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There are never in Brahms weak or conventional rhythms. He is also one of the great modern song-composers, representing with Strauss, Wolf and Mahler the culmination of the German Lied. In his songs there is a warmth and depth of sentiment as yet unsurpassed, and the accompaniment is always a highly wrought factor in the work. In estimating the value of Brahms's compositions as a whole, it is difficult to hold the balance true. Those to whom he is sympathetic through an affinity of temperament revere him as one of the great geniuses for all time, while to others his message is not of such convincing power. The effect of inborn temperament in the personal appeal made by any composer is vividly shown by the estimate which Tchaikowsky and Brahms had for one another. Each felt respect for the sincerity and artistic skill of his contemporary, at the same time regretfully acknowledging that the essence of the music meant little to him. To Tchaikowsky Brahms seemed cold and lacking in melodic spontaneity; to Brahms, on the other hand, Tchaikowsky seemed superficial, sensational. The gist of the matter is that Brahms was a Teuton and wrote with characteristic Teutonic reserve and dignity. Tchaikowsky, being a Slav, wrote with the impassioned lack of restraint and volatility of mood associated with that people. How could it be otherwise? Each was a genuine artist, expressing his natural feelings with clearness and conviction; and each should be respected for what he did: not one at the expense of the other. In Brahms, however, the question does arise of facility of expression versus worthiness of expression. He had an unparalleled technique in the manipulation of notes but whether there was always an emotional impulse behind what he wrote is debatable. For there are these two contrasting types in every art: works which come from the heart (remember Beethoven's significant inscription at the end of his Mass),[256] and those which come from the head. This brings us face to face with the perplexing question as to the essence of music. To some it is a record of intellectual activity tinged with emotion; to others, an emotional outpouring controlled by intellect. These two types of music will always exist, being the natural expression of the corresponding classes in human nature.
Brahms's music is sometimes called dry, but this is a misuse of terms. To draw an analogy from another sense, we might rejoin that the best champagne is "sec," all the superfluous, cloying sugar being removed. There is plenty of saccharine music in the world for those who like it. In Brahms, however, we find a potential energy and a manly tenderness which cannot be ignored even by those who are not profoundly thrilled by his message. He was a sincere idealist and composed to please his own high standards, never thinking of outward effect nor testing the pulse of the fickle public. As a man there is no doubt that he was warm-hearted and vigorous, but his was not the nature to come forward with captivating geniality. On the contrary he expects the hearer to come to him, and is too reserved to meet you more than half-way. That this austerity has proved a bar in the way of a wide-spread fame, while to be regretted, is unavoidable; remove these characteristics from Brahms and he ceases to be Brahms. Those, however, who may think that Brahms is always austere and grim, holding himself aloof from broad human emotion, should remember that he has done more than any other modern composer to idealize the Waltz; and, if the atmosphere of his symphonic style be too rarified, they may well begin their effort in appreciation with those charming Waltzes op. 39 (both for solo pianoforte and for a four-hand arrangement); the Hungarian Dances, and—most beautiful of all—the Liebeslieder Walzer for chorus and pianoforte (four-hands). Anyone who knows these works cannot fail to become a genuine lover of Brahms. To be of the earth and yet to strike the note of sublimity is a paradox. For, in Brahms at his best, we surely find more of the sublime, of true exalted aspiration, than in any other modern composer save César Franck. To strike this note of sublimity is the highest achievement of music—its proper function; a return, as it were, to the abode whence it came. Such music is far beyond that which is merely sensuous, brilliantly descriptive, or even dramatically characteristic. Much of present day music excites and thrills but does not exalt. Brahms, in his great moments, lifts us high above the earth. His universal acceptance is alike hindered by a deficiency which, though as natural as his reserve, may yet justly be cited against him—the occasional monotony of his color scheme. In the symphonies, notwithstanding the dignity and sincerity of thought, we find pages in the style of an engraving which would be more effective as a glowing canvas, e.g., in the slow movement of the Second Symphony and in the last two movements of the Fourth. Many consider, however, that Brahms's orchestral treatment is exactly suited to the seriousness of his ideas; so it comes down to a question of individual taste. That he had his own delicate feeling for color and sensuous effect is shown in many pages of the chamber music, especially in those works for unusual combinations, e.g., the Clarinet Quintet, and the Trio for Violin, Horn and Pianoforte. No one in modern times has used more eloquently that romantic instrument, the horn. See, for example, the Coda to the first movement of the D major Symphony and the slow movement of the Third Symphony. We must gratefully acknowledge the lasting quality of his music—without question it wears well. In fact, difficult though it be to comprehend at a first hearing, the more it is heard, the more it is enjoyed. Brahms's[257] music is steadily growing in popularity. His orchestral works and chamber music are applauded to-day, although twenty-five years ago they were received with apathy and scornful indifference.
As a representative work in each of the four fields in which Brahms created such masterpieces we have selected, for detailed analysis, the First Symphony, the Sonata for Violin and Pianoforte in A major, the Ballade in G minor and the Song, Meine Liebe ist grün wie der Fliederbusch. All four of Brahms's symphonies may justly be considered great, each in its own way. For Brahms is not a man with a single message and has not written one large symphony in different sections, as, in a broad sense, may be said of Tchaikowsky. The Second, on account of the spontaneity and direct appeal of its themes, is undoubtedly the most popular. It contains a first movement of a quasi-Mendelssohnian suavity and lyric charm; a slow movement which is a meditation of the profundity of Bach himself; a third movement, allegretto, based on a delightful waltz of the Viennese Ländler type and a Finale of a Mozartian freshness and vigor—the second theme being specially notable for its broad sweep. The whole work is a convincing example of Brahms's vitality and "joie de vivre." The Third symphony is a marvel of conciseness and virile life. The Fourth, though not in all respects so inspired as the others, is famous for its beautiful slow movement—with an impressive introduction in the Phrygian mode (Brahms often showing a marked fondness for old modal harmony)—and for the Finale, which is an illustration of his polyphonic skill in modernizing the variation form, the Passacaglia or ground bass. But the First,[258] it seems to us, is the greatest, in scope, in wealth of material, in its remarkable combination of dramatic, epic and lyric elements and in an intensity of feeling and sublimity of thought peculiar to Brahms. It is extremely subjective, of deep ethical value, and sets forth a message of optimism and undying hope. The structural basis is a motto, often recurring in the work, which (whatever it may mean) is evidently—like the theme of the C minor symphony—some fierce protest against fate. The symphony, as a whole, represents a triumphant progress from darkness to light; and this meaning is made evident by the ever-brightening mood of the successive movements, the tone of which is strengthened by the scheme of key-relationship—based on an ascending series of major thirds, e.g.
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The work is somewhat uneven—never weak—but at times a bit labored; as if the composer were consciously wrestling with great thoughts. This, however, is nothing against it, because equally true of large works in other fields of art, e.g., the Agamemnon of Aeschylus or Wagner's Tetralogy. It cannot be understood, much less appreciated, without close attention and earnest thought, for it presents the struggles and aspirations of mankind and is not meant solely to delight or entertain. When the hearer has made it his own it is a priceless possession for all time. The Prelude to the first movement, un poco sostenuto, is of impressive solemnity, developed from the motto, and based on the almost persistent iteration of the pedal notes C and G—the tonic and dominant. It proclaims that a serious meaning is to be revealed, and this meaning is accentuated by the orchestration which with its stratified grouping of melodic lines has a grim strength characteristic of Brahms.
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