Reception Analysis: Quartets, · Reception and Analysis: On the Brahms Quartets, Op. 51, Nos. 1 and 2 FRIEDHELM KRUMMACHER Brahms's major works are such a fixture in musical life

Reception and Analysis: On the Brahms Quartets,

Op. 51, Nos. 1 and 2

FRIEDHELM KRUMMACHER

Brahms's major works are such a fixture in musical life today that it seems self-evident that they are readily understood. It is not just a widely held modern-day view that nineteenth- century art music continues to speak to us as if detached from its own time. Rather, it is the consequence of an aesthetic attitude that is itself historic, inasmuch as it first arose in the nineteenth century.' This attitude accorded art

a status of timelessness, but not until it had stood the test of time. These two related ideas determine both the historical context for works and their subsequent reception.

Brahms's string quartets occupy a central place not only in his ceuvre but in the history of the genre as well. For a long time in the German quartet tradition, they were assigned a position between Beethoven and Schubert, on the one hand, and Reger and Schoenberg, on the other; only recently have the contributions of Mendelssohn and Schumann met with renewed interest. In other words, the quartets of Brahms were the only survivors from more than half a century of genre's history.2 The more their historical context fades, the easier it is to view them as isolated works that at best look back to or anticipate temporally distant speci- mens. Not only are the quartets of contempo-

19th-Century Music XVIII/1 (Summer 1994). O by The Regents of the University of California.

'Carl Dahlhaus, "Brahms und die Idee der Kammermusik," Brahms-Studien 1, ed. Constantin Floros (Hamburg, 1974), pp. 45-57; Dahlhaus, The Idea of Absolute Music, trans. Roger Lustig (Chicago, 1989), pp. 88-102; regarding the problems of reception, see Rezeptionsitsthetik und Rezeptionsgeschichte in der Musikwissenschaft, vol. III, ed. Hermann Danuser and Friedhelm Krummacher, Publikationen der Hochschule ffir Musik und Theater Hannover (Laaber, 1991); see my "Rezeptionsgeschichte als Problem der Musikwissenschaft," in Jahrbuch des Staatlichen Instituts fi?r Musikforschung Preuflischer Kulturbesitz 1979/80 (Berlin, 1981), pp. 154-70; Dahlhaus, Foundations of Music History, trans. J. B. Robinson (Cam- bridge, 1983), pp. 19ff. and 150ff.

2Ludwig Finscher, "Streichquartett," Musik in Geschichte und Gegenwart 12 (1965), esp. 1584-85; Wilhelm Altmann gives an idea of the repertoire in Handbuch fiir Streich- quartettspieler, vols. 1-4 (Berlin, 1928-31).

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FRIEDHELM KRUMMACHER The Brahms Quartets, Op. 51

raries such as Max Bruch, Robert Volkmann, or Felix Draeseke unknown, but our understanding of Brahms does not even extend to comparisons with the works of Tchaikovsky, Smetana, or Dvo ik.

To the extent that Brahms's works were as much representatives of a tradition as they were outstanding examples of it, they could also serve as technical models for much later music. Al- though as late as 1987 Allen Forte lamented the lack of adequate analyses,3 there has been no dearth of efforts to analyze these works. What these analyses have in common is their striking zeal in presenting motivic relationships based largely on intervallic substrata. Decisive were both the perception of these works as late links in the tradition and their ranking as the immediate models for new compositional ideas after 1900. Such presumptions consequently infused those analytic techniques derived from Schoenberg's concept of "developing variation." There were scarcely any inquiries into the relationship of these techniques to the genre's tradition or to the historical categories of analysis itself. The rule that an analysis should use historically appropriate categories, otherwise a matter of course for the historian, seems not to apply to the music of Brahms. This is an example of that historical aesthetic principle, according to which a work proves its artistic merit independent of its time. But however legitimate it may be to view works of stature from current perspectives, it would not be amiss to attempt to sketch the historical context at least in outline. At stake, then, is not only what can be achieved with analytic techniques from today's perspective. Granted, it is scarcely possible to reconstruct in detail where the history of the genre stood in Brahms's time, but it would not be superfluous to outline the historical context on the basis of contemporary sources. And the attempt could be useful as a heuristic yardstick for weighing, against other approaches, the potential for supplementary observations, although these must of course be

restricted to representative excerpts rather than complete analyses.

POSITIONS

The fundamental aesthetic precepts that shaped the understanding of nineteenth-century crit- ics and audiences postulated for each work not only distinctive novelty and individuality but also the expectation that it follow the traditions of its genre. The tension between these factors, which is not infrequently intimated by Brahms's own terse remarks, had as enduring an impact on public discourse as it did on subsequent scholarly literature.4 Discussions of the quartets in particular focused on them as at once unquestionably contemporary works and highly conscious continuations of a traditional genre. To be sure, the early reviews addressed primarily the obstacles to comprehension, thus-sometimes almost unintentionally- documenting the uncompromising modernity of the works. On the other hand, a few examples from the biographical and genre literature indicate how quickly the prevailing view became established that the quartets can be understood only in relation to their Classical models.

Max Kalbeck began his 1909 assessment of the quartets with the observation that they represent "as many perfect models of that genre which is for the musician the noblest branch of a purely autonomous absolute art."5 For not only could these works by Brahms be "compared with Mozart's Prussian Quartets, which he himself named as his models. They also bear comparison with Beethoven's three Razu- movsky Quartets, which Brahms admired as the highest and purest type of chamber music."

Even when Kalbeck aptly observes the "seem- ing self-evidence" or "the art of preparation" at the "highest level of development," his interest seems primarily devoted to paraphrasing

3Allen Forte, "Motivic Design and Structural Levels in the First Movement of Brahms's String Quartet in C Minor," in Brahms 2: Biographical, Documentary and Analytical Studies, ed. Michael Musgrave (Cambridge, 1987), pp. 165- 96, esp. 165.

4Compare the evidence cited in nn. 12-26; earlier works hardly affected by this division were Werner Czesla, Studien zum Finale in der Kammermusik von Johannes Brahms (Ph.D. diss., Rheinische Friedrich-Wilhelms University, 1968), and Arno Mitschka, Der Sonatensatz in den Werken von Johannes Brahms (Mainz, 1959; G-itersloh, 1961). sMax Kalbeck, Johannes Brahms, vol. II/2 (Berlin, 1909), pp. 440-41.

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the works as "soulscapes" (Seelengemillde) in which biographical incidents are conjoined with characterizations of what is expressed.6 Never- theless, the assumption behind the interpretation remains that the "principles of the form-- especially of sonata form-rest in the form itself." The discussion of the "new triumph of this form" is, however, not purely abstract, since "the composer is able to account for every note" and "in addition to its own meaning every particle of a movement has its higher relationship to the ideas that govern the whole."7 The characterizing paraphrase that seeks to enlist the reader's understanding is thus justified in the compositional structure, whose assumptions are established by the traditions of the genre: expressivity and construction condition one another within the historical context.

A comparable view characterizes the rather more popular biography by Florence May, in which the Quartets, op. 51, are described as "representative of contrasted sides of Brahms's individuality." It is precisely in his contributions to the genre that Haydn and Beethoven had "brought to ideal perfection" that Brahms's "mastery over his means" is augmented by the "extraordinary beauty of its structure"; and the "loving care by the master hand of the great musical architect, the artist builder," is confirmed in "the thoughts themselves and their development."8s Even Karl Geiringer still emphasized that Brahms "had now achieved an economy which refused to tolerate a single superfluous note, but at the same time he had perfected a method of integration that would give an entire work the appearance of having been cast from one mold." Nonetheless he did not hesitate to characterize a work's "mood," in which he also ascertained the "striving for unity." According to him, however, Brahms resembles Beethoven no less "in the strict discipline of [his] musical thought" than in his

"spiritual atmosphere."9 Ludwig Finscher focused still more sharply on the "deep and pro- found claim" of the quartet genre, which, after Beethoven and Schubert, Brahms, as "the conscious inheritor of a great tradition," was the first to fulfill. For his "relationship to the past" differs from that of his predecessors in "his historic consciousness of his own identity as a latecomer." The "dark and broken tone" of the Quartets, op. 51, however, is the result of "ex- treme constructive density and complexity." But Finscher identifies as a new accent "the principle of continuing, developing, and 'analytical' variation," which Brahms is the first "to realize systematically." In addition, he notes that this is the point where "Schoenberg picked up with his D-Minor Quartet."'0

Thus, it was not until later in the genre's tradition that the relationship between the works' expression and structure was expanded to include consideration of those effects result- ing from Schoenberg's procedures. Nonetheless, it is noteworthy that, particularly in the case of Brahms's chamber music, scholarship has devoted less attention to considering historical context. It is not merely respect for the unique quality of these works that explains why the conventional models of stylistic history, with their search for influences and dependencies, have not been applied to Brahms. No less relevant is the fact that the more quickly other contemporary works were displaced from historical memory the less appropriate any comparison became. May observed that string quartets seldom "survive their birth . .. unless they be destined to attain a long life."" There is scarcely another genre in which the standards set by the Classical masterpieces were so domi- neering that the victims of later selection included even those works that had sought seriously to engage with the established canon. For that very reason it is difficult to get an impression of those rival works against which Brahms aspired to prevail with his own quartets. Schol- arship was therefore more apt to make com-

6Ibid., pp. 440, 446-47, 446, 445; see also p. 449 on the third movement of op. 51, no. 2. 7Ibid., p. 441. 8Florence May, The Life of Johannes Brahms (London, 1948), II, 475-76.

9Karl Geiringer, Brahms: His Life and Work, rev. and en- larged, with a new app. of Brahms's letters (2nd edn. New York, 1947), pp. 231-33. '0Finscher, "Streichquartett," 1584-85. "May, Life of Brahms, p. 475.

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parisons with the better-known works of Beethoven or Schubert, which of course lay at such a temporal remove that it was difficult to establish any concrete relationships beyond those of general categories. To be sure, James Webster has convincingly shown how significant Brahms's study of Schubert was for his early works.12 But that does not address the question of which historical standards can appropri- ately be applied to Brahms. Although that stan- dard cannot at present be determined through comparison with contemporary compositions, it is all the more possible to seek it in the works' performance and reception history.

In the meantime, it has become customary to view Brahms's works from our own contemporary perspective. Apparently the historical distance is not great enough to require the re- construction of historically valid categories. For our store of harmonic, formal, and thematic analytical methodology is the product of late nineteenth-century thought, indebted to the body of teachings ranging from Adolf Bernhard Marx to Hugo Riemann, who were also the leading theorists of Brahms's own time. Our analytical methods are everywhere rooted in their thought, even where we are hardly aware of it. Only in order to understand earlier music, it would seem, is it necessary to free oneself of such categories. That, however, is to overlook the caesura that after 1910 served to unite the moderns and their avant-garde consequences. Of course, those consequences became operative in musicology only much later, but in re- cent decades our concept of Brahms has largely been shaped by observations derived from Arnold Schoenberg's analyses. In other words, the most influential representative of the moderns was able decisively to transform Brahms's image. Granted, this permitted entirely new insights that had necessarily been closed to older scholarship. But if, as a consequence, Brahms was made more contemporary, thereby offsetting the conception of him as a "classicist," it cannot be ignored that Schoenberg's special pleading was also intended

to cofifront criticism of his own works with historical connections that could serve to legitimate his new procedures. This apologia on his own behalf had fruitful consequences for Brahms's image as well. To pursue this point of view exclusively, however, runs the risk re- verting to a similarly one-sided teleology. In short, Brahms the Classical heir suddenly became Brahms the prophet, whose procedures Schoenberg was the first to recognize and develop. If scholarship takes seriously its claim to being a historical discipline, it must recognize the dangers of such an anachronistic way of thinking.

In the famous essay he wrote in 1933 and revised in 1947, Schoenberg wanted to free Brahms from the label "classicist" in order to prove his "progressivity."'3 With this intention, he was initially able in great measure to segregate the parameters of harmony, rhythm, and motivic material. Such methodical isolation in the face of their interdependent integration in the work, however, is scarcely possible if the intention is to analyze a work as a whole, which could not have been the case with Schoenberg. And yet the references in his text are evidence of the importance he gave to the connections between these elements. He cites the first theme of op. 51, no. 1, as an example of harmonic extension, its counterpart in op. 51, no. 2, for motivic as well as metrical rea- sons. Similarly, the first theme of Beethoven's op. 95 serves as a paradigm for both harmonic and motivic relationships, and if in that context he emphasizes "a genius's foresight" in Beethoven, he also cautions that this is hardly "'the' basic feature of the structure . .. perhaps its function is only that of a 'connective'."'4

When Schoenberg wrote this essay, he was not only composer of the D-Minor Quartet, op. 7; much more important, he was writing on the basis of his experiences with his dodecaphonic Third Quartet (1927). Accordingly, if the essay's goal of historical legitimation accorded priority

'2James Webster, "Schubert's Sonata Form and Brahms's First Maturity," this journal 2 (1978), 18-35, and 3 (1979), 52-71.

'3Arnold Schoenberg, "Brahms the Progressive," in Style and Idea: Selected Writings of Arnold Schoenberg, ed. Leonard Stein, trans. Leo Black (Berkeley and Los Angeles, 1984), pp. 398-441; on op. 51, see 402-03, 429-31, and 435. 14Schoenberg, "Brahms the Progressive," p. 423.

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to intervallic relationships, only an extremely one-sided interpretation could read it as an argument in favor of analysis concentrating entirely on intervallic substrata. According to Michael Musgrave, Schoenberg associated Brahms only once with the term "developing variation"-and then not in the crucial Brahms essay, and not with a quartet, but with the Cello Sonata, op. 38.15 In that analysis, intervallic relationships dominate to the extent that they can be taken as a "classic demonstration" of developing variation.16 But to suggest that Schoenberg advocated limiting analysis to intervallic relationships would be to underesti- mate his sense of compositional integration.

Neither the scope of Schoenberg's remarks nor the extensive literature on the concept of "developing variation" can be discussed here in detail.'7 Using Schoenberg's relevant formu- lations, including some heretofore unavailable, Reinhold Brinkmann was able to show that the term should be limited to "structural thematic components" and thus to "the technique of motivic development" in cases where "the changes in the parameters of register and dura- tion" are significant.18 Moreover, although not every variational procedure can be called "de-

veloping," "developing variation" in the strict sense leads to "motivic reformulation"; decisive for this by no means straightforward process, however, is "the concept of an unfolding form," whose objective is the form's conver- gence at climaxes of particular intensity. The attempt to apply the concept to an analysis of Brahms's works must, as Brinkmann has done, extend consideration of a "work's coherence" to include not only diastematic criteria but also rhythmic, metrical, harmonic, and even dynamic aspects.

This is similar to what Walter Frisch did when he discussed Schoenberg's reasoning by illustrating the latter's observations with selected examples, particularly from the Quar- tets, op. 51. Although he supplemented his analysis of the harmonic process in the first movement of op. 51, no. 1, with references to other "thematic, harmonic, and formal charac- teristics," he left open whether the limitation of Schoenberg's analysis of the Andante theme from op. 51, no. 2, to its intervallic content requires expansion.'9 Schoenberg himself countered the objection that "steps of a second or even fractions of a scale are present in every theme" by simply referring to the "enormous multitude of methods and principles of construction."20 But that means no more than that Schoenberg himself saw his attempt as only one among many, with no pretensions to en- compassing the entire compositional process.

It may be understandable that in an exami- nation of Schoenberg's orchestration of Brahms's Piano Quartet, op. 25, Klaus Velten largely concentrated his attention on analytic criteria that seem to have been authorized by the arranger himself.21 More convincing, how-

15Michael Musgrave, Schoenberg and Brahms: A Study of Schoenberg's Response to Brahms's Music as Revealed in His Didactic Writings and Selected Early Compositions (Ph.D. diss. King's College, 1980), pp. 121-23; Arnold Schoenberg, Fundamentals of Musical Composition, ed. Gerald Strang with the collaboration of Leonard Stein (Lon- don, 1967), pp. 61-62 (regarding ex. 61, pp. 79-81). 16Musgrave, Schoenberg and Brahms, p. 127, and "Schoenberg's Brahms," in Brahms Studies: Analytical and Historical Perspectives, ed. George S. Bozarth (Oxford, 1990), pp. 123-37, esp. 127. Schoenberg later repeatedly associated the term "developing variation" with references to Brahms, such as in "Criteria for the Evaluation of Mu- sic," in Style and Idea, p. 129, and further in "My Evolu- tion," pp. 80-81. I am indebted to Gero Ehlert for further references. '7Klaus Velten, "Das Prinzip der entwickelnden Variation bei Johannes Brahms und Arnold Schbnberg," Musik und Bildung 6 (1974), 547-55; Elmar Budde, "Schbnberg und Brahms," in Bericht iiber den 1. Kongrefl der Interna- tionalen Sch6nberg-Gesellschaft, ed. Rudolf Stephan (Vienna, 1978), pp. 20-24; Dahlhaus, "Was heift 'entwickelnde Variation'?" in Bericht iiber den 2. Kongrefl der Internationalen Sch6nberg-Gesellschaft, ed. Rudolf Stephan and Sigrid Wiesmann (Vienna, 1986), pp. 280-84. '8Reinhold Brinkmann, "Anhand von Reprisen," Brahms- Analysen: Referate der Kieler Tagung 1983, ed. Friedhelm Krummacher and Wolfram Steinbeck (Kassel, 1984), pp. 107-20, esp. 117-18.

'9Walter Frisch, Brahms and the Principle of Developing Variation (Berkeley and Los Angeles, 1984), p. 113; regarding op. 51, no. 2, see pp. 6-9; Frisch, "Brahms, Developing Variation, and the Schoenberg Critical Tradition," this journal 5 (1982), 215-32. 20Schoenberg, "Brahms the Progressive," p. 431. 21Klaus Velten, Sch6nbergs Instrumentationen Bachscher und Brahmsscher Werke als Dokumente seines Traditions- verstindnisses (Regensburg, 1976); see also Christian Mar- tin Schmidt, Verfahren der motivisch-thematischen Vermittlung in der Musik von Johannes Brahms dargestellt an der Klarinettensonate f-moll, op. 120, 1, vol. II, Ber- liner musikwissenschaftliche Arbeiten (Munich, 1971).

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ever, is a study by Arnold Whittall, in which references to the analytic criteria of Schoenberg and Schenker are supplemented by further observations on the formal structure of the last movements of op. 51.22 On the other hand, Rainer Wilke's dissertation, which subjected the first movement of op. 51, no. 2, to detailed scrutiny, is a prime example of the one- sidedness to which an exclusively intervallic analysis can lead; in his discussion of other points of view, Wilke says that the use of "con- cepts like expression or character" encroaches on a "subjective, interpretive domain."23 The restriction to sober facts, as if these were the only dependably scholarly ones, reduces the compositional process to a classifiable series of shapes and variants. Yet the question as to how such forms can assume various functions in changing contexts cannot even arise if the interpretation of their character is rejected as subjective and thus unscholarly.

Allen Forte took that approach still further in his analysis of the first movement of op. 51, no. 1, in which he differentiated among a series of the smallest intervallic particles, whose appearance in the course of the movement he sought-presumably objectively-to demonstrate.24 To be sure, there was also a complementary series of additional forms characterized by their rhythm. When both series with all their variants are combined reciprocally the result is as many combinations as, correspond- ingly, there are analytic interpretations for them. But there is a risk if this evidence is selected without regard for its functional context, something already apparent in its ordering. The interval F#-EL, for instance, can be equated not only with the transposed B-AL but

also with the inversion Ab-B; the broken Ab- major triad can also be read as a horizontalized Ab-major chord; and the segmentation of intervals can extend to the half steps that must be ubiquitous in this context, especially if this is taken to include even chromatic steps (F#-F).25 To conclude, finally, that the meaning of these two movements in C and A minor can be traced back to the basic intervals (C-EL, A-F-A-E), which point to the name of Clara Schumann and the motto "Frei, aber einsam," amounts to an involuntary relapse into Kalbeck's semantic perspective.26

At the heart of such analyses is the idea that as a "parameter" intervals can be separated not only from rhythm, harmony, and dynamics but also from the procedural unfolding of form. If examples are divorced from context without regard to their function, then the form becomes a schema at the disposal of the analyst. In the search for provable facts, the ideal of precise analysis betrays its debt to the spell of scien- tific reasoning. Analytical positivism is able to dispense with aesthetic and historical consid- erations. But it remains open to question how this model is appropriate to Brahms's time or to the composer's own point of view. More- over, it leaves aside the fact that scholarship concerned with music as art cannot avoid the effort of reflection if it is not to surrender its relationship with its subject. If, however, it is a matter not of definitive proof but rather only of various plausible arguments, all subject to the contest of critical discussion, then analysis must ascertain the appropriateness of its categories.

DOCUMENTS

It is not easy to determine analytic categories historically and aesthetically appropriate to the music of Brahms, either through the composer's own comments or in comparison with other compositions of the time. Brahms's remarks about the quartets do indicate how important he thought the genre's tradition, which cornm-

22Arnold Whittall, "Two of a Kind? Brahms's op. 51 Fina- les," in Brahms 2, pp. 145-64; see further Siegfried Kross, "Thematic Structure and Formal Processes in Brahms's Sonata Movements," in Brahms Studies, pp. 434-36. 23Rainer Wilke, Brahms, Reger, Schonberg: Streich- quartette: Motivisch-thematische Prozesse und formale Gestalt (Hamburg, 1980), pp. 33-50, esp. 45. 24Forte, "Motivic Design," p. 170, where the list of particles is given as a "Table of Motives"; likewise for "Some Prominent Rhythmic Motives," p. 172; cf. with the review by Michael Struck in Musikforschung 43 (1990), 72-74, esp. 74.

25Forte, "Motivic Design," pp. 179-80, 177, and 182. 26Ibid., p. 196; for the "motto" in the first theme of op. 51, no. 2, one would, like Kalbeck, draw on Brahms's name in order to account for the first note; see Kalbeck, Brahms, 11/2, 444.

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pelled him to work with intense concentration and, as a result, very slowly.27 But that Brahms used to speak matter-of-factly about "lasting music" (dauerhafte Musik) need not be an argument for limiting composition to no more than the combination of intervals.28 The genesis of the Quartets, op. 51, which has recently been summarized by Michael Musgrave and Robert Pascall, is tortuous enough even though it can only be scantily documented.29 The en- try in Brahms's own autograph works list reads: "(published fall 73/ [in pencil:] begun earlier/ for the 2nd time/written Tutzing/summer 1873)."o 30Thus, for Brahms himself it was important to establish that the works were begun earlier and yet had to be completely rewritten. The likely prehistory invites speculation but can only be illuminated with a few, albeit revealing, flashes. According to Kalbeck, Brahms confided in his childhood friend Alwin Cranz that before publishing op. 51 he "had already written more than twenty string quartets and several hundred songs." More revealing than this late report is the appended quotation: "Composing is not difficult, but it is incredibly difficult to drop the superfluous notes."31 The actual figure may be a playful exaggeration, but it is factually confirmed by a retrospective remark from a conversation in 1885, according to which Cranz wanted to "print everything that I would give him, sonatas, songs, trios, quartets." At the same time, he alluded not only to his "respect for printer's ink" but also to the "lists ... on which Schumann and Joachim wrote down those of my early works that I should publish." He added that the manuscripts were stored in Hamburg until "two or three years ago" but that "all that stuff has been burned. "32

The facts are clearer for one work because Schumann, in a letter to Breitkopf and Hdirtel of 3 November 1853, mentioned "a quartet for string instruments (op. 1)."33 Entirely in keeping with tradition, the published ceuvre was to have been begun with a string quartet, to which Brahms himself refers in a letter to Joachim, dated 17 October 1853, as "the quartet in B minor," whereas, in Joachim's response, it appears as the "op. VII quartet."34

Between the earliest evidence for quartets and the completion of op. 51 there are then exactly twenty years. Somewhere in the middle of this period the correspondence references become more concrete. When Joachim asked, on 26 December 1865, "Is your string quartet in C minor finished? ", Brahms anticipated completing the work, and his plan to have the pre- miere in his "hometown," Hamburg, is yet further proof of the importance of this composition. And yet in August 1867, Joachim had to complain: "[You] didn't send your quartets either," and a little later he again reminded him of the plan "to rent the hall for three quartet concerts."35 Whereas Joachim's letter to Clara Schumann of 4 November 1866 refers to "his two quartets," the specific reference to an "A- major one" suggests, as do other aspects, the Piano Quartets in G Minor and A Major, ops. 25 and 26 (1861).36 On the other hand, in August 1866 Clara Schumann notes in her diary: "Johannes played me a few magnificent movements from a German Requiem of his, as well as a string quartet in C minor.""37 The temporal proximity of the Requiem and the Quartet is significant here. The next reference in her diary is not until 10 June 1869, but as there is no

27Margit L. McCorkle, Johannes Brahms: Thematisch- bibliographisches Werkverzeichnis (Munich, 1984), pp. 208-09. 28Gustav Jenner, Johannes Brahms als Mensch, Lehrer und Kiinstler (Marburg, 1905), pp. 74 and 77; see Brinkmann, "Anhand von Reprisen," p. 116. 29Michael Musgrave and Robert Pascall, "The String Quar- tets Op. 51, No. 1 in C Minor and No. 2 in A Minor: A Preface," in Brahms 2, pp. 137-43. 30Alfred Orel, "Ein eigenhandiges Werkverzeichnis von Johannes Brahms," Die Musik 29 (1937), 529-41, esp. 538. 31Kalbeck, Brahms, 11/2, 439. 32Kalbeck, Brahms, I/1 (Berlin, 1908), pp. 132-33.

33Johannes Brahms im Briefwechsel mit Breitkopf & Hartel, Bartolf Senff, J. Rieter-Biedermann, C. F. Peters, E. W. Fritzsch und Robert Lienau, Johannes Brahms: Briefwechsel, vol. XIV, ed. Wilhelm Altmann (Berlin, 1920), pp. 1-2, n. 1. 34Johannes Brahms im Briefwechsel mit Joseph Joachim, vol. I, ed. Andreas Moser, Johannes Brahms: Briefwechsel, vol. V (Berlin, 1912), pp. 14-15. 35Johannes Brahms im Briefwechsel mit Joseph Joachim, vol. II, ed. Moser, Johannes Brahms: Briefwechsel, VI, 38 and 41. 36Briefe von und an Joseph Joachim, ed. Johannes Joachim and Andreas Moser, vol. II (Berlin, 1912), p. 402. 37Berthold Litzmann, Clara Schumann: Ein Kiinstlerleben, vol. III (Leipzig, 1910), p. 194.

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mention of a key, this may not refer to the same work. In any case, this reference is only to "two wonderful quartet movements, first and last movement, the latter especially successful, most inventive and full of spirit." The inner movements had presumably not yet been com- posed, but she remarks critically of the opening movement: "My own feelings lead me to wish a few things different in the first movement- perhaps he'll still change it since he himself doesn't seem to be entirely pleased with it."'38 Obviously, already during the work's genesis, Brahms's most intimate friends were discuss- ing the same difficulties that would later ac- company its reception.

During the time before completing the quartets, Brahms had to keep putting off Simrock, who had apparently shown interest in publishing them. During precisely this period, however, there are also several revealing remarks about the genre's tradition, which Brahms himself regarded as authoritative. Already in De- cember 1865, Joachim connected his question about the Quartet in C Minor with a reference to the "pocket edition of the Haydn quartets," which he had planned to give his friend for Christmas.39 Brahms wrote to Simrock on 24 June 1869: "Unfortunately I must continue to ask you to be patient," since the "life of a virtuoso" interferes with "the peace" required for precisely those "things that a virtuoso thinks about on the road." That thought, however, brought up another composer: "Mozart, incidentally, made a very special effort to write six beautiful quartets, so we must certainly exert ourselves a bit to make one or the other tolerable."40 The threefold retraction is characteristic: Mozart "made a special effort," so he must exert himself "a bit" to write not six works but rather "one or the other," attempting, moreover, not beautiful but merely tolerable quartets. But the added remark regarding the arrival of the Florentine Quartet that might play "new items for publication" for Simrock suggests the imminent completion of the work. Finally, how-

ever, a letter to Senff of 11 November 1870 mentions the "quartet by Schubert," by which Brahms probably meant the Quartettsatz in C Minor (D. 703), which he had recently stud- ied.41 So quartets by Haydn, Mozart, and Schubert are named, but the very absence of any reference to Beethoven is itself an indica- tion of humble respect for tradition. And for all the references in the letters to the publication of the op. 51 works and their dedication to Billroth, information as to their genesis and purpose remains sparse.

All told, provided one doesn't dismiss the congruence of key references in Brahms's works list as coincidental, the documents support the assumption that work on at least the final version of the C-Minor Quartet proceeded from an earlier draft. That is not true for the A-Minor Quartet, but the use of earlier material cannot be ruled out here either, inasmuch as the main theme of the first movement is taken to be a reference to the "frei, aber einsam" motto, whose use is mentioned at length by Kalbeck, although not by Brahms or Joachim.42 Further speculation is pointless because there are no sources, but it is important to remember that the genesis of both works long preceded the point of their completion. Their ambivalent position in Brahms's ceuvre corresponds to their uneven reception, which has been a continuing interchange between present-day and historical perspectives. As well as a lengthy genesis, the documents indicate Brahms's orientation toward the canon of the genre, operative in the works' economy and concentration, although, of course, only analysis could show the extent of that orientation.

But if work on the quartets goes back to the time of the German Requiem, the distanced skepticism with which Brahms reacted to Adolf Schubring's 1869 thesis regarding motivic connections in the Requiem must be borne in mind.

38Ibid., p. 229. 39Brahms im Briefwechsel mit Joachim, vol. II, 38. 40Johannes Brahms: Briefe an P. J. Simrock und Fritz Simrock, vol. I, Brahms: Briefwechsel, vol. IX (Berlin, 1917; rpt. Tutzing, 1974), p. 75.

41Brahms im Briefwechsel mit Breitkopf & Hartel, Brahms: Briefwechsel, XIV, 193. Regarding the printing and dedication, see Briefe an P. J. Simrock, IX, 148-49, 151-53; Billroth und Brahms im Briefwechsel, ed. Otto Gottlieb-Billroth (Berlin, 1935), pp. 199-200; Johannes Brahms und Fritz Simrock: Wege einer Freundschaft, ed. Kurt Stephenson (Hamburg, 1961), pp. 64-65. 42Kalbeck, Brahms, 11/2, 444.

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Brahms not only took issue with the idea of intentional connections, he also added self-critically that "even if it were so" he wanted "no praise for it but would instead admit that when working my ideas don't fly far enough, and thus unintentionally often return to the same source." And he cautioned further: "If I want to retain the same idea, then it should be clearly recognized in each transformation, augmenta- tion, inversion. The other way would be a trivial game and always a sign of the most impover- ished invention."43 Although not dismissing motivic relationships altogether, he stated that it would be a sign of weakness if they crept in unintentionally, for if they were intended they should be "clearly recognized" in every form. Leaving genre differences aside, Brahms's warn- ing also stakes out the limits of an analysis that is restricted to the technique of "developing variation."

The composer's remarks-terse as they are- still cannot be regarded as the final word for a binding interpretation of the works. They are not substantial enough to do justice to the compositional structure and its effectiveness, and, for all their authority, they leave open which further categories should be considered appropriate. For one thing, the validity the works continue to have to this day establishes the need to see them from today's perspective. On the other hand, the interpreter cannot dispense with historic categories without running the risk of anachronistic attitudes. Only a dialogue between the two poles would allow an exchange of viewpoints that would gradually reveal the works' potential. To the same degree that a historian can ill afford to ignore historical theories of composition for an understanding of older music, the search for applicable standards for Brahms's time is difficult. It is hardly profit- able to apply to Brahms theories of composition ranging from Marx to Riemann. Even though the stature of these books cannot be overestimated, it would be demanding too much

of them to ask that they do justice to Brahms's art. Granted, they refer not only to the norms of the craft but also to the assumptions of theoretical thinking operative at the time. And, in addition to the underlying principles of form and composition, those assumptions also include rules for motivic techniques, which were not restricted to intervallic relationships but also encompassed rhythmic and harmonic aspects.

The questions of historically appropriate criteria, which for now cannot easily be derived from comparisons with contemporary compositions, must remain open at least until an attempt has been made to draw on documentary sources of contemporary reception. In contrast to later reception history, which is bound up with Schoenberg's commentary, the contemporary reception of Brahms's works has been mentioned only sporadically. Despite Angelika Horstmann's 1986 monograph,44 which lacks extensive critical commentary, there have been very few efforts to apply such material to the factual content of the works. Granted, contemporary reviews do not prescribe norms that could still be considered binding today. But they can inform us about the habits, expecta- tions, and difficulties of listening with which the composer too had to deal. And it is precisely when they point to problems of comprehension that they provide insight into the views of the time, which can be a further resource for the interpreter.

The limited audience characteristic of chamber music is one factor in explaining that the more extensive references in the correspondence between Brahms and his friends are usually to large choral and orchestral works. Even the reactions to the performances of the Quartets, op. 51, were exceedingly terse; however, they also point to the difficulties these works encountered in the supraregional press. In a report from Vienna, the Signale fiir die musikalische Welt deemed the C-Minor Quar- tet no more than "a deeply serious composi-

43Johannes Brahms: Briefe an Joseph Viktor Widmann, Ellen und Ferdinand Vetter, Adolf Schubring, ed. Max Kalbeck, Brahms: Briefwechsel, vol. VIII (Berlin, 1915), p. 216 (letter of 16-17 February 1869), adapted from the trans. in Frisch, Brahms and Developing Variation, pp. 31-32.

44Angelika Horstmann, Untersuchungen zur Brahms- Rezeption der Jahre 1860-1880, vol. 24, Schriftenreihe zur Musik (Hamburg, 1986), pp. 98-111, 122-25, as well as references on 394-95.

32


tion which will receive its due appreciation only after repeated performance"; and in Ham- burg it was opined that the work's "first three movements were significant, its last weaker." Later, after a performance in Berlin, one could read that this quartet "once again contains much that is piquant, some things of interest, but very little that is really enjoyable," for which reason, played between works by Haydn and Beethoven, it "made a less than agreeable impression." The A-Minor Quartet did not fare much better. Because the "middle movements were more readily accessible," it was deemed that they encountered a "commensurately warmer reception," while it would take "even more performances" to evaluate the entire work.45 These few but thoroughly representative examples make it abundantly clear that these particular string quartets by no means met with immediate or unreserved acclaim. The impression of demands imposed on the listener's comprehension is very similar in the corresponding reviews in the Neue Zeitschrift fir Musik, the Musikalisches Wochenblatt, and the Neue Berliner Musikzeitung.46 Nor were the performance reports immediately supplemented with thorough reviews of the works, although the scores were available as of No- vember 18 73.

The picture does not change until three years later with the publication of the Bb-Major Quar- tet, op. 67. Hanslick's friendly if not entirely uncritical review, which he later included in his concert reviews from 1874, seems to be an exception. Here there is not only a mention of the "three string quartets (op. 51)" but, after reference to the Quartets in C and A Minor, particular emphasis on the "third string quartet by Brahms in Bb Major." Precisely this "work of consummate mastery" had the advantage of sounding "more cheerful, clearer, more human" even while presenting "the finest contrapuntal

and the most daring harmonic art." The C- Minor Quartet, by contrast, seemed "a work conceptually rich yet clear, inventive yet unforced," that in its first movement "master- fully" developed "a magnificently passionate theme," although the finale by comparison suf- fered "in its originality of invention and immediate effect." Still, "the passionate Allegro and whimsical Scherzo" stand out against the corresponding movements in the A-Minor Quar- tet, which for its part "surpassed its predeces- sor with the deep, peaceful melancholy of its Adagio and the rhythmic momentum of the finale."47 Hanslick's experienced observations- his judgement apart-describe not only the character of the movements but also the artfulness of the work, which is perceived to reside equally in the contrapuntal development technique and the harmonic and rhythmic structure.

By far the most detailed review, which for a long time would remain the most thorough analysis of the three quartets, was written by Hermann Deiters in July 1878 for the Allgemeine musikalische Zeitung, in a series of essays whose incisiveness is not easily matched even in today's music journals.48 A summary of its contents can hardly do justice to the wealth of information in this study, in which the works' stature is assumed from the start. But a few aspects should be emphasized that would have been representative of a knowl- edgeable contemporary and a member of Brahms's intimate circle. When Deiters at the outset speaks of "advances in the art" as a tradition "that has its roots in the real and not the misunderstood Beethoven," then the assumptions for that include "independent, clearly conceived, and firmly formed ... musical ideas," which are at the same time "capable of development." The tradition of Haydn posi- tively demands "that they be developed into larger structures." For the string quartet-according to the old topos-is not just a dialogue

45Signale ffir die musikalische Welt 32 (1874), 243 (from Vienna), 851 (from Berlin), 950. I am grateful to Selke Harten for further references. 46For instance, the concert criticism from Berlin in Neue Zeitschrift fiir Musik 70 (1874), 7, is restricted entirely to the performance without taking a position on op. 51, no. 2; see further Horstmann, Untersuchungen, pp. 102-03, 106-11.

47Eduard Hanslick, Concerte, Componisten und Virtuosen der letzten ffinfzehn Jahre: 1870-1885 (Berlin, 1896), pp. 115-17. 48Hermann Deiters (H. D.), "Streichquartette von Johannes Brahms," Allgemeine musikalische Zeitung 13 (1878), 433- 39, 449-53, 465-72; excerpts in Horstmann, Unter- suchungen, pp. 98-101, 103-05.

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musicI

"among four clever people" but, "to an even greater degree than the symphony, the pinnacle of pure instrumental music," because instead of "heightened effect through massed sound," the motivic material proves "its inherent rich- ness through elaborate complexity."'49

Granted, in his discussion of the C-Minor Quartet, Deiters makes use of descriptive paraphrase of the music's affect, but this is con- tinually complemented with references to the structure. After the outburst of "the main theme" has "sunk back" into itself, Deiters describes a "moment of helpless lament," this, however, in an "already contrapuntally developed countertheme." He does not actually mention the intervallic relationship to the subsid- iary theme, but does point to its modulatory episode as well as its "restless, apparently un- stable activity." The development then seems more than just "a skillful game, in short peri- ods, concurrent with strict parallelism of the sections"; as important as its "characteristic" transitions are the "very surprising and at times astringent modulations," in which the material is "again developed" and "combined with the other elements." Similarly, Deiters traces the "masterful detail" of the middle movements and praises the development of the finale for its function of bringing "the work to an appropriate and organically unified" close. Like Beethoven's quartets, it calls for "understanding the relationship of the parts to the whole" without "making it too easy" on the listener.50

This also holds true for the "quite different character" of the A-Minor Quartet, in which Brahms "with great mastery" allows the main key "to emerge only gradually through modulation." If "the bright C major" is only intro- duced with the second theme, its development through "changing rhythms" leads to a "motion that seems to dissolve," which is not "pulled together again in a short figure" until the end of the exposition. And in a similar manner, the thematic work of the development is described in constant relation to the harmonic and rhythmic development, in order

thereby to encompass the music's changing expressive content. In the same slow movement that Schoenberg used as a model for analysis, Deiters emphasizes "the intoxicatingly beautiful modulation" next to the "broad, deeply felt cantilena," while "the short segments of the melody" strike him "right up to the end like ever fresh echoes of the opening motive."5'

Although these examples must be curtailed here, they do reveal a few of the criteria so characteristic of the reactions of the time, which were scarcely negligible to the composer. First and foremost, the metaphoric paraphrase of expressive content had the didactic function of appealing to those listeners who had to be con- vinced of the stature of the work and encour- aged to closer inspection. But it is combined with constant reference to the structure of the music, which is limited to neither a description of the formal scheme nor the abstraction of the intervallic material. Rather, the changing course of the forms and characters can be revealed only when the thematic activity is perceived in the context of the rhythmic, harmonic, and dynamic dimensions of the compositional structure. Only the reciprocal integration of the various aspects of the composition leads to an understanding of the works, in whose aesthetic totality structure and expressive content condition one another.

PERSPECTIVES

In the slow movement of the A-Minor Quar- tet, Schoenberg emphasized above all the diastematic thematic structure, which is almost entirely constructed from steps of a second. But he also took into account the shifting relationship between metric accents and melodic phrasing and, as a result, contemplated changing the notated meter. It is unnecessary here to recapitulate these frequently cited observations, even if they are not entirely beyond question.5s2 The obvious objection that a strictly thematic analysis does not do justice to the movement as a whole can be countered by

49Regarding the historical premises of the genre, see Deiters, "Streichquartette," 433-35. SoRegarding op. 51, no. 1, ibid., 436-39.

5'Regarding op. 51, no. 2, ibid., 449-51. 52Schoenberg, "Brahms the Progressive," pp. 429-31 and 435.

34


pointing out that in this movement the theme plays an unusually central role. In the first section, it is repeated with variants (from m. 18 on) and assumes still greater dominance when it becomes the basis for the third section (from m. 77 on); only in the contrasting middle section does it recede (from m. 43 on). Still, even a contemporary observer could have noticed the conspicuously stepwise nature of the melodic material. And anyone following Riemann's metric theory might well have been moved to suggest shifting bar lines. But these factors were probably less important to Schoenberg than their function within the argument of his apologia. Concentrating on the composition as such, one could ask how it is possible to have a movement whose thematic material is constructed entirely from a succession of seconds. Thus, it is possible to turn the perspective around by asking how such a wealth of events could have been derived from such sparse material. Instead of puzzling out a diastematic

substrata, it is possible, by assuming the unity of the musical material, to investigate the wealth of transformations comprising the actual course of the movement. A first step might be to consider the intervallic and metrical structure, not in isolation but in conjunction with its harmonic and dynamic disposition.

Already when it first appears, that is, in the first five measures, which are distinguished by the utmost concision, the theme is a model of flexible shaping. While the second violin rests, the melodic line of the upper voice is accompa- nied by the lower voices in octaves. The result is a two-voice texture with the lower voice restricted to a steady eighth-note motion. This reference to traditional Romantic song texture is, nevertheless, constantly differentiated (ex. 1). In this skeletal texture, the A-major tonic- with the third in the low register of the melody-is supplemented in the accompaniment and at the same time shaded by alter- ation (m. 1, fourth eighth note, A#). That leads

Andante moderato

poco f

A express.

pocof :x -;e J .f I• J .t •J• , --IJI f --l-J r i

express, e legato pocof

express. e legato

~-4-

........... _.... . ---

I I

I. a I~FL ~

Example 1: Brahms, String Quartet in A Minor, op. 51, no. 2, movt. II.

35

19TH CENTURY

MUSIC

to the dominant in the second half of the measure, which is modified in its turn by a lowered ninth (sixth eighth note, F) in the lower voices. As result of repeating the last four eighths of the lower voices from m. 1 in the first half of m. 2, the first repetition of the pattern coin- cides with its altered position within the measure. The upper voice reacts accordingly with a first repetition of two notes, which, after an eighth-note rest, now serve as internal upbeats to the sequencing of the melodic core, which is at once a whole step higher and shifted by one- half measure. Schoenberg explained the leap of the fourth (m. 3 with upbeat) that opens the seam of the melodic sequence as an abstraction of the preceding stepwise descent of a fourth.53 Subsequent melodic elements are similarly col- ored by the accompanying lower voices, and their sequencing melodic shape is metrically differentiated (mm. 4-5). Precisely these shifting relationships would scarcely be perceptible if the bar lines were shifted in earnest-not just as a didactic exercise-to match the changing accents. Only against the backdrop of the steady meter articulated by the eighth-note accompaniment can the flexible relationship between the voices and melodic phrases be grasped.

The first time a cadence in a low register of the melodic voice introduces the secondary dominant (m. 5) is also the first time the lower voices diverge, thus intensifying the new shading into the diminished-seventh chord (D# against C). But this is also the very point at which the melodic voice introduces those wind- ing eighth-note triplets that add nuance to the subsequent rhythmic process. By the time this cadence is repeated in the upper voice (m. 6), at which point the texture has filled out with the entrance of the second violin, the cadential upbeat leap of a fourth has taken on its own melodic identity, which contrasts with the con- stricted stepwise motion. And in the final melodic notes of the last two measures (mm. 7-8), the complementary eighth-note movement in all voices achieves a homogeneity in which the distinction between melody and accompani-

ment is suspended. In this concluding phrase of the upper voice, there is a B#, whose "derivation," according to Schoenberg, could be "con- tested."54 On closer inspection, however, it appears to be a chromatic bridge, corresponding to analogous figures in the accompaniment as of m. 1. That also goes to show how the voices, so separate in the scaffolding texture in the beginning, have become closely linked by the end of this first developmental phase. The upbeat gestures, earlier reserved for the melodic line, however, now give rise to a variant in the succession of three upbeat eighths (for the first time a succession of thirds rather than seconds), which are first presented by the cello (m. 9 with upbeat).

In retrospect, the first eight measures com- prise a process in which meter and phrasing provide the regulating background at the same time that their normalizing tendencies are being undermined. The "developing variation"- to retain the term-presents a multilayered process that is not restricted to the intervallic dimension. Rather, harmonic nuance, the relationship between the voices, the intensification of sound, and rhythmic differentiation are as important as the melody. And only the sum of the parts can explain how such sparse material can result in a process so abundant. The same holds true for the following sections of the first part and for the movement as a whole, as a few remarks will show.

The subsequent measures (mm. 9-17) continue and vary the process in a constantly changing interrelationship of parameters (ex. 2). With the cadential leap of a fifth in the bass register (m. 9), the upper voices continue the pattern of an eighth rest followed by three upbeat eighths, although only the violins have seconds. With the cadence in F# minor comes the reappear- ance of the dotted quarters with eighths, which are derived from the theme incipit (m. 10). The next two-measure unit, which leads back to E major, is similarly constructed (mm. 11-12). The middle voices thereupon develop an accompanimental figure of widely arpeggiated complementary eighth notes (mm. 13-14, 15-

53Ibid., p. 431. For all that, Kalbeck still saw an inversion of the first intervals of the theme in the upbeat eighth in m. 9; see Kalbeck, Brahms, 11/2, 446. 54Schoenberg, "Brahms the Progressive," p. 431.

36


9

;P .4.• •: f---

... Y•c .... r., e f

t • I •i • ,

15 Sd" 0 I 1ce

ij q a J ILI F 1c

P/

dolce

........-rAs ,',• I " - •'"- " • - '- " '- I

dolce

IP so,:,,

01c F) 1e

lK F 1t w . . . WOW-

. . ..p p,.• , ... , , .. •_." I . . . U, - - ...T--r.., . :,! • I 1 V e . .. 1 :

.. . . . .

p

dolce


16), thereby expanding the initial accompanimental pattern. At the same time, the detached principal motive vacillates between the outer voices; however, it moves to its third note alternately by the interval of a second or third. After the harmonic differentiation of these two two-measure units, the return to the tonic in m. 17 serves as the pivot, and here the lower voices drop out for the first time. The melody in the upper voice is reduced to two half steps, and while the middle tone is expanded to become a syncopated half note, the accompaniment plays a chordal dominant on the third beat. It is in this reduction of sound and melody in combination with rhythmic hesitation that the return of the theme is prepared. With that return, however, which is given heightened intensity by being an octave higher, the accompaniment, now in all three lower voices, is defined, as in the movement's beginning, by steady eighth notes. But now they are cast as a succession of three eighths, thus alluding to the upbeat pattern that emerged from the first

phase (m. 8). Thus, the original melody is combined with the last stage of its earlier development, and the expressive intensification of the cantilena is legitimized as a structural concentration in which the beginning and goal of the first developmental phase meet.55

The varied continuation that follows (ex. 3, mm. 30ff.) is derived from the figure of three eighth notes functioning as upbeat to an appog- giatura on the first beat. This picks up on the conclusion of a section already identified as the intensified repetition of the thematic core with its extension. At its close (mm. 28-29), syncopated quarter notes had first appeared as filler in the middle voices, which also appear later at the close of the formal section (m. 34). At this

550ne might add a note about the further differentiation that the theme experiences after its repeated entrance; this includes redirection of the cadence to the tonic with melodic and rhythmic expansion in mm. 22-24 (compared to mm. 5-7), as well as harmonic shading (mm. 26-28) followed by melodic culmination (m. 28).

37

19TH CENTURY

MUSIC

34

A t4;s- - -

f

f . . ..,-,. ,, .,I

I

,Io .I

"I

IL

-- ,,#" • .I J 61J I , J

38

A 1 Tr

IR1 T


point, the thematic contour seems to pale as the section flows into the cadential coloring of the tonic (mm. 35-37). The rhythmic continuity of the steady eighth-note motion, however, is juxtaposed with another return of the detached main motive in the upper voice (mm. 38-42).

It is not possible to discuss here the development of the middle section, which for all its melodic, rhythmic, and harmonic differences continues to use the elemental building blocks of the first section. The tightly woven net of relationships becomes clear only when the me- diating transition to the return of the theme (mm. 70ff.) is derived from the contrasts. For its part, the closing section brings the structural articulation of the process to a sublime culmination through renewed variation; the effect of all these relationships can be identified throughout and into the closing measures of the movement, provided they are not reduced to the intervallic dimension but understood in their larger significance. An attempt to study

the music's inner diversity in this way would demonstrate the inadequacy of concentrating solely on intervallic relationships. If it is not merely coincidence that the movement moves gradually from a two- to a four-voice texture, then the unfolding of the other dimensions must likewise be based on careful planning. But such planning is obscured in analysis limited to diastematic forces, which are an unfounded analytic restriction to the extent that composition is not simply a matter of intervallic ordering. Moreover, it also becomes possible to show what Deiters sought to capture when he spoke of the broad "cantilena" and "intoxicatingly beautiful modulation," whereas "the short segments" at the close pointed to the coherence of the movement. Brief and awkward as they may seem, documents of reception history such as these nevertheless point to the complexity of a process that, if the analysis is to do justice to the aesthetic claim of the work and not just to a theoretical objective, cannot be evaluated by means of only one dimension.

38


The first movement of the A-Minor Quartet, whose thematic and formal organization are more clearly delineated, may at first seem more readily accessible. An analysis focusing on motivic relationships, however, would have to concede that as of the transition after the main theme (from m. 20 on) the connective element consists primarily of a rhythmic figure of three upbeat eighths that are themselves derived from the main theme (mm. 4 and 6 with upbeat). The secondary theme is likewise characterized less by its diastematic than its rhythmic structure, to the extent that the dotted values in the upper voice and the triplets in the viola refer back to the main theme (cf. m. 46 with mm. 3 and 5). The rhythmic continuity within dis- crete sections of the exposition may remind one of corresponding techniques in Schubert or Mendelssohn movements, although a comparison with such models would show the extent to which Brahms modified them with his technique of continual variation.56 That in itself is no argument for dating the work earlier, as is clear from a comparison with the main theme of the C-Minor Quartet, which a number of correspondence references suggest was probably written earlier. The fact that this movement is so particularly complicated, however, leads one to ask whether-assuming its early genesis-it was not subjected to a thorough revision before publication. That aside, it is indicative that, after adopting the traditional grouping of quartets in op. 51, Brahms then proceeded to create two works of such different character that speculation about their genesis becomes irrelevant. Especially the first movement of the C-Minor Quartet, whose opening Schoenberg praised for its harmonic amplifica- tion,57 has been described so often that neither the formal course nor the motivic concentration needs further description. One need only

mention a few of the features that here too point to the reciprocal coordination of parameters. These complex, meshlike interrelation- ships are not infrequently the source of an ambivalence that does not permit a one-sided approach without commensurate loss.

It is not necessary to emphasize the extraordinary degree of motivic interconnection that characterizes the introduction of the main theme. Contributing to this effect from the start are the rising motion (a) alternating with the falling leaps (bo), as well as the dotted rhythm whose last two-note pattern is split off and re- inforced by the second violin (ex. 4). The course of events is defined solely by neither the harmony nor the succession of both rhythmically and melodically pithy motivic elements building steadily toward their climax (mm. 5-7). The effectiveness of the connection between these two elements is only established through their relationship to the lower voices, which with apparent equanimity insist on repeating pitches in a steady eighth-note rhythm (c). According to Romantic convention, a modified pedal point was characteristic for a secondary theme, which thereby offered calm stability as a contrast to the motivically complex main theme. Here, however, it is the rhythmically steady pedal point that provides the real dynamic impetus to the development of the upper voice. Melodic intensification unfolds over static scaffolding, motivic development is juxtaposed with mo- toric reiteration, rhythmic differentiation is contrasted with steady repetition, and harmonic expansion is accentuated by dissonances against the pedal points. Coupling the developmental nature of a first theme with the revolving structure of a second exposes the ambivalence of the layout. But this results from merging the thematic exposition with anticipation of techniques characteristic of a development section, which in this case are already operative in shaping the theme itself. This is, incidentally, also in keeping with the ambivalent handling of the 2 meter, in itself striking for the opening Alle- gro of a quartet. Not only does it allow shifting metrical accents, but its triple meter refers back to an earlier tradition of vocal polyphony. Throughout the expanding harmonic process, the lower voices remain stationary on key-related pitches (C-E , or Ab-EL) until shifting in

56Regarding the relationship to Schubert, see Webster, "Schubert's Sonata Form"; regarding Mendelssohn's song texture, see my Mendelssohn-der Komponist: Studien zur Kammermusik fir Streicher (Munich, 1978), pp. 271- 77 and 385-88. 57Schoenberg, "Brahms the Progressive," pp. 402-03; see also Deiters, "Streichquartette," 436. In Forte, "Motivic Design," the compelling development of these relationships is obscured by the systematic ordering.

39

19TH CENTURY

MUSIC

Allegro a bo a bo a R* II L I

. . . V I"ap 1,1" "-

P cresc.

C cresc.

b bb

S f p

-j / -i • .......... ,

. .. ,

Example 4: Brahms, String Quartet in C Minor, op. 51, no. 1, movt. I.

the third half of m. 4 to the root and third of B6 minor (which marks the furthest departure from the main key).

A new cantabile idea (from m. 11 on) is derived from the subdued variant (m. 9) of staccato chords in the highest register (m. 7). The coherent process continues across the caesuras marked by rests and pedal points. But it also becomes clear that those staccato chords (b) function as a substitute for the descending leaps (bo) of the preceding measures. Just as the dotted rhythm (a) had culminated in the leaps (bo), the sequenced expansion of those leaps precede the staccato chords (b). Accordingly, the cantabile melody can also be interpreted as a derivation from the second measure of the main theme; but no less important than its derivation is the new melodic quality it assumes in becoming a stable two-measure pattern, which is subsequently repeated (mm. 11-12, 13-14). But the picture would be incomplete if one were to consider only the interconnections and not the variants. For the first version of the

staccato chords cadentially defines the main key (A6 major, as the quasi Neapolitan of the dominant, G major), whereas the same progres- sion in the second version (G6 to F major) sets its sights on the dominant of B6 minor intro- duced earlier as the most remote key. The re- sulting transition is all the more effective because it combines thoroughly contrasting textures: a striking climax with a new legato cantabile theme.

At the same time, from m. 11 on, the new melodic idea is coupled with a reminiscence of the main theme incipit, whose pattern of dotted rhythm followed by a half note now appears in the lower voices seemingly shifted metrically by a beat (ex. 5). The same pattern appears with voices exchanged in the next four- measure phrase (from m. 15 on), whereby the cello's sustained notes are now given to the upper voice. In the disintegration of this pattern from m. 19 on, each of the elements that had comprised this intricate complex is presented separately. It is this very textural den-

40


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sity that allows the unison reintroduction of the main theme in the lower voices from m. 23 on. A more decisive interruption is created by the vehement eighth-note motion in the violins, whose dramatic ascent sweeps into the foreground. Only in the next measure (m. 24) does it become apparent that the eighth notes in the upper voices are a modification of the accompaniment from the beginning of the movement. The inversion of the relationship is further differentiated by the second violin,

which continues the pattern of repeated eighths but abandons the pedal function in order to participate in the harmonic developments of the thematic lower voices. Even the first violin maintains its repeated notes for only two measures before shifting for one measure (m. 26) to the third of the Bb-minor sonority. The sharp dissonance between the upper voices (Db to C) prepares a renewed harmonic expansion from m. 28 on (by way of Ab and Eb toward Bb major), which brings the section to a close.

41

19TH CENTURY

MUSIC

In and of itself, the motivic coherence of the process would remain an abstract concept did it not, in combination with the rhythmic and harmonic unfolding, effect that continual development that alone explains the music's expressive power. Brief indications must suffice as to how similar procedures continue to determine important crucial passages of the exposition. At first glance, the beginning of the second theme at m. 32 is hardly recognizable; it only becomes clear in context. The expectation of a cantabile contrasting group would be more obviously met by the new thematic idea from m. 11 on, while the characteristic pedal point is already present from the outset of the first theme. So one might conclude that the formal position, texture, and character particular to a second theme have been variously redistrib- uted. According to that view, the secondary theme appears with repeated eighths, at first in octave leaps (viola, m. 32), corresponding to the model of the main theme and its variant (c). Over that the violins enter one and two mea-

sures later with a melodic idea (b') unmistak- ably related to the new theme in m. 11 (mm. 33-34). Instead of the legato line of three half notes, there are now syncopated quarter notes separated by rests, while the succession of a third and a second is replaced by two falling thirds. Moreover, the imitative entrances of the violins are brought together in a cadence in Eb minor (ex. 6). Against this accompanimental texture of eighth notes in the viola, the violins then appear to introduce a new theme made up of an eighth-note pattern to which the cello provides support in half notes. But just as the cello adopts the rhythm of the model b, the violins recall both the upbeat gesture of the main theme and, even more clearly, the as- cending eighths at the beginning of the theme's repetition (m. 23 with upbeat). Thus, although new ideas do gradually accrue, it would be extremely difficult to try to derive them from the intervallic relationships alone. Much clearer are the rhythmic connections; the repeated eighth-note texture initially supporting the

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42


main theme functions as a bridge over which to introduce those additional compositional elements that are a prerequisite for development. For these motives provide the material for the section following the second theme, in which particularly the eighth-note patterns in the violins, along with their expansive melodic extension, assume a central function. Only at the close of that section (mm. 54-56, 58-60) does the upper voice resume the dotted quarter-note pattern that belongs to the rhythmic foundation of the main theme.

The intended cadence in m. 61 is veiled by its deceptive resolution, but this marks the beginning of the last phase of the exposition, which can be considered a concluding thematic group. This group is likewise supported (in the second violin and cello) with dotted quarters, although now (as in mm. 58ff.) with entrances staggered a quarter note apart; despite its nar- row melodic range, it refers back to the main theme (a). Added to that are syncopated quarters in the viola that are similarly reminiscent of the opening of the secondary idea (b'). This accompanimental figure, which pulls the preceding developments together less by intervallic than by rhythmic means, supports the de- layed entrance of the newly formulated upper voice (ex. 7). Even when this voice dissolves into quasi-cadential eighth-note figures, it continues to be carried along by the rhythmic patterns in the lower voices (mm. 65-66.) But when they drop out, from then on just providing harmonic support, the motivic associations that had been the basis for all development to this point are suspended for eight measures.

Of course it is possible to try to explain even these figures as a succession of seconds and thirds derived from the intervallic core of the theme. But the attempt would not only be la- bored, it would miss the point of this passage. One need only recall Brahms's observation that themes whose derivation is not "clearly recognizable" represent "trivial game."58 Having up to this point clearly shown the intervallic and rhythmic relationships, the music now risks a moment of relaxation, which is nonetheless

anchored between two corner pillars of tight construction. It would certainly be missing the point to force these measures into the Procrustean bed of "developing variation" from which they had just freed themselves. They represent the prospect of a relaxed alternative to the compulsion for rigorous compositional development, similar to the "episodes" later found in Mahler's music. By juxtaposing tight construction with its polar opposite, the dia- lectic between formal construction and pre- carious freedom is also made comprehensible. And thus just a few measures later, this digres- sion is overtaken by thematic relationships when the free cadence in the upper voice is answered twice in the cello with a reminiscence of the main theme (mm. 75-83); and with that, the repeat of the exposition and subsequent development resume the concentrated compositional process.

It would seem that after such effort in the exposition, nothing much is left for the development itself. And it is relatively brief at fifty- six measures, compared to eighty-two and ninety for the exposition and recapitulation (and a coda of thirty-seven measures). An analysis of the development would involve much more than the almost trivial exercise of describing intervallic and rhythmic relationships. Rather, it would need to be shown how Brahms was able to develop still other aspects of material already thoroughly developed. Only then could the fascinatingly multifaceted unity of the entire movement be made comprehensible. But that would also make clear why such a work at first made a "less than satisfying impression" and was apparently not easily accessible.59 If this were not so, its analysis would not still present such a challenge today. Therefore it would be wrong to reproach arrogantly the first listeners with having had problems that can be regarded as a legitimate reaction to the complexity of the work. Even Hanslick thought it necessary to protect "inventive" yet "unforced" music from the danger of being misunderstood.60 Deiters too had the structural foundation of

58Brahms, Briefe an Joseph Viktor Widmann, Briefwechsel, VIII, 216.

59Signale (1874), 851. 60Hanslick, Concerte, Componisten und Virtuosen, pp. 115- 16.

43

19TH CENTURY

MUSIC

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44


the work's expressive character in mind when he referred to the mediation between the first theme and the new theme; when, after the main theme "sinks back," the "contrapuntally developed counter theme" also seems a "helpless lament."61 This makes clear that the complicated textures could only be explained to the broader public through metaphorical circumlo- cution. But it is just as clear that this interpretation was grounded in a thorough understanding of the structure. This is why the documents of the music's reception can avert the danger of sacrificing its complexity and thus its aesthetic achievement to limited description.

Pursuing the course of reception history will not insure a foolproof method with claims to accuracy. Documents of reception need not be any truer or more accurate than other sources. But they can be instructive when used as a corrective for analysis concerned with historically appropriate interpretation. For historians who take a subject seriously will not be content with their own perspectives, but will look as well for historically appropriate criteria. In that case, documents of reception history, while not a sole authority, can nevertheless provide perspectives beyond one's own. They can help prevent regarding a single position as absolute when other positions are possible. And taking other views into account can promote the kind of tolerance required for scholarly discourse. This does not preclude emphatic difference of opinion but does demand that opinion be con- scientiously justified. The attempt to mediate between historical and current perspectives, however, should not be a half-hearted compro-

mise. Combining methodological possibilities could also be the means for enriching the process.

Certainly the documents of contemporary Brahms reception cannot serve as normative sources today. Nor, however, should that as- pect of later reception represented by Schoen- berg's analysis serve as the last word for today's investigations. Schoenberg made new insights possible, but to codify those insights would be to go against his own intent. His one-sided view, which reflected the purpose of his argument, is easier to see if incorporated with those additional perspectives that were decisive for earlier or later listeners. And comparing these opinions with the works themselves can serve to open up additional aspects to analytic interpretation.

Any historian who eschews historical documents runs the risk of anachronistic attitudes. Awareness of reception history can reduce the risk of according the present-day view sole validity. Historical scholarly judgements are a part of such a documentary record, and the authors, even if they represent only a small number of listeners, may nonetheless be deemed competent. Reception history can thus con- tribute to the hermeneutical dialogue with works that have a historical status and, at the same time, a current aesthetic value. The music itself provides the measure against which analyses and the validity of their arguments must be judged. While it may appear that a multiplicity of opinions could lead to a relativization of all standards, more useful than hasty standardization would be to seek differences within the competition of opinions. In abandoning normative positions there lies a chance to keep interest alive in the . subject and in discourse.

.b 6'Deiters, "Streichquartette," 436.

45