CHAPTER XVII

THE STRING ENSEMBLE SINCE BEETHOVEN

The general trend of development: Spohr, Cherubini, Schubert--Mendelssohn, Schumann and Brahms, etc.--New developments: César Franck, d’Indy, Chausson--The characteristics of the Russian schools: Tschaikowsky, Borodine, Glazounoff and others--Other national types: Grieg, Smetana, Dvořák--The three great quartets since Schubert and what they represent; modern quartets and the new quartet style: Debussy, Ravel, Schönberg--Conclusion.

I

There is little history of the string quartet to record after the death of Beethoven in 1827. It has undergone little or no change or development in technique until nearly the present day. The last quartets of Beethoven taxed the powers of the combined four instruments to the uttermost. Such changes of form as are to be noted in recent quartets are the adaptation of new ideas already and first put to test in music for pianoforte, orchestra, or stage. The growth of so-called modern systems of harmony affect the string quartet, but did not originate in it. A tendency towards richer or fuller scoring, towards continued use of pizzicato or other special effects, and a few touches of new virtuosity here and there, reflect the general interest of the century in the orchestra and its possibilities of tone-coloring. But it is in the main true that after a study of the last quartets of Beethoven few subsequent quartets present new difficulties; and that, excepting only a few, the many with which we shall have to do are the expressions of the genius of various musicians, most of whom were more successful in other forms, or whose qualities have been made elsewhere and otherwise more familiar.

Less perhaps than any other form will the string quartet endure by the sole virtue of being well written for the instruments. Take, for example, the thirty-four quartets of Ludwig Spohr. Spohr was during the first half of the nineteenth century the most respected musician in Germany. He was renowned as a leader, and composer quite as much as he was world-famous as a virtuoso. He was especially skillful as a leader in quartet playing. He was among the first to bring out the Beethoven quartets, opus 18, in Germany. He was under a special engagement for three years to the rich amateur Tost in Vienna to furnish chamber compositions. No composer ever understood better the peculiar qualities of the string instruments; none was ever more ambitious and at the same time more serious. Yet excluding the violin concertos and an occasional performance of his opera _Jessonda_, his music is already lost in the past. Together with operas, masses, and symphonies, the quartets, quintets, and quartet concertos, are rapidly being forgotten. The reason is that Spohr was more conscientious than inspired. He stood in fear of the commonplace. His melodies and harmonies are deliberately chromatic, not spontaneous. Yet shy as he was of commonplaceness in melody and harmony, he was insensitive to a more serious commonplaceness.

When we consider what subtle systems of rhythm the semi-civilized races are masters of, we can but be astonished at the regularity of our own systems. Only occasionally does a composer diverge from the straight road of four-measure melody building. Yet is it not a little subtlety even within this rigorous system that raises the great composer above the commonplace? Certainly the ordinary in rhythm most quickly wearies and disgusts the listener even if he is not aware of it. Spohr’s rhythmical system was so little varied that Wagner wrote of his opera _Jessonda_ that it was ‛_alla Polacca_’ almost all the way through.

The thirty-five string quartets are fundamentally commonplace, for all the chromaticism of their harmonies and melodies, and for all the skillful treatment of the instruments. The double-quartets (four, in D minor, E minor, E-flat major, and G minor) amount to compositions for small string orchestra. There are, among the quartets, six so-called ‘brilliant,’ which give to the first violin a _solo_ rôle, and to the other instruments merely accompaniment. It is hardly surprising that the first violin is treated brilliantly in most of the quartets.

But the point is that Spohr’s quartets have not lived. In neatness of form and in treatment of the instruments they do not fall below the greatest. They are in these respects superior to those of Schumann for example. The weakness of them is the weakness of the man’s whole gift for composition; and they represent no change in the art of writing string quartets.

[Illustration] Ludwig Spohr.

Another man whose quartets are theoretically as good as any is Cherubini. Of the six, that in E-flat major, written in 1814, is still occasionally heard.

On the other hand, Schubert, a man with less skill than either Spohr or Cherubini, has written quartets which seem likely to prove immortal. Fifteen are published in the complete Breitkopf and Härtel edition of Schubert’s works. Of these the first eleven may be considered preparatory to the last four. They show, however, what is frequently ignored in considering the life and art of Schubert--an unremitting effort on the part of the young composer to master the principles of musical form.

[Illustration]

The first of the great quartets, that in C minor--written in December, 1820--is but a fragment. Schubert completed but the first movement. Why he neglected to add others remains unknown. But the single movement is inspired throughout. The opening measures give at once an example of the tremolo, of which Schubert made great use in all his quartets. The general triplet rhythm is familiar in all his later works. We have here the Schubert of the great songs, of the B minor symphony, of the later pianoforte sonatas; warm, intense, inspired.

Two quartets were written in 1824, that in A minor, published as opus 29, and that in D minor,[75] the best known of all his quartets. The A minor is dedicated to Ignaz Schuppanzigh, with whom Schubert was on friendly terms. The second movement of the quartet in D minor is a series of variations on the song _Der Tod und das Mädchen_.

Finally there is the great quartet in G major, written in 1826, which may be taken as representative throughout of the very best of Schubert’s genius as it showed itself in the form. In it are to be found all the qualities associated with Schubert especially. The opening major triad, swelling to a powerful minor chord in eleven parts, and the constant interchange of major and minor throughout the movement; the tender second theme with its delicate folk-rhythm, its unrestrained harmonies, its whispering softness in the variation after the first statement; these could have been the work of Schubert alone. Peculiar to Schubert’s treatment of the quartet are the tremolo, and the general richness of scoring--the sixths for second violin in the variation of the second theme, for example; the frequent use of octaves and other double-stops, the eleven-voiced chord at the beginning, and other such effects of fullness. There is little sign of the polyphonic drawing which so distinguished the last quartets of Beethoven. The quartet is made up of rich masses of sound that glow warmly, and fade and brighten. The inner voices are used measure after measure frankly to supply a richly vibrating harmony, nothing more. And an occasional dialogue between two instruments is all of polyphonic procedure one meets.

The beautiful andante in E minor begins with a melody for violoncello, a true Schubertian melody, which is carried on for two sections. Then a new spirit enters through hushed chords, and breaks forth loudly in G minor. There follows a passage full of wild passion. The agitated chords swell again and again to fortissimo. At last they die away, only the monotonous F-sharp of the cello suggests the throbbing of a despair not yet relieved. Over this the first violin and the viola sing the opening melody. Later the hushed tapping is given to other instruments and the cello takes up its melody again. Once more the despair breaks wildly forth, and yet again is hushed but not relieved. The sudden major in the ending can not take from the movement its quality of unconsoled sadness. The scherzo, in B minor, is built upon the constant imitation and play of a single merry figure. The trio is in G major, one of those seemingly naïve yet perfect movements such as Schubert alone could write. There is only the swing of a waltz, only the melody that a street gamin might carelessly whistle; but somewhere beneath it lies genius. The interchange of phrases of the melody between the different instruments, and the mellifluous counter-melodies, have something the same sort of charm as the Scherzo of the symphony in C major. The final movement is a rondo with a profusion of themes. There are the familiar marks of Schubert: the triplet rhythm (6/8), the shifting between major and minor; the full, harmonic style; the naïve swing, the spontaneous and ever fresh melodies.

Schubert worked at the string quartet with special devotion. Excepting the songs, his steady development toward perfect mastery of his expression is nowhere better revealed than in the quartets. Certainly the last two quartets are second only to the songs as proof of his genius. There is that soft, whispering, quality in Schubert’s music, for the expression of which the string quartet is a perfect instrument. Much of Schubert is intimate, too, and happily suited to the chamber. Less than any of the great composers did Schubert make use of polyphonic skill. It is easy to say that he lacked it; but what is hard to understand is how without it he could have contributed to music some of its most precious possessions.

II

We may say that Schubert applied himself to the composition of string quartets with a special devotion and ultimately with great success; that certain qualities of his genius were suited to an expression in this form. Mendelssohn applied himself to all branches of music with equal facility and with evidently little preference. Most of his chamber music for strings alone, however, belongs to the early half of his successful career. This in the case of Mendelssohn does not mean, as in the case of almost every other composer, that the quartets may not be the expression of his fully-matured genius. Mendelssohn never wrote anything better than the overture to ‘Midsummer Night’s Dream.’ This before he was twenty! But having put his soul for once into a few quartets he passed on to other works.

There was a time when these quartets were considered a worthy sequel to Beethoven’s. In the English translation of Lampadius’ ‘Life of Mendelssohn’ occurs the sentence: ‘But in fact they [his works] stand in need neither of approval nor defense: the most audacious critic bows before the genius of their author; the power and weight of public opinion would strike every calumniator dumb.’ And yet what can now be said of Mendelssohn’s quartets save that they are precise in form, elegant in detail?

There are six in all. The first, opus 12, is in E-flat major. The slow introduction and the first allegro have all the well-known and now often ridiculed marks of the ‘Songs Without Words’: short, regular phrases; weak curves and feminine endings; commonplace harmonies, monotonous repetitions, uninteresting accompaniment. The second movement--a canzonetta--is interesting as Mendelssohn could sometimes be in light pieces; but the andante oozes honey again, and the final allegro is very long.

Is it unfair to dwell upon these wearisome deficiencies? Is there anything substantially better in the last of the six, in the quartet in F minor, opus 80? Here we have to do with one of the composer’s agitated spells. There is a rough start and measures of tremolo for all the instruments follow. This is the first theme, properly just eight measures long and as thoroughly conventional as music well may be. Then measures in recitative style, and again the first theme, and its motives endlessly repeated. Suddenly the instruments in an access of fury break into triplets; but this being calmed, the second theme appears, as it should in A-flat major, a theme that positively smirks.

But why attempt either analysis or description of works so patently urbane? There is no meaning hidden in them; there is no richness of sentiment; no harmonies out of new realms; no inspiration; nothing really to study. Between the first two quartets mentioned and the last in F minor there is a series of three (opus 44), one in D major, one in E minor, and one in E-flat major. There is an ‘Andante, Scherzo, Capriccio and Fugue’ for the four instruments, published as opus 81.

One turns to Schumann for a breath of more bracing air. Though Schumann was first and foremost a composer for the pianoforte, and though his quartets seem to be written in rather a pianoforte style, yet there are flashes of inspiration in the music which must be treasured, imperfect as the recording of them may be. There are three quartets, composed in 1842 and dedicated to Mendelssohn. As early as 1838 Schumann mentioned in letters to his sweetheart that he had a string quartet in mind; but work in this direction was seriously hindered by troubles with Wieck, which were growing daily more acute. The second summer after his marriage, however, work on the quartets was resumed; and the three were composed in the short time of eight weeks, the last indeed apparently in five days (18-22 July).

The first offers an harmonic innovation. The introduction is in A minor, which is the principal key of the whole quartet; but the first allegro is in F major. There is a Scherzo in A minor, with an _Intermezzo_, not a Trio, in C major. In these first two movements the habit of syncopation which gives much of his pianoforte music its peculiar stamp is evident: in the first theme of the allegro; in the measures which lead to the repetition of the first part; in the motive of the Intermezzo, which is rhythmically similar to the first movement and suggests some connection in Schumann’s mind. It is perhaps the prevalence in all three quartets of the rhythmical devices which we associate mostly with the pianoforte that raises a question of propriety of style. The adagio is pure Schumann, in quality of melody and accompaniment. Measures in the latter--noticeably the viola figure which accompanies the first statement of the melody--look upon the printed page like figures in a piano piece. Such figures are not polyphonic. They are broken chords, the effect of which is felicitous only on the pianoforte. The final presto suggests no little the spirit of the first and last movements of the pianoforte quintet, opus 44, which was composed in the following months. The whole movement, except for a charming _musette_ and a few following measures of sustained chords just before the end, is built upon a single figure.

The first movement of the next quartet (in F major) likewise suggests the quintet. The style is smoothly imitative and compact; and the theme beginning in the fifty-seventh measure casts a shadow before. The _Andante quasi Variazioni_ is most carefully wrought, and is rich in sentiment. The Scherzo which follows--in C minor--is syncopated throughout. The final allegro suggests the last movement of the B-flat major symphony, the joyous Spring symphony written not long before.

The last quartet (in A) may rank with the finest of his compositions. Whether or not in theory the style is pianistic, the effect is rich and sonorous. The syncopations are sometimes baffling, especially in the last movement; but on the whole this quartet presents the essence of Schumann’s genius in most ingratiating and appealing form. The structure is free, reminding one in some ways of the D minor symphony. But there is no rambling. The whole work is intense. There is an economy of mood and of thematic material. One phrase dominates the first movement; the _Assai agitato_ is a series of terse variations. There is a sustained Adagio in D major; and then a vigorous finale in free rondo form, the chief theme of which is undoubtedly related to the chief theme of the first movement.

It must be admitted that Schumann’s quartets are beautiful by reason of their harmonies and melodies; that theirs is a fineness of sentiment, not of style; that the luminous interweaving of separate parts such as is found in the quartets of Haydn, Mozart, and Beethoven, is not to be found in his. He follows rather Schubert, but without Schubert’s instinct for instrumental color. So then one feels that it happened that Schumann should seek expression thrice through the medium of the string quartet; not that a certain quality of inspiration within him demanded just that expression and none other. His quartets represent neither a refinement nor an abstract of his genius. They are of a piece with his pianoforte pieces and his songs; as are likewise his symphonies. We admire and love all for the same qualities.

Brahms, who for so many reasons we may think of as taking up German music where Schumann left it, published only three string quartets. That he had written many others which he had chosen to discard before the two quartets, opus 51, were published in 1873, is evident from the note to Dr. Billroth concerning a dedication.[76] Several pianoforte quartets, and two sextets for two violins, two violas and two violoncellos, opus 18 and opus 36, are closely related to the string quartet. The sextets are especially noteworthy.

The first sextet, in B-flat major, has won more popular favor than many other works by the same composer. The addition of two instruments to the regular four brought with it the same sort of problems which were mentioned in connection with Mozart’s quintets: i.e., the avoidance of thickness in the scoring. The group of six instruments is virtually a string orchestra; but the sextets of Brahms are finely drawn, quite in the manner of a string quartet. Especially in this first sextet have the various instruments a like importance and independence.

The first theme of the first movement (cello) is wholly melodious. The second theme, regularly brought forward in F major, is yet another melody, and again is announced by the violoncello. A passage of twenty-eight measures, over a pedal point on C, follows. This closes the first section. The development is, as might be expected, full of intricacies. The return of the first theme is brilliantly prepared, beginning with announcing phrases in the low registers, swelling to a powerful and complete statement in which the two violins join. The second movement is a theme and variations in D minor. The theme is shared alternately by first viola and first violin. The variations are brilliant and daring, suggesting not a little the pianoforte variations on a theme of Paganini’s. There is a Scherzo and Trio. The main motive of the Scherzo serves as an accompaniment figure in the Trio; and the Trio is noteworthy for being entirely _fortissimo_. The last movement is a Rondo.

The second sextet, in G major, is outwardly less pleasing; and like much of Brahms’ music is veiled from the casual or unfamiliar listener.

The first movement (_allegro non troppo_) opens mysteriously with a trill for first viola, which continues through the next thirty-two measures. In the third the first violin announces, _mezza voce_, the main theme of the movement; of which the chief characteristic is two upward fifths (G--D--E-flat--B-flat). The second theme appears after an unexpected modulation in D major, and is given to the first violoncello. The striding fifths sound again in the closing measures of the first section. The development begins with these fifths employed as a canon, in contrary motion; and the same intervals play a prominent

## part in the entire section. The recapitulation is regular. The

following Scherzo (_Allegro non troppo_, G minor) has a touch of Slavic folk-music. There is a Trio section in G major. The slow movement is, as in the earlier sextet, a theme and variations. The last is in sonata form. The first theme may be divided into two wholly contrasting sections, of which the second is melodiously arranged in sixths. The second theme is given out regularly in D major by the violoncello. There is a long coda, _animato_, which is practically a repetition of much of the development section.

In these sextets and in the three quartets, written many years later, we have the classical model faithfully reproduced. The separate parts are handled with unfailing polyphonic skill; there is the special refinement of expression which, hard to define, is unmistakable in a work that is properly a string quartet.

Opus 51, No. 1, is in C minor. The first theme is given out at once by the first violin; a theme characteristic of Brahms, of long phrases and a certain swinging power. Within the broadly curving line there are impatient breaks; and the effect of the whole is one of restlessness and agitation. This is especially noticeable when, after a contrasting section, the theme is repeated by viola and cello under an agitated accompaniment, and leads to sharp accents. There is no little resemblance between this theme and Brahms’ treatment of it, and the theme of the first movement of the C minor symphony, completed not long before. There is throughout this movement the rhythm, like the sweep of angry waves, which tosses in the first movement of the symphony; an agitation which the second theme (B-flat major, first violin) cannot calm, which only momentarily--as just after the second theme, here, and in the third section of the movement--is subdued.

The following _Romanza_ is simple and direct. One cannot fail to hear the stormy motive of the first movement, however, in the accompaniment figure of the second.[77] Also one may suspect the movement to have been modelled pretty closely on the _Cavatina_ in the Beethoven quartet in B-flat major. The broken effects--von Bülow called them _sanglots entrecoupés_ in the piano sonata, opus 110--in the Beethoven work are copied rather closely in the Brahms. The Scherzo and Trio are widely contrasted; the one being in shifting harmony and 2/4 rhythm; the other plainly in F major and true Viennese waltz rhythm. In the final allegro motives from the first movement appear, so that the entire quartet is rather closely woven into a whole.

Apart from the general traits of Brahms’ style one finds little to comment upon. It is striking that Brahms, in nearly the same measure as Beethoven, was able to express symphonic material, that is material of the greatest force and dramatic power, in the form of the quartet without destroying the nature of the smaller form. But the Brahms quartets are by no means the unfathomable mysteries of the last Beethoven quartets. They are comparable in general to the Rasumowsky quartets.

There is scarcely need to speak of the quartet in A minor, opus 51, No. 2, nor of that in B-flat major, opus 67, in detail. Brahms was already master of his technique and in the short period between writing the quartets opus 51 and the quartet opus 67, his manner of expression hardly developed or changed. Kalbeck describes in detail the significance of the chief motive, A-F-A^2-E, in the A minor quartet. The F-A^2-E may be taken as initial letters of the motto _Frei aber einsam_, which was of deep meaning both to Brahms and Joachim, to the latter of whom Brahms would have liked to dedicate the quartet. The four movements, Allegro non troppo, Andante moderato, Quasi minuetto moderato, and Allegro non assai are vaguely related by minute motives. The quartet in B-flat major is on the whole happy in character, in noticeable contrast to the melancholy which pervades that in A-minor.

There is not, either in the quartets of Schumann or those of Brahms, any radical change from the so-called classical method. One is not surprised to find in Schumann’s a concentration upon lyrical moments rather than an organic development. This is the mark of the romanticists. A thoughtful ear will detect the same underlying lyricism in those of Brahms, though Brahms’ power of construction passes wholly unchallenged. In the matter of harmony neither composer is so modern as Schubert. Schumann, it is true, gives us the first allegro of a quartet in A minor in the key of F major. This is what one might call an external irregularity only. There are rhythmical oddities in all Schumann’s music, and ever present evidence of a complicated rhythmical system in Brahms’. These peculiarities are represented in their quartets.

The quartets of able men like Robert Volkmann and Joachim Raff are not less classical. There are three quartets of Raff’s which stand a little out of the general path; one in form of a suite, one called _Die schöne Müllerin_, and one in form of a canon. But in the main it may be said that the string quartets of all German composers down to the present day adhere closely to the model of the Rasumowsky quartets, not only in form, but in general harmonic principles. We must look to other countries for changes.

III

Among the very great quartets, that in D minor by César Franck holds a foremost place. Vincent d’Indy remarks in his life of Franck that the great quartets have been the work of mature genius. Franck waited until his fifty-sixth year before attempting to write in the form. He prepared himself specially by a year’s study of the quartets of Haydn, Mozart, Beethoven, and even Brahms; and in 1889 began work upon what was to prove one of his indisputable masterpieces.

The peculiarities of Franck’s style are striking and have been discussed at some length elsewhere in this series. They are clearly marked in the string quartet: the constant chromatic shifting of harmonies, the intensive cultivation of short phrases, the polyphonic skill, and the singular purity of thought that fills all his music with the spirit of cathedrals. His workmanship is everywhere fine, and shows at its best in the treatment of the four parts. The analogies which have been suggested between him and the great Bach are at least a little supported by the fact that Franck, like Bach, was influenced in all his work by the organ. The great chords in the opening portions of the quartet suggest organ music. Yet on the whole the style of the quartet is perfectly adapted to the instruments for which it was written.

The form is unusual. There is an opening section in D major, _poco lento_, an indescribably full and glorious expression of the fundamental musical thought of the entire work. It is complete in itself, but is followed without pause by the first allegro, in D minor. The allegro movement is regular in structure, except for the recurrence of the theme of the introduction as foundation for the first part of the development section, and again as coda. The first theme recalls motives in the first movement of the pianoforte quintet in F minor. There is a transitional theme in D minor (violoncello) which plays a considerable part in this movement, and which later on is metamorphosed and becomes a part of the second theme of the last movement. The second theme of the first movement appears regularly in F major (first violin).

The first part of the development section is, as already suggested, a fugal treatment of the introductory motive. The tempo becomes _piu lento_, so that we seem to be listening to a section of music independent of the allegro. At the end of this fugal process the time becomes again allegro and the development of the first and second allegro themes, together with the transitional motive of the first section, proceed regularly according to classical traditions. The restatement is likewise regular; but the coda is built upon the opening motif. Hence the movement as a whole presents the interweaving of two quasi-independent movements, each very nearly complete in itself, and each consistently developed through its own proper course. In fact the three sections marked _Piu lento_ could be joined to each other with scarcely a change of note; and the sections marked allegro likewise. The double scheme is carried out perfectly to the very end of the movement, even the coda itself playing with motives from both sections.

The Scherzo is in F-sharp minor, with a Trio in D major, delicate throughout; and the Largo is in B major. Of the latter nothing can be said in words that will represent the strange, devout exaltation of its beauty.

The last movement brings us face to face with the structural principles upon which Franck worked, and which are clear in the violin sonata, the works for pianoforte solo, the pianoforte quintet, and the symphony. The fragmentary introduction is a combination of snatches of music yet to be made fully known, and reminiscences of themes that have gone before: of the melody of the Largo; the rhythmical figures of the Scherzo and the motive of the Trio; and finally, as preparation for the last movement itself the violoncello sings once more the motive of the first introduction, and is answered by the first violin.

The _Allegro molto_ begins after a pause. The first theme is given to the viola, a theme that is almost note for note the theme we have just had recalled to us. The entrance of the second theme is prepared by many anticipations. The theme is in three broad clauses, more or less widely separated from each other. The first of these is a changed form of transitional motive from the first movement. It is given out in sustained chords, a little slowly. The second clause (violins in unison) follows shortly after the restoration of the original tempo. This is considerably developed, dying away to a series of chords on the motive of the first clause (originally from the first movement). There is a powerful crescendo, and a dramatic stamping of chords as announcement to the third clause of the second theme (_molto energico_, first violin).

The development and restatement of this material follows the regular course of the sonata form. The coda brings back the motives of the Scherzo, and these, developed with the first theme (originally from the first introduction), lead up to a sublime chant of the melody of the Largo (in augmentation). A few measures, recitative built upon phrases of the first theme, and a short Presto bring the work to full completion.

The César Franck quartet is a great work, and it is a great quartet. The material is symphonic, but it is finely divided among the four instruments. There is rich sonority but no thickness. The lines of the form are clear, and it is not surprising to find genuine polyphony in the work of a man who, like Franck, possessed a technical skill that was instinctive. One may only raise a question as to whether this quartet is really a further development of the last Beethoven quartet, if indeed it is in principle of structure akin to them. In the matter of form it is strikingly different from the quartets of Schumann and Brahms, but is it not equally different from those of Beethoven? There is a more vital organization in the C-sharp minor quartet of Beethoven than can be explained by the presence of the same thematic material in all the movements.

[Illustration]

The Flonzaley Quartet. _From a photograph_

The entire work is in the nature of the development of a germinal thought. This thought expresses itself in various forms; in the initial fugue subject, in the gyrating theme of the second movement, in the half-barbaric dance of the last. The quartet is, broadly speaking, a series of variations, each outgrown from one before. The music literally grows. In the quartet of Franck it progresses, and its various themes are arranged. His method is nearer akin to the symphonic poems of Liszt, or to the _Symphonie Fantastique_ of Berlioz. The affinities between the various movements of the C-sharp minor quartet are subtle, indeed almost not to be proved but only felt. In the quartet of César Franck, the relationships are evident and even striking. This question of form, however, concerns all branches of music, and is not peculiar to the quartet.

Among the many devoted pupils of César Franck one is distinguished by, among other things, two excellent quartets. This is Vincent d’Indy. The quartet in D major, opus 35, was composed in 1890, the second quartet, in E major, opus 45, in 1897. The second reveals two characteristic features of d’Indy’s style: a use of folk-melodies, together with a powerful intellectual command of the principles of musical form. The cycle of four movements is constructed upon a single motive which is printed as a motto at the head of the score. The procedure recalls Schumann, particularly the _Sphinxes_ of the _Carnaval_. There is a slow introduction in which the motive is made clear. An animated movement in sonata form then follows, of which the opening measures (cello) are sprung from the motive, and developed into a broad melody (first violin). After a lovely second theme (G major, first violin, initiated by viola) there is a long development of the motive and this first theme. In one section--_très calme_--the motive appears augmented--now for viola, now for first violin and at the same time violoncello (syncopated). In the next section it is tossed about between the violins, over a repeated B (violoncello). Suggestions of the returning theme are given in C-sharp major (first violin) and in C-sharp minor (second violin). The second theme returns, regularly, in E major (viola).

In the following movement the motive is given in a piquant dance-like style (5-4). In the adagio (_très lent_) it forms the first notes of the chief melody (first violin and viola in unison); and in the last movement is reduced to an accompanying whirr, suggestive of the beginning of the last movement of the pianoforte quintet of Franck. It is likewise in the monotonous melody of the first violin, taken up by the 'cello, by the two violins in unison and repeated with a mad sort of swing. Near the end it is given a soft, gently songful character (first violin) in long notes, while the viola continues softly the same motive on a different degree of the scale and in a different rhythm.

There is an unfinished quartet in C minor, opus 35, by Ernest Chausson, consisting of three movements. The development of the first theme of the first out of the motive of the slow introduction is worthy of notice. The scherzo is delicate, but the best of the work is in the slow middle movement, with its calm interweaving of soft voices over a drowsy figure, and its moments of enraptured song.

There is a strong classical element, however, in the quartet of César Franck and even in d’Indy’s quartet in E major. Both, compared with one of the later quartets of Beethoven, will appear more richly scored and harmonically more highly colored than the older work. And yet, in spite of the introduction of new ideas of form, the old ideas still are at the basis of these works. This is because both composers have adhered to the fundamental harmonic principles of the classics, the principle of a tonic key, of a dominant key, of keys that are contrasted with the tonic key. They have added to the heritage which passed from Beethoven and Schubert, through Chopin and Wagner, to them; but they have discarded no part of it, nor added to it except in kind. The richness of their works, however, must signalize a further and remarkable growth upon the ancient stock of Bach and Beethoven.

IV

In a great many Russian quartets the adherence to established forms is even more evident. The three quartets of Tschaikowsky and the two of Borodine may be taken as representative of what we must now call the older Russian school. The well-known quartet in D (opus 11) by the former follows the classical model step by step as to the arrangement of themes and even the disposition of keys. And though the later quartets, in F (opus 22) and in E-flat minor (opus 30, written in memory of Ferdinand Laub [1832-1875], a famous violinist) present wild and even harsh features, the ground plan of them is essentially the classical plan. We have but to note in them a richer and more highly colored harmony, and a few sonorous effects--the muted beginning of the first part of the second movement in opus 11; the pizzicato _basso ostinato_ in the second part of the same movement; the syncopated chords, the rolling accompaniment (cello in the development section) in the first movement of opus 22; and others.

It would, of course, be absurd to claim that the Tschaikowsky quartets are classical in style, or in spirit. Their quality is most intensely romantic. Rhythm, melody, and harmony have well-nigh a barbaric guise in many places. Yet they represent but modifications and alterations of a familiar plan. We have a new poem in a language that has not yet developed beyond our knowledge of it. Of the haunting beauty of these poems in music there is little need to speak.

Borodine in regard to form is classical. The first movement of the quartet in A is a masterpiece in clear construction. The exposition of the principal allegro theme is as simple as Haydn. The second theme follows regularly in E major. There is a development section with a little fugato, and a restatement of the chief themes, both in the tonic key. The first movement of the later quartet--in D major--is similarly regular in structure. And there is scarcely any structural oddity or newness in any of the subsequent movements. But Borodine, like Tschaikowsky, has added a touch of new colors here and there which mark an advance--at least technical--in handling the instruments together. His style is remarkably clear throughout. Note only the opening measures of the allegro. And it loses none of its transparency when it expands to effects of great sonority, as in the treatment of the second theme at the end of the development section, and of the first theme later on in the restatement. The use of harmonics in the Trio is almost unprecedented in quartet music.

The lovely effects in the slow movement of Tschaikowsky’s quartet in D major, and these effects of Borodine’s, remain within the limits of the quartet style. But they point most significantly towards an orchestral treatment of the group which becomes the unconscious aim of the majority of composers. It is difficult and perhaps absurd to define a quartet style. Still a certain transparency and a fineness of movement and drawing are peculiar to this combination alone; and it may be said that when the volume of sound is thickened, and the delicacy of movement coarsened; or when special tonal effects are introduced which add color at the expense of line, then those peculiar possibilities of the quartet are ignored. Hence music so written may be called orchestral, though only by comparison, of course, with the traditional quartet style, the outlines of which we have chosen to fix upon the model of Mozart and Beethoven.

The later Russian composers have almost without exception aimed at effects of sonority and color. For example there are five _Novellettes_ by Glazounoff, opus 15; one _Alla Spagnola_, full of pizzicato, an _Orientale_, a Valse, and an _All’Ungherese_, all of which are made up of effects of color and rhythm. There is a _Quatuor Slave_, opus 26, the _Mazurka_ of which is again wholly ‘effective.’ The final movement--_Une fête Slave_--might far better be written for orchestra. The earlier quartets, opus 1 and opus 10, are inconspicuous.

Mention should be made of the quartet written in honor of the publisher Belaieff, to which Rimsky-Korsakoff, Liadoff, Borodine and Glazounoff each contributed a movement. The same men, except Borodine, joined in another quartet called _Jour de fête_.

There are six quartets by Serge Taneieff, all carefully written but in the main orchestral. The third (D minor) is perhaps best known, but the fourth and fifth seem to me more significant. There are quartets by Alexander Gretchaninoff, by A. Kopyloff, by Nikolas Sokoloff. Most of the Russian composers have written one or two. Reinhold Glière, among the more recent, has been successful. A quartet in G minor, opus 20, was published in 1906. It shows some influence of the modern French movement in the matter of harmony; but unlike the recent French quartets, this is in most pronounced orchestral style. A glance over the final movement, an _Orientale_, will serve to show how completely the traditional quartet style may be supplemented by effects of color and wild sonority. In Taneieff there is trace of the older tradition; but elsewhere in the modern Russian quartets the ancient style has disappeared.

V

The same tendency has become evident in the quartets of nearly all nations. The Grieg quartet offers a striking example. Here is a work which for lovers of Grieg must always have a special charm. Nowhere does he speak more forcefully or more passionately. There is a wild, almost a savage vitality in the whole work. But there is hardly a trace of genuine quartet style in any movement. In the statement of the first theme the viola, it is true, imitates the violin; but the second violin and the cello carry on a wholly orchestral accompaniment. The climax in this statement, and the measures before the second theme almost cry aloud for the pounding force of the piano, or the blare of trumpets and the shriek of piccolos. In fact almost through the entire movement the style is solid, without transparency and without flexibility of movement. The coda is the most startlingly orchestral of all. Measure after measure of a tremolo for the three upper instruments offers a harmonic background for the cello. The tremolo by the way is to be played _sul ponticello_, yet another orchestral manner. One cannot but recall the strange ending of the E major movement in Beethoven’s quartet in C-sharp minor, where, too, the instruments play _sul ponticello_, but each one pursuing a clear course, adding a distinct thread to the diaphanous network of sound. Surely in the hands of Grieg quartet music has become a thing of wholly different face and meaning.

There have been magnificent quartets written in Bohemia. One by Smetana is a great masterpiece. But here again we have the orchestral style. The quartet--_Aus meinem Leben_--proved on this account so distasteful to the Society of Chamber Music in Prague that the players refused to undertake it. Smetana suspected, however, that sheer technical difficulty rather than impropriety of style was at the bottom of their refusal.[78] Whatever the reason may have been, the work is supremely great. It seems to me there is no question of impropriety or change of style here. Smetana set himself to tell something of his life in music, and he chose the quartet because the four instruments speak as it were intimately, as he would himself speak in a circle of his friends about things which caused him more suffering than he could bear. We have then not a quartet, which is of all music the most abstract, or, if you will, absolute; but an outpouring of emotions. This is not _l’art pour l’art_, but almost a sublime agony of musical utterance.

As a quartet it stands unique--no piece of program music has accomplished more successfully the object of its composer than this. The first movement represents ‘love of music in my youth, a predominating romanticism, the inexpressible yearning for something which I could neither name nor clearly define, and also a sort of portent of my future misfortune.’ The second movement brought back memories of happy days when he wrote dance music for all the countryside, and was himself an impassioned dancer. And there is a slower section which tells of associations with the aristocracy. It is of this section that the players of Prague chiefly complained. A _Polka_ rhythm runs through the whole movement. And after this thoughtlessly gay passage, the third movement speaks of his love for the woman who afterwards became his wife. The last movement speaks of the recognition of the awakening national consciousness in ‘our beautiful art,’ and his joy in furthering this until the day of his terrible affliction (deafness). At this place the music, which has been unrestrainedly light-hearted and joyful, suddenly stops. The cello attacks a low C, the second violin and viola plunge into a shuddering dark series of harmonies, and over this the first violin for more than six measures holds a high, piercing E, symbolical of the chords, the ceaseless humming of which in his ears foretold his deafness. After this harrowing passage the music sinks sadly to the end with a reminiscence of hopes of earlier years (a theme from the first movement). No thematic or formal analysis can be necessary. The work is intense with powerful emotion from the first note to the last, and speaks with a directness that does not spare the listener thus introduced into the very heart of an unhappy and desperate man. The general orchestral style is noticeable at the beginning, and in the fateful passage at the end. In the second section of the second movement there is a phrase (viola) to be played _quasi Tromba_. This is later taken up by the second violin, and still later by the first violin and viola in octaves. The form is regular and clear-cut, the technical skill of the highest order. There is a later quartet, in D minor, which is irregular, fragmentary, explosive. The writing is here, too, orchestral. There is an excess of frantic unison passages, of mad tremolo, as there is also at the beginning of the last movement.

In the quartets of Dvořák the orchestral manner is not so evident, but none of his quartets is emotionally so powerful as Smetana’s great work. Dvořák brings the quartet back into its proper sphere. His instinct for effects shows itself at the very beginning. Notice in his first quartet--in D minor, opus 34, dedicated to Johannes Brahms--the presentation of the second theme in the first movement: the rolling figure for cello, the persistent figure for the viola which by holding to its shape acquires an independent significance, and over these the duet between first and second violin. The varied accompaniment in the second movement is well worth study.

The whole first movement of the second quartet--E-flat major, opus 51--is perfectly adapted to the four string instruments. Every part has an independence and a delicate free motion. The second movement, a _Dumka_, is one of his masterpieces in chamber music, and the following _Romanze_ is almost its equal. The final movement cannot but suggest Schumann. The third and fourth quartets, opus 61 and opus 80, lack the inspiration of the two earlier ones.

In our time we come to the famous quartet in F major, opus 96, written in Spillville, Iowa, in June, 1893. One may call it the little sister of the New World Symphony, which had been composed shortly before in New York City. Like the bigger work it is founded upon motives and themes which have characteristics common to the music of the American negro. Some say these same characteristics are common to music in Bohemia and Hungary, even to Scottish music. Hence the discussion which has raged from time to time over the New World Symphony, though the title of the symphony was of Dvořák’s own choosing;[79] and the quartet, and the quintet which followed it (opus 97) have likewise been made a bone of contention. However, it must be granted by all alike that the quartet is one of the most successful pieces of chamber music that has been written. Nowhere does Dvořák’s style show to better advantage, and few, if any quartets, are better adapted to the nature of the instruments for which they were written.

Two later quartets, opus 105, in A-flat major, and opus 106, in G major, do not compare favorably, at least from the point of view of musical vitality, with the earlier works.

VI

Merely to mention the composers who have written string quartets and to enumerate their works would fill a long chapter, and to little avail. Haydn gave the quartet a considerable place among the forms of musical composition. Mozart’s six quartets dedicated to Haydn are almost unique as an expression of his genius not influenced by external circumstances. The last Beethoven quartets are the final and abstract account of that great man’s conclusions with life and his art. Since the day of these three masters few composers have brought to the form such a special intention. Few string quartets since that day contain a full and special expression of the genius of the men who composed them. We look to other forms for the essentials of their contribution to the art of music. Indeed, among the men who have been discussed in this chapter there are few whose quartets are of real significance or of a merit that is equal to that of their other works.

As to form there has been little radical change down to the time of the recent composers who have abandoned deliberately all that it was possible to abandon of classical tradition. Of them and their work we shall speak presently. Schumann, Brahms, Tschaikowsky and Borodine, Smetana and Dvořák, and even César Franck and Vincent d’Indy have adhered closely to the classical model, varying it and adding to it, but never discarding it.

In the matter of style and technique most of the advance has been made in the direction of special effects, already described, and of increased sonority. With the result that the ancient and traditional quartet style has given way in most cases to an orchestral style, in which effects are essentially massive and broad, which is a tapestry, not a web of sound. Take, for example, three quartets by modern composers of yesterday: that of Tschaikowsky in D, Smetana’s _Aus meinem Leben_, and César Franck’s. If these are not the greatest since Schubert they have at least few companions; and they represent more than those of Brahms, we think, the development in technique as well as the change in style that the century brought. There are few pages in any one of them which do not show fine and sensitive workmanship; but the tone of all three is unmistakably _orchestral_, in the sense that it is massive, sensuous, and richly sonorous.

It is then with some surprise that we find what at the present day we call the modern movement expressed in three quartets which are as conspicuous for delicate quartet style as for the modernness of their forms and harmonies.

Debussy’s quartet was written comparatively early (1893), not more than three or four years after Franck had completed his. It is not a work of his first period, however, of the time when he was still a disciple of Wagner. Rather it belongs to the second period of which _L’isle joyeuse_, and _Estampes_, for piano, _L’après-midi d’un faune_, for orchestra, and the opera ‘Pelleas and Melisande,’ are, with it, representative works. It is written according to his own ideas of harmony, explained elsewhere in this series, and hence may be taken as the first quartet in which the classical tradition has been radically altered if not wholly disregarded. For the forms of sonata, symphony, and quartet were founded upon a system of harmony. Musical material, however freely disposed, rested upon a basis of key and contrasting keys common to all music of that era, the passing of which seems now before us. The Debussy quartet is constructed thematically in a way which in principle is old and familiar, but upon a basis which transforms the work beyond recognition of those to whom his harmonic series is not yet familiar.

There is little to be said of the plan of the work. The four movements are constructed upon a single phrase. Men wrote suites that way in the early seventeenth century. This phrase, in which there are two motives, is given out at once by the first violin, solidly supported by the other instruments. The movement is _animé et très décidé_. There is an impassioned abandon to sound. Secondary motives are given out: by the violin under which the three other instruments rise and fall in chords that whirr like the wind; by the cello, the same wind of harmony blowing high above. Then again the opening motives, growing from soft to loud; and a new motive (first violin and viola in tenths), over a monotonous twisting (second violin and cello in sixths). Then comes a retard. One would expect a second theme here. The harmony rests for a moment on F-sharp minor, and there is a snatch of melody (first violin). But for those broad harmonic sections of the sonata there is here no regard. The key flashes by. The melody was but a clever change rung upon the opening phrase. It comes again following an impetuous and agitated crescendo. Note how after this the music rushes ever up and up, and with what a whirling fall it sinks down almost to silence; how over a hushed triplet figure on an imperfect fifth (A-flat--D, cello) it gains force again, and the opening phrases recur, and something again of the secondary motives. There is perfect order of all the material, an order hardly differing from that of the classical sonata; but the harmonies melt and flow, they have no stable line, they never broaden, never rest. And so all seems new, and was, and still is new.

The second movement (_assez vif et bien rythmé_) is in the nature of a scherzo. Four pizzicato chords begin, and then the viola gives out the chief idea, an easily-recognized variant of the fundamental idea announced at the beginning of the first movement. But this is used first as a _tenore ostinato_ (if one may speak of it so). It is repeated by the viola fourteen times without variation; then five times by first violin, and twice, dying away, by cello. Meanwhile the other instruments are at something the same monotonous game. Nothing is clear. There are cross-rhythms, broken phrases, a maze of odd movements, independent of each other.

Then follows a passage of different character. The lower instruments weave a network of faint sound, and the violin has a phrase, clearly related to the fundamental motive, though greatly augmented. Then the queer rioting chatter of the first part comes hack, all the instruments pizzicato, the time 15/8.

The third movement (_andantino, doucement expressif_) presents the motive (first violin) wrapped so to speak in a veil of melody and thus disguised. The last movement, beginning slowly and working up to frenzy, brings every sort of fragmentary suggestion of this motive. It is particularly noticeable in augmentation (first violin) about the middle of the movement; and this middle section is developed to a tremendous climax at the height of which the first violin gives out the whole phrase (_avec passion et très contenu_) in broad octaves. A short coda (_très vif_) brings yet another transformation.

The style of the whole quartet is decidedly homophonic. There are some measures, now and then passages of several measures, in which there is only an harmonic effect; but for the most part there is one instrument treated as the solo instrument; usually the first violin. Page after page presents the familiar scheme of melody and accompaniment. There is almost no trace of a polyphonic method, none of conventional counterpoint, of fugal imitations.

Such devices were essential to the older quartet style. Accompaniment figures were abominable in music which passed through definite and long harmonic sections. Even the tremolo was not often satisfactory, and, being indistinct, tended to make the style orchestral. But here we have to do with a fluent harmony that is almost never still, that does not settle, as it were, into well-defined lakes of sound on which a theme may start forth with all sail set. Hence the accompanying parts move with a free and wide motion. The style is flexible and animated, and thoroughly suited to the quartet.

The fineness of Debussy’s conceptions offers the key to the subtlety of his technique. He handles the instruments with a touch the delicacy of which has hardly been equalled. He has new things to whisper. The whirring figures beginning in the thirteenth measure, the triplet figures (in sixth) after another statement of the principal motive, over which, or interlaced with which, there is a melody for violin, followed strangely by the viola; the wide accompanying figures for violin and cello in contrary motion, not long before the end of the first movement; all these are effects proper, though somewhat new, to the quartet style. The first section of the second movement is a masterpiece of quartet writing. Each instrument is at odds with the others. In listening one could hardly say how many different parts were at work in the music. Nowhere has the pizzicato been used with better effect. The second section of the same movement offers a contrasting effect of vagueness and quiet. The slow movement is newly beautiful, and the last movement dramatic. By the treatment of the instruments the quartet may stand as a masterpiece, the most conspicuous development properly in quartet technique since the last quartets of Beethoven.

The quartet in F major by Maurice Ravel shows an instinct for the instruments not less sensitive or delicate, and in a few places even more bold. But the form of the work is more conventionally organized than that of Debussy. There are distinct themes, regularly constructed in four-measure phrases, and occurring regularly according to established plans. The harmonies, however, are all fluent, so that the sound of the work belies its close kinship to the past.

And Ravel is a master of the quartet style. The opening measures have a suave polyphonic movement. There is polyphony in the treatment of the second theme as it is taken up by second violin and woven with a counter-melody by the first. And when he is not polyphonic he has the same subtlety of harmonic procedure that distinguishes Debussy’s quartet. The beginning of the second movement (_assez vif--très rythmé_) seems to me not so extraordinary as the beginning of the second movement in Debussy’s quartet, but it offers a brilliant example of the use of pizzicato effects. The muted sections in the middle of this movement; the accompaniment figures _quasi arpa_; the same sort of figures in the following slow movement combined with pizzicato notes of the cello; and the extraordinary figures in the 5/4 section of the last movement, indeed all the last movement, are all signs of the new development in a quartet style which is not an orchestral style.

Finally the quartet, opus 7, by Arnold Schönberg. The work was composed in 1905. Among earlier works there are songs, a string sextet, _Verklärte Nacht_, the _Gurre-Lieder_, for solo voices, chorus and orchestra, and a symphonic poem, ‘Pelleas and Melisande.’ Later works include a second string quartet (1907-8), five pieces for orchestra, a monodrama, _Erwartung_, and a few pieces for pianoforte.

The _Verklärte Nacht_ is a work of rich, sensuous beauty. At the head of the score are printed lines from a poem by Richard Dehmals, which are either utterly decadent or naïve. They are beautiful, too. So prefaced, the sextet proves to be a symphonic poem, in which the composer has chosen to confine himself to the limited possibilities of tone color within the range of the six instruments. There are two violins, two violas and two cellos. The harmonies are richly varied and free, but not at all unfamiliar. The form is the progressive form made possible by the system of leading or characteristic motives. All follows the poem very closely. The opening is depressed and gloomy. The repeated low D’s (second cello and second viola) seem to suggest the lifeless tread of the man and woman, going unhappily through the cold barren grove. The sadly falling phrases (first viola, later with violins) are indicative of their mood. After considerable development, which clearly stands for the woman’s confession of sin and woe, comes a beautiful section in E major which seems to reflect her dream that in motherhood she should find happiness. This is roughly broken off. The situation demands it. For having come with child by a strange man for whom she had no love, she finds herself now walking with one whom she would have greatly preferred. However, the man is generous, finds that his love for her has made a child of him, and that he and she and the babe unborn are to be transfigured by the strength of that love. At the end, following this amorous exaltation, the music broadens and gradually takes on an almost unearthly beauty.

Technically, as regards the treatment of the instruments, the sextet is extraordinary. The additional cello and viola make it possible to employ the pronounced color of the upper tones of these instruments and at the same time reserve the resonant lower notes as a foundation. Much use is made of harmonics, especially toward the end, where full chords are given that ethereal quality so like a flute that one may easily be misled into thinking wind instruments must have joined in the ensemble.

The quartet is radically different. The sextet is emotionally rich and vital; the quartet is in the first place a vast intellectual essay. There are moments in the Adagio section, and toward the close, where music speaks in common language thoughts which are noble and inspired. For the most part, however, the quartet is in a language which whatever may be its future is incomprehensible to many today. One approaches it as through a new grammar. One must first seek to master the logic behind it, both in the matter of its broad form and in the idiom of its harmonies. There are many who feel this language a sort of Esperanto, artificial, not to say factitious. There are more and more who recognize naturalness and spontaneity in it.

As to the harmonic idiom and the mathematical polyphony back of it something has been written in an earlier volume. A detailed analysis of the form is not possible without many examples from the score, for which there is no space in this chapter. Only a few features of it may be touched upon here.

The work is in a single movement, within the limits of which movements which in earlier quartets were separate have been arranged and combined as sections corresponding to the triple divisions in the old-fashioned sonata-form, with a widely extended coda. Where in the classical sonata-form there are single themes, in these divisions there are many themes. Therefore one speaks of a first theme, really a chief-theme, _group_, of transitional _groups_, of episodic though broadly developed Scherzo and Adagio.

In the first theme group there are three distinct themes. The first is announced at once (D minor) by the first violin, a theme not unlike one of Richard Strauss’. In the fourteenth measure the second theme is brought in by the second violin (D-flat major). This is taken up by the first violin, the whole period being eight measures long. The third theme (_etwas langsamer_) is a combination of a melodic formula (first and second violins) and characteristic harmonies (viola and cello). There follow many pages of polyphonic working with this threefold material. The first theme of the group may be said to predominate. It appears in varied shape throughout the separate parts.

What may be taken as a transitional section, leading to the second theme group, is a long fugato on a new subject. This is introduced by the second violin (first violin with secondary subject) after a considerable ritard and a pause. The passage grows rapidly faster, leading to a tremendous climax; after which the first of the second theme group is announced (first violin, _zart bewegt, E-flat major_). The second follows shortly after with a change of time (6/4). Here there is beautiful scoring. The first violin is at first silent, the second bearing the melody, the viola giving soft accompaniment figures, the cello sliding down, pianissimo, in long notes. Then the melody is taken by viola, the first violin has the long sliding phrases, the cello the breaking figure. The third part of this section (_etwas bewegter_) brings out in the first violin a rhythmically varied form of the first theme of the same group.

Now follows the first broad development section (_erste Durchführung und Überleitung in Scherzo_[80]), which leads to the Scherzo. The entrance of the Scherzo is prepared and easily heard, and the Scherzo itself is scored at first in note for note style. The principal theme is closely related to the subject of the transitional fugue. It works through many stages, now _kräftig_, now _sehr zart_, to a terrific climax, echoed in harmonics, and savagely terminated. A few mysterious measures, now muted and again without mutes, bring in the Trio (_lebhaft_, E major) the principal theme of which is of almost folk-song simplicity. The Scherzo is repeated, varied almost beyond recognition. The theme is given first to viola, between strange triplet figures (second violin and cello).

Then follows a second development section, working up again to an overpowering climax, leading to the first theme group, as to the restatement section in the sonata-form. This reëntrance of the theme is truly heroic. The second violin and viola actually dash down upon the opening notes, and the first violin and cello add a frenzy of accompaniment. Now we have the first theme group (shortened) again; and then, instead of the transitional fugue, a long and developed Adagio, page after page of muted music of unearthly, ghostly beauty. Two themes are recognizable, and the section may be divided into three parts, the first of which rests upon the first theme (first violin solo); the second upon the second theme, slower than the first (viola), and the third upon the first again, slightly modified.

After this adagio comes the second theme group, just as the second theme in the restatement section of the classical sonata form.

Finally there is a coda, in lively tempo, a rondo built upon three themes, the first two of which are taken from the adagio. The broad closing section brings back the opening theme of all, in major. The ending is very simple and quiet.

Hence we have one huge movement in sonata form, our old familiar exposition, with its first and second themes and its transitional passages; its development--in which a scherzo is incorporated; its restatement of both themes--with a new transitional passage between them in the shape of an adagio--and its broad, completing coda. The mind of a man has conceived it; and the mind of man can comprehend it.

The harmonies are often hideous, though no note in the entire quartet is without a logical justification in the new grammar. On the other hand, there are moments of ineffable beauty. Whatever the outcome, there can be no denying that the quartet has entered here upon a new stage, far removed from all other music. Only time can tell whether this is an advance, and then only by showing new work when this shall have proved itself a foundation on which to build.

Schönberg has since written another quartet (1907-8). It is not only shorter as a whole than the earlier one, but is divided by pauses into four separate movements. There is, however, a thematic relationship between all four; and the third movement--_Litanie_--occupies in the scheme the place of a _Durchführung_, a variation and weaving together of all the previous themes.

The first movement begins and ends in F-sharp minor, and there are two distinct themes: the opening theme (first violin), and, after a broad ritard, a second theme (first violin, _sehr ausdrucksvoll_). The time is measured yet often free. After a development of the two themes there is a _fermata_, and then a restatement of them; so that on the whole the movement is not difficult to follow, though the second half is complex and long.

The second movement (_sehr rasch_) is in the nature of a wild scherzo. The rhythmical motive with which it starts (cello, pianissimo) recalls the now ancient style of Wagner. There is no precedent for the following figure (second violin), which is one of the chief elements in this fantastical movement. It is taken up by viola immediately, while both violins present at the same time two equally important motives, one of which is a sort of syncopated shadow of the other. Then, _etwas langsamer_, the first violin and viola give out yet a fourth motive (in octaves) and out of these four, with many less audible, a cacophonous, spiteful tangle of sounds ensues. There is a Trio section (_etwas rascher_), and a return of the Scherzo. There is a short coda, _sehr rasch_, all instruments in unison (or octaves) until the last measures. Then the cello beats out the opening rhythmical figure, fortissimo, on D, the first violin shrieks G-C-sharp over and over again, the viola and second violin fall together through unheard of intervals. There is a hush, a roar, and a hush--a pizzicato note--unison--silence.

Both the third and the fourth movements bring in a soprano voice. The words are from Stephan George;[81] the titles: _Litanei_ and _Entrückung_. Here Schönberg has gone beyond the string quartet, and here properly we may leave him. The instruments are busy during the _Litanei_ with motives from the first and second movements. The voice is independent of them. There is enormous dramatic force in the climax at the words:

_Wacht noch ein Schrei Töte das Sehnen... Schliesse die Wunde! Nimm mir die Liebe Gieb mir dein Glück._

In the last movement there is no appreciable form. There is no harmony, i.e., no regular sequence of keys, though the end falls on a common chord. Even the melody has gone on into a new world.

Schönberg’s style is fundamentally polyphonic, and is in that regard fitting to the quartet. In the use of harmonics and pizzicato he stands a little ahead of his contemporaries. If we can follow Schönberg in his new conception of form and harmony, we should indeed be reactionary if we hesitated longer to admit harmonics and pizzicato into the category of effects proper to quartet music. Moreover, the examples offered by such exquisite masterpieces as the quartets of Tschaikowsky, Debussy and Ravel must give to such procedures the sanction of good usage. That Schönberg’s material is symphonic in character only goes to prove that the whole question of form and style is at the present day one which no man can definitely answer.

But having admitted the influence of modern virtuosity and of the modern love of sensuous tone coloring into the realm of the string quartet, we face a new idea of the combination of the four instruments of one type. The old idea of the quartet was given fullest expression in the quartets of Beethoven. In the expression of that idea little progress has since been possible. The changes that have come have made of the quartet something like a chamber symphony in which effects of solid sound and of brilliant and pronounced colors predominate, music that has salt for the senses as well as meaning for the spirit. Hence it has lost that traditional quality of abstractness, which was pure and unalloyed, and has become poignant, fiery, pictorial or dramatic. We hear in it now the strumming of wild zithers, now the beat of savage drums, madness and ecstasy, chords that are plucked, chords that float in air, even confusion and riot of sound. The four instruments still remain, but the old idea of the quartet has become lifeless or has passed from among the present ideals of men.

FOOTNOTES:

[75] The date is fixed by a fragment of the autograph found in 1901. See Richard Heuberger: _Franz Schubert_.

[76] See Max Kalbeck: _Johannes Brahms_, Vol. II, part 2, p. 442.

[77] Kalbeck has called attention to the resemblance between these two motives and the _Erda-motif_ and the _Walhalla-motif_ in _Das Rheingold_ and _Die Walküre_.

[78] See William Ritter: _Smetana_. Paris, 1907.

[79] From the New World.

[80] See Schönberg’s own analysis in _Die Musik_, June 2, 1907.

[81] _Der siebente Ring._

##