Here is a phantasmagoria unmatched elsewhere in music. It is very long. It is too long; and, judged as a whole, the work suffers in consequence. It is overcrowded with figures, too full of symbolism; and the ear tires, the attention wearies. Yet there is not a piece in it which one would be willing to discard. All are beautiful and new and full of life. Many present something peculiar to Schumann, the fruit of his imagination, which is in advance of most of the music of his time. It must occupy an important place in the history of pianoforte music, as representing one of the finest accomplishments directly due to the influence of the Romantic movement.
III
The other cycles of Schumann comparable to it are the Papillons, opus 2, the Davidsbündler Tänze, opus 6, and the Faschingsschwank aus Wien, opus 26. The first of these is short and slight, but of singularly faultless workmanship and rare charm. The last must be cherished for the Romanza, the Scherzo, and the splendid Intermezzo; but the first movement is rather out of proportion, and parts of the last are perfunctory and uninteresting.
Most of the Dances of the Davidsbündler are beautiful. The series is, however, much too long and too loose to be regarded as a whole. There are passages of unsuccessful workmanship, notably in the third; some of the dances are rambling, some rather commonplace. On the other hand, many may be ranked among the best of Schumann’s compositions. The second, seventh, and fourteenth have been mentioned as among the beautiful utterances of Eusebius; the fifth is less distinguished but is delightful pianoforte music. Florestan does not make quite such a good impression, except possibly in the fourth and the twelfth. The fifteenth speaks for both Florestan and Eusebius; and the E-flat major section is splendidly rich and full-throated music. The last dance of all is like a happy, wayward elf waltzing along in the wake of more substantial dancers. The series may properly end with the seventeenth; but, as Schumann said, though Eusebius knew well that the eighteenth was quite superfluous, yet one could see by his eyes that he was blissful over it.[32]
Both the ‘Symphonic Studies’ and the Kreisleriana stand apart from the works previously discussed. The former, opus 13, was written in 1834, the latter, opus 16, in 1838. A brief glance at opus 1, the ‘Abegg’ variations, written in 1830, will serve to make clear the immense progress Schumann made in the art of composition in the brief space of four years. The early work is by no means lacking in interest. Schumann reveals himself in nearly every page. The theme itself is made up of the notes a, b, e, g, g, spelling the name of the honorable lady to whom the variations were dedicated. In the middle of the last movement he experiments with a new style of diminuendo, allowing a chord to die away by separate notes, till only one note of it is left sounding. He tried the same effect again at the end of the Papillons. But the workmanship, though clever, is for the most part conventional. The statement of the theme is laughably simple, particularly the ‘echoes,’ pianissimo, in broken octaves. Such a device recalls the ‘Maiden’s Prayer’ and fountain curls. The variations show a fine ear for pianoforte effects. The first especially is in virtuoso style and makes more use of the upper registers of the keyboard than is common in the later works. But the harmonies, though richly altered, are conventional, and so are the figures. The third, fourth, and fifth might have been written by Hummel.
The ‘Symphonic Études’ are immeasurably broader and more original. They are written as variations; but Schumann confines himself very little to the conventional scheme; and the third and ninth are not variations at all, but études made up of wholly extraneous ideas. The theme itself is dignified and rich, and its statement in the sonorous middle registers of the piano is impressive. In the first measures of the first variation there is little or no suggestion of the theme save in harmony. The opening phrase is given low down, repeated in higher registers, till the music has climbed nearly four octaves; at which point a phrase of the theme makes its appearance. Toward the end of the variation the same phrase is heard again; but the whole is distinctly dominated by the figure announced in the first measure.
In the second variation the theme is carried throughout in the bass; but a beautiful new melody is imposed upon it which carries the burden of the music. The third of the series is unrelated to the theme except in key. It is a study in light, wide, staccato figures for the right hand; under which the left hand carries a suave and expressive melody. In the next movement, the theme is treated consistently as a canon at the octave. The next is at once a study in a capricious dotted rhythm and a subtle variation of the theme. And in the following, the sixth, the theme is wholly prominent in both hands, the left anticipating the right by the fraction of a beat. The seventh is a magnificent study for the movement of the arm from one group of notes to another. It is in E major, and the theme makes but an occasional and fragmentary appearance. The eighth is a study in sharp cross-accents, the theme again wholly concealed, except for its harmonies; the ninth a study in double notes and octaves for the wrist. The tenth, eleventh, and twelfth are high-water marks in Schumann’s treatment of the pianoforte, both in brilliant and poetic effects. Particularly worthy of study are the accompaniment figure in the latter, with its rich shimmering of harmony, and the skillful interweaving of two melodies in the fashion not long before employed in the short Warum?. The finale, which, with the repeats Schumann incorporated into it, is far too long, practically exhausts the power of the piano in big chordal effects.
There is but little trace of the composer of the Abegg variations in these imposing and wholly beautiful studies. Schumann shows himself in them such a master of the pianoforte as has no need to display his wares, but may let their intrinsic richness and splendor speak for them. Only in the last of them does he lay himself open to the criticism of having treated the piano in a style too nearly orchestral, which expects from the instrument a little more than it can furnish. Elsewhere in the series the very spirit of the piano speaks, a noble and moving language, full of imagery and of color. The obvious virtuoso trappings of Weber are left far behind. We are on one of the great heights of pianoforte literature.
Schumann considered the Kreisleriana to be his best work for the piano alone. It was inspired by the character of Johannes Kreisler, an eccentric, highly gifted kapellmeister who figured in the tales and musical papers of E. T. A. Hoffmann.[33] Just what it means few will venture to suggest. The last movement may recall the account of the last appearance of Kreisler on this earth, as he was seen hopping along the road beyond the town, with a red hat on the side of his head and a wooden sword by his side. Dr. Oskar Bie quotes from Hoffmann in connection with the second movement, the tale of the young girl who was lured to a magic oak by the sound of a lute, and there killed; whose heart grew into a twining rose-bush.[34] In the main, however, the music eludes analysis. It is eccentric. Though full of the mannerisms of Schumann, much of it presents an unfamiliar mood of the composer. The moods of it are different from the moods of the ‘Carnival,’ the ‘Symphonic Études,’ the ‘Fantasy,’ the ‘Scenes of Childhood.’ On the whole, it lacks the warmth of his other works. It is fantastic, and not unfrequently grotesque; parts of it strangely deliberate. Many pages of it are out of the usual and consequently baffling. It is more involved, too, in workmanship, and the separate movements full of contrasts that seem to be vagaries. Schumann has, of course, here as elsewhere put himself into the person of his inspiration; and the result is a tribute to the power of his imagination. Never was music more fantastic, less consequential.
It is, on the other hand, superb. The opening movement alone, with its figures like short waves in a windy sea, its sharp cross-accents, its filmy, elusive trio, is a masterpiece. The second movement is unbalanced, yet at times most wondrously beautiful. The opening theme in itself is inspired, though it is perhaps overworked. But what is the meaning of the harsh chords which interrupt it and shatter the mood which it might else instill? The style is polyphonic in places; there are inner melodies that slide long distances up and down the keyboard, oftenest in tenths. The two intermezzi furnish a welcome contrast to the intense subjectivity of most of this second movement. After the second there comes one of the loveliest pages in all Schumann’s pianoforte music.