica in
Berlino."

[66] "The two sonatas, which met with your special approval, are the
only ones of this kind which I have ever composed. They are connected
with the one in B minor, which I sent to you, with the one in B flat,
which you now have also, and with two out of the Hafner-Würtemberg
Collection; and all six were composed on a Claviacord with the short
octave, at the Töplitz baths, when I was suffering from a severe
attack of gout."

A series of six sonatas by E. Bach is in the _Trésor des Pianistes_,
and is said to have been published at Nuremberg in 1744; the work is
also dedicated to the Duke of Würtemberg, and the Opus number (2) is
also given to it. There is mention of these sonatas in Bitter's
biography of J.S. Bach's sons, but not of the others.

[67] Sechs ausgewählte Sonaten für Klavier allem von Carl Philipp
Emanuel Bach bearbeitet und mit einem Vorwort herausgegeben von Hans
von Bülow (Peters, Leipzig).

[68] In like manner he feels in the Andante, _reflection_, and in the
final Andantino, _melancholy consolation_.

[69] _Leipziger Mus. Almanack_, 1783.

[70] The number of sonatas in each collection grew gradually smaller:
first six, then three, lastly two. The dates of composition in the
last column of above table may be studied with advantage: a later date
of publication does not necessarily imply a more advanced work. Thus,
of the three fine sonatas in the 3rd Collection (all of which are
included in the Bülow selection), one was written eighteen, another
fifteen, and the third (though first in order of reckoning), seven
years before the date of publication (1781).

[71] See particularly the Sonata in G (collection of 1783).

[72] All of these consist of two movements; in the first, both
movements are marked Andante.

[73] For the benefit of readers who may not possess Pohl's _J. Haydn_,
we insert in brackets, after the Pohl numbers, those of the Holle
edition.

[74] Cf. C.F. Pohl's _J. Haydn_, vol. ii. p. 311. They are in the keys
of D, E flat, and A, and are interesting. The Tempo di Menuetto of the
second presents a strict canon in the octave. In the last, too, there
is a curious canon.

[75] The treble of the tenth bar of the second section has been
frequently printed a third too high.

[76] This Sonata in E flat (Op. 78) was dedicated to Mrs. Bartolozzi,
wife of the famous engraver, and to her Haydn also dedicated one in C
major, marked as Op. 79,--a bright, clever and showy work, in which
the influence of Clementi is sensibly felt. The development section of
the opening Allegro, together with the return to the principal theme,
is interesting. The Adagio, in the key of the subdominant, is one of
Haydn's best, while the final movement (Allegro molto) is full of life
and humour.

[77] "Clementi is a charlatan, _like all the Italians_" (Letter to his
sister, June 7, 1783).

[78] It is thirty-five years since the fine one in B minor was
performed at the Popular Concerts; and eighteen, since a Clementi
sonata has appeared on a Popular Concert programme.

[79] The three Sonatas in E flat, F minor, and D, dedicated to
Maximilian Frederick, Elector of Cologne, and published at Speyer in
1783, are not here taken into account.

[80] In mentioning any of them we shall first give the Breitkopf &
Härtel numbers and then the Holle numbers in brackets, so that either
edition may be referred to.

[81] At the time of their production Dussek was not born, Hummel was
still a child, and Beethoven an infant "mewling and puking in the
nurse's arms," if, indeed, the Beethovens were able to afford the
luxury of a nurse. Even Emanuel Bach had not published any of his
Leipzig Collections, neither had Haydn written his best sonatas. As
Clementi was not only the survivor of Beethoven, but also his
predecessor, a reminder as to the state of the sonata world, when
Clementi first entered it, is not wholly unnecessary.

[82] London Symphony in E flat, No. 8 (No. 1 in Breitkopf & Härtel
_Catalogue_).

[83] See p. 187 concerning Beethoven's conversation with Schindler.

[84] Schindler, _Biography of Beethoven_, 3rd ed. vol. ii. pp. 223-4.

[85]

HAMBURGH, _June 12, 1801._

MR. CLEMENTI, MON CHER CLEMENTI,--

J'ai reçu avec un extrême plaisir votre lettre, aussi que
_L'Autoscript_ dans celle de ma femme, je suis extremement touché du
désir que vous témoignez de me revoir à Londres, mais etant une fois
dans le Continent je ne puis résister au désir de faire une visite à
mon Père, d'autant plus qui je Lui ai déja écrit que je viendrai pour
Sure le voir cette eteé, je sçais par Ses lettres qu'il attend ce
moment comme la plus grande, et peut-être, la dernière jouissance de
sa Vie; tromper dans une pareille attente un Viellard de 70 ans, ce
serait anticiper sur sa mort, d'ailleurs en arrivant en Angleterre
tout de suite je ne ferais également que manger mon argent, ou bien
celui de ma femme jusqu'à l'hiver prochain, aussi ma resolution est
prise de faire le Voyage de la Boheme; voire en passant Dresde, Prague
et Vienne, ou je sçais que je puis gagner de quoi me defrayer de tout
mon voyage, et au dela: et de revenir a Londres vers le Novembre, vous
pouvez compter ladessus, mais surtout sur le plaisir que j'aurai de
revoir et d'embrasser un ami tel que vous--Mardi prochain part d'ici
pour Londres un commis de Mr. Parish _un des premiers Banquiers d'ici_
qui vous remetra en mains propres, par un de vos associés, mes trois
nouvelles Sonates,--je suis occupé a metre au net. Les trois
Concertinos qui vous recevrez aussi dans une quinzaine au plus tard,
dont j'espere qui vous serez assez content, etant le meilleur ouvrage
que j'ai jamais fait _in the Selling Way_, adieu mon cher Clementi,
Les oreilles doivent souvent vous tinter, car je parle constamment de
vous a tout le monde, car tout le monde aime qu'on leur parle de leurs
connaissances, or vous êtes de la connaissance de tout le monde,
adieu.

Votre ami,

DUSSEK.

MESSRS LONGMAN, CLEMENTI, & CO., GENTELMEN AND FRIENDS,--

I beg you would do your possible to send to me the two grand
instruments immediately, for the two Gentelmen whom I have persuaded
to purchase them after they have heard my own, are very impatient
about it, and I am afraid if I do not receive a decided Answer from
you about it or the _connoisement_, wich I may Show them, they will be
induced to Buy some of their German Instruments as they are pretty
well influenced by the Capel Master of this Town who is a tolerable
great As in Music and an illnatured Antianglomane, besides I expect it
as the means to make my Journey to Bohemia, therefore I hope you will
be so good, and make the greatest Speed you can--you will see by the
above that I intend to be in London about November Next, when I will
be very happy to settle with you what may Balance in our account and
to continue faithfull to our agreement.

Believe me,

Gentelmen and Friends,

Yours faithfully,

DUSSEK.

You have no Idea how many proposals I have received from London about
my Compositions, some of them will make you Laugh.

[86]

AT THE GENERAL QUARTERS OF THE PRUSSIAN ARMY IN SAXONY, _the 4th 8ber
1806_.

DEAR SIR,--

I have lately composed three Quartettos for two Violins, Tenor and
Violoncello, and confess to you that I think this work above all that
I have composed, they are neither in the Stile of Mozart, or Haydn,
nor that of Pleyel, they are in the Stile of Dussek and I will hope
make some noise in the Musical World--the Price for the Propriety of
them in Britain is 60 guineas, wich I think highly moderate
considering the scarcity of good new Quartettos--I have particularly
chosen you Sir for the publication of this work, because I allways
found you very reasonable in the few Business I have had the pleasure
to make with you, and as my Contract with Clementi & Co. finishes the
4th November this year, I should be very glad to continue with you the
publication of all my Works in futur--These Quartettos are for you a
publication so advantagous that I have not the least doubt but you
will make the Bargain of them, since there is such a long time that
nothing has been published of my composition--I wish them to appear
about the middle of January, and to be dedicated _to His Royal
Highness the Prince Louis of Prussia_ with whom I am at this moment at
the Army against the French--If you wish to write to me, give the
letter to the Gentelmen who shall deliver to you the quartettos--I beg
You to give my best greetings to Mr. Crassier, Sheener, Tonkinson and
all Those that remember me, and believe me,

Your very obedient Servant,

and sincere friend,

DUSSEK,

Privy Secretary to His Royal H^s. the Prince Louis of Prussia.

The above letter is addressed to Mr. Birchal, Music Seller, New Bond
Street, London.

[87] _Musical Times_, September and October 1877.

[88] Here is one, in the 8th Variation--

[Music illustration]

[89] Mendelssohn, too, complained that Dussek was a prodigal.

[90] The one in D minor has often been performed at the Popular
Concerts.

[91] 1822-1892.

[92] The original title is: "Sonata per il Cembalo ò Fortepiano di
F.W. Rust, 1788."

[93] It is curious to note that in the supplement of the Breitkopf &
Härtel edition of Beethoven's works there are two little pieces
entitled "Lustig und Traurig."

[94] E. Bach published six easy clavier sonatas in 1765, but Neefe
probably refers to earlier and more important works.

[95] Besides those mentioned, he published in 1774 six new sonatas,
also variations on the theme "Kunz fand einst einen armen Mann."

[96] "As your Royal Highness seemed to be pleased with the sonata in C
minor, I thought it would not appear too bold to surprise you with the
dedication of it."

[97] The opening theme of that same symphony--

[Music illustration]

recalls, curiously, the last movement of Beethoven's 8th Symphony; and
still more so in the form in which he first sketched it--

[Music illustration]

[98] Schindler, by the way, relates in his _Biography of Beethoven_
(3rd ed. 2nd Part, p. 212) that, already in 1816, when there was a
proposal made by Hoffmeister to Beethoven to issue a new edition of
his pianoforte music, the master conceived the intention of indicating
the poetic idea ("Poetische Idee") underlying his various works. And
the biographer adds: "This term (_i.e. poetic idea_) belongs to
Beethoven's epoch, and was used by him as frequently as was, for
example, the expression 'poetic contents' by others--in opposition to
works which only offer an harmonic and rhythmic play of tones. Writers
on æsthetics of our day declaim against the latter term; _with_ good
reason, if it refer to programme-music; _without_ reason, if they
extend their negation to all Beethoven's music, and deny its poetic
contents. Whence that tendency, which so frequently manifests itself,
and that strong desire to give pictorial explanations, especially of
the Beethoven symphonies and sonatas, if they contained nothing but a
well-ordered harmonic and rhythmic play of tones, and if they--or, at
least, some of them--were not based on some special idea? What other
composer creates this almost irresistible desire?"

[99] Mr. E. Pauer, in his preface to Ernst von Elterlein's
_Beethoven's Pianoforte Sonatas explained for the lovers of the
musical art_,--a valuable and interesting book,--remarks: "Herr von
Elterlein's design is not so much to describe the beauties of
Beethoven's sonatas, as to direct the performer's attention to these
beauties, and to point out the _leading and characteristic features of
each separate piece_" (the italics are ours).

[100] The Finale of a Sonata in A flat by Cramer, one of three
dedicated to Haydn, is said to have suggested to Beethoven the Finale
of _his_ Sonata in A flat (Op. 26). Dr. Erich Prieger, who has
recently published a facsimile of the autograph of Beethoven's sonata,
in his preface quotes some passages from the Cramer Finale, which
certainly seem to show that the Bonn master was to some extent
influenced by his predecessor. Here is the second of the three
passages quoted:--

[Music illustration]

[101] Woelfl's "Ne plus Ultra" Sonata would have long been forgotten
but for Dussek's "Plus Ultra." See chapter on "Predecessors of
Beethoven."

[102] In Steibelt's two sonatas (Op. 62), for instance, the airs "If a
body meet a body," "Jesse Macpharlane," and "La Chrantreuse"
[Transcriber's Note: So in original, perhaps should be "Chartreuse"]
are introduced. In his Op. 40 we also find "The Caledonian Beauty,"
"The Maid of Selma," "'Twas within a mile of Edinbro' town," and "Life
let us cherish." Woelfl's sonatas (Op. 35, 38) also contain Scotch
airs, and his "Ne plus Ultra" has variations on "Life let us cherish."

[103] 1773-1853, court organist at Heldburghausen.

[104] 1766-1826, court organist at Freising.

[105] Notice, in each case, the falling interval in the second and
fourth bar.

[106] Verstohlen geht der Mond auf, blau, blau Blümelein, etc.

[107] The long arpeggio leading up to the first note is omitted.

[108] In the British Museum copy the "XII. Sonate da Chiesa, Opera
Quinta" of Bassani are bound up with "Sonate a Tre" by Giacomo
Sherard. In plain English, the latter composer was a certain James
Sherard, an apothecary by profession. The Bassani sonatas here
mentioned were published at Amsterdam. Hawkins tells us that "an
ordinary judge, not knowing that they were the work of another, might
mistake them for compositions of Corelli." The first violin book has
the following entry:--"Mr. Sherard was an apothecary in Crutched
Friars about the year 1735, performed well on the violin, was very
intimate with Handel and other Masters." This copy, which possibly
belonged to Sherard, contains also the following, written apparently
by the person into whose hands the book passed:--"Wm. Salter, surgeon
and apothecary, Whitechapel High Street." The various sonatas, too,
are marked in pencil--some as _good_; others, _very good_. The date,
1789, is also given--the year, probably, in which the volumes became
the property of W. Salter.

[109] These sonatas were afterwards published at Amsterdam as
Corelli's, being marked as his Opera Settima. On the title-page was
written "Si crede che Siano State Composte di Arcangelo Corelli avanti
le sue altre Opere."

[110] See chapter on Haydn.

[111] She was surely the daughter of François Hippolite Barthélémon
(son of a Frenchman and of an Irish lady), who was on intimate terms
with Haydn, to whom the sonata above mentioned is dedicated.

[112] Samuel Wesley (1766-1837), nephew of the Rev. John Wesley, was a
gifted musician, and is specially remembered for his enthusiastic
admiration of John Sebastian Bach. The letters which he wrote to
Benjamin Jacob on the subject of his favourite author were published
by his daughter in 1875. He also, in conjunction with C.F. Horn,
published an edition of Bach's "Wohltemperirtes Clavier."

[113] He is described on the title-page as "formerly Composer to
several Cathedral Churches in France." Buée's name is neither in Fétis
nor the Pougin Supplément.