CHAPTER II

THE FOUNDATIONS OF THE CLASSIC PERIOD

Classicism and the classic period--Political and literary forces--The conflict of styles; the sonata form--The Berlin school; the sons of Bach--The Mannheim reform; the Genesis of the Symphony--Followers of the Mannheim school; rise of the string quartet; Vienna and Salzburg as musical centres.

It is impossible to assign the so-called Classic Movement to a definite period; its roots strike deep and its limits are indefinite. It gathered momentum while the ideas from which it revolted were in their ascendency; its incipient stage was simultaneous with the reign of Italian opera. To define the meaning of classicism is as difficult as it is to fix the date of its beginning. By contrasting, as we usually do, the style of that period with a later one, usually called the Romantic, by comparing the ideal of classicism with the romantic ideal of subjective expression, we get a negative rather than a positive definition; for classicism is generally presumed to be formal, and antagonistic to that free ideal--a supposition which is not altogether exact, for it was just the reform of the classicists that opened the way to the free expressiveness which is characteristic of the ‘Romantics.’ On the other hand, the classic ideal of just proportions, of pure objective beauty, did find expression in the crystallized forms, the clarified technique, and the flexible articulation that superseded the unreasonably ornate, the polyphonically obscure, or the superficial, trite monotony of a great part of pre-classic music.

I

When Gluck’s _Alceste_ first appeared on the boards of the Imperial Opera in 1768, Mozart, the twelve-year-old prodigy, was the pet of Viennese salons; Haydn, with thirty symphonies to his credit, was laying the musical foundations of a German Versailles at Esterhàz; Emanuel Bach, practically at the end of his career, had just left Frederick the Great to become Telemann’s successor at Hamburg; and Stamitz, the great reformer of style and the real father of the modern orchestra, was already in his grave. On the other hand, there were still living men like Hasse and Porpora, whose recollection reached back to the very beginnings of the century. These men belonged to an earlier age, and so did in a sense all the men discussed in the last chapter, with a few obvious exceptions. But their influence extended far into the period which we are about to discuss; their careers are practically contemporaneous with the classic movement. The beginnings of that movement, the first impulses of the essentially new spirit we must seek in the work of men who were, like Pergolesi, the contemporaries of Bach and Handel.

To the reader of history perhaps the most significant outward sign of the impending change is the shifting of musical supremacy away from Italy, which had held unbroken sway since the days of Palestrina. We have seen in the last chapter how with Gluck the operatic centre of gravity was transferred from Naples to Paris. We shall now witness a similar change in the realm of ‘absolute’ music--this time in favor of Germany. The underlying causes of this change are fundamentally the same as those which directed the course of literature and general culture--namely the social and political upheaval that followed the Reformation and ushered in a century of struggle and strife, that kindled the Phœnix of a united and liberated nation, the Germany of to-day. A glance at the political history of the preceding era will help our comprehension of the period with which we have to deal.

The peace of Westphalia (1648) had left the German Empire a dismembered, powerless mass. No less than three hundred ‘independent’ states, ruled over by petty tyrants--princes, dukes, margraves, bishops--each of whom had the right to coin money, raise armies and contract alliances, made up a nation defenseless against foes, weakened by internal and military oppression, steeped in abject misery and moral depravity. For over a hundred years it remained an ‘abortion,’ an ‘irregular body like unto a monster,’ as Puffendorf characterized it. Despite its pretensions it was, as Voltaire said, ‘neither holy, nor Roman, nor an empire.’ Flood after flood of pillaging soldiery had passed across its fertile acres, spreading ruin and dejection; the ravages of Louis XIV, the invasion of Kara Mustapha, the Spanish, the Swedish, the Polish wars, left the people victims of the selfish ambitions of brutish monarchs, men whose example set a premium upon crime. These noble robbers had made of the map of Europe a crazy-quilt, the only sizable patches of which represented France, Austria, and Russia. Italy, like Germany, was divided, but with this difference--its several portions were actually ruled by the ‘powers’--Austria had Tuscany and Milan, Spain ruled Naples and Sicily, while France owned Sardinia and Savoy. Its superior culture, having thus the benefit of a benevolent paternalism, penetrated to the very hearts of the conquerors, to Vienna, Madrid, and Paris, and spread a thin but glittering coat all over Europe. Germany, on the other hand, was, under the sham of independence, so constantly threatened with annihilation, so impoverished through strife, that the very idea of culture suggested a foreign thing, an exotic within the reach only of the mighty. Friedrich von Logau in the early seventeenth century bewailed the influx of foreign fashions into Germany, while Moscherosch denounced the despisers and traitors of his fatherland; and Lessing, over a century later, was still attacking the predominance of French taste in literature. We must not wonder at this almost total eclipse of native culture. The fact that the racial genius could perpetuate its germ, even across this chasm of desolation, is one of the astounding evidences of its strength.

That germ, to which we owe the preservation of German culture, that thin current which ran all through the seventeenth and the early eighteenth century, had two distinct manifestations: the religious idealism of the north, and the optimistic rationalism of the south, which found expression in the writings of Leibnitz. The first of these movements produced in literature the religious lyrics of Protestant hymn writers, in music the cantatas, passions, and oratorios of a Bach and a Handel. Its ultimate expression was the _Messias_ of Klopstock, which in a sense combined the two forms of art; for, as Dr. Kuno Francke[22] says, it is an ‘oratorio’ rather than an epic. As for Leibnitz, according to the same authority, ‘it is hard to overestimate his services to modern culture. He stands midway between Luther and Goethe.... In a time of national degradation and misery his philosophy offered shelter to the higher thought and kept awake the hope of an ultimate resurrection of the German people.’ The one event which signalizes that resurrection more than any is the battle of Rossbach in 1757. This was the shot that reverberated through Europe and summoned all eyes to witness a new spectacle, a prince who declared himself the servant of his people. With Frederick the Great as their hero the Germans of the North could rally to the hope of a fatherland; their poets, tongue-tied for centuries, broke forth in new lyric bursts; the vision of a united, triumphant Germany fired patriots, philosophers, scientists and artists with enthusiasm for a new ideal. This idealism--or sentimentality--stood in sharp contrast to the somewhat cynical rationalism of Rousseau, Diderot, and d’Alembert, but it had an even stronger influence on art.

The immediate effect of this regeneration was an increased output of literature and of music, a greater individuality, or assertiveness, in the native styles, the perfection of its technique, and the crystallization of its forms. In literature it bore its first fruits in the works of Klopstock and Wieland. Already in 1748 Klopstock had ‘sounded that morning call of joyous idealism which was the dominant note of the best in all modern German literature.’ This poet is an important figure to us, for he is of all writers the most admired in the period of musical history with which these chapters deal. His very name brought tears to the eyes of Charlotte in Goethe’s _Werther_; Leopold Mozart could go no further in his admiration of his son’s genius than to compare him to Klopstock. Wieland, who lived less in the realm of the spiritual but was fired with a greater enthusiasm for humanity, was among the first to give expression to his hope of a united Germany. He was personally acquainted with Mozart and early appreciated his genius.[23]

A transformation was thus wrought in the minds of the people of northern Europe. Much as in the humanitarian revelation of the Italian Renaissance, men became introspective, discovered in the recesses of their souls a new sympathy; men’s hearts became more receptive than they had ever been; and, as, after the strife of centuries, Europe settled down to a placid period of reconstruction, all this found manifold expression in people’s lives and in their art.

The close of the Seven Years’ War in 1763 had brought an era of comparative peace. Austria, though deprived of some territory, entered upon a period of prosperity which augured well for the progress of art; Prussia, on the other hand, proceeded upon a career of unprecedented expansion under the enlightened leadership of the great Frederick. The Viennese court, which had patronized music for generations, now became what Burney called it, ‘the musical capital of Europe,’ while Berlin and Potsdam constituted a new centre for the cultivation of the art. Frederick, the friend of Voltaire, though himself a lover of French culture, and preferring the French language to his own, nevertheless encouraged the advancement of things native. He insisted that his subjects patronize home manufactures, affect native customs, and, contrary to Joseph II in Vienna, he engaged German musicians for his court in preference to Italians. The two courts may thus be conceived as the strongholds of the two opposing styles, German and Italian, which in fusing produced the new expressive style that is the most characteristic element of classic music.

II

To make clear this conflict of styles represented by the north and the south, by Berlin and Vienna, respectively, we need only ask the reader to recall what we have said about the music of Bach in Vol. I and that of Pergolesi in the last chapter. In the one we saw the culmination of polyphonic technique upon a modern harmonic basis, a fusion of the old polyphonic and new monodic styles, enriched by infinite harmonic variety, with a wealth of ingenious modulations and chromatic alterations, and a depth of spirit analogous to the religious idealism which we have cited as the dominant intellectual note of post-Reformation Germany. In the other, the direct outcome of the monodic idea, and therefore essentially melodic, we found a consummate grace and lightness, but also a certain shallowness, a desire to please, to tickle the ear rather than to stir the deeper emotions. In the course of time this style came to be absolutely dominated by harmony, through the peculiar agency of the Figured Bass. But instead of an ever-shifting harmonic foundation, an iridescent variety of color, we have here an essentially simple harmonic structure, largely diatonic, and centring closely around the tonic and dominant as the essential points of gravity, swinging the direction of its cadences back and forth between the two, while employing every melodic device to introduce all the variety possible within the limitations of so simple a scheme.

While, then, the style of Bach, and the North Germans, on the one hand, had a predominant _unity of spirit_ it tended to _variety of expression_; the style of the Italians, on the other hand, brought a _variety of ideas_ with a comparative simplicity of scheme or _monotony of expression_, which quickly crystallized into stereotyped forms. One of these forms, founded upon the simple harmonic scheme of tonic and dominant, developed, as we have seen, into the instrumental sonata, a type of which the violin sonatas of Corelli and his successors, Francesco Geminiani, Pietro Locatelli, and Giuseppe Tartini, and the piano sonatas of Domenico Scarlatti are excellent examples. Many Italians managed to endow such pieces with a breadth, a song-like sweep of melody, to which their inimitable facility of vocal writing led them quite naturally. Pergolesi especially, as we have said, deserves special merit for the introduction of the so-called ‘singing allegro’ in the first movements of his sonatas. Germans were quick to follow these examples and their innate tendency to variety of expression caused them to add another element--that of rhythmic contrast.[24] Indeed, although the Italian style continued to hold sway throughout Europe long after 1700, we find among its exponents an ever greater number of Germans. Their proclivity for harmonic fullness, pathos, and dignity was, moreover, reinforced by the influence of French orchestral music of the style of Lully and his successors. It was reserved for the Germans, also, to develop the sonata form as we know it to-day, to build it up into that wonderful vehicle for free fancy and for the philosophic development of musical ideas.

Before introducing the reader to the men of this epoch, who prepared the way for Haydn and Mozart, we are obliged, for a better understanding of their work, to describe briefly the nature and development of that form which serves, so to speak, as a background to their activity.

Certain successive epochs in the history of our art have been so dominated by one or another type of music that they might as aptly derive their names from the particular type in fashion as the early Christian era did from plain-chant. Thus the sixteenth century might well be called the age of the madrigal, the early seventeenth the period of accompanied monody, and the late seventeenth the epoch of the suite. As the vogue of any of these forms increases, a chain of conventions and rules invariably grows up which tends first to fix it, then to force it into stereotypes which become the instrument of mediocre pedants. The very rules by which it grows to perfection become the shackles which arrest its expansion. Thus it usually deteriorates almost immediately after it has reached its highest elevation at the hand of genius, unless it gives way to the broadening, liberalizing assaults of iconoclasts, and only in the measure to which it is capable of adapting itself to broader principles is further life vouchsafed to it. It continues then to exist beyond the period which is, so to speak, its own, in a sort of afterglow of glory, less brilliant but infinitely richer in interest, color and all-pervading warmth. All the types above mentioned, from the madrigal down, have continued to exist, in a sense, to our time, and, though our age is obviously as antagonistic to the spirit of the madrigal as it is to that of plain-chant, we might cite modern part-songs partaking of the same spirit which have a far stronger appeal. The modern symphonic suites of a Bizet or a Rimsky-Korsakoff as compared to the orchestral suite of the eighteenth century furnish perhaps the most striking case in point.

The period which this and the following chapters attempt to describe is dominated by the sonata form. Not a composer of instrumental music--and it was essentially the age of instrumental music--but essayed that form in various guises. Even the writers of opera did not fail to adopt it in their instrumental sections, and even in their arias. But the decades which are our immediate concern represent a formative stage, because there is much variety, much uncertainty, both in nomenclature and in the matter itself. Nomenclature is never highly specialized at first. A name primarily denotes a variety of things which have perhaps only slight marks of resemblance. Thus we have seen how _sonata_, derived from the verb _suonare_, to sound, is at first a name for any instrumental piece, in distinction to _cantata_, a vocal piece. The _canzona da sonar_ (or _canzon sonata_) symbolized the application of the vocal style to instruments, and the abbreviation ‘sonata’ was for a time almost synonymous with _sinfonia_, as in the first solo sonatas (for violin) of Bagio Marini about 1617. The sonata in its modern sense is essentially a solo form; but, during a century or more of its evolution, the most familiar guise under which it appeared was the ‘trio-sonata.’ That, as we have seen, broadened out to symphonic proportions (while adapting some of the features of the orchestral suite) and the sonata became more specifically a solo piece, or, better, a group of pieces, for the sonata of our day is a ‘cyclical’ piece. But through all its outward manifestations, and irrespective of them, it underwent a definite and continuous metamorphosis, by which it assumed a more and more definite pattern, or patterns, which eventually fused into one.

The ‘cycle sonata’ undoubtedly had its root idea in the dance suite, and for a long time that derivation was quite evident. The minuet, obstinately holding its place in the scheme until Beethoven converted it into the scherzo, was the last birthmark to disappear. The variety of rhythm that the dance suite offers is also clearly preserved in the principle of rhythmic contrasts _between the movements_. These comprise usually a rapid opening movement embodying the essentials of the ‘sonata form’; a contrasting slow movement, shorter and in less conventional form--sometimes aria, sometimes ‘theme and variations’--stands next; the finale, in the lighter Italian form, was usually a quick dance movement or short, brilliant piece of slight significance; in the German and more developed examples it was often a rondo (one principal theme recurring at intervals throughout the piece with fresh ‘episodical’ matter interspersed), and more and more frequently it was cast in the first-movement form. Between the slow movement and the finale is the place for the minuet (if the sonata is in four movements). Haydn, though not the first so to use it, quickened its tempo and enriched it in content. A second minuet (Menuetto II) appears in the earlier symphonies of Haydn and Mozart, which by and by is incorporated with the first as ‘trio’--the familiar alternate section always followed by a repeat of the minuet itself.

Of course, the distinguishing feature of the sonata over all other forms is the peculiar pattern of at least _one_ of its movements--most usually the first--the outcome of a long evolution, which, in its finally settled form, with the later Mozart and with Beethoven, became the most efficient, the most flexible, and the most convincing medium for the elaboration of musical ideas. The ‘first-movement form,’ as it has been called, appears in the eighteenth century in either of two primary patterns: the _binary_ (consisting of two sections), and the _ternary_ (consisting of three). The binary, gradually introduced by the Italians, notably Pergolesi and Alberti, is simply a broadening of the ‘song-form’ in two sections (each of which is repeated), having one single theme or subject, presented in the following key arrangement (‘A’ denoting the tonic or ‘home’ key and ‘B’ the dominant or related key): |:A--B:| |:B--A:|. This, with broadened dimensions and more definite thematic distinction, within each section gave way to: |:A¹--B²:||:B¹--A²:| (¹ and ² representing first and second theme, respectively). In this arrangement the second section simply reproduces the thematic material of the first, but in the reverse order of keys or tonality. It should be added that the ‘second theme’ was usually, at this early stage of development, a mere suggestion, an embryo with very slight individuality. The leading representatives of this type of form as applied to the suite as well as the sonata were Pergolesi, Domenico Alberti, Handel, J. S. Bach, J. F. Fasch, Domenico Scarlatti, Locatelli, and Gluck, and most of the later Italians, who continued to prefer this easily comprehended form, placing but simple problems of musicianship before the composer. It was eminently suited to the easy grace of polite music, of the ‘salon’ music of the eighteenth century.

But in the works of German suite writers especially the restatement of the first theme after the double bar displays almost from the beginning a tendency toward variety, abridgment, expansion, and modulation of harmony. Gradually this section assumed such a bewildering, fanciful character, such a variety of modulations, that the subject in its original form was forgotten by the hearer, and all recollection of the original key had been obliterated from the mind. Composers then grasped the device of restating the first theme in the original key after this free development of it, and then restating the second theme as before. Both the tonic and the dominant elements of the first section (or exposition) are now seen to be repeated in the tonic key in the restatement section (or recapitulation) and the form has assumed the following shape:

||:A¹--B²:||:(A²) | Development or | A¹--B¹:| ‘Working-out’

This is clearly a three-division form, and as such is closely allied to the ballad form, or _ternary_ song-form, which is as old as the binary. Already Johann Sebastian Bach in his Prelude in F minor, in the second part of the ‘Well-tempered Clavichord,’ gives an example of it, and in Emanuel Bach and his German contemporaries this type becomes the standard. But it is curious to observe how strongly the Italian influence worked upon composers of the time, for, whenever the desire to please is evident in their work, we see them adopt the simpler pattern, and even when the ternary form is used the so-called ‘working-out’ is little more than an aimless sequence of meaningless passage work intended to dazzle by its brilliance and its grandiose effects, with but little relation to the subject matter of the piece. Even Mozart and Haydn veered back and forth between the two types until they had arrived at a considerably advanced state of maturity.

The second theme, as time went on, became more and more individualized and, as it assumed more distinct rhythmic and melodic characteristics, it lent itself more freely to logical development, like the principal subjects, became in fact a real ‘subject’ on a par with the first. With Stamitz and the Mannheim school, at last, we meet the idea of _contrast between the two themes_, not only in key but in spirit, in meaning. As with characters in a story, these differences can readily be taken hold of and elaborated. The themes may be played off against each other, they may be understood as masculine and feminine, as bold and timid, or as light and tragic--the possibilities of the scheme are unlimited, the complications under which an ingenious mind can conceive it are infinite in their interest. Thus only, by means of _contrast_, could states of mind be translated into musical language, thus only was it possible to give voice to the deeper sentiments, the new feelings that were tugging at the heart-strings of Europe. Only with this great principle of emotional contrast did the art become receptive to the stirrings of _Sturm und Drang_, of incipient Romanticism, thus only could it give expression to the graceful melancholy of a Mozart, the majestic ravings of a Beethoven.

III

Having given an indication of the various stages through which the sonata form passed, we may now speak of the men who developed it. We are here, of course, concerned only with those who cultivated the later and eventually universal German type.

In the band of musicians gathered about the court of Frederick the Great we find such pioneers as Joachim Quantz, the king’s instructor on the flute;[25] Gottlieb Graun, whose significance as a composer of symphonies, overtures, concertos, and sonatas is far greater than that of his brother Karl Heinrich, the composer of _Der Tod Jesu_; and the violinist Franz Benda, who was, however, surpassed in musicianship by his brother Georg, _kapellmeister_ in Gotha. All of these and a number of others constitute the so-called Berlin school, whose most distinguished representative by far was Carl Philipp Emanuel Bach, the most eminent of Johann Sebastian’s sons. He has been called, not without reason, the father of the piano sonata, for, although Kuhnau preceded him in applying the form to the instrument, it is he who made it popular, and who definitely fixed its pattern, determined the order of its movements--Allegro; Andante or Adagio; Allegro or Presto--so familiar to all music-lovers.

Emanuel Bach was born in Weimar in 1714. He was sent to Frankfort to study law, but instead established a chorus with himself as its leader. In 1738 he went to Berlin, where, two years later, we see him playing the accompaniments to ‘Old Fritz’s’ flute solos. The royal amateur’s accomplishments were of doubtful merit, but Bach stood the strain for twenty-seven years, at the end of which the king abandoned the flute for the sword, and Bach abandoned the king to finish his days in Hamburg as director of church music. But church music was not his _métier_. His cantatas were ‘pot-boilers.’ Emanuel was made of different stuff from his father. He fitted into his time--a polished courtier, more witty than pious, more suave than sincere, more brilliant than deep, but of solid musicianship none the less--the technician _par excellence_, both as composer and executant, a clean-cut formalist, a thorough harmonist ‘crammed full of racy novelty,’ though not free from pedantry, and preferring always the _galant_ style of the period. The ‘polite’ instrument, the harpsichord, was essentially his. The ‘Essay on the True Manner of Playing the Clavier,’ which he wrote in Berlin, is still of value to-day. His technique was, no doubt, derived from that of his father, but he introduced a still more advanced method of fingering.

His great importance to history, however, lies in his instrumental compositions, comprising no less than two hundred and ten solo pieces--piano sonatas, rondos, concertos, trio-sonatas of the conventional type (two violins and bass), six string quartets and the symphonies printed in 1780. These works exercised a dual force. While yielding to the taste of the time, they held the balance to the side of greater harmonic richness and artistic propriety; on the other hand, they played an important part in the further development of the prevailing forms to a point where they could become ‘free enough and practical enough to deal with the deep emotions.’ ‘As yet people looked on the art as a refined sort of amusement. Not until Beethoven had written his music did its possibilities as a vehicle for deep human feeling and experience become evident.’[26] By following fashion Bach became its leader, and so exercised a widespread influence over his contemporaries and immediate followers. For a few years, says Mr. W. H. Hadow, the fate of music depended upon Emanuel Bach; Mozart himself, though directly influenced by him only in later life, called him ‘the father of us all.’

Bach may hardly be said to have originated the modern ‘pianistic’ style--the free, brilliant manner of writing particularly adapted to the requirements of the instrument. Couperin and the astonishing Domenico Scarlatti were before him. Naturally the instrument which he used was not nearly so resonant or sonorous as the piano of our day; an instrument the strings of which were plucked by quills attached to the key lever, not hit by hammers as the strings of our piano, was, of course, devoid of all sustaining power. This fact accounts for the infinite number of ornaments, trills, mordents, grace notes, bewildering in their variety, with which Bach’s sonatas are replete. Despite the technical reason for their existence we cannot forego the obvious analogy between them and the rococo style prevalent in the architecture and decorations of the period. Emanuel Bach’s music was as fashionable as that style, and his popularity outlasted it. Strange as it may seem, ‘Bach,’ in the eighteenth century and beyond, always meant ‘Emanuel’!

Quite a different sort of man was Emanuel’s elder brother, Wilhelm Friedemann Bach, the favorite son of his father and thought to be the most gifted, too. But the definition of genius as ‘an infinite capacity for taking pains’ would not fit his gifts. Wilhelm preferred a good time to concentrated labor, hence his name is not writ large in history. Yet his work, mostly preserved only in manuscript--concertos, suites, sonatas and fantasias--shows more real individuality, more _Innigkeit_ and, at times, real passion than does his brother’s. And, moreover, something that could never happen to his brother’s works happened to one of his. It was ascribed to his father and was so published in the Bach Society’s edition of Sebastian’s works. In the examples of his work, resurrected by the indefatigable Dr. Riemann, we are often surprised by harmonic vagaries and rhythmic ingenuities that recall strongly the older Bach; the impassioned fancy of that polyphonic giant finds often a faint echo in the rhapsodic wanderings of his eldest son.

Friedemann Bach’s life was, like his work, rambling, irregular. Born in 1710, he was organist in Dresden from 1733 to 1747; then at Halle, in the church that was Handel’s drilling ground under old Zachau. His extravagances cost him this post and perhaps many another, for he roved restlessly over Germany for the rest of his life until, a broken-down genius of seventy-four, he ended his career in Berlin in 1784.

In sharp contrast to the career of the oldest son of Bach stands that of the youngest, Johann Christian (born 1734, in Leipzig), chiefly renowned as an opera composer of the Italian school. He has been called the ‘Milanese Bach,’ because from 1754 to 1762 he made that Italian city his home and there wrote operas, and became a Catholic to qualify as the organist of Milan Cathedral; and the ‘London Bach’ because there he spent the remaining twenty years of his life, a most useful and honorable career. His first London venture was in opera, too, but his historic importance does not lie in that field. Symphonies (including one for two orchestras), concertos for piano and various other instruments, quintets, quartets, trios, sonatas for violin, and numerous piano pieces which did much to popularize the new instrument, are his real monuments. Trained at first by his brother Emanuel, he was bound to follow the polite, elegant style of the period, and more so perhaps because of his Italian experience. For that reason his value has been greatly underestimated. But he is, nevertheless, an important factor in the stylistic reform that prepared the way for the great classics, and the upbuilding of German instrumental music. Of his influence upon Mozart and Haydn we shall have more to say anon. That influence was, of course, largely Italian, for Bach followed the Italian pattern in his sonatas. It was he that passed on to Mozart the _singing allegro_ which he had brought with him from Italy, and so he may be considered in a measure the communicator of Pergolesi’s genius.

As the centre of London musical life Christian Bach exercised a tremendous influence in the formation of popular taste.[27] The subscription concerts which he and another German, Carl Friedrich Abel (1725-1787), instituted in 1764, were to London what the _Concerts spirituels_ were to Paris. Not only symphonies, but cantatas and chamber works of every description were here performed in the manner of our public concerts of to-day, and the higher forms of music were thus placed for the first time within the reach of a great number of people. After 1775 these concerts took place in the famous Hanover Square Rooms and were continued until 1782. In the following year another series, known as the ‘Professional Concerts,’ was begun and since that time the English capital has had an unbroken succession of symphonic concerts.

IV

The writer of musical history is confronted at every point with the problem of classification. The men whom we have discussed can, though united by ties of nationality and even family, hardly be considered as of one school. We have taken them as the representatives of the North German musical art; yet, as we were obliged to state, Southern influence affected nearly all of them. Similarly, we should find in analyzing the music of the Viennese that a more or less rugged Germanism had entered into it. J. J. Fux (1660-1741), the pioneer of the ‘Viennese school’; Georg Reutter, father and son (1656-1738, and 1708-1772); F. L. Gassmann (1723-1774); Johann Georg Albrechtsberger (1736-1809); Leopold Hoffman (1730-1772); Georg Christoph Wagenseil (1715-1777); and Carl Ditters von Dittersdorf (1739-1799), who, with others, are usually reckoned as of that school, are all examples of this Germanism. Indeed, these men assume a historic importance only in the degree to which they absorb the advancing reforms of their northern _confrères_. All of them are indebted for what merit they possess to the great school of stylistic reformers who, about the year 1750, gathered in the beautiful Rhenish city of Mannheim, and whose leader, Johann Stamitz, was, until recently, unknown to historians except as an executive musician. His reappearance has cleared up many an unexplained phenomenon, and for the first time has placed the entire question of the origins of the Classic, or Viennese, style, the style of Haydn, Mozart, and Beethoven, in its proper light. Much of the merit ascribed to Emanuel Bach, for instance, in connection with the sonata, and to Haydn in connection with the symphony belongs rightfully to Stamitz. We may now safely consider the Viennese school, like that of Paris, as an offshoot of the Mannheim school and shall, therefore, discuss both as subsidiary to it.

The Mannheim reform brought into instrumental music, as we have said, one essentially new idea--the idea of contrast. Contrast is one of the two fundamental principles of musical form; the other is reiteration. Reiteration in its various forms--imitation, transposition, and repetition--is a familiar element in every musical composition. The ‘germination’ of musical ideas, the logical development of such ideas, or motives--into phrases, sentences, sections, and movements, is in practice only a broadening of that principle. All the forms which we have discussed--the aria, the canzona, the toccata, the fugue, and the sonata--owe their being to various methods of applying it. Contrast, the other leading element of form, may be applied technically in several different ways, of which only two interest us here--contrast of _key_ and dynamic contrast. Contrast of key is the chief requisite in the most highly organized forms, such as the fugue and the sonata, and as such had been consciously employed for practically two hundred years. But dynamic contrast--the change from loud to soft, and _vice versa_, especially gradual change, which, moreover, carries with it the broader idea of varying expression, contrast of _mood_ and _spirit_, never entered into instrumental music until the advent of Johann Stamitz. It is this duality of expression that distinguishes the new from the old; this is the outstanding feature of Classic music over all that preceded it.

Johann Stamitz was born in Deutsch-Brod, Bohemia, in 1717, and died at Mannheim in 1757. In the course of his forty years he revolutionized instrumental practice and laid the foundations of modern orchestral technique, created a new style of composition, which enabled Mozart and Beethoven to give adequate expression to their genius; and originated a method of writing which resulted in the abolition of the Figured Bass. When, in 1742, Charles VII had himself crowned emperor in Frankfort, Stamitz first aroused the attention of the assembled nobility as a violin virtuoso. The Prince Elector of the Palatinate, Karl Theodor, at once engaged him as court musician. In 1745 he made him his concert master and musical director. Within a year or two, Stamitz made the court band into the best orchestra of Europe. Burney, Leopold Mozart, and others who have left their judgment of it convince us that it was as good as an orchestra could be with the limitations imposed by the still imperfect intonation of certain instruments. It was, at any rate, the first orchestra on a modern footing, whose members were artists, bent upon artistic interpretation. It is curious to read Leopold Mozart’s expression of surprise at finding them ‘honest, decent people, not given to drink, gambling, and roistering,’ but such was the reputation musicians as a class enjoyed in those days.[28]

We may recall how Jommelli introduced the ‘orchestral crescendo’ in the Strassburg opera. That he emulated the Mannheim orchestra rather than set an example for it seems unquestionable; for Stamitz had already been at his work ten years when Jommelli arrived. The gradual change from _piano_ to _forte_, and the sudden change in either direction to indicate a change of mood, not only within single movements, but _within phrases and even themes_, was bound to lead to important consequences. While fiercely opposed by the pedants among German musicians, the practice found quick acceptance in the large centres where Stamitz’s famous Opus 1 was performed. These Six Sonatas (or Symphonies), ‘_ou à trois ou avec toutes (sic) l’orchestre_,’ were brought out in 1751 at the _Concerts spirituels_ under Le Gros.[29] Stamitz’s ‘Sonatas’ were performed with drums, trumpets, and horns. Another symphony with horns and oboes, and another with horns and clarinets (a rare novelty), were brought out in the winter of 1754-55, with Stamitz himself as conductor. These ‘symphonies’ were, as a matter of fact, trio-sonatas in the conventional form--two violins and Figured Bass--such as had been produced in great number since the time of Pergolesi. But there was a difference. The Figured Bass was a fully participating third part, not depending upon the usual harpsichord interpretation of the harmony. The compositions were, in fact, true string trios. But they were written for (optional) orchestral execution, and when so performed the added wind instruments supplied the harmonic ‘filling.’ This means, then, the application of the classic sonata form to orchestral music, and virtually the creation of the symphony.[30]

While not, by a long way, parallel with the symphonies of Haydn, Mozart, and Beethoven, these works of Stamitz are, nevertheless, true symphonies in a classic style, orchestral compositions in sonata form. They have the essential first-movement construction, they are free from the fugato style of the earlier orchestral pieces, and, instead of the indefinite rambling of passage work, they present the clear thematic phraseology, the germination of ideas, characteristic of the form. Their sincere phraseology, says Riemann, ‘their boldness of conception, and the masterly thematic development which became an example in the period that followed ... give Stamitz’s works lasting value. Haydn and Mozart rest absolutely upon his shoulders.’[31]

Following Stamitz’s first efforts there appeared in print a veritable flood of similar works, known in France as _Simphonies d’Allemagne_, most of them by direct pupils of Stamitz, by F. X. Richter, his associate in Mannheim, by Wagenseil, Toeschi, Holtzbauer, Filtz, and Cannabich, his successor at the Mannheim _Pult_. Stamitz’s own work comprises ten orchestral trios, fifty symphonies, violin concertos, violin solo and violin-piano sonatas, a fair amount for so short a career. That for a long time this highly interesting figure disappeared from the annals of musical history is only less remarkable than the eclipse of Bach’s fame for seventy-five years after his death, though in Stamitz’s case it was hardly because of slow recognition, for already Burney had characterized him as a great genius. Arteaga in 1785 called him ‘the Rubens among composers’ and Gerbert (1792) said that ‘his divine talent placed him far above his contemporaries.’

V

From these contemporaries we shall select only a few as essential links in the chain of development. Three men stand out as intermediaries between Stamitz and the Haydn-Mozart epoch: Johann Schobert, chiefly in the field of piano music; Luigi Boccherini, especially for stringed chamber-music; and Carl Ditters von Dittersdorf, for the symphony. These signalize the ‘cosmopolization’ of the new art; representing, as it were, its French, Italian, and South German outposts.

Schobert is especially important because of the influence which he and his colleague Eckard exercised upon Mozart at a very early age.[32] These two men were the two favorite pianists of Paris _salons_ about the middle of the century. Chamber music with piano obbligato found in Schobert one of its first exponents. A composer of agreeable originality, solid in musicianship, and an unequivocal follower of the Mannheim school, he must be reckoned as a valiant supporter of the German sonata as opposed to its lighter Italian sister, though French characteristics are not by any means lacking in his work.

As one in whom these characteristics predominate we should mention François Joseph Gossec, familiar to us as the writer of _opéras comiques_, but also important as a composer of trio-sonatas (of the usual kind), some for orchestral performance (like those of Stamitz, _ad lib._), and several real symphonies, all of which are clearly influenced in manner by Stamitz and the Mannheimers. Gossec was, in a way, the centre of Paris musical life, for he conducted successively the private concerts given under the patronage of La Pouplinière, those of Prince Conti in Chantilly, the _Concert des amateurs_, which he founded in 1770, and, eventually, the _Concerts spirituels_, reorganized by him. The _Mercure de France_, in an article on Rameau’s _Castor et Pollux_, calls Gossec France’s representative musician among the pioneers of the new style. Contrasting his work with Rameau’s the critic refers to the latter as being _d’une teneur_ (of one tenor), while Gossec’s is full of _nuance_ and contrast. This slight digression will dispose of the ‘Paris school’ for the present; we shall now proceed to the chief _Italian_ representative of Mannheim principles.

In placing Boccherini before Haydn in our account of the string quartet we may lay ourselves open to criticism, for Haydn is universally considered the originator of that form. But, as in almost every case, the fixing of a new form cannot be ascribed to the efforts of a single man. Although Haydn’s priority seems established, Boccherini may more aptly be taken as the starting point, for, while Haydn represents a more advanced state of development, Boccherini at the outset displays a far more finished routine.

In principle, the string quartet has existed since the sixteenth century, when madrigals[33] and _frottole_ written in vocal polyphony and for vocal execution were adapted to instruments. The greater part of the polyphonic works of the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries was written in four parts, and so were the German _lieder_, French _chansons_, and Italian _canzonette_, as well as the dance pieces of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. In instrumental music four-part writing has never been superseded, despite the quondam preference for many voices, and the one hundred and fifty years’ reign of Figured Bass. But a strictly four-part execution was adhered to less and less, as orchestral scoring came more and more into vogue for suite and sonata. Hence the string quartet, when it reappeared, was as much of a novelty in its way as the accompanied solo song seemed to be in 1600. _Quartetti_, _sonate a quattro_ and _sinfonie a quattro_ are, indeed, common titles in the early seventeenth century, but their character is distinctly different from our chamber music; they are _orchestral_, depending on harmonic thickening and massed chordal effects, while the peculiar charm of the string quartet depends on purity and integrity of line in every part, and while, at the same time, each part is at all times necessary to the harmonic texture. Thus the string quartet represents a more perfect fusion of the polyphonic and harmonic ideals than any other type. The exact point of division between ‘orchestral’ and true quartets cannot, of course, be determined, though the distinction becomes evident in works of Stamitz and Gossec, when, in one opus, we find trios or quartets, some of which are expressly determined for orchestral treatment while others are not.

It is Stamitz’s reform again which ‘loosened the tongue of subjective expression,’ and, by turning away from fugal treatment, prepared the way for the true string quartet. Boccherini’s first quartets are still in reality symphonies; and in Haydn’s early works, too, the distinction between the two is not clear. Boccherini’s, however, are so surprisingly full of new forms of figuration, so sophisticated in dynamic nuances, and so strikingly modern in style that, without the previous appearance of Stamitz, Boccherini would have to be considered a true pioneer.

Luigi Boccherini was born in 1743 in Lucca. After appearing in Paris as ‘cellist he was made court virtuoso to Luiz, infanta of Spain, and accordingly he settled in Madrid. Frederick William II of Prussia acknowledged the dedication of a work by conferring the title of court composer on Boccherini, who then continued to write much for the king and was rewarded generously, like Haydn and Mozart after him. The death of his royal patron in 1797 and the loss of his Spanish post reduced the composer to poverty at an old age (he died 1805). He has to his credit no less than 91 string quartets, 125 string quintets, 54 string trios and a host of other works, including twenty symphonies, also cantatas and oratorios. To-day he is neglected, perhaps unjustly, but in this he shares the fate of all the musicians of his period who abandoned themselves to the lighter, more elegant _genre_ of composition.

The relation of Carl Ditters von Dittersdorf to the Mannheim school is, in the symphonic field, relatively the same as that of Schobert in regard to the piano, and Boccherini in connection with the string quartet. Again we must guard against the criticism of detracting from the glory of Haydn. Both Haydn and Dittersdorf were pioneers in developing the symphony according to the Mannheim principles, but, of course, Haydn in his later works represents a more advanced stage, and will, therefore, more properly receive full treatment in the next chapter. Ditters probably composed his first orchestral works between 1761 and 1765, while kapellmeister to the bishop of Grosswardein in Hungary, where he succeeded Michael Haydn (of whom presently). Though Joseph Haydn’s first symphony (in D-major) had already appeared in 1759, it had as yet none of the ear-marks of the new style.

Ditters was doubtless more broadly educated than most musicians of his time,[34] and probably in touch with the latest developments, a fact borne out by his works, which, however, show no material advance over his models.

These works include, notably, twelve orchestral symphonies on Ovid’s _Metamorphoses_, besides about one hundred others and innumerable pieces of chamber music, many of the lighter social _genre_, and several oratorios, masses, and cantatas. His comic operas have a special significance and will be mentioned in another connection. Ditters was more fortunate in honors than material gain. Both the order of the Golden Spur, which seems to have been a coveted badge of greatness, and the patent of nobility came to him; but after the death of his last patron, the prince bishop of Breslau, he was forced to seek the shelter of a friendly roof, the country estate of Ignaz von Stillfried in Bohemia, where he died in 1799.

His Vienna colleague, Georg Christian Wagenseil,[35] we may dismiss with a few words, for, though one of the most fashionable composers of his time, his compositions have hardly any historic interest--they lack real individuality. But he was in the line of development under the Mannheim influence, and he did for the piano concerto what Schobert did for the sonata--applied to it the newly crystallized sonata form. His concertos were much in vogue; little Mozart had them in his prodigy’s repertoire--and no doubt they left at least a trace of their influence on his wonderfully absorbent mind. Wagenseil enjoyed a favored existence at court as teacher of the Empress Maria Theresa and the imperial princesses, with the rank of imperial court composer. The Latin titles on his publications seem to reflect his somewhat pompous personality. Pieces in various forms for keyboard predominate, but the usual quota of string music, church music, and some symphonies are in evidence. His sixteen operas are a mere trifle in comparison with the productivity of the period.

* * * * *

Before closing our review of the minor men of the period which had its climax in the practically simultaneous appearance of Haydn and Mozart, we must take at least passing notice of two men, the brother of one and the father of the other, who, by virtue of this close connection, could not fail to exercise a very direct influence upon their greater relatives. By a peculiar coincidence these two had one identical scene of action--the archiepiscopal court of Salzburg, that Alpine fastness hemmed in by the mountains of Tyrol, Styria, and Bohemia. Hither Leopold Mozart had come from Augsburg, where he was born in 1719, to study law at the university; but he soon entered the employ of the Count of Thurn, canon of the cathedral, as secretary, and subsequently that of the prince archbishop as court musician, and here he ended his days at the same court but under another master of a far different sort. Johann Michael Haydn became his confrère, or rather his superior, in 1762, having secured the place of archiepiscopal _kapellmeister_, left vacant by the death of the venerable Eberlin. Before this he had held a similar but less important post at Grosswardein (Hungary) as predecessor to Ditters, and, like his slightly older brother Joseph, had begun his career as chorister in St. Stephen’s in Vienna.

Salzburg had always been one of the foremost cities of Europe in its patronage of musical art. Not only the reigning prelates, but people of every station cultivated it. At this time it held many musicians of talent; and its court concerts as well as the elaborate musical services at the cathedral and the abbey of St. Peter’s, the oratorios and the occasional performances under university auspices contributed to the creation of a real musical atmosphere. The old Archbishop Sigismund, whose death came only too soon, must, in spite of the elder Mozart’s misgivings on the subject, have been a liberal, appreciative patron, for the interminable leaves of absence, for artistic and commercial purposes, required by both father and son were sufficient to try the patience of anyone less understanding. Leopold’s chief merit to the world was the education of his son, for the sake of which he is said to have sacrificed all other opportunities as pedagogue. His talents in that direction were considerable, as his pioneer ‘Violin method’ (1756) attests. It experienced several editions, also in translations, some even posthumous. His compositions, through the agency of which his great son first received the influence of Mannheim, were copious but of mediocre value. Nevertheless, their formal correctness and sound musicianship were most salutary examples for the emulation of young Wolfgang. Leopold had the good sense to abandon composition as soon as he became aware of his son’s genius and to bend every effort to its development. The elder Mozart received the title of court composer and the post of _vice-kapellmeister_ under Michael Haydn, when the latter came to Salzburg.

Michael Haydn’s career in Salzburg was a most honorable one. It placed him in a state of dignity which, though eminently gratifying, was less calculated to rouse inspiration and ambition than the stormier career of his greater brother. Notwithstanding this fact, he has left something like twenty-eight masses, two requiems, 114 graduals, 66 offertories, and much other miscellaneous church music; songs, choruses (the earliest four-part _a capella_ songs for men’s voices); thirty symphonies (not to be compared in value to his brother’s), and numerous smaller instrumental pieces! But a peculiar form of modesty which made him averse to seeing his works in print confined his influence largely to local limits. It is a most fortunate fact that within these limits it fell upon so fertile a ground. For young Mozart was most keen in his observation of Haydn’s work, appreciated its value and received the first of those valuable lessons that the greater Joseph taught him in this roundabout fashion.

C. S.

FOOTNOTES:

[22] History of German Literature (1907).

[23] ‘The Emperor Joseph, who objected to Haydn’s “tricks and nonsense,” requested Dittersdorf in 1786 to draw a parallel between Haydn’s and Mozart’s chamber music. Dittersdorf answered by requesting the Emperor in his turn to draw a parallel between Klopstock and Gellert; whereupon Joseph replied that both were great poets, but that Klopstock must be read repeatedly in order to understand his beauties, whereas Gellert’s beauties lay plainly exposed to the first glance. Dittersdorf’s analogy of Mozart with Klopstock, Haydn with Gellert (!), was readily accepted by the Emperor.’ Cf. Otto Jahn: ‘Life of Mozart,’ Vol. III.

[24] Johann Friedrich Fasch (1688-1758) was, according to Riemann, the first to introduce this contrast. He was one of the most interesting of the minor composers of Bach’s time. Cf. Riemann’s _Collegium Musicum_, No. 10.

[25] His compositions were chiefly for that instrument, and he achieved lasting merit with his _Anweisung die Flöte traversière zu spielen_ (1752). He was born in 1697 and died in 1773.

[26] Surette and Mason: ‘The Appreciation of Music.’

[27] He was music master to the queen and in a way entered upon the heritage of Handel.

[28] For further details concerning the Mannheim orchestra we refer the reader to Vol. VIII, Chap. II.

[29] The _Concerts spirituels_, founded in 1725 by Philidor, were so called because they were held on church holidays, when theatres were closed. Mouret, Thuret, Royer, Mendonville, d’Auvergne, Gaviniès, and Le Gros succeeded Philidor in conducting them till the revolution in 1791 brought them to an end. Another series of concerts, though private, is important for us here, because of its early acceptance of Mannheim principles. This was inaugurated by a wealthy land owner, La Pouplinière, who had been an enthusiastic protector of Rameau. ‘It was he,’ said Gossec, ‘who first introduced the use of horns at his concerts, _following the counsel of the celebrated Johann Stamitz_.’ This was about 1748, and in 1754 Stamitz himself visited the orchestra, after which Gossec became its conductor and developed the new style.

[30] Riemann cites Scheibe in the _Kritische Musikus_ to the effect that symphonies with drums and trumpets (or horns) were already common in 1754, but we may safely assume that they were not symphonies in our sense--orchestral sonatas--for it must be recalled that the word _Sinfonia_ was applied to pieces of various kinds, from a note-against-note canzona (seventeenth century) to interludes in operas, oratorios, etc., and more especially to the Italian operatic overture as distinguished from the French. The German dance-suite, too, from 1650 on, had a first movement called _Sinfonia_, which was superseded by the overture (in the French style) soon after. In the early eighteenth century the prevailing orchestral piece was an _overture_, usually modelled after the Italian Sinfonia. Not this, indeed, but the chamber-sonata was the real forerunner of the symphony, as our text has just shown.

[31] _Handbuch der Musikgeschichte_, II². We are indebted to Riemann for this entire question of Stamitz, whose findings are the result of very recent researches.

[32] The first four piano concertos ascribed to Mozart in Koechel’s catalogue have now been proved to be merely studies based on Schobert’s sonatas. Cf. T. de Wyzewa et G. de St. Foix: _Un maître inconnu de Mozart_.

[33] The majority of madrigals were, however, written in five parts.

[34] This education he owed to the magnanimity of Prince Joseph of Hildburghausen, whom in his youth he attended as page. In 1761 the prince secured him a place in the Vienna court orchestra which he held till his engagement in Grosswardein.

[35] Born, Vienna, 1715; died there 1777.