Schumann on Music

A Selection from the Writings

Robert Schumann, Henry Pleasants

• Publisher: Dover Publications
• Year: 2012
• ISBN:
  9780486143095
• Topic: Media & Performing Arts
• Subtopic: Music History & Criticism

Schumann's genius as a composer is well known; perhaps less well known is the fact that he was also a gifted music critic who wrote hundreds of perceptive essays, articles, and reviews for the Neue Zeitschrift fur Müsik, the influential music journal he founded in 1834.
The present work, translated and edited by noted critic Henry Pleasants, contains 61 of the most important critical pieces Schumann wrote for Neue Zeitschrift between 1834 and 1844. The articles are arranged in chronological order, with ample annotation, demonstrating not only Schumann's development as a writer and critic but also the evolution of music in Europe during a decisive decade.
In addition to such major set pieces as `Florestan's Shrovetide Oration,` the essays on Berlioz's Symphonie Fantastique and Schubert's Symphony in C Major, and the imaginative and literate `The Editor's Ball,` this volume offers discerning observations on Mendelssohn, Chopin, Beethoven, Liszt, Cherubini, and other giants. Also included are critical considerations of an ensemble of minor masters: Sphor, Hiller, Moscheles, Hummel, and Gade, among others. The result is a rich and representative picture of musical life in the mid-19th century.
Schumann's criticism has long been famous for its perceptiveness and literary style. Those qualities are in ample evidence in this treasury of his finest critical writings, now available to every music lover in this inexpensive, high-quality edition.

LUIGI CHERUBINI

String Quartet No. 1 in E flat

(1838)

EVEN AMONG GOOD musicians there is a considerable difference of opinion about Cherubini’s quartets.

It is not, of course, a question of their being the work of a master. There can be no doubt about that. It is rather a question of style. Do they represent the true quartet style which we love and which we have come to regard as exemplary?

We are accustomed to the type of quartet developed by Haydn, Mozart and Beethoven. In recent years we have acknowledged Onslow and Mendelssohn as worthy successors following the same path. Now along comes Cherubini, a man aged in the aristocracy of the art and in his own artistic concepts, still the supreme harmonist of the time, an estimable, learned and always interesting Italian whose elegance of manners and strength of character have sometimes prompted me to compare him with Dante!

I confess that when I heard this quartet for the first time I felt uneasy about it, particularly after the first two movements. It was not what one expected. Parts of it seemed operatic and overloaded, other parts trivial, empty or capricious. It may have been the impatience of youth that made it difficult to grasp immediately the sense of an old man’s often wayward speech; for at the same time my whole being reacted to the authority of a master. Then came the Scherzo, with its impulsive Spanish theme and extraordinary Trio, and, at last, the Finale, throwing off sparks in every direction like a diamond. There could be no doubt about its authorship, or that it was worthy of its author.

Many will react similarly. The special quality of his quartet style takes a bit of knowing. It is not, after all, our mother tongue. It is rather the language of a distinguished foreigner, for whom our regard increases as we learn to understand it.

PIANO CONCERTOS

(1839)

MUSIC FOR THE PIANO looms large in the recent history of the art. It usually gives us the first radiance of a new genius. Our most gifted contemporaries are pianists, an observation that has been applied to earlier epochs. Bach and Handel, Mozart and Beethoven, all grew up at the keyboard. Like sculptors, who first sketch their statues in miniature in softer substances, they, too, may often have sketched at the keyboard what they later worked out in grand dimensions in the tougher substance of the orchestra.

In the meantime the instrument itself has been brought near to perfection. With the advancing physical mechanics of piano playing and the bolder flight of piano composition, stemming from Beethoven, the instrument, too, has advanced in compass and significance. Should pedals be added, as on the organ (and I believe that this will come), the composer will have new prospects. Freeing himself more and more from dependence upon the supporting orchestra, he will be able to proceed with wealthier resources, a fuller voice and greater self-sufficiency. This separation of the piano from the orchestra is something we have seen coming for some time. Defying the symphony, contemporary piano playing seeks to dominate by its own means and on its own terms. This may well explain why the past few years have produced so few piano concertos; indeed, so few original compositions of any kind in which the piano plays an accompanying role.

This periodical has, from its beginning, reported on just about every new piano concerto that has come along. There can hardly have been more than sixteen or seventeen, a small number in comparison with former days. Thus do times change. What once was regarded as an enrichment of instrumental forms, as an important discovery, is now voluntarily abandoned. Surely it would have to be counted a loss if the piano concerto with orchestra were to pass from the scene. We cannot, on the other hand, contradict the pianists when they say: ‘We do not need any help from other instruments, ours is most effective alone.’ And so we must await the genius who will show us in a newer and more brilliant way, how orchestra and piano may be combined, how the soloist, dominant at the keyboard, may unfold the wealth of his instrument and his art, while the orchestra, no longer a mere spectator, may interweave its manifold facets into the scene.¹

One thing, however, we could easily demand from the younger composers—namely, that as a substitute for the serious and worthy concerto form, they give us worthy solo pieces, that they desist from caprices and variations and give us beautifully, fully rounded and substantial allegro movements suitable for the opening of programmes. Until such a time we must continue to look to older compositions to find things designed to set a concert programme off in a properly artistic manner and to test properly an artist’s superior qualities—to those splendid works of Mozart and Beethoven, or for more select audiences, to the works of that still insufficiently appreciated gentleman, Johann Sebastian Bach.

1

Destined, of course, to be Schumann himself. The first movement of his Concerto in A minor was completed in 1841, the other two in 1845.

GOTTFRIED PREYER’S SYMPHONY

(1839)

WHEN THE GERMAN talks about symphonies, he speaks of Beethoven. For him the words ‘symphony’ and ‘Beethoven’ are synonymous and inseparable. They are his pride and his joy.

Just as Italy has its Naples, the Frenchman his revolution, the Englishman his sea voyage, etc., so the German has his Beethoven symphonies. He can forget that he can point to no great school of painting. With Beethoven he has recovered in spirit what he lost to Napoleon. He dares even to equate him with Shakespeare.

Beethoven’s works having become a part of our innermost being—even certain of the symphonies have become popular—one would assume that they had left deep traces, and that these would be visible in the works of the succeeding generation, particularly in works of the same category. Such is not the case. We hear reminiscences, to be sure, although curiously enough, mostly of the earlier symphonies, as if each of them required a certain time to be understood and imitated. Reminiscences there are—too many and too strong. But mastery of the grand form, where ideas follow one another in rapid succession, bound together by an inner spiritual bond, is encountered—with certain exceptions—only rarely. The newer symphonies level out, for the greater part, into the overture style, particularly the first movements. The slow movements are there only because custom requires it. The scherzos are such in name only. The last movements no longer know what the earlier movements contained.

Berlioz was heralded as a phenomenon. In Germany we know next to nothing about him, and what we have learned by hearsay has appeared rather to frighten the Germans. It will be some time before we become thoroughly acquainted with him. Certainly he will not have laboured in vain. Such talents do not appear in isolation. The immediate future will tell. Schubert should also be mentioned, but even his achievements in the symphonic field have not become public.

A significant indication of the present level of talent was provided by the Vienna Prize Award. Say what one will, such contests can only be helpful; they can do no harm. And he knows little about creative impulses who imagines that they are not encouraged by inducements, even prosaic ones. Had someone offered a prize of precious diamonds —such as are to be found in royal and imperial treasuries—while Mozart, Haydn and Beethoven were still alive, I bet that the masters would have done their best to get it. But then, of course, who would have judged?

Enough of that. The outcome of the Vienna contest is known, and although it is said that the winner was virtually sure of the prize before he even began his symphony (every contestant was secretly just as confident), still it must be acknowledged that as things now stand—that is, having heard a number of the other submissions—Lachner deserved the prize. The symphony here under discussion, also a competitor, would seem to offer further confirmation. It is by Gottfried Preyer.¹ That it has appeared in full score makes an immediately favourable impression. The composer, a Viennese, has made a name for himself through the popularity of some of his songs. In this respect Vienna is not unlike other big cities. A successful effort, even in such a small form, suffices to establish one as an important composer. What sells the most is the best. And so it happened that a publisher decided to print the score—a notable decision. Symphonies are an expensive and hazardous commodity, real drugs on the market, and publishers will not, as a rule, take them as a gift. In any case, the engraved score, clean and correct, lies open before us.

A few pages suffice to disclose a progressive young composer, initially somewhat ill at ease in the large, unfamiliar form, but gaining in security and courage as he gets under way. His aspirations must be doubly acknowledged in view of the fact that he lives in a city where little encouragement is vouchsafed the solid, serious or even profound average, where judgments for and against are largely determined by first impressions, and where the verdict is usually couched in terms of ‘it appealed’ or ‘it did not appeal’. Thus it was after the premiere of Christus am Ölberge and Fidelio. They did not appeal, and that was the end of it.

This symphony, which has been played frequently in Vienna, ‘appealed’. It even ‘impressed’, thanks to the veneer of scholarly working out which it often displays. The composer will understand us only if he is acquainted with our periodical through other issues than this, only if he knows its policies and the masters it rates most highly, knows what it expects of a symphony, particularly, and how it is chary of praise, being an organ of musicians for musicians.

Precisely this so-called ‘work’ betrays the first attempt—and the tendency of well-meaning beginners to give us rather too much of a good thing. As if it were essential to sweat out the whole art of counterpoint again, we are threatened from afar with fugal beginnings, mostly rattling around in the violins. We are exposed to three, four and even more themes, ranked one above the other, which we are supposed to follow individually. What we note is the composer’s pleasure in finding his way back to the fundamental key without having disgraced himself. The writer knows all this from the best of experience—namely, his own. And what is the good of it all? Certainly Mozart ‘worked’, and Beethoven, too, but with what materials and at what places and for what reasons, and all as if it were mere child’s play! Of course, they had to make their experiments, too; but they never wrote merely that the eye might see something on paper.

Sometimes I wish that a young composer might give us, just once, a light, merry symphony, in a major key, without trombones and doubled horns, but then of course, that is even more difficult. Only one who understands how to command large forces can play with them. Lest the above be held against us at some time in the future as evidence that we are against ‘work’, let it be said forthwith that we do favour ‘work’ and of the profoundest sort. But it should not be for its own sake, or of such a kind that we can pull it apart thread by thread. Gluck’s saying that one should write nothing that is without effect, if taken in the right sense, is one of the most golden of rules, a true master’s secret.

1

Preyer, Gottfried (1807-1901), Viennese organist, composer, conductor and teacher.

FELIX MENDELSSOHN

Piano Concerto No. 2

(1839)

TRULY, HE REMAINS the same, striking out in his old happy stride! No one has a lovelier smile on his lips than he!

This concerto,¹ to be sure, will offer virtuosos little in which to show off their monstrous dexterity. Mendelssohn gives them almost nothing to do that they have not already done a hundred times before. We have often heard them complain about it. And not unjustly! A concerto need not exclude opportunities to show off bravura in the novelty and brilliance of its passages. But music comes first, and he who gives it to us always and most richly shall earn our highest praise.

Music is the outflow of a benign spirit, regardless of whether it flows in the presence of hundreds or in solitude. That is why Mendelssohn’s compositions are so irresistible when he plays them himself. The fingers are only carriers, and could just as well be hidden from view. The ear alone should receive, and the heart then decide. I often think that Mozart must have played like that.

If it may be said in praise of Mendelssohn that he always gives us such music, it cannot, at the same time, be denied that he does so in some pieces more fleetingly, in others more emphatically. This concerto belongs among his more fleeting productions. Unless I am greatly mistaken, he did it in a few days, perhaps even in a few hours. It is like shaking a tree and having the ripe fruit fall at your feet without further ado.

One will ask how it compares with his First Concerto. It’s the same, and yet not the same; the same because it comes from the same practised master hand, different because it comes ten years later. Sebastian Bach is discernible in the harmonization. The rest, melody, form and instrumentation are all Mendelssohn.

Let us enjoy the fleeting, cheerful gift! It resembles one of those works thrown off by the older masters while recuperating from one of their greater exertions. Our younger master will certainly not forget how the older ones would suddenly emerge with something magnificent—Mozart’s Concerto in D minor, Beethoven’s in G!

1

In D minor, Opus 40.

FRIEDRICH KALKBRENNER

Études, Opus 145

(1839)

I SHALL BE hard put to find anything favourable to say about Kalkbrenner’s¹ new études (Études de Style et de Perfectionnement Composées pour servir de Complément à la Méthode, etc.).

It may be that I am simply irritated by the legends that have reached us. We have heard, for instance, that Kalkbrenner always considers his latest compositions to be his best, and that he practises his own etudes, just like a student studying from himself—this last, in particular, aroused my curiosity! Be that as it may, I confess that these études depressed me. Imagination, where are you? Ideas? No answer! Almost nothing but dry formulas, beginnings, residue—the image of an ageing beauty.

Such is the fate of all who hang their art on an instrument. They charm as long as they are young, as long as they can offer something novel, something more scintillant. But then young talents come along. What was once astonishing brilliance has become child’s play for all. But those who have grown accustomed to applause can no longer live without it, and they try to force it. Not one palm is touched to another; the audience merely smiles at what once left it gaping in astonishment.

As Kalkbrenner himself says, he has devoted a large part of his life to the mechanical development of his hands. This would throttle the composing of a Beethoven, not to speak of what it must do to an inferior talent. And then age exposes what the charms of youth could disguise: want of deeper, less one-sided knowledge, neglect of the study of great models. Could one imagine a Sebastian Bach or a Beethoven without imagination, they would still, even in old age, be able to produce something interesting, simply because they had studied and learned something. Those who have not learned may produce some agreeable things up to a certain age. But then they no longer have the strength to meet the requirements put upon them, and every attempt at camouflage merely renders the defects the more unsightly.

Of what use are these études? Certainly of none to the artist or to the composer, who has only to leaf through them to put them aside for ever! And of none even for virtuosos and students; the one will hardly find anything new, and the other will find nothing not better and more concisely presented in Kalkbrenner’s earlier études. I can believe that in twenty-five pieces there are some nice things. But art is ser...

Table of contents

• Title Page
• Copyright Page
• Table of Contents
• INTRODUCTION
• PREFACE
• AN OPUS 2
• HENRI VIEUXTEMPS AND LOUIS LACOMBE
• THEODOR STEIN
• Études, Opus 125
• NEW YEAR’S EDITORIAL
• FLORESTAN’S SHROVETIDE ORATION
• FERDINAND HILLER - Études, Opus 15
• JOSEPH CHRISTOPH KESSLER
• FROM THE DAVIDSBÜNDLER ARCHIVES
• LOUIS SPOHR’S ‘WEIHE DER TONE’
• CHRISTIAN GOTTLIEB MÜLLER - Symphony No. 3
• SOME NEW PIANO SONATAS
• ‘FURY OVER THE LOST PENNY’
• CHARACTERISTICS OF THE KEYS
• LETTERS FROM A (MUSIC-) LOVER
• BERLIOZ’ ‘SINFONIE FANTASTIQUE’
• PIANO SONATAS BY MENDELSSOHN AND SCHUBERT
• A MONUMENT TO BEETHOVEN - FOUR VIEWS
• THE PRIZE SYMPHONY
• THEODOR DÖHLER
• Piano Concerto No. 7
• Piano Concertos Nos. 5 and 6
• Piano Concerto No. 2
• CHOPIN’S PIANO CONCERTOS
• WILLIAM STERNDALE BENNETT
• THE MUSEUM
• (A Report to Jeanquirit in Augsburg)
• THE OLD CAPTAIN
• ‘THE HUGUENOTS’
• SCHUBERT’S GRAND DUO AND THREE LAST SONATAS
• String Quartet No. 1 in E flat
• PIANO CONCERTOS
• GOTTFRIED PREYER’S SYMPHONY
• Piano Concerto No. 2
• Études, Opus 145
• LISZT’S ÉTUDES
• Concerts in Dresden and Leipzig
• SCHUBERT’S SYMPHONY IN C
• THE MUNICIPAL AND COMMUNAL MUSICAL SOCIETY OF THE CITY OF KYRITZ
• CHOPIN’S SONATA
• (A Charity Recital for the Musicians’ Pension Fund)
• Grand Fantasy
• CHOPIN
• MENDELSSOHN’S ‘SCOTTISH’ SYMPHONY
• Sixth and Seventh Symphonies
• RUDOLPH WILLMERS
• ROBERT FRANZ
• NIELS GADE
• ‘A MIDSUMMER NIGHT’S DREAM’
• Concerto without Orchestra
• NEW PATHS
• INDEX
• A CATALOG OF SELECTED DOVER BOOKS IN ALL FIELDS OF INTEREST