I
There is little history of the string quartet to record after the death of Beethoven in 1827. It has undergone little or no change or development in technique until nearly the present day. The last quartets of Beethoven taxed the powers of the combined four instruments to the uttermost. Such changes of form as are to be noted in recent quartets are the adaptation of new ideas already and first put to test in music for pianoforte, orchestra, or stage. The growth of so-called modern systems of harmony affect the string quartet, but did not originate in it. A tendency towards richer or fuller scoring, towards continued use of pizzicato or other special effects, and a few touches of new virtuosity here and there, reflect the general interest of the century in the orchestra and its possibilities of tone-coloring. But it is in the main true that after a study of the last quartets of Beethoven few subsequent quartets present new difficulties; and that, excepting only a few, the many with which we shall have to do are the expressions of the genius of various musicians, most of whom were more successful in other forms, or whose qualities have been made elsewhere and otherwise more familiar.
Less perhaps than any other form will the string quartet endure by the sole virtue of being well written for the instruments. Take, for example, the thirty-four quartets of Ludwig Spohr. Spohr was during the first half of the nineteenth century the most respected musician in Germany. He was renowned as a leader, and composer quite as much as he was world-famous as a virtuoso. He was especially skillful as a leader in quartet playing. He was among the first to bring out the Beethoven quartets, opus 18, in Germany. He was under a special engagement for three years to the rich amateur Tost in Vienna to furnish chamber compositions. No composer ever understood better the peculiar qualities of the string instruments; none was ever more ambitious and at the same time more serious. Yet excluding the violin concertos and an occasional performance of his opera Jessonda, his music is already lost in the past. Together with operas, masses, and symphonies, the quartets, quintets, and quartet concertos, are rapidly being forgotten. The reason is that Spohr was more conscientious than inspired. He stood in fear of the commonplace. His melodies and harmonies are deliberately chromatic, not spontaneous. Yet shy as he was of commonplaceness in melody and harmony, he was insensitive to a more serious commonplaceness.
When we consider what subtle systems of rhythm the semi-civilized races are masters of, we can but be astonished at the regularity of our own systems. Only occasionally does a composer diverge from the straight road of four-measure melody building. Yet is it not a little subtlety even within this rigorous system that raises the great composer above the commonplace? Certainly the ordinary in rhythm most quickly wearies and disgusts the listener even if he is not aware of it. Spohr’s rhythmical system was so little varied that Wagner wrote of his opera Jessonda that it was ‛alla Polacca’ almost all the way through.
The thirty-five string quartets are fundamentally commonplace, for all the chromaticism of their harmonies and melodies, and for all the skillful treatment of the instruments. The double-quartets (four, in D minor, E minor, E-flat major, and G minor) amount to compositions for small string orchestra. There are, among the quartets, six so-called ‘brilliant,’ which give to the first violin a solo rôle, and to the other instruments merely accompaniment. It is hardly surprising that the first violin is treated brilliantly in most of the quartets.
But the point is that Spohr’s quartets have not lived. In neatness of form and in treatment of the instruments they do not fall below the greatest. They are in these respects superior to those of Schumann for example. The weakness of them is the weakness of the man’s whole gift for composition; and they represent no change in the art of writing string quartets.
Ludwig Spohr.
Another man whose quartets are theoretically as good as any is Cherubini. Of the six, that in E-flat major, written in 1814, is still occasionally heard.
On the other hand, Schubert, a man with less skill than either Spohr or Cherubini, has written quartets which seem likely to prove immortal. Fifteen are published in the complete Breitkopf and Härtel edition of Schubert’s works. Of these the first eleven may be considered preparatory to the last four. They show, however, what is frequently ignored in considering the life and art of Schubert—an unremitting effort on the part of the young composer to master the principles of musical form.
The first of the great quartets, that in C minor—written in December, 1820—is but a fragment. Schubert completed but the first movement. Why he neglected to add others remains unknown. But the single movement is inspired throughout. The opening measures give at once an example of the tremolo, of which Schubert made great use in all his quartets. The general triplet rhythm is familiar in all his later works. We have here the Schubert of the great songs, of the B minor symphony, of the later pianoforte sonatas; warm, intense, inspired.
Two quartets were written in 1824, that in A minor, published as opus 29, and that in D minor,[75] the best known of all his quartets. The A minor is dedicated to Ignaz Schuppanzigh, with whom Schubert was on friendly terms. The second movement of the quartet in D minor is a series of variations on the song Der Tod und das Mädchen.
Finally there is the great quartet in G major, written in 1826, which may be taken as representative throughout of the very best of Schubert’s genius as it showed itself in the form. In it are to be found all the qualities associated with Schubert especially. The opening major triad, swelling to a powerful minor chord in eleven parts, and the constant interchange of major and minor throughout the movement; the tender second theme with its delicate folk-rhythm, its unrestrained harmonies, its whispering softness in the variation after the first statement; these could have been the work of Schubert alone. Peculiar to Schubert’s treatment of the quartet are the tremolo, and the general richness of scoring—the sixths for second violin in the variation of the second theme, for example; the frequent use of octaves and other double-stops, the eleven-voiced chord at the beginning, and other such effects of fullness. There is little sign of the polyphonic drawing which so distinguished the last quartets of Beethoven. The quartet is made up of rich masses of sound that glow warmly, and fade and brighten. The inner voices are used measure after measure frankly to supply a richly vibrating harmony, nothing more. And an occasional dialogue between two instruments is all of polyphonic procedure one meets.
The beautiful andante in E minor begins with a melody for violoncello, a true Schubertian melody, which is carried on for two sections. Then a new spirit enters through hushed chords, and breaks forth loudly in G minor. There follows a passage full of wild passion. The agitated chords swell again and again to fortissimo. At last they die away, only the monotonous F-sharp of the cello suggests the throbbing of a despair not yet relieved. Over this the first violin and the viola sing the opening melody. Later the hushed tapping is given to other instruments and the cello takes up its melody again. Once more the despair breaks wildly forth, and yet again is hushed but not relieved. The sudden major in the ending can not take from the movement its quality of unconsoled sadness. The scherzo, in B minor, is built upon the constant imitation and play of a single merry figure. The trio is in G major, one of those seemingly naïve yet perfect movements such as Schubert alone could write. There is only the swing of a waltz, only the melody that a street gamin might carelessly whistle; but somewhere beneath it lies genius. The interchange of phrases of the melody between the different instruments, and the mellifluous counter-melodies, have something the same sort of charm as the Scherzo of the symphony in C major. The final movement is a rondo with a profusion of themes. There are the familiar marks of Schubert: the triplet rhythm (6/8), the shifting between major and minor; the full, harmonic style; the naïve swing, the spontaneous and ever fresh melodies.
Schubert worked at the string quartet with special devotion. Excepting the songs, his steady development toward perfect mastery of his expression is nowhere better revealed than in the quartets. Certainly the last two quartets are second only to the songs as proof of his genius. There is that soft, whispering, quality in Schubert’s music, for the expression of which the string quartet is a perfect instrument. Much of Schubert is intimate, too, and happily suited to the chamber. Less than any of the great composers did Schubert make use of polyphonic skill. It is easy to say that he lacked it; but what is hard to understand is how without it he could have contributed to music some of its most precious possessions.