With this masterpiece we may take leave of Robert Schumann, for whom most pianists will ever have a special love. The first movement was composed in 1841, the Intermezzo and Finale in 1845, all after his marriage in the fall of 1840. After this happy termination to long and troubled years, his attention turned to other branches of music, to songs, to oratorios and symphonies; and, though he never forsook the piano entirely, the best of his work for it, with few exceptions, was left behind him. The ten years between 1830 and 1840 saw its creation. In this relatively brief period all the works we have mentioned, except the concerto, were composed. They were the flower of his early manhood, and they bear witness in every page to the romantic eagerness and fire of youth. In many a measure they show a lack of skill, an excess of zeal, an over-reaching that is awkward; but what are these in the fire of his poetic imagination? The spirit of Schumann rises far, far above them, one of the most ardent, soaring spirits that ever sought expression in music. It was destined to fall back, ruined, charred, and blackened by its own fire; but happily we have left to us in pianoforte music its song at the height of its flight.
IV
The only worthy successor to Schumann in the realm of German pianoforte music is Johannes Brahms. Into the hands of Brahms Schumann may be said to have given over the standard which he had carried so staunchly forward. In September, 1853, Brahms came with a letter from the great violinist Joachim, to visit Schumann and his family at Düsseldorf on the Rhine. He was at that time little over twenty years of age, but he brought with him two sonatas for the piano and a set of songs, in which Schumann at once recognized the touch of great genius. There followed the now famous article in Schumann’s paper, to which he had lately contributed little or nothing at all; an article hailing the advent of the successor of Beethoven, the man fit to carry German music yet another stage forward on its way. This prophecy roused skeptical opposition, made enemies for Brahms, reacted upon the young man himself, perhaps not wholly for the best. He found himself put into a place before he was free to choose it; and a strain of obstinacy in the man kept him there for the rest of his life, almost like a pillar of stone in the midst of a tumultuous river.
He was a man of powerful intellect and deep emotions, exceptional among composers in technical mastery of his art, of iron will. He was conservative, perhaps more by choice than by nature. All this is inevitably reflected in his music; which, therefore, speaks a language very different for the most part from Schumann’s. Schumann was open, enthusiastic, and free; Brahms was suspicious, outwardly hard and despotic. Schumann’s fancies were brilliantly colored, his music full of spontaneous warmth; Brahms inclined more and more to be gloomy and taciturn, his music came forth in sober colors.
Johannes Brahms on his way to the ‘Red Porcupine’.
Silhouette (contemporary) by Dr. Otto Böhler.
But Brahms’ pianoforte music is still none the less romantic music. By far the great part of his works for pianoforte are short pieces, expressive of a mood. Few have the intensity of Schumann’s; there are but one or two descriptive titles, no bindings together in a round of fantastic thought. The enthusiasm of the younger romantics has cooled. Reason has come with calm step. Yet the quality of these short pieces is intensely romantic, suggestive of the north, of northern legends, of moorlands and the sea. There is not a whirr of many persons from strange lands, of sad and gay personalities, of Pierrot and Harlequin; the music is of lonely and wide places. It is, moreover, essentially masculine music. If it seems to wander into the life of towns, it seeks out groups of men. There is little feminine tenderness. There is little of sentiment in the pianoforte music, such as we associate with the romance of love. It has more of the heroic quality. It all demands profound thought and study; partly because of its intellectual complexity, partly because of its lack of superficial charm. One must make oneself familiar with it; one must learn its peculiar idiom; one must go far beneath the surface.
There is little to be said of it in words. The moods it expresses and the moods which it conveys are not of the kind that seek a quick and enraptured utterance. It is impersonal; it suggests the nature of sea and space, not human nature. Thus, though we can throw ourselves with delight into the music of Schumann and come forth from it with a thousand pictures and fancies in our minds, from the music of Brahms we more often come away thoughtful and silent.
Brahms’ style is very distinct. His pianoforte music calls for a special technique, quite outside the ordinary. Nothing of the style of Chopin or Liszt is evident, even in a work like the Paganini variations, which is essentially virtuoso music. These peculiarities are already evident in the first two sonatas, the works in which Schumann saw such great promise. The sonatas are worth study, not only from the historical point of view, but as unusual and beautiful music.