The representatives of classical romanticism are Raff, Rubinstein, Goldmark, Brahms, Bruch, Rheinberger. The influence that Raff and Brahms had upon orchestration requires especial consideration. Rubinstein will be referred to again in connection with Russian composers. And a brief analysis will be sufficient to discover the respective characteristics that distinguish Goldmark's highly colored orchestration, that of Bruch in accompaniment to noble choral works, and Rheinberger's conservative yet finished instrumentation for sacred composition.

I.

Raff (1822-1882). To begin with Raff, it is by no means easy to determine the precise value of his compositions. Masterpieces must be arraigned side by side with works of decided inferiority. He adapted Beethoven's calorific polyphony together with the charmingly picturesque style of Weber, but did not approach his eminent contemporary, Brahms, either in depth of thought or in originality of ideas. He was, however, superior to Brahms as an orchestral colorist. Encouraged by the sympathy and practical help of such men as Mendelssohn, Liszt, von BÜlow, he became in his younger days a sturdy advocate of the modern German tendencies, and even wrote a pamphlet entitled "Die Wagnerfrage"; but in spite of his affiliation with the Weimar coterie, Raff eventually developed into a composer more especially of chamber music and symphonies. "Im Walde" and "Lenore" are the best known of the orchestral works,—indeed, the first named is without doubt his most important production. Raff was essentially a romanticist; what is more, he went so far as to write descriptive program music. Nevertheless, his style bears but little relation to that of Wagner or Liszt; it displays, in fact, a decided reserve in that he employed traditional forms and Beethoven's symphonic orchestra. Notwithstanding Raff's descriptive faculties, his works betray unquestionable lyric tendencies. Occasional approach to the salon style is also in evidence, nor do the larger works reveal that breadth of style and invariable loftiness of purpose that signalize those of Beethoven and Brahms. He possessed great facility, but this very attribute endangered the quality of his conceptions and was conducive to carelessness and loss of fine feeling.

Striking insignia of absolutely original scoring are not conspicuous, although the entire character of the orchestration gives evidence of fertile imagination and sound judgment. Some of Wagner's full and rich effects found their way also into Raff's symphonic pages. The latter was particularly happy in the use of horns, wrote almost exclusively for valve-horns and valve-trumpets, and established a precedent by selecting those in F for regular practice.

In view of the fact that Raff's style is a compound of classicism and romanticism, together with yet more advanced tendencies so far as the "program" element is concerned, his title as pioneer of the classical-romanticists has been applied with good judgment. The succeeding luminaries of this school revealed similar tendencies. Rubinstein, Goldmark and Bruch are all to a more or less degree exponents of the programmatic idea. Even so conservative a composer as Rheinberger, whom some are tempted to call even a reactionist, was at times subjugated by its fascination. This is borne out by his "Wallenstein" symphony. Brahms stands forth in his solitary grandeur as the one exception to the rule. Towering above his fellow classical-romanticists, he attained the exaltation of his fame by a path they could not tread. It is to him that we now must turn.

II.

Brahms (1833-1897). In the April number, 1895, of the magazine entitled "Music" are to be found the following remarkable assertions in an otherwise admirable article by Mr. W.S.B. Matthews:—"HÄndel is antiquated; Bach still lives, but we can enjoy his works only as exceptions to our current diet; Haydn symphonies sound like string quartets played a trifle large and seasoned with a few notes of trumpets and wood-wind. Mozart in feminine phrase is 'too sweet for any use,' and Mendelssohn has departed to the place where good boys go. We have left to us the over-worked immortal nine of Beethoven (now rather shrunk to five) and two of Schubert; we tolerate Schumann for the sake of his ideas. We hear Tschaikowsky because he is a master in his way. But the greatest of tone-poets now living, and the greatest since Beethoven, appears to be Brahms."

These broad assertions may be looked upon as revealing in all good faith the convictions of the author himself; again, Mr. Matthews may have aimed to be facetious; or else these assertions were intended merely to expose the tenets of the ultra-enthusiasts for one of the latest phases of art. It would appear to the present writer that, irrespective of motives, such comparisons are entirely superfluous. Brahms occupies an isolated and lofty pinnacle by himself. Calm and self-contained in the midst of the restless and feverish impetuosity that characterizes the "Sturm und Drang" period, he preferred the seclusion and intellectuality of a reflective student's life, and moulded his creations in accordance therewith. The only comparison that would appear at all relevant is the unshaken faith in an ideal that he shared with Wagner. Beyond this their views diverged when it came to the question of what this ideal should be or how it should be attained. Brahms was a strenuous opponent of the "New German School." The intellectual and tragic aspect of modern absolute music was his ideal. The leading theme was the germ for synthetical treatment. Orchestral coloring or dramatic effect was of secondary consideration. Brahms accepted as his model Bach's austerely noble methods and strict logical process of thematic development, whereas the exterior forms of Beethoven and Schumann were virtually sufficient for his needs. Nevertheless, it cannot be said that his conservative formal structure was but a slavish imitation of theirs. Many of his works, such as the Rhapsodies and KlavierstÜcke, are certainly not in strict sonata form, nor are they lacking in distinctive individuality. Brahms is the ideal exponent of purity, strength, profundity, nobility, greatness of expression and novelty of treatment. His aims differed from those of the earlier classicists in that his subject-matter embodies beauty of thought rather than external beauty in music. The prevalence in many of his works of a certain heaviness of spirit and the reflex even of asceticism have been pointed out by more than one of his biographers.

It is not surprising to find that in the terms in which Rheinberger once expressed himself to the present writer, the background of Brahms' orchestral canvas is of a grayish hue. Nor can his scoring be cited as a model for felicitous instrumentation or glowing orchestral colors. In listening to his symphonies, one is occasionally disturbed by a certain heaviness or what can be better expressed as "muddiness." This defect is primarily due to the low distribution of parts for violas as well as for basses. Vagueness of detail in melodic delineation of inner voices is the more conspicuous since Brahms attached great importance to the functions of the viola, in addition to which he frequently divided them. Certain conventionalities in writing for the wood-wind are also apparent. Passages in thirds and sixths are analogous to those in Beethoven's earlier works; other passages recall certain ones of Schubert. But we can verily afford to overlook such minor details. Let us rather turn to a consideration of those essentials of Brahms' symphonic and other orchestral writings that have caused him to be justly regarded as the worthy apostle of Beethoven and direct successor to Schumann.

The most striking feature of his symphonies is their colossal structure. They are evolved without apparent effort. There is no retrogression, no episodic mediocrity. Brahms had no theories to promulgate, no gorgeous tableaux to portray. Nevertheless, his orchestration, though conservative, bears the impress of distinctive individuality, is replete with variety and characteristic tone-color, and abounds in peculiar and interesting combinations. A few examples, drawn from four distinctive types of composition, will be sufficient to illustrate the fertility of his imagination. Prout calls special attention in one of his articles on the orchestra to the second Serenade in A, the Symphony in D, and the "Deutsches Requiem." We will add to these the "Variations on a theme by Haydn." The Serenade, opus 16, is one of the earlier works. It is scored for the usual wood-wind in pairs, besides horns and strings, but there are no violins throughout the entire piece. It presents a phase of instrumentation foreign to the usually heavy style of Brahms, and abounds in variated shades of coloring. The symphony embodies the highest attainment of orchestral development and "solid" instrumentation. The nine variations suggest novel aspects in the field of independent orchestral music. But on the whole, perhaps the finest orchestral effects are to be found in the "Deutsches Requiem," and it is possible that some of the tonal tints employed therein were suggested by Cherubini's Requiem in C minor. The reader may recall the citation on page 60 of Cherubini's choice of instruments for the purpose of accompanying the opening chorus. There the required sombre tone-color is obtained by employing divided violas and violoncellos with double-basses, bassoons, horns, and muffled kettle-drums. The solemn and appropriate color that pervades the opening chorus of the German Requiem—"Blessed are they that mourn"—is due to the expressive powers of the string band without violins. The violas and violoncellos are again divided, and the general subdued effect is further enhanced by means of sustained notes for the horns. It is not intended to convey the idea that these two requiems could in any way be suggestive one of the other beyond a certain similarity of tonal color in the opening choruses of both. In all other respects they are radically different. The treatment of musical subject-matter proper as well as the exposition of sacred words show diametrically opposed points of view. The funeral march which ushers in the following chorus "For all flesh is as grass" affords another proof of Brahms' versatility when searching for further religious effects that shall nevertheless embody sufficient contrast so as to avoid monotony in two consecutive movements. The violins and violas are not only divided into six parts, but are muted as well. The string parts are redoubled by the wood-wind, while the kettle-drums lend distinctive character to the passage by means of a prominent though subdued rhythmic figure.

The question may well be asked why Brahms should not be regarded as the seventh of the great classicists rather than as a classical-romanticist. The answer is not hard to find. His treatment of form and instrumentation is distinctly classic. His method of harmonization contains modern characteristics. The complex rhythms that are conspicuous in many of his earlier works together with their rather obtrusive syncopations and cross accents are suggestive of Schumann; but whereas Schumann adhered to some marked rhythm that was consistently carried out in order to acquire variety and to knit together the organic structure as a whole, Brahms gradually branched out into broader fields, so that eventually the relegation of rhythm to a comparatively subordinate relationship to the general architectural scheme reverts once more to Beethoven's methods of procedure. Thus Brahms displayed a progressive spirit when employing doctrines of the classic school, which was tempered withal by extreme caution in the acceptance of modern tendencies. The amalgamation is felicitous to a high degree, and has had a most salutary effect upon the ever increasing inclination of the ultra-modern school to enslave music in the throes of what has been called "a thrice-intensified Weltschmerz." Even as Wagner stands supreme as the representative dramatic and orchestral writer of the nineteenth century, so Brahms may be regarded as a peer without rival in the art of thematic development, as the noblest exponent since Beethoven of large proportions and great breadth, and as the most prominent symphonic writer since Schumann, whose superior he was in the technics of orchestration.

III.

The fact that Goldmark (1830) was born in Hungary does not entitle him to recognition as a composer of decisively indigenous characteristics,—indeed, the scenes of three of his most important works are all laid in the Far East. Neither can it be said that his strength lies in spontaneity of musical thought or freedom of thematic treatment. He owes his reputation primarily to his gifts as an orchestral writer. Like Berlioz, he lacks the geniality of musical inspiration, but atones for this by vivid orchestral color and mastery of material effects. The fortunes of divers Oriental queens have evidently aroused Goldmark's most lively sympathy! But this peculiar circumstance is felicitous to a high degree, for what a wealth of glowing color surrounds his dramatization of the queen of Sheba, how picturesque is the presentation of the Amazon queen in the overture "Penthesilea," what power of imagination is revealed in the unfolding of Kalidasa's poetic love story! Goldmark could have found no finer opportunity for rare contrasts and telling effects than in this portrayal of Dushyanta, the Rajah—chivalrous, though unfaithful, of SakuntalÁ—tender and guileless, yet queenly. Goldmark succeeded admirably, and this world-renowned overture is, by virtue of its orchestration, a faithful interpretation of Dushyanta's wooing, the secret marriage, his forgetfulness of SakuntalÁ and her womanly fortitude during the years of unrecognition, her solicitous watchfulness over the welfare of Sarva-Damana, their child, and the final touching reunion and retribution. Although "Die KÖnigin von Saba" has won wide-spread popularity, Goldmark is, on the whole, at his best in purely instrumental forms. The opening up of his career is largely due to "SakuntalÁ" and to a Scherzo for orchestra, opus 19, both of which precede the above-named opera. His pleasing symphony "Die lÄndliche Hochzeit" may not embody the warmth and passion that characterize the Oriental subjects, but it is orchestrated with rare skill, contains some daring harmonic progressions, and reveals sentient appreciation for rich and glowing colors. But this symphony and that in E flat again prove that Goldmark holds the attention of his audience not so much by originality of themes and elaborate development as by the sterling qualities of his instrumentation.

IV.

Antithetical to Goldmark's dependency upon the orchestra for effect is the euphonious choral style of Bruch (1838). Here are to be found naturalness of invention, graceful and flowing melody, simplicity, and above all beauty of harmonic structure. Bruch exhibits extraordinary power in handling large vocal forces, and displays, moreover, marked predilection for Greek and Scandinavian subjects. The cantatas "Odysseus" and "Arminius," for soli, mixed chorus and orchestra, are counted among his most important works and embody the most favorable phase of his orchestration. "Salamis," a cantata for male chorus, is an inspiring song of victory, and "Frithjof," likewise written for men's voices, is an intensely dramatic exposition of six scenes chosen from the Frithjof Saga of Tegner. Best known is perhaps the "Lied von der Glocke," whereas the grave and earnest accents of the Hebraic "Kol Nidrei," together with the tragic intensity and passionate nature of the violin concerto in G minor, opus 26, show what Bruch could do when employing the orchestra to throw a solo instrument into relief. His independent orchestral works are not sufficiently spontaneous, whereas his accompaniments embody perfect taste, genuine expression and an abundance of energetic force. The very nature of his themes is such as to require either vocal forces or a solo stringed instrument to present them in the most favorable light. Bruch possesses supreme mastery of modern orchestral resources, but is at his best in the art of accompaniment.

V.

No composer has ever taken his art more to heart than Rheinberger (1839). Composition was for him a serious, even sacred avocation. It was not to be approached in a spirit of levity, nor could it assume for him so humble a mission as merely to amuse and entertain. This loftiness of purpose is visible even in his rather infrequent efforts in lighter vein. Although he was, to a degree, unconsciously swept along on the irresistible tidal wave of the epoch, nevertheless his conceptions found utterance in a but mild form of romanticism, and his works are seasoned with a certain spice of classic severity. It may be fearlessly asserted that Rheinberger is the greatest of all composers for the organ after Bach and Mendelssohn. His organ works are rich in color and of masterful effect. They combine free harmonic treatment, freely developed counterpoint and freedom of form. These attributes are particularly noticeable in the first organ concerto. His genius further reveals itself in the religious fervor that pervades his mighty series of sacred works. These two forms of composition—organ and church music, together with part-songs of rare beauty, are the most notable accomplishments of this versatile master. On the other hand, neither his operas nor his orchestral works can be regarded in the light of important contributions to musical literature. Strange, therefore, that Rheinberger should have first won general recognition through his "Symphonische TongemÄlde Wallenstein." What is more, this is the work for which its author was led to essay the programmatic style of writing. Had he continued to develop his talents along similar lines, the world might have been impoverished to the extent of divers organ and sacred works, but Rheinberger himself must have risen to far greater eminence. It is to be admitted that his subsequent Florentine symphony, as also the oratorio "Christoforus" and the opera "ThÜrmers TÖchterlein," are none of them equal to the Wallenstein symphony, but according to Rheinberger's own confession he became disheartened by neglect at the time when Wagner stormed the portals of the Munich Opera House. Thenceforth he turned for relief to other fields of composition and became, as he grew older, more and more conservative—one is almost obliged to say bigoted.

The instrumentation of his purely orchestral works is pointedly restricted to Beethovian procedure and reverts even to that of Mozart in the use of trumpets and kettle-drums. Its general effect is one of great refinement; it is marvellously smooth and perfectly rounded in every detail; but the essential elements of individuality and novelty do not enter into the orchestral scheme to any appreciable extent.

Rheinberger's last years were saddened by family affliction and embittered by physical suffering. He displayed an heroic fortitude, but his assumed cheerfulness concealed the loneliness, the sadness, the melancholy even to morbidness that were constantly preying upon his soul. His life became more and more that of a recluse and an ascetic. Meanwhile his compositions continued even to the end to reflect unswerving faith, serenity, loyalty of heart and nobility of mind. The greater his honor for thus excluding the "ego" from his final offerings to the world! A certain melancholy coloring does assert itself in his unfinished mass in A minor, but unaffected simplicity and touching pathos were wonderfully appropriate for what proved to be his "Schwanengesang."[50]

It is now time to leave the peaceful haven of the classical-romanticists, and embark upon the restless seas of advanced thought as set forth in the next chapter.

(Summary on page 175.)