Part 10 (1/2)
The King of Thule and Lorely are masterpieces and contain in essence all the dramatic lyricism of modern writers, Strauss included.
PIANO AND ORCHESTRA
CONCERTO FOR PIANO AND ORCHESTRA, No. 1, IN E FLAT
This, the better known of Liszt's two pianoforte concertos, is constructed along the general lines of the symphonic poem--a species of free orchestral composition which Liszt himself gave to the world. The score embraces four sections arranged like the four movements of a symphony, although their internal development is of so free a nature, and they are merged one into another in such away as to give to the work as a whole the character of one long movement developed from several fundamental themes and sundry subsidiaries derived therefrom. The first of these themes [this is the theme to which Liszt used to sing, ”Das versteht ihr alle nicht!” but, according to Von Bulow and Ramann, ”Ihr konnt alle nichts!”] appears at the outset, being given out by the strings with interrupting chords of wood-wind and bra.s.s allegro maestoso leading at once to an elaborate cadenza for the pianoforte. The second theme, which marks the beginning of the second section--in B major, Quasi adagio and 12-8 (4-4) time--is announced by the deeper strings (muted) to be taken up by the solo instrument over flowing left-hand arpeggios. A long trill for the pianoforte, embellished by expressive melodies from sundry instruments of the orchestra, leads to the third section--in F-flat minor, allegretto vivace and 3-4 time--whereupon the strings give out a sparkling scherzo theme which the solo instrument proceeds to develop capriciously. This section closes with a pianissimo cadenza for the pianoforte following which a rhapsodical pa.s.sage (Allegro animato) leads to the finale--in E-flat major, Allegro marziale animato and 4-4 time--in which the second theme reappears transformed into a spirited march.
The concerto was composed in 1848, revised in 1853, and published in 1857. It was performed for the first time at Weimar during the Berlioz week, February 16, 1855, when Liszt was the pianist and Berlioz conducted the orchestra. It is dedicated to Henri Litolff.
Liszt wrote at some length concerning this concerto in a letter to Eduard Liszt, dated Weimar, March 26, 1857:
”The fourth movement of the concerto from the Allegro marziale corresponds with the second movement, Adagio. It is only an urgent recapitulation of the earlier subject-matter with quickened, livelier rhythm, and contains no new motive, as will be clear to you by a glance through the score. This kind of _binding together_ and rounding off a whole piece at its close is somewhat my own, but it is quite maintained and justified from the stand-point of musical form. The trombones and ba.s.ses take up the second part of the motive of the Adagio (B major).
The pianoforte figure which follows is no other than the reproduction of the motive which was given in the Adagio by flute and clarinet, just as the concluding pa.s.sage is a Variante and working up in the major of the motive of the Scherzo, until finally the first motive on the dominant pedal B-flat, with a shake-accompaniment, comes in and concludes the whole.
”The Scherzo in E-flat minor, from the point where the triangle begins, I employed for the effect of contrast.
”As regards the triangle I do not deny that it may give offence, especially if struck too strong and not precisely. A preconceived disinclination and objection to instruments of percussion prevails, somewhat justified by the frequent misuse of them. And few conductors are circ.u.mspect enough to bring out the rhythmic element in them, without the raw addition of a coa.r.s.e noisiness, in works in which they are deliberately employed according to the intention of the composer.
The dynamic and rhythmic spicing and enhancement, which are effected by the instruments of percussion, would in more cases be much more effectually produced by the careful trying and proportioning of insertions and additions of that kind. But musicians who wish to appear serious and solid prefer to treat the instruments of percussion _en canaille_, which must not make their appearance in the seemly company of the symphony. They also bitterly deplore inwardly that Beethoven allowed himself to be seduced into using the big drum and triangle in the Finale of the Ninth Symphony. Of Berlioz, Wagner, and my humble self, it is no wonder that 'like draws to like,' and, as we are treated as impotent _canaille_ amongst musicians, it is quite natural that we should be on good terms with the _canaille_ among the instruments.
Certainly here, as in all else, it is the right thing to seize upon and hold fast [the] ma.s.s of harmony. In face of the most wise proscription of the learned critics I shall, however, continue to employ instruments of percussion, and think I shall yet win for them some effects little known.”
”This eulogy of the triangle,” Mr. Philip Hale says, ”was inspired by the opposition in Vienna when Pruckner played the concerto in that city (season of 1856-57). Hanslick cursed the work by characterising it as a 'Triangle Concerto,' and for some years the concerto was therefore held to be impossible. It was not played again in Vienna until 1869, when Sophie Menter paid no attention to the advice of the learned and her well-wishers. Lina Ramann tells the story. Rubinstein, who happened to be there, said to her: 'You are not going to be so crazy as to play this concerto? No one has yet had any luck with it in Vienna.' Bosendorfer, who represented the Philharmonic Society, warned her against it. To which Sofie replied coolly in her Munich German: 'Wenn i dos nit spielen kann, speil i goar nit--i muss ja nit in Wien spielen' ('if I can't play it, I don't play at all--I must not play in Vienna'). She did play it, and with great success.
”Yet the triangle is an old and esteemed instrument. In the eighteenth century it was still furnished with metal rings, as was its forbear, the sistrum. The triangle is pictured honourably in the second part of Michael Pratorius' 'Syntagma music.u.m' (Part II., plate xxii., Wolffenb.u.t.tel, 1618). Haydn used it in his military symphony, Schumann in the first movement of his B-flat symphony; and how well Auber understood its charm!”
CONCERTO FOR PIANO, NO. 2, IN A MAJOR
This concerto, as well as the one in E-flat, was probably composed in 1848. It was revised in 1856 and in 1861, and published in 1863. It is dedicated to Hans von Bronsart, by whom it was played for the first time January 7, 1857, at Weimar.
The autograph ma.n.u.script of this concerto bore the t.i.tle, ”Concert Symphonique,” and, as Mr. Apthorp once remarked, ”The work might be called a symphonic poem for pianoforte and orchestra, with the t.i.tle, 'The Life and Adventures of a Melody.'”
The concerto is in one movement. The first and chief theme binds the various episodes into an organic whole. Adagio sostenuto a.s.sai, A major, 3-4. The first theme is announced at once by wood-wind instruments. It is a moaning and wailing theme, accompanied by harmonies s.h.i.+fting in tonality. The pianoforte gives in arpeggios the first transformation of this musical thought and in ma.s.sive chords the second transformation. The horn begins a new and dreamy song. After a short cadenza of the solo instrument a more brilliant theme in D minor is introduced and developed by both pianoforte and orchestra. A powerful crescendo (pianoforte alternating with string and wood-wind instruments) leads to a scherzo-like section of the concerto, Allegro agitato a.s.sai, B-flat minor, 6-8. A side motive fortissimo (pianoforte) leads to a quiet middle section. Allegro moderato, which is built substantially on the chief theme (solo 'cello). A subsidiary theme, introduced by the pianoforte, is continued by flute and oboe, and there is a return to the first motive. A pianoforte cadenza leads to a new tempo. Allegro deciso, in which rhythms of already noted themes are combined, and a new theme appears (violas and 'cellos), which at last leads back to the tempo of the quasi-scherzo. But let us use the words of Mr. Apthorp rather than a dry a.n.a.lytical sketch: 'From this point onward the concerto is one unbroken series of kaleidoscopic effects of the most brilliant and ever-changing description; of musical form, of musical coherence even, there is less and less. It is as if some magician in some huge cave, the walls of which were covered with glistening stalact.i.tes and flas.h.i.+ng jewels, were revealing his fill of all the wonders of colour, brilliancy, and dazzling light his wand could command. Never has even Liszt rioted more unreservedly in fitful orgies of flas.h.i.+ng colour. It is monstrous, formless, whimsical, and fantastic, if you will; but it is also magical and gorgeous as anything in the Arabian Nights. It is its very daring and audacity that save it. And ever and anon the first wailing melody, with its unearthly chromatic harmony, returns in one shape or another, as if it were the dazzled neophyte to whom the magician Liszt were showing all these splendours, while initiating it into the mysteries of the world of magic, until it, too, becomes magical, and possessed of the power of working wonders by black art.'
THE DANCE OF DEATH
Liszt's Todtentanz is a tremendous work. This set of daring variations had not been heard in New York since Franz Rummel played them years ago, under the baton of the late Leopold Damrosch, although d'Albert, Siloti and Alexander Lambert have had them on their programmes--in each case some circ.u.mstance prevented our hearing them here. Harold Bauer played them with the Boston Symphony, both in Boston and Brooklyn, and Philip Hale, in his admirable notes on these concerts, has written in part: ”Liszt was thrilled by a fresco in the Campo Santo of Pisa, when he sojourned there in 1838 and 1839. This fresco, The Triumph of Death, was for many years attributed to a Florentine, Andrea Orcagna, but some insist that it was painted by Pietro and Ambrogio Lorenzetti.”
The right of this fantastical fresco portrays a group of men and women, who, with dogs and falcons, appear to be back from the chase, or they may be sitting as in Boccaccio's garden. They are sumptuously dressed. A minstrel and a damsel sing to them, while cupids flutter about and wave torches. But Death flies swiftly toward them, a fearsome woman, with hair streaming wildly, with clawed hands. She is bat-winged, and her clothing is stiff with mire. She swings a scythe, eager to end the joy and delight of the world. Corpses lie in a heap at her feet--corpses of kings, queens, cardinals, warriors, the great ones of the earth, whose souls, in the shape of new born babes, rise out of them. ”Angels like gay b.u.t.terflies” are ready to receive the righteous, who fold their hands in prayer; demons welcome the d.a.m.ned, who shrink back with horror.
The devils, who are as beasts of prey or loathsome reptiles, fight for souls; the angels rise to heaven with the saved; the demons drag their victims to a burning mountain and throw them into the flames. And next this heap of corpses is a crowd of beggars, cripples, miserable ones, who beg Death to end their woe; but they do not interest her. A rock separates this scene from another, the chase. Gallant lords and n.o.ble dames are on horseback, and hunters with dogs and falcons follow in their train. They come upon three open graves, in which lie three princes in different stages of decay. An aged monk on crutches, possibly the Saint Macarius, points to this _memento mori_. They talk gaily, although one of them holds his nose. Only one of the party, a woman, rests her head on her hand and shows a sorrowful face. On mountain heights above are hermits, who have reached through abstinence and meditation the highest state of human existence. One milks a doe while squirrels play about him; another sits and reads; a third looks into a valley that is rank with death. And, according to tradition, the faces in this fresco are portraits of the painter's contemporaries.
How such a scene must have appealed to Liszt is easily comprehensible, and he put it into musical form by taking a dour Dies Irae theme and putting it through the several variations of the emotions akin to the sardonic. The composer himself referred to the work as ”a monstrosity,”
and he must have realised full well that it would stick in the crop of the philistines. And it has. But Von Bulow stood G.o.dfather to the work and dared criticism by playing it.
As a work it is absolutely unconventional and follows no distinct programme, as does the Saint-Saens ”clever cemetery farce.” Its opening is gloomily impressive and the orchestration fearfully bold. The piano in it is put to various uses, with a fill of _glissandi_ matching the diabolic mood. The cadenzas might be dispensed with, but, after all, the piece was written by Liszt, and cadenzas were a part of his nature. But to take this work lightly is to jest with values. The theme itself is far too great to be depreciated and the treatments of it are marvellous.
Our ears rebel a bit that the several variations were not joined--which they might easily have been--and then the work would sound more _en bloc_. But, notwithstanding, it is one of the most striking of Liszt's piano compositions.
BURMEISTER ARRANGEMENTS
Richard Burmeister made an arrangement of Liszt's Concerto Pathetique in E minor by changing its original form for two pianos into a concerto for piano solo with orchestral accompaniment. Until now the original has remained almost an unknown composition; partly for the reason that it needed for a performance two first rank piano virtuosi to master the extreme technical difficulties and partly that Liszt had chosen for it such a rhapsodical and whimsical form as to make it an absolutely ineffective concert piece. Even Hans von Bulow tried in a new edition to improve some pa.s.sages by making them more consistent, but without success.