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He was working hard, at his symphony, and was on the whole much the same in health very frail and often extremely irritable; with alternations of cheerfulness and depression. "And Mr. Falloden?" Connie ventured. "He's coming soon I didn't ask," said Sorell shortly. "That arrangement won't last long." Connie hesitated. "But don't wish it to fail!" she said piteously.
Many of the most perplexing musical questions and difficulties that have ever confronted me have been solved mentally while I have been walking upon the street or lying in bed at night. "Sometimes the solution of difficult details comes in the twinkling of an eye. I remember that when I was a very young man I was engaged to play a concerto with a large symphony orchestra.
The Pastoral Symphony has been dramatized so to speak, that is, it has been put on the stage, the different situations of this nature-poem having been portrayed by living and moving tableaux, pantomimic action and ballet; there was scenery, and the dance of the peasants and the thunder-storm were, no doubt, realistic enough.
It occupies among quartets a position analogous to that of the Ninth Symphony in its own class. The summer of 1826 in which it was composed, was a period fraught with momentous occurrences to the master, chief of which was the attempted suicide of his nephew. The circumstances which led up to this catastrophe can be briefly narrated.
Now, the late Capellmeister Reissiger, of Dresden, once conducted this symphony there, and I happened to be present at the performance together with Mendelssohn; we talked about the dilemma just described, and its proper solution; concerning which I told Mendelssohn that I believed I had convinced Reissiger, who had promised that he would take the tempo slower than usual.
They built themselves up in his soul in a symphony of terror; they lifted him out of himself, they swept him away beyond all control, like a leaf in the autumn wind. He had never known such a sensation before his soul seemed whirled into pieces. His feeling was apart from his action; he could not control his thoughts; he was going mad!
That muffled ticking of her heart went on like distant drum beats, the symphony of tiny instruments did not pause, the dominant sound of Charles's voice continued, and now, as she listened, she heard nothing but his voice. He was not pathetic, he did not plead, he did not claim: he spoke of very old and lasting things, and it was like hearing some one read a tale. She did not stir.
We must not look for anything like form in the sense that word conveys nowadays; there is no unalterable scheme of movements such as there is in the Haydn symphony, and within each movement there is no first subject, second subject, development and recapitulation. All that had to be worked out nearly a century later. The set forms of Purcell's day were the dances.
One man would construct a symphony on the progressive development of a sonorous formula which did not seem to be complete until the last page of the last movement, so that for nine-tenths of the work it never advanced beyond the grub stage of its existence.
And they were vibrant with the passions he had aroused, and the high note of hope on which he had brought his symphony to a close. A dozen students caught him as he leapt down, and swung him to their shoulders, where again he came within view of all the acclaiming crowd. The delicate Le Chapelier pressed alongside of him with flushed face and shining eyes.
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