which, without such aid, would lose force through their too great complexity. While the balance between these subdivisions of the Orchestra is always maintained, the Stringed foundation is so solidified as to afford, at all times, a sufficient support to the entire mass of Harmony; and the whole is thus invested with a dignity too real to be injured by the constant variety of effect, which, if less artistically managed, would degenerate into restlessness. In the intermediate 'Adagio' of the First Symphony, the Violins are employed con sordini, and the Tenors, divisi, with a delicacy of effect which has sometimes led to a comparison of the Movement with similar passages by Wagner. But, in truth, the arrangement has long been received as common property; and it is only by marked novelty of treatment that it can be justly claimed as a private possession.
We have already described Brahms's most important Choral Composition—the 'Deutsches Requiem'—at some considerable length.[1] Many more of his Vocal works are well worth separate examination; but it must be confessed that his real greatness shines forth most clearly in his Instrumental Music. His choral passages—often furiously difficult, and sometimes all but impossible—are, as a general rule, constructed with so little consideration for the Singer, that, even when their crudities are successfully overcome, they fail to produce an effect worth the labour of mastering them. This misfortune is the more to be regretted, because, in some of these very works, the Orchestral Accompaniments embody his best conceptions. There are but few passages in the 'Schicksalslied'—for example—which would fail to produce a very striking effect, though the Vocal Parts were eliminated from the Score. But surely it cannot be right, that, when Voices are employed, they should be treated with less consideration than the Instruments which accompany them. This evil, however, is too general to admit of discussion here; and is, unhappily, gaining ground everywhere.
While Brahms, as yet unknown beyond the limits of a small circle of admirers, was steadily working out the theories upon which his adopted style was based, Joachim Raff's strong sympathy with the Romantic School led him into a very different path, and necessarily tempted him to demand a considerable amount of freedom from scholastic restraint. But, he has never allied himself with the advocates of lawlessness. Nor has he claimed exemption from established formulæ, except when compelled to follow out a self-imposed rule of conduct by the character of the subject he designed to treat. His Fourth Symphony, in G minor (op. 167), is a miracle of regularity—making due allowance for the age in which it was produced. Save only that the First Part of the Allegro is not repeated, it might serve as a model of the orthodox mode of treatment. If its Subjects are not strikingly original, they are surrounded by so much new and varied Instrumentation, and so much careful and ingenious Part-writing, that they are constantly presented in an original aspect. The Andante flows on, in an uninterrupted stream of Melody, from beginning to end; and the strongest points of the Allegro are reflected, with increased interest, in the spirited Finale. This particular work, however, cannot be accepted as the true reflex of the Composer's favourite style. He is never so happy as when, with some weird Legend in his mind, he throws his whole soul into the task of depicting its shadowy incidents. And the tints in which he presents them are rich indeed; for his power of tone-painting is unbounded, and his command of orchestral colouring unlimited.
In the 'Lenore Symphony' (op. 177), we see all these qualities exhibited to perfection. The wayward character of Bürger's heroine is painted to the life. The first two Movements present the varying phases of her feverish love, in moods, all more or less earnest, yet always savouring rather of the passionate caprice of a self-willed child than the modest affection of a well-trained maiden. Then comes the parting. The soldier-lover is summoned to the war. In the midst of the March which describes his departure, the unhappy girl bemoans her misery before all the world, while the young hero vainly strives to comfort her, in accents as gentle and sensuous as her own. It is the same wild passion over again. We knew, all along, that she would lose all self-control when the moment of trial came.
But this is only the preamble to the story. The Finale takes it up, at the moment in which Bürger's Ballad begins. The lurid sunrise brings no comfort to the wretched dreamer. We hear her sighs, interrupted by the approach of the Spectre Bridegroom, whose identity with the Lover of the previous Scene is proclaimed by a shadowy allusion to the March. Then follows the invitation to the wedding feast. The Phantom Charger paws the ground, impatient to be gone. The Lovers mount; and he carries them off, in an infernal gallop which introduces us to the finest part of the Symphony. The ghastly ride is described by the Violoncellos, in persistent groups of a Quaver and two Semiquavers, which never cease until the catastrophe of the story is at hand. This passage forms the life of the picture, throughout. Constant in its rhythmic ictus, though not confined to any fixed series of notes, it represents the entire course of the fearful journey; thus intensifying in the Music, the idea of headlong speed, which, in the Poem, is so powerfully enforced by the reiteration of its most famous Stanza. When the excitement of the situation increases, the Violoncellos are strengthened by the Violas. When a climax is reached, the Figure is taken up by the entire Stringed Band. When the expression of some particular incident demands its retirement, it fades into pianissimo. Meanwhile, the scenery of the eldritch phantasmagoria is pictured by the Wind Instruments. The shrieks of the nightbirds, by long shrill trills upon the Wood Wind. The ghostly Funeral, by a Hymn for the Dead, first sadly moaned by the Trombones,
- ↑ See vol. iii. p. 112.
