SYMPHONY NO. 8, IN C MINOR
I. Allegro moderato II. Scherzo: allegro—andante—allegro moderato III. Adagio IV. Finale: Feierlich, nicht schnell
Bruckner’s Eighth is in all respects to be numbered with his greatest. The structure is nobler, the form more clearly recognized than in his other symphonies. There is less perplexing or boresome detail. The digressions do not cause the main line of musical argument to be forgotten. The interest is more steadily maintained. The instrumentation is richer in color and in contrasts. Above all, the invention shown, both in thematic lines and in wealth of development, is little less than marvelous, for Bruckner was sixty years old when he began work on this symphony.
Much has been said in European cities about the extraordinary length of the work. This length does not seem distressing. Bruckner had a great deal to say, and whereas in other symphonies he sometimes stammers and often falters, as though he were not able to express his thoughts, as though they were so great to him that he hesitated to put them into even musical speech, which comes nearest to the full expression of the inherently inexpressible, in this symphony he is master of his speech; he is convincing, authoritative, eloquent. Furthermore, he is more discriminative in his use of material. In other symphonies he is seen building indifferently with marble and clay. His Eighth symphony is as a stately temple, in which mortals forget the paltry cares and tribulations of earth, and gods appear calm and benignant.
There are pages that remind one of the visions seen by John on the isle of Patmos. “And I heard, as it were, the voice of a great multitude, and as the voice of many waters, and as the voice of mighty thunderings.”
There are also pages of ravishing beauty, as those of the trio in the scherzo, as those devoted to the exposition of the first and second themes of the adagio, as those of the second theme in the finale. The scherzo, with rough humor and its episode of rare melodic beauty finely orchestrated, is of this earth, but the other movements leave the earth behind in a sustained and fearless flight. This is especially true of the first movement and the adagio.
In the finale there is here and there a drooping of the wings, but the opening measures of this finale and the close are towering and exultant.
This symphony, begun in 1885, was completed in 1890. It was performed for the first time in Vienna, December 18, 1892, at a Philharmonic concert led by Hans Richter. Even Hanslick admitted in his bitter review (Neue Freie Presse, December 23, 1892) of the symphony that the concert was a triumph for the composer. “How was the new symphony received? Boisterous rejoicing, waving of handkerchiefs from those standing, innumerable recalls, laurel wreaths,” etc.
The symphony is dedicated to the composer’s “imperial and royal apostolic Majesty Francis Joseph I, Emperor of Austria and apostolic King of Hungary.” It is scored for three flutes, three oboes, three clarinets, three bassoons (and double bassoon), eight horns, three trumpets, three trombones, bass tuba, kettledrums, triangle, cymbals, three harps, and usual strings.
It appears that, when the symphony was first performed, there was an explanatory programme written by some devout disciple. This programme stated that the first theme of the first movement was “the form of the Æschylean Prometheus”; and a portion of this movement was entitled “the greatest loneliness and silence.” The scherzo was supposed to typify “The German Michael.” “Der deutsche Michel” may be translated “the plain, honest, much enduring (but slow) German,” and “Michel” in a figurative sense means yokel, boor, clodhopper. Hanslick wrote: “If a critic had spoken this blasphemy, he would probably have been stoned to death by Bruckner’s disciples; but the composer himself gave this name, the German Michael, to the scherzo, as may be read in black and white in the programme.” The published score bears no motto. The programme-maker found in the scherzo “the deeds and sufferings of Prometheus reduced in the way of parody to the smallest proportions.” And in the adagio was disclosed “the all-loving Father of mankind in his measureless wealth of mercy.” The finale was characterized by him as “heroism in the service of the Divine,” and the trumpet calls in the finale were explained as “the announcers of eternal salvation, heralds of the idea of divinity.” On the other hand, it is said that the beginning of the finale was suggested to Bruckner by the meeting of the three emperors!
In the published score there is nothing to give the idea that the music has any programme, any argument. Yet Johannes Reichert in his analysis[22] of the symphony, referring to Josef Schalk’s vision of “Prometheus Bound” in the first movement, found something of Prometheus or of Faust in the music.
I. Allegro moderato, C minor, 2-2. The first and chief motive is given to violas, violoncellos, and double basses. It is announced pianissimo; it is decisively rhythmed, and its rhythm and its upward leap of a sixth are important factors in the development. After a short crescendo, the strings are about to return to a pianissimo when the theme is proclaimed with the full force of the orchestra.
The first violins have the expressive and questioning second theme. Wood-wind instruments answer the question. The rhythm of the second theme, a rhythm that is characteristically Brucknerian, is used in counterpoint to a new cantilena sung by horns and first violins.
There is a modulation to the dominant of the chief tonality. The second theme now assumes an obstinate, arrogant character. Wood-wind instruments conduct over pianissimo and sustained chords of tubas, with the use of the first measures of the chief motive, to the second subsidiary section. In spite of the interrupting springs of the seventh there is a return to a quiet mood. Then comes a chromatic and mighty crescendo for full orchestra, which reaches a climax with trumpet fanfares. The chief motive returns and is given out thrice pianissimo. The first horn has the chief motive in augmentation, and there is a double echo of it: from first oboe; from tenor tuba.
The “working-out” section begins with the indication “very quietly.” Oboes and tubas introduce constituent parts of the chief motive in augmentation; then the motive itself appears in inversion and as in a stretto. This form of elaboration is long continued. And now the second theme appears inverted, and gives with its compelling rhythm the impetus to a great crescendo which reaches its climax with the encounter of the two themes fortississimo. This shock occurs three times without a decisive result. The orchestra seems to lose its force. There are wandering fragments of the two motives, while the trumpet keeps up monotonously the rhythm of the chief theme. A fragment of the first theme leads to the repetition section.
The repetition is at first free, whereas as a rule in Bruckner’s symphonies it is literal. The first theme, now a lamentation, is given to the first oboe. The clarinet answers in another tonality. After bold modulations the second theme is repeated. The prevailing mood of unrest ends with a long held fermata. The second subsidiary section is repeated quietly, and, as in the first chief section of the movement, it is used in a crescendo; but here the climax is built on a coda motive of a bitterly complaining character, while horns and trumpets repeat incessantly the chief theme. Grief itself soon loses its voice. The violins sigh the chief motive thrice pianissimo. Only the last portion of the theme is then heard, and it dies away in the violas.
II. Scherzo, Allegro moderato, C minor, 3-4. The chief theme (violas and violoncellos) has a rough humor, while violins have a contrasting figure of a whispering and mysterious nature. This figure brings in a great crescendo in which the theme is blown by horns, later by trumpets, and at last by the bass tuba. At the end of the section a rhythm appears (E flat major, bassoons, drums, basses) that is slightly reminiscent of a rhythm in Beethoven’s Symphony No. 8. The whispering figure is inverted. The first section is repeated.
The trio begins langsam (“slow”), 2-4, softly and delicately (first violins). The horn enters. There are pleasant harmonies in E major. “The whole episode breathes smiling happiness.”
The harp is used here and in the adagio, the only instances of the use of this instrument in a symphony by Bruckner. A second subject brings the return to A flat major. The beginning of the trio is repeated with changes in tonality, and the whole first part of the scherzo is repeated with an ending in C major.
III. The adagio is said to be probably the longest symphonic adagio movement in existence, and there are some that put it at the head of all adagios by reason of its solemnity, nobility, and elevated thought. It begins, “solemn, slow, but not dragging,” D flat major, 4-4. The first violins sing (on the G string) a long and intimate song to the accompaniment of the second violins and lower strings. “This theme contains three moments of mood. For the first four measures the violins complain softly; then sighing clarinets and bassoons enter in gasps; the four last measures are only an extension to strengthen the mood.” A strange organ-point puts an end to the mood of doubt and brings in triumphant certainty. The violins, playing with greater breadth, lead to a calm close in F. There is a repetition of what has gone before, with the exception of a few measures of the chief theme.
The second theme is sung by the violoncellos, and they lead to the serenely quiet song of the tubas. Some measures based on fragments of the second theme bring in the “working-out” section. The chief theme appears. Portions of the long cantilena are combined, and there is fresh and melodic counterpoint. There is at the same time a crescendo. After the climax the second theme becomes prominent, with interruptions by the tubas.
The first theme appears with lively figuration at the beginning of the second section of development. A portion of this theme is used in augmentation. “Then appears suddenly and in a decided manner the rhythm for horns of the ‘Siegfried’ motive in The Ring.” The accompaniment for strings grows livelier; the chief theme is more and more impressive in the brass. The second theme enters, and there are tranquillizing episodes, but there is no checking the course of the crescendo or the acceleration in pace. “À tempo (though in a lively movement).” The third section of the chief theme is now in powerful augmentation. There is a return to the prevailing tempo. The mood is milder. The violins “intimately and softly” remember once more the second theme. The coda brings in a peaceful close. In the third and fourth measures before the end the tubas indicate pianissimo the chief rhythm of the finale that follows.
IV. Finale, C minor, “solemnly, not fast,” 2-2. The heavily rhythmed chief theme contains three important motives. It first appears in F sharp, as the enharmonically changed subdominant of the preceding tonality, D flat major (or as the dominant of the dominant of C minor). Joyful fanfares sound in D flat. The whole is repeated, and there is a modulation from A flat to E flat. Then appears sonorously the conclusion of the whole theme in the prevailing tonality, C minor. Out of the counterpoint arises a lamenting strain for oboes.
There is a pause. The melodious and religious second theme is sung in slower tempo. The accompanying voices for horn and violas might well be reckoned as thematic. The third theme, wood-wind and strings, is practically a double theme, and the lower voice has much importance later. The concluding section of this theme is developed in choral fashion, and it is then combined with the lower voice. After a pause comes the working-out section. As the introduction indicated, it gives the impression of a mighty struggle. A blend of the two just preceding themes leads to a new melody for violins. There is a powerful crescendo for full orchestra. The rhythm of the chief theme of the first movement is heard. The first measures of the finale are now played softly by the horns, then by the flutes. Preceding themes are again combined. The repetition section opens powerfully. The decisive rhythm of the chief theme spurs the full orchestra. The coda begins quietly, but it soon becomes intense. In the triumphant ending in C major, chief themes of the four movements are heard exulting.
I am indebted in a measure for the preceding sketch of the contents of this symphony to the analysis by Werner Wolff, published in the programme book of the Philharmonic Orchestra, Berlin, October 29, 1906; and to the analysis of Johannes Reichert which has already been mentioned. They that wish to study the symphony may consult with profit the analysis by Willibald Kähler (Musikführer No. 262). These analysts are by no means unanimous in their designation of the chief themes. I have followed chiefly in the footsteps of Mr. Wolff.
It may help to a better understanding of the music of Bruckner if light be thrown on the personal nature and prejudices not only of the composer but of his contemporaneous partisans and foes. This simple man, who had known the cruelest poverty and distress, and in Vienna lived the life of an ascetic, made enemies by the very writing of music.
There appeared in Vienna in 1901 a little pamphlet entitled Meine Erinnerung an Anton Bruckner. The writer was Carl Hruby, a pupil of Bruckner. The pamphlet is violent, malignant. In its rage there is at times the ridiculous fury of an excited child. There are pages that provoke laughter and then pity; yet there is much of interest about the composer himself, who now, away from strife and contention, is still unfortunate in his friends. We shall pass over Hruby’s ideas on music and the universe, nor are we inclined to dispute his proposition (p. 7) that Shakespeare, Goethe, Beethoven, Wagner, were truer heroes and supporters of civilization than Alexander, Cæsar, Napoleon, who, nevertheless, were, like Hannibal, very pretty fellows in those days. When Hruby begins to talk about Bruckner and his ways, then it is time to prick up ears.
As a teacher, Bruckner was amiable, patient, kind, but easily vexed by frolicsome pupils who did not know his sensitive nature. He gave each pupil a nickname, and his favorite phrase of contentment and disapproval was “Viechkerl!”—“You stupid beast!” There was a young fellow whose name began “Sachsen”; but Bruckner could never remember the rest of it, so he would go through the list of German princes, “Sachsen”—“Sachsen”—“Sachsen-Coburg-Gotha, Sachsen”—and at last the name would come. Another pupil, afterwards a harp virtuoso, was known to his teacher only as “Old Harp.” Bruckner had a rough, at the same time, sly, peasant humor. One of his pupils came into the class with bleached and jaded face. Bruckner asked what ailed him. The answer was: “I was at the Turnverein till two o’clock.” “Yes,” said Bruckner, “oh, yes, I know the Turnverein that lasts till 2 A.M.” The pupil on whom he built fond hope was Franz Nott, who died young and in the madhouse. When Bruckner was disturbed in his work, he was incredibly and gloriously rude.
Bruckner was furious against all writers who discovered “programmes” in his music. He was warmly attached to the ill-fated Hugo Wolf, and was never weary of praising the declamation in his songs: “The fellow does nothing all day but compose, while I must tire myself out by giving lessons,” for at sixty years Bruckner was teaching for three guldens a lesson. Beethoven was his idol, and after a performance of one of the greater symphonies he was as one insane. After a performance of the Eroica, he said to Hruby—would that it were possible to reproduce Bruckner’s dialect—“I think that if Beethoven were alive, and I should go to him with my Seventh symphony and say, ‘Here, Mr. Van Beethoven, this is not so bad, this Seventh, as certain gentlemen would make out’ ... I think he would take me by the hand and say, ‘My dear Bruckner, never mind, I had no better luck; and the same men who hold me up against you even now do not understand my last quartets, although they act as if they understood them.’ Then I’d say to him, ‘Excuse me, Mr. Van Beethoven, that I have gone beyond you in freedom of form, but I think a true artist should make his own forms for his own works, and stick by them.’” He once said of Hanslick, “I guess Hanslick understands as little about Brahms as about Wagner, me, and others. And the Doctor Hanslick knows as much about counterpoint as a chimney sweep about astronomy.”
Hanslick was to Bruckner as a pursuing demon. (We are giving Hruby’s statement, and Hanslick surely showed a strange perseverance and an unaccountable ferocity in criticism that was abuse.) Hruby likens this critic to the Phylloxera vastatrix in the vineyard. He really believes that Hanslick sat up at night to plot Bruckner’s destruction. He affirms that Hanslick tried to undermine him in the Conservatory and the Imperial Chapel, that he tried to influence conductors against the performance of his works. And he goes so far as to say that Hans Richter, thus influenced, had never performed a symphony by Bruckner in England. As a matter of fact, Richter produced Bruckner’s Seventh in London, May 23, 1887. There is a story that when the Emperor Franz Josef asked Bruckner if he could honor him in any way, he asked if the Emperor would not stop Hanslick abusing him in print.
He was never mean or hostile toward Brahms, as some would have had him. He once said that Brahms was not an enemy of Wagner, as the Brahmsites insisted; that down in his heart he had a warm admiration for Wagner, as was shown by the praise he had bestowed on Die Meistersinger.
Just before his death Bruckner’s thoughts were on his Ninth symphony: “I undertook a stiff task,” he said. “I should not have done it at my age and in my weak condition. If I never finish it, then my ‘Te Deum’ may be used as a finale. I have nearly finished three movements. This work belongs to my Lord God.”
Although he had the religion of a child, he had read the famous book of David Strauss, and he could talk about it reasonably. Someone asked him about the future life and prayer. “I’ll tell you,” he replied. “If the story is true, so much the better for me. If it is not true, praying cannot hurt me.”
JOHN ALDEN
CARPENTER
(Born at Park Ridge, Ill., February 28, 1876)