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Richard Wagner (translated by Edward Dannreuther) >> On Conducting (Ueber das Dirigiren):
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or:--
[Musical Score excerpt]
are not far asunder. And with Mozart, as with Beethoven, the
exclusive character of the Allegro is only felt when the
figuration gets the upper hand of the melody (Gesang) that is,
when the reaction of the rhythmical movement against the
sustained tone is entirely carried out. This is particularly the
case in those final movements which have grown out of the
Rondeau, and of which the Finales to Mozart's Symphony in E flat,
and to Beethoven's in A, are excellent examples. Here the purely
rhythmical movement, so to speak, celebrates its orgies; and it
is consequently impossible to take these movements too quick. But
whatever lies between these two extremes IS SUBJECT TO THE LAWS
OF MUTUAL RELATIONSHIP AND INTERDEPENDENCE; AND SUCH LAWS CANNOT
BE TOO DELICATELY AND VARIOUSLY APPLIED, for they are
fundamentally identical with the laws which modify all
conceivable nuances of the sustained tone.
I shall now turn to the question of the MODIFICATION OF TEMPO; a
question of which our conductors know nothing, and for which they
consequently profess contempt. Whoever has followed me so far
with attention will, I trust, understand that this question goes
to the root of the matter before us. In the course of the
argument so far, two species of Allegro have been mentioned; an
emotional and sentimental character has been assigned to the
latter, the true Beethovenian Allegro, whereas the older
Mozartian Allegro was distinguished as showing a naive character.
I have adopted the expressions "sentimental" and "naive" from
Schiller's well-known essay upon "sentimental and naive poetry."
It is needless to discuss the aesthetic problems Schiller touches
upon. It is enough to state here that I take Mozart's quick Alla-
breve movements as representative of the naive Allegro. The
Allegros of the overtures to his operas, particularly to "Figaro"
and "Don Giovanni" are the most perfect specimens. It is well
known that Mozart wished these pieces to be played as fast as
possible. Having driven his musicians into a sort of rage, so
that to their own surprise they successfully rendered the unheard
of Presto of his overture to "Figaro," he commended them, saying:
"that was beautiful! Let us take it still quicker this evening."
Quite right. As I have said of the pure Adagio that, in an ideal
sense, it cannot be taken too slowly, so this pure unmixed
Allegro cannot be given too quickly.
The slow emanations of pure tone on the one hand, and the most
rapid figurated movement on the other, are subject to ideal
limits only, and in both directions the law of beauty is the sole
measure of what is possible. The law of beauty establishes the
point of contact at which the opposite extremes tend to meet and
to unite. The order of the movements in the symphonies of our
masters--from the opening Allegro, to the Adagio, and thence by
means of a stricter dance-form (the Menuet or Scherzo), to the
quickest Allegro (Finale)--shows a perfect sense of fitness. To
my mind, however, there are signs of a deterioration of the sense
of fitness when composers exhibit their platitudes in the SUITE
[FOOTNOTE: Compare Franz Lachner's Suites for Orchestra.] and
attempt to bolster up that old form, with its less thoughtfully
arranged succession of typical dance tunes; for these have been
fully developed elsewhere, and have already been embodied in far
richer, more extensive and complex forms.
Mozart's ABSOLUTE Allegros belong to the naive species. As
regards the various degrees of power of tone (Nach der Seite der
Dynamik hin) they consist of simple changes of piano and forte;
and, as regards structure they show certain fixed and stable
rhythmic melodic traits (Formen) which, without much choice or
sifting, are placed side by side, and made to chime with the
changes of piano and forte; and which (in the bustling ever-
recurring semi-cadences) the master employs with more than
surprising ease. But such things--even the greatest negligence
(Achtlosigkeit) in the use of common-place phrases and sections--
are explicable and excusable from the nature of this sort of
Allegro, which is not meant to interest by means of Cantilena,
but in which the restless incessant movement is intended to
produce a certain excitement. It is a significant trait in the
Allegro of the overture to Don Giovanni that this restless
movement ends with an unmistakable turn towards the
"sentimental." Here--where the extremes meet, at the point of
contact indicated above--it becomes necessary to modify the tempo
in the bars leading from the overture to the first tempo of the
opera (which is also an alla-breve but a slower one)--and the
pace must be slackened accordingly. But our conductors, in their
customary crude way, generally miss this point in the overture.
We need not, however, now be lead into premature reflections. Let
us merely consider it established that the character of the older
classical or, as I call it, naive Allegro differs greatly from
the new emotional sentimental Allegro, peculiar to Beethoven.
Mozart became acquainted with the orchestral crescendo and
diminuendo at Mannheim, (in 1777) when the orchestra there had
acquired it as a novelty: up to that time the instrumentation of
the old masters shows that, as a rule, nothing was inserted
between the forte and piano sections of the allegro movements
which can have been intended to be played with emotional
expression. Now, how does the true Beethovenian Allegro appear
with regard to this? To take the boldest and most inspired
example of Beethoven's unheard-of innovation in this direction,
the first movement of his Sinfonia eroica: how does this movement
appear if played in the strict tempo of one of the Allegros of
Mozart's overtures? But do our conductors ever dream of taking it
otherwise? Do they not always proceed monotonously from the first
bar to the last? With the members of the "elegant" tribe of
Capellmeisters the "conception" of the tempo consists of an
application of the Mendelssohnian maxim "chi va presto va sano."
Let the players who happen to have any regard for proper
execution make the best of it in passages like:--
[Musical Score]
or the plaintive:--
[Musical Score]
the conductors do not trouble their minds about such details;
they are on "classic ground," and will not stop for trifles; they
prefer to progress rapidly "grande vitesse," "time is money."
We have now reached the point in our discussion from which we can
judge the music of the day. It will have been noticed that I have
approached this point with some circumspection. I was anxious to
expose the dilemma, and to make everyone see and feel that since
Beethoven there has been a very considerable change in the
treatment and the execution of instrumental music. Things which
formerly existed in separate and opposite forms, each complete in
itself, are now placed in juxtaposition, and further developed,
one from the other, so as to form a whole. It is essential that
the style of execution shall agree with the matter set forth--
that the tempo shall be imbued with life as delicate as the life
of the thematic tissue. We may consider it established that in
classical music written in the later style MODIFICATION of Tempo
is a sine qua non. No doubt very great difficulties will have to
be overcome. Summing up my experiences I do not hesitate to
assert that, as far as public performances go, Beethoven is still
a pure chimera with us. [FOOTNOTE: i.e.. in 1869.]
I shall now attempt to describe what I conceive to be the right
way of performing Beethoven, and music akin to his. In this
respect also the subject seems inexhaustible, and I shall again
confine myself to a few salient points.
One of the principal musical forms consists of a series of
VARIATIONS upon a theme. Haydn, and eventually Beethoven, have
improved this form, and rendered it artistically significant, by
the originality of their devices, and particularly, by connecting
the single variations one with the other, and establishing
relations of mutual dependence between them. This is accomplished
with the happiest results in cases where one variation is
developed from another--that is to say, when a degree of
movement, suggested in the one is carried further in the other,
or when a certain satisfactory sense of surprise is occasioned by
one variation supplying a complementary form of movement, which
was wanting in the one before it. The real weakness of the
Variation-form, however, becomes apparent when strongly
contrasting parts are placed in juxtaposition, without any link
to connect them. Beethoven often contrives to convert this same
weakness into a source of strength; and he manages to do so in a
manner which excludes all sense of accident or of awkwardness:
namely--at the point which I have described above as marking the
limits of the laws of beauty with regard to the sustained tone
(in the Adagio), and the unfettered movement (in the Allegro)--he
contrives to satisfy, in a seemingly abrupt way, the extreme
longing after an antithesis; which antithesis, by means of a
different and contrasting movement, is now made to serve as a
relief. This can be observed in the master's greatest works. The
last movement of the Sinfonia eroica, for instance, affords
excellent instruction in this respect; it should be understood as
a movement consisting of a greatly expanded series of variations;
and accordingly it should be interpreted with as much variety as
possible. To do this properly, here as in all similar cases, the
above mentioned weakness of the Variation-form, and the
disadvantage which is felt to result from it, must be taken into
account. Single and separate variations are frequently seen to
have had each an independent origin, and to have merely been
strung together in a conventional manner. The unpleasant effects
of such fortuitous juxtaposition are particularly felt in cases
where a quiet and sustained theme is followed by an exceptionally
lively variation.
The first variation on that most wonderful theme in Beethoven's
grand Sonata in A major for piano and violin (Kreutzer) is an
example. Virtuosi always treat this as "a first variation" of the
common type--i.e., a mere display of musical gymnastics, which
destroys all desire to listen any further. It is curious that,
whenever I have mentioned the case of this variation to anyone,
my experience with the tempo di minuetto of the eighth symphony
has been repeated. Everybody agreed with me "on the whole"; but
in particular, people failed to see what I was aiming at.
Certainly (to go on with the example) this first variation of
that lovely sustained theme is of a conspicuously lively
character; when the composer invented it he could hardly have
thought of it as immediately following the theme, or as being in
direct contact with it. The component parts of the Variation-form
are each complete in themselves, and perhaps the composer was
unconsciously influenced by this fact. But, when the entire piece
is played, the parts appear in uninterrupted succession. We know
from other movements of the master's (for instance the second
movement of the C minor symphony, the Adagio of the great quartet
in E flat, and above all from the wonderful second movement of
the great sonata in C minor, Op. III), which are all written in
the form of Variations, but in which the parts are conceived as
standing in immediate connection, how deftly and delicately the
links between the different variations can be contrived. A player
who, in a case like that of the so-called "Kreutzer-Sonata,"
claims the honour of representing the master in full, might, at
least, attempt to establish some sort of relation and connection
between the sentiment of the theme and that of the first
variation; he might begin the latter at a more moderate pace, and
gradually lead up to the lively movement. Pianoforte and violin
players are firmly persuaded that the character of this variation
differs considerably from that of the theme. Let them then
interpret it with artistic discrimination, and treat the first
part of the variation as a gradual approach to the new tempo;
thus adding a charm to the interest the part already possesses
per se.
A stronger case, of similar import, will be found in the
beginning of the first Allegro 6-8 after the long introductory
Adagio of the string quartet in C sharp minor. [FOOTNOTE: Op.
131.] This is marked "molto vivace," and the character of the
entire movement is thus appropriately indicated. In quite an
exceptional way, however Beethoven has, in this quartet, so
arranged the several movements that they are heard in immediate
succession, without the customary interval; indeed they appear to
be developed one from the other according to certain delicate
laws. Thus the Allegro immediately follows an Adagio full of a
dreamy sadness, not to be matched elsewhere in the master's
works. If it were permitted to interpret the Allegro as showing a
state of feeling, such as could in some sort be reproduced in
pictorial language, (deutbares Stimmungsbild) one might say that
it shews a most lovely phenomenon, which arises, as it were, from
the depths of memory, and which, as soon as it has been
apprehended, is warmly taken up, and cherished. Evidently the
question, with regard to execution, here is: how can this
phenomenon (the new Allegro theme) be made to arise naturally
from the sad and sombre close of the Adagio, so that its abrupt
appearance shall prove attractive rather than repellant? Very
appropriately, the new theme first appears like a delicate,
hardly distinguishable dream, in unbroken pp, and is then lost in
a melting ritardando; thereafter, by means of a crescendo, it
enters its true sphere, and proceeds to unfold its real nature.
It is obviously the delicate duty of the executants to indicate
the character of the new movement with an appropriate
modification of tempo--i.e., to take the notes which immediately
succeed the Adagio for a link, and so unobtrusively to connect
them with the following that a change in the movement is hardly
perceptible, and moreover so to manage the ritardando, that the
crescendo, which comes after it, will introduce the master's
quick tempo, in such wise that the molto vivace now appears as
the rhythmical consequence of the increase of tone during the
crescendo. But the modifications here indicated are usually
overlooked; and the sense of artistic propriety is outraged by a
sudden and vulgar vivace, as though the whole piece were meant
for a jest, and the gaiety had at last begun! People seem to
think this "classical." [FOOTNOTE: For further comments upon this
Quartet see Appendix B.]
I may have been top circumstantial, but the matter is of
incalculable importance. Let us now proceed to look still more
closely into the wants and requirements of a proper performance
of classical music. In the foregoing investigations I hoped to
have elucidated the problem of the modification of tempo, and to
have shewn how a discerning mind will recognise and solve the
difficulties inherent in modern classical music. Beethoven has
furnished the immortal type of what I may call emotional,
sentimental music--it unites all the separate and peculiar
constituents of the earlier essentially naive types; sustained
and interrupted tone, cantilena and figurations, are no longer
kept formally asunder--the manifold changes of a series of
variations are not merely strung together, but are now brought
into immediate contact, and made to merge one into the other.
Assuredly, the novel and infinitely various combinations of a
symphonic movement must be set in motion in an adequate and
appropriate manner if the whole is not to appear as a
monstrosity. I remember in my young days to have heard older
musicians make very dubious remarks about the Eroica. [FOOTNOTE:
Beethoven's Symphony, No. III.] Dionys Weber, at Prague, simply
treated it as a nonentity. The man was right in his way; he chose
to recognise nothing but the Mozartian Allegro; and in the strict
tempo peculiar to that Allegro, he taught his pupils at the
Conservatorium to play the Eroica! The result was such that one
could not help agreeing with him. Yet everywhere else the work
was thus played, and it is still so played to this day! True, the
symphony is now received with universal acclamations; but, if we
are not to laugh at the whole thing, the real reasons for its
success must be sought in the fact that Beethoven's music is
studied apart from the concert-rooms--particularly at the piano--
and its irresistible power is thus fully felt, though in rather a
round-about way. If fate had not furnished such a path of safety,
and if our noblest music depended solely upon the conductors, it
would have perished long ago.
To support so astounding an assertion I will take a popular
example:--Has not every German heard the overture to Der
Freyschutz over and over again? I have been told of sundry
persons who were surprised to find how frequently they had
listened to this wonderful musical poem, without having been
shocked when it was rendered in the most trivial manner; these
persons were among the audience of a concert given at Vienna in
1864, when I was invited to conduct the overture. At the
rehearsal it came to pass that the orchestra of the imperial
opera (certainly one of the finest orchestras in existence), were
surprised at my demands regarding the execution of this piece. It
appeared at once that the Adagio of the introduction had
habitually been taken as a pleasant Andante in the tempo of the
"Alphorn," [FOOTNOTE: A sentimental song by Proch.] or some such
comfortable composition. That this was not "Viennese tradition"
only, but had come to be the universal practice, I had already
learnt at Dresden--where Weber himself had conducted his work.
When I had a chance to conduct Der Freyschutz at Dresden--
eighteen years after Weber's death--I ventured to set aside the
slovenly manner of execution which had prevailed under Reissiger,
my senior colleague. I simply took the tempo of the introduction
to the overture as I felt it; whereupon a veteran member of the
orchestra, the old violoncellist Dotzauer, turned towards me and
said seriously: "Yes, this is the way Weber himself took it; I
now hear it again correctly for the first time." Weber's widow,
who still resided at Dresden, became touchingly solicitous for my
welfare in the position of Capellmeister. She trusted that my
sympathy with her deceased husband's music would bring about
correct performances of his works, for which she had no longer
dared to hope. The recollection of this flattering testimony has
frequently cheered and encouraged me. At Vienna I was bold enough
to insist upon a proper performance. The orchestra actually
STUDIED the too-well-known overture anew. Discreetly led by R.
Lewi, the Cornists entirely changed the tone of the soft
woodnotes in the introduction, which they had been accustomed to
play as a pompous show piece. The magic perfume of the melody for
the horns was now shed over the PIANISSIMO indicated in the score
for the strings. Once only (also as indicated) the power of their
tone rose to a mezzoforte and was then gradually lost again
without the customary SFORZANDO, in the delicately inflected
The Violoncellos similarly reduced the usual heavy accent, which
was now heard above the tremolo of the violins like the delicate
sigh it is intended to be, and which finally gave to the
fortissimo that follows the crescendo that air of desperation
which properly belongs to it. Having restored the mysterious
dignity of the introductory Adagio, I allowed the wild movement
of the Allegro to run its passionate course, without regard to
the quieter expression, which the soft second theme demands; for
I knew that I should be able SUFFICIENTLY TO SLACKEN THE PACE AT
THE RIGHT MOMENT, so that the proper movement for this theme
might be reached.
Evidently the greater number, if not all modern Allegro
movements, consist of a combination of two essentially different
constituent parts: in contrast with the older naive unmixed
Allegro, the construction is enriched by the combination of the
pure Allegro with the thematic peculiarities of the vocal Adagio
in all its gradations. The second theme of the overture to
"Oberon," which does not in the least partake of the character of
the Allegro, very clearly shows this contrasted peculiarity.
Technically, the composer has managed to merge the character of
this theme into the general character of the piece. That is to
say: on the surface, the theme reads smoothly, according to the
scheme of an Allegro; but, as soon as the true character of the
theme is brought out, it becomes apparent that A COMPOSER MUST
THINK SUCH A SCHEME CAPABLE OF CONSIDERABLE MODIFICATION IF IT IS
TO COMBINE BOTH PRINCIPLES. (Hauptcharactere.)
To continue the account of the performance of the Freyschutz
overture at Vienna: after the extreme excitement of the tempo
Allegro, I made use of the long drawn notes of the clarinet--the
character of which is quite that of the Adagio--so as
imperceptibly to ease the tempo in this place, where the
figurated movement is dissolved into sustained or tremulous tone;
so that, in spite of the connecting figure:
[music score example]
which renews the movement, and so beautifully leads to the
cantilena in E flat, we had arrived at the very slight nuance of
the main tempo, which has been kept up all along. I arranged with
the excellent executants that they were to play this theme
[music score example]
legato, and with an equable piano, i.e., without the customary
commonplace accentuation and NOT as follows:
[music score example]
The good result was at once apparent, so that for the gradual
reanimation of the tempo with the pulsating
[music score example]
I had only to give the slightest indication of the pace to find
the orchestra perfectly ready to attack the most energetic nuance
of the main tempo together with the following fortissimo. It was
not so easy on the return of the conflict of the two strongly
contrasted motives, to bring them out clearly without disturbing
the proper feeling for the predominant rate of speed. Here, when
the despairing energy of the allegro is concentrated in
successively shorter periods, and culminates in
[music score example]
the success of the ever-present modification of tempo was perhaps
shown best of all.
After the splendidly sustained C major chords, and the
significant long pauses, by which these chords are so well
relieved, the musicians were greatly surprised when I asked them
to play the second theme, which is now raised to a joyous chant,
NOT as they had been accustomed, in the violently excited nuance
of the first allegro theme, but in the milder modification of the
main time.
This worrying and driving to death of the PRINCIPAL theme at the
close of a piece is a habit common to all our orchestras--very
frequently indeed nothing is wanting but the sound of the great
horse-whip to complete the resemblance to the effects at a
circus. No doubt increase of speed at the close of an overture is
frequently demanded by composers; it is a matter of course in
those cases where the true Allegro theme, as it were, remains in
possession of the field, and finally celebrates its apotheosis;
of which Beethoven's great overture to "Leonora" is a celebrated
example. In this latter case, however, the effect of the
increased speed of the Allegro is frequently spoilt by the fact
that the conductor, who does not know how to modify the main
tempo to meet the various requirements of the thematic
combinations (e.g., at the proper moment to relax the rate of
speed), has already permitted the main tempo to grow so quick as
to exclude the possibility of any further increase--unless,
indeed, the strings choose to risk an abnormal rush and run, such
as I remember to have heard with astonishment, though not with
satisfaction, from this very Viennese orchestra. The necessity
for such an eccentric exertion arose in consequence of the main
tempo having been hurried too much during the progress of the
piece; the final result was simply an exaggeration--and moreover,
a risk to which no true work of art should be exposed--though, in
a rough way, it may be able to bear it.
However, it is difficult to understand why the close of the
Freyschutz overture should be thus hurried and worried by
Germans, who are supposed to possess some delicacy of feeling.
Perhaps the blunder will appear less inexplicable, if it is
remembered that this second cantilena, which towards the close is
treated as a chant of joy, was, already at its very first
appearance, made to trot on at the pace of the principal Allegro:
like a pretty captive girl tied to the tail of a hussar's
charger--and it would seem a case of simple practical justice
that she should eventually be raised to the charger's back when
the wicked rider has fallen off--whereat, finally, the
Capellmeister is delighted, and proceeds to apply the great whip.
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