being removed.
There is plenty of saccharine music in the world for those who like
it. In Brahms, however, we find a potential energy and a manly
tenderness which cannot be ignored even by those who are not
profoundly thrilled by his message. He was a sincere idealist and
composed to please his own high standards, never thinking of outward
effect nor testing the pulse of the fickle public. As a man there is
no doubt that he was warm-hearted and vigorous, but his was not the
nature to come forward with captivating geniality. On the contrary he
expects the hearer to come to him, and is too reserved to meet you
more than half-way. That this austerity has proved a bar in the way of
a wide-spread fame, while to be regretted, is unavoidable; remove
these characteristics from Brahms and he ceases to be Brahms. Those,
however, who may think that Brahms is always austere and grim, holding
himself aloof from broad human emotion, should remember that he has
done more than any other modern composer to idealize the Waltz; and,
if the atmosphere of his symphonic style be too rarified, they may
well begin their effort in appreciation with those charming Waltzes
op. 39 (both for solo pianoforte and for a four-hand arrangement); the
_Hungarian Dances_, and--most beautiful of all--the _Liebeslieder
Walzer_ for chorus and pianoforte (four-hands). Anyone who knows these
works cannot fail to become a genuine lover of Brahms. To be of the
earth and yet to strike the note of sublimity is a paradox. For, in
Brahms at his best, we surely find more of the sublime, of true
exalted aspiration, than in any other modern composer save Cesar
Franck. To strike this note of sublimity is the highest achievement of
music--its proper function; a return, as it were, to the abode whence
it came. Such music is far beyond that which is merely sensuous,
brilliantly descriptive, or even dramatically characteristic. Much of
present day music excites and thrills but does not exalt. Brahms, in
his great moments, lifts us high above the earth. His universal
acceptance is alike hindered by a deficiency which, though as natural
as his reserve, may yet justly be cited against him--the occasional
monotony of his color scheme. In the symphonies, notwithstanding the
dignity and sincerity of thought, we find pages in the style of an
engraving which would be more effective as a glowing canvas, _e.g._,
in the slow movement of the Second Symphony and in the last two
movement