FORMAL AND HARMONIC CONSIDERATIONS IN CLARA SCHUMANN'S DREI ROMANZEN,
OP. 21, NO. 1
Katie Lakner
A Thesis
Submitted to the Graduate College of Bowling Green
State University in partial fulfillment of
the requirements for the degree of
MASTER OF MUSIC
August 2015
Committee:
Gregory Decker, Advisor
Gene Trantham
© 2015
Katie Lakner
All Rights Reserved
iii
ABSTRACT
Gregory Decker, Advisor
As one of her most mature works, Clara Schumann’s Drei Romanzen, op. 21, no. 1,
composed in 1855, simultaneously encapsulates her musical preferences after half a lifetime of
extensive musical study and reflects the strictures applied to “women’s music” at the time.
During the Common Practice Period, music critics would deride music by women that sounded
too “masculine” or at least not “feminine” enough. Women could not write more progressive
music without risking a backlash from the music critics. However, Schumann’s music also had
to earn the respect of her more progressive fellow composers. In this piece, she achieved that
balance by employing a very Classical formal structure and a distinctly Romantic, if somewhat
restrained, harmonic language. Her true artistic and compositional talents shine forth despite, and
perhaps even due to, the limits in which her music had to reside.
iv
Dedicated to Dennis and Janet Lakner.
v
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Thanks the Gregory Decker and Gene Trantham for their incredible patience and
guidance throughout the writing of this paper. Thanks to Dennis and Janet Lakner and Debra
Unterreiner for their constant encouragement and mental and emotional support. Finally, special
thanks to the baristas at the Barnes and Noble café in Fenton, MO, for providing the copious
amounts of caffeine necessary for the completion of this paper.
vi
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Page
CHAPTER 1: INTRODUCTION…………….………………………………………….....
1
Women’s Roles in Nineteenth-Century Music……………………………………….
6
Barriers to Women’s Inclusion in the Canon………………………………………..
13
Clara Schumann’s Aesthetics……………………………………………………….
17
Methodology……….………………………………………………………………..
27
CHAPTER 2: ANALYSIS OF CLARA SCHUMANN’S DREI
ROMANZEN, OP. 21, NO.1…………………………………………………………………
31
Background………………………………………………………………………….
31
Form…………………………………………………………………………………
34
Harmony….…………………………………………………………………………
48
CHAPTER 3: AVENUES FOR FUTURE RESEARCH…………..……………………….
63
Summary of Findings………………………………………………………………..
63
Avenues of Future Research……………………..………………………………….
64
Analytical Studies of Music by Women…………………………………………….
65
Conclusion………..…………………………………………………………………
68
BIBLIOGRAPHY…………………………………………………………………………… 70
APPENDIX A: SCORE OF CLARA SCHUMANN’S DREI
ROMANZEN, OP. 21, NO. 1, WITH ANNOTATIONS………………………….………… 73
APPENDIX B: APPROVAL FOR THE USE OF COPYRIGHTED
MATERIAL…………………………………………………………………………………. 78
vii
LIST OF MUSICAL EXAMPLES
Example
1
Page
Romance varieé, op. 3, mm. 53–60, Midrange melody surrounded
by arpeggios………………………………………………………………………...
20
2
Romance varieé, op. 3, mm. 143–152, Textural virtuosity………...………………… 20
3
Haydn, Piano Trio in C Major, Hob. XV:21, mvt. 2, mm. 34–42,
Interior theme (mm. 35–40)………………….……………………………………… 36
4
Mozart, Piano Sonata in D Major, K. 576, mvt. 2, mm.15–41,
Interior theme (mm. 17–40)………………….……………………………………… 36
5
Drei Romanzen, op. 21, no.1, mm. 1–26, Main theme….………...………………… 39
6
Haydn, Piano Sonata in G Major, Hob. XVI:40, mvt. 2, mm. 13–24,
Recapitulation (mm. 15–24)………………….……………………………………… 44
7
Drei Romanzen, op. 21, no.1, mm. 5–21, Large-scale interpolation
(mm. 9–10) and contrasting middle (mm. 11–18)…………………………………..
46
8
R. Schumann, Davidsbündlertänze, op. 6, no. 9, mm. 1–8………...………………… 50
9
R. Schumann, “Préambule,” Carnaval, op. 9, mm. 1–6…………...………………… 50
10
Drei Romanzen, op. 21, no.1, mm. 11–14, Interpolation (mm. 12–14)……………..
11
Mendelssohn, Lieder ohne Worte, op.102, no. 6, mm. 26–33,
Coda (mm. 28–33)…………………………………………………..………………
12
51
53
Drei Romanzen, op. 21, no.1, mm. 5–8, A section’s exposition’s
consequent...………………………………………………………………………..… 54
13
Drei Romanzen, op. 21, no.1, mm. 22–26, A section’s recapitulation’s
consequent (mm. 23–26)………….………………………………………………..… 54
viii
14
Drei Romanzen, op. 21, no.1, mm. 95–98, Aʹ section’s recapitulation’s
consequent…………………………………………………………………………… 55
15
Drei Romanzen, op. 21, no.1, mm. 48–53, Chromatic voice-leading
and reharmonization………………………………………………………………..… 58
16
Beethoven, Sonata in A Major, op. 2, no. 2, mm. 61–75……..…...………………… 58
17
Berlioz, Symphonie fantastique, mvt. 2, mm. 1–37…..…………...………………… 59
18
Smetana, The Bartered Bride, Overture, Beginning of coda……...………………… 61
ix
LIST OF FIGURES
Figure
1
Page
Drei Romanzen, op. 21, no. 1, mm. 1–4, Score and voiceleading graph ..............................................................................................................
2
42
Drei Romanzen, op. 21, no. 1, mm. 42–50, Score and voiceleading graph of interior theme’s contrasting middle (mm. 43–50)………………… 45
3
Drei Romanzen, op. 21, no. 1, mm. 95–105, Score and voiceleading graph………………………………………………………………………… 48
4
Drei Romanzen, op. 21, no. 1, mm. 63–72, Score and voiceleading graph………………………………………………………………………… 52
5
Drei Romanzen, op. 21, no. 1, mm. 27–31, Score and voiceleading graph ..............................................................................................................
56
1
CHAPTER 1: INTRODUCTION
As a female composer in the nineteenth century, the pianist and composer Clara
Schumann (1819–1896) faced many pressures from music critics and society in general. Music
critics could meticulously scrutinize nearly every aspect of a piece of music composed by a
woman during the Common Practice Period (ca. 1600–1900 CE), including its genre,
instrumentation, form, use of harmony, and even its overall sound. Women could not write more
progressive music without risking a backlash from the music critics. Schumann’s music,
therefore, had to maintain a delicate balance in order to gain the approval of both the music
critics and her more progressive fellow composers. As one of her most mature works, the
musical structure in her Drei Romanzen, op. 21, no. 1, written in 1855, 1 simultaneously
encapsulates her musical preferences after half a lifetime of extensive musical study and reflects
the strictures applied to “women’s music” at the time. It adheres closely to the large ternary form
described in William E. Caplin’s Classical Form: A Theory of Formal Functions for the
Instrumental Music of Haydn, Mozart, and Beethoven (originally published in 1998), and
employs a distinctly Romantic, if somewhat restrained, harmonic language. In this piece, her true
artistic and compositional talents shine forth despite, and perhaps even due to, the limits in which
her music had to reside.
The status of music composed by women has been a contentious topic throughout the
Classical and Romantic Eras (ca. 1750–1900 CE). Before 1800, women who wanted to be
professional musicians usually could only be performers. They certainly could not publish their
own music. 2 Even after 1800, female composers faced societal challenges. Fanny Hensel’s father
1
233.
2
Nancy B. Reich, Clara Schumann: The Artist and the Woman, rev. ed. (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 2001),
Marcia J. Citron, “Gender, Professionalism and the Musical Canon,” The Journal of Musicology 8, no. 1
(Winter 1990): 106, doi: 10.2307/763525.
2
strongly discouraged any thoughts she might have had of pursuing a career as a professional
composer, although he encouraged such professional pursuits for her brother, Felix
Mendelssohn. 3 Largely, the hesitation to give music by women the respect and objective
consideration it deserves has been the result of Western society’s view of women, their “proper”
roles, and the “pervasive philosophical bias against women as creators.” 4 Martha J. Citron
understands this situation as arising from the pervasive cultural association of women with the
private sphere:
Musicological culture of the last fifty years [1950–2000] has tacitly reinforced the
hierarchical dualism, at least for music after 1800. This has come mainly in the
disciplinary emphasis on public structures and the de-emphasis, and in many cases
wholesale dismissal, of private structures. To put it another way, musicology has paid
attention to canonic works and paradigms, and in turn affirmed their value. As said many
times, the public arena has been privileged, and its activities have been chronicled,
preserved, and praised. Often removed from written scrutiny, the private has been given
much less attention. Perhaps this results from the fact that the dynamics of the private call
for different questions to be asked, and until fairly recently they were not posed.…
Particularly injurious is the retention of the feminine with the “lower” private and the
masculine with the “higher” public. 5
Women were discouraged and inhibited from publishing and even writing music throughout the
Common Practice Period. They experienced the “regular and systematic denial of access to the
3
Nancy B. Reich, “European Composers and Musicians, ca. 1800–1890,” in Women & Music: A History, 2nd ed.,
ed. Karin Pendle (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 2001), 154.
4
Citron, “Gender, Professionalism and the Musical Canon,” 110.
5
Marcia J. Citron, Gender and the Musical Canon (Urbana: University of Illinois Press, 2000), 102.
3
full range of compositional training.” 6 In her article “Gender, Professionalism and the Musical
Canon” (1990), Citron discusses the difficulties women faced getting their compositions
published:
Before 1800 musical activity was organized around political and ecclesiastical units, and
publication was subvented by patrons.…The catch, however, is that women were
institutionally excluded from such employment: both traditional conventions and formal
proscriptions precluded such occupation and status.…After 1800, when music moved
into the public domain and the demand for new pieces gradually yielded to the concept of
repeating classics, publication was inextricably linked with the sustainability of a piece,
that is, repeat performance.…An important component in procuring performances was
regular access to the musical establishment, that heterogeneous corps of professionals
consisting of other composers, and of performers, conductors, impresarios, and board
members of major performing organizations. Women, in general, experienced enormous
difficulty in forging those necessary contacts, largely through gender-specific
conditions. 7
These women even included some of the best-trained and most well-respected musicians
of the Common Practice Period. Schumann, one of the most famous of these female musicians,
was among their number. While Schumann’s compositions were praised during her lifetime by
her father, her husband, and fellow musicians and composers, 8 today her music remains as part
of the subcategory of “women’s music” rather than residing alongside the works of her
contemporary male counterparts. This is probably due in part to the reception of her music by
critics of her time. “Societal attitudes toward women composers, especially as revealed in
6
Citron, “Gender, Professionalism and the Musical Canon,” 105.
Ibid., 106.
8
Reich, Clara Schumann, 216.
7
4
newspaper reviews (which she read), played a large part in her feelings of discomfort about
composing. Her improvisations and compositions were acclaimed by audiences and reviewers,
but the praise was almost always for the work of a woman composer: critics compared her work
with that of male composers or expressed surprise that a female could compose with such skill.” 9
Such a marginalization seems to be the case not only for Schumann but for most female
composers of Western art music during the Common Practice Period. As Citron states in the
introduction to her book Gender and the Musical Canon (2000), “While research of the last
fifteen years has begun to make a difference in what is studied and performed, women’s
compositions still occupy a marginal position in relation to the canon.” 10
The societal and financial pressures on female composers caused many to cut short or
significantly limit their compositional careers. Josephine Lang came from a very musical family
and was a friend of Mendelssohn, Robert Schumann, and Ferdinand Hiller. “During the fourteen
years of her marriage (1842–1856) to poet Reinhard Köstlin, she had six children and virtually
ceased all creative work.” 11 Hensel, Mendelssohn’s older sister, also came from a musical
family. “Her general and musical education were practically identical to those of her brother, but
her father, who encouraged Felix’s professional aspirations, forbade her to perform for fees or to
have her music published. Her first songs appeared in collections of her brother’s and under his
name. Both her father and brother held that professional work had no place in the life of a
woman of their class and status; they believed that Fanny Hensel’s responsibilities were to home
and child rather than to art.” 12 Clara Schumann essentially ceased composing after her husband
9
Ibid., 218.
Citron, Gender and the Musical Canon, 4.
11
Reich, “European Composers and Musicians,” 154.
12
Ibid.
10
5
Robert’s death “but resumed her career on the concert stage and remained a sought-after teacher
and editor.” 13
Very little, if any, of the music by women of the Common Practice Period has survived as
part of the mainstream canon of Western classical music. However, Citron reminds musicians
and music scholars that “since music by women was submerged for a variety of reasons, we have
to go beyond our basic impulse that assumes that if a piece has not survived it is automatically
unworthy of consideration for serious performance and study.” 14 Composed by one of the bestknown and most-respected musicians of the mid-nineteenth century, Schumann’s music presents
itself as a logical starting point for the serious analytical study of music by women. One of
Schumann’s last pieces was Drei Romanzen, op. 21. While she wrote three romances for this set
in 1853, she replaced the first romance with another that she wrote in 1855. She then dedicated
the set to her good friend and fellow composer Johannes Brahms. 15 As one of her last
compositions, the form and harmony reflect the societal and musical restraints within which
Schumann had to compose. The form of Schumann’s Drei Romanzen, op. 21, no. 1, shows
strong ties to Classical instrumental music while the harmonic language clearly makes it a
Romantic piece. This dichotomy may seem odd coming from a musician so closely connected to
some of the most innovative minds in her field. Why would her music not push the boundaries of
form? In part, her formal conservatism is a product of her personal preferences and respect for
the music of her Classical predecessors. She appreciated their formal clarity. 16 However, her
formal conservatism may also be a result of her society’s perceptions of what music was
“acceptable” for women to write. Her Piano Concerto in A Minor, op. 7, came under great
13
Ibid., 155.
Citron, “Gender, Professionalism and the Musical Canon,” 112.
15
Reich, Clara Schumann, 233.
16
Ludim R. Pedroza, “Music as Communitas: Franz Liszt, Clara Schumann, and the Musical Work,” Journal of
Musicological Research 29, no. 4 (October–December 2010): 313, Music Index (54594754).
14
6
scrutiny due to its formal inventiveness. 17 Since she depended on a favorable reception of her
music by music critics, musicians, and fellow composers, she must have felt pressure to keep her
music within the “acceptable” parameters for music by women but also innovative enough for
the Romantics to consider it interesting. The romance I explore demonstrates this through
Schumann’s use of Classical formal structures and Romantic sounds, harmonies, and techniques.
I will show how Schumann employed formal phrase units prevalent in Classical music and how
she incorporated a variety of Romantic harmonic techniques.
To put this analysis in perspective, I will discuss below the status of women and their
music in the nineteenth-century European musical world. After a broad discussion of the
challenges faced by female musicians, an overview of Schumann’s aesthetic preferences
throughout her life will follow. An understanding of Schumann’s musical preferences will
inform the formal and harmonic analysis of her Drei Romanzen, op. 21, no. 1.
Women’s Roles in Nineteenth-Century Music
Socio-cultural views of women have caused their music to be taken less seriously than
that of their male counterparts and placed restrictions on what kinds of music they composed and
even how their music sounded. “Feminist philosopher and social historian Linda Nicholson has
written about important philosophical foundations of the public–private division in the West. Her
argument begins with the Lockean split of the old kinship system into the two spheres of family
and state, in the late seventeenth century.…In part he [Locke] based his theory on the claim that
women required protection by males that would be best served by the institution of the
family.…The perception of their separation as universal has only intensified ever since.” 18 The
eighteenth-century philosopher Jean-Jacques Rousseau strongly influenced society’s perception
17
18
Reich, Clara Schumann, 227–228, 298–299.
Citron, Gender and the Musical Canon, 100–101.
7
of women and their “proper” place in society. He stated that women should remain in the home
and that their entire education should center on domestic matters and the needs and desires of
men. Remaining only as wives and mothers was the single moral path for women in Rousseau’s
mind. 19 “Of particular importance is Rousseau’s pitting of female modesty and domesticity (the
true, natural woman) against female display (the aberrant woman), since women in the latter
category bordered on hermaphroditism in their adoption of masculine behavior. More important
for Rousseau than the deviance of such women was their potentially effeminizing effect on the
men who shared their company or watched them on stage in roles where they outwitted men.” 20
One such example exists in the title character of Georges Bizet’s opera Carmen (1875),
which Susan McClary analyzes at length in her Feminine Endings: Music, Gender, and Sexuality
(first published in 1991).
What makes the opera fundamentally a paranoid fantasy is that Carmen’s music
(constructed by Bizet—there is no woman’s voice in this piece) is made to be undeniably
more powerful, more alluring than José’s well-behaved discourse of masculine European
classical music (also, of course, constructed by Bizet). The opera demonstrates vividly
how impotent the sublime experience of transcendence is in the face of the lowest
common dominatrix. Infuriatingly, the male-constructed Carmen refuses to be contained
in accordance with José’s fantasies; she says “no” to his “lyric urgency,” talks back,
makes sexual demands, takes other lovers. She continually resists his attempts at
possessing her, manipulates him pitilessly, and even persuades him to desert the army, to
19
Reich, “European Composers and Musicians,” 148.
Katharine Ellis, “Female Pianists and Their Male Critics in Nineteenth-Century Paris,” Journal of the
American Musicological Society 50, no. 2/3 (Summer–Autumn 1997): 362, doi: 10.2307/831838.
20
8
become an outlaw for her sake. She is portrayed as monstrous, José as a dangerously
weak link in the patriarchal chain of command. 21
While Bizet composed this opera almost a century after Rousseau’s death, its attitudes toward
women remain in line with Rousseau’s philosophy.
With the rise of the middle class in the eighteenth century and especially after the French
Revolution, amateur music-making increased in popularity. Not only was such an activity an
enjoyable way for a family to spend its new leisure time, it was also a means for daughters of
middle-class families to attract financially stable husbands. “[M]usic, on whatever level, was not
simply a trifling amusement or a meaningless way of filling the idle hours of unmarried
daughters (whose very idleness was a desirable sign of gentility). Music was woven into the very
fabric of social interaction; it was part of the system of signs by which people communicated
with each other. And for the entire [nineteenth] century this occurred routinely around that
familiar fixed object, symbol of both success and sensibility: the piano.” 22 However, women
were generally expected to remain as merely amateur musicians.
Aspiring bourgeois families discovered that music lessons for their daughters could be an
asset in their climb up the social ladder.…Although this situation yielded a large group of
amateurs, from which some real talents emerged, upper- and middle-class women were
discouraged from taking music too seriously. Even the most competent among them were
forbidden by husbands or fathers to appear in public, to publish music under their own
names, or to accept fees for any teaching they did, lest it reflect badly on the social status
21
Susan McClary, Feminine Endings: Music, Gender, and Sexuality, reprint (Minneapolis: University of
Minnesota Press, 2002), 59–60.
22
Leon Plantinga, “The Piano and the Nineteenth Century,” in Nineteenth-Century Piano Music, 2nd ed., ed. R.
Larry Todd (New York: Routledge, 2004), 3.
9
of the family. The advice and support of a man was still a necessity in the career of any
woman musician, no matter how talented. 23
Schumann had the advantages of coming from a musical family and of having the guidance and
support of her father and later the assistance of her friends and family.
When Clara Wieck toured with her father, he attended to the hundreds of details of
concert giving: he rented the halls and instruments, hired the supporting musicians, had
the tickets printed and distributed, arranged for refreshments to lure the reluctant, peddled
Clara’s picture, set up advertisements in the papers and posters on the streets, collected
and counted the money. All these tasks became Clara’s from 1839 to the close of her
performing career. Though she advised her students to hire professional managers
(infrequent in Germany until the 1880s), she herself did not do so. She had developed a
network of friends throughout Europe, and in letters filled with requests and directives
she enlisted their help. Flattered and proud to assist the great artist, they never failed her.
But her greatest aid came from her daughters, who were pressed into service as soon as
they were old enough to help. One daughter saw to her clothes, another made
arrangements for the shipping of her instruments and music, a third arranged for
transportation and housing for the artist and her traveling companion or helped with the
selling and distribution of tickets. Each daughter took her turn as traveling companion,
but in the end it was Marie who became her constant attendant. 24
Even when women did become professional musicians, composing was not always
encouraged. “Women who attempted creative work suffered societal displeasure; consequently,
even among professional women musicians who were supported and encouraged by family and
23
24
Reich, “European Composers and Musicians,” 148.
Reich, Clara Schumann, 272–273.
10
friends there were internal and external conflicts about composing. This may explain why a
gifted composer like Clara Schumann was ambivalent about her creative work and easily
discouraged. The prevailing views on proper feminine behavior (passive and submissive) were
so firmly entrenched that she was uncomfortable about her role as a composer; nevertheless, she
had no qualms about appearing as a performer, which she considered a re-creative activity.” 25
While Schumann was encouraged in her compositional endeavors by her father and her husband,
some of her peers, like Hensel, were not as fortunate. Such a creative endeavor as composing
was often considered an active—and therefore male—role. “The Romantic ethos idolized the
artist-genius (always male) who was seeking self-expression, and composers like [Frédéric]
Chopin were praised for showing their sensitive, ‘feminine’ sides. Woman was idealized; her
function was to serve as a muse for the creator, to inspire and nurture the man; her feminine side
was deemed a weakness should it color her music.” 26
Although highly respected within her field, Schumann had the added pressure of being
married to Robert, a composer whom she had already greatly respected for years.
Clara Wieck Schumann was married to a great composer whose work she admired and
loved. Even as a girl, she realized what few of her contemporaries understood—that
Robert Schumann belonged to the elect, that he would eventually be counted among the
great composers of the ages. Any musician married to such a figure would find his stature
intimidating; as the younger of the two, she asked for his criticism, but feared and
resented it at the same time. She accepted fully the dictum that the husband was the
dominating figure in a marriage, but in this case the situation was complicated by the fact
that Clara Wieck Schumann was a celebrated performer and earned more money than her
25
26
Reich, “European Composers and Musicians,” 149.
Ibid., 148.
11
husband. She may well have felt some guilt about her reputation and earning ability,
especially in an age when women musicians routinely gave up careers when they
married. 27
Even certain musical genres were considered more appropriate than others for female
composers. The art song, especially the German Lied, became the largest genre for women’s
music in the nineteenth century. Since such works only required piano and voice, the two most
prevalent instruments among female musicians, and since music for these instruments was
considered more suitable for domestic settings, they were more acceptable for female composers
to write. Another important genre considered suitable for female composers was that of short
character pieces for piano. Both of these were considered less complex and less “masculine” than
some of the larger instrumental genres, like symphonies and sonatas. 28
Society also considered the small genres to be appropriate for women because of their
connection with the private sphere of the home. “Since the middle of the nineteenth century the
public domain has generally been viewed as the terrain of the professional, the private of the
non-professional.…Certain assumptions about the relative worth of public and private have
become a fundamental part of musical valuation and thus figure in canon formation.” 29 The
smaller genres became especially linked to the Parisian salon, a domain in which female
musicians were able to thrive.
The salon has functioned as one of the important institutions of private music-making for
women.…Many salons exuded a feminine tone, arguably a general characteristic of
French aristocratic culture. The ambiance probably resulted from other factors as well,
including the large number of female participants, the opulence of the surroundings, and
27
Reich, Clara Schumann, 217–218.
Reich, “European Composers and Musicians,” 152.
29
Citron, Gender and the Musical Canon, 100.
28
12
the kind of music performed, which was often lyrical and expressive. Furthermore, even
though financed by male aristocrats, the salon located itself in a residence. And the home,
even if palatial, tended to be a female domain. Thus despite its role as replacement for the
masculine preserve of the court, the salon represented an important site of feminine
culture. 30
Of Schumann’s twenty-three works with opus numbers, fifteen are works for solo piano and
three are sets of Lieder. She wrote another ten songs for solo voice and piano and ten solo piano
pieces that do not have opus numbers. Of her twenty-five solo piano works, only four are
“larger” or “more serious” forms: two are sets of preludes and fugues, one is a set of fugues, and
one is a sonata. Schumann only wrote two concertos and one choral piece in her life. 31 Thus, her
output adhered to the societal expectations of music by women.
Purely instrumental music, especially absolute music, was valued more highly than
songs. As one of the more acceptable instruments for women to play, the piano became central to
the instrumental music composed by women.
The Romantics held instrumental music to be superior to music with words, and the piano
seemed best suited to exemplify Romantic ideals. By 1830 the piano had a greater range,
bigger sound, and more strength than keyboard instruments of the previous century, and
it could express intimate emotion as well as display dazzling virtuosity. It was as suitable
a musical vehicle for the great virtuosi as it was for the amateur.…The piano, seen and
heard in concert hall, palace, and parlor, was considered a particularly appropriate
instrument for women to play because of its association with domestic music making.
30
31
Ibid., 104–105.
Reich, Clara Schumann, 290–327.
13
The women who composed for piano employed, for the most part, the short lyric
forms so beloved in that age: songs without words, ballades, etudes, romances, nocturnes,
intermezzos, scherzos, and dance forms such as polonaises and mazurkas. Although
frequently associated with what was derogatorily called ‘salon music,’ these works were,
in the hands of the best composers, elegant and expressive pieces. Particularly popular
among those concert pianists who performed their own works was the theme-andvariations form in which the artist could demonstrate versatility and brilliance. 32
Clara Schumann’s compositional career reflected this trend. “Among her girlhood works are
several in variation form—typical of the period—in which popular melodies were employed to
demonstrate the prowess of the pianist. At the same time, however, the young pianist was writing
short, lyric pieces characteristic of the New Romantic School, a group that included Chopin,
Mendelssohn, Robert Schumann, and Clara herself. After marrying Robert Schumann, she chose
to write in more traditional forms, reflecting her joint studies with her husband of works by
[Johann Sebastian] Bach, [Wolfgang Amadeus] Mozart, [Joseph] Haydn, and [Ludwig van]
Beethoven.” 33
Barriers to Women’s Inclusion in the Canon
Although several women in the early nineteenth century were considered professional
composers, “that is, their music was published and performed and they received money for their
work,” 34 their music was still excluded from the canon more than a century later. This may be
because their music has not persisted in the same manner as that of their male counterparts. 35
“Women’s exclusion has played a role in creating what feminist literary critic Lillian Robinson
32
Reich, “European Composers and Musicians,” 159.
Ibid., 162.
34
Ibid., 151–152.
35
Citron, “Gender, Professionalism and the Musical Canon,” 102.
33
14
has dubbed a ‘counter canon:’ an alternative repertoire made up entirely of works by
women.…Yet the ultimate goal is not separatism but integration into the mainstream of Western
musical history.” 36 While some scholars and composers of the twentieth and twenty-first
centuries may feel that music by women should compose its own canon, implying that
nineteenth-century female composers would want their music to reside in a separate category
than that by men would require the application of anachronistic concepts and viewpoints to the
thinking of the nineteenth-century female composers. A desire for their music to be included in
the main music canon seems more realistic. As a concert pianist, Schumann considered herself
an equal to male musicians. “She was not a feminist and it is doubtful that she sympathized with
the view of those few women who were just beginning the struggle for equal rights in nineteenthcentury Germany. She assumed her position as a premiere pianist without self-consciousness.
From her birth it had been understood that she would be an artist, and she seldom doubted her
success.” 37 While she may have had reservations about composing, she certainly did not believe
that she was musically inferior to or separate from men. 38
Inclusion in the canon is based on a variety of factors that historically have barred
women’s music. Access to compositional training was essential. As discussed above, women had
few opportunities for musical training before the nineteenth century. 39 After writing a piece of
music, publication and repeated performances are necessary. Publication of women’s music was
very difficult throughout the Common Practice Period.
[Publication] boasts a poor record with regard to women: only a small percentage of their
works have appeared in print. At first glance publication seems an open-and-shut
36
Ibid., 103–104.
Reich, Clara Schumann, 275.
38
Ibid., 211.
39
Citron, “Gender, Professionalism and the Musical Canon,” 105.
37
15
situation, a decision based on merit and anticipated profit for the publisher. Yet certain
factors of social organization and practices have impinged forcefully on the issue and
rendered publication anything but quality- or economics-based. 40
Publication and repeated performances were major factors in a piece’s long-term success. 41 As
one of the preeminent pianists of the Romantic Era, Schumann had a greater opportunity to
program her own compositions. “Schumann performed her own works in her concerts as late as
1886 and published a piano work as late as 1891.” 42 Programming one’s own compositions on
public recitals was a common practice of nineteenth-century virtuosi. “Many professional
women composers were concert artists who, like the male virtuosi of their day, wrote to display
their performing skills.” 43
Once a piece has been published and performed, it needs positive reception from music
critics. “Unfortunately women have been subjected to gender-linked evaluation, placing them in
a ‘separate but not equal’ category that has widened the gulf between themselves and the
homogeneous canon.” 44 In the nineteenth century, this “gender-linked evaluation” led many
women in various fields to disguise their work as that of a man. In the literary field, George Sand
and George Eliot serve as two examples. In music Hensel and Schumann sometimes published
music with the highly influential men in their lives. “Clara Schumann, for instance, contributed
Lieder to a joint collection with Robert; here, with both names affixed to the title page, one could
not identify which songs were by Clara, which by Robert. Hensel had gone further towards
40
Ibid., 106.
Ibid.
42
Marian Wilson Kimber, “From the Concert Hall to the Salon: The Piano Music of Clara Wieck Schumann and
Fanny Mendelssohn Hensel,” in Todd, Nineteenth-Century Piano Music, 317.
43
Reich, “European Composers and Musicians,” 152.
44
Citron, “Gender, Professionalism and the Musical Canon,” 108.
41
16
concealment when she permitted her first published pieces to bear the authorship of her brother
Felix.” 45
Women also encountered difficulties based on the very sound of their music. Even
though they had been trained with the same musical language and to appreciate the same musical
qualities as men, critics would deride their music if it seemed too “masculine,” or at least not as
“feminine” as the male critics would like. In part, this criticism was linked to genre. As discussed
above women were expected to abstain from writing larger forms, like sonatas. Attempting such
a piece would mean inviting negative reviews. “The exclusionism at the heart of gender-linked
criticism and of other deterrents to professionalism also lies at the center of a major assumption
underlying the theory of canon formation: the large forms hold greater value than the small
forms.…Soon, regardless of quality, the very fact of genre predicted relegation to a lesser status:
automatic trivialization. Such denigration rendered potential admittance into the canon well-nigh
impossible. Since it was women who were mainly composing such works, their devaluation
functioned as de facto exclusion from the canon.” 46
The societal pressures on music by women may well have affected how Schumann
composed. Since she depended on favorable reviews of her music, usually written by men, her
music needed to be socially acceptable and have musical substance. Her music needed the
approval of both the general public and the musical elite. Unlike Franz Liszt, she could not risk
writing wildly experimental and emotional music. Her music might not have been taken
seriously. One way she managed to restrain her music was to adhere to formal structures
common in the Classical Era.
45
46
Ibid.
Ibid., 109–110.
17
Clara Schumann’s Aesthetics
Schumann’s aesthetic preferences changed throughout her life thanks to her encounters
with so many of the preeminent musicians and composers of Europe and to her career as a
concert pianist. To use David Ferris’s terms, her compositions shifted from being “performer’s
music,” like that of the virtuosi of 1830s Paris, to being “composer’s music,” like that of her
husband. 47 Her experiences as a performer and her studies of Baroque and Classical music
guided her compositional career. Written late in her output, her Drei Romanzen, op. 21, no. 1,
has a clear Classical form overlaid with Romantic harmonies. This adherence to Classical form
in one of her last works is not surprising since, “especially in later years, she expressed a
vehement repulsion for music that in her view lacked clarity or structure.” 48 Thus the large- and
small-scale forms used in this piece strongly resemble those of the Classical Era while her use of
harmony reflects the influence of her fellow piano virtuosi.
Formal ambiguity was common in more progressive Romantic music. In his postLohengrin operas, Richard Wagner stretched the sentence form to its limits. In his article
“Wagner’s Loosely Knit Sentences and the Drama of Musical Form,” Matthew BaileyShea
examined Wagner’s sentences in these operas through a combination of three lenses: Alfred
Lorenz’s Barform concept, William Rothstein’s “Stollen Process,” and Arnold Schoenberg’s
Formenlehre tradition (continued by Caplin). 49 As BaileyShea demonstrated, Wagner’s music
does not fit neatly within Classical formal structures. “Indeed, Schoenberg himself never applies
47
David Ferris, “Public Performance and Private Understanding: Clara Wieck’s Concerts in Berlin,” Journal of
the American Musicological Society 56, no. 2 (Summer 2003): 354, doi: 10.1525/jams.2003.56.2.351.
48
Pedroza, “Music as Communitas,” 313.
49
Matthew BaileyShea, “Wagner’s Loosely Knit Sentences and the Drama of Musical Form,” Intégral 16/17
(2002/2003): 4–5, http://www.jstor.org/stable/40214003.
18
the concept of the sentence to Wagner. Instead he associates Wagner with sequence, especially in
contrast to the ‘developing variation’ of Brahms.” 50
Schumann would have come in contact with formal ambiguity in her youth as a concert
pianist. Chopin’s scherzos, ballades, and fantasies contain many examples of formal ambiguity.
His Fourth Scherzo “strains beyond the closed components associated with the brilliant style by
admitting in a limited way some of the characteristics of the sonata principle. The outer flanks,
for example, each incorporate an extended central section which has something of the chromatic,
tension-building character of a development.” 51 Another example is his Polonaise-fantaisie, op.
61. “Like the Fantasy Op. 49, the Polonaise-fantaisie has something of the formal variety and
irregularity of an inspired improvisation. It embraces a wide range of characters—slow
introduction, dance theme, sonata-like motivic development, nocturne-like ornamental melody
and ‘slow movement’—within a tonal and formal setting whose sequence is unpredictable yet
entirely satisfying and cohesive. While a large ternary design was clearly the starting-point and
remains a perceptible background, the foreground highlights processes of interruption,
discontinuity and asymmetry.” 52
Schumann began her musical career in the arena dominated by Eastern European pianists
(like Chopin, Liszt, Frédéric Kalkbrenner, and Sigismond Thalberg), whose most important
venue was Paris. While London, Vienna, Berlin, and St. Petersburg remained strong musical
centers, “it was Paris alone where political and cultural conditions were exactly right for the
distinctive virtuoso of the 1830s and 1840s. Paris of the 1830s retained the prestige it had
acquired in the days of the Sun King as the dictator of fashion in almost every sphere, from
50
Ibid., 10.
Jim Samson, “Extended Forms: The Ballades, Scherzos and Fantasies,” in The Cambridge Companion to
Chopin, ed. Jim Samson (New York: Cambridge University Press, 1992), 107.
52
Ibid., 123.
51
19
literature and theater to couture and cuisine.…Under the July monarchy, Paris became a place of
unparalleled liberalism and liberty.” 53 The aforementioned artists dazzled the Parisian audiences
with their new, Romantic styles of playing, some of which would have been impossible on older
keyboard instruments. “The virtuosi treated their audiences to inventive new figurations played
at unheard-of velocity and to a thorough exploitation of the extremes of the piano’s range. Novel
keyboard textures proliferated; two that became standard were a figuration featuring rapid-fire
repeated octaves and chords divided between the hands, and Thalberg’s sonorous midrange
melody with arpeggios above and below.” 54
Several of these features appear in Schumann’s Romance variée, op. 3. Example 1 shows
Schumann’s use of a Thalberg-like midrange melody surrounded by melodic arpeggios in the
lower register and harmonic arpeggios in the upper register. Example 2 shows Schumann’s
virtuosity with regard to a chordal texture. The texture builds from a bass melody doubled at the
octave (mm. 143–145) to full chordal support for the melody (mm. 146–148) and comes to a
climax in which the chords are “divided between the hands” (mm. 149–151).
Schumann’s aesthetic preferences especially changed due to her musical relationship with
Robert Schumann. “Even the most cursory glance into her major piano compositions reveals this
general aesthetic shift. While works such as the Romance variée (op. 3, 1831–3) and Variations
de concert (op. 8, 1837) firmly exemplify a virtuosic style in line with the fashionable Parisian
salon music of such composers as Theodor Döhler, Frédéric Kalkbrenner, and Sigismond
Thalberg, a much less virtuosic style predominates post-1840.” 55 As a young, promising piano
53
Plantinga, “The Piano and the Nineteenth Century,” 4–5.
Ibid., 6.
55
Jacob Sagrans, “Virtuosity in Clara Schumann’s Piano Compositions,” Musicological Explorations 11 (Spring
2010): 46, Music Index (56570851).
54
20
Example 1 Romance variée, op. 3, mm. 53–60, Midrange melody surrounded by arpeggios
Example 2 Romance variée, op. 3, mm. 143–152, Textural virtuosity
21
virtuosa, she spent her youth under the tutelage of her father, the great piano teacher Friedrich
Wieck. Wieck ensured that his daughter received a thorough musical education. Nancy B. Reich
states, “Formal harmony, counterpoint, and composition lessons began when Clara was barely
ten, and her own compositions appeared on her earliest programs, as was customary in the 1830s.
Her musical education also included voice lessons, violin lessons, instruction in orchestration,
score reading, and regular attendance at every musical event in Leipzig and the other cities where
she performed.” 56 Determined that his daughter would succeed as a concert pianist, Wieck
recognized the importance of pleasing the audiences, especially those in Paris. Thus he
controlled all of Schumann’s programs before her 1839 Parisian tour. 57 For example, the
program for her 1830 debut concert in Leipzig
included Kalkbrenner’s Rondo Brillant, op. 101; [Henri] Herz’s Variations Brillantes, op.
23; a Quatuor Concertant for four pianos, op. 230, by [Carl] Czerny; and Clara’s own
Variation on an Original Theme (now lost).…The Paris concerts of 1832 featured two
overtures by Weber arranged for six pianos—four hand at each—and singers, guitarists,
and a cellist.…None of the works played were pieces that we would hear today, nor, as
we shall see, were they works that Clara was likely to play even ten or fifteen years later.
The choices reflected not her father’s taste but what he deemed to be the popular taste of
the 1830s. Wieck would not jeopardize her career by programming too much Bach or
Beethoven. 58
Parisian audiences preferred vocal music to the more “serious” music Schumann valued.
“Almost to the end of the century, audiences demanded singers at every concert.” 59 The tradition
56
Reich, Clara Schumann, 212.
Ibid., 251.
58
Ibid., 251, 253.
59
Ibid., 250.
57
22
of using assisting artists, especially singers, remained throughout the century, although it
declined significantly for solo pianists after Liszt’s first solo “recital” in 1840 London. 60 During
her 1839 Parisian tour, she “discovered that she could not play anything serious (or anything she
truly loved) at the aristocratic soirées unless it were perhaps at 2 A.M., when most of the guests
had left and the real connoisseurs remained to hear her play [Robert] Schumann, Chopin, and
[Domenico] Scarlatti.” 61 The Parisian audiences preferred “performer’s music” to “composer’s
music;” they also valued smaller, “less serious” genres, usually based on songs.
The preferences of the Paris audiences reflected the great rage for vocal music; entire
recitals consisted solely of arrangements and transcriptions of works derived from other
genres, principally opera and song. Original works or improvisations by the performer
were also basic fare. Thus every program of Clara’s up to the time of her marriage
included at least one composition of her own and at least one work derived from an
opera. Robert Schumann’s piano pieces were unknown in Paris, and though Clara had
braved her father’s wrath when she packed them with her other music, she did not
attempt them in public. In Paris, as in Vienna, she played Schumann’s works at small
private soirées, and only for those connoisseurs who would appreciate them. 62
Thus, she continued to play flashier, more dazzling pieces in Paris and reserved the works she
truly loved for German audiences. However she discovered that the Parisians did enjoy her
Scherzo, op. 10. 63
60
Ibid.
Ibid., 253.
62
Ibid., 254.
63
Ibid., 253–254.
61
23
After marrying Robert in 1840, her “composing efforts followed closely the patterns set
by her husband in respect to the genres she chose, though the voice was distinctly her own.” 64
[Leon] Plantinga, extrapolating from reviews in the Neue Zeitschrift, has created a list of
the virtuosic compositional elements of the Parisian piano salon that [Robert] Schumann
and other critics for the Neue Zeitschrift found problematic. These include: introductions
which change rapidly between fast and slow sections, quickly alternating between the
right and left hand to play chords in the same register, composing a melody in a middle
voice with sweeping arpeggios surrounding it, scales played in octaves, frequent
tremolos, arpeggios, repeated notes, and a heavy reliance on sixth chords.…[M]any of
these elements are present in the works Clara Wieck composed prior to her marriage to
Schumann. 65
Yet certain aspects of her music remained relatively constant throughout her compositional
career. In reference to Schumann’s Quatre Polonaises pour le Pianoforte, op. 1, published in
1831 when Schumann was twelve, Marian Wilson Kimber writes, “Stylistic traits that later
dominate Schumann’s mature character pieces are already evident: an underlying ABA form, a
predominantly regular phrase structure, a harmonic language enriched by chromatic voiceleading, and display of pianistic brilliance.” 66 Even the Romance variée, op. 3, uses a fairly
regular phrase structure. 67 The form and phrase structure reflect Schumann’s partiality to a
strong Classical framework for her pieces; the chromaticism and “pianistic brilliance” show her
inclination toward the harmonic language and increased technical skill of the Romantic Era.
These traits are also present in her Drei Romanzen, op. 21, no. 1.
64
Ibid., 214.
Sagrans, “Virtuosity in Clara Schumann’s Piano Compositions,” 54.
66
Wilson Kimber, “From the Concert Hall to the Salon,” 318.
67
Clara Schumann, Romance variée, op. 3, in Romantic Piano Music, ed. Franzpeter Goebels, vol. 2 (Kassel:
Bärenreiter, 1976), 2–11.
65
24
Mendelssohn’s work also had a strong effect on Clara. “Mendelssohn’s perfectionism had
raised standards of playing and programming, and his revivals of the music of Johann Sebastian
Bach prompted study and performances of the old Leipzig cantor. With Mendelssohn, Clara—as
the young Clara Wieck and later as Madame Schumann (as she was generally known)—played
several Bach works that had not been heard before at the Gewandhaus.” 68 During their marriage,
the Schumanns studied many works of past composers together. “[H]er sphere of knowledge was
enlarged through their common studies of Bach’s Well-Tempered Clavier, Beethoven’s
symphonies, and the chamber works of Mozart and Haydn.” 69
These factors influenced her concert programs. “The change in her programming became
decisive after her marriage. The display pieces by Herz and [Johann Peter] Pixis and her own
bravura variations all but disappeared from her programs; fewer arrangements and variations
show up; the dominating works are those written for the keyboard by Bach, Beethoven, Chopin,
Mendelssohn, Mozart, [Franz] Schubert, and Schumann.” 70 However she did not perform many
of her husband’s pieces until after his death and only when she felt that the public was ready for
them. She understood the financial importance of pleasing her audiences, even if that meant
performing less intellectually challenging works. “Schumann himself agreed that his early works
were particularly controversial; both he and Clara were aware that the public was not ready for
these imaginative piano cycles with their autobiographical and esoteric literary allusions,
innovative rhythms and harmonies, and experimental sounds (though we now see them as having
a natural place in a particular German tradition).” 71
68
Reich, Clara Schumann, 255.
Ibid.
70
Ibid.
71
Ibid., 261–262.
69
25
In his 2010 article “Music as Communitas: Franz Liszt, Clara Schumann, and the Musical
Work,” Ludim R. Pedroza compares the aesthetic preferences and artistic perceptions of the title
musicians “through the lens of anthropologist Victor Turner’s theory of communitas.” 72 The
communitas concept begins in tribal societies with “the liminal phase of rites of passage, the
phase when the social order is temporarily disrupted or inverted, and when rules, identities, and
the very fabric of ‘daily life’ is [sic] suspended.” 73 Communitas refers to the sense of communal
oneness, often at a subconscious, irrational level. Pedroza translates this concept onto the
Romantics and their search for the sublime:
Nineteenth-century philosophers and musicians obliged these urges [for communitas] and
embarked on a utopian quest with unprecedented zeal, a quest manifested in political
rhetoric (emancipation, liberation, freedom) and in philosophical and religious concepts
(Absolute Reality, Absolute Truth, the Will). More specifically, liminoid [“that is, the
postindustrial or modern equivalent of the tribal liminal” 74] genres, such as music, served
as cultural mechanisms through which this quest found various forms of fulfillment.
Music, particularly, operated within a dynamic spectrum that included the emotional
experience (described variously in terms of ecstasy, rapture, and transportation into a
divine realm), the performative actions through which musical experience was re-invoked
(the nineteenth-century solo recital), and the conceptual constructs (the musical work)
that purported to capture and regulate the “transcendent” moment of musical
experience. 75
72
Pedroza, “Music as Communitas,” 297.
Ibid., 298.
74
Ibid., 299.
75
Ibid., 302.
73
26
Liszt saw the artist as a priest whose duty was to lead the audience into the realm of pure
beauty via individual performances. The individual audience members could unite in an
experience of emotional ecstasy and spiritual oneness through their shared musical experience. 76
While Liszt emphasized the performative aspect of the musical experience, Schumann stressed
the importance of the musical work itself. She adhered to the werktreu (“true to the text” 77)
principle of performance. “Schumann’s biographers justify her position against Liszt and the
‘virtuoso show,’ and anoint her as the matron of the modern interpretative pianist, one who
suppresses her own persona and seeks to illuminate the work of the composer.” 78 The contrast
between Schumann’s stoic public image and Liszt’s bohemian public image reflects the
differences in the artists’ approaches to musical works.
Liszt publically lived the tensions implied by the musical work-concept and negotiated
his performative style through his performances and writings. Schumann negotiated those
tensions privately, through an emotional and compositional engagement with the work;
by the time she reached the stage, she believed she offered the musical noumena. Her
public soberness worked in collusion with her intimate notion of the work-as-entity and
the result was a quiet evening of contemplation. Whereas Liszt valued the emotional
merging of public communitas, Schumann invited listeners to merge with the work, not
necessarily with each other. By suppressing her emotional involvement in public, she
opened the door to the individualization of the work. 79
Schumann thus acknowledged the usefulness of applying certain restraints to her music in
order to help the audience merge with it and understand its importance. She felt that this clarity
76
Ibid., 307.
Reich, Clara Schumann, 272.
78
Pedroza, “Music as Communitas,” 311.
79
Ibid., 319.
77
27
elevated the work more than the emotional flights of fancy in Liszt’s music. Fortunately for her,
applying such restraints coincided with her own aesthetic preferences. In her own compositions,
such restraints manifested themselves in her use of clear formal structures. In my analysis of
Schumann’s Drei Romanzen, op. 21, no.1 (chapter 2), I will attempt to explore the piece’s
structure and harmony from an objective standpoint. I will compare the techniques used in the
piece to those used in the canonical music of male contemporaries. Comparing this piece to
pieces by male composers will aid in the avoidance of designating Schumann’s piece as
“separate but equal.”
Methodology
The societal, gender-based criticisms of music by women kept female composers under
constant pressure to walk the fine line of composing music that was neither too feminine nor too
masculine. 80 Thus, a “safe” route toward having one’s music taken seriously during the
Romantic Era may have been to hearken back to the standards of the Classical Era, considered
“conservative” by nineteenth-century standards. “Barbara Herrnstein Smith identifies one of the
most crucial functions of genre: pre-classification as pre-evaluation. Classification sets up certain
expectations and assumptions based on culturally understood meanings of value of the particular
category. For musical genre this entails parameters such as function, style, scoring, length, site of
performance, intended audience, manner and nature of reception, decorum of the performative
experience, and value. Classification validates and supports the right to existence of works
within its boundaries. Works beyond tend to be excluded, ignored, and consequently
devalued.” 81 By working within the frameworks established in the Classical Era, women had a
80
81
Citron, “Gender, Professionalism and the Musical Canon,” 108–110.
Citron, Gender and the Musical Canon, 124.
28
better chance for their music to be performed and appreciated. Straying too far outside
conventional boundaries could prove disastrous for their musical careers.
The exclusionist property of genre is critical toward understanding its cultural power. If,
for example, we take the genre of the symphony, with its traditional definition as an
orchestral piece in several movements, then where do we place a piece such as Berlioz’s
Damnation of Faust—a work with strong narrative content, a cast of characters, a wealth
of pictorial scenes, and an unusual structure? What happens to pieces like this that
challenge generic norms? One practical consequence is that they may not be performed
very much; our performing structures have reflected and helped construct our categories
of genre. Furthermore, this piece would have a greater likelihood of being omitted from
studies or classes focusing on the symphony than, say, a Brahms symphony, and might
well be excluded also from forums on the cantata, oratorio, or opera. This illustrates a
major weakness of generic classification: exclusion and implied devaluation of works
that do not fit the categories within the system. Generic classification can thus turn its
Janus-like face to reveal an unredeeming rigidity that can prove fatal to musical works. 82
One parameter of genre is form. The following study of Schumann’s Drei Romanzen, op.
21, no. 1, will begin with an examination of the piece’s form in comparison to some of the most
prestigious instrumental music of the Classical Era. Caplin’s Classical Form: A Theory of
Formal Functions for the Instrumental Music of Haydn, Mozart, and Beethoven, which Warren
Darcy calls “one of the most important books on musical form to appear in the twentieth
century,” 83 will provide the basis of my formal analysis of Schumann’s piece. Caplin based his
82
Ibid., 125.
Warren Darcy, review of Classical Form: A Theory of Formal Functions for the Instrumental Music of Haydn,
Mozart, and Beethoven, by William E. Caplin, Music Theory Spectrum 22, no. 1(Spring 2000): 122, doi:
10.2307/745856.
83
29
theory on the work of Schoenberg and Schoenberg’s student Erwin Ratz. They believed that “the
formal units of a work play specific roles in articulating its overall structure.” 84 Caplin’s theory
“formulates coherent principles and proposes clear terminology to serve as theoretical tools for
analyzing form at all hierarchical levels in a single movement.” 85 In this theory, local harmonies
determine the form of a unit. 86 While this theory derives from a very specific collection of
pieces, its terminology and principles can be applied to music of various other eras. Caplin’s
formal types are similar to “what Carl Dahlhaus, following Max Weber, calls ‘ideal types’
(Idealtypen) and thus represent abstractions based on generalized compositional tendencies in the
classical repertory.” 87 By examining Wagner’s post-Lohengrin operas (some of the most
complex Romantic music) through the lens of Caplin’s theory, BaileyShea illuminated the
flexible nature of the theory and the wide variety of musical styles and genres to which it can be
applied. Thus, examining how closely the formal units of Schumann’s piece correspond to
Caplin’s formal types can show how conservative or progressive Schumann’s aesthetics were.
Progressiveness in music by women could present itself through the use of the Romantic
harmonic language. While form had close ties to genre, new uses of harmony were prevalent
across musical genres. Harmonic techniques were reflections of the Romantic Era as a whole.
For example, tangential harmonic progressions in which the chords’ roots are separated by a
tritone can be found in the fourth movement of Berlioz’s Symphonie fantastique, in the final
measures of Liszt’s Sonata in B Minor (1854), and in the “Coronation Scene” of Modest
Mussorgsky’s Boris Godunov. 88 Leonard G. Ratner’s Romantic Music: Sound and Syntax (1992)
84
William E. Caplin, Classical Form: A Theory of Formal Functions for the Instrumental Music of Haydn,
Mozart, and Beethoven (New York: Oxford University Press, 2001), 3.
85
Ibid.
86
Ibid., 4.
87
Ibid.
88
Leonard G. Ratner, Romantic Music: Sound and Syntax (New York: Schirmer Books, 1992), 48, 111–113.
30
will provide the basis of my harmonic analysis. While Ratner’s book covers many aspects of
Romantic music, including specific sound qualities, texture, and form, my analysis will draw
primarily from his discussion of harmonic color. Ratner highlights harmonic processes and
idiosyncrasies common in Romantic music. For example, “Expanded sound resources in
instrumentation added new values to harmony by allowing a chord to express itself as a color in
addition to acting as a function in a cadential formula.” 89 Examining which harmonic techniques
Schumann used in her piece and the relative prevalence of these techniques within Romantic and
Classical music can demonstrate how conservative or progressive her aesthetics were.
Combining the results of the formal and harmonic analyses will provide a picture of how
conservative or progressive this piece was at the time Schumann wrote it as compared to works
by her contemporaries.
89
Ibid., xiii.
31
CHAPTER 2: ANALYSIS OF CLARA SCHUMANN’S DREI ROMANZEN, OP. 21, NO. 1
Background
Schumann wrote her Drei Romanzen, op. 21, between 1853 and 1855. In late June 1853,
she wrote three romances in A minor, F major, and G minor. 90 In 1855, “on a day when Brahms
was visiting Robert Schumann at the sanatorium and she was, as she writes in her diary, ‘feeling
so sad[,]’” 91 she wrote another A minor romance, with which she replaced the first of the 1853
romances. She dedicated this set of three romances to Brahms and later published the 1853
Romanze in A Minor separately. 92
Schumann’s blending of Classical and Romantic aesthetics in her Drei Romanzen, op. 21,
no. 1, provides an excellent example of how a female composer might negotiate her own musical
preferences and ideas with society’s expectations of her music. As expected of a female
composer, this romance is a small character piece for the piano, so it conforms to society’s
expectations in terms of genre. The lyrical melody lends the piece enough “femininity” to be
appropriate for a female composer, and its lack of virtuosic show keeps it from being considered
“too feminine.” The use of Classical formal units, especially in the piece’s outer sections, aligns
with Schumann’s preference for musical restraint and increases the likelihood that the piece
would be taken seriously by critics. By keeping the formal structures of the piece more
conservative, she was able to be more artistically progressive in her use of harmony.
As discussed in the previous chapter, Schumann faced many challenges as a female
composer. The potential for harsh reviews by music critics and her studies of and appreciation
for Classical music steered her away from writing formally progressive music like that of Chopin
90
Joan Chissell, Clara Schumann: A Dedicated Spirit; A Study of her Life and Work (New York: Taplinger,
1983), 117.
91
Reich, Clara Schumann, 233.
92
Ibid.
32
and Wagner. One example of formal progressiveness in Chopin’s music is the second of his four
scherzos, his Scherzo in D-flat Major, op. 31. A Classical scherzo would usually adhere to what
Caplin calls a minuet/trio form, defined in his glossary to Classical Form as “A tripartite fullmovement form consisting of a minuet proper, trio, and da capo (of the minuet proper).” 93
However, Chopin’s Scherzo in D-flat Major, op. 31, is much more formally ambiguous than the
typical Classical scherzo.
Indeed in this work Chopin allowed his preoccupation with developmental processes and
the integration of extreme contrasts to take the scherzo and trio, its undoubted formal
starting-point, very close to the sonata-form movement. Here, much more than in the
other three works [the other three scherzos], he is alive to the possibilities his materials
may offer for unexpected openings in the structure, where previously self-contained ideas
might suddenly take exciting new directions. The expected reprise of the scherzo material
is replaced by just such an opening of the form at bar 476, resulting in what can only be
described as a powerful development section. And when the reprise finally creeps in on
the ebb of a single extended rhythmic impulse, it has all the structural weight of a sonataform recapitulation.
Within the reprise Chopin opens the form on a further two occasions—at bar 692,
where earlier material (bar 109) is extended and at bar 716, where the cadential figure is
unexpectedly interrupted by the return of the B section of the scherzo. In sonata-form
terms we have then a developmental coda as well as a development section. Formally the
second is indeed the most ambitious of the four scherzos, embodying all the drives and
conflicts of a sonata movement and synthesizing them through development. 94
93
94
Caplin, Classical Form, 255.
Samson, “Extended Forms,” 110–111.
33
Unlike Chopin, Schumann was not permitted to write such formally ambiguous music.
Her Piano Concerto in A Minor, op. 7 (first performed in 1835 and revised before its publication
in 1837), was her first large-scale work. It also incorporated some unexpected alterations to its
form. “Clara’s concerto, like Mendelssohn’s [G Minor Concerto], has no pauses between
movements, no cadenzas in the classical tradition, nor does it have the expected orchestral
exposition before the entrance of the soloist. Unlike Mendelssohn, however, Clara was not
greatly concerned about the conventional inner structure of the first movement: the development
section in A-flat major leads directly to a coda that serves as a transition to the second
movement. Also so unconventional that reviewers were taken aback is the A-flat major tonality
of the second movement.” 95 Since music critics were not always supportive of women writing
formally inventive music, the Classical formal constraints in her Drei Romanzen, op. 21, no. 1,
would have appealed to the critics. Fortunately for Schumann, she preferred such clarity and
restraint not just in her own music but also in that of others, including male composers. Yet,
especially in the interior theme, she was able to incorporate more Romantic formal ambiguity.
Schumann’s preference for restraint also aided her harmonic language. Her musical
studies with her husband and her emphasis on the importance of musical restraint caused her to
lessen the virtuosity in her music written after 1840. However, she also valued the harmonic
richness of the Romantic Era, especially in her husband’s music. While her use of harmony is
certainly Romantic, it does not reach the extremes of that of Liszt or Wagner. However, it cannot
be called Classical. Her emphasis on the half-diminished seventh chord and her use of extended
chords and Dorian inflection clearly designate the piece as Romantic, but, since her use of
harmony in this piece is not as extreme that of Liszt or Wagner, it probably would have been
more acceptable to audiences and critics. Thus, Schumann’s use of form and harmony in this
95
Reich, Clara Schumann, 227–228.
34
piece reflect not just her own musical preferences but also those of her society. The following
formal and harmonic analyses will demonstrate how Schumann combined Classical and
Romantic aesthetics in her Drei Romanzen, op. 21, no. 1, to create a work that negotiated the
competing societal and artistic demands on female composers.
Form
As one of her last compositions, this piece is an excellent example of Schumann’s
blending of Classical form with Romantic harmony. However, her preference for formal clarity
did not prevent her from allowing Romantic traits to enter into the piece. The outer sections of
this piece are more conservative and straightforward, both in form and harmony, but the middle
section is clearly Romantic. After an overview of the pertinent aspects of Caplin’s theory of
form, this portion of the analysis will compare the formal units in this piece to the Classical
archetypes and will demonstrate how Schumann’s uses of interpolation and expansion closely
adhere to Classical standards.
Classical formal types as defined by Caplin clearly structure the first of the romances of
this collection. Schumann’s use of strongly delineated sections was probably the result of her
studies of the music of Haydn, Mozart, and Beethoven as well as her musical relationships with
her husband and Mendelssohn. As her music matured, she adhered more closely to Classical
ideals, as evidenced in her Drei Romanzen, op. 21. Unlike her Piano Concerto in A Minor, op. 7,
the three romances of this set are more traditionally coherent. The keys of the romances (A
minor, F major, and G minor) are all closely-related keys. The tempo markings (Andante,
Allegretto, and Agitato) indicate a sense of overall acceleration over the course of the three
romances. 96
96
Janina Klassen, Clara Wieck-Schumann: Die Virtuosin als Komponistin; Studien zu ihrem Werk (New York:
Bärenreiter, 1990), 106.
35
The first romance follows a large ternary form, which Caplin defines in his glossary as
“A tripartite full-movement form consisting of a main theme, an interior theme, and a return of
the main theme.” 97 When used in Classical multi-movement pieces, like sonatas and
symphonies, such a form is used almost always for slow movements. 98 Schumann continued this
trend by marking the A-minor piece’s opening tempo “Andante.” 99 Interior themes of Classical
large ternary movements typically differ sharply from the main themes in terms of “melodicmotive material, texture, and accompanimental figurations.” 100 Most main themes and interior
themes share the same tonic while having different modalities. 101 The interior theme of
Schumann’s Drei Romanzen, op. 21, no. 1, marked “Sehr innig bewegt,” 102 also presents drastic
changes in mood and formal considerations. This theme begins in F major. Moving to the
submediant allows the main theme and interior theme to maintain their opposite-modality
relationship. Also, the move to the submediant key is not uncommon in Classical large-ternary
movements. 103 The second movements of Haydn’s Piano Trio in C Major, Hob. XV:21, and
Mozart’s Piano Sonata in D Major, K. 576, also follow this tonal pattern. 104 The second
movement of Haydn’s Piano Trio in C Major, Hob.XV:21 (the “Andante molto” 105 movement)
begins with a main theme in G major; the interior theme, mm. 35–40, begins in E minor (see
Example 3). The second movement of Mozart’s Piano Sonata in D Major, K. 576 (the
97
Caplin, Classical Form, 255.
Ibid., 211.
99
Clara Wieck-Schumann, Drei Romanzen, op. 21, in Ausgewählte Klavierwerke [Selected Piano Works], ed.
Janina Klassen, (Munich: G. Henle Verlag, 1987), 74.
100
Caplin, Classical Form, 213.
101
Ibid.
102
Wieck-Schumann, Drei Romanzen, op. 21, 75.
103
Caplin, Classical Form, 213.
104
Ibid., 281, note 26.
105
Joseph Haydn, Piano Trio in C Major, Hob. XV:21, in Klaviertrios, Vol. 3, Trios für Pianoforte, Violine und
Violoncello und Sonate für Klavier und Violine, ed. Irmgard Becker-Glauch (Munich: G. Henle Verlag, 1986): 72.
98
36
“Adagio” 106 movement), begins with a main theme in A major (mm. 1–16); the interior theme,
mm. 17–40, begins and primarily resides in F-sharp minor (see Example 4).
Example 3 Haydn Piano Trio in C Major, Hob. XV:21, mvt. 2, mm. 34–42, Interior theme (mm.
35–40)
Interior theme
Retransition
Example 4 Mozart, Piano Sonata in D Major, K. 576, mvt. 2, mm. 15–41, Interior theme (mm.
17–40)
Interior theme
106
Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, Piano Sonata in D Major, K. 576, in Nineteen Sonatas for the Piano, rev. and ed.
Richard Epstein, Schirmer’s Library of Musical Classics 1304 (New York: G. Schirmer, 1918): 232.
37
38
Recapitulation
In this A-minor romance, the main theme, the interior theme, and the return of the main
theme each take the structure of a small ternary form, which Caplin defines in his glossary as “A
tripartite theme consisting of an exposition (A), contrasting middle (B), and recapitulation
(Aʹ).” 107 Thus, the entire piece has three expositions, three contrasting middles, and three
recapitulations. While this form is often very similar to the traditional rounded binary, Caplin’s
term “small ternary” seems more appropriate for the main theme of this piece (Example 5).
107
Caplin, Classical Form, 257.
39
Example 5 Drei Romanzen, op. 21, no. 1, mm. 1–26, Main theme
Exposition
Interpolation
Contrasting Middle
Recapitulation
40
Caplin’s theory of form does not ignore the rounded binary form; rounded binary is simply a
subcategory of the small ternary form. Caplin states, “The small ternary and rounded binary must
be understood, nonetheless, as essentially the same form; that is, they both contain the three
functions of exposition, contrasting middle, and recapitulation.” 108 However, not all small
ternary passages should be interpreted as rounded binary passages. Caplin states that “the term
rounded binary can be used in cases in which the two-part character of the small ternary form is
given prominence through the repetition of the sections.” 109 He is referring to the repetition
scheme in which “the A section is immediately repeated before the onset of the B section, and
then, following the end of the Aʹ section, B and Aʹ together are repeated.” 110 He also notes,
“Advocates of the binary view argue…that the two sections are often similar in length and thus
display a kind of symmetrical balance. Some theorists point to the repetition scheme, noting that
the so-called middle section (of the ternary view) is structurally dependent on the subsequent Aʹ
section and, hence, cannot be repeated in its own right.” 111 Thus the term small ternary seems
more appropriate for the main theme of this piece since it does not follow the typical rounded
binary repetition scheme and since the exposition, contrasting middle, and recapitulation are each
eight measures long. The longer interior theme (thirty-five measures as opposed to twenty-six
measures in the main theme) also stands as a small ternary rather than rounded binary form
primarily due to the lengths of its exposition and recapitulation (sixteen and eleven measures,
respectively) and the fact that the recapitulation sounds like a restatement of the exposition
starting from the exposition’s beginning rather than picking up somewhere in its middle, as is
common in rounded binary pieces. The return of the main theme, beginning in m. 73, is almost
108
Ibid., 73.
Ibid..
110
Ibid., 71.
111
Ibid.
109
41
identical to its initial presentation until what was originally the final chord. At that point, the
phrase is expanded to delay the final cadence.
Schumann’s use of phrase structures and her techniques for modifying phrases in this
piece show a strong connection to the Classical style of phrase structure. However, the most
tight-knit phrase in the entire piece is the recapitulation of the main theme, and even this phrase
does not appear to have a clear-cut interpretation on its surface. The exposition and
recapitulation of the main theme are both parallel periods. The consequent phrases of the
exposition and recapitulation end with an imperfect authentic cadence in C major and a perfect
authentic cadence in the home key, respectively. Since a modulation causes a phrase to be
tonally loose, 112 the exposition is automatically less tight-knit than the recapitulation. One could
make the argument that these formal units are hybrid themes (“simple eight-measure theme[s]
combining functions associated with both the sentence and the period”) 113 rather than periods.
These would be compound basic idea + consequent hybrids. The determiner is whether the initial
phrases end with half cadences or dominant arrivals (“noncadential articulation[s] of formal
closure marked by the appearance of a dominant harmony near the end of a themelike unit”). 114
A compound basic idea is essentially a traditional antecedent that does not end with a cadence. 115
The voice-leading graph of the piece’s first phrase (Figure 1) demonstrates how this difference in
interpretation is possible. The first two measures establish the expectation that subphrases will
end on the third beat. In mm. 2 and 4, the homophonic texture continues through beat three, and
beat four serves as an anacrusis. The main interruption in the exposition occurs after beat three of
m. 4, which, in combination with the subphrase expectation and the texture, may lead one to
112
Ibid., 84.
Ibid., 255.
114
Ibid., 254.
115
Ibid., 61.
113
42
Figure 1 Drei Romanzen, op. 21, no. 1, mm. 1–4, Score and voice-leading graph
consider the phrase’s harmonic structural endpoint to be a dominant seventh chord and the entire
exposition to be a compound basic idea + consequent hybrid. However, the downbeat of m. 4 is a
root-position dominant triad and serves as the structural endpoint of the half-cadential
progression that begins in m. 3. Thus, the exposition and recapitulation are parallel periods, and
the second and third beats of mm. 4 and 22 merely serve as prolongational progressions. 116
Schumann’s interior theme, like many of the Classical Era, uses a loose-knit small
ternary form. The interior theme’s exposition, beginning with the anacrusis into m. 27 and
continuing through m. 42, takes the form of a modulating sixteen-measure sentence. Three
elements of the exposition cause it to be rather loose in nature: the fact that it begins and ends in
116
Throughout this paper, the term “prolongation” will not refer to the specifically Schenkerian use of the term
unless otherwise noted.
43
a subordinate key (F major), the modulation in m. 33, and the half cadence in m. 42. 117 In m. 33,
the third measure of the second iteration of the basic idea, the piece modulates to D minor, the
submediant of F major and the subdominant of the home key. A formal unit that ends with a half
cadence is less tight-knit than one that ends with an authentic cadence, especially a perfect
authentic cadence. The half cadence in m. 42 has even less closure due to the premature
dominant arrival in m. 41, making the formal unit even looser. 118
The recapitulation, beginning with an anacrusis into m. 51 and ending with the downbeat
of m. 61, initially presents the same melodic-motivic material as found in the opening of the
exposition (the first three measures of the exposition’s four-measure basic idea). However, the
form changes from a sixteen-measure sentence to a compressed recapitulation phrase so loosely
organized that it does not have a codified form in Caplin’s theory. Following the Classical
tradition of omitting redundant material in the recapitulation of a small ternary piece, 119 this
phrase omits not only the second iteration of the basic idea but also the basic idea’s last measure,
which was essentially a repetition of the basic idea’s third measure. The continuation begins in
m. 54 with a sequence and ends strongly with a perfect authentic cadence on the downbeat of m.
61. The tonic chord of the perfect authentic cadence actually becomes the pivot chord that allows
for the modulation back to the home key of A minor. On the second beat of the fourth measure of
the retransition, m. 64, the V9 chord functions as a premature dominant arrival; nine measures of
dominant prolongation follow. While such a loose recapitulation may seem inherently Romantic,
117
Caplin, Classical Form, 84.
Ibid.
119
Ibid., 83.
118
44
it follows a structure very similar to that used in Haydn’s Piano Sonata in G Major, Hob.
XVI:40, mvt. 2, mm. 15–24 (see Example 6). 120
Example 6 Haydn, Piano Sonata in G Major, Hob. XVI:40, mvt. 2, mm. 13–24, Recapitulation
(mm. 15–24)
Recapitulation
The contrasting middle, beginning in m. 43 and ending with the third beat of m. 50, takes
the form of a sentence. Akin to the exposition, this formal unit is very loose tonally due to its
modulation and moment of formal closure. The chord in the second half of m. 48 provides a
pivot-chord modulation back to F major. The sentence ends with a dominant arrival in m. 50 (see
Figure 2).
Like her Classical predecessors, Schumann used interpolation on both large- and smallscale levels. A two-measure interpolation in the main theme separates the exposition and
contrasting middle. These measures allow the piece to modulate to D minor through a loose
sequence. The main theme’s contrasting middle then resembles a sentence loosened by a three120
Ibid., 74, 83.
45
Contrasting middle
Figure 2 Drei Romanzen, op. 21, no. 1, mm. 42–50, Score and voice-leading graph of interior
theme’s contrasting middle (mm. 43–50)
measure interpolation, mm. 12–14, in the presentation; a continuation compressed into two
measures; and a modulation back to the home key (see Example 7). While the first interpolation
and the sentential components of the contrasting middle follow the Classical rules of harmonic
46
Example 7 Drei Romanzen, op. 21, no.1, mm. 5–21, Large-scale interpolation (mm. 9–10) and
contrasting middle (mm. 11–18)
(Exposition—Period)
Consequent
a: i
iiø 42
IAC
i
C: vi
V6
Interpolation
I [V7]→ ii V7 I
Continuation
i
a: iv ii° V6
i
6
5
I
d: vii° 56 iv 64
Contrasting Middle
Sentence
b.i.
Interpolation
V 56
iiø 43
b.i.
[ iiø7
]
V 34
Recapitulation…
Antecedent…
6
5
HC
5
i
iiø 42
6
5
V7
i
iiø 56 vii°7/V
47
progression, the second interpolation proves puzzling. In contrast to the melody-accompaniment
and full-chord textures prevalent in the rest of the main theme, this interpolation emphasizes a
middle-register arpeggiation of a B half-diminished seventh chord in its melody. While full
chords support this melody, they merely enhance the same harmony rather than moving the piece
forward harmonically. The A minor triad at the end of m. 13 is simply a passing chord to connect
the two inversions of the main chord.
Another technique Schumann used was expansion, a lengthening process commonly used
in the Classical Era but not exclusive to it. In this piece, Schumann employed expansion in a
manner very similar to her Classical predecessors. As mentioned above, the return of the main
theme is almost identical to its initial presentation until m. 98, which corresponds to the last
measure of the recapitulation’s consequent. In place of the expected final tonic chord, a
chromatic passing chord creates an evaded cadence. An unfolding and a third progression in mm.
97–101 support the dominant expansion of the V9 chord (see Figure 3). In m. 105 the tonic chord
of the authentic cadence elides with the beginning of the closing section. The elision creates an
imperfect authentic cadence where one would expect a perfect authentic cadence. A tonic pedal
point prolongational progression provides the entirety of the closing section. While the tonic
pitch is not present in the soprano voice over a root-position tonic chord until m. 109, it appears
in an inner voice in the first beat of m. 105. This inner-voice tonic serves as the first scale degree
of the Urlinie.
The formal connections between this piece and the instrumental music of Haydn, Mozart,
and Beethoven are very strong. Schumann used many of the same formal structures and
techniques that her Classical predecessors had used. In doing so, she gave her piece formal
clarity and followed many of the Classical formal conventions related to slow movements. The
48
Figure 3 Drei Romanzen, op. 21, no. 1, mm. 95–105, Score and voice-leading graph
clear Classical forms also distinguish the piece as a “serious” piece of music and not just “light”
character piece. The conventional nature of this piece’s use of form makes it a good candidate
for consideration as a “serious” piece of music and allows for the piece’s use of harmony to be
more daring and Romantic in nature.
Harmony
While this piece has solid Classical formal roots, its harmonic language clearly reflects
the Romantic Era. The range and texture of this piece place it squarely within the Romantic Era.
The range of this piece extends from E1 to G6. Most eighteenth-century pianos could not reach
49
either endpoint of this range. Such ranges were only possible in the nineteenth century. 121
According to Joan Chissell, “[Robert] Schumann’s influence is apparent in the undercurrent of
secret lyrical elation in the middle section in F major, its triplet figuration recalling the first
episode of his first Novellette in the same key (dear enough to her [Clara] to play time and time
again at the expense of the rest in the set). Midway through there are nevertheless harmonic
excursions almost Lisztian in seductive allure.” 122 This piece also shares many similarities with
the first eight measures of Robert Schumann’s Davidsbündlertänze, op. 6, no. 9 (Example 8).
“This excerpt from the Davidsbündlertänze typifies Schumann’s most characteristic piano
texture. He marshals the sound resources of the nineteenth-century piano to create an intense
declamatory style, with full harmonies and a rather low center of textural gravity. While he often
breaks up the chord, dispersing his harmonies in arpeggio figures, the heavier textures better
support his serious and eloquent manner of expression.” 123 The use of a full-chord texture was
also typical of Romantic composers. “Full-chord texture is used extensively throughout the
nineteenth century. It characterizes much of the music of Schumann [see Example 9] and
Brahms, as for example, the Rhapsody in E-flat Major, Op. 119, No. 4 (1893).” 124 In addition to
these general traits of the piece, three techniques that Schumann incorporated in it provide the
romance with a distinctly harmonic language: harmonic prolongation, chromatic voice-leading,
and reharmonization.
Schumann used harmonic prolongation at three crucial points in this piece: the
interpolation in the contrasting middle of the main theme (mm. 12–14), the portion of the
retransition following the premature dominant arrival (mm. 64–72), and the closing section of
121
Ratner, Romantic Music, 35.
Chissell, Clara Schumann, 117.
123
Ratner, Romantic Music, 165.
124
Ibid., 26.
122
50
Example 8 R. Schumann, Davidsbündlertänze, op. 6, no. 9, mm, 1–8
Example 9 R. Schumann, “Préambule,” Carnaval, op. 9, mm. 1–6
51
the return of the main theme (mm. 105–112). According to Ratner, the increased duration of a
single note or chord can serve as “an agogic harmonic accent.” 125 He states, “As a tone or chord
is amplified by being sustained, or elaborated by figuration, it focuses attention on itself; it
establishes a period of time within which an expressive stance can be suggested.” 126 The first
time that a single harmony lasts for more than one measure occurs in the interpolation in mm.
12–14 (Example 10). In this case a B half-diminished seventh chord is arpeggiated melodically
through an octave in an inner voice. Ratner outlines three processes used in Romantic music to
draw attention to a single harmony: tessitura, texture, and contour. 127 This interpolation
incorporates both the tessitura and contour processes.
Example 10 Drei Romanzen, op. 21, no. 1, mm. 11–14, Interpolation (mm. 12–14)
Interpolation
d: V 56
i
iiø7
6
5
/V
Beginning with the premature dominant arrival in m. 64, a V9 chord is prolonged until the
end of the retransition in m. 72. This prolongation employs the tessitura process through its use
of a bass pedal tone, E2. Many of the several passing chords in this passage are the result of
chromatic voice-leading and middleground neighbor tones (see Figure 4). The contrasting
motion in the chromatically altered soprano and tenor lines creates many of the nonfunctional
passing harmonies. This passage expands the V9 chord melodically, causing the melodic and
125
Ibid., 104.
Ibid.
127
Ibid.
126
52
Figure 4 Drei Romanzen, op. 21, no. 1, mm. 63–72, Score and voice-leading graph
harmonic interruptions to occur at different times. This also allows for the presence of two
middleground neighbor tones in mm. 67–68. These neighbor tones correspond to area which
briefly tonicizes E major.
53
In the closing section of the return of the main theme, Schumann employed a more
Classical approach to prolongation. The tonic triad first found in m. 105 alternates with firstinversion submediant chords in mm. 106 and 108. By placing the submediant chords in first
inversion, a pedal tone, A2, allows for the use of the tessitura process. Since the submediant also
serves a tonic harmonic function, this is a combination of a pedal point prolongation and a
substitute chord prolongation. 128 This provides even more coherence and a greater sense of
arrival to the closing section in a similar manner to the coda of Mendelssohn’s Lieder ohne
Worte, op. 102, no. 6 (Example 11). 129
Example 11 Mendelssohn, Lieder ohne Worte, op. 102, no. 6, mm. 26–33, Coda (mm. 28–33)
Coda
Reharmonizations of the melody play a distinct role in this piece. One example of
reharmonization occurs in m. 23 of the main theme, the first measure of the recapitulation’s
consequent phrase. The first measure of the exposition’s consequent (Example 12) begins with a
tonic harmony, an A minor triad. M. 23 (Example 13) begins with an A9 harmony, not only
changing the mode of the expected chord but also enhancing the richness of the dominant chord
128
129
Caplin, Classical Form, 25.
Ratner, Romantic Music, 244.
54
Example 12 Drei Romanzen, op. 21, no. 1, mm. 5–8, A section’s exposition’s consequent
IAC
a: i
iiø 42
i
C: vi
V6
I [V7]→ ii V7 I
Example 13 Drei Romanzen, op. 21, no. 1, mm. 22–26, A section’s recapitulation’s consequent
(mm. 23–26)
(Antecedent)
Consequent
HC
PAC
a: V iiø7 V7
V9/iv
P
iiø 34 i 64 iiø 56
i 64 [V9]→ V7
i
through the addition of the ninth. Typically, this chord would function as a V9/iv, resolving to a
D minor chord. However, D does not serve as the root of any of the phrase’s following chords.
Instead the chord of resolution is ultimately a supertonic half-diminished seventh chord in m. 24
in second and then first inversion. This change of the resolution chord could be the result of
multiple factors. First, both the supertonic and subdominant chords serve a predominant
harmonic function. 130 Second, the quality of this supertonic chord may be especially important.
As Ratner states, “The half-diminished seventh chord plays a special role in Romantic harmony.
130
Caplin, Classical Form, 23–24.
55
It projects a distinctive harmonic color, restless and dark.” 131 This is also the same chord that is
sustained in the interpolation of mm. 12–14. The preceding chord in the main theme is also a
half-diminished seventh chord. Third, the use of the supertonic sets up B to be the root of the
ultimate predominant chord, V9/V in m. 25. In the corresponding section in the main theme’s
return (Example 14), only the first reason is a viable possibly. The first chord of m. 96 is a
minor-minor seventh instead of a half-diminished seventh. The chord that corresponds to the
ultimate predominant in the main theme, the second chord of m. 97, is a vii°7/V, whose root is Dsharp instead of B.
Example 14 Drei Romanzen, op. 21, no. 1, mm. 95–98, Aʹ section’s recapitulation’s consequent
a: V9/iv
P
iiø 34 i 64 iiø 56
i 64
(vii°7/V vii°7)
vii°7/ii
Many of the instances of nonfunctional harmonic progressions in this piece are the results
of (usually chromatic) voice-leading. One of the earliest examples of this occurs on the downbeat
of m. 24. The inner and bass voices all descend by a half step from the preceding chord. The bass
and alto voices again descend by half step to the following chord. The root of the chord at the
downbeat of m. 24 is the raised sixth scale degree, which gives the chord a Dorian inflection.
However, this is not the piece’s first instance of Dorian inflection. The root of the chord
sustained in the interpolation of mm. 12–14 is the raised sixth scale degree of D minor. In m. 29,
the third measure of the interior theme, the supertonic half-diminished seventh chord returns, and
131
Ratner, Romantic Music, 122.
56
this time in third inversion. Since this theme begins in F major, this chord adds in the flavor of
the minor mode. The chord is created through the chromatic descent of the alto line (Figure 5).
Without the chromatic descent, the chord could have remained as a diatonic minor-minor seventh
chord. However, this modal change foreshadows the modulation to D minor in m. 32. Another
third inversion supertonic half-diminished seventh chord occurs in m. 34 and precedes the
dominant arrival that solidifies the key of D minor. The G half-diminished seventh chord returns
in m. 60 in root position as part of the cadential progression that concludes the interior theme.
Figure 5 Drei Romanzen, op. 21, no. 1, mm. 27-31, Score and voice-leading graph
57
While chromatic descents were common even in Baroque and Classical music, Schumann
employed the very Romantic chromatic ascent to reharmonize part of this piece’s interior theme
(see Example 15). Three other examples of rising chromatic bass lines are found in Beethoven’s
Sonata in A Major, op. 2, no. 2, mm. 61–74 (Example 16); the beginning of the second
movement of Berlioz’s Symphonie fantastique (Example 17); and the beginning of the coda of
the overture to Smetana’s The Bartered Bride (Example 18). 132 Chromatic voice-leading can
even lead to the reharmonization of a passage. In Schumann’s piece the interior theme’s
exposition begins with an anacrusis on the dominant and a two-measure prolongation of the tonic
chord that proceeds to the supertonic and the dominant. The beginning of the recapitulation,
however, is governed by the chromatic bass line. The chromatic line begins innocently enough as
a secondary leading tone chord to the dominant arrival that ends the contrasting middle in m. 50.
The lower voices continue chromatically, changing the anacrusis into an unresolved secondary
leading tone chord. Since the tonic does not initially appear at the downbeat of m. 51 and since
the chromatic bass line continues, forcing the tonic chord into first inversion, this secondary
leading tone chord may initially seem to resolve properly to the mediant, which would also be
the tonic chord in the home key. The chromatic bass line creates two unresolved leading tone
chords in m. 52 and leads to the dominant on the downbeat of m. 53.
In her Drei Romanzen, op. 21, no. 1, Schumann balanced Classical formal structures with
Romantic harmonies to create a piece that balanced her society’s expectations of music by
women with her own musical preferences. The piece conforms to Schumann’s society’s
expectations of genre, melody, and form in a piece written by a woman. Its harmonic language
meets the expectations of her Romantic peers yet maintains the sense of restraint found in its
form and lack of virtuosic show. Thus, this piece would have been acceptable to both the music
132
Ibid., 115–116.
58
Example 15 Drei Romanzen, op. 21, no. 1, mm. 48-53, Chromatic voice-leading and
reharmonization
Example 16, Beethoven, Sonata in A Major, op. 2, no. 2, mm. 61–75
59
Example 17, Berlioz, Symphonie fantastique, mvt. 2, mm. 1–37
60
61
Example 18, Smetana, The Bartered Bride, Overture, Beginning of coda
62
critics and fellow composers of Schumann’s time. It reflects the fine line that Schumann had to
walk throughout her compositional career.
63
CHAPTER 3: AVENUES FOR FUTURE RESEARCH
Summary of Findings
Clara Schumann’s Drei Romanzen, op. 21, no. 1, is an excellent example of a piece of
music that balances Classical and Romantic traits. This balance of Classical and
Romantic traits also reflects the delicate balance female composers had to maintain in order to
keep their music relevant and interesting in the Romantic Era and respectable in a field
dominated by male composers and critics. Adhering to Classical formal standards allowed
Schumann’s creativity to flourish in her use of harmony, especially when employing harmonic
prolongation, chromatic voice-leading, and reharmonization.
The subtlety of Schumann’s progressive tendencies is part of the delicate balance
between the Classical and Romantic traits in this piece. The ambiguity in the interpretation of the
phrase structure in the main theme’s exposition and recapitulation is a prime example. While the
piece appears to follow Classical phrase structure very closely, only one phrase in the entire
piece, the recapitulation of the main theme, is completely tight-knit. Additionally, the
recapitulation of the interior theme is so loose-knit it does not conform to any phrase type in
Caplin’s theory.
The half-diminished seventh chord holds a prominent place within the piece’s harmonic
language. The interpolations within the contrasting middles of the main theme and its return
highlight a B half-diminished seventh chord by creating an agogic accent on the chord. The
consequents of the recapitulations of the main theme and its return also emphasize the chord via
reharmonizations created by chromatic voice-leading.
Schumann’s use of chromatic voice-leading also allowed her to include several moments
of Dorian inflection. The first such instance occurs with the B half-diminished seventh chord in
64
the interpolation in the main theme’s contrasting middle. It also occurs in the consequents of the
recapitulations of the main theme and its return. Romantic chromatic ascending lines connect the
contrasting middle and recapitulation of the interior theme.
This blend of Classical and Romantic traits places this piece among other conservative
Romantic pieces. Its more conservative nature would also have increased its chances of being
taken seriously by the music critics of Schumann’s time. The strong use of Classical formal units
and the restrained Romantic harmonic language reflected the aesthetic preferences music critics
held for music composed by women.
Avenues of Future Research
Since women of the nineteenth century had to compose within very limited bounds, their
music probably did not use a different musical language than that of their contemporary male
composers. Therefore, analysts can use the same methods when analyzing music by both men
and women of that time. This includes Schenkerian analysis. As demonstrated in the previous
chapter, Schenkerian analysis can illuminate various items in music by women, including the
lack of alignment between harmonic and melodic interruptions and the ambiguity between
formal structural endpoints and interruptions.
Just as corpus studies of the works of individual composers or a particular cohort of
composers can illuminate connections or similarities among particular works by men, they can
serve the same purpose for music by women. In his A Topical Guide to Schenkerian Literature:
An Annotated Bibliography with Indices (2004), David Carson Berry includes a section entitled
65
“Approaches to ‘Chromatic Tonality’ in the Nineteenth Century.” 133 The last part of this section
lists analyses of works by particular composers; all of the composers included are men. 134
A large-scale study executing Schenkerian analysis on music by women could provide
new information about the music women were writing during the Common Practice Period. By
adding such studies to the canon of Schenkerian literature, analysts may find new, more accurate
ways of describing and explaining a variety of aspects of nineteenth-century music written by
both men and women. For example, are there any traits (such as the misalignment of structural
phrase endings and melodic interruptions) that are more or less prevalent in music by women
than in that by men? If so, are such traits the results of the composer’s sex or of other musical
characteristics, like genre, which can also be gendered? Are there any middleground traits or
patterns that tend to manifest themselves in particular ways on music’s surface? A corpus study
of music by women could aid in analyses of music by men, like Chopin, whose work has
historically been described as “feminine.”
Analytical Studies of Music by Women
While studies of music by women have increased in number and gained more prestige,
much work remains for music scholars, especially theorists. Arthur Wenk’s Analyses of
Nineteenth- and Twentieth-Century Music: 1940–1985 demonstrates just how few analyses of
women’s music existed for much of the twentieth century. Of the 5664 sources listed in Wenk’s
book, only thirty-five pertain to music by women. 135 The only source listed for Clara Schumann
is Pamela Süsskind’s PhD dissertation “Clara Wieck Schumann as Pianist and Composer: A
133
David Carson Berry, A Topical Guide to Schenkerian Literature: An Annotated Bibliography with Indices
(Hillsdale, NY: Pendragon, 2004), 220.
134
Ibid., 226–245.
135
Arthur Wenk, comp., Analyses of Nineteenth- and Twentieth-Century Music: 1940–1985, Music Library
Association Index and Bibliography Series, no. 25 (Boston: Music Library Association, 1987).
66
Study of her Life and Works” (1977). 136 Another of the few women listed in this index is Ruth
Crawford Seeger. 137 Building on Wenk’s work, D. J. Hoek’s Analyses of Nineteenth- and
Twentieth-Century Music, 1940–2000 shows an increase in analyses of music by women. Of the
9306 sources listed in Hoek’s book, eighty-seven pertain to music by women. 138 Unfortunately
the additional fifteen years did not add much to the analytical repertoire. Schumann only gained
one new source in that time, Rufus Hallmark’s 19th-Century Music article “The Rückert Lieder
of Robert and Clara Schumann” (1990). 139 In addition to Seeger (listed as Ruth Crawford), 140
Hensel (listed as Fanny Mendelssohn) 141 and Ellen Taaffe Zwilich are included in this new
volume. 142 Yet according to these sources, no analyses were written between 1940 and 2000 for
any music by Cécile Chaminade, Louise Reichardt, Josephine Lang, Maria Szymanowska, Marie
Léopoldine Blahetka, Pauline Viardot, Louise Farrenc, or even Libby Larsen. Thus, according to
these indices, analyses of music by women still accounted for less than one percent of all the
analyses of nineteenth- and twentieth-century music written between 1940 and 2000. However,
neither of these indices includes books of a more biographical nature, such as Reich’s Clara
Schumann: The Artist and the Woman or Janina Klassen’s Clara Wieck-Schumann: Die
Virtuosin als Komponistin; Studien zu ihrem Werk, both of which include analyses of
Schumann’s compositions.
The twenty-first century has seen a remarkable increase in the analysis of music by
women. Harald Krebs and Sharon Krebs’s book Josephine Lang: Her Life and Songs (2007)
provides not only a biography of Lang but also analyses of her music. They even provide a CD
136
Ibid., 256.
Ibid., 265.
138
D. J. Hoek, Analyses of Nineteenth- and Twentieth-Century Music, 1940–2000, Music Library Association
Index and Bibliography Series, no. 34 (Lanham, MD: Scarecrow Press/Music Library Association, 2007.
139
Ibid., 236.
140
Ibid., 78.
141
Ibid., 170.
142
Ibid., 305.
137
67
that features recordings of thirty of Lang’s Lieder. 143 L. Poundie Burstein’s article “Their Paths,
Her Ways: Comparison of Text Settings by Clara Schumann and Other Composers” (2002)
focuses on Schumann’s Lieder. 144 The rapid addition of so many such analytical works is
admirable and very welcome. However, much more work remains for analysts. For instance,
Burstein compares Lieder by Schumann to Lieder by a variety of male composers that used the
same texts. He examines differences in the text settings that may be the result of the difference in
the composers’ sexes. 145 While such a study is enlightening and can be very useful when
examining text settings, it is not as beneficial for the study of instrumental, absolute music. It
also makes it easy for readers to keep music by women in a category separate from that by men.
More analyses of absolute music by women may aid in bringing such music into the general
canon of the Common Practice Period.
In addition to the technical analyses of music by women, studying the reception of such
music may prove enlightening. In studying the reviews of music by women, scholars may gain a
better understanding of what music critics liked and expected in such music. Reviews can also
help scholars track whether a particular composer’s works were in favor at a particular point in
time and, thus, what musical qualities were also in favor. Unfortunately, many pieces were not
reviewed in their composers’ lifetimes. For example, Reich lists no reviews for any of
Schumann’s op. 21 romances. The only performance she lists for any of the three romances was
a performance of the first romance by Brahms on May 29, 1856, in Cologne. 146 This may well
have been the piece’s only public performance in Schumann’s lifetime. While this piece may
143
Harald Krebs and Sharon Krebs, Josephine Lang: Her Life and Songs (New York: Oxford University Press,
2007).
144
L. Poundie Burstein, “Their Paths, Her Ways: Comparison of Text Settings by Clara Schumann and Other
Composers,” Women and Music: A Journal of Gender and Culture 6 (2002): 11–26.
145
Ibid., 12.
146
Reich, Clara Schumann, 314.
68
have been able to gain the approval of music critics due to its Classical form, no reviews exist to
confirm such a hypothesis.
Conclusion
Female composers of the nineteenth century faced many obstacles in their musical
careers. Their music could be criticized for being “too feminine” or not “feminine” enough.
Getting their music performed on a regular basis and getting it published were very difficult
tasks. Even the best-trained and most-famous female composers of the age, including Clara
Schumann, experienced these pressures and hardships. In her Drei Romanzen, op. 21, no. 1, the
cultural and musical influences in Schumann’s career as well as her own compositional talents
and preferences coalesced to produce a piece that could satisfy music critics and Romantic
composers alike. Critics considered the romance genre an “appropriate” genre for female
composers. The use of Classical formal units and the lack of virtuosity common in “performer’s
music” reflected Schumann’s preference for musical restraint and provided a greater opportunity
for critics to take the piece seriously. The harmonic language satiated the Romantic ear without
being as progressive as the harmonic languages of Liszt and Wagner.
The analysis presented in the previous chapter is only a small piece in the growing
collection of analyses of music by women. As analysts continue to add to this collection, more
long-neglected works by women may come to prominence. The musical canon is constantly
changing; it is not a firmly established, indisputable list, but rather a set of works highly valued
by audiences, musicians, and critics at a particular point in time. As scholars produce more
research on music by women from the Common Practice Period, it is very possible that such
music will gain more prominence and prestige. Schumann and Hensel may enjoy the same level
of renown as the male composers in their families. Viardot, Chaminade, and Reichardt may no
69
longer be names known primarily by scholars studying music by women but may become
familiar to the majority of undergraduate music students. For many years, Clara Schumann has
stood as the primary female composer and pianist of the Common Practice Period. With more
serious research into music by women, hopefully she will be seen as one of many prominent
female composers of the nineteenth century and not simply as a great female composer but as a
great composer.
70
BIBLIOGRAPHY
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Citron, Marcia J. Gender and the Musical Canon. Urbana: University of Illinois Press, 2000.
———. “Gender, Professionalism and the Musical Canon.” The Journal of Musicology 8, no. 1
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———. Piano Trio in C Major, Hob. XV:21. In Klaviertrios: 3. Folge; Trios für Pianoforte,
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73
APPENDIX A: SCORE OF CLARA SCHUMANN’S DREI ROMANZEN, OP. 21, NO. 1,
WITH ANNOTATIONS
74
75
76
77
78
APPENDIX B: APPROVAL FOR THE USE OF COPYRIGHTED MATERIAL
AW: Clara Schumann Publication Permission
[email protected]
Mon 10/6/2014 1:55 AM
Inbox
To:
Katie Jo Lakner;
Dear Ms Lakner,
Thank you for your letter. We are happy to grant you free permission to use the score of
Clara Schumann,“ Drei Romanzen op. 21. No. 1 for your thesis. However, since you are
not reprinting only an excerpt, we would ask you to either watermark the pages or
otherwise make clear that this music is not intended to replace the officially published
score.
Thank you.
Sincerely,
Kristina Winter
Assistant to the C.E.O.
G. Henle Publishers
Forstenrieder Allee 122
81476 München
Germany
phone: +49-89-75982-21
fax: +49-89-75982-55
www.henle.com
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79
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Von: Katie Jo Lakner [mailto:[email protected]]
Gesendet: Sonntag, 5. Oktober 2014 21:39
An: Dr. Wolf-Dieter Seiffert - G. Henle Verlag
Cc: Kristina Winter - G. Henle Verlag
Betreff: Clara Schumann Publication Permission
Dear Dr. Seiffert,
My name is Katie Lakner. I am a Music Theory Master's student at Bowling Green State
University, and I am writing my Master's thesis on Clara Schumann's Drei Romanzen, op. 21, no.
1 (pp. 74-78 of Henle's Uxtext edition of her Selected Piano Works). I would like to include the
entire score as an appendix to my paper. What do I need to do to obtain Henle's permission to
do this? I look forward to hearing from you. Thank you for your help.
Katie Lakner
[email protected]