CONCERTO FOR VIOLIN, IN E MINOR, OP. 64
I. Allegro molto appassionato II. Andante III. Allegretto non troppo; allegro molto vivace
The concerto does not call for any true depth of emotional display. The sentiment is amiable and genteel, with a dash of becoming melancholy, and the strength is the conventional strength of a man who in music had little virility. Beautifully made, a polished piece of mechanism, the concerto always, under favorable circumstances, interests and promotes contagious good feeling.
Mendelssohn in his youth composed a violin concerto with accompaniment of stringed instruments, also a concerto for violin and pianoforte (1823) with the same sort of accompaniment. These works were left in manuscript. It was at the time that he was put into jackets and trousers. Probably these works were played at the musical parties at the Mendelssohn house in Berlin on alternate Sunday mornings. Mendelssohn took violin lessons first with Carl Wilhelm Henning and afterwards with Eduard Rietz, for whom he wrote this early violin concerto. When Mendelssohn played any stringed instrument, he preferred the viola.
As early as 1838 Mendelssohn conceived the plan of composing a violin concerto in the manner of the one in E minor, for on July 30 he wrote to Ferdinand David: “I should like to write a violin concerto for you next winter. One in E minor is running in my head, and the beginning does not leave me in peace.” On July 24 of the next year he wrote from Hochheim to David, who had pressed him to compose the concerto: “It is nice of you to urge me for a violin concerto! I have the liveliest desire to write one for you, and if I have a few propitious days here, I’ll bring you something. But the task is not an easy one. You demand that it should be brilliant, and how is such a one as I to do this? The whole of the first solo is to be for the E string!”
The concerto was composed in 1844 and completed on September 16 of that year at Bad Soden, near Frankfort-on-the-Main. David received the manuscript in November. Many letters passed between the composer and the violinist. David gave advice freely. Mendelssohn took time in revising and polishing. Even after the score was sent to the publishers in December, there were more changes. David is largely responsible for the cadenza as it now stands.
Mendelssohn played parts of the concerto on the pianoforte to his friends; the whole of it to Moscheles at Bad Soden.
The first performance was from manuscript at the twentieth Gewandhaus concert in Leipsic, March 13, 1845. Ferdinand David was the violinist. Niels W. Gade conducted.
The concerto is in three connected movements. The first, allegro molto appassionato, E minor, 2-2, begins immediately after an introductory measure with the first theme given out by the solo violin. This theme is developed at length by the solo instrument, which then goes on with cadenza-like passage-work, after which the theme is repeated and developed as a tutti by the full orchestra. The second theme is first given out pianissimo in harmony by clarinets and flutes over a sustained organ-point in the solo instrument. The chief theme is used in the development which begins in the solo violin. The brilliant solo cadenza ends with a series of arpeggios, which continue on through the whole announcement of the first theme by orchestral strings and wind. The conclusion section is in regular form. There is no pause between this movement and the andante.
The first section of the andante, C major, is a development of the first theme sung by the solo violin. The middle part is taken up with the development of the second theme, a somewhat agitated melody. The third part is a repetition of the first, with the melody in the solo violin, but with a different accompaniment. Mendelssohn originally intended the accompaniment (strings) to the first theme to be played pizzicato. He wrote to David, “I intended to write in this way, but something or other—I don’t know what—prevented me.”
The finale opens with a short introduction, allegretto non troppo, E minor, 4-4. The main body of the finale, allegro molto vivace, E major, 4-4, begins with calls on horns, trumpets, bassoons, drums, answered by arpeggios of the solo violin and tremolos in the strings. The chief theme of the rondo is announced by the solo instruments. The orchestra has a second theme, B major; the violin one in G major. In the recapitulation section the fortissimo second theme appears again, this time in E major. There is a brilliant coda.
Mendelssohn used the following orchestration for the works discussed in this chapter (save for the addition of an ophicleide in the overture to A Midsummer Night’s Dream): two flutes, two oboes, two clarinets, two bassoons, two horns, two trumpets, kettledrums, and strings.—EDITOR.
MODESTE PETROVITCH
MOUSSORGSKY
(Born at Karevo, district of Toropeta, in the government of Pskov, on March 28, 1835; died at St. Petersburg on March 28, 1881)
“A NIGHT ON BALD MOUNTAIN” (“UNE NUIT SUR LE MONT-CHAUVE”); FANTASY FOR ORCHESTRA
Posthumous Work Completed and Orchestrated by Rimsky-Korsakov
Moussorgsky’s fantasy was composed in 1867 and was thus one of the few early Russian orchestral compositions of a fantastically picturesque nature. In the original form it was no doubt crude, for Moussorgsky had little technic for the larger forms of music; he despised “style,” and believed that much knowledge would prevent him from attaining the realism that was his goal. That he himself was not satisfied with this symphonic poem is shown by the fact that he revised it two or three times. He died; Rimsky-Korsakov edited it and orchestrated it. The music was finally heard after Moussorgsky’s death. Rimsky-Korsakov was a fastidious musician, a learned harmonist, a master of orchestrations. It is said that he sandpapered and polished Boris Godounov to the great detriment of Moussorgsky’s opera; he chastened the wild spirit; he tamed the native savageness, so it is said. What did he do to this musical picture of a Witches’ Sabbath on Bald Mountain?
Having heard several musical descriptions of these unholy Sabbaths, where reverence was paid Satan, exultantly ruling in the form of a he-goat, where there was horrid, obscene revelry, if we may believe well-instructed ancient and modern writers on Satanism and witchcraft, we wonder why any woman, young or old, straddled a broomstick and made her way hopefully and joyfully to a lonely mountain or barren plain. If we can put faith in the musical descriptions given by Berlioz, Boïto, Gounod, Satan’s evening receptions were comparatively tame affairs, with dancing of a nature that would not have offended the selectmen and their wives and sisters of our little village in the sixties, when the waltz was frowned on as a sensual and ungodly diversion. Liszt’s Mephisto Waltz is, indeed, sensuous, fleshly, but Satan in this instance only plays the fiddle; he is not master of sabbatic revels. In Moussorgsky’s symphonic poem the allegro devoted to the worshipers of the devil is rather commonplace; its laborious wildness becomes monotonous in spite of the editor’s instrumentation. Far more original and effective is the second section, in which a church bell puts the blasphemous revelers to flight.
In September, 1860, Moussorgsky wrote to Balakirev: “I have also been given a most interesting piece of work to do, which must be ready by next summer: a whole act of The Bald Mountain (after Megden’s drama The Witch). The assembly of the witches, various episodes of witchcraft, the pageant of all the sorcerers, and a finale, the witch dance and homage to Satan. The libretto is very fine. I have already a few materials for the music, and it may be possible to turn out something very good.” In September, 1862, he wrote to Balakirev, saying that his friend’s attitude towards The Witches [sic] had embittered him. “I considered, still consider, and shall consider forever that the thing is satisfactory.... I come forth with a first big work.... I shall alter neither plan nor working-out; for both are in close relationship with the contents of the scene, and are carried out in a spirit of genuineness, without tricks or make-believes.... I have fulfilled my task as best I could. The one thing I shall alter is the percussion, which I have misused.” A letter to Rimsky-Korsakov dated July, 1867, shows that he did rewrite A Night on Bald Mountain, but remained unwilling to make further alterations.
During the winter of 1871-72 the director of the opera at St. Petersburg planned that Moussorgsky, Borodin, Rimsky-Korsakov, and Cui should each write a portion of a fairy opera, Mlada. Moussorgsky was to write music for some folk scenes, a march for the procession of Slav princes and a great fantastical scene, “The Sacrifice to the Black Goat on Bald Mountain.” This would give him the opportunity of using his symphonic poem. The project fell through on account of pecuniary reasons. Rimsky-Korsakov’s Mlada was produced at St. Petersburg in 1892.
In 1877 Moussorgsky undertook to write an opera The Fair at Sorotchinsi, based on a tale by Gogol. He purposed to introduce in it A Night on Bald Mountain, and he revised the score.
It is said that the original version of the symphonic poem was for pianoforte and orchestra; that the revision for Mlada was for orchestra and chorus; that the work was to serve as a scenic interlude in the unfinished opera, The Fair at Sorotchinsi.
Rimsky-Korsakov as Moussorgsky’s musical executor revised the score of the poem. He retained the composer’s argument:
“Subterranean din of supernatural voices. Appearance of Spirits of Darkness, followed by that of the god Tchernobog. Glorification of Tchernobog. Black mass. Witches’ Sabbath. At the height of the Sabbath there sounds far off the bell of the little church in a village which scatters the Spirits of Darkness. Daybreak.”
The form is simple: a symphonic allegro is joined to a short andante; allegro feroce; poco meno mosso.
A Night on Bald Mountain, dedicated to Vladimir Stassov, is scored for piccolo, two flutes, two oboes, two clarinets, two bassoons, four horns, two trumpets, three trombones, bass tuba, kettledrums, bass drum, cymbals, tam-tam, bell in D, and strings.
The first performance was at a concert of the Russian Symphony Society at St. Petersburg on October 27, 1886. Rimsky-Korsakov conducted. The piece met with such success that it was played later in that season.
WOLFGANG AMADEUS
MOZART
(Born at Salzburg, January 27, 1756; died at Vienna, December 5, 1791)
In this life that is “so daily,” as Jules Laforgue complained, a life of tomorrow rather than of today, we are inclined to patronize the ancient worthies who in their own period were very modern, or to speak jauntily of them as bores, with their works of “only historical interest.” Mozart has not escaped. Many concertgoers yawn at his name and wonder why such men as Richard Strauss or Vincent d’Indy could praise him with glowing cheeks. They suspect this attribute of worship to be a pose. Remind them of the fact that to such widely different characters as Rossini, Chopin, Tchaikovsky, Brahms, the musician of musicians was Mozart, and they say lightly, “There’s no accounting for tastes; surely you do not pretend to maintain that Mozart is a man of this generation.”
No, Mozart was neither a symbolist nor a pessimist. He was not a translator of literature, sculpture, or painting into music His imagination was not fired by a metaphysical treatise. He simply wrote music that came into his head and disquieted him until it was jotted down on paper. He did not go about nervously seeking for ideas. His music is never the passionate cry, never the wild shriek of a racked soul. His music is never hysterical, it is never morbid. It is seldom emotional as we necessarily and unhappily understand that word today. Perhaps for these reasons it is still modern, immortal, and not merely on account of the long and exquisite melodic line, fitting, inevitable background, delicate coloring. Music that is only the true voice of a particular generation is moribund as soon as it is born.
His music, whether it vitalizes stage characters or is absolute, as in the three famous symphonies, and in the chamber works, is as the music on Prospero’s isle: “Sounds and sweet airs that give delight and hurt not.” The analyst may find pleasure in praising the unsurpassable workmanship, which is akin to the spontaneity of natural phenomena; he may marvel at the simplicity of plan and expression; the simplicity that is the despair of interpreters, for it is the touchstone of their own art or artificiality—and Mozart himself, when he told his emperor that his opera had just the right number of notes, anticipated the judgment of time—but he is still far from explaining the peculiar and ineffable tenderness of this music that soothes and caresses and comforts.
The serenity, the classic suggestion of emotion without the distortion that accompanies passion, would grace a tragedy of Sophocles or a comedy by Congreve. Mozart’s music is essentially Grecian, yet now and then it reminds one of Watteau.
Hazlitt said of art that it should seem to come from the air and return to it. But he characterized it with finer appreciation when he said, without mention of Mozart’s name, “Music is color without form; a soul without a body; a mistress whose face is veiled; an invisible goddess.” And for this reason Debussy is the spiritual brother of Mozart, moderns both, yet classics.
Symphonies in E flat (Koechel No. 543), G minor (Koechel No. 550), C major (“Jupiter”), (Koechel No. 551)