Brahms The Allusive

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O rd e r N u m b e r 8 920348
Brahm s the allusive: Extra-com positional reference in the

instrum ental music o f Johannes Brahm s
Hull, Kenneth Ross, Ph.D.

Princeton University, 1989
C o p y rig h t 1 9 8 9 b y H u ll, K e n n e th R oss. A ll rig h ts reserved .
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BRAHMS THE ALLUSIVE:
EXTRA-COMPOSITIONAL REFERENCE IN THE INSTRUMENTAL MUSIC
OF JOHANNES BRAHMS
KENNETH ROSS HULL
A DISSERTATION
PRESENTED TO THE FACULTY
OF PRINCETON UNIVERSITY
IN CANDIDACY FOR THE DEGREE
OF DOCTOR OF PHILOSOPHY
RECOMMENDED FOR ACCEPTANCE

BY THE DEPARTMENT OF MUSIC
JUNE 1989
PRINCIPAL READERS FOR THIS DISSERTATION WERE

PROFESSOR CAROLYN ABBATE AND PROFESSOR KENNETH LEVY
Kenneth Ross Hull, 1989
All Rights Reserved
Table of Contents
ABSTRACT..................................................... iii
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS................................. v
Chapter 1 APPROACHING BRAHMS THE ALLUSIVE.................. 1

Brahms and the music of the past............. 1
Resemblance, borrowing and allusion................... 6
Brahms the allusive: in his own words................ 10
Notes.................. 25
Chapter 2 QUOTATION AND ALLUSION: PROBLEMS OF DEFINITION,

THEORY AND METHOD..................................... 29
Defining allusion: influence and intertextuality....,29
Allusion and intentionality...........................40
The theory of allusion............... ...53
Inferring intentionality: six criteria for
identifying the presence of allusion.............. 60
Notes ...... 92
Chapter 3 THE FOURTH SYMPHONY: FIRST AND SECOND

MOVEMENTS.............................................. 95
The second movement............ 97
The first movement................................... 117
Notes....,. .......................................... 160
Chapter 4 THE FOURTH SYMPHONY: FOURTH MOVEMENT........... 163

Analysis.............................................. 165
E-ach Cantata #150 as model and allusive referent.... 173
Other models (1)..................................... 183
Beethoven, "Eroica" finale........................... 186
Other models (2)............................. 188
Bach, "Crucifixus" from Mass in B minor............. 199
Quotation, allusion and local model................. 201
Notes. ...........................................229
Chapter 5 CONCLUSIONS................................ 232

Public and private allusion and the revision of
the B major Trio, O p .8 ................... 232
A Brahmsian allusive syntax and the third
movement of the Fourth Symphony.................. 241
Notes................................................. 268
BIBLIOGRAPHY............................................... 271
Abstract
This dissertation explores an aspect of Brahmss style
which has been noted frequently, but little discussed: the
many instances throughout the instrumental music of thematic
resemblances to the music of Brahmss predecessors. Many of
these resemblances are neither fortuitous resemblances nor
simple borrowings, but purposeful allusive references of
significance for our understanding of the pieces which
contain them.
Chapter 1 surveys aspects of the relationship of
Brahmss music to the music of the past. It also sets out
some preliminary definitions of the terms "reference,
"borrowing" and "allusion." Brahms's own opinions about
thematic resemblances in his music are also analysed.
Chapter 2 addresses some of the methodological questions
raised by allusive reference: the study of allusion is
distinguished from questions of influence and of
intertextuality; the problem of considering allusion as a
reflection of authorial intention is discussed; and some of
the recent theory of allusion is surveyed. Six criteria for
inferring the presence of allusion are presented as
guidelines for evaluating the evidence in support of such
claims. These include three criteria for assessing the
relative strength of resemblance, and three extrinsic
i i i
criteria, which consider the historical context, and the
manner and purpose of the putative allusion.
Chapters 3 and 4 deal with Brahmss Fourth Symphony.
They discuss earlier proposals of models and allusions in
the first, second and fourth movements of the symphony, and
assess these proposals in light of two other resemblances,
one little known and the other previously unrecognized.
These two resemblances, along with one other, are identified
as purposeful allusive references: one, to another
instrumental work (Beethovens Fifth Symphony), and the
other two to texted works (Bach Cantata #150 and Schumann's
song "Susser Freund"). Brahmss use of a personal motif
to represent the idea of death is also discussed.
Chapter 5 suggests the existence in Brahms's music of
different types of allusion, ranging in character from
"public" to "private". The revision of the Op.8 Trio is
discussed in relation to this typology. As well, some
tentative proposals are made for a Brahmsian "allusive
syntax," which are then tested against suggestive features
of the third movement of the Fourth Symphony and the B-flat
major Piano Concerto.
-iv-
Acknowledgements
My advisor, Professor Carolyn Abbate, has contributed
immeasurably to this study. The breadth of her expertise and
the thoroughness of her comments have both enriched
its substance and rendered more readable its author's often
graceless prose. My second reader, Professor Kenneth Levy,
also provided invaluable support and advice.
I have also to thank Professor Edward T. Cone, whose
guidance both as author and teacher stimulated-my initial
interest in the topic of quotation and allusion; Professor
Robert Bailey, in whose course on the post-Wagnerian
symphonists my interest became focussed on Brahms; Professor
Christopher Reynolds, who has provided support and
encouragement when they were greatly needed; Professor
Philip Downs, who offered patient listening and detailed
suggestions; Professor Rufus Hallmark and Professor Linda
Roesner, both of whom were generous in their helpfulness and
interest during the early stages of this project when it was
focussed on Schumann rather than on Brahms; Professor George
Bozarth, for assistance on matters Brahmsian; Professor
Anthony Newcomb, for probing questions which helped me to
clarify my thinking; Professor Hildi Tiessen, whose
suggestions on matters of literary theory were invaluable;
and Professor Jean Chick, who assisted me with some
intractable German texts.
I am also fortunate to teach in one of the most
collegial of music departments. Professors Leonard Enns,
David Huron, Helen Martens, Wilbur Maust, and Carol Ann
Weaver have always been available to listen to my
talkings-out of ideas and to offer support and advice.
The completion of this dissertation would have been
unimaginable without the friendship of my graduate student
colleagues on C-floor: my classmates David Crook and Dean
Langis, as well as fellow students Janet Palumbo, Dennis
Slavin, Rosemary Thoonen, Charles Dill, Adelyn Peck, Melissa
Bohl, Lynn Rogers, David Palmer and many others.
Finally, I thank my wife Margaret and daughters Melanie
and Diana for their encouragement and understanding. I am
also grateful to our parents for their unfailing support.
vi
CHAPTER ONE
APPROACHING BRAHMS THE ALLUSIVE
Brahms and the music of the past.
Brahms's music relates to the music of the past in a
way that was fundamentally new for its time. From the first
published work to the last, the music of Brahms resonates
with echoes from the past, echoes that embrace both a broad
spectrum of historical style periods and a wide variety of
musical means. His first published work begins with an
allusion to Beethovens "Hammerklavier" Sonata,1 and his
last bears evidence of his love for the old chorale
melodies. The compositions of his long career are indebted
to the music of Schiitz, Bach, Beethoven, Schubert, ar.d many
others in matters as wide-ranging as style, structure, and
thematic and motivic content. Brahms's knowledge of the
music of the past was extensive, and his use of that
knowledge in his own compositional activity seems more
pervasive, varied, and self-conscious than that of any
previous composer. 2
Awareness of Brahms's indebtedness to the music of the
past has always been an aspect of how his music has been
2
understood. The practice of hunting and indentifying
thematic resemblances, especially, has been a common feature
of Brahms biographies and critical studies from Brahmss own
lifetime to the present. Two of the earliest monographs, by-
Hermann Deiters (i860) and Hermann Kretzschmar (1884), speak
of both thematic resemblances and broader stylistic
influences and models. The musical discussions in Kalbeck's
encyclopedic life and works of 1913 to 1922, which both
summarizes the state of contemporary Brahms studies and
presents many observations and opinions of Kalbecks own,
very frequently point out resemblances to tl 2 music of other
composers; the awareness of the importance of this aspect of
Brahms's musical style continues to shape recent work on
Brahms. Two recent monographs take as their principal point
of departure the premise that an understanding of the
relationship between Brahmss music and the music of the
past is of central importance in fully understanding the
music itself (Hancock 1983a, Musgrave 1985).
Of course, awareness of this aspect of Brahmss style
did not begin just with the first studies to appear in
print. As early as 1858, Brahmss friend Julius Otto Grimm
wrote to him, pointing out a resemblance between a choral
work by Brahms and a passage in Bach's cantata "Christ lag
in Todesbanden" (Hancock 1983a, 114, fn.46). Some of these
awarenesses of thematic resemblance seem to have been common
knowledge among the musically literate of Brahmss day. The
observation that the finales of Beethovens Ninth and
Brahmss First symphonies share a thematic similarity was
first made by Hanslick in his review (17 December 1876) of
the Vienna premiere of Brahms's work (quoted in Comini 1987,
310). It is this resemblance which in turn seems to have
given rise to von Bulow's reference to the " tenth
symphony, alias the first symphony of Johannes Brahms...."
(Quoted in Coraini 1987T 312; Kross 1983, 129).
Even the most superficial survey of recent Brahms
studies reveals something of the range of Brahmss
indebtedness to earlier music: stylistic, structural,
textural, thematic, motivic. Virginia Hancock's book on the
relationship between Brahms's library of early choral music
and his own music for chorus reveals many broad stylistic
and textural resemblances, especially to the composers of
Brahmss more distant past among them Palestrina, Schiitz,
and Bach (Hancock 1983a). Dealing with broad stylistic
influence, James Webster's discussion of Schubert and Brahms
argues that the earlier composers sonata-allegro movements
affected Brahms's approach to the sonata during the years of
his early maturity (Webster 1978/1979). Charles Rosen has
recently demonstrated Brahmss adaptation of the finale of
Beethoven's c-rainor Piano Concerto as a structural model for
the D-minor Concerto (Rosen 1981).
4
The uncovering of local thematic and motivic borrowings
has also been prominent in the recent literature. Jonathan
Dunsby has pointed out Brahms's indebtedness to Schubert for
elements of the second subject of the first movement of the
c-minor Piano Quartet, Op.60 (Dunsby 1981, 36-39). Michael
Musgrave has shown that Brahms borrowed one of Schumann's
'Clara' themes, and used it as an important melodic and
structural device in the First Symphony (Musgrave 1983b).
And Christopher Reynolds has recently demonstrated how
Brahms derived one of his own 'Clara' themes from a passage
in Beethoven's Fidelio (Reynolds 1985).
It is this latter category of thematic and motivic
resemblances which is mentioned most often in the secondary
literature on Brahms. Among the instrumental works, there is
scarcely an opus for which at least one quotation or
allusion has not been cited somewhere in the literature.
Kalbeck alone suggests at least one instance of thematic
resemblance for each of about half of the instrumental
works. It is not an unusual circumstance for several
instances of indebtedness from different sources to have
been asserted for a single piece. A few examples will give
an idea of the range and extent of these observations,
scattered throughout the literature: Mendelssohn's Ruy Bias
overture in the Piano Quartet in G-minor, Op.25 (Keys 1974,
16); Bach Partita #4 in the Piano Quartet in A-ma.ior, Op.26
(Tovey 1949, 243); Schubert's "Pause" from Die Schone
5
Miillerin in the Piano Quintet, Op.35 (Peter Latham quoted i>"
Musgrave 1985, 315); Bernhard Rombergs Cello Sonata in
E-minor in Brahmss Cello Sonata of the same key, Op.38
(Klenz 1973); Senta's ballad from Per fliegende Hollander in
the Violin Concerto, Op.77 (Specht 1930, 296).
But the issue of thematic and motivic resemblance has
also been the least investigated aspect of Brahms's
indebtedness to his musical past. Despite the many
observations of such resemblance in the literature, more
emphasis has been given, and more importance attached, to
the broader stylistic and structural relationships to other
music, at least until very recently. Observations regarding
thematic and motivic resemblance have tended to be asides,
in which a resemblance is noted and identified, but no
further significance is contemplated or ascribed to it.1* Or
more defensive comments may sometimes be made, disparaging

5
any possible importance of such resemblances, or suggesting
that they must be fortuitous. There has been more recently a
recognition of the possible expressive or autobiographical
significance of these resemblances. The papers by Musgrave,
Forte and Reynolds mentioned above are three cases in point.
Reynolds's article 3tands alone in making quotation and
allusion, along witr. the referential use of motives
otherwise derived, the primary focus of his study.
6
Resemblance. Borrowing, and Allusion
The resistance of earlier scholars to acknowledging and
dealing with thematic resemblances becomes more
understandable when distinctions are made explicit between
"resemblance, ''borrowing and "allusion, "Resemblance" is
a term which speaks only to the structural properties which
two passages have in common, not of the intention of the
composer. A resemblance of which the composer was unaware
could be a source of embarrassment, especially in a musical
culture which considered originality a prime aesthetic
virtue. (This is the issue in question in the reply by
Brahms to Dessoff, pp.16-17 below.) "Borrowing" implies not
only a structural resemblance, but an awareness on the part
of the composer. Borrowing was a not uncommon practice in
earlier periods: Handel's numerous and extensive
appropriations are a case in point.^ But borrowing is simply
a matter of sources; awareness of a composer's borrowing
does not enhance the listener's aesthetic experience of the

7
work, though it may be of interest for other reasons. And
in the musical culture of the late nineteenth century, it is
potentially an even more serious matter than chance
resemblance, because the intention of the composer is
involved. It may seem to imply a kind of artistic fraud, or
serious compositional deficiency. Scholarly resistance and
indifference to dealing with thematic resemblances in Brahms
seems often to have been the result of an implicit
7
assumption that only unintentional resemblance or purely
utilitarian borrowing were involved. More recent studies,
however, suggest that at least some of the resemblances may
be considered purposeful, and aesthetically and
autobiographically meaningful. That is, that these
resemblances are not just resemblances or borrowings, but
allusions.
An allusion is an intentional, extra-compositional
reference made by means of a resemblance. It is a stylistic
device used by an author or composer to direct attention to
the passage which is alluded to, and to the context in which
it appears. Recognition of the allusion contributes to the
readers or listeners understanding of the work which
contains the allusion. The significance of an allusion may

O
also involve an autobiographical element. (The question of
how prominently featured, how readily recognizable, and for
what audience the reference is intended is a complicated one
with Brahms, and will be dealt with during the course of
this study.) Most musical allusions can also be described as
quotations, a term used to describe an exact or nearly exact
thematic resemblance. Less precise thematic resemblances may
also be termed inexact quotations, or simply allusions.^ The
study of a writer's or composers use of allusion must be
distinguished from the study of influence. It is also
distinct from "intertextuaiity, which deals with textual
resonances between works which are activated by the reader
8
without regard to the intentional component which
characterizes allusion. The questions of how allusion
differs from influence and intertextuality, and of the
problems raised by the intentional character of allusion are
among the subjects considered in Chapter Two.
The possibility that at least a proportion of the
thematic resemblances found throughout Brahms's music are
not just chance resemblances or borrowings, but genuine
allusions, makes them much more interesting a field of
investigation. The question of structural models, which has
attracted more attention in the past, provides us with
insight into Brahms's solutions to problems of formal
construction. Thematic allusion, however, enlarges our
understanding of the work itself, and incidentally, may
provide an insight into the composer's intentions and
creative process. When it carries an autobiographical
significance as well, it may also allow a perspective on the
work not just as an aesthetic object, but as a document in
the life of the composer.
Very effective use has been made of the identification
and interpretation of musical allusion in deepening our
understanding of works by other composers. One of the most
notable of recent examples is found in Rufus Hallmark's
study of the late Schubert song for voice, piano and horn,
"Auf dem Strom (Hallmark 1982, 40-46). Hallmark's
identification of the first theme of the funeral march from
9
the Eroica Symphony in the second and fourth stanzas of the
song opens the way to a fundamentally new interpretation of
the song and its text, and also suggests that the song had a
very specific personal significance for Schubert, related to
his veneration of Beethoven. His work is a model of the
extent to which recognition of an allusion can fundamentally
alter and substantially enrich our understanding of a work,
and also of the historical and biographical context out of
which it grew.
The poem speaks of the separation of two lovers as one
of them departs on a river voyage. The poet describes the
disappearance of the familiar landscape, and arrival on the
open sea, where "no song can penetrate from the shore". One
possible reading of the poem is, as Hallmark puts it, "as a
metaphorical depiction of death as a nautical journey, a
journey on which an initial fear of the unknown gives way to
a hopeful anticipation of reunion" (Hallmark 1982, 41).
Schubert's use of the funeral march theme for two stanzas
confirms that this was his reading of the poem too. The
allusion to the "Eroica" funeral march creates expressive
associations which clarify our understanding of the work as
a whole.
But Hallmark's further probing of the circumstances
surrounding the composition and first performance of the
work reveals the liklihood of a further, extra-musical level
of significance for the quotation. From the possibility that
10
Schubert came into possession of the Rellstab poem through
Beethovens intervention, and the fact that the work was
first performed on the first anniversary of Beethovens
death, we are encouraged to consider that the work had the
addition personal significance for Schubert of a memorial
homage to Beethoven.
Brahms the allusive: in his own words
Why has so little attention been paid to this aspect of
Brahmss compositional language? A number of factors may be
significant. First among them is perhaps a hesitancy on the
part of scholars to spend time on an area which often seems
to rely heavily on subjective impressions: how do we
establish whether a resemblance is to be understood
allusively? As well, there is the obstacle of the
traditional view of Brahms as a composer of "absolute
music. The historiographical role in which Brahms has
generally been cast, as a foil to the composers of
programmatic "music of the future", has created a strong
indisposition to consider any aspect of Brahmss musical
style which suggests the possibility of extra-musical
associations. (Brahmss friendship with, and championing by,
Eduard Hanslick seems to have caused an identification of
Brahms with Hanslicks aesthetics of music. Hanslick's
treatise Vom Musikalisch-Sohonen outlines a formalist theory
of musical meaning, and includes polemical attacks on an
11
array of writers who view music as fundamentally concerned
with the expression of feeling. Brahms, however, seems to
have had a different point of view, to the extent that he
bothered to formulate his own views. In addition, Brahms's
circle was anxious to portray him as hostile towards
Wagner's music, a view which is again not borne out by

4 /*
Brahms's own utterances. ) 1 And while musical quotation and
allusion are not per se extra-musical, but only
"extra-compositional'', any consideration of the expressive
function of such an extra-compositional reference requires
an openess to the possibilty that the Brahms's music is
rightly understood, not as "absolute" music, but as
occupying the territory "zwischen absoluter und

.11
Programmusik".' As Christopher Reynolds has noted, there is
ample evidence in the recent literature that this
traditional picture of Brahms as a composer of "absolute"
music is rapidly crumbling (Reynolds 1985, 3).
The plausibility of Brahms's having made use of
allusion in his compositions is enhanced by evidence of his
keen interest in both literary and musical allusion in other
contexts. The following examples show Brahms as a
game-player, who enjoyed encoding cryptic musical messages
for friends, who was quick to perceive the meaning of such
puzzles himself, and who also used verbal allusion to test
the puzzle-solving ability of his correspondents. He
frequently sent cryptic messages to his friends in the form
12
of musical quotations from vocal music which lacked,
however, their accompanying texts. The best-known instance
of this took place in 1887, when Brahms acted to heal a rift
of two years' duration between himself and Hans von BUlow.
This and other examples of Brahmss practice are related by
Schauffler:12
Brahms liked to mail his friends scraps of

song-melody, leaving the -nwritten words to speak for
themselves to the initiated. A postcard to Frau von
Miller zu Aichholz began with the tune to Schubert's
"Guten Morgen, schdne Mi (u)llerini " (Good morning,
lovely Milleress!)' He ended a long estrangement from
one of his devoted friends by leaving at the rooms of
Hans von Bulow a card with eight notes which in The
Magic Flute accompany the words
Soil ich Dich, Treurer, nicht mehr seh'n?

(Shall I, dear friend, see you no more?)
I recall with what pleasure I discovered, among Frau

Ignaz Brvill's mementos, a postcard bearing, in F major,
simply the eight notes E E E E E F C C followed by the
words:
Least of all
Your devoted
J. BR.
The tune was familiar as part of the minuet in

Mozart's Don Juan; but, to my shame, I could not
offhand supply the words. Rushing to the score, I found
that these were in answer to Leporello's invitation:
"Zum Ball und Hochzeitschmause entbittet Sie mein Herr
(To ball and wedding banquet my master bids you come).
Whereupon Ottavio answers, to the tune on t >t-card:
Wer kann da wi-der-ste-hent

(Who could decline this charming bid?)
Not long after, however, my discoverer's pride was

suddenly damped by finding that the Master had written
the same tune, two months later, to Maria Fellinger, in
response to an invitation to eat Metzelsuppe. And
afterwards, in the Gmunden Brahms Museum, I found the
13
quotation a third time, with Ottavio's words joined to

the notes (Schauffler 1933, 165-66).
Schauffler goes on to show that Brahms was himself also
skilled at perceiving the significance of such veiled
messages:
On the appearance of the Fourth symphony, in E (minor),

young Robert Kahn remarked to the Master: "Your next
three must all be in A." Without a moment's
consideration, Brahms gave a great laugh and shouted:
"Mozart!" He had realized that- the fugue finale of
Mozart's "Jupiter" symphony begins with the notes C D F
E A A A (Schauffler 1933, 166).
Brahms also liked to send cryptic messages using verbal
rather than musical clues, as in this exchange with Theodor
Billroth, in regard to the Violin Sonata in G, Op.78. In
June of 1879, Brahms wrote to Billroth,
Now when the final movement is done and you have played
it through, please send it to me immediately. Its not
worth playing through more than once, and you would
have to have a nice, soft, rainy evening to give the
proper mood (Brahms 1977, 80).
On June 26, Billroth replied,
That motif in the last part seems familiar to me. First

I thought of Heimat, the songs of Klaus Groth, and then
at last I found that it was the Regenlied. Now, for the
first time, your sentence in your previous letter about
a rainy evening was illuminating to me, for I had taken
that remark quite without realizing at all that it
pointed toward your leading motif. You rascal! (Brahms
1977, 80-81)
14
(Not only is this an example of the sort of allusive
verbal word-play Brahms enjoyed, it is also a reference to a
musical quotation from one of his own songs.)
Brahms also had a keen interest in musical borrowings
on the part of other composers. In a letter to Joachim, for
example, he remarks, "Take special note of the "Denkmaler
der Tonkunst"....You will find the Te Deum by Urio
remarkably interesting. Compare also Saul and Handel's Te
Deum, very striking" (quoted in Musgrave 1985, 87). But his
attitude was sharply different when the question of his own
possible borrowings was concerned. His best-known remark on
the subject, "Any ass can see that," is usually associated
with the observation that the principal themes of the
finales of his own First and Beethovens Ninth symphonies
resemble one another. But the remark seems to have been one
he was in the habit of making in other, similar situations
as well:
When a musical wiseacre of his acquaintance expressed

his enthusiasm over the C minor Symphony and added that
it was only regrettable that the theme of the finale
was so like the one in the ninth symphony, Brahms
looked the gentleman up and down and replied rudely:
"Yes, and still more regrettable that any ass can see
it at once." Sigmund Bachrich, the late admirable
violinist of the Rose Quartet, which the master liked
to entrust with the first performance of new works,
told me that he was made to swallow the same retort
when he attempted to draw Brahms's attention to a
similarity of this sort (Specht 1930, 98).
The significance of this abusive retort has been
variously interpreted. Hans Gal writes of the
"striking...similarity between the hymn-like theme of the
finale and the Ode tc Joy in the last movement of
Beethoven's Ninth {which "any jackass could see," as Brahms
himself said, his crudeness masking a bad conscience)..."
(Gal 1963, 140). Gal's reference to a "bad conscience"
reveals his assumption that Brahms was simply plagiarising
and had presumably hoped he would "get away with it" without
being noticed. Rosen, on the other hand, takes the remark at
face value, hearing disdain but not defensiveness in
Brahms's tone: "Brahms was a master of allusion, and he
generally intended his references to be heard ("Any ass can
see that," he is supposed to have said, when one of them was
recognized)" (Rosen 1981, 26).
A more correct reading seems to lie between these two
extremes. Brahmss remark tells us two things: that he was

1 *3
well-aware of such resemblances, J and that he considered
them to be unworthy of serious interest or discussion, an
attitude that has undoubtedly played its part in
discouraging us from pursuing the subject: it is difficult
to resist the authority of genius. Brahms's remark seems to
have been designed precisely to discourage interest in this
aspect of his compositional thinking. Such an attitude on
Brahms's part would make sense particularly in cases where a
thematic resemblance had an allusive significance related to
16
the personal life of the composer, and would not be
inconsistent with his very private personality, frequently
deflecting too close a personal interest in himself with
gruffness, sarcasm and insult.
Brahms did occasionally acknowledge the presence of
thematic material from other sources with other than his
typical insult. Friedlander reports an instance of Brahms
confirming his awareness of a thematic resemblance in a
song, apparently without belittling Friedlander's questions
(but also apparently without offering any further comment).
There is a remarkable resemblance at the words Im

Windhauch schwanket and at the close to Schubert's song
Doppelganger, a resemblance which Brahms, as he
informed the present author, recognized when he wrote
it (Friedlander 1976, 75).
Brahms's most candid admission is found in a letter to
Dessoff of July 1888. Dessoff had composed a string quartet,
which he dedicated to Brahms, but was distressed to notice
some time later a passage which he felt too closely
resembled one in Brahms's Second Symphony. In his reply to
the letter in which Dessoff offered to alter the offending
passage, Brahms both affirms his view that the question of
musical reminiscences is an inconsiderable one, and reminds
Dessoff of what he takes to be obvious, that he himself has
often "stolen" from other composers.
17
I beg you, do nothing stupid. One of the stupidest

topics of stupid people is that of reminiscences. The
small place in question is with me really nothing at
all, as excellent as all the rest may be. But with you
it is particularly this passage which is especially
warm, beautiful and naturally expressive. Don't spoil
it, leave it alone. You cannot very often speak that
beautifully yet you are only beginning to chat.
Actually I would have said nothing, and then would have
taken for myself this good thing which is not owned by
anyone. You must not change a single note. After all',
you know that I.too have stolen on occasion, and much
more seriously.
One of the most curious instances of borrowing in all
of Brahms is the opening phrase of the song
"Uniiberwindlich," Op.72/5. It is noteworthy because Brahms
has acknowledged his indebtedness by marking the phrase with
the name of the composer from whom he borrowed it:
"Scarlatti." (See Example 1:1.) Not only is there no other
example in all of Brahms where such a public acknowledgement
is given, but the borrowing itself seems a relatively
trivial one, and therefore an unlikely candidate for
singling out in this way.
-----------
Singstimme T O - -
: I/....-.

m

^
4 * . . ..
T O =* V f
---------
f
|tf f t f l j b
Pianoforte-
u
D.SeuItUI
Example 1:1. Brahms, "Uniiberwindlich," Op.72/5, mm. 1-3*
18
Coincidentally, George Henschel's Personal
Recollections of Johannes Brahms, published in 1907,
contains an account of a conversation with Brahms about this
very question. Henschel kept a daily journal during the
period July 8-19, 1876, when Brahms and Henschel vacationed
together at Sassnitz. Throughout this time the two menwere
in daily contact, and Henschel (as he himself says)
"scrupulously jotted down my recollections in the evening of
each day spent in Brahms's company" (Henschel 1907, 14). The
entry for Monday, July 10 begins as follows:
Yesterday afternoon I spent nearly three hours in

Brahms' rooms. He showed, me new songs of his, asking
me if I could suggest a short way of indicating that a
certain phrase in one of them was not his own.
"I have," he said, "taken a charming motive of
Scarlatti's [here Henschel gives the first two measures
of "Uniiberwindlich", Op.72/53 as the theme of a song I
composed to one of Goethe's poems, and should like to
acknowledge my indebtedness. I proposed, as the best
and simplest way, that he should merely place
Scarlatti *s name at the end of the phrase in question
(Henschel 1907, 33).
Brahms's statement in this account is very curious. He
has, as he admitted to Dessoff, frequently borrowed thematic
ideas from other composers without acknowledgement. Normally
he disdains discussion of such matters. Yet here he not only
introduces the subject, but indicates that he wishes to
acknowledge the source of his indebtedness in the published
edition of the song. Perhaps Brahms was only teasing
Henschel, seeing if he would take him seriously. But if
19
Brahms was only having Henschel on, he carried the joke very
far: the acknowledgement does in fact appear in the
published edition. Again, there would be reason to doubt
Henschel's credibility if the song in question had not in
fact been published by Brahms with the acknowledgement
included, much as Henschel suggested it. Nor did Brahms
fully accept his friend's suggestion at first. Kalbeck
relates that he originally asked Simrock to mark the phrase
with the word "alienum," and only later decided that to use
the composer's name would look more appropriate (Kalbeck
1913-22 III/1, 139-^0). What then prompted Brahms to concern
himself to such an extent with this particular borrowing?
Henschel's journal entry for the previous day, Sunday, July
9 suggests that Brahms's interest in identifying his
Scarlatti borrowing was related to the subjects of
conversation from the previous day.
In the evening we sat together in the Fahrnberg. I

showed him the new series of Moritz Hauptmann's
Letters.
After we had read a few, he said: "How discreet one
ought to be in writing letters. Who knows.(.some day
they'll be printed..."(Henschel 1907, 29).
A short time later, during the same conversation:
In the course of our talk one of the greatest

virtuosos of the day, a personal friend of Brahms, was
mentioned. "There are people," Brahms said, "who can
talk and talk about the most unlikely, impossible thing
until they actually believe it themselves. It's what I
would call Twaddle. For instance, the other day, after
having played the last movement of ray 'C Minor
20
Quartet,' in which a friend detected a certain

resemblance to Mendelssohn's 'Trio in C Minor,' without
realizing that what, there, is a theme itself, is, with
me, simply an accompanying figure, my friend asked
me, in all seriousness, mind, 'Now, am I not right:
you wanted to show what you could do with that theme?'
How silly!" (Henschel 1907, 30)
The first of these excerpts shows Brahms expressing a
concern which frequently preoccupied him: anxiety over the
possibility that aspects of his private life, including his
compositional work habits, might come to public knowledge,
even after his death. We know that Brahms destroyed personal
correspondence which he felt was too revealing to survive,
and also many finished compositions which did not satisfy
him.Virtually all of his working drafts and sketches we
can only assume that the early stages of his compositions
took this form met the same fate. His close friendship with
Nottebohm had made him acutely aware of the scrutiny that
might await is own compositional Nachlass. He became
extremely angry if overheard or observed in the act of
composition.^
It is only a short time later during the same
conversation that Brahms himself introduces the question of
thematic resemblances. He has just commented on how
dangerous it is to commit ideas to paper, because of the
possibility that they will be viewed by a wider public than
they were intended for. Almost his next thought is of a
thematic resemblance, another kind of "idea" commited to
21
paper. His purpose in raising the subject seems to be to
discredit the very notion. But a careful reading of what he
actually says makes clear that he does not in fact deny the
resemblance, or even that he did in fact borrow the idea
from the Mendelssohn source. He simply says that his
friends explanation of why he might havedone so is a
foolish one. Nevertheless, the story has the effect of
foreclosing any possible discussion of such resemblances
with Henschel during their vacation together.
The anecdote is well chosen to achieve this effect (if
this was indeed Brahms's desire). The Mendelssohn thematic
resemblance was once one of the bestknown of all Brahms's
borrowings. Specht mentions it along with the 0p,1 and Op.68
resemblances at the beginning of his general discussion of
allusion in Brahms in a way that suggests these were the
three most commonly known examples (Specht 1930, 98).
Kalbeck also includes it in his discussion if the piece
(Kalbeck 1913-22 III/1, 18). Tovey is aware of the tradition
which hears the resemblance, but rejects it (Tovey 1949,
230). Henschel's account itself makes clear how striking the
resemblance must have been to Brahms's friends and
contemporaries: Brahms's comments to Henschel were made less
than a year after the first public performance and
publication, in November of 1875 (McCorkle 1984, 256). If
comment on the resemblance is much less frequent today, it
22
is perhaps because the Mendelssohn Trio itself now occupies
a far less important place in the repertoire.
Thematic resemblance was still on Brahms's mind the
next day, when he asked Henschel's advice. Why does he make
an issue of this trivial borrowing? What follows is a
hypothetical reconstruction. His comments on the Mendelssohn
and Scarlatti resemblances seem defensive. In the first
instance, he has deflected interest from an allusive
reference whose significance must have been personal and
private. In the second, he strengthens the notion that the
Mendelssohn resemblance is bogus by drawing elaborate
attention to.the Scarlatti borrowing, even to the extent of
deciding to acknowledge its source publicly. Perhaps there
was also an element of compensating for having deceived his
friend (without actually lying). The idea that the
Mendelssohn allusion, if allusion it is, might be of very
personal significance for Brahms is not entirely groundless.
Brahms alluded on a number of occasions to the
autobiographical nature of the Op.60 Piano Quartet,
describing it to Billroth as "a sort of illustration of the
last chapter of the man in the blue dress-coat and the
yellow waistcoat, a clear reference to Goethe's Werther,
and suggesting to his publisher Simrock that the title-page
might feature a photgraph of the composer with a gun to his

17
head (both letters quoted in Abraham 1964, 161).
23
The picture of the allusive Brahms which emerges, then,
is an ambiguous and complicated one. He was skilled and
interested in verbal allusion. He enjoyed speaking and
writing cryptically among his friends. He was also quick to
recognize thematic resemblances and borrowings on the part
of other composers, and seems to have been fully aware of
such resemblances in his own works. He was generally gruff
and disdainful when questioned about thematic resemblances
in his own works, however, and may even on occasion have
actively discouraged consideration of such resemblances.
The possibility that many of Brahmss borrowings are
purposeful allusions of musical or extra-musical
significance is not an entirely novel or recent idea.
Richard Specht put forward this view in 1928:
It is indeed to be supposed that so self-critical a

composer as Brahms was himself aware of things of that
kind [thematic resemblances to the works of other
composers] and that he would not have passed them
unless he intended to express or secretly interweave
something of particular import.... They all have their
charm, either as entries in a musicians diary, as
concealed messages or as the little mystifications of
which Brahms was so fond, especially when, much to his
gratification, nobody discovered them (Specht 1930,
98).
This study of Brahmss use of allusion focuses mainly
on the Fourth Symphony, a work laden with a wide variety of
borrowings. Some of these have been noted before, while
others will be discussed for the first time. The case for
24
Brahmss use of allusion rests ultimately not upon the
examination of documentary or biographical evidence, but
upon the inherent plausibility of any allusive
interpretation which can be given for a particular
resemblance or borrowing. But before exploring the music
itself, it is necessary to deal with some of the questions
of definition, theory and method which surround the concept
of allusion.
25
NOTES
CHAPTER ONE
1 Michael Musgrave also Wears an allusion to the

opening of Schubert's Wanderer-Fantasie in these measures.
See Musgrave 1985, 19-20.
2 This idea is explored in Burkholder 1984. Burkholder

asserts, following Peter Gay, that modernism in music has
not to do primarily with the development of new musical
techniques, but with aspects of the composers preoccupation
with his relationship to music of the past. In this respect,
Brahms may be considered the first musical modernist. My own
view is that while Brahms's relationship to the music of the
past is indeed different in degree from that of earlier
composers, it may not be so different in kind as we think.
In particular, tne use of quotation, allusion, and
referential motives in the music of earlier composers needs
much more exploration than it has been given. See Reynolds
1988 on referential motives in Beethoven.
3 Deiters points out the thematic resemblances to

Beethoven in the opening themes of Op.1 and Op.18. He refers
to the Op.1 resemblance as one "which others have already
pointed out" (Deiters 1888, 23). He also speaks of more
general influences and models from Beethoven, Schubert and
Bach (Deiters 1888, 28), while at other times he stresses
Brahms's originality (Deiters 1888: 105ff., 109ff., -11 Iff.).
Kretzschmar points out the reference to the theme from
Beethoven's An die ferne Geliebte in the Opus 8 Trio
(Deiters 188FJ 158)- It is possible that this public
observation by Kretzschmar was the precipitating factor in
Brahms's decision to revise the B-major Trio five years
later, thereby obliterating the reference Kretzschmar
referred to. (See Chapter 5, pp.232-240.)
4 A typical example is Kross 1983, 135. Kalbeck is a

notable exception to the above generalization. Richard
Specht notes a large number of resemblances, and suggests
that they generally have an expressive significance, but
does little to explicate the expressive significance of
particular allusions. Tovey sometimes dismisses such
26
resemblances as insignificant, as in his discussion of The

Op.8 Trio and the Op.60 Piano Quartet (Tovey 1949, 229-230),
taking at face value Brahms's own dismissive statements. At
other times, he accepts that a similarity was a purposeful
allusion in Brahms's part, as in his essays on the First
Symphony (Tovey 1935, 93) and the Serenade, Op.11 (Tovey
1935, 123).
5 Tovey 1949, 229-230, for example.
6 As documented, for example, in Sedley Taylor, The

Indebtedness of Handel to Works by Other Composers
(Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1906 ).
7 Herman Meyer articulates the distinction between

quotation and borrowing as follows: "Between the conspicuous
and the cryptic quotation there is, therefore, no difference
of category but only of degree. Categorically, on the other
hand, either kind of quotation differs from the hidden
borrowing, for the discovery of the latter may result in a
certain philologocal satisfaction, but no aesthetic delight"
(Meyer 1968, 7).
8 This definition of allusion is indebted to a number

of sources, including Meyer 1968, 3-22; Wheeler 1979, 1-8;
Chandler 1982, 461-466; Perri 1978; and Ben-Porat 1976.
Detailed consideration of the views of these authors may be
found below in Chapter 2.
9 Burkholder has recently proposed the term

"paraphrase" for certain types of inexact quotations
(Burkholder 1987). Meyer would still call these simply
quotations (Meyer 1968, 9). The term "paraphrase" seems to
be reserved in literary studies for uses distinct from the
one Burkholder is proposing. The Harper Handbook to
Literature defines paraphrase as "The rendering in other
words of the sense of a text or passage, as of a poem,
essay, short story, or other writing; also, a free
translation from another language, as distinguished from a
literal one" (Frye 1985, 336).
10 On the Brahms-Hanslick relationship see Musgrave

1983d, 23-25; Gal, 71-81; Tovey 1949, 237-239. An excellent
and much-needed new translation of Hanslick's treatise is
that by Geoffrey Payzant, 1986. On Brahms's attitude to
Wagner, see Musgrave 1983d, 16-22.
11 The phrase derives from an essay by Walter Wiora and

developed by Ludwig Finscher (1979). See also Newcomb 1984.
27
12 The Bulow incident is fully recounted in Specht 1930,

252-253, and may also be found in Gal 1963, 70; Geiringer
1982, 159; and in other standard biographies. Schauffler is
not the most- scholarly or musically sophisticated of
biographers, but he has provided us with the richest source
of anacdotal material on Brahms.
13 There seems in fact to be only one instance of Brahms

denying awareness of a thematic resemblance in one of his
pieces, on the occasion of his visit to Liszt in 1853. After
Liszt played through Brahmss E-flat-minor Scherzo, its
resemblance to the Chopin B-flat-rainor Scherzo was remarked
by one of the several other musicians present. Brahms
replied that he had never heard any of Chopin's
compositions. But there are strong reasons to doubt this
assertion (see the discussion on pp.75-77 below), and we can
easily imagine that the young Brahms, an unknown and
inexperienced young man in the company of a room full of
sophisticated musicians, not least Liszt himself, might have
been intimidated into an unthinking and defensive response
to a remark which may well have been made in an accusing
tone.
14 The letter is quoted in Kalbeck 1913-22 I, 152-153,

but there is no letter from this year contained in the
Brahms-Dessoff Briefwechsel.. The original German as provided
by Kalbeck reads:
"Ich bitte Dich, mache keine Dummheiten. Eines der

dummsten Kapitel der dummen Leute ist das von den
Reminiszenen. Die betreffende kleine Stelle bei mir ist,
so vortrefflich auch all.es iibrige sein mag, wirklich
ganz und gar nichts. Bei Dir aber ist gerade die Stelle
von einer allerliebst warraen, schonen und natiirlichen
Empfindung. Verdirb nicht, riihr nicht daran, Du kannst
gar nicht oft so schon sprechen doch, du fangst ja erst
an zu plaudern! Eigentlich hatte ich nichts sagen und
hernach mir das herrenlose Gut nehmen sollen. Keine Note
darfst Du daran andern. Schliesslich weisst Du naturlich,
dass ich bei der Gelegenheit auch und viel schlimmer
gestohlen ha be.
15 Brahms expresses a similar concern in a letter to

Elisabet von Herzogenberg of November 1879.
16 Schauffler tells the story of a young man who climbed

a ladder to look in on Brahms through the window, unaware
that he was working on a composition. Brahms almost pushed
over the ladder in his rage.
17 The allusion will in fact be interpreted as a
reference to the Werther "programme" in a forthcoming paper.
29
CHAPTER TWO
QUOTATION AND ALLUSION: PROBLEMS OF DEFINITION, THEORY
AND METHOD
Defining Allusion: Influence and Intertextuality
It is important to distinguish between the study of
allusion as a purposeful stylistic device and the related
but distinct question of influence. Evidence for the
existence of influence frequently takes the form of
structural, generic, thematic, or local textual resemblances
between two or more works. Quotation or allusion may also
under certain circumstances be interpreted as evidence of
influence. But the study of allusion itself is concerned
more with how this device functions within the text which
contains it than with what it also happens to betray about
external forces acting upon the author of the text during
that texts genesis. Michael Wheeler has addressed this
question in his recent study of allusion in Victorian
literature:
Although the differences between the relationships

which we usually call influence and the relationships
indicated by allusion are often difficult to recognize
and explain, one can say that the critic who discusses
30
sources and literary influence is concerned mainly with

hidden pressures on authors, which are often unnoticed
by the reader, whereas the critic who examines allusion
is mapping areas which are open to inquiry and indeed
often explicitly invite examination (Wheeler 1979, 7).
It appears to be only recently that literary scholars

!
writing about allusion have felt it necessary to make this
distinction explicit (though it has been implicit in earlier
studies). James Chandler has also addressed this question
recently in his investigation of allusion in Romantic poetry
(Chandler 1982, 461 463)^ For both Wheeler and Chandler,
the impetus to make this distinction explicit seems to have
been the same: the critical theories of Harold Bloom.^
In The Anxiety of Influence (1973) (and in later
writings such as A Map of Misreading(1975). Poetry and
Repression (1976) and Agon (1982)) Bloom has developed a
theory of criticism whose essence is an adaptation of
Freud's concept of the "family romance" to provide an
understanding of the relationships between what Bloom calls
"strong poets" and the work and personalities of their
precursors. Bloom challenges the naive notion that influence
between creative artists is primarily a simple matter of
borrowing and emulation. Rather, the existence of strong
precursor poems and poets is for the later poet a source of
great anxiety. The later poet recognizes himself in the work
of his precursors, and struggles to escape their influence
by acts of misreading or "misprisions", deliberately (though
unconsciously) undertaken "so as to clear imaginative space
for [himself]" (Bloom 1973? 5). Infuence does not necessarily
manifest itself in imitation and similarity; it often makes
poets not less original, but more so (Bloom 1973, 7).^ The
danger which the awareness of strong precursors represents
for the later poet is that it threatens his desire for
immortality, for priority. This anxiety is dealt with, in
Bloom's theory, by the Freudian defense mechanism of
repression, that is, by "misreading." Bloom proposes a
typology of six "revisionary ratios" which describe possible
relationships of misreading between poems.
Bloom's theory offers rich possibilities for
understanding Brahms, a composer who often spoke of his
sense of having been born too late. The deliberate
self-conciousness with which he so frequently invokes
distant precursors Beethoven, Schubert, Bach,
Palestrina seems at first to argue that Brahms was quite
untroubled about acknowledging his lack of priority, his
indebtedness to the achievements of his forerunners. A
closer consideration suggests otherwise. Bloom has remarked
that "most instances of authentic poetic influence take
place very directly between older contemporaries and younger
contemporaries, or between generations, whether actual
generations or literary ones" (Moynihan 1986, 7). With
Brahms, the precursors to whom he directs our attention were
32
all safely dead before Brahmss birth, and often long
before. A parallel case is the poet T.S. Eliot, who, says
Bloom,
had a polemic against his actual precursors that would

include, primarily, Tennyson and Whitman, or even
Pater, as a British instance, or even, as he stands
behind all American poetry, Emerson. Eliot, therefore,
in a rather familiar pattern of poetic evasion,
insisted on seventeenth-century forebears, insisted
upon Dante, insisted upon nineteenth-century French
forebears so as to put both himself and his reader off
the track (Moynihan 1986, 7).
It is easy to imagine a similar evasive strategy being
employed by Brahms. The obvious older contemporary whose
influence Brahms might most have dreaded is, of course,
Wagner. But however fruitful and provocative the possibility
of understanding Brahmss compositional life as governed by
a desire to avoid Wagner's influence might be, the aim of
such an approach remains largely distinct from our present
concern. Blooms theory may indeed provide a helpful
framework for understanding the psychological dynamics of
creation which the presence of allusive references in a text
may betray. But it is of no direct relevance to the problem
of how to understand allusion as a stylistic device which
functions meaningfully within the text itself. As Jonathan
Culler has written, "Blooms 'antithetical criticism' is
ultimately a genetic theory rather than a theory of the
conditions of signification" (Culler 1981, 109). James
Chandler begins his study of romantic allusiveness with a
33
consideration of Bloom's contributions to literary theory.
"Harold Bloom," he writes, "has helped many of us to see
that poetic influence is not the straightforward affair we
once imagined" (Chandler 1982, 461). But he continues:
Whatever our judgment of Bloom's accomplishment,

however, his theory of poetry remains essentially a
theory of literary influence. And, in this resepct, his
criticism resembles, far more closely than he would
like to admit, a work like The Road to Xanadu, J.L.
Lowes' famous study of influences on Coleridge's
poetry. Both writers are concerned primarily with the
trials and triumphs of the Romantic imagination, and
both read the Romantic poem as a record of a poets
psychological relations to earlier literature. For
Lowes, this process has to do with the creative
amalgamation of a number of great works; for Bloom, it
is the creative struggle with just one or two great
poets. But neither writer is concerned with the
rhetorical use to which the Romantic poet puts the
earlier text. Neither is concerned, that is, with
literary allusiveness, with the question of how or
whether a poet like Coleridge meant his readers to
respond to an echo in his poetry of some earlier poet's
work (Chandler 1982, 462).
Charles Rosen's essay, "Influence: plagiarism and
inspiration" (Rosen 1981) is an example of musical study
which conflates the categories of influence and of quotation
and allusion as stylistic devices with confusing results.
Rosen begins by echoing Bloom's insight about influence:
that it may produce originality rather than imitation. But
because his primary concern is with extra-compositional
references which can be interpreted as both purposeful on
the part of the composer and significant for our
understanding of the work -which contains them, he is forced
to limit, his definition of influence in a way which
eliminates consideration of adolescent composers models
(Rosen 1981, 17). On the other hand, he makes the
extraordinary claim that Brahms's use of the finale of the
Beethoven G-major Piano Concerto as a structural model for
his own D-minor Concerto is to be understood as an allusion,
that is, as an extra-compositional reference to which Brahms
wished to call the listener's attention (Rosen 1981. 32-36).
It is essential not to confuse these two categories when
approaching the question of allusion.
Alongside the strong psychoanalytic focus in Bloom's
criticism upon relationships between poets, there runs
another critical perspective which is in some ways
incompatible with the former. It is an aspect which Jonathan
Culler has clearly recognized both in his discussion of
Bloom's thinking itself, and in his grouping of that
discussion within a chapter which also considers the
theories of Julia Kristeva and Roland Barthes under the
rubric of "intertextuality" (Culler 1981, Ch.5). While Bloom
speaks throughout most of The Anxiety of Influence about
influence considered within an implied biographical and
historical framerawork, on other occasions he seems to leave
35
the poets themselves out of account; and to use language
which is thoroughly intertextualist:
Antithetical criticism [that is, the sort of criticism

Bloom is advocating] must begin by denying both
tautology and reduction, a denial best delivered by the
assertion that the meaning of a poem can only be a
poem, but another poem a poem not it3elf. And not a
poem chosen with total arbitrariness, but any central
poem by an indubitable precursor, even if the ephebe
[later poet] never read that poem. Source study is
wholly irrelevant here; we are dealing with primal
words, but antithetical meanings, and an ephebefs best
misinterpretations may well be of poems he has never
read (Bloom 1973 70).
As in the discussion of influence, above, it is
important to distinguish the stylistic device of allusion
from the broader notion of "intertextuality" which has
emerged in recent years as an important critical concept.
The term, coined by Julia Kristeva (Kristeva 1974, 59-60),^
has become perhaps most strongly associated with Roland
Barthes, as well as with other French critics such as Gerard
Genette, Laurent Jenny, Michael Riffaterre.^ The
intertextualist view of literature sees the literary work,
or "text", as understood always in relation to other texts.
Jonathan Culler has explained intertextuality as having
a double focus. On the one hand, it calls our attention

to the importance of prior texts, insisting that the
autonomy of texts is a misleading notion and that a
work has the meaning it does only because certain
things have previously been written. Yet in so far as
it focuses on intelligibility, on meaning,
intertextuality1 leads us to consider prior texts as
36
contributions to a code which makes possible the

various effects of signification. Intertextuality thus
becomes less a name for a work's relation to particular
prior texts than a designation of its participation in
the discursive space of a culture: the relationship
between a text and the various languages or signifying
practices of a culture and its relation to those texts
which articulate for it the possibilities of that
culture (Culler 1981, 103).
Obviously, the relationship between texts which
concerns the intertextualist critics is focused not upon the
close resemblance of certain brief, discrete passages or
phrases within certain longer texts, as is the case with the
study of allusion, but with a pervasive feature of all
texts, and of the way texts are perceived in general by the
reader. The "intertext" is grounded in features shared by
two or more texts, but relies upon the perception and
experience of the reader to be "activated." Thus
intertextuality is as much a way of reading as it is a
property of texts themselves: or. to put it more radically,
the text is created by the act of reading. The intertextual
reading need not correspond to any awareness of other texts
the author may have had in mind in producing the work.
Indeed, the intertextualist view of literature tends to
overlook the role of the producer of the text altogether.
Linda Hutcheon has called attention to this fact in her work
on parody.
When -Julia Kristeva... coined the term

["intertextuality"], she noted that there were three
elements involved besides the text under consideration:
37
the author, the reader, and the other exterior

texts....[But] the role of the author in any subsequent
discussions of intertextuality has certainly been
suppressed, even in the work done on parody. As the
work of Michael Riffaterre has made clear, from the
perspective of any theory of intertextuality, the
experience of literature consists only of a text, a
reader, and his or her reactions, which take the form
of systems of words, grouped associatively in the
readers mind (Hutcheon 1985, 87).
The well-known phrase, "the death of the author, was
coined by Barthes to describe the liberation of the text
from any need on the part of the reader to attempt to locate
the work imaginatively against the background of historical
context or authorial intention. For Barthes, the reader is
free to associate texts in any manner which pleases him.
This is true to a certain extent even of Bloom. His
adaptation of the Freudian concept of the "family romance"
to explain relationships between strong poets and strong
precursor poets and poems seems to imply taking into
consideration the actual texts the later author would have
been aware of and reacting against. But as we have seen in
the excerpt quoted above, the question of whether or not a
poet was actually familiar with a given precursor poem is
irrelevant to Bloom. He is not much interested, if at all,
in attempting to recreate the author*s "intertextual"
experience, but only with the readers (that is, the
cri tic's).
38
The importance of intertextualist criticism for the
study of allusion is its emphasis on the role of the reader
in recognizing and activating the relationship between the
two texts which the allusion signals. This is not, of
course, an entirely novel perspective. Earl Wasserman,
writing about the role of allusion in the poetry of
Alexander Pope in 1966, anticipates something of the
intertextualist position.
If this has been an admissible commentary on The Rape

of the Lock, it would imply that the mode of existence
of Pope's poetry and probably of many other neoclassic
poems ought to be defined broadly enough to include a
creative act bythe reader. For it suggests that the
reader is not only to appreciate the poet's invention
in finding appropriate allusions but is actively
invited by them to exercise, within poetic reason, his
own invention by contemplating the relevances of the
entire allusive context and its received
interpretation....Such literature as this is
constituted not only by its own verbal texture but also
by the rich interplay between the author's text and the
full contexts it allusively arouses, for these allusive
resonances are not peripheral but functional to the
meaning of the artistic product (Quoted in Chandler
1982, 463).
On the other hand, however, the intertextualist
perspective is clearly inadequate for dealing with allusion
as a purposeful stylistic device employed by an author with
significative intent and out of a particular personal and
cultural and historical background. James Chandler, after
quoting the above passage, points out the difference between
Wasserman's view and the intertextualist view:
39
The decisive difference between this view and the one

Wasserman offers for the Augustans is that Wassermans
is intentionalist and historicist. This shows plainly
in his exegetical commentary on the Rape, where his
characteristic claim follows the formula: "Pope
[expects, invites, prods, wants] his (contemporary)
reader to [discover, exercise his wit on, recognize,
see] X in his allusion to such-and-such a text. And to
support his claim he repeatedly brings his historical
scholarship to bear on questions about "the kind of
ready knowledge Pope demands of his reader and what
"facts [were] known to any serious reader of the time.
The "text is thus not, in Wasserman*s practice,
socially detachable (Chandler 1982, 464).
Linda Hutcheon, in her theoretical work on the nature
of parody, also affirms the necessity of understanding the
allusive text within what she calls its "enunciative
context. Her concern is specifically with parodic texts,
which share many of the features of allusive texts in
general; she likens parody to "ironic allusion" (Hutcheon
1985, 43, 95):
...as readers or viewers or listeners who decode

parodic structures, we also act as decoders of encoded
intent....We may know that addresser and its intentions
only in the form of inferences that we, as receivers,
make from the text, but such inferences are not to be
ignored.... There is clearly a new interest in
"contextualism" today, and any theory of modern parody
should also be premised on the belief that "texts can
be understood only when set against the conventional
backgrounds from which they emerge; and...the same
texts paradoxically contribute to the backgrounds that
determine their meanings" [Jav Schieusener, "Convention
and the context of reading," Critical Inquiry 6 (1980),
669]. When that background is actually grafted onto the
text, as in the form of parody, such contextualism
cannot be avoided....
Certainly parody demands of the (real and inferred)
parodist much skill, craftsmanship, critical
understanding, and, often, wit....But the reader too
must share a certain amount of this sophistication, if
not skill, for it is the reader who must effect the
decoding of the superimposed texts by means of his or
her generic competence. This is not a matter (as in
intertextuality) of a general ability to call upon what
one has read, but, rather, it is specific to the
particular text or conventions being parodied (Hutcheon
1985, 23-24, 96).
Allusion and Intentionality
Implicit in the foregoing discussions of the

V-
distinctions which separate allusion from influence and
intertextuality has been the idea that allusion is
understood as intended by the author. Linda Hutcheon speaks
of authorial intentions which are encoded in the text, and
which the reader later becomes aware of by inference.
Chandler appeals to intention in making clear the difference
between allusion and influence: neither Bloom nor Lowes, he
writes, is concerned "with the question of how or whether a
poet like Coleridge meant his readers to respond to an echo
in his poetry of some earlier poet's work" (Chandler 1982,
462). Allusion is a device used by the author to produce a
particular effect; in employing allusion, the author has in
mind that the reader should make certain associations as a
result of recognizing the phrase or passage concerned as
allusive. "Allusion," Chandler writes, "is an intentional
with permission of the copyright owner. Further reproduction prohibited without permission.
41
echo of an e a r l i e r text: it not o n ly rem inds us; it means to
rem ind us" (C h an d ler 1982, 4 6 3 ) . In the passage quoted
above, C handler shows how s t e e p e d in the language of
in te n tio n is W asserm an's study of a llu s io n in Pope. And a s
Chandler notes, th is is not ju s t a re fle c tio n of W asserm an's
p a rtic u la r m ethodology: "The view th at a verbal echo must be
in te n tio n a l to q u a lify as an a l l u s i o n is w id e ly h eld "
(C handler 1982, 4 6 3 , n.6). He c i t e s an im p o rtan t th e o re tic a l
essay (P erri 1979, o n e o f t h e f e w s y s t e m a t i c a t t e m p t s t o
d e fin e a llu s io n and how it fu n c tio n s ) w hich supports the
in te n tio n a l view of a llu s io n , but o ffers no r e f e r e n c e s to
stu d ie s of a llu s iv e p ra c tic e in the work of p a rtic u la r
au th o rs. The absence of references to such s tu d ie s is not
d iffic u lt to understand, because the assum ption th at in
id e n tify in g and in te rp re tin g a llu s io n one is d e alin g w ith
the in te n tio n of the author is ra re ly ma d e e x p lic it. But a
look at re p re s e n ta tiv e stu d ies in lite ra tu re and m u s ic o lo g y
supports the truth of C h a n d le r's o b s e rv a tio n .^
Marlene Springer writes of allusion in the novels of

Thomas Hardy:
On the most obvious level, Hardy uses allusions for all

the traditional reasons: to evoke in the reader the
pleasure of recognition; to impress a learned audience;
to illustrate his own remarks; to buttress an opinion;
or to give an air of universality to the literature at
hand...(Springer 1983, 4).
42
Peter J. Schakel says of Swift: "Allusions are also useful
for considering Swift's own presence in the poems" (Schakel
1978, 5). Herman Meyer, defining quotation in the European
novel, writes:
Yet we understand the significance of this great

process of traditio...only in part is we view it solely
from the authors point of view....
The author's art of quoting reveals his participation
in the riches of the Western cultural tradition. He can
refer to it and draw upon it with the justified
confidence that his audience does not stand fully
outside tradition (Meyer 1968, 17-18, 19-20).
Along with Chandler, Michael Wheeler's study of
allusion in Victorian fiction is one of the few to attempt
to deal explicitly with the question of intention. He writes
in his introductory chapter about Wimsatt and Beardsley's
concept of the "intentional fallacy," and notes that whereas
the critic who analyses literary influence...is likely

to stray from internal evidence, first showing how a
similarity between two texts suggests influence and
then that the writer of the adoptive text admits in his
letters that he read the adopted text, the critic who
analyses allusion can usually concentrate wholly on
adopted and adoptive texts, and use only internal and
intermediate evidence, valid even for the
anti-intentionalist (Wheeler 1979, 8).
This may at first appear a disavowal of the need to
deal with the notion of author's intention in studying
allusion. In fact it is not. Wheeler is speaking not about
the terms of reference of the critic of allusion, but about
the type of evidence he must appeal to he qualifies his
43
statement with the adverb "usually. Wheeler still includes
the notion of the author's intention in his definition of
allusion (he is evaluating whether an apparent allusion in a
passage by Thomas Browne should in fact be considered
allusive): "Whether Browne intended me to associate his urns
with whited sepulchres must remain a moot point....I have to
assume that 'dead bones' is not an unmarked quotation"
(Wheeler 1979, 5).8
Musicological studies of allusion, though fewer, also
assume that authorial intention is one of the defining
criteria of allusion. J. Peter Burkholder, writing recently
about quotation in Ives's Second Symphony makes use of
sketches to confirm that Ives was concerned to make his
paraphrased quotations sufficiently obvious to be recognized
by his audience, but not overly so. "most [of Ivess
paraphrases] veer between levels of allusion from the
obvious to the obscure....That the level of recognizability
was a major concern for Ives is clear from his
sketches...which show that he changed several passages to
make their resemblance to their sources either more or less
obvious, apparently seeking the proper balance" (Burkholder
1987, 17). The argument of the following paragraph turns
directly on the assumption that to be considered genuine,
allusions must be intentional.
44
The most interesting cases are in the finale, where I

should like to suggests that two ideas may refer
simultaneously to both vernacular and classical
sources. The opening figure, part of a theme
paraphrased from Camptown Races, is also related to the
pizzicato theme of the scherzo of Tchaikovsky's Fourth
Symphony, also in F major.... Similarly, the figure in
violin I at m. 60 (part of the countermelody to the
second theme), taken from the first phrase of the
chorus of Turkey in the Straw, resembles a familiar
motive in the first movement of Dvorak's "New World"
Symphony.... Given the many references to Turkey in the
Straw in the surrounding measures, this motive must
belong to that tune. But Ives may have intended it to
sound like Dvorak as well, [footnote: Bernstein
includes the "New World" Symphony in his list of
quotations, but none of the other writers has accepted
it as genuine. ]
These may be phantom quotations, similarities that
we may hear but that have no significance, like the
appearances of the opening idea of Mozart's Bastien und
Bastienne in the first theme of Beethoven's "Eroica."
But there are other parallels between Ives's symphony
and these by Dvorak and Tchaikovsky, suggesting that
these apparent melodic allusions may have been
intentional (Burkholder 1987, 22).
Charles Rosen, in "Influence: plagiarism and
inspiration," distinguishes between the categories of purely
functional structural model, which is "clearly not intended
to be audible to the general public," and "the
nineteenth-century composer's use of quotation, the thematic
allusion to a previous work." He continues: "Brahms was a
master of allusion, and he generally intended his references
to be heard ("Any ass can see that," he is supposed to have
said, when one of them was recognized)" (Rosen 1981, 26).
Rufus Hallmark's study of Schubert's allusion to
Beethoven in "Auf dem Strom" will provide a final example:
"The melody of stanzas II and IV, on the other hand, is a
45
direct quotation; Schubert used Beethoven's funeral march
for its topical appropriateness11 (Hallmark 1982, 42).
Hallmark not only provides an interpretation of the
significance of the allusion, he also explores the
biographical circumstances which might have prompted
Schubert to make this particular reference.
The widely-held assumption that understanding allusion
entails a consideration of the intentions of the author
appears to be at odds with another generally accepted axiom
of literary criticism that the intentions of the author are
an irrelevant and inappropriate concern for the critic. It
has become widely accepted that to invoke the intentions of
the artist in the discussion of a work of literature, music
or fine art is likely to entail commiting "the intentional
fallacy. The term itself is of course familiar; it was
coined over forty years ago in the now famous article of the
same name by W.K. Wimsatt, Jr. and Monroe C. Beardsley
(Wimsatt 1954; the article originally appeared in 1946). The
thrust of the fallacy, briefly stated, is that any
consideration of the intention of an author in evaluating or
interpreting a work is irrelevant and illegitimate.^ While
this view has been and continues to be widely accepted as an
item of critical dogma, assent to it has been far from
universal or uncontroversial. Indeed, it has been one of the

10
most debated issues in literary criticism. The bald
46
definition of the intentional fallacy just given, however,
does not do justice to the nuances of Wimsatt and
Beardsley's arguments, and also leaves out of account the
background against which these authors were writing and the
nature of the critical practices which they found
objectionable.
It was long held to be axiomatic that an awareness of
the intentions of the author was an indiapensible
prerequisite to any act of criticism. Among the classic
statements of this critical credo are those by Goethe "What
did the author set out to do? Was his plan reasonable and
sensible, and how far did he succeed in carrying it
out?" and Alexander Pope "In every work regard the
writer's end, since none can compass more than they

11
intend." This approach has been termed "expressive or
intentionalist criticism" (Mercer 1973, 100). It placed
great emphasis on the literary work not so much as a thing
in itself, but as a statement which both reflected and gave
access to the mind and spirit of its author. Or as Eagleton
puts it, "Great literature is the product of Great Men, and
its value lies chiefly in allowing us intimate access to
their souls" (Eagleton 1983, 47-48). The qualities
considered aesthetic virtues by this school of criticism
reflec its concern with the relationship between the work
and its author: "sincerity", "fidelity", "spontaneity",
"authenticity", "genuineness", "originality" (Wimsatt 1954,
47
9). The New C r i t i c s , whose p e rs p e c tiv e W im satt and B eard sley
rep resen t, opposed th is b io g ra p h ic a l em phasis by a s s e r t i n g
the autonomy of the work of a rt. The lite ra ry text should be
c o n s id e re d as an o b je c t in its e lf, an o rg an ic u n ity best
understood by a n a l y s i s or "clo se re a d in g ". A ppeals not o n ly
to the in te n tio n s of the au th o r, but a ls o to the
c ircu m stan ce s of a w o rk's co m p o sitio n , the biography of its
creato r, or the a ffe c tiv e im pact of the work are a ll
co n sid ered in a p p ro p ria te by New C r i t i c s .
"The intentional fallacy" makes two related points, one
related to value, the other to meaning. The first is that
the valuation of a work of art- should not be made on the
basis of the success or failure of the author to fulfil
adequately his intentions in setting out to write the work.
The second is that evidence of intention external to the
text of the work cannot compensate for deficiencies of the
text itself in seeking to understand the meaning of the
work. If the author "intends" to say X, then X must be
present in the text; and if X is present, then evidence of
intention is unnecessary. A succinct restatement of the
intentional fallacy by Wimsatt himself summarizes these two
points: "The design or intention of the author is neither
available nor desirable as a standard for judging either the
meaning or the value of a literary work of art" (Wimsatt
1968, 222).12
48
It is important to note what Wimsatt and Beardsley do
not say. They do not deny that an author has intentions.
Neither do they assert that any scholarly interest in those
intentions is everywhere and always an unacceptable one.
They do not even deny that external evidence could be used
to show that an author failed to achieve his intentions in a
text. They simply view all of these concerns as relevant to
biography rather than to the criticism of the work itself."
"The intentional fallacy" is not, in the strict philosphical
sense of the term, a fallacy (Hermeren 1975b, 60-65). It
represents a critical ideology about what "the work itself"
is, and about what kinds of evidence should and should not
be admissable in keeping with that ideological position. The
controversy over the appropriate use of Beethoven's sketches
between Douglas Johnson, Sieghard Brandenburg and William
Prabkin concerns precisely this issue, with Johnson taking
the position of the New Critics in asserting that only "the
work itself" (by which he means the text of the final
version of the work) may be considered the proper concern of
musical analysts, and his opponents seeking to identify the
bounds of the work of art somewhat more broadly, including
thereby the study of sketches as relevant to our.
understanding of the work whose genesis they reflect.
49
Even more important, however, is that Wimsatt and
Beardsleys objection is not to intention inferred from the
text itself, but only to what they call external evidence
of intention. This is a crucial distinction which was

1o
implied but not clear in the original essay, but which was
made explicit by Wimsatt in a subsequent discussion in which
he acknowledges the relevance of intention as it is found
in, or inferred from, the work itself" (Wimsatt 1968, 210,
as quoted in Hermeren 1975b, 67). This is a distinction of
crucial importance because while the intention of the author
seems to be an irreducible part of the concept of allusion,
it is almost always a matter, as in all of the examples
given above, of intention as inferred from the text, not
testimony of intention derived from external evidence. This
distinction, as well as the intentional nature of allusion
itself, is acknowledged in the original article as well, in
,the final section, which deals specifically with allusion:
In Eliots "Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock," toward

the end, occurs the line: "I have heard the mermaids
singing, each to each," and this bears a certain
resemblance to a line in a Song by John Donne, "Teach
me to heare Mermaides singing," so that for the reader
acquainted to a certain degree with Donne's poetry, the
critical question arises: Is Eliot's line an allusion
to Donne's? Is Prufrock thinking about Donne? Is Eliot
thinking about Donne? We suggest that there are two ....
radically different ways of looking for an answer to
this question. There is (1) the way of poetic analysis
and exegesis, which inquires whether it makes any sense
50
if Eliot-Prufrock jj* thinking about Donne..... [T ]his ia

the true and objective way of criticism, as contrasted
to what the very uncertainty of exegesis might tempt a
second critic to undertake: (2) the way of biographical
or genetic inquiry,, in which, taking advantage of the
fact that Eliot is still alive, and in the spirit of a
man who would settle a bet, the critic writes Eliot and
asks what he meant, or if he had Donne in mind (Wimsatt
1954, 17-18).
The notion of inferred or "encoded" intentionality is
one which Linda Hutcheon has made extensive use of in her
recent theoretical work on parody. Some of her thinking
about inferred intention is evident in the passages quoted
above in relation to intertextuality. One of her principle
uses of the concept is to distinguish the relationships
between two texts which are perceived in parody from those
which are implied by the reader-oriented concept of
intertextuality:
When we speak of parody we do not just mean two texts

that interrelate in a certain way. We also imply an
intention to parody another work (or set of
conventions) and both a recognition of that intent and
an ability to find and interpret the backgrounded text
in its relation to the parody. This is where the
pragmatic semiotics of a theorist like Umberto Eco
offers the tools to go beyond Genette's formalism.
Parody would be one of Ecos "inferential walks" that
must be taken by the perceiver: "they are not mere
whimsical initiatives on the part of the reader, but
are elicited by discursive structures and foreseen by
the whole textual strategy as indispensable components
of the construction" of the work...(Hutcheon 1985, 22).
Hutcheon's use of the notion of encoded or inferred
intention is employed with a full awareness of the problems
51
associated with authorial intention in earlier critical
practice:
...we seem to have considerable difficulty today, in

the wake of structuralism and post-structuralism, in
discussing the producers of texts. Yet, when we call
something a parody, we posit some encoding intent to
cast a critical and differentiating eye on the artistic
past, an intent that we, as readers, then infer from
the text's (covert or overt) inscription of it. In
reaction against a Romantic emphasis on the originating
(real) creator, critical formalism in literature has
come to speak only of implied authors, those implied by
the text. Yet the text may imply all it likes, and the
reader still might not "get the implication. For this
reason, it is perhaps truer to our experience of
reading parody to talk of the inferred encoder and
encoding process. But this shift still does not exempt
us from having to deal with the textual producer of
parody, even as inferred by us as readers....We need
not resort to a Hirschian view of the real authors
meaning..., the view attacked in an earlier incarnation
as the "intentional fallacy" by Wimsatt and
Beardsley...; it would suffice to situate the
intentional acts inscibed in the text (Hutcheon 1985,
84-85, 88).
But while Hutcheon*s notion of inferred intention is
extremely useful in accounting for the kind of
intentionality we usually deal with in allusion, it fails to
address the possibility of instances where the reader is not
supplied with enough information in the text itself to make
the correct inferences. Such cases are obviously possible,
and are instances of the limitations of the intentional
fallacy: sometimes external evidence of the author's
intentions are necessary to understanding and correctly

14
evaluating a work of art. This possible need for external
evidence in identifying parody is related in particular to
52
the element of irony, which may not be signalled
structurally within in the text, as allusion generally can
be. It is therefore unlikely that the need for external
evidence would arise in discussing allusion (unless an
allusion is intended ironically). An interesting test of
this principle, which is the subject of a portion of Chapter
Four, is the generally accepted borrowing from Bach Cantata
#150 in the finale of Brahms's Fourth Symphony (one of the
few Brahms's resemblances for which we actually have any
direct testimony from the composer).
One further qualification of the "intentional fallacy"
of great importance for the study of allusion relates to the
three categories of evidence which Wimsatt and Beardsley
distinguish in their original essay: internal (public),
external (private), and
an indeterminate kind of evidence about the character

of the author or about private or semiprivate meanings
attached to words or topics by an author or by a
coterie of which he is a member. The meaning of words
is the history of words, and the biography of an
author, his use of a word, and the associations which
the words had for him, are part of the word's history
and meaning (Wimsatt 1954, 10).
As Joseph Margolis has noted, Wimsatt and Beardsley
do not sort out with complete success puzzles connected

with the problem of allusiveness and meaning. If, for
example, as both Wimsatt and Beardsley on separate
53
occasions have maintained, meaning depends on usage and

usage includes the authors usage (even if
idiosyncratic), then it is difficult to see now to free
the objective specification of meaning altogether from
intentional factors, however they may be attenuated
(Margolis 1978, 291).
In effect, Wimsatt and Beardsley's acknowledgement of a
third, "intermediate category of evidence is an admission
that the clean unambiguous line they wish to draw around
"the work itself" cannot in fact be drawn; there are
circumstances in which an inquiry into the intentions of the
author are indispensable to understanding the text.
The Theory of Allusion
There is a surprising dearth of systematic theoretical
attempts to define allusion and describe how it functions.
Ziva Ben-Porat, the author of one such study, notes that
"the paucity of theoretical discussions of literary allusion
stands in strikingly inverse proportion to the abundance of
both actual allusions in literary works and the focus on
particular allusions in many critical writings" (Ben-Porat
1976, 105-106). In studies which discuss the technique of
allusion as practiced by a particular author, such as Brower
on Pope (Brower 1959), "the emphasis has always been on
allusions in their specific context, on their functions in a
given text, on the way an individual writer manipulates
them. Thus while minute attention is devoted to the
54
explication and description of individual allusions, the
theory of allusion remains implicit" (Ben-Porat 1976, 106).
Carmela Perri, in one of the other significant contributions
to the theory of allusion, makes similar observations:
In view of the present revived interest of literary

critics and theorists on the subject of influence and
inter-textuality, it seems especially necessary to
clarify our concept of allusion in literature, since
one type of it allusion to preceding literary
texts is the raost concrete, examinable kind of link
between texts; yet allusion remains a notion
inadequately defined as "indirect or tacit reference,'!
and is used with no further agreement concerning its
characteristics and theoretical status. Even
philosophers of language have ignored the problem of
allusion, surprisingly, when we consider that their
attention has often been focused, as it certainly has
of late, on the topic of reference (Perri 1978,
289-290).
Some discussion of the definition of allusion and of
related terras was undertaken above (pp.6-10). Allusion
differs from borrowing in being a stylistic device designed
to direct the attention of the reader or listener to the
source text to which the allusion refers. It is an
intentional extra-compositional, reference made by means of a
resemblance the recognition and comprehension of which
contributes to the reader's or listener's understanding of
the work which contains the allusion. The object of what
follows is to summarize some of the available theory about
how allusion works, both structurally and in the experience
of the perceiver.
55
Ben-Porat defines literary allusion as "a device for
the simultaneous activation of two texts" (Ben-Porat 1976,
107). This definition allows for a distinction between the
textual resemblance which signals the presence of an
allusion (the "marker"), and the device which that
resemblance "triggers." (Perri follows the same usage.)
Perri presents two analyses of allusion, the first of which
she calls "semantic," the other, "pragmatic." Ben-Porat's
analysis is in terms which Perri would understand as
"pragmatic." A comparison of these two pragmatic approaches
will follow a consideration of Perri's semantic definition.
Both writers are concerned with literary allusion, but their
observations can easily be adapted to musical allusion.
Perri defines allusion as follows:
[A]llusion in literature is a manner of signifying in

which some kind of marker (simple or complex, overt or
covert) not only signifies un-allusively, within the
imagined possible world of the alluding text, but
through echo also denotes a source text and specifies
some discrete, recoverable property(ies) belonging to
the intension [i.e., "connotation"] of this source text
(or specifies its own property(ies) in the case of
self-echo); the property(ies) evoked modifies the
alluding text, and possibly activates further, larger
inter- and intra-textual patterns of properties with
consequent further modification of the alluding text
(Perri 1978, 295).15 ~
(1) "[Ajllusion...signifies un-allusively, within...the
alluding text...". This statement is not directly
applicable to music, since musical, gesture is normally
considered to be non-referential. But it has its parallel in
music since an allusive phrase functions as a rton-allusive
gesture within its larger musical context. We might
therefore adapt this part of Perri's definition to read,
"Allusion functions un-allusively within the alluding text."
This is obvious, particularly when one considers allusions
whose existence goes unnoticed for a considerable time, such
as the Beethoven allusion in "Auf dera Strom" discovered by
Hallmark. Recognition of the allusive properties of the
phrase in question enhances our understanding, but that same
phrase has certainly "worked musically over the decades
which separate the piece's composition and Hallmark's
discovery.
(2) "allusion...also denotes a source text...". This
element of Perri's definition points to the other,
referential aspect of the allusive phrase, which is present
by virtue of the resemblance between the two passages or
phrases. Perri's definition not only lists constituent
elements of allusion; it also describes progressively steps
in identifying and interpreting the allusion. The step
described up to this point in the definition is
identification. In Hallmark's article, this is the
identification of the allusive phrase as adapted from the
the "Eroica" Symphony. Many observations on allusion in the
Brahms literature go no farther than identifying
resemblances.
57
(3) "allusion...specifies some discrete, recoverable
property(ies) belonging to the intension [i.e.. connotation]
of this source text...; the property(ies) evoked modifies
the alluding text...11. In musical terms, we may say that the
allusion reminds us of the structural or expressive function
which the passage alluded to plays in the source text. Perri
writes elsewhere that the allusion not only denotes the
source text, but also specifies "the property(ies) belonging
to the source text's connotation relevant to the allusion's
meaning" (Perri 1978, 291). The recognition of what these
relevant properties are depends on the context in which the
allusion appears. In the case of the "Eroica" allusion in
"Auf dera Strom", the relevant expressive properties of the
source passage suggested by the allusive context in which
they appear are mourning and bereavement. It is
consideration of these associations which enrich and clarify
the poetic text of the Schubert song, pointing as they do to
the metaphorical significance of the boat journey of the
poem.
Perri's definition as reviewed thus far describes only
what she calls "the primary level of operation" of an
allusion. An allusion's "great power of signification
resides in the additional inter- and intra-textual patterns
of associated attributes it can evoke once the primary sense
is comprehended" (Perri 1978, 293). Some allusions make use
of only this primary level of significance, but many other
58
do not. Even for those allusions which exploit further
levels of raeaningfulness, "recognition of the referent
source text...and the identification of the allusions
specified attributes of the source text...are sufficient to
constitute the minimal state of comprehension on the part of
the reader" (Perri 1978, 297). The secondary stage is
described in the last phrase of Perri's definition.
(4) "allusion...possibly activates further, larger
inter- and intra-textual patterns of properties with
consequent further modification of the alluding text."
Returning again to the allusive relationship between
Schubert's "Auf dem Strom" and Beethoven "Eroica", we might
for example reflect upon the Napoleonic character of
Beethoven himself, and consider the further identification
of Beethoven himself (or some other Beethoven-like
character) with the poetic character embarking on the river
voyage. (It is important to note here that to bring
documentary evidence to bear to suggest that Schubert was in
fact thinking of Beethoven in making this allusion, as
Hallmark does, constitutes a still further step, concerned
more with a private or autobiographical significance of the
allusion which is not dealt with by Perri in her
investigation.)
Both Perri and Ben-Porat attempt descriptions of the
reader's experience of allusion. Ben-Porat, who calls this
59
"the process of actualizing a literary allusion" (Ben-Porat
1976, 109), delineates four stages:
1) Recognition of a marker,
2) Identification of the evoked text,
3) Modification of the initial local interpretation,
and
*1) Activation of the evoked text as a whole, in an
attempt to form maximum intertextual patterns,
Perri's five-step description is similar:
1) Comprehension of the literal, un-allusive

significance of the allusion-marker,
2) Recognition of the allusion-marker as an echo of a
past source text,
3) Realization that construal of the allusive
significance is required,
4) Remembering aspects of the source text's
connotation, and
5) Connection of one or more of these aspects with the
alluding text.
Some of the differences between these two descriptions
are worth noting. Perri's first step isolates the
non-allusive functioning of an allusive phrase as a separate
awareness, something which will sometimes but necessarily
always be the case. Perri also collapses into one perception
what Ben-Porat treats as two stages: the perception of a
marker, and the identification of its source text. This
seems a sound decision, because while some allusion markers
can be recognized without identifying the resemblance they
involve, such as quotations within quotation marks, other
allusions are only recognized as such because of their
resemblance. This is a particularly important point in
dealing with musical allusion, since there is no device
60
which corresponds to quotation marks in musical notation.
Identification of an allusion marker generally begins with
the noting of a resemblance. It is also true, however, as
Brahms's allusive practice will be shown to illustrate, that
a given composer may customarily mark certain allusions in
certain recognizable ways. However this is a matter not of
notational convention, but familiarity with a particular
composer's style.
On the other hand, Ben-Porat's separation of the
perception of the local significance of an allusion from the
activation of further patterns of significance reflects
Perri's description of the primary and secondary levels of
operation of allusions better than does Perri's own stages,
which combines both of these levels within the fifth and
final stage.
Inferring intentionality; six criteria for identifying
the presence of allusion
Perri and Ben-Porat both accept the intentional nature
of allusion. Ben-Porat defines allusion from the perspective
of the author, speaking of a stylistic "device." Perri, in
her second, pragmatic analysis of allusion, includes as her
sixth defining convention, "[t]he author intends that the
allusion-marker's echo will identify the source text for the
audience" (Perri 1978, 300). As well, their analyses clearly
imply that it is an "inferred" or "encoded" intentionality
61
they are thinking of. since they are concerned entirely with
texts, and not with external or documentary evidence of any
kind. They do not, however, offer any discussion of how an
allusion marker is identified as a genuine, author-initiated
marker, other than to specify that a source text will be an
earlier text (thereby eliminating an "allusive11 reference to
a later text). Nor does the problem seem to have been
addressed explicitly by any other writer on allusion.
Wheeler touches briefly on this issue:
In order to decide whether a word, phrase or passage is

an unmarked quotation, the reader can apply various
tests to the putative adopted and adoptive texts. The
former must obviously antedate the latter, and the
later writer must have had access to the adopted text.
If the reader notices that the style of a passage in
the adoptive text seems markedly different from that of
the paragraph in which it is embedded, he might hunt
through author concordances, Crudens biblical
concordance and dictionaries of quotations, and
discover that the passage is an unmarked quotation
(Wheeler 1979, 6).
What follows is an attempt to articulate six criteria
or principles for establishing a putative allusion as
genuine, that is, for inferring the intention of the author.
The first three of these criteria are intrinsic: they assess
the degree of resemblance between the apparently allusive
passage and the passage to which it refers. These categories
are relatively objective in that they deal with evidence
which is to an extent quantifiable, though the assessment of
the strength of the resemblance within these categories
62
still involves an element of subjective judgement. The three
criteria for assessing resemblance are exactitude.
singularity and multiplicity.1^
1: EXACTITUDE
The principle of exactitude states that the case for
identifying a quotation will be strengthened the more
precisely the passage being referred to and the putative
quotation resemble. This principle is virtually
self-evident, and is therefore difficult to isolate and
illustrate. The quotation of the opening phrase of Tristan
und Isolde in Debussys "Golliwog's Cake-Walk" (mra.6l-63,
and repeated in subsequent measures) consists of only four

17
notes, but is nonetheless widely accepted. The quotation
is readily identifiable in part because it quotes its
subject matter very closely: exactly with respect to pitch
relationships and even pitch level, and very closely with
respect to rhythm. (The identification of the quotation of
course relies on other factors as well, such as prominence
and function. These criteria are discussed below.)
It is nevertheless clear that a greater degree of
deviation from strict accuracy of quotation is possible
without rendering the reference unrecognizable. Schumann's
uses of the musical phrase "Niram sie hin denn, diese Lieder"
from Beethoven's An die ferne Geliebte provide an
illustration. There are four commonly acknowledged uses of
this phrase in Schumann: in the coda of the first movement

18
of the C-major Fantasie, Op.17; in the B section of
"Svisser Freund*1, the sixth song of the cycle Frauenliebe und

1Q
-leben; in the finale of the String Quartet in F, Op.41/2;
or\
and in the finale of the Second Symphony, Op.61. It is
instructive to compare these four uses of the Beethoven
theme with the Beethoven original, and with each other,
since each of them is distinctive in different ways. (See
Example 2:1.)
Except for the upbeat and placement of bar-lines, Op.17
resembles the Beethoven exactly. In the Op.42 version, both
upbeat and the concluding pair of notes vary, and there is
some alteration of the rhythm in the four notes which
resemble. In Op.41, only the first four notes correspond,and
the rhythm of the two upbeat notes differs. The version
found in Op.61 is identical to Op.41 except in note values
and metre. (The fact that all of the Schumann quotations are
in C major is an important feature of their use by Schumann,
but is not an aspect of their resemblance to the Beethoven
original, which is in Eb.)
But if we look below the surface of these differences,
a common structure can be discerned. It is this structure
which seems to capture the essential elements of the
Beethoven phrase, and so render the versions which Schumann
presents readily recognizable as quotations. While the pitch
64
outline of stepwise upbeat, falling fourth, falling third is
fleshed out in a variety of ways, two points in particular
should be noted: 1) the falling fourth seems the most
important aspect of the melodic gesture; it always occurs

with its first note on a strong beat and as the highest note
of the phrase, and is never filled in or ornamented; 2)
there are significant consistencies of rhythmic treatment in
all five phrases; this suggests that the importance of
Beethoven, An die
ferne Geliebte,
pp -f-
/ mm.256-267

P m i Schumann, Op.17/i,
coda

^ - * - 0 H --------- ^
1 4 4tvFFP= mm.32-34.

Schumann,
-------

Op.42/6,
...
?-t - Q - - g t l 1 ["*> - Schumann, 0p.4l/2/iv

iv-r-y J b-- ^
Schumann, 0p.6l/iv,
letter "T
Example 2:1. Schumanns use of a phrase from

Beethovens An die ferne Geliebte in four works.
65
exactitude with respect to rhythm is perhaps greater than
for pitch in this case, at least.
It is obviously beyond the scope of this discussion to
develop a theory of the perceptual limits which govern
resemblance. What is interesting for present purposes is
that Schumann has used four significantly different versions
of the Beethoven phrase, and that all are readily

21
recognizable as quotations.
2: SINGULARITY
The principle of singularity states that the case for
identifying a quotation will be strengthened the more
distinctive or highly characterized the quoted passage is.
This principle obviously modifies the importance of
exactitude: exactitude is more or less valuable in
proportion as the passage being referred to is singular.
Even a modest resemblence to a very distinctive motif or
melody is likely to be more highly compelling than an exact
resemblance to a motif which is found very frequently,
either in the works of the particular composer in question,

22
or of the music of the period in general, or because it
tends to occur naturally within the musical language of the
period: simple scalar motion or a simple triadic outline in
the music of the common practice period, for example.
The greater part of Deryck Cooke's The Language of
Music is devoted to the cataloguing of such melodic
66
commonplaces as they occur in the music of the last 500
years. Thus any claim to hear the second theme of the first
movement of the Brahms D minor Piano Concerto (for example)
as an allusion to, say, the chorale-like melody of the
Chopin C#-minor Scherzo is made extremely problematic at
least in part because the melodic gesture which Cooke labels
"Ascending 5-1-(2)-3 (major)" may be found with varying
degrees of exactitude in a great number of pieces (Cooke
1959, 119-122).23
3: MULTIPLICITY
The principle of multiplicity states that the case for
an allusive relationship between tT:o works is strengthened
in proportion to the number of points of resemblance between
them. The importance of the principles of exactitude and
multiplicity varies in an inverse relationship. In contexts
where close quotation is at issue, the question of
exactitude is an important one, and multiplicity is
irrelevant: even if a movement contains several exact
quotations, the case for them rises or falls on the
resemblance of each individual quotation to its source.
However, in a case where the resemblances are less clear,
the claim for a significant relationship between two works
will be made stronger the more points of contact between the
two works that can be established, especially if these
67
points of contact are found in structurally parallel
positions.
The following passage from Charles Rosen's "Influence:
plagiarism and inspiration" illustrates how all three of the
above principles are appealed to, but especially how the
principle of multiplicity is invoked to strengthen a case of
intentional resemblance. The principles at work in Rosen's
argument are indicated in angular brackets: < >.
("Historical plausibility," the fourth criterion, discussed
below, is also indicated.)
On 17 May 1789, Mozart wrote a fugal Gigue for Piano

(K.574), in Leipzig, the city of Sebastian Bach and
gave it as a present to the court organist. It has a
characteristic opening (see example [2:2A]). Haydn's
Quartet in C major op.20 no.2 has a fugal gigue as a
finale, and it opens as follows (example [2:2B]). The
resemblance is obvious (in the descent G-F#-F-E as part
of the basic structure of the tune) <EXACTITUDE> and
trivial <SINGULARITY>. Such thematic resemblances are a
dime-a-dozen <SINGULARITY>. We are aware, of course,
that Mozart knew Haydn's op.20 quartets very well
indeed, since he imitated them closely many years
before when he began to write string quartets at the
age of sixteen HISTORICAL PLAUSIBILITY>.
From the second part of Mozart's gigue, however
<MULTIPLICITY>, there is a striking, even astonishing
rhythmic change of accent (see example [2:3A])
<SINGULARITY>. If the phrasing is correctly played
(which is not often the case), the 6/8 rhythm is
suddenly contradicted by a 2/4 or, more precisely, cut
by a 4/8 grouping enforced by the parallelisms of two
staccato and two legato notes (see example [2:4]). More
surprisingly, perhaps, there is a similar effect in
Haydn's gigue (example [2:3B]) <MULTIPLICITY>. Haydn's
grouping is more complex and a little less
disconcerting: it contrasts (by two staccato, two
legato, two staccato eighth-notes) a 3/4 with the 6/8
grouping of three and three. It is nonetheless
startling; and once heard, it is hard to forget
68
<SINGULARITY>. Mozart evidently remembered and improved

on it (Rosen 1981, 18-19).'
In this passage, two separate instances of resemblance
between a pair of works is cited. Rosen acknowledges that
the first case is not strong enough by itself to be
convincing, though he feels that the second instance is much
stronger. (Whether he believes the second case could stand
without the first is not clear.) The presence of the second
resemblance strengthens considerably the claim that the
first resemblance is an intentional one. The presence of two
instances of resemblance in this pair of pieces strengthens
the case that they are intentional.
As noted above, while the three criteria for judging
resemblance are reasonably objective ones, an element of
subjective judgment is involved in assessing the degree of
exactitude, singularity, or muliplicity. Thus for example,
while we might wish to disagree that the resemblance between
the opening themes of the two works in Rosens example is
"obvious", Rosen is clearly making an appeal to what I have
articulated as the principle of exactitude. Similarly, we
may consider that the case from multiplicity is not a
particularly strong one, since while the first example
compares parallel structural places in the two works i.e.,
the opening thematic gesture the second example seems not
to do so. (At least, Rosen does not tell us that it does.)
69
MOZART
Allegro # .
HAYDN
Allegro
Example 2:2.
MOZART
HAYDN
Vn.l
V n.2
B
Va.
Vc.
Example 2:3-
nnn\nnn
I I I
Example 2:4.
70
Rosen leans increasingly heavily upon the principle of
multiplicity in his subsequent examples, as when he cites
three parallels between the Brahms Scherzo Op.4 and the
Chopin Scherzo in Bb-minor (Rosen 1981, 26-27). But his most
telling use of the principle is found in his comparison of
the Beethoven Emperor and Brahms Bb-major piano concertos.
Having cited two reasonably clear and prominent instances of
allusion the first entrance of the piano in both the first
and third movements , he states that "these overt allusions
warn us of the presence of more recondite imitations"
imitations which he goes on to spell out.
A final example will illustrate how the principle of
multiplicity may be applied to a larger group of works. It
is found in Edward T. Cones "Schubert's Beethoven" (Cone
1971). In introducing his discussion of a series of
resemblances between passages found in the last three
Schubert piano sonatas and various works of Beethoven, Cone
writes, "Thus, when one finds in each of the last three
piano sonatas, composed almost simultaneously during the
summer of 1828, a reference to the music of the master, then
one begins to suspect that Schubert may have been
deliberately trying to pay tribute to the memory of the
illustrious colleague who had died only a short time before"
(Cone 1971, 278).
The principle of multiplicity is here used to draw
together on the one hand a group of resemblances found not
71
within a single work, but within a group of closely related
works (Schubert), and on the other, a series of passages
which have in common only the fact that they are drawn from
instrumental works of Beethoven. Of course, the arguments
which Cone makes in the pages which follow appeal to other
principles as well.
The criteria of exactitude, singularity and
multiplicity are important for assessing the degree of
resemblance between two passages, and resemblance must of
course be present to establish a case of quotation or
allusion. But other factors are alsc important not only in
establishing the presence of quotation or allusion, but also
in giving a full account of their significance. The three
criteria discussed above are all intrinsic criteria: they
have to do with the relationship between the quotation or
allusion and its source. The following three principles have
to do with the relationship between the quotation or
allusion and its context. They are: historical plausibility,
prominence and integrity, and function. These correspond
roughly to the linguistic categories of vocabulary, syntax
and semantics, respectively.
4: HISTORICAL PLAUSIBILITY
The principle of historical plausibility states that
the case for a quotation or allusion is strengthened in
72
proportion to the strength of the connection which can be
made between its composer and the work which is referred to:
how likely is it that this composer should have employed
this particular "musical vocabulary" as a quotation?
A wide range of questions needs to be asked in making
this assessment. Some of them involve ascertaining simple
matters of fact, while others are less clear-cut. Had the
work apparently being referred to been composed yet? Was it
published? Was it available to the composer of the work
which contains the apparent reference? Is anything known of
the attitude of the composer of the allusive work towards
the composer of the work apparently being referred to? Or
towards the particular work? Or even the particular passage?
Although it is obvious that in order to be quoted, a
source work must first have been written, not all claims of
quotation which hear a resemblance to a piece not yet
written are therefore necessarily valueless. If such a case
is a very strong one with respect to resemblance, it is
possible that the error is simply one of confusing the
question of who is quoting whom. A related issue, which is
more of an irritation than a serious problem, is the use of
such metaphors as "anticipate" and "foreshadow" to describe
the borrowing of material from a lesser composer by a
greater one. The following excerpt is characteristic:
And in certain passages of Brahms's early works we find

echoes of Marxsens idiom. If we consider the theme of
73
Marxsen's Characteristic Variations on a Peasant Dance,

Op.67/1, we shall be surprised to see how closely this
popular tune, with its continual alternative of 3/4 and
4/4 time, resembles the theme of Brahms's earliest
variations, Op.21/2. And also in the course of
Marxsen's Variations on a Finnish Folk Song, Op.67/2,
there are sections (Nos. 6 and 10) that sound like^
foreshadowings of Brahms's pianoforte variations.
For this writer, it is the earlier work which
"resembles"and "foreshadows here, rather than the later
resembling and borrowing. Such euphemisms betray a
veneration for their subject which does not allow the bald
statement of empirical fact. They remain innocent enough
usages, except where they are used as a defense against
ideologically unpalatable possibilities. Another rationale
which is often implicit in such expressions seems to be that
the composer in question "didn't need" to borrow material,
as if compositional incompetence were at issue.
The question of the availability, rather than the
existence, of the model work is a more difficult one. In a
recent article, Ralph Leavis describes what he calls "Three
impossible Handel borrowings" (Leavis 1982). Each of the
resemblances he describes is intrinsically strong: for
example, the first nine . -a - tne polyphonic chorus "I
will exalt him" from Israel and Egypt are identical to a
Ricercar attributed to Giovanni Gabrieli. The circumstance
which makes each of these three cases "impossible" is that
the source works are all found in sources to which Handel
had no access. The Gabrieli Ricercar, for example, is
74
apparently found only in a single manuscript, one which
Handel apparently never saw.
"Apparently", because Leavis seems to have come to a
highly dubious conclusion: are these really impossible
cases, that is, entirely fortuitous resemblances, even to
the extent of nine bars of four-voice polyphonic texture; or
should they be taken as strong evidence for reconsidering
the possibility of other means of transmission for these
works, of which we are at present unaware? The extent of the
resemblance, at least in the case of the Gabrieli, strongly
suggests that the second solution needs to be given serious
consideration. This, then, would seem to be an instance
where an assessment of historical plausibility itself must
be revised in light of the exactitude, singularity, and
extent of the resemblance. It illustrates the extent to
which the three extrinsic criteria for establishing a
relationship of reference between two works are more
open-ended, less clear-cut in their application, and
themselves subject to re-evaluation in certain strong cases
of resemblance.
A more usual situation, however, is that a strong
assessment of plausibility may strengthen a case which is
not secure on the basis of resemblance alone. The Rosen
except given above (p.40) is a case in point: "We are aware,
of course, that Mozart knew Haydn's op.20 quartets very well
indeed, since he imitated them closely many years before
75
when he began to write string quartets at the age of
sixteen" (Rosen 1981, 18). This sentence reinforces the case
Rosen is making, because it establishes not only that Mozart
was well acquainted with the work to which he apparently
refers, but that held it in high esteem, having used it as a
model earlier.
One final example needs to be given, left until last
because of its unsettling implications. It illustrates the
situation in which the empirical evidence of resemblance and
the composer's own testimony come into conflict, and it
relates to the music of Brahms. Charles Rosen writes:
The Scherzo op.4, begins with a similar quotation [to

the one which begins the Piano Sonata Op.13. The
reference is to Chopin's Scherzo in B-flat Minor
(example [2:5]).
The homage to Chopin does not stop there. A page
later in Brahms's scherzo we find a passage that is
freely developed from another scherzo of Chopin's, this
one in C-sharp minor (example [2:6]). With this,
however, we have left behind the device of quotation,
and we reach a new adaptation. Still later in the
Brahms Scherzo op.4, in the second of the two trios,
there is a return to Chopin's B-flat Minor Scherzo with
the following lovely passage (example [2:7]) (Rosen
1 9 8 1 , 2 6 ).
The a case for allusion in the Brahms Scherzo Op.4
rests on strong evidence from singularity and multiplicity,
somewhat weaker in the area of exactitude, since this is
allusion, and not quotation. Examples 2:5 and 2:7 are
particularly compelling, drawn as they are from the same
piece.
76
BRAHMS C H O PIN
Rasch und feurig Presto
mmmf
H I'Znjl-i
s o h o voce
!ti
3
*
Example 2:5.
BRAHMS
poco a poco p iu sostenuto
CH OPIN
Example 2:6.
BRAHMS
CHOPIN
co n anim o
JL
Example 2:7.
77
Rosen discreetly places the following comment in a
footnote:
In light of the obvious indebtedness to Chopin, it is

surprising that Brahms claimed to have known no Chopin
when writing the E-flat-Minor Scherzo. This is the
piece that Liszt sightread from manuscript during
Brahms's legendary visit to Weimar in 1853. The pianist
William Mason, who was present, reports that after the
performance Joachim Raff remarked on the resemblance of
the opening of the Scherzo to Chopin's B-flat-Minor,
but "Brahms said that he had never seen or heard any of
Chopin's compositions" (Mason, Memories of a Musical
Life (New York, 1902), p.129) (Rosen 19^1, 37, n.5).
It is obvious that either Brahms's claim that he knew
no Chopin is false, or the resemblances which Rosen points
out are coincidental. The first of these options is much
more credible than the second. One such resemblance might be
fortuitous, but for all three to be so is improbable. If
Brahms's statement is false, a number of explanations for
his behaviour suggest themselves. Chief among these is that
Brahms was intimidated by a question that probably seemed
hostile and threatening, given the situation in which he
found himself. His youth, his inexperience, his uncertainty
about himself as a composer may all have contributed to his
simply denying Raff's assertion; acknowledging its
correctness would have made him uncomfortably vulnerable to
further probing and criticism.
Historical plausibilty is a two-edged sword. It may
strengthen and confirm cases for quotation and allusion, but
it is also subject to prevailing historical orthodoxy, and
78
may have to give way in the face of more empirical evidence
which is less subject to interpretation and ideological
colouring.
5: PROMINENCE AND INTEGRITY
The principle of prominence and integrity states that
the case for a quotation or allusion is strengthened in
proportion as the quoted passage occurs prominently and with
integrity, not only in the piece which makes the reference,
but also in the work from which the quotation is drawn. By
prominence is meant that the passage plays an important
structural or melodic or rhythmic role. By integrity is
meant that the passage occurs as a coherent unit, whether
raelodically, rhythmically, with respect to instrumentation,
or any combination of these. The obverse of this principle
is that the case for a quotation or allusion is weakened the
more it deals with obscure or unimportant details, violates
phrasing, assembles pitches and rhythms randomly or without
respect to their relative importance in a larger musical
context. A corollary of this principle is that a case is
strengthened when it compares passages which perform
parallel structural functions; this is related to the
principle of multiplicity. A review of the examples given in
the previous four categories suggests some of the ways in
which this principle may be applied.
The Tristan quotation in Debussys "Golliwogs
Cakewalk" is the principal event of that piece's middle
section. It is preceeded by a key-change, a slowing of the
tempo, and fourteen measures of accompanimental figuration
in the "vamp till ready" style of popular songs of that
period. The entrance of the quotation itself is further set
off each time it is heard by a further ritardando. The
instruction "avec une grande emotion" creates a sharp
contrast with the "tempo giusto" ragtime style of the rest
of the piece. The representation of laughter in the "a
Tempo" measures which punctuate these quotations further
sets them off in a way which objectifies them, making it
clear that there is a sense in which they are intended to
stand outside the normal flow of the music.
Very often quotation and allusion is made prominent by
functioning as the initial musical gesture of a work. Many
composers provide examples: Mozart's allusion to Haydn,
discussed by Rosen in the example given above; Schubert
alluding to Beethoven at the beginning of the C-minor Piano
Sonata (Cone 1971, 278); Schumann's allusion to the opening
of Haydn's last symphony at the beginning of his own Second
Symphony in C (Newcomb 1984, 240); Beethoven's appropriation
of the first four measures of Dussek's piano Sonata in Bb
Op.39/3 as a basis for the opening of his Sonata in C minor
Op.10/1 (Ringer 1971, 249). A very large number of Brahmss
80
instrumental works begin with quotation or allusion, or
contain movements which so begin.
For Schumann, a composer fond of codas and postludes,
it is the final measures of a piece that are a favourite
locus of quotation and allusion: the "ferne Geliebte"
references at the close of the first movement of the C major
Fantasie and in the final section of the C major Symphony,
and the quotation from Schuberts' Ave Maria" in the
postlude of "Widmung."
It has been observed more than once that the initial
thematic gesture of Brahms's Third Symphony (Violin I and
II, mm.3-4; see Example 2:8A) seems to be a quotation of a
phrase found in Schumann's Third Symphony, first movement,
at mm.449-453, or beginning at eight bars before "0" (Cello
and Bassoon, echoed by Viola and Clarinet; see Example
2:8B). If this were the only occurence of this phrase in
Schumann's ouevre, the argument on the basis of prominence
would be a weak one. Why should Brahms have selected this
brief, structurally and melodically unimportant phrase as
the basis for an entire symphonic movement? But this phrase
is found not only in the first movement of the Third
Symphony, but also more prominently and at the same pitch
level in the slow movement of Schumann's First Symphony, at
mm.70-74, or 15 bars after F (Violin I and Flute; see
Example 2:8c). Its subsequent use by Schumann in the Third
Symphony has itself the character of an allusive reference.
81
Allegro con brio
2 Floten
2 Oboen
2 Klarinetten in B
2 Fagotte
K ontrafagott
inC
4 Horner
inF]
2 Trompeten in F
T
3 Posaunen
Pauken in F. C
l.Violine
2.Violine
Bratsche
Violoncell
KontrabaB
Allegro con brio
Example 2:8 a . Brahms, Symphony #3 in F, Op.90, first

movement, beginning.
82
*=fcEB? |g=
4m.
:4m,
4m,
4im,
4im.
Example 2:8B. Schumann, Symphony #3 in E-flat, first

movement, 444-457.
Example 2:8C. Schumann, Symphony #1 in B-flat, second
movement, mm.66-79.
84
The argument from prominence is thus strengthened in
this unusual case when the context for the possible origin
of the Schumann phrase is broadened to include all of its
occurrences.
6: FUNCTION
The principle of function states that the case for a
quotation or allusion is strengthened to the degree that a
convincing explanation of its function can be given. It may
seem that to include a consideration of the function of a
putative allusion as a criterion for establishing the very
existence of that allusion is to beg the question. This is
not really so, since an allusion is by definition a device
with a significative function which enhances understanding
of the work which contains it. This means that a case for an
allusion which is very strong in the light of all of the
first five may collapse at this point. What would then have
been established would be an instance of borrowing rather
than of allusion: not all uses of material by other
composers constitute instances of quotation or allusion.
Handels borrowings are primarily utilitarian in
nature they solve a compositional problem for Handel by
providing raw material for the creative process. Our
knowledge of Handel's sources, while it enlarges our
appreciation of his work from a historical point of view,
does not affect our aesthetic perception of the work. On the
other hand, the case for establishing the presence of an
allusion can tolerate a lesser degree of actual resemblance
than a case of borrowing because its significative element
can also be appealed to. A borrowing, because it is only
functional, tends by its very nature to be a more exact
reiteration of the borrowed material. An allusion may be and
usually is adapted to its new context, making for a less
obvious resemblance.
The use of this final criterion would seem, in the absence
of an explicit theoretical framework, to have been the
primary basis on which literary studies of individual
writers have established the existence of an allusion. The
identification and interpretation of an allusion have been
very much identical activities. Wimsatt and Beardsley's
brief analysis of allusion and intention illustrates this
attitude. In addressing the question of whether or not a
resemblance to Donne in Eliot's "Love Song of J. Alfred
Prufrock" is actually an allusion, they recommend "the way
of poetic analysis and exegesis, which inquires whether it
makes any sense if Eliot-Prufrock Jjj thinking about Donne"
(Wimsatt 1954, 18).
The question of how allusion functions has been the
discussed at some length above. The purpose of the following
paragraphs will be to illustrate a few of the ways in which
the case for the presence of an allusion has been
strengthened by the ability to interpret its function.
Reproduced w ith permission of the copyright owner. Further reproduction prohibited without permission.
86
Some extra-compositional references are explicated

25
primarily as "historical references. They are an
acknowledgement by the composer of his awareness of the
tradition in which his composition stands, or his desire to
have it considered against a particular historical
background. The allusion to Haydn in the opening measures of
the Schumann Second Symphony is a case in point. Anthony
Newcomb offers the following explanation of its function:
This allusion proclaims as effectively as a poetic

preamble one quite specific program: Schumann's
courageous and ambitious decision to measure for the
first time his particular methods and abilities against
the overwhelmingly, even terrifyingly prestigious
tradition of the Viennese Classical symphony a
tradition that for Schumann meant Haydn, Mozart,
Beethoven, and Schubert's Great C-Major Symphony. Part
of the struggle that most early commentators noted in
op.61 is Schumann's struggle to make this tradition his
own, and the intent to emulate the tradition colors
even his thematic material in many places, just as it
had Schubert's in his C-Major Symphony (Newcomb 1984,
240).
In a footnote to this paragraph, Newcomb adds:
That this intent was a conscious one on Schumann's part

is reflected in his comment to the Dutch
composer-conductor Johannes Verhulst, when, on the
occasion of a visit to Leipzig in December 1845,
Verhulst asked Schumann whether his (just sketched)
symphony was successful. Schumann replied, i;Ja, ich
denke, so *ne rechte Jupiter" (F.Gustav Jansen, Die
Davldsbundler (Leipzig, 1885/. p.250, n.2l4a). This
classical tradition probably determined the
anti-lyrical, insistently motivic character-of the
first theme of Schumann's first Allegro, as it did of
Schubert's (Newcomb 1984, 240, n.18).
Reproduced with permission o f the copyright owner. Further reproduction prohibited without permission.
87
The Beethoven allusions which begin Brahmss C-raajor
Piano Sonata Op.1, and the Allegro non troppo of the finale
of the First Symphony may also be explained in a similar
fashion. Both are first works in their particular genres,
both acknowledge a debt and pay homage to the predecessor
whose heavy tread inhibited Brahms from publishing a
symphony for so many years. Von Bulow's famous reference to
the First Symphony as "Beethoven's Tenth" derives in part
from his awareness of the allusion to Beethoven's Ninth
Symphony (cf. above, p.3).
Extra-compositional references whose significance is
explicated in this way serve more of a symbolic than an
expressive function. Their significance does not depend on
the particular properties of the passage being referred to,
but rather to the historical position of the work or the
composer himself. The significance of the allusion would
have been the same if Schumann had referred instead to
another of the late Haydn symphonies, or if Brahms had begun
his career with a reference to Op.111 rather than to Op.106.
Another class of extra-compositional references derives
its significance primarily from the properties of the
particular phrase alluded to, rather than from broad
historical associations. The reference to Schubert's "Ave
Maria" in the postlude of Schumann's "Widmung" is a case in
point.
88
Du meine Seele, du mein Herz,

Du meine Wonn', o du mein Schmerz,
Du meine Welt, in der ich lebe,
Mein Himmel du, darein ieh schwebe,
0 du mein Grab, in das hinab
Ich ewig meinen Kummer gab!
Du bist die Ruh', du bist der Frieden,

Du bist vom Himmel rair beschieden.
Dass du mich liebst, raacht raich mir werth,
Dein Blick hat mich vor mir verklart,
Du hebst mich liebend uber mich,
Mein guter Geist, mein bess'res Ich!
["Ave Maria"]
The tenor of the text is one of rapture and devotion.
Eric Sams has observed that the Riickert text presents human
love in divine imagery: the lover is heaven, peace, an
angel; her gaze transfigures the poet. But if the poet stops
short of proclaiming his earthly love divine, Schumann does
not (Sams 1975, 51). By alluding to the opening phrase of
Schubert's song in the postlude, he calls its text to mind,
equating the poet's love to the veneration of Mary.
The function of the quotation in this instance depends
not primarily on the historical significance of the composer
or his song, but on a specific association in this case,
related to a verbal text. So there is here a reversal of the
situation that obtains where the function of a quotation is
primarily historical: the fact that it is a Schubert song
being quoted is relatively unimportant; an allusion to
another setting of the same text would have the served the
Reproduced with permission o f the copyright owner. Further reproduction prohibited without permission.
89
same expressive function just as well (though it might well
have been less satisfactory for other reasons).
Both of the above examples involve extra-compositional,
but not extra-musical reference. They make their expressive
point with reference to another piece of music albeit in
association with a text in the second case. But the function
of a quotation or allusion may also have an extra-musical
aspect, as when its function is related to something in the
life of the composer, for example. Such a case involves what
Wimsatt and Beardsley call "intermediate" evidence:
"evidence about the character of the author or about the
private or semiprivate meanings attached to words of topics
by an author or by a coterie of which he is a member"
(Wimsatt 1954, 10).
The best-known of all nineteenth-century quotations
Schumanns use of a phrase from An die ferne Geliebte in his
C-raajor Fantasie (see also pp.62-65 above) is a good
example of extra-musical significance. We know that Schumann
called the first movement of the Fantasie a "lament" for
Clara (Clara Schumann 1885, 281), and that Clara was indeed
a distant beloved, because of Wieck's imposed separation of
the two lovers. The extra-musical, autobiographical aspect
of this quotation is for the twentieth-century listener, who
is more aware of the inner and outer events of Schumanns
life than most contemporary listeners would have been, the
obvious meaning of the quotation. Indeed, Rosen implies that
90
this is the quotation's only significance (Rosen 1972,
451-452). (But it also functions on other, purely musical
levels. See the discussion below, Ch.4, pp.216-218.)

!
Hallmarks's treatment of the Beethoven allusion in
Schubert's "Auf dem Strom, summarized in Chapter One,
provides another example of an allusion which can be
understood both in extra-musical as well as in purely
musical terms. Edward T. Cone has characterised this
extra-musical dimension of the quotation as an aspect of the
'private meaning' of the song for Schubert, as contrasted
with the 'public meaning' of the work which encompasses
(what I am calling) the merely extra-compositional aspect of
the quotation (Hallmark 1982, 45, n.37). This is a
distinction which can be applied to the categories
'extra-compositional' and 'extra-musical' generally.
Understanding the expressive or historical significance of a
quotation or allusion depends on our understanding it in
purely musical as opposed to extra-musical terms only: the
way the allusion functions unallusively in both its source
and adoptive context, the way elements of the source context
are ''activated in the adoptive context, the way secondary
levels of interaction between the two musical texts come
into play. (I include in this usage of the term "musical"
any verbal text which is set to music.) Its significance is
public in the same sense that the music itself is public
(even though the allusive reference itself may not be overt,
91
and hence not obvious to most listeners). To deal with the
extra-musical significance of a quotation except of course
where the composer has issued a programme or some other
statement about the work which he intends to be taken as a
part of the work itself is to address what is in essence a
private meaning. It deals not only with the musical/textual
relationships, but also with the composers own view of his
work, its significance to himself and perhaps his circle. It
necessarily involves consideration of "intermediate
evidence" in a way that the consider2tion of public meaning
does not. This question of the public and private meaning
will be seen to be at the heart of any discussion of
quotation and allusion in the music of Brahms.
92
NOTES
CHAPTER 2
1 For example Herman Meyer, an important earlier

writer on literary quotation, makes clear a distinction
between borrowing as a purely functional activity on the
part of the author, and quotation, which has a "referential
character," but makes no use of the category of influence in
defining the area of his concern (Meyer 1968, 7-8).
2 See also Schlack 1979, x. In the Preface to her

study of Virginia Woolf's use of literary allusion, Schlack
writes that "as so many of [Woolf's] critics do not scruple
to differentiate between influence and reference (where that
is possible), the result is a fatal blurring of the
distinction between influence upon and allusion to."
3 Expositions of Bloom's thought may be found in

Eagleton 1983, 183-185 and Culler 1981, 107-111.
4 An insight which is echoed by Charles Rosen (Rosen

1981 ).
5 The editorial introduction to Desire in Language
contains a glossary of terminology used by Kristeva,
including "Intertextuality" (Kristeva 1980, 15).
6 Foremost among the sources to which I am indebted

for my understanding of intertextuality are Culler 1981,
especially Ch.5, Eagleton 198 3 , Ch.4, and Hutcheon 1985.
7 Chandler also offers a lengthy footnote which

attempts to show why intention cannot be defined in purely
structural terms, but must resort to the concept of
intention (Chandler 1982, 464, n.11).
8 Other studies which assume that allusion implies

authorial intention are Lee *971 and Schlack 1979; this is
also apparent in the longer dictionary and handbook
articles, such as Abrams 1971 and Cuddon 1979.
9 Among the more useful dictionary and handbook

articles offering definitions and discussions of the
intentional fallacy are Mercer 1*973, Stallman 1974 and those
found in Scott 1965, Beckson i960, Cuddon 1979, and Frye
1985.
93
10 In addition to the numerous essay-length responses

and counter-responses, there are the two important books by
E.D.Hirsch, Jr., Validity in Interpretation (1967), and The
Aims of Interpretation (1976), which were written in direct
response to Wirasatt and Beardsley, and which outline the
position that only those interpretations which are
consistent with the intentions of the author are valid. Most
recently, a pair of articles by Steven Knapp and waiter Benn
Michaels, "Against theory" (1982) and "Against theory 2:
hermeneutics and deconstruction" (1987) have argued that
authorial intention and textual meaning are identical. The
first of these articles generated no less than seven
responses and a rejoinder by the authors themselves in a
later issue of the journal in which the original article
appeared. The ambivalence of the response to the
anti-intentionalist position is also reflected in some
handbook and dictionary articles. See Barnet 1971, 62 and
Frye 1985, 243-244, for example. A select bibliography of
responses to Wimsatt and Beardsley may be found in Margolis
1978, 362-363. An especially helpful article is Hermeren
1975b.
11 Goethe is quoted in Stallman 1974, 399 and Pope in

Frye 1985, 244. Stallman 1974 contains a thorough survey of
critical attitudes towards intention.
12 This later statement by Wimsatt is actually a

corrective to an ambiguity in the statement of the fallacy
found in the original article.
13 Joseph Margolis also notes this ambiguity in an

introduction to Wimsatt and Beardsley's paper (Margolis
1978, 290).
14 See Hermeren 1975b, 61-65.
15 Both Perri and Ben-Porat use the term

"intertextuality" to include author-initiated allusion, that
is, in a broader sense than the one I have articulated
above.
16 After completing this work on criteria for

establishing the presence of allusion, I became aware of
Hermeren 1975a, which develops a system of criteria for
establishing the existence of influence. Some of these
criteria are similar to the ones I propose here.
17 See for example Lockspeiser 1963* 154 and Schmitz

1966, 125.
94
18 See Rosen 1972, 451-453, for example.
19 See Sams 1975, 135-136, for example.
20 See Chissell 1977, 143-144, for example.
21 Jan La Rue has proposed criteria for judging

exactitude of resemblance, and which contribute to what he
calls "structural similarity" (La Rue 1961).
22 Jan La Rue has noted, for example, that "the greater

homogeneity of thematic material in the Classical repertory
produces a host of general family resemblances" (La Rue
1961, 224). He proposes the technique of providing a
"statistical background" against which to measure
resemblances between themes from the music of this period.
23 I do not intend by this reference to Cooke an

endorsement of his theories of musical expression, or even
to lay claim to all of the musical examples he provides in
illustrating this particular melodic gesture; many of them
seem far-fetched, precisely by reason of their inexactitude.
24 Geiringer 1982b, 18.
25 I am speaking now of explications as they are found

in the literature. It is possible that the examples I give
could be interpreted in more convincing ways.
95
CHAPTER THREE
THE FOURTH SYMPHONY, FIRST AND SECOND MOVEMENTS
Brahms's last symphony was completed during the summer
months of 1884 and 1885 in Murzzuschlag.1 The composer
announced the completion of the work independently to two of
his closest correspondents, but used the same metaphor of
sour cherries to refer obliquely to its character. To
Elisabeth von Herzogenberg he wrote on August 29, 1885:
May I perhaps send you a piece of a piece mine, and

would you have time to take a look at it, and say a
word about it? In general my pieces are more agreeable
than I am, and one finds less in them to correct?! But
in these parts the cherries do not become sweet and
edible so if the thing doesn't taste good to you,
don't bother yourself about it. I am^not eager to write
a bad No.4 (Brahms 1912, II, 73-74).
A letter to Hans von Biilow employs the same image.
Brahms expesses doubts about "whether [the symphony] will
reach a greater public. I fear namely, that it tastes of the
climate here, cherries here don't become sweet, you would
not eat them!" (Kalbeck 1913-1922, III/2, 447; translation
in Kross 1983, 139.) Brahmss fears were realized even
within his own circle: Hanslick, Kalbeck, Elisabeth von
Herzogenberg all expressed reservations before the first
3'
performance.
Brahms's comments to Biilow and Herzogenberg announce a
departure from past practice. It is not clear whether in
speaking of sour cherries Brahms was referring to the
expressive substance of the E-minor symphony, or to some of
its more novel and forbidding structural features, such as
the passacaglia-like finale. One other reference to the
work, however, clearly refers to the expressive character of
the work. On October 24, in a letter to the Beckeraths,

4
Brahms refers to his "neue traurige Symphonie.'' The use of
the adjective "traurige" is revealing. Not only does it tell
us what Brahms saw as the predominant affective mood of the
piece; it also recalls the only previous symphony in E-minor
to find a place in the repertoire: Haydn's Symphony #44

5
( 1772), popularly known as the "Trauer-Symphonie."
Since the first performance of the Fourth Symphony, a
wide variety of thematic resemblances to other works have
been noted by various commentators. In addition, one of the
few documented instances of possible allusive intentions on
Brahms's part is found in the fourth movement. This is the
well-known story of Brahms having derived the passacaglia-
like theme for the finale from the last movement of Bach
Cantata #150 (see below, pp.163-154). This latter
resemblance presents special problems of interpretation, for
reasons which Wimsatt and Beardsley adduce: the external
evidence for the existence of this extra-compositional
reference is rather stronger than the internal evidence of
the resemblance itself. However, the Fourth Symphony
contains two other thematic allusions, one not widely known,
and the other previously unknown, which are the focal points
of the discussion to follow. The first of these is a
reference to the Fifth Symphony of Beethoven, and is found
in the second movement. The other alludes to a song from
Schumanns Frauenliebe und -leben, and is found in the
finale. These two allusions, along with the more dubious
Bach reference, work together to suggest interpretations
which confirm and enrich the notion of the Fourth Symphony
as a "Trauer-Symphonie."
The second movement.
The Beethoven reference occurs near the end of the
movement, at m m . 106 to 110. (See Example 3:1.) It is the
gentle passage for clarinets and oboe which unfolds over a
sustained B in the lower strings and tympani. Robert Bailey,
who first called attention to the allusion (which he prefers
to call an "invocation"), has termed it a "parenthetical"
reference, because of the way it creates the effect of
momentarily suspending the normal flow of the movement.^
This is an effect which Brahms frequently employs to set off
an allusive reference from its context, and while its effect
here is rather like an aside, on other occasions Brahms's
98
n.
P
>.
4 - ....
* m u p r.
MMT.
-< w.,lj_=^===
It
K lu . =*- . ... Q : I , . . : . in
(A) A UJlf :f------ f:...7 = .J f ' - J...-
F* Ift- .... ip-iV T.. :-----
r '
fj| '"
te)
* ^ 4 - --------- ----------- ---
Hi. . f J - -------------------------- JZ i. .1L ^
(C)
i ' ---------
n.
Y m
PB-- -i ---:---n
t.Viol.
9 11 " * 1 * ijj^J ^ .r g r
* | # VM
IV10L
Bi.
iJ I j ,
Vd. *=*. T = .. -
,,
K.-B. Tift r --------
Fit-- - - . tempo poco r it .. .
a.vioi.
a'temoo poco rit.. . /
Example 3:1. Brahms, Symphony #4 in E-minor, Op.

98, second movement, mm. 106-113.
99
intention seems to be not so much to place the passage
between parentheses as between quotation marks.
The four-and-a-haIf measure allusion is flanked on
either side by a short transition passage: a lead-in to the
allusion of four measures, and a transition back to the
normal flow of the movement of another two-and-a-half
measures. The effect of disjunction from its context is
enhanced by a ritardando leading to a caesura at the end of
the allusion, and a further ritardando at the conclusion of
the transition which follows. This sense of disjunction is
produced on a number of levels: harmonically, by the static
diminished triad which undergirds it; texturally, by the
reduced instrumentation and solo wind writing, and by the
continuous thirty-second note arpeggios in the upper
strings; dynamically, by the extreme indications of to
.
There is, however, a structural disjunction as well.
The second theme, which originally appears in the dominant
in mm.41-50, is restated in the tonic beginning at ra.88. A
short transition of one-and-a-half measures leads to a
second restatement of the theme, altered rhythmically and by
octave displacement. It is this second restatement which is
interrupted at m.103 by the transition to the allusion,
which leads in turn to the four-and-a-half measures of
harmonic stasis within which the reference occurs. After the
caesura in the middle of m.110, the transition back to the
100
movement "proper" leads, not to the interrupted second
theme, but to the four measure statement, again stated by
the horns, which opened the movement, and which now bring3
it to a close.
Brahms's allusion is to a theme which is found in the
second movement of the Beethoven C-minor symphony, the theme
which is heard between variations on three occasions, at
measures 22-38, 71-87, and 147-156. (See Example 3:2.) The
theme itself is composed of two parts, which are heard one
after the other the first two times it occurs; only the
second half is heard on the third occasion.
The two versions of the Beethoven theme differ from one
another in key, dynamic and instrumentation, but are
otherwise quite similar, especially in their first four
measures. The upbeats differ, and the concluding few
measures vary in pitch and function. This is of course
because the conclusion of the first version is assigned the
function of leading into the second. The second version ends
inconclusively, making way for the return of the variation
to follow in each case.
Rhythmically, the resemblance between the Brahms and
Beethoven themes is extremely close (allowing of course for
the compound metre of the Brahms movement), except in the
last few notes, where the two versions of the Beethoven
themselves differ, and where each functions differently with
101
P M
s rrv
I
m
m
Example 3:2. Beethoven, Symphony #5 in C-minor, Op. 67,

second movement, mm. 18-37.
respect to what follows. As well, the use of clarinets by
both composers for the first four measures, ar.d the change
of instrumentation at equivalent points Beethoven to
violins, Brahms to oboe are striking.
Obviously there are significant pitch differences. But
the underlying structure of the melodies, especially in the
first half, is the same. Both outline triads, major in
Beethoven, diminished in Brahms, and their use of iepetition
and stepwise movement through these scale degrees is
identical. The direction of the upbeats is consistently
opposite throughout. Most of these pitch differences will be
shown below to be related to the allusive function which the
Brahms theme plays both within the movement itself and in
relation to the rest of the symphony.
The Beethoven theme is reasonably distinctive (or
"singular), especially in its rhythmic outline, and this is
the aspect in which the Brahms passage most closely
resembles it. As for the number of points of resemblance
between the two passages ("multiplicity of resemblances"),
the degree of exactitude renders this category redundant.
There is obviously no need to discuss the historical
plausibility of the resemblance. Beethoven's Fifth was
perhaps the best-known symphony of the nineteenth-century,
and Brahms's attitude towards Beethoven as a symphonist is
well-known. As for prominence and integrity, both themes
play important thematic and structural roles in their
103
respective movements, and Brahms, as we have seen, gives the
reference great prominence in the way he sets it off from
the rest of the movement. As well, both themes are coherent
melodic units.
Interpretation of the allusion must begin with an
examination of the role of two passages in their own
context. While the Brahms passage is disjunct from its
context structurally, harmonically, texturally and
dynamically, it is closely related thematically. Indeed, all
of the melodic ideas of this movement are closely related to
one another, and appear to evolve from one another, by a
process of variation, and all outline ascending and
descending thirds in various ways. The tonally ambiguous
opening motto is transposed up a third to serve as the basis
for the first fully developed theme at m.5. A variant of the
second part (mm.9- 13) of this theme at m.25 anticipates the
Beethoven allusion of 81 bars later. A second theme, at m.30
(letter B), still in the tonic develops from the opening
motto in a more flowing rhythm. Six bars later there is an
idea in triplet sixteenths which becomes the first theme
heard in the dominant at m.41 (letter C). Measure 64 (letter
D) begins a recapitulation of these ideas, culminating, as
described above, in the allusive passage, followed by a
coda,
The closeness of these interrelationships, coupled with
the resemblance between the Beethoven allusion and its
104
source passage, suggest the likelihood that the Beethoven
allusion was part of the original conception of the
movement, and indeed that the opening idea itself is derived
at least in part from the Beethoven theme. Rhythmically as
well, the introduction and first theme closely resemble the
Beethoven. Both are built almost exclusively of two rhythmic
elements: slurred dotted sixteenth/thirty-second pairs, and
groups of eighth notes. In both movements, the dotted pairs
always appear on the third beat of three-beat groups.
The Andante con moto of the Fifth Symphony is a theme
and variations movement on two themes; it is the second of
these to which Brahms alludes. As Tovey has noted about sets
of double variations, "[the] form is rarely worked out far
enough to include more than one variation of the second
theme..." (Tovey 1944, 242). Such is the case here. In fact,
the second theme is scarcely varied at all. The first theme
is heard in varied form in each of the five variations, but
the second theme appears in only three, and essentially
unvaried. The first theme is heard in mm.1-8. The fourteen
measures which follow, though also part of this first theme,
are extensions and echoes of various kinds, derived from its
last two measures; Tovey calls them "echoing afterthoughts"
(Tovey 1935, 42). Each of the five ensuing variations begins
with a version of this first theme: beginning at m.49, a
version in sixteenth notes; at m.98, a version in
thirty-second notes; at m.166, a minore variation; at m.184
105
in its original form, but with altered accompaniment and
augmented orchestration; and a final Piu mosso coda also
based on the first theme.
The role of the second theme is very different. Its
first appearance in mm.22-48 and the second in mm.72-98 are
identical except for the alteration of the accompanimental
triplet sixteenths to thirty-seconds, and other slight
changes in the accompaniment. The third occurence of the
theme presents only its second half, but again the theme
itself is not significantly altered. The movement might be
better characterized, not as a variations movement on two
themes, but as a variations movement on a single theme, with
a recurring thematic interpolation.
The two movements are related to one another in a
number of ways in addition to the resemblance between the
allusive passage and its source. In the broadest sense, both
movements are variations on a theme; the Beethoven in the
more formal sense, though its form is exceptional, and the
Brahms in the sense that the succession of thematic ideas
are closely related to one another, and derived by a kind of
variation process. Within the opening themes themselves,
there is also a striking similarity in the way in which the
themes are spun out. (Compare the echoing afterthoughts" of
mm.8-19 with the continuation of the Brahms theme in
mm.8-13.) There is also an interesting textural similarity
between two cadenza-like transition passages. The double
106
thirds of clarinets and bassoons over a pizzicato string
accompaniment in the transition into the allusion in
mm.103-105 of Brahms resemble the longer passage at
ram.123-146 of the Beethoven, in which flute, oboe and
clarinets play in thirds moving in contrary motion.)
More important than any of these, however, is the
importance of chains of thirds in the melodic structure of
both movements. The role of thirds in the Brahms work has
already been mentioned, but there is a very striking aspect
to the underlying strucure of the Beethoven theme: its first
four bars outline a chain of seven falling thirds. In this
respect, it is strongly linked not only to the second
movement of the Fourth Symphony, but even more so to the
first movement, whose opening bars also outline a chain of
seven falling thirds. (See Example 3:3.)
Example 3:3. Falling third chains in the initial themes

of Beethoven Syraphonv #5 in C-minor, Op. 67, second
movement, and Brahms Symphony #4 in E-minor, Op. 98, second
movement.
107
The significance of the Beethoven allusion is related
not only to how the source passage functions in relation to
the movement which contains it, but also to how it is
related to other movements of the source work, especially
the finale. That the second theme appears only three tiroes,
and basically unvaried is due not to Beethovens having
failed to "work out the form far enough" (pace Tovey), but
rather to its particular structural function. One aspect of
that function is its role as an anticipation of the

7
triumphant opening of the finale. (See Example 3:4.)
The two themes share a number of features. This is
especially apparent in comparing the second half of the
second movement theme with the beginning of the finale: the
triadic outline of the melody, the C-major tonality, the
brass-dominated sonority, and fortissimo dynamic. Even the
7 t ----- -E-E-g ------------------------

f ffiF r /iT ' 1
3/ ^ = EE:-------
> .. p
a :3 : :: p :
y c -
r = j!p- - - - - .... ..
& ----------------- .1. _ -- u-1:u -
P- : : - : ------
4 -
. .v
Example 3:4.
108
key movement between A-flat and C associated with the first
two appearances of the variation theme presents a kind of
analogy for the struggle to achieve C major which is finally
resolved with the beginning of the finale. In this
connection, it is significant that for its third and final
appearance in the Andante con moto, the second theme is
firmly in C major throughout in its first two appearances,
the first phrase begins in A-flat and modulates to C. The
second phrase presents the theme in C, but with a concluding
transition which moves back to A-flat.
The most striking feature of the Brahms allusion when
compared with its source is how different its expressive
character is. In performance, the three C major portions of
Beethovens theme stand strongly apart from the overall
sonority and flow of the rest of the movement. Over an
almost constant C pedal and C major sonority, the fortissimo
brass and strings create a martial, heroic effect. The
character of the Brahms allusion is very different; indeed,
in a sense it is diametrically opposed. Its meaning as an
allusion must therefore be understood to arise from the
contrast between how the melodic material is used in the two
different contexts. The Brahms allusion also stands apart
from the flow of the movement, and also unfolds over a pedal
tone. But here the harmony is a diminished triad, and the
melody is given, not by the combined forces of brass, winds
and strings (see especially the third statement,
109
ram.147-158), but by solo clarinet and oboe. The dynamic is
piano, and the expression "dolce ma esprtessivo]." The dotted
upbeat figures are inverted, and the allusion concludes with
an appoggiatura. If the affective sense of the Beethoven is
triumphant and life-affirming, with Brahms it is concerned
with nostalgia, pathos and possibly resignation. Brahmss
invocation of Beethoven is an ironic one, which enhances the
affective impact of the movement not by amplifying
sympathetically, but by underscoring difference.
The significance of allusions is not confined to the
immediate relationship between the two passages directly
involved, however. An allusion may also create further
patterns of resonance between the two texts involved (Perri
1978, 295). Thus the significance of this allusion extends
beyond the movement itself. Just as an important function of
the Beethoven theme is its anticipation of the finale, so
does the Brahms allusion look forward to the finale to come.
This is true in two senses. The diminished chord which the
Brahms version of Beethoven's theme outlines in stepwise
fashion anticipates the first five notes of the ostinato
theme-of the finale, transposed. With respect purely to
melodic outline, the two Brahms themes are even more closely
related than are the Beethoven melodies. (See Example 3:5.)
110
(This relationship is especially interesting in light
of the story of how Brahms derived the ostinato theme of the
finale from Bach Cantata #150. (The complete text and a
discussion of this account is found below, pp.173-183.) The
single chromatic alteration to the Bach chaconne bass made
by Brahms was the addition of the augmented fourth which
allows the contrast between the two anticipatory gestures
found in the Beethoven and Brahms second movements.)
But even more important than this is what the quotation
implies about the contrasting expressive relationship, not
only between the two finales, but also between the
symphonies as a whole. The antithetical character of the two
passages, and the way in which both anticipate their
finales, suggests that Brahms saw the finales of the two
symphonies as also opposed in some sense.
Example 3:5.
111
Beethoven's C-minor Symphony was a strong influence
upon symphonic composers throughout the nineteenth century.
It established in the minds of composers, critics, and
audiences alike, along with the Ninth Symphony, what Newcomb
has called a "plot-achetype": a set of "expectations as to a
successsion of very general moods" (Newcomb 1984, 234). That
plot-achetype is the familiar "through struggles to victory
(or healing, or redemption). Witness to the awareness and
active functioning of this expressive plot-achetype in the
mid-nineteenth century is supplied by Newcomb in his survey
of contemporary criticisms of Schumann's Second Symphony,
many of which make explicit reference to Beethoven's Fifth
Symphony by way of comparison. The plot-achetype creates
expectations in the minds of listeners in much the same way
that the awareness of a standard form does:
The composer may then play off these expectations

against the series of events in the standard musical
forms, against the succession of such forms in a larger
work, and against the motives and syntax of his own
specific design in order to create meaning. In music
such as this, not only musical syntax and conventional
musical-formal types are the background to
interpretation and proper understanding. So also is a
recognition of the plot archetype (Newcomb 1984, 234).
The plot-achetype of the Beethoven Fifth is an
"end-accented one (Newcomb 1984, 237): the archetypal
expressive scheme is played out over the course of the
entire work, arriving at a point of resolution only in the
last movement. The most obvious influence of this particular
112
plot-achetype in the nineteenth century is that after
Beethoven it became virtually obligatory to conclude
minor-key symphonies in the major mode if not the entire
finale, then at least a lengthy coda. Thus all of the minor
key symphonies of Schubert, Mendelssohn and Schumann end in
the major mode. (Schubert's "Unfinished" remains
indeterminate in this regard.) Brahms, too, was aware of the
convention which Beethoven had established, and wrote works
which clearly make use of it: the C-minor Symphony and the.
D-minor Piano Concerto, for example. The allusion to the
finale of the Ninth in the C-minor Symphony helps to make
Brahmss awareness of the tradition explicit. The Ninth
itself represents both an early example of the archetype
established by the Fifth, as well as a reinforcement of it.
Awareness of the archetype was not confined to
composers. Theodore Billroth, a close friend and
correspondent of Brahms's, makes explicit reference to
"somewhat similar emotional groundwork" shared by
Beethoven's Ninth and Brahms's First in a letter of December
10 , 1876 :
The last movement... seems to me one of the greatest and

most glorious of your endings and often reminds me of
the architectural handling of your Triumph Song....If
the last movement is in itself a pearl, it is still
more so at the end of the entire grand work....That the
whole symphony has a somewhat similar emotional
groundwork, as the Ninth of Beethoven, occurredto me
in the study of it (Brahms 1957, 40-41).
113
But Brahmss Fourth Symphony does not follow the
expected pattern, perhaps the first symphony of major
importance since Beethoven not to do so. Tovey has written
of it: This symphony is one of the rarest things in
classical music, a symphony which ends tragically (Tovey
1935, 115). It is to this unconventional tragic conclusion
that the allusion of the second movement points, a
conclusion which departs from the expected in both form and
affect. As in the Beethoven C-minor Symphony, and other
works which follow the pattern it established, the finale

O
acts as the expressive culmination of the symphony. But the
nature of that denouement is very different.
In fact, what Brahms self-consciously offers in the
Fourth Symphony is an antithetical statement a work which
acknowledges the prevailing archetype by exemplifying its
opposite. The inversion of expressive values in the allusion
of the second movement points to an inversion of the
archetype itself. The allusion is a poignant and ironic
reminder of the anticipation of triumphant joy which the
source passage represents in its home context, and a warning
that what follows will conclude in tragedy rather than
triumph. The ironic attitude of the allusion is one which is
implicit throughout the entire work.
Linda Hutcheon defines parody not in the narrow sense
in which it is frequently used of a "ridiculing imitation,"
but rather as any treatment of an earlier text as "an ideal
114
or at least a norm from which the modern departs (Hutcheon
1985, 5). It is "imitation characterized by ironic
inversion" or "repetition with critical distance" (Hutcheon
1985, 6). Parody imitates either particular earlier works or
earlier conventions in order to recon textualize. It is thus
closely related to ironic allusion.
The ironic attitude of the Beethoven allusion in the
second movement of the Fourth Symphony and the larger
structural inversion of expressive values its interpretation
points to are indicators of parodic intent, within the
definition of parody developed by Hutcheon. Brahms's
Fourth parodies both the Fifth Symphony of Beethoven and the
conventions it established by invoking them and responding
ironically to them. But the parodic aspect of the Fourth
Symphony is a veiled subtext, not the overt and essential
part of defining genre that it is with most parodies. To
miss the parodic element of a parody is usually to
fundamentally misunderstand the work in question. With
Brahms, awareness of the parodic relationship enriches, but
is not essential to an understanding of the work.
Although there seem to be no other allusions mentioned
in the literature on this movement, two scholars have
observed broader resemblances in regard to its overall

t
style. Kalbeck points to the second movement'of
115
Mendelssohn's A-raajor Symphony, and describes the passage
just discussed above as "der echt Mendelssohnschen
Klarinettkadenz" (Kalbeck 1913-22, III/2, 469).
Siegmund-Schultze suggests the influence of Beethovenian
models: "die langsamen Mittelsatze der 5. und 7. Syraphonie
Beethovens wirken in ihrem Marschcharakter nach..."
(Siegmund-Schultze 1955, 249). The stimulus for these
suggestions seems to have been the inital measures of the
various movements referred to.
Siegmund-Schultze's suggestions are of some interest.
In addition to the similarites already noted, the Andante of
the Fifth shares with the Brahms a basic triple metre, and
pizzicato notes in the lower strings. The "marchlike"
character of the Allegretto of the Seventh Symphony is
produced mainly by the two-bar rhythmic ostinato which
informs the theme. The rhythmic cell from which the Brahms
theme evolves does function in a similar manner, but is
significantly different in substance.
Kalbeck's suggestion holds considerably more interest.
The Mendelssohn seems to have served as what might be called
a "textural model". While it has not obviously influenced
the thematic substance of the Brahms Andante, there are
clear parallels in the use of a motto theme presented in
unison, followed by a principal theme played by winds and
upper strings over a "walking bass" of steady, detached
eighth-notes in the lower strings. (See Example 3:6.)
116
Andante con moto II
'
Flute I
r
rfffr-T
'
Flute II
Jf 5--
Oboe* ri i-m 7-*, ^ - r r T a 'i ,
J
Clarinets in A LL-
pr. t 2*^ F TT r
Bassoons
P
Horns in A f-i-----

Violin I it
ID-- "^ , & = =
Violin II Iv -
Viola Ci____ 'fTf"

y p 1 p-JF'
CeDo Cl | r " r BTt.-irn
T "" -- r' T ' S a F I dir rf-*r-
Baas n.-=
2"J ^s=jEF
A ndante moderato
2 Flflten
2 Oboen
2 K larinettea in A
2 F agotte
in
4 H orner
in
2 Trompeten in E
Itak en in E u. H
l.VioIine
2.Vioune
Bratsche
Violoncell
KontrabaB
Andante moderato
Example 3:6. Opening measures of Mendelssohn, Symphony

#4 in A-major, Op. 90 ("Italian"), second movement, and
Brahms, Symphony #4 in E-minor, Op. 98* second movement.
117
It is difficult to know whether to call this
resemblance an allusion. It seems extensive and distinctive
enough for Brahms to have been conscious of the
relationship, and the passages are both prominent and
structurally parallel. Any allusive function such a
resemblance might have is not obvious, however, and since
there is no actual thematic reference, it seems likely that
Brahmss use of the passage was a matter either of providing
himself with a local, 'textural" model, or of paying homage
to an admired predecessor, since the symphonies involved are
the fourth for each composer.
The First Movement
Discussions of melodic resemblances in the first
movement have always focussed on the opening theme, and in
particular on its first eight measures. There are two main
reasons for this. First, there has been widespread interest
in the theme generally. The extreme economy if its
derivation from the initial descending third, and the
discovery of the chain of thirds which underlies the theme
have attracted comment from the first, not all of it
favourable. In Brahms's own time, a local wit set the
following words to the opening measures: "Es fiel ihm wieder
mal nichts ein!" ("He once again had no ideas!") a
reaction, apparently, to the discovery of the theme's

q
underlying derivation (Kross 1983b, 141).
118
Second, the attention paid the opening theme is a
reflection of the fact that the opening gesture of a
movement is an easy place to notice a melodic resemblance,
as well as an obvious one for the employment of allusion.
The first measures of a piece are prominent ones, and they
typically play an important role in the development of the
musical substance of the entire movement. A large proportion
of the observations of thematic resemblance in the Brahms
literature deals with the initial measures of a work or
movement. A list of only the well-known instances includes:
the first movement of the C major Piano Sonata, Op.1, the
Scherzo in E-flat minor, Op.4, the finale of the Piano
Quartet in C minor, Op.60, the finale of the Violin Sonata
in G, Op.78, and the finale of the Fourth Symphony, Op.98..
This is particularly interesting in light of the
importance to composers in the late nineteenth century of
the aesthetic of originality on the one hand, and of the
concise motivic idea on the other. Dahlhaus (1980) has
described how the opening germinal idea bears a dual burden:
in addition to and indeed because of its purely musical
role as the kernel from which the thematic substance grows,
and the importance of that thematic development process for
the overall structure of the work, the opening motif is also
the primary locus for the demonstration of the composer's
originality. This emphasis on the originality of the opening
119
motif is not primarily an insistence that the composer
present his credentials as a craftsman at the beginning of a
work by demonstrating his ability to create musical ideas ex
nihilo, but rather a reflection of the expectation that the
composer was to use the musical medium for the creation of
an expressive utterance both personal and profound.
That Brahms so often seems to have chosen this crucial
opening gesture as the locus for allusion must therefore
have been particularly provocative to his contemporaries.
Dahlhaus's analysis of the function of the opening motif
reinforces the hypothesis that such allusions are to be
understood, not primarily as failures of craftsmanship, but,
paradoxically, as directions from the composer for the full
understanding of his expressive meaning. (The mocking
reaction to the opening idea of the Fourth Symphony, too, is
more comprehensible in light of the expectation that the
initial gesture should present an inspired Einfall, but
seemed rather the result of a purely mechanical process.)
The earliest suggestion of a model for the opening
measures of the first movement was made by Hugo Riemann:
"Schau hin und sieh" (''Behold and see") from Handel's
Messiah.1^ (See Example 3:?). It is in the same key, and its
melody proceeds, like Brahms's, in short groupings of notes,
with falling thirds and a rising sixth. The passage also
contains an echo-like response in the orchestra somewhat
120
like the echo-effect of the Brahms. Riemann also finds the
expressive effect of the two to be very similar.
Larghetto
re 1 7 r --- p t -- j -- \-
Igf** = = = ^ = ----- v 0------ k U J
Scbau htn, and sleb, icbau bin, nnd sleb; wer kennet solcbeQutlen
wL.,.4 , -T;1--- - J=$qt== =f=(3|=U .f 1.-T
r 1 3
1 #7-- 7 ( "
Example 3:7. Handel, Messiah. "Schau hin und sieh,"

beginning.
The next suggestion came from Alfred Heuss (Heuss
1907/08). He was the first to observe the similarities
between the opening measures of the Brahms and a passage
from the slow movement of the "Hammerklavier" Sonata. (See
Example 3:8.) He finds the similarities to the Beethoven
passage much more convincing than those to the Handel. Both
the falling thirds and rising sixths of the theme can be
found in it, as well as the rising arpeggios of the lower
strings. But he wishes to acknowledge the contribution of
both passages to Brahms's creative process. Like Riemann, he
finds the expressive sense of the Handel closer to the
Brahms than the Beethoven, but the Beethoven closer in
thematic substance: ,lIn der Stimmung schliesst sieh Brahms
121
starker an Handel, in der Thematik stSrker an Beethoven an"
(Heuss 1907/08, 149).
usw.
if lm x
Example 3:8. Beethoven, Piano Sonata in B-flat major,

Op. 106, third movement, mm.78-80.
Kalbeck responded to these two suggestions equivocally.
He points out that a passage of falling thirds, using the
identical pitches, can be found in the Scherzo movement of
the C major Piano Sonata, Op.1 (at mm.48-50), and that it is
therefore unnecessary to resort to other models to account
for the theme Brahms uses (Kalbeck 1913-1922, III/2,
462-463). On the other hand, he also offers his own model
for the opening of the the symphony: the corresponding
measures of the Mozart G minor Symphony (Kalbeck 1913 1922J
HI/2, 461). (See Example 3:9.) He does not enumerate the
points of resemblance, but he does draw a parallel between
122
parallel between the preparatory gesture in the lower
strings in the Mozart and the suppressed introductory
measures of the Brahms.11
fla u to
4 ----------
- .
Oboi
C larinstti
in S A
fagotti
,
. .....................
\
.
Como . ....... ........
in Sol
f~t fr ^-r>p- f>^

t r r
V iciinoU
\ ltJ-
^. i - - W I...............................
* - Jj- *-4a!-*r ij-
ft'ofa
p
m m
fio jonctllo
t Bastp
Example 3:9. Mozart, Symphony #40 in G minor, K.550,

first movement, mm . 1-11.
123
It is the Beethoven resemblance which has been by far
the most widely taken up: Specht (1930, 281), Osmond-Smith
(1983, 150) and Musgrave (1985, 224), for example, all adopt
it rather uncritically. (Osmond-Smith is reckless enough to
say that "as any ass could see, Brahms opened his symphony
with a Beethovenian hommage a figure used in the
development of the Hammerklavier Sonata's third movement
(cf. bars 78-84), though here reharmonized to affirm the
tonic....") The Mozart resemblance has also been noted,
apparently independently, by Boretz (1973, 161). The Handel
resemblance seems to be the favourite of Siegmund-Schultze,
the only one to attempt a systematic review of all of the
nominations for the model for this passage
(Siegmund-Schultze 1955, 245-246).^
Each of these resemblances merits close attention and
evaluation, and it is possible that Brahms did indeed have
one, or even more than one, of them in mind in the
composition of the first movement of the Fourth Symphony.
However there is another issue which bears on the question
of the opening theme. This is not the only place Brahms made
use of chains of falling thirds; they are a recurring
stylistic feature of his music, especially in the later
years. To the extent that the Handel, Beethoven and Mozart
models resemble the opening of the symphony simply in
respect of this particular feature, adducing them as models
is redundant (as Kalbeck notes). But more than that, falling
124
third chains seem to have served as a kind of personal topos
during the last eighteen years of Brahmss life (from 1879
onwards): their use during these years seems to have been
consistently associated in Brahms's mind with the idea of
death.
At least two writers have noted Brahmss use of chains
of falling thirds at places in texted works which mention
death. Max Harrison makes the following observation about
Brahms's approach to text-setting: "Normally, as we have
seen, he prefers to follow the general emotional content of
a poem, rarely accenting a particular word with an
elaborate, aria-like phrase in the manner, say, of Bach. But
there is a striking exception, and that is the idea of
death" (Harrison 1972, 123). He cites passages from "Der
Tod, das ist die kuhle Nacht," Op.96/1, the second of the
Vier ernste Gesange, Op.121/2, and "Feldeinsamkeit," Op.86/2
(Harrison 1972, 123-124). Peter Latham mentions two of these
songs (Op.121/2 and Op.86/2), and adds to the list "Mit
vierzig Jahren," Op.94/1 (Latham 1975, 153-154). He does not
describe the similarities of the relevant passages, but all
of his examples share not only the descending third motif,
but a staggering or echo effect in the accompaniment, and a
spare texture of unisons and octaves.
Brahmss use of falling third chains as a death motif
is not, strictly speaking a question of quotation or
125
allusion, since the source of the motif and its associated
meaning are not known, and may well be a personal invention,
not derived from outside his own music. But like quotation
and allusion, it has a referential function. It is used in a
number of independent compositions but associated with the
same extra-musical meaning. It is extra-compositional to the
extent that it has a referential meaning which does not
derive just from its shape as a musical gesture per se, but
also by association with a particular idea as articulated by
the text. Furthermore, the "death motif" is often used in
the same way that Brahms's frequently employs allusion:
"parenthetically," or set apart in some way from the

13
adjacent musical context. J Like quotation and allusion, it
is a special locus of heightened meaning, which often has
implications for our understanding of a wider musical
context than the few measures which contain it.
To establish the expressive relationship between text
and .motif with certainty, we might well look at the
published songs for solo voice and piano for occurences of
the motif, to see how consistently and under what
circumstances Brahms may have made this motivic assignment.
A working definition of the minimum requirements for
identifying the motif can be adopted: at least four pitches
which form a chain of at least three consecutive descending
thirds. A survey of all of the published songs with the
exception of the folk-song settings and the Gypsy Songs,
126
Op.103 produces a list of 54 instances spread over 31 songs.
Considered as an undifferentiated group, the results of the
survey are not impressive: only eight of the songs clearly
associate the motif with death; three more songs have
somewhat tenuous links. However, when the list of songs is
divided into two groups chronologically an early group of
21 songs from the years 1853-1878, and a later group from
1879-1897, containing the other ten songs, some interesting
results appear: all eight of the songs with a clear
reference to death and one of the tenuous cases is found in
the late group.
The earliest song in this late group is

1
"Feldeinsamkeit," Op.86/2, which was written in May 1879.
The use of the falling third motif here is paradigmatic of
later uses. It occurs at mm.26-28 ("mir ist, als ob ich
langst gestorben bin1'). (See Example 3:10.) These measures
are clearly a response to this particular phrase of text,
and do not arise naturally out of the musical context of the
song they are analogous in this regard to "parenthetical
allusion" in the disjunction in which they stand in relation
to the surrounding measures. The dense texture of the
accompaniment's lilting eighth-note pairs, doublings and
tonic and dominant pedals is replaced in these measures by a
spare accompaniment of unison and octave doublings, which
are used to create a staggered or echo effect between the
hands. And the descending thirds of the vocal line have no
127
met mir ist, all ob ich
dolee
langst ge.stor . ben und lie . he s e . lig mil durch ew-geRau-me,und
Example 3:10. Brahms, "Feldeinsamkeit," Op.86/2,

mra.23-30.
sen.de lan ge mei.nen Slide nach o ben, nadi o ben, von
Gril-len ringsumschwirrt ohn Un. ter.lafi, von Him melsblSu.e wun.der.samum.wo.ben,von
Example Brahms, "Feldeinsamkeit," Op.86/2

mm.5-13
128
parallel elsewhere in the song. The rhythmic and dynamic
energy of the song ebbs, halting almost completely. The
outstanding features of these measures is underlined when
compared to the parallel passage at mm.9-11. (See Example
3:11.)
It was stated above that Brahms's use of this motif
sometimes resembles parenthetical allusion as is the case
here and that as in parenthetical allusion, the meaning of
the passage extends to a larger musical context usually the
whole piece or movement. Such is the case here as well.
Brahms has highlighted the text's mention of death out of
proportion to the role a naive reading of the poetic text
would suggest. In the poem, death serves as a metaphor for
the peace and quiet the poet experiences; it does not
overshadow the contented and peaceful tenor of the poem. But
Brahms's treatment of the phrase "als ob ich langst
gestorben bin" ("as if I had long been dead") casts a pall
which tempers the return to the innocence of the style of
the song's opening with an unsettled, disturbed element
that is not dispelled at the end of the song.
"Gestillte Sehnsucht," Op.91/1, one of the two songs
for alto, viola and piano, was composed about five years
later during the summer of 1884, that is, concurrently with
the completion of the first two movements of the Fourth
Symphony. Here two parallel passages are found which employ
the falling third motif, though only the second of them
129
meets strictly the definition given above. The two passages
are found at ram.32-35 ("Sie lispeln die Welt in Schlummer,
in Schlummer ein.") ("They are whispering the world into
slumber, into slumber.") and mm.86-89 ("rait meinem Sehnen
mein Leben ein.") ("[will whisper] my life away together with
my longing"). The musical parallels between these two
passages reflect a similar correspondence in the text. The
slumber which is produced by the whispering birds at
ram.32-35 becomes the deeper sleep of death at mm.86-89. It
is the second passage, clearly connected with the idea of
death, which meets the strict criteria for the falling third
motif.
Measures 86-89 lack the effect of disjunction found in
"Feldeinsamkeit." But they do employ the staggering effect,
and involve a degree of unison and octave doubling between
voice and piano: the vocal part is syncopated, following the
lead of the lowest notes of the piano at an eighth-note's
distance. The passage is also characterized by the
slackening of energy found in "Feldeinsamkeit." (See Example
3:12.) The staggering effect is absent from mm.32-35, and
the repeated notes of the vocal line are not consistent with
the criteria for identifying the motif. (See Example 3:13.)
The first two songs of Op.94 were written sometime in
1883/84, both to texts whose primary subject matter is
death. In this they differ from "Feldeinsamkeit," in which
the idea of death is employed only as a fleeting image.
130
peln die Win . de, die Vo . l e i n ___ m it_
mei . nem Seh . nen mein Le . . ben ein.
dim.
dim.
Example 3:12. Brahms, "Gestillte Sehnsucht," Op.91/1,

mm.83-93.
lein? Sie Schlum . mer,
dim.
dim.
Example 3:13- Brahms, 'Gestillte Sehnsucht," Op.91/1,

mm.32-35.
131
The falling third motif is found at mm.25-26 of "Mit vierzig
Jahren" ("und hier nicht, druben gehts hinab") ("and not
here, but beyond, the way leads downward"). (See Example
3:14.) Here again the motif is associated with death, and
set apart from the rest of the song by the same means as in
"Feldeinsamkeit": an accompaniment of unison and octave
doubling, staggered effect between the hands, slackening of
energy. The text phrase for which the third motif' has been
used signifies the beginning of the downward journey towards
death, and so the falling thirds function not only as symbol
but also as word painting.
In the next song in the opus, "Steig auf, geliebter
Schatten," the falling third motif does not appear as a
single, distinctive usage, but rather as a pervasive
structural element. It is found four times in the vocal
line, and ten times in the piano. So pervasive a use is
clearly not compatible with creating an effect of
disjunction for every instance of use. It is used first in
the voice part for the words, "Steig auf, geliebter
Scha^Cen" ("Arise before me, beloved ghost"), and since it
is part of the principal motif of the song, its recurrence
is dictated as much by structural as by expressive
considerations. (See Example 3:15.)
132
- . 4 0
l B.l ---- - 11 ' M l 1 I '# *
dehntein Ber . ges - rii - ckensich, ein brei . ter, und hier nicht, drii . ben gehts bin .
frrTfiffj
i S3
p
i:
1 m
I ff
Nicht at. mendaufwSrtsbrauchstdu mehr ru stei . gen, die
dim.
Example 3:14. Brahms, "Mit vierzig Jahren," Op.94/1,

mm.21-29.
Singslimme
0 hj _ J ..n
Steig auf, ge.lieb.ter Schat.ten, vor mir in to . ter
r.zd..- .= ^ r | i. |
-yUtd-ii IfIs | y
Pianoforte
~l -"f
(itWI >
Example 3:15. Brahms, "Steig auf, geliebter Schatten,"

Op.94/2, mm.1-4.
"Auf dem Kirchhofe," Op.105/4, was written sometime
after 1886, perhaps in 1888. The falling third motif is
found in mm.25-26 ("Gewesen") ("Departed"). (See Example
3:16.) Its use is echoed by the piano in the following
measure, and is highlighted by the change of texture which
accompanies it, as well as by the structurally important
role it plays, articulating the end of the minor mode
section of the song. (This special role is further
highlighted by comparison with the parallel passage at
m m .9 -10. )
regenschwer, auf ahlenGra. . bernfror dasWort: we . sen.
Example 3:16. Brahms, "Auf dem Kirchhofe," Op.105/4,

mm.22-26.
The three other late songs which clearly associate the
motif with the idea of death are the first three songs of
the Vier ernste Gesange, Op.121. The most interesting of
these are the second and third songs of the set.
There are two relevant passages in the second song:
mm.45-49 ("meher als die Lebendigen") ("more than the
13 1*
living ), and ram.53-55 ("und der noch nicht ist ) ("and he
who has not yet been). (See Example 3:17.) Both of these
employ unison and octave doubling, and the echo or
staggering effect seen in previous songs. B-i this technique
is found also in two other places: the first three measures
of the song in the piano introduction, and in mm.37-^0,
which begin the section in which the two uses of the motif
are found. Thus while the exclusive use of falling thirds is
not found in these latter two passages, their use of
techniques associated with the motif elsewhere links them to
the first two passages. The entire section from m.37 to m.56
praises the dead and those who have not been born. The
chains of sustained thirds in the piano in mm.62-65 extends
the falling third idea into the following phrases which are
related textually to "those who have not yet been born."
They too employ doubling and echoing between the hands.
(They are also clearly reminiscent of the piano piece
Op.119/1.)
The third song of Op.121 contains the most prominent
use of the falling third motif, both in its purely musical
role structurally and raotivically, and in the strength and
nature of its association with the idea of death. In this
song Death is personified by being addressed directly. The
text is derived from the first two verses of Chapter 41 of
Scclesiasticus. Each verse begins by addressing Death once,
but in his arrangement of the text for the song, Brahms both
135
benkonn.ten. Da
PP
schon g e .s to r. ben wa . ren, mehr als die Le - ben . di . gen? die
und der noeh nicht ist
Example 3:17. Brahms, #2 of Vier ernste Gesange,

Op.121, m m .35-56.
136
repeats the invocation at the beginning of the first verse
(0 Tod, o Tod") and also has the opening phrase of each
verse repeated at the end of each verse. Thus Death is
addressed not twice but four times in the song, and three of
these occasions use the phrase "0 Tod twice. The falling
third motif is used whenever death is addressed. The
relationship between word and motif is stark and direct, and
because of the arrangement of the text, it appears in a
prominent structural role as well. The motif is also given a
new treatment in this song. Brahms uses it in its usual
descending form for the verse which characterizes death as
bitter, but uses it in inverted form for the verse which
speaks of death as welcome. (See Examples 3:18 and 3:19.)
The first of the Op.121 songs contains two instances of
the motif at mm.3^-35 and mm.38-39 ("Es fuhrt alles an einen
Ort; es ist alles von Staub gemacht") ("All go to one place;
all are made of dust"). This occurence of the motif seems
fortuitous, however. The falling thirds simply outline the
diminished seventh chord which underlies these harmonically
static pairs of measures. (See Example 3:20.)
The one instance of the motif which does not relate to
the idea of death is similar. In the fourth song of Op.121,
at mm.10-11 and mm.27-28, the falling thirds seem not to be
expressively intentional, but to arise naturally out of the
melodic flow of the song at that point.
137
f_* ,
Singstimme 3 = 5= = ^
O Tod, 0 'rod, wie bit . ter, wie bit .
c -1-- 1- -- - =\ j---
Pianoforte E l/UJ p H
I j? i P- ^ ,

~a.
5:
3 I -
3 ^
Example 3:18. Brahms, #3 of Vier ernste Gesange.
mm.1-4.
zu hof.fen, noch zu er. war . n hat! O
tust dui
mnHI----------f
y _ _ 1-- an 11 1 I
wie wohl) wie wohl tust du.

mm.29-36.
138
Es fahrt an nen
JL
es ist von Staub ge . macht,

mm.32-39.
The one dubious case in this group of late songs is
"Wie Melodien zieht es mir," Op.105/1, completed in August
1886. At m.41 the motif appears to the word "feuchtes", with
reference to a tear-dampened face. The following song in the
opus, "Immer leiser wird mein Schlummer," contains at
mm.22-23 a melodic gesture very similar to the falling third
motif, also in association with the idea of tears.
This concludes the survey of songs from the late group
(1879-1897). Four early songs are also worth examining
in detail: "Todessehen," Op.86/6, "Regenlied," Op.59/3> "Die
Mainacht," Op.43/2 and "Wie die Wolke nach der Sonne,11
Op.6/5. "Todessehen," Op.86/6, was written in May 1878, only
one year before "Feldeinsamkeit." The text phrases with
which the motif is directly associated at mm.45-46 and
mm.65-66 do not refer directly to death, but their larger
context does provide such a link: "Gib, dass er mich umwehe,
deines Todes Lebenswind. Dass er zu dem Stern mich hebe, wo
man keine Trennung kennt, wo die Geistersprache Leben mit
der Liebe Namen nennt...." ("Grant that the life-giving wind
of your death may soon waft around me. That it may raise me
to the star where separation is unknown, where the language
of spirits calls life by the name of love."). (The
underlining indicates where the motif is used; see Examples^-
3:21 and 3:22.) Because "Todessehen" was composed just a
year before the song which contains the first unambitious
use of falling thirds as a death motif, it seems plausible
to associate the present example with this practice as well.
This conclusion is supported by the fact that emphasis is
given these measures by the sudden harmonic shift which
accompanies them.
140
j * .. "" um
. de fleht dein Cind: Gib, dafi er mich bald .
, rT -n ^ l ^ r i r r n i V rih lH fr
f9
Jib H
it fe-------------
.j ,
,= f -
4
I lU
^ 4=^4+-gHN = ^ = >

* ..... i y - 1j j h v jl* -- jdes- -.... V V--------------------*
we . . he, d ei. . nes To - Le . . bena-wind.
IP a* #J#
A
w f f
Example 3:21. Brahms, "Todessehen," Op.86/6, mm.42-51.
kennt, wo die Gei - ster . spra . die in m it der
3 ^
&
mm
s
Exmple 3:22. Brahms, "Todessehen,11 Op.86/6, mm.63-68.
141
"Regenlied", Op.59/3, presents a curious problem. The
motif is found used in two different ways, first at ram.55-56
C o d e r mit den heissen Wangen") ("or with a flushed face")
and then at mm.90-91 ("ins verborgene Leben") ("in the
hidden sources of life"). (See Examples 3:23 and 3:24.) The
first example is neither related to the idea of death, nor
is its use emphasized in any way. The use at mm.<i90-91 stands
out, however, because of the change of metre which
accompanies it. Perhaps the reference to "the hidden sources
of life" could be construed as suggesting, by opposition,
the idea of death.
ft*
P SchaummitHan . den g rei. .fen, o. .d e rm it den hei .

fienWan . gen
3^ r r ~ M *
Example 3:23* Brahms, "Regenlied," Op.59/3, mm.53-56.

I ins verborg.ne L e. .ben, drang bis ins v e r. borg. . ne Le . ben.
flDu..,,r
I
ifimtvt.
BfiP. u M , . J y
if |d û A
y flr t LHa___ a Mprgt
t * f f
r r
Example :5:24. Brahms, "Regenlied," Op 59/^3, mm .88-92.
142
"Todessehen" and "Regenlied" are the only two of the 21
songs in the group of early works which contain uses of the
third motif in even a loose association with the idea of
death. Two other songs in the list are worth mention,
however. "Die Mainacht," Op.43/2 contains two identical
chains of falling thirds, at mm.29-30 and ram.41-42, and both
are used to set the same word: "Trane." (This is interesting
in view of the similar association found in "Wie Melodien
zieht es mir.") "Wie die Wolke nach der Sonne", Op.6/5 is a
very early work. Here, the motif is not found in the voice
part, but the word "sterbend" at m.7 is accompanied in the
piano by falling thirds and fourths, and alternation between
the hands, a technique which seems to anticipate the
treatment given the third motif in later songs.
The seventeen other early songs in which a chain of at
least three consecutive falling thirds can be found do not
associate any particular word, phrase or idea with the
motif. In this respect, and also in respect of the purely
musical role which the motif plays, it seems clear that
before 1879, Brahms did not think of it as a discrete
motivic entity, as it becomes in the later songs. Its use
generally seems to lack the special and distinct expressive
intentionality of the later uses. Many instances are found
at cadence points, especially in songs of the late 1860s and
early 1870s: Op.43/1, Op.57/1, Op.57/6, Op.59/6, Op.69/9,
Op.71/4. Other cases of third chains result from the outline
143
of a diminished or dominant seventh chord two such examples
have been noted in the late group of songs as
well sometimes in combination with a cadential function:
Op.7/6, Op.14/4, Op.33/3, Op.43/1, Op.72/5, Op.84/4.
The early and late groups of songs contrast in other
ways as well. There are about 24 songs written before 1878
which mention direct reference to death, but which make no
use of the falling third motif. This compares with only two
or three late songs which mention death and lack the motif*
Of the approximately 148 published songs with opus number
written before 1879 (still excluding folk songs and Gypsy
songs), less than thirty deal explicitly with the idea of
death. There are about thirteen such songs after 1879, out
of a total number written of about 48. This proportions
indicate only a fairly slight shift in interest on Brahms's
part in the selection of song texts: about one in five
concerned with death before 1879, approximately one in four
after.
This survey suggests certain conclusions about Brahms's
use of the falling third motif. In the early songs (to
1878), chains of falling thirds are not thought of by Brahms
as a discrete motivic entity, nor are they used with a
consistent expressive intentionality. After 1879, the
falling third motif appears to become a discrete motivic and
expressive device. It is used more frequently, more
144
prominently (at the beginning of a piece, or set off in such
a way as to underline a phrase of text), and in a specific
and consistent expressive role. That role is to symbolize
the idea of death. The development and assignment of the
falling third motif to play this expressive role corresponds
with only a slightly increased interest in texts which are
concerned in whole or in part with death.
The falling third motif also appears much more
frequently in the later instrumental works than in the
earlier ones. There is a prominent use of falling third
chains in the second and fourth movements of the F minor
Piano Sonata, Op.5. But in the later works, especially those
from the last five years of Brahms's life, the falling third
chain has become a very prominent feature of Brahms's style.
A representative sampling of these usages includes: two of
the late piano pieces, Op.116/1 (1892) and Op.119/1 (1893),
which begin with ideas saturated with this motif; the
Clarinet Trio, Op.114 (1891), whose first movement employs
falling third chains in the countermelody to the second
theme in the piano, after letter B, and a closing theme, at
letter D, based almost entirely on falling thirds; and whose
finale also contains a long passage after letter C based on
falling thirds; and the Clarinet Sonata in F minor, Op.120/1
(1894), which opens with a principal theme based on falling
thirds. These works all date from the years just before the
145
composition of the Vier ernste GesMnge (1896), which contain
the most pervasive, prominent, and expressively direct use
of the falling third motif as a representation of death.
The new prominence of the falling third motif in both
texted and untexted works after 1879 would be simply an
interesting feature of Brahms's late stylistic development
if it were not used with a specific extra-musical
association in mind in the texted works. But since such a
correspondence exists between motif and expressive meaning
in the texted works, it is reasonable to consider the
possibility that the same expressive sense is implied for
the instrumental works as well.
The earliest prominent, thematic use of a falling third
chain in the instrumental works (except for the Piano
Sonata, Op.5) seems to be that found in the opening of the
Fourth Symphony. There are good reasons to suppose that the
use of this motif here was also intended by Brahms as a
musical symbol for death, and that its function as the
opening musical idea from which the rest of the movement is
developed implies that death is in some sense the
"expressive subject matter" of the movement.
By the time of the first movement's completion,
"Feldeinsamkeit," "Gestillte Sehnsucht," "Mit vierzig
Jahren" and "Steig auf, geliebter Schatten" had all been
composed. ("Gestillte Sehnsucht" was written during the
146
summer of 1884, while Brahms was completing the first and
second movements.) Tne opening measures of the first
movement make use of a technique which is also associated
with three of these songs in their use of falling thirds:
the staggering or echo device. See Example 3:25.) As in the
two clearest uses of this device (in "Feldeinsamkeit" and
"Mit vierzig Jahren"), this staggering effect is produced at
the unison and octave distance from the theme itself. The
Zurich autograph of the score shows that this effect was
even stronger before Brahms deleted an eighth-note 'echo" of
the upbeat to the first measure in flutes, clarinets and

15
bassoons.
Allegro nontro(/po
2 F loten
2 Oboen
2 Klarinetten in A
2 F ag o tte
in E j;
4 H o m er ]
in C jl
2 Trom peten in E
Faukcn in iiu .H
l.V io lin e
2 .V ioline
Bratsche
Violoncell
KontrabaB
Allegro non troppo
Example 3:25. Brahms, Symphony #4 in E minor, Op.98,

first movement, mm.1-4.
147
The use of the falling third motif in "0 Tod" from the
Vier ernste Gesange is also especially relevant to the
Fourth Symphony. It is different from the typical use of the
motif in a number of ways: it is stronger and more
prominent, both because it is used to accompany the words
which address death itself, and because it is found as the
opening gesture of the song (and of the second half), rather
than in a "parenthetical11 use. More important, however, is
the use of the motif in both descending and inverted form, a
use which reflects the contrasting aspects of the writer's
subjective response to the objective reality of death.
The use of the motif in this song is related
significantly to the opening of the Fourth Symphony; so
strongly, in fact, that if the song rather than the symphony
had been completed first, a good case could have been made
that the symphonic opening is an allusion to the song. (As
things stand, it is still possible to view "0 Tod" as a
development of, a making more explicit, the symbolic role of
the falling third motif in the symphony.) The two pieces
share the same key. They also both use the motif as an
unprepared opening gesture the very feature which was so
striking to Brahms's contemporaries. This is far less usual
than that the motif should appear "parenthetically". (In the
instrumental works as well, the motif is seldom found so
prominently used; the use of the motif in the instrumental
works is discussed briefly below.) The thirds are paired in
11*8
a similar fashion in both song and symphony, and the
symphony shares with the song the use of both the upright
and inverted form of the motif.
Brahms's use of both normal and inverted forms of the
motif in "0 Tod" to reflect contrasting attitudes towards
death is also suggestive in relation to the Fourth Symphony.
Schoenberg first noted the cyclical element of the final two
variation-statements of the finale: here the third chains
finally make their appearance in exclusively descending
form (Schoenberg 1984, 405-406). If the use of both
descending thirds and ascending sixths in the first movement
represents the same kind of ambivalent subjective response
to the objective reality of death as it does in the later
song from the Vier ernste Gesange, then the cyclical
reappearance of the opening theme in the last two variation
statements of the finale in exclusively descending f o r m ^
may be understood as an expressive metaphor for the tragic
outcome of the symphony. (See Example 3:26.) The return of
the falling third idea is then not simply a cyclical
element, but a progressive one as well: it is not the return
of the opening theme so much as the unveiling of the
descending third structure which underlies it, now in
starker, less raelodically appealing guise. The mixed
response of the first movement now has given way to unmixed
tragedy and bitterness. The bitterness of death spoken of in
"0 Tod" recalls Brahms's image of the sour cherries of
149

fourth movement, mm.230-252.
150
Murzzuschlag by which he characterized his new work: "I
fear...that [the symphony] tastes of the climate here,
cherries here don't become sweet, you would not eat them"
(letter to Hans von BUlow, quoted in Kross 1983, 139). The
reappearance of the motif in its pure, descending form in
the final statements of the finale serves in turn as the
signal for the unleashing of the tragic fury of the coda.
It is in the light of Brahms's extensive referential *
use of the falling third motif in the last two decades of
his life that any suggested models for the opening measures
of the first movement must at last be evaluated. If Brahms
is indeed using the descending third motif with expressive
intention here, then the presence of the third chains at the
beginning of the movement is a kind of compositional given.
It cannot be the direct result of his having adopted one of
the suggested models, or indeed any such model. On the other
hand, the origin of the motif itself may be related to a
particular piece of music by another composer.
Riemann's suggestion is especially interesting in this
regard, because of the role which "Behold and see" plays in
the overall structure of Messiah. The aria is preceeded by
the chorus "He trusted in God that He would deliver Him,"
which depicts the taunts of the crowd during the
crucifixion, and is followed by the recitative, "He was cut
off from the land of the living," which is a retrospective
151
statement about Jesus's death. "Behold and see," therefore,
is placed within the very loose dramatic structure of
Messiah in the position which corresponds to the death
itself. As well, the echo effect between vocal and
orchestral phrases resembles the staggering effect often
found in association with falling thirds in Brahms.
If Brahms did have a model in mind for the opening of
the symphony, it must have served, not as a source of the
falling third chain itself, but as a model for how that
chain is treated, or for other aspects of the texture:
harmonic, rhythmic, etc. Thus there are also good reasons to
associate the Handel aria specifically with the Fourth
Symphony: the key; the alternation of rising and falling
intervals in the melody; the similar harmonic progression in
the first two bars.
The widely accepted Beethoven model has the least to
offer. Both falling and rising intervals are present, but
the phrases are six notes each, with a descending third,
rising sixth and descending third. There is no close
harmonic model. However both Beethoven and Brahms passages
share rising arpeggio figures in the accompaniment.
As a possible source for the idea of falling third
chains to represent the idea of death, however, the
Beethoven example is also suggestive. It is of course an
untexted work, but it does contain what could be viewed as
an embryonic version of the echo effect in mm.85-86. Brahms
152
certainly knew the work he alluded to it in the opening
measures of his Op.1. As well, Clara Schumann played it. She
first added it to her repertoire, according to Litzmann in
1855, the year Robert Schumann died, and while Brahms's
passion for her was at its height (Litzmann 1913, II, 448).
Perhaps the passage acquired a personal association for
Brahms during this time which resurfaced later in his life.
Kalbeck's suggestion regarding the Mozart G minor
Symphony, though generally ignored, is an extremely
perceptive one. The theme is built around a chain of eight
descending thirds, in both descending and inverted form.
(See Example 3:9, above.) The harmonicprogression closely
resembles Brahms. And. as Boretz has noted, the two passages
make comparable use of a tonic pedal (Boretz 1973, 161). The
theme of Mozart's finale also makes much use of series of
ascending thirds.
It is possible that each of these passages modelled
some aspect of the opening of the first movement of the
Fourth Symphony. As far as allusion itself is concerned, it
is easy to see why the Beethoven passage has been the
favourite: the actual melodic resemblance is closest, in
both general pitch outline, and, very importantly, in
approximating the same rhythm. And while an allusion to this
source is very plausible as an item in Brahms's vocabulary,
the relative structural insignificance of the passage
153
within the Beethoven movement itself weakens the case for an
allusion.
On this count, a stronger candidate is the Mozart. The
passages are structurally parallel, resemble one another
more closely, though in less obvious ways, and the Mozart
work is also a minor key symphony which ends in the minor,
and which has sometimes been characterized as a "tragic"
s y m p h o n y . Brahms owned the autograph, a gift from the
Landgrafin von Hessen in thanks for the dedication of the
Piano Quintet, Op.34 in 1864 (Imogen Fellinger 1983, 43,
n.9). Brahms expressed obliquely his admiration for it in a
letter to Heinrich von Herzogenberg of October 1886, not
long after the completion of the Fourth Symphony (Brahms
1 9 0 9 , 286 ).
The Beethoven allusion in the second movement of
Brahms IV points to the opposed expressive trajectories of
the Beethoven Fifth and Brahms Fourth Symphonies (see
pp.111-114 above), as well as to some similarities of
musical substance between the two second movements. These
similarities of substance seem to extend to the first
movement as well.
The principal themes of both movements are derived with
great economy of means from a descending third idea.
Dahlhaus has pointed out, echoing Schenker, that with
Beethoven, the germinal motif should be understood as being
comprised of the interlocking pair of thirds G-Eb-F-D, not
just the initial G-Eb interval (Dahlhaus 1980, 41-42). This
presentation of the basic motivic element of the movement
may be thought of as having its parallel in the deleted
introductory measures of the Brahms, which al3o present a
pair of interlocking thirds, over an E pedal, but as a pair

1 ft
of simultaneities rather than in a series. (See Example
3:27.) Both introductory gestures seem to stand outside the
normal flow of their movements, or to take place before the
establishment of that flow: the Beethoven because of the
fermatae on Eb and D, and the Brahms because of the relative
length of the chords which give little indication of the
tempo of the movement.
Wta&BfiU
etc.
etc.
Example 3:27. The deleted opening measures of Brahms

Symphony #4.
155
The idea of Beethoven's C minor Symphony as a
"Schiksals-Syraphonie" was a well-established one by the time
Brahms wrote his Fourth Symphony. The association of
Beethoven's opening motive with the idea of fate seems to
have begun with Schindler, the first edition of whose
Beethoven biography appeared in 1840:
The composer himself provided the key to [the

symphony's] depths, when one day, in this author1s
presence, he pointed to the beginning of the first
movement and expressed in these words the fundamental
idea of this work: "Thus Fate knocks at the door!"
The idea of the Fifth as a "Fate" Symphony was picked
up by Marx in his biography of 1859, and this perception of

20
the work became a widely accepted one. It is a notion
which fits nicely with the expressive shape implicit in the
purely musical structure of the symphony: struggles with
fate leading to a triumphant destiny. It would be natural
then for Brahms to have thought not only of the expressive
"plot" of his own symphony as a counterpart to Beethoven's,
but also of the contrasting but clearly related expressive

21
associations with the opening gestures of the two works.
There are other similarites of musical substance
between the two movements. Traces of the suppressed
introduction remain in the Brahms at points of structural
articulation which parallel a similar use by Beethoven of
his introductory gesture. In the Beethoven, these uses may
156
be found at mm . 125-128, which mark the beginning of the
development section, and at mm.248-252, which introduce the
recapitulation.
Measures 136-144 (at letter F) of the Brahms Symphony
provide a transition to the development which begins at
m.144. They consist of three presentations each of the
falling third intervals D#-B and C-A in a manner which
closely resembles the opening of the symphony as it now
stands. This transition relates closely to the suppressed
introductory measures because it is based, like them, on a
pair of thirds a second apart, a relationship between thirds
which is not found emphasized elsewhere in the
movement usually the thirds are found in chains a third
apart.
The other structural articulation in which the
suppressed introduction is recalled, and a relationship with
the Beethoven movement is again found, is at mm.248-258,
which initiate the recapitulation. These measures contain a
version of the opening theme itself, not of the deleted
introduction, but in a manner which recalls the introduction
because of the sustained chords at mm.249-252 and
mm.255-258.
The sixteen measures which immediately precede this
passage (at letter K, mm.227-246) consist of whole-note
chords in alternation between winds and brass on the one
hand, and strings on the other. (In each measure, one
157
instrument plays a melodic figure derived from measures 10
and 11 of the exposition.) This is not the only time in this
movement we find whole bars taken up entirely with a single
susutained chord: isolated such cases are found in the
development at ram.195, 199, and 201. These measures also
anticipate similar measures in the third and fourth
movement, with which they are therefore linked cyclically.
There is a clear resemblance between these measures and
the corresponding passage in Beethoven. The concluding
section of Beethoven's development section (mra.196ff.) are
the ones which present simple chords, first in pairs, then
singly, also in alternation between the string and wind
groups. In both cases, the dynamic level grows gradually
softer, though in Beethoven this is interrupted by a
fortissimo outburst at mm.228ff. and by the return of the
opening motif at m.240.
We might make one final, highly speculative point
concerning a possible allusive reference to death in the
first movement. Immediately following the initial eight-bar
presentation of the principal theme, there is a continuation
which twice employs the a figure in the violins (at ram.9 and
11) that is very like the opening gesture of the Intermezzo
in E-flat minor, Op.118/6. (See Examples 3:28 and 3:29.)
158
2 .V io l!

first movement, mm.7-13.
Andante, largo e mesto

f r if---------------------------------r - -------------------
p to/to voee
4 perdendo . <8& * 4
w una eorda
Example 3:23. Erahms, Intermezzo in E-flat minor,

Op.118/6, beginning.
There is a tradition apparently an exclusively oral
one which hears in this opening motif an allusion to "Dies
Irae", and the expressive content of the piece a meditation
on death. There is also a tradition, this time documented,
that this piano piece originated in â^sketch for the slow
movement of a symphony (Matthews 1978, 69). The date of its
composition is uncertain. Falling third chains are found in
the piano piece in the bass line, as at mm.15-17. The
mysterious pianissimo arpeggios of the accompaniment also
have a parallel in the Fourth Symphony, such as at
mm.249-252 and 255-258, where the falling third motif is
presented in long, quiet notes. The possibility that Brahms
thought of the gesture found at the beginning of Op.118/6
and in mm.9 and 11 of the Fourth Symphony as a reference to
"Dies Irae", and the presence of other similarities of theme
and motive between the two works adds weight to the
supposition that death the "expressive subject matter" of
the first movement of the Fourth Symphony.
160
NOTES
CHAPTER THREE
1 A summary of the primary sources relating to the

composition of the symphony is given in McCorkle 1984, 402.
2 "Durfte ich Ihnen etwa das Stuck eines Stuckes von

mir schicken, und hatten Sie Zeit, es anzuseehen und ein
Wort zu sagen? Im Allgemeinen sind ja leider die Stiicke von
mir angenehmer als ich, und findet man weniger daran zu
korrigieren?! Aber in hiesiger Gegend werden die Kirschen
nicht suss und essbar wenn Ihnen das Ding also nicht
schmeckt, so genieren Sie sich nicht. Ich bin gar nicht
begierig, eine schlechte Nr.4 zu schreiben."
3 Kross details these objections, 140-142.
4 Quoted in Kalbeck 1913-22, III/2, 447.
5 The name "Trauer-Symphonie" seems to have been

derived from Haydns expressed desire to have the works
slow movement played at his own funeral (Geiringer 1982a,
260 ).
6 In a lecture from his course in the Post-Wagnerian

Symphonists, Princeton University, Spring 1984.
7 This relationship has also been noticed by Kramer

1984, 236-237.
8 Others have observed that the Fourth Symphony, like

the First, is a "last-raovement" symphony. See Finscher 1973,
173 and Musgrave 1985, 224.
9 Louise Litterick identifies the beginning of

scholarly interest in the third chains of the opening theme
with Walther Vetter, Der erste Satz von Brahms'
e-moll-Symphonie: ein Beitrag zur Erkenntnis moderner
Syraphonik," Die Musik 13/3 (1913-14), 3-15, 83-92, 131-145.
10 The Riemann article in which this observation was

made is incompletely cited in Heuss 1907-1908, which is the
161
source for comments on it. Heuss describes it as a concert

guide, one of a series published by Seemann. No such work by
Riemann is listed in Kross 1983a.
11 Transcribed in Kalbeck 1913-22, III/2, 461. A more

accurate transcription and a full discussion of these
measures and their implications for our understanding of the
first movement may be found in Litterick.
12 Siegmund-Schultze also refers to an observation by

Kretzschmar, which I have been unable to locate, of a
resemblance to Brahmss own song, "0 wiisst ich doch den Weg
zuruck". This seems to be merely a stylistic observation,
however, not a claim of a model. The resemblance is a very
weak one, in any case.
Julius Harrison has also made a number of suggestions of
passages to which the opening of the Fourth Symphony seems
to him to be related: the opening of the St. Matthew
Passion, the "Sanctus" and "Et resurrexit" from the B minor
Mass, the opening of the "Eroica" Symphony, and "Surely he
hath borne our griefs" from Messiah (Harrison 1939,
257-258). These associations seem to be grounded more in
subjective impression than inmusical substance.
13 Only one of Brahmss "parenthetical" allusions has

been examined above. Others will be discussed below.
14 The dates of composition mentioned in the following

discussion are those given in McCorkle 1984. The English
translations of phrases from the song texts are based on
those of Stanley Appelbaum in the four-volume reprint
edition of the complete songs for solo voice and piano based
on the collected edition (New York: Dover Publications,
1979-80).
15 A facsimile of the first page of the manuscript

appears in Finscher 1973, 172 and Litterick 1987, 224. A
complete facsimile edition of the symphony was published by
Eulenburg in 1974.
16 The Norton Critical Score of the Mozart Symphony in G

minor (New York, 1967), ed. Nathan Broder contains an
interesting cross-section of critical reaction regarding the
expressive character of the piece. See especially the
analytical comments by Hermann Abert, pp.69-70.
17 Kalbeck's other comment, that there is no need to

look for models outside Brahms's own work, because of the
presence of a falling third chain in a fleeting transitional
passage of the Piano Sonata, Op.1, clearly misses the point
162
entirely. It is in respect of features other than the

falling thirds that the models are interesting.
18 Litterick's recent analytical study arises from a

recognition that the musical gesture presented by this
introduction may be found in many other places throughout
the movement (Litterick 1987)-
19 Reprinted from Donald McArdle's translation of the

i860 edition in Elliot Forbes's edition of the Fifth
Symphony in the Norton Critical Scores series, New York:
1971, page 185.
20 A short account of the origin of the familiar title

"Schicksals-Syraphonie" by Hans-Giinther Klein is contained in
the liner notes to the CD format of Carlos Kleiber's
performance of the work, DG 415 861-2.
21 A rhythmic figure roughly similar to the Beethoven

gesture occurs in the tympani at the beginning and
conclusion of Brahms's Schicksalslied, Op.54. There is an
even closer resemblance between the Beethoven and a rhythmic
figure prominent in the finale of the C minor Piano Quartet,
Op.60.
163
CHAPTER FOUR
THE FOURTH SYMPHONY, FOURTH MOVEMENT
Controversy and resistance greeted the finale of the
Fourth Symphony as it did the work as a whole from its
very first performance in a two-piano arrangement played by
the composer and Ignaz Briill to a circle of Brahms's
friends, on October 8, 1885. The crux of the problem for his
listeners seems to have been the unusual passacaglia-like
form of the movement. Kalbeck went to see Brahms the
following day, in an act of what must have been considerable
courage, and pleaded with Brahms to compose a new third and
fourth movement for the symphony, and to retain the old
finale as a separate piece. Brahms seems to have received
these comments with equanimity perhaps even with
amusement? but declined to consider any changes, pointing
to the last movement of the Eroica as precedent for a finale
built on the principle of variation (Kalbeck 1913-22, III/2,
454).
Thanks to Siegfried Ochs, there is preserved a rare
glimpse of what may have been the very moment in which
Brahms conceived the initial idea for the finale. The
164
occasion was a conversation between Brahms and von Bulow, in
Ochss presence, about the chaconne finale of Bach Cantata
#150, whose bass theme closely resembles that of the finale
of the Fourth Symphony. The story is related by Specht:
[Brahms played the ciaconna finale of Bachs Cantata

No. 150] to Hans von Bulow at the house of Siegfried
Ochs, accusing him of having no notion of these
masterpieces. Bulow had no more than cool admiration to
spare for this choral movement, the cunning structure
of which Brahms demonstrated to him with enthusiastic
eloquence, for to his mind the great climax which
according to Bach's conception is inherent in the
superstructure built up over the bass could not be
fully realised by voices. "The same thing has struck me
too," said Brahms. "What would you say to a symphonic
movement written on this theme one day? But it is too
lumpish, too straightforward. It would have to be
chromatically altered in some way" (Specht 1930,
270-271 ).
A great deal of the scholarly discussion of this
movement has centred on the question of a possible model or
models for its unusual structure. The reasons for this
preoccupation are not hard to find: the unexpected use of a
passacaglia-like form for a symphonic finale; Brahms's own
keen historical awareness, made apparent by his willingness
to adduce a Beethovenian precedent for the movement; the
fact that the movement actually had its origin in the
adaptation of a ciacona theme by Bach; and the plenitude of
available, plausible models. At least eight models have been
proposed over the years, some more often than others.
Usually, the claims of one or two are advanced to the
exclusion of, or at least without reference to, the others.
165
An examination of the proposed models for the movement
suggests that the impulse to establish one or two as
definitive is mistaken: many of the features of the finale
of the Fourth Symphony which are adduced as evidence of a
particular model are simply general stylistic features of a
genre of which many of the putative umodels" are members.
The preoccupation with structural model has had another
effect: it has diverted attention from allusive
references at a more local level, an aspect of the
movement's relationship to earlier music which emerges as at
least as important for our understanding of the music.
Analysis
The finale of the Fourth Symphony is made up of 31
eight-bar statements, the last with a four-bar extension,
leading to a coda (Piu allegro) of 59 measures.1 The primary
structural subdivision occurs at the end of m.128, creating
two halves of approximately equal length: a first half made
up of 16 eight-bar statements, and a second half of 15 such
statements plus the coda. The apparent disparity of length
between the two halves created by the longer coda is offset
by the faster tempo of the longer closing section on the one
hand, and the compound metre which doubles their playing
time of the last four statements of the first half on the
other.
166
However, it is also possible to view the movement as a
three-part structure plus coda, with the middle section
consisting of statements 13-16 set apart by virtue of their
compound metre and change of mode (for 14-16). As well,
elements of sonata-allegro are present which suggest a third
set of structural articulations corresponding to exposition,
development and recapitulation. (These are discussed in
detail on pp.172-173 below. See Figure 1.)
The sixteen statements of the first half are organized

3
into four groups of four. Statements 1 to 4 all use the
theme melodically (in combination with a more prominent
counterraelody in Statement 3) and the first two Statements
are further linked by a common bass-line and harmonic
progression.
In the second group (Statements 5 to 8, mm.33-64) the
theme functions as a bass-line throughout and the harmonic
progression of the first two Statements is again shared. In
addition, the string melody of 5 is heard again in varied
form in 6 and 7. Statement 8 stands somewhat apart by virtue
of its altered version of the theme, necessitated by the
hemiola in its concluding measures. This statement
articulates the structural midpoint of the first half of the
movement by means of this hemiola effect, which alters a
harmonic rhythm which has moved with the bar-line almost
throughout until now, and also by its allusion in these same
measures to the opening of the first movement of the
\
"De >Ja\ot><\e n

- melodic 1'vk Wtwea-A srVcktevAftirHS
5 Inarmonicjbo&s-W liflk be'ktwee-^ s+fc+ewevfe
= S'Vfong link ta'iWCM. cliiVortf sWfcw'enH
- voeoVtr Uwk beêe* dutan'i' Sô.be.m<2jrv+s
V - tawuol*.
- dowviVawt êda\
?
Figure 1. Structural articulations and thematic

interrelationships in the finale of the Fourth Symphony,
168
symphony. It is also linked to the last Statement of the
first group (Statement 4) by virtue of a similar harmonic
progression.
The third group of four (Statements 9 to 12, mm.65-96)
is arguably really two groups of two. Statements 9 and 10
share a version of the theme in the bass which ends on A
rather than E, a similar harmonic progression and an
arpeggio idea in the strings which is stated in 9 and varied
in 10. Statements 11 and 12 also share harmonic progression,
and both offer irregular versions of the theme. In 11 no
single instrument has a complete version of the theme, and
in 12 the theme is again altered (as in 8) to accomodate the
hemiola which again concludes this group of four.
The fourth and final of these groups of four Statements
which make up the first half of the movement (13-16,
mm.97- 128) stands strikingly apart not only from the
previous three groups, but also from the rest of the
movement. It is this group of statements which contains the
allusion to Schumann's Frauenliebe und -leben. Like the
third group, it consists of two pairs of Statements only
loosely connected to form a larger unit. Statements 13 and
14 are alike in harmonic progression, but with the mode
changed from minor to major in 14. Up to this point, the
initial pair of Statements in each group have been closely
linked melodically, but the melodies of 13 and 14 are very
dissimilar, except in the unusual feature of proceeding
169
almost entirely in groupings of five notes. They are also
notable as the only instances of extended solo writing in
the movement. A solo flute is heard throughout 13, and
clarinet, oboe and flute share the melody in 14.
The last two Statements 15 and 16 are perhaps the
most closely linked of any in the first half of the
movement. 16 is an almost exact restatement of 15, except
for changes in instrumentation. Like Statements 13 and 14,
these two Statements also move primarily in five-note
phrases.
While the Statements in this group are each eight
measures long, as in the rest of the movement, the change of
metre at m.97 from 3/4 to 3/2 means that these four
Statements are each twice as long as the others in actual
performance time. And because the harmonic rhythm remains
tied to the bar-line, the effect is of cutting the tempo by
half. What is more, the last pair of Statements creates the
impression of being a single unit twice as long again,
because their content is so similar. The combined effect of
these features is that of a progressive slackening of energy
as the structural mid-point of the movement is reached, an
effect reinforced by the progressive diminuendo throughout
the group, the move from eighth to quarter to half note as
the main unit of melodic movement, and the fermata on the
last sonority of the final Statement. The change of metre is
accompanied in the last three Statements of this group by a
170
change of mode to E major. These are the only major mode
Statements in the movement.
This group of statements, then, plays a dual structural
role: it stands apart from the rest of the movement like the
midsection of a ternary form; but it also acts as the
concluding section of the first half of the movement,
balanced by the lengthy P.iu allegro at the end of the
movements second half. (See Figure 1.) The second of these
roles is underlined by the return at the beginning of
Statement 17 the structural mid-point of the movement of
the original metre, mode, version of the theme (with
countermelody from the last measure of 16), full orchestral
writing, and departure from grouping of Statements in four.
The organization of the second half of the movement is
much more dynamic and less clear-cut. Harmonic rhythm which
in the first half generally moves with the bar-line is now
more varied, and Statement groupings are more irregular in
length, though organization in pairs of eight-bar Statements
predominates. Several Statements refer clearly back to
opposite numbers in the first half (Statement 17 to
Statement 1, Statements 25-27 to Statements 2-4), and others
less clearly (Statement 28 to Statement 11). The whole
second half is more unified in its almost unrelenting
rhythmic drive and forte dynamic, and by certain rhythmic
features which prevail over short stretches, such as the
triplet rhythms of Statements 23 to 29.
171
In the first half of the movement, the chaconne theme
is used melodically in the first group of four Statements,
and as a bass-line thereafter, except in Statements 13 and
14, where it functions in a third way: as a framework for
melodic ornamentation. In the second half, these proportions
are reversed: the theme appears seldom as a bass-line, but
most frequently as a basis for melodic development.
The grouping of Statements in pairs is obvious in 20
and 21, 28 and 29, and 30 and 31 and less obvious in 18 and
19. Statements 25, 26 and 27 form a group by virtue of their
clear reference back to Statements 2, 3 and 4 in the first
half. On another level, Statements 23 through 26 are closely
bound together by their prominent use of a triplet figure,
usually appearing as a semitone such as E-D#-E.
Another important unifying structural device is
resemblance of statements found in opposite halves of the
movement. The relationship between Statements 2 to 4 and 25
to 27 has already been mentioned. In addition, the slurred
pairs of whole-measure chords played piano in the winds in
Statement 28 recalls the same device in Statement 11. The
well-known falling thirds of Statements 30 and 31 which
recall the opening of the first movement are anticipated in
Statements 8 and 23. The melodic gesture of Statement 19 has
a less obvious relationship to Statement 5. And the
ascending arpeggio figures of Statement 24 clearly recall
Statements 9 and 10.
172
Statement 24 also suggests another interesting aspect
of the movement's structure which has not yet been
mentioned. The three-bar dominant pedal with which it
concludes is unique in the movement, and when heard in
conjunction with the return of Statements 2, 3 and 4 in 25
through 27, strongly suggests the rhetoric of retransition
and recapitulation. Such a reading of the movement's
structure would then interpret the return of Statement 1 in
17 as a kind of false repeat of an exposition which is

4
actually the initiating passage of a development. Brahms
frequently initiated development sections in this way. (The
technique can be found in the first movement of the Fourth
Symphony, after letter F . ) The use of this structural
rhetoric borrowed from sonata-allegro serves to impose a
symmetry of form on the second half of the movement which
Brahms had to give up when he abandoned strict grouping of
Statements in groups of 4: the retransition effect of
Statement 24 articulates a division at the mid-point of the
second half, with eight Statements in each half (counting
the longer coda as Statement 32), just as the hemiola effect
of Statement 8 does for the first half.
It is tempting to carry the structural analogy with
sonata-allegro further. The fact that Statement 24 refers
back to Statements 9 and 10 suggests that these be heard as
a bridge leading to a kind of second theme area beginning
with Statement 11. This reading is bolstered in turn by the
173
return of material from Statement 11 in Statement 28,
immediately after the three Statements which refer back to
Statements 2, 3 and 4.
Bach Cantata #150 as model and allusive referent
There is no reason to doubt the essential accuracy of
the account found in Specht of the origin of the concept for
the finale of the Fourth Symphony. It is possible that the
story records the actual, moment when the idea of a symphonic
movement on the Bach theme occured to Brahms. Perhaps more
likely is that it was a notion Brahms had already been
considering; perhaps he had even begun the work of sketching

5
out such a movement. The anecdote does not mention the
Fourth Symphony by name, of course. But the story is rightly
identified with it, since the finale of the Fourth Symphony
is in fact such a movement, and the theme used there does in
fact resemble Bachs.
The existence of this kind of documentary evidence of a
Brahms borrowing is rare. More interesting still is the fact
that the story has served, not as confirmation of the
presence of a known borrowing, but as the immediate stimulus
for recognizing it in the first place. It represents, in
.act, the kind of situation deplored by Wimsatt and
Beardsley, in which external evidence seems to have
compensated for the lack of clear internal evidence from
"the work itself" sufficient to identify an allusion. The
relationship went unnoticed in print until the original
publication of the story in Ochs's memoirs in 1922,
thirty-six years after the first performance of the Fourth
Symphony (Ochs 1922, 299-300). Nor does it seem likely that
the relationship would have been pointed out had Ochs's
story not appeared. It is true that both composers use their
themes as the basis for a set of ostinato variations, and
that that movement is the finale of a work of several
movements. But the comparison between a symphonic movement
and a cantata movement for both chorus and instruments is
not an obvious one to make. As well, the similarity between
the two themes is not great: there are significant
differences of rhythm and pitch (the "chromatic alteration"
Brahms apparently spoke of). Perhaps most important is that
the theme itself is not at all an unusual one to find as the
basis of a chaconne or passacaglia movement. Descending
stepwise phrases are more common, found very often in
association with the idea of a lament. However, ascending
forms are also frequently found.^ Aside from its use in
association with the chaconne and passacaglia, the musical
gesture itself is not a very singular one: a stepwise
movement from tonic to dominant followed by a return to the
tonic.
In view of the unexceptional nature of the theme
itself, and of Brahms's appreciative exposition of the
"cunning structure" of the Bach movement, an obvious
175
question is whether the Brahmss movement is indebted to
Bachs in any other particulars, especially formal ones.
J.Peter Burkholder has written that "Although Bachs cantata
provided the model for the bass line, there seems to be no
other resemblance of melody, figuration, texture, or
structure between the choral ciaccona and Brahmss chaconne"
(Burkholder 1984, 83, n.11). This is largely true. There are
in fact resemblances of melody, figuration and structure,
but with perhaps one notable exception, all are sufficiently
vague or indigenous to the chaconne form itself as to be
inadequate as a basis on which todraw firm conclusions
about influence. Two or three of these are interesting
enough to mention nonetheless.
Like the Brahms finale, this movement may be thought of
as either a two- or three-part structure. A two-part
structure is articulated by the return to B minor at the
beginning of Statement 14 (m.53), the key in which it
remains until the end of the movement. The two halves are
then somewhat unequal, with thirteen statements in the first
half, and nine in the second. The alternation between purely
instrumental and vocal statements is dropped from this point
on, and the text setting becomes more discursive: the final
couplet is the text for the entire nine statements.
Perhaps equally convincing is an analysis which sees
the movement as divided into three parts, of six, seven and
nine statements, with subdivisions at the beginning of
176
Statements 7 and 14. The first six statements present a
setting of the first couplet, modulating once from B minor
to D major the reflect the affective sense of the word
"Freuden", and unified by two thematic ideas; the first
found in Statements 1-4, and the other in 5 and 6. The
middle section sets the middle two couplets, cne line for
each of soprano, alto, tenor and bass, each of these parts
being linked thematically as well by a third idea. The
instrumental Statements 9> 12 and 13 all refer back to the*
'b1 material of the first section. The third section is
identical with the second half of a two-part analysis.
The technique, found in Bach, of using material in the
last part of the movement which is almost identical with
material from the first section is found in Brahms also. A
particularly notable use of this technique in Bach is the
b* material of Statements 19 and 20 (mm.73-80) which
originates in Statements 5 and 6 (mm.17-24). In Brahms, to
cite the most obvious instance, Statements 25, 26 and 27
reiterate in varied form the material of Statements 2, 3 and
4.
Two thematic resemblances may be mentioned. The
eighth-note figuration of Statements 19 and 20 suggests the
similar string figuration of Statements 9 and 10 of the

7
Fourth Symphony finale. But such figural patterns are not
uncommon; there is a closer resemblance to another Bach
work, discussed below. The other resemblance which is
177
arguably of significance has to do with the sarabande-like
rhythm which is often found in chaconne movements. In the
Bach cantata, it is found only in the very first Statement,
and in its reiteration as Statement 3. Brahms employs this
rhythm in a number of Statements, notably in 5, 6, 7 and 19.
But it is especially in Statements 15 and 16, where the
rhythm is found at a slower tempo, and with chordal, texture,
that the strongest case for a connection with Statements 1
and 3 of the Bach can be made.
There is another element of the Bach ciaccona which may
well have been associated in Brahmss mind with the theme he
appropriated: the text. The text itself is very suggestive
in light of the ironic significance of the Beethoven
allusion of the second movement, and of the expressive
associations of the extra-compositional references of the
first movement.
Meine Tage in den Leiden

endet Gott dennoch zu Freuden;
Christen auf den Dornenwegen

fuhren Himmels Kraft und Segen;
bleibet Gott mein treuer Schatz,

achte ich nicht Menschenkreuz.
Christus, der uns steht zur Seiten,

hilft mir taglich sieghaft streiten.
(I spend my days in sorrow,

Yet God ends them in joy;
178
Christians on the thorny path

Heaven leads with strength and blessing;
God remains my faithful, treasure,

so I heed not mortal suffering.
Christ, who stands at our side, g

helps me daily to strive triumphantly.)
The first couplet encapsulates the sense of the entire
text: the sorrows of life will one day be ended
triumphantly. The next three stanzas expound the Christian's
ability to endure his trials in expectancy of the
deliverance to come. The text can easily be related to the
expressive concerns of the first two movements of the
symphony. The first couplet deals with death as the joyful
conclusion of the Chrisian's pilgrimage on earth. The
overall theme of the text might be expressed as "through
sorrows to triumph" a formulation with strong similarities
to the Beethovenian expressive scheme. In light of the
association of a descending ostinato figure with the lament,
an association which Bach also employed on a few occasions
(see n.6), it is perhaps not unreasonable to speculate that
his use of an ascending stepwise ostinato here a kind of
inverted form of this lament figure derives from the joyful
anticipation of death which the text speaks of.
If we suppose that the significance of the Bach theme
for Brahms derives not just from its use in a formal
179
structure similar to the one he had in mind for a symphonic
movement, but from the entire teXt-music complex it

s
undergirds, then Brahms's use of it as a germinal Einfall
may be understood not just as the appropriation of a musical
gesture suitable for the structural role Brahms had in mind
for it, but as ?.n allusive reference made with expressive
intentionality as well.
The key to its significance is very like that of the
Beethoven allusion: it is associated with a text whose
meaning is in a sense antithetical to Brahms's expressive
intention. Indeed, as we have seen, the text is closely
related to the expressive archetype of the Beethoven
symphony. In the case of the Beethoven allusion, Brahms
suggests this opposition by his very different treatment of
the Beethoven theme: descending upbeat figures, pianissimo
dynamic, solo clarinet. In the case of the Bach theme, two
features seem significant. First, the chromatic alteration
spoken of in the Ochs anecdote the augmented fourth added
between the fourth and fifth pitches. This augmented
interval is also present in Brahms's version of the
Beethoven theme in the second movement. And, it will be
recalled, the Beethoven allusion may be understood as
anticipating this very feature of the finale ostinato, just
as in the Beethoven symphony the source passage may be heard
as a foreshadowing of the triumphant first theme of the
fourth movement. The interval of the augmented fourth thus
180
acquires an expressive significance related to the
antithetical tragic "plot archetype" of the Fourth Symphony.
Second, Brahms presents the finale theme not in the
bass,.where it moves after Statement 4, but raelodically,
accompanied by a bass line whose descending shape moves in
contrary motion to it, and whose descending thirds suggest
the opening theme of the first movement. (See Example 4:1.)
This suggestion of the first movement theme is paralleled by
the reverse relationship in the first movement, where
melodic bass-line progressions very like the ostinato theme
of the finale are sometimes found, as in mm.10-17. (See
Example 4:2.)
The relationship between the Bach ciacona and Brahms
finale may be considered allusive, then, although it is a
relationship which would have been more difficult to
establish in the absence of supporting documentary evidence.
It may also be understood as an acknowledgement by Brahms of
the source of his idea to write an ostinato-variations
movement as a finale to the Fourth Symphony. These two
functions cannot really be separated, however, since the
expressive sense of the Bach movement, related as much to
its text as to its purely "musical" shape, seems to have
been an important factor in Brahmss decision to use the
Bach theme as the basis for the symphonic movement.
181
Allegro energico e passionato

2 Floten
2 Oboen
2 Klarinctten in A
2 Fagotte
Kontra/agott
in
4 Horner
in C
W*
Trompeten in
3 Posaunen
Pauken in G .H .
Urn*
l.Violine
Bratsche
Violoncell
KontrabaB
Allegro energico e passionato
Example 4:1. Brahms, Symphony #4, finale, mm.1-14.

Falling thirds in the bass line of Statement 1.
182
Example 4:2. Brahms, Symphony #4, first movement,

mm.7-20. Stepwise ascending bass line.
183
Other models (1)
We know from Brahmss own words, as recorded by Ochs,
that he had the finale of Bach Cantata #150 in mind in
writing the last movement of the Fourth Symphony. Kalbeck
also records that Brahms pointed to the finale of the
"Eroica" as justification for a symphonic finale in
variation form. But in coming to write the last movement of
the Fourth Symphony, Brahms will certainly have drawn as
well on his wide knowledge of early music to provide other
models of works in chaconne and passacaglia form.
Brahms's keen admiration for the Bach D minor Chaconne
is made clear in his letter to Clara Schumann of June 1877,
which accompanied an arrangement of it by Brahms for piano
undertaken expressly for Clara.
I dont suppose I have ever sent you anything as

amusing as what I am sending you to-day, provided your
fingers can survive the pleasure! The Chaconne is in my
opinion one of the most wonderful and incomprehensible
pieces of music. Using the technique adapted to a small
instrument the man writes a whole world of the deepest
thoughts and most powerful feelings. If I could picture
myself writing, or even conceiving, such a piece, I am
certain that the extreme excitement and emotional
tension would have driven me mad (Brahms 1927, II, 16).
A letter to Elisabet von Herzogenberg of 1883 reveals
his high opinion of the Organ Passacaglia in G minor by
Georg Muffat (Brahms 1909, 187). As well, Brahms came to
know the Couperin Passacaille in B minor as part of his work
as editor of a volume of Couperins keyboard works for the
184
Denkmaler der Tonkunst, under the general editorship of
Friedrich Chrysander, which appeared in 1871. There are
other works of similar form which Brahms almost certainly
knew, and which may have been in his mind at the time of the
finale's composition: the 32 Variations in C minor by
Beethoven, the Organ Passacaglia in C minor by Bach, and the
D minor Passacaglia for organ by Buxtehude.
Scholars have tended to account for certain features of
Brahms's finale by appealing to one or two of these works as
models. A recent article by J. Peter Burkholder is a case in
point.
The most obvious model for [the finale of the Fourth

Symphony] is Bach's Chaconne for solo violin, which
Brahms had transcribed in 1877 for piano left hand; the
two pieces have a great deal in common. Both are
finales of multi-movement works; both are in a minor
key in slow triple time; the variations in both are
grouped in pairs; each chaconne has three sections, the
middle one in the parallel major key; within each
section, there is an increase in rhythmic activity; the
sections are articulated by a reappearance of the
opening idea and texture; the bass line and principal
tune are freely varied; there are even certain details
of figuration that the two pieces share, such as dotted
rhythms, bariolage, and a tendency for motives to begin
just after rather than on the downbeat (Burkholder
1984, 78-79).
But many of the features enumerated here are not
specific to the Bach Chaconne. They are simply generic
properties of the Baroque chaconne and passacaglia, and are
shared by many or most of the putative models listed above.
185
Byron Cantrell has produced a short study which compares
three movements: the Bach D minor chaconne, the Beethoven 32
Variations in C minor, and the finale of the Fourth
Symphony (Cantrell 1971). It is not Cantrells purpose in
this study to draw lines of influence between these three
works, but simply to compare three different approaches to
chaconne form, and especially to note features common to
more than one, notably those features which have been
enumerated as characteristic of the chaconne by Robert U.
Nelson in his book, The Technique of Variation (Berkeley,
1948). Cantrell concludes his study with a listing of no
fewer than fourteen such commonly held features.
Among the characteristics which are not only held in
common by all three works, but are also typical of the
instrumental chaconne of the Baroque ,period generally, are:
triple metre (found also in the passacaglias by Muffat,
Couperin, and Buxtehude, Bach Cantata #150, and the Bach
organ passacaglia); tripartite division produced by a
central major mode section flanked by outer minor mode
sections; themes derived from an ascending or descending
tetrachord (also the Muffat, Couperin, and Bach cantata
movements); pairing of statements to varying degrees (in all
but the Couperin); movement of the ostinato into voices
other than that in which it originally appears.
Other features which Burkholder lists, while they are
not found in all three of the works under Cantrell's
186
consideration, are found in other examples: increase in
rhythmic activity within each section (Muffat and Bach
Cantata #150); and sections articulated by a reappearance of
the opening theme and texture (Muffat and Couperin, though
the latter contains elements of a full-fledged rondeau, and
the.former is a four-part, not a tripartite, structure).
In respect of the features of the Fourth Symphony
finale which are simply common characteristics of chaconne
and passacaglia as a genre, then, the use of the term
"model" is inappropriate. A closer look at some of these
pieces, however, does reveal apparent influences on the
Brahms movement. These influences fall into three broad
categories: structural, procedural, and thematic-motivic.
Beethoven, "Eroica" finale
Kalbeck records that Brahms cited the finale of
Beethoven's Eroica as precedent and justification for the
finale of his Fourth,Symphony on the occasion that Kal beck
confronted Brahms with his criticisms of the work, the day
after the two-piano performance with Brtill (see p. 164
above):
He wanted to justify the finale with reference to the

last movement of the Eroica, without drawing a
comparison between the substance and worth of the two
movements, but purely in regard to form. Beethoven was
not ashamed to conclude sonatas and symphonies with
variation movements. The finale of the Eroica is of
course not a chaconne, but nevertheless a variation
movement of considerable rigour, which properly
187
respects the established bass theme (Kalbeck 1913-22,

III, 454) .
In citing the "Eroica," Brahms seems simply to have
been offering an example of a symphony whose last movement
is a set of variations, not implying any other more specific
points of relationship. Certainly both movements are
structures governed primarily by the principle of variation.
But beyond the simple similarity of their both being finales
which exploit variation principle, the contrasts between the
approaches of the two composers are striking: Beethoven's
overriding concern with dramatic developmental procedures
produces partial variations, double variations, an
introduction, extensions and episodes of various kinds, two
extended fugal sections, modulations to a variety of keys,
changes of tempo. Brahms's approach is to operate within
much more rigidly defined and maintained compositional
parametres. The eight-measure length of his variations is
almost absolutely unvarying, as is the key only the mode
changes in the three middle statements and the pairing of
statements is rigidly adhered to in the first half of the
movement. In all of this, in his approach to variations, he
is following more closely the model of Bach than of
Beethoven. This is indeed his approach to variations found
in most of his works of this type, the sets of variations
for piano especially.
188
Nevertheless, traces of influence can be discerned, as
Burkholder has recently pointed out (Burkholder 1984, 78).
Most noteworthy of these is the combination of elements of
both variations and sonata-allegro form within a single
movement. The "Eroica" finale may be construed as consisting
of introduction, theme, ten variations and coda. These
elements fall into three large sections, the outer two of
which (Introduction to Variation 3, Variation 8 to the end)
are in the tonic, and the middle one of which modulates
through a number of keys. There is also a tripartite
division of the Brahms movement which suggests the elements
of exposition, development and recapitulation (see Figure 1
and pp.172-173) above.10
As well, the ostinato theme in both works is first
presented melodically, and then moves to the bass, where it
remains for much, but not all of the remainder of the
movement. Brahms's ostinato later appears as the basis of
much of the melodic content of the movement, and the
Beethoven ostinato is also heard in other capacities, as in

11
the fugal fourth variation, beginning at m.117.
Other models (2)
While many of the features on which Burkholder based
his claim that the D minor Chaconne served as a model for
Brahms turn out to be generic ones, there are at least two
aspects, which happen also to be shared by the Beethoven 32
189
Variations in C minor, which seem to have influenced the way
Brahms articulated the overall shape of his movement.
Both Bach and Beethoven works share one aspect of the
structural ambiguity of the Brahms finale. While all three
have a tripartite structure consisting of a central major
mode section flanked by minor mode sections, they also all
can be thought of a two-part structures because of the
placement of the major mode section. Like Brahms, Beethoven
places the major mode section in the first half of the
movement, and the return to the minor mode marks the exact
structural midpoint of the movement: the last major mode
variation is number 16, out of a total of 32. A similar
procedure is found in the Bach Chaconne, only here it is the
major mode section which initiates the second half. The
large first minor mode section consists of 33 of a total of
64 four-measure statements of the theme.
The other device shared by all three works is the use
to which the dotted sarabande-like rhythm often associated
with the chaconne is put in these movements. In all three
works, this rhythm appears relatively infrequently, but is
used consistently to reinforce the articulation of the three
sections established by the changes of mode.
Unlike the Brahms finale, both Bach and Beethoven
movements are based on a theme which employs a sarabande
rhythm. In the D minor Chaconne, this rhythm is employed
infrequently during the rest of the movement, but in a
190
notably consistent way to articulate the tripartite
structure. It is found in the first six Statements of the
movement (mm.1-24) and does not recur until the last two
Statements of the initial major mode section (Statements 32
and 33, mm.125-132). It is next found in the following four
Statements (34-37, mm.133-148), marking the beginning if the
major mode section, and again at that sections conclusion
in Statements 45-50 (mm.177-200). It then appears briefly at
the beginning of the concluding minor mode section in
Statement 53 (mm.209-212) and at the movements conclusion
in the final two Statements (63 and 64, mm.249-257).
Beethoven employs the sarabande rhythm of his theme
even more sparingly than does Bach, but just as
consistently, and for exactly the same purpose: to reinforce
the articulation of the tripartite structure of two outer
minor mode sections flanking an inner major mode section. It
is found at the beginning of each of these three
sections in the Theme, Variations 12-14, and Variation 17^-
and in final two Variations, 31 and 32. Interestingly, the
sarabande rhythm is associated in Beethoven, as in Brahms,
primarily with the middle major mode section: three out of
its five variations use it, as compared to only four of the
remaining twenty-seven variations and theme.
Brahms adapts this device in an interesting manner in
the Fourth Symphony finale. It cannot be taken over
directly, t 5nce Brahms's theme does not employ the sarabande
191
rhythm. But Brahms does seem to reserve the use of boththe
dotted half-note rhythm of the theme and the sarabande
rhythm for the beginnings and endings of the sections
articulated by mode change. As noted above, Statements 11
and 28 of the Brahms are the only instances of melodies
which use the rhythm of the theme. Statement 11 is the
penultimate Statement of the first minor mode section, and
Statement 28 comes near the end of the second minor mode
section. (Statement 28 can also be thought of as the
penultimate Statement before the return of the cyclic reuse
of the falling third motif on which the first movement is
based in Statements 30 and 31.) As noted above, the
beginning of the coda which follows is also articulated by
the reappearance of the original form of the theme.
The placing of Statements using the sarabande rhythm is
also worthy of note. It appears first in Statement 5, where
the theme is first shifted into the bass, and continued in
Statements 6 and 7. It next reappears in Statements 15 and
16, which close both the major mode section and the first
half of the piece. (This is the most obvious use of this
rhythm in the movement.) It is heard for the last time in
Statement 19, near the beginning of the following section.
The pattern which emerges from this is the following: the
minor mode sections and coda begin with the theme itself as
the principal matter; in the two minor sections this is
followed shortly by the appearance of a Statement or
192
Statements employing the sarabande rhythm; the minor mode
sections also contain a Statement near their ending which
moves in the same rhythm as the theme; arid the major mode
section concludes with Statements using the sarabande
rhythm. Thus uses of the theme rhythm and sarabande rhythm
alternate throughout the movement. As well, the theme rhythm
is confined to the minor mode sections, while the sarabande
rhythm is associated most strongly with the major mode
section.
There is another interesting parallel which is found
only between the Beethoven Variations and the Brahms finale:
the use of similar material in two widely separated
variations, one in first half and the other in the second
half. The presence of this technique in the Brahms has
already been noted. There are a number of instances in
Beethoven: Variation 19 recalls Variations 2, 3 and 4; the
ascending gestures of Variation 22 recall similar descending
movement of Variation 7; 23 recalls 8; the figuration and
use of the flatted sixth in Variation 25 resembles Variation
9; and the even quarter notes and chordal texture of
Variation 30 recall Variation 12. The accompanimental
texture of parts of the longer Variation 32 is also derived
from Variations 7 and 8. As in the Brahms movement, such
reminiscences occur only between Variations in opposite
halves of the work. Of course, as in most of the pieces we
193
have examined, sequential pairing of Statements or
Variations is also present.
The resemblances between pieces discussed so far have
all been of a type which might be called either structural
or procedural. There are also some resemblances of thematic
or motivic substance which may represent borrowings on
Brahmss part. Several features of Variation 18 of the
Beethoven C minor Variations reappear in Statement 22 of the
Brahms finale. (See Example 4:3A&B.) In the Beethoven,
upwards rushing scales covering a span of two octaves are
punctuated by forte chords in the bass. Towards the end of
the variation, the scales dispense with the punctuating bass
tones and follow one another in rapid succession. Much the
same sequence of events occurs in Statement 22: two-octave
ascending scales alternate with sforzando notes in the
trombones, and towards the end of the Statement the scales
interrupt one another in quick succession. Having
established this point of contact between two particular
variations, it becomes tempting to assert the existence of
further connections between adjacent variations. For
example, both Variation 19 and Statement 24 contain
ascending triplet arpeggios. But such resemblances are
insufficiently idiosyncratic, and deal with such basic units
of musical rhetoric, that they must remain inadequate basis
on which to build a claim of either influence or borrowing.
(o ):
Example 4:3A. Brahms, Symphony #4, finale, mm.169-179.
195
Example 4:33, Beethoven, 32 Variations in C minor,

Variation 18,
196
There are also suggestive resemblances in the Couperin
Passacaille. Couperin's third couplet bears a certain
similarity to Brahms's Statement 3. (See Example 4:4.) Both
are marked by the pervasive use of the motif of stepwise
descent through the interval of a third, ending always on
the downbeat of the measure. In the Brahms, this motif is
also used in its inverted form.
There is a significant degree of similarity between the
seventh couplet and Statements 15 and 16 of the Brahms
finale. (See Example 4:5.) The Couperin is made up of a
chain of appoggiaturas of descending seconds over an
essentially chordal texture. The Brahms Statements show a
similar pattern in both melodic construction and
accompanimental texture. Again, as in Statement 3, the
melodic motif which seems to derive from the Couperin is
used not only in its descending but also in its ascending
form.
Many other thematic resemblances between the Brahms
movement and the "model" works could be pointed out. In all
cases it would be difficult to establish a relationship of
indebtedness, however. Fortuitous resemblance cannot be
ruled as a possibility. Furthermore, these thematic
appropiations if appropriations they are seem to be simply
functional borrowings, and not expressively significant
all.usions.
Example 4:4. Couperin, 3me couplet of the Passacaille,
Pieces de Clavecin, 2me livre. and Brahms. Svmnhony *4.
finale, ram. 15-27.
198
7<r C O U P L E T
ioo 7. 5____ 5 5 4 5 5 * - _ _
, . _ * 4 5 5 8
j . m n t k *
i
r
j
i
w
J - J u - a
-i-- atiZZZrZZZ 4 ,,h *
f f-

"f * m 7
r r P--- .c.
-J---- 4 ~ r . ---
T % '
( U
l.V io l.
J.Viol.
Example 4:5. Couperin, 7me couplet of the Passacaille,

Pieces de Clavecin,. 2me livre, and Brahms, Symphony #4,
finale, mm.113-119.
199
Bach, "Crucifixus" from Mass in B minor
One other possible "model" movement so far unmentioned
does have suggestive expressive associations, however: the
"Crucifixus" of Bach's Mass in B minor. Three aspects of the
Bach "Crucifixus" combine to suggest a possible relationship
with the finale of the Fourth Symphony: the form, the key,
and the text.
The movement has many of the expected features of a
chaconne: triple metre, minor mode, and four-bar ostinato
built on a descending tetrachord. Its thirteen statements of
the theme may be divided into three parts in accordance with
changes in text, text setting, and strong cadences. An
introductory instrumental statement is followed by six
statements which set the text "Crucifixus etiam pro nobis
sub Pontio Pilato". Text entries are always staggered, and
the profile of individual voices in the contrapuntal texture
is high. A strong cadence ends this section at m.29. The
middle section consists of Statements 8 and 9, which set the
words "passus et sepultus est". Here the texture is nearly
homophonic and the text is sounded almost simultaneously in
all voices. Strong cadences occur at the end of both of
these statements. The third section, Statements 10 to 12,
recapitulates the entire text in the staggered-entry style
of the first section. A very strong cadence is achieved at
mm.48-49 by altering the ostinato on the first beat of m.48.
The final Statement acts as both coda a transition to the
200
"Et resurrexit", modulating to the dominant of the key to
follow.
The structure of this movement is very close to that of
the D minor Chaconne. There is a structural articulation
very near to but just after the mid-point of the movement,
at the end of Statement 7, and the second and third sections
of the tripartite structure come after that midpoint. The
middle section is characterized not by change to major mode,
but by change in text and texture.
It is striking that the key of this movement is the
same as that of the Brahms finale, and also that its text is
not unrelated to that of the cantata movement from which
Brahms derived the theme for the movement. If, as I have
suggested, the significance of the role of the cantata
movement involves not just the chaconne theme, but the sense
of its text as well, it is interesting to find here another
chaconne, in the same key as the Brahms movement, whose
expressive subject matter deals with suffering and death.
The key and text of the "Crucifixus" also recall the
possible influence of "Behold and see" on the first movement
of the Fourth Symphony (see pp.150-151 above): a movement

12
also in E minor, and also associated with the crucifixion.
201
Quotation, Allusion, and Local Model
Statements 13 through 16, the last grouping of four
statements in the first half of the movement, stand apart in
a number of ways. This is the group of statements whose
metre is 3/2, and the last three of which are in the major
mode. Taken as a group, they are, like the major mode
sections of other movements examined above, structurally
ambiguous. (Though Statement 13 is not in the major mode, it
is included in these comments because of the prevailing
grouping by four in the first half of the movement, and the
many features it shares with the other statements in the
group, including the 3/2 metre.) They may be construed as
forming the mid-section of a tripartite structure, but their
conclusion also articulates the mid-point of the movement,
and their extended length is balanced in the latter half of
the movement by the 59-measure coda which concludes it.
The analytical remarks above (pp.165-173) enumerate
some of the features which set this group of statements
apart from the rest of the movement. Unlike other initial
pairs of statements in a group of four, Statements 13 and 14
present very different melodic material, except in the
unusual feature of proceding almost entirely in short
five-note phrases. They also contain the only extended solo
writing in the movement, all of it for winds. Other aspects
of this pair of statements which set them apart, not
mentioned above, are the extended E pedal, which is present
202
throughout, and their relationship to the theme of the
movement, which is the most attenuated found anywhere. The
theme can be discerned as the framework for the melodic
elaboration of the solo winds. The following two statements,
15 and 16, are more closely linked than any in the first
half, and also procede primarily in five-note phrases.
The overall effect of this group of four statements is
that of a progressive slackening of energy, an effect
produced first by the change of metre at the beginning of
Statement 13 Cm.97) and reinforced by the harmonic rhythm
being tied to the bar-line, and increased by the last pair
of statements, which appear like a single statement, because
of their very similar musical substance. As the mid-point of
the movement is reached, at the end of Statement 16, energy
ebbs further as the dynamic becomes progressively quieter,
the last measure slows, and the fermata on the last sonority
of the statement is reached.
The first notes of the next statement begin the second
half of the movement, and the original metre, mode, version
of the theme, and full orchestral writing return.
This group of four statements has often attracted
special notice, especially among Brahms's contemporaries. In
her comments to Brahms on the Fourth Symphony, Elisabet von
Herzogenberg wrote of the last movement (on October 30,
203
I am fascinated by the theme itself, and the

fascination grows as I follow it through its various
phases, first in the bass, then in the top part or
skilfully hidden somewhere in the middle, and most
impressive of all, surely, for susceptible
listeners in its trombone effort in the golden key of
E major. As my dear Heinz said at once, when I came
home that time: "If you are at all like me, you will
howl over it!11 and, indeed, whr wouldn't? It is the
kind of inspiration only a good man could have. How
splendid it must sound lucky trombone players!
(Brahms 1909, 263-264)
Hermann Kretzschmar, writing only a few years after the
premiere of the work, devotes a large portion of his
comments on the finale to these four statements, hearing in
Statement 13 the representation of an unstable state of mind
("eines haltlosen Seelenzustandes"), in Statement 14 a mood
of consolation, and in the following two statements solemn
"Requiem thoughts" (Kretzschmar 1910, 650).
Kalbeck's discussion of the last movement is devoted
almost entirely to these four statements (Kalbeck 1913-22,
III/2, 481-485). Hugues Imbert takes special note of
Statement 13 (Imbert 1906, 114). Tovey finds Statement 13
"perhaps the most pathetic flute passage since Gluck's
wonderful adagio in the Elysian scene of Orfeo" and
Statements 15 and 16 "bring the trombones forward with the
most pathetic and solemn passage in the whole symphony"
(Tovey 1935, I, 122).
All of these observations have in common that they are
not analytical ones, but reactions to the affective impact
204
of these passages. The Herzogenbergs speak of being moved to
tears, and for Kretzschmar, these measures are the
expressive, perhaps even the spiritual focus of the
movement. The greater breadth of these statements, the
intimacy created by the quiet dynamic and solo writing, the
air of stillness which they create all serve to set this
passage apart, and to suggest that a special meaning is to
be found in them. They are not only the structural centre of
the movement, they seem to be its "expressive core" as well.
Most of the features which contribute to this effect
have already been mentioned: the doubled length of the
Statements, the effect of ebbing energy, the almost unique
use in this movement of solo writing. This latter feature,
in particular, contributes to the sense of expressive
intimacy and centrality. There is also a concerto-like
principle at work here: the collective, sometimes
overpowering voice of the orchestra is momentary stilled so
that the solo voices of flute, oboe, clarinet may be heard.
The spell which these utterances create is extended into the
final two Statements of the first half, finally reaching a
point of absolute stillness with the fermata at the end of
Statement 16. The return of the theme which follows is
almost violent in its dispersal of the mood which precedes
it.
Some of the same techniques which set these four
statements apart are found also in the "parenthetical"
205
allusive passage in the second movement: the use of a pedal
point throughout Statements 13 and 14, the solo wind
writing, the overall sense of stillness. And as in the
second movement, this sense of setting apart is also the
marker for the presence of extra-compositional reference in
this case, a small cluster of allusions to the music of
Schumann, especially to the song-cycle Frauenliebe und
-1 eben.
The inital clues to the presence of extra-musical
reference are both five notes long, and both played by solo
flute. They occur in prominent positions, one each in
Statements 13 and 14. The first of them is the initial
five-note phrase of the long flute solo of Statement 13. The
other occurs even more prominently, at the climax of the
following statement (mm.109-110). (See Example 4:6.) What
makes this brief pair of musical gestures noteworthy is
their resemblance to two recurring referential motifs in the
music of Schumann, both used by him to refer to Clara.
The first of these five-note phrases is the
cryptographically derived "Clara" motif in its retrograde

13
form, a form which was sometimes used by Schumann. The
resemblance of the Brahms phrase to this Schumann motif is
exact, and its integrity is as a motif is established by its
being set off from its continuation by a rest: it consists
of exactly these five notes, and no others.
206
(J=J)
iin riu ii
ts p ra s ttv o
Fl.
J . f - ,
yr/^'rj.CT:feSf>!?*rr ri@
poeo e rne .
Ob.
Klar.
(A)
Fag.
(E)
Hr. < j dele* poeo erase
(C)l
M o l.
P dote* poeo crate.
2.V10I.
j dole* poeo erase.
Br.
p dole* poeo erase.
Vcl.
KrB.
' U.-J)
FI.
piatriprrrfr
1.___
Ob.
*t= _____ :
-- -----i

T^ .- --- =
U a I f-r^=--=
= - *- Mpmi.
* _____
Klar. =
(A )
.
J-- jg -1. 1 _ - jTr=
--------= <qmit o
Fag.
ij.
___ ^ ________ ________ _

k jT T T T i -
(E)|
Hr. *-=HdH----- ,=T * F=f~---= r r r
~r(iMr rtp.rg
(C )l
t -
l.Viol.
f Lii M
d im .
*
d ole .
i~r t p n r =
2.Viol.1 V*,-fTU - = -r J ^ - -jE E ^ J. frV i J j ^ s q .iiJ Jj

3 -3 3^
" ^ doles ^
I"
Br. IB r fc-r -
d im . - = - JJ J * J 1
tw o
Vcl. rH - ^ K r * r .1 rjJJ-fe
p p doles
KrB.
Example 4 : 6 . Brahms, Symphony *f 4 , finale, mm. 9 7 - 1 3 6

(beginning).
207
108
n.
Ob.
Klar.
<A)
U
Hr.
lV io l.
dim .
S.Vtol.
Urn.
Br.
Vcl.
m
KrB.
113
F I.
Ob.
Klar.
(A)
Hr.
Poa. rr.
rrr
l.V io l.l
2.Viol.|
Br.
(fir.
Vcl.
d o lc t
K.-B.
Example 4:6 (continued).
208
420
FJ.
I J:--- y j O .. j - t - s=i L f
Ob. op r t -------------- ^
PP
r t ** 18-%-
O' P=~
f i h = =
A) -~ 7 T
PP P=~ 1
Fas-|
/ utfJk .. -- ~ 4 4 4 - - 4 j r t - J-,1 ,nj
..... j-j B V n
P=~
KrFagJ / V I ___ ^ ___
-fl------ i-JTl 1 J- 4- - -F3-= --------- ----- J- H --------

1 ----------i_
t p *= *5 <r
Hr.
PPP
t T J=i-
= = = : ttrT
# = = =
VP
r f *r =
=1= d - = S = F *
(E) & ------------------ ------- ^ ------ gf--------------- -4 -3
p |J , = =
Po*.'
=
^=R a l=~*"=j 3J=! F v t-
t r r -------------
j-j rr r-l
jj
4j
/> >
r-N r s
F T -~ | t 1"
1 V - f i * rJ --------- f ~ J -
PP S r^
P >
Pk.
l.VioL
2.Viol.
KrB.
Example 4:6 (continued).
209
126 r it
SE
Ob.
PP
KUr.
PP
PP
Hr.
PP
Trpt.
Foa.
dim.
Pk.
1.Viol. |
dim. PP
Br.
dim. PP
Vcl.
dim -
PP
KrB.
rit.
Example M:6 (concluded).
210
The other phrase consists of the first five notes of
the phrase from Beethoven's An die ferne Geliebte which
Schumann used on a number of occasions, most notably in the
Op.17 Piano Fantasia in C, where it occurs at the end of the

14
first movement. Brahms's phrase is identical with the
first five notes of the phrase in the version in which it
appears in the C major Fantasia.
Brahms seems to have been aware of Schumann's use of
these motifs, and of their symbolic association for
Schumann, and that he also used these motifs to refer to
Clara on several occasions. Eric Sams (1971) and Michael
Musgrave (1983b) have written studies of the C minor Piano
Quartet and C minor Symphony, respectively, which
demonstrate the presence of the cryptographically derived
motif as an imporant thematic and structural element, and
which also suggest strongly that Brahms's expressive purpose
in using it was to symbolize Clara. Hermann Kretzschmar long
ago pointed out Brahms's use of the melody of "Nimm sie hin
denn diese Lieder" from the Beethoven cycle (Kretzschmar
1910, 158), and Sams and others have argued, plausibly
enough, that in his use of this phrase too, Brahms retained
Schumann's association with Clara (Sams 1971).
The principal allusion found in this group of
statements is also the central one. The melodic substance
and structure of Statement 14 is modelled on the first ten
211
measures of the C major midsection (mm.25-34) of "Susser
Freund'1, the sixth song of Schumann's Frauenliebe und
-1 eben. This passage is one of those in which Schumann
employed the Beethoven phrase from An die ferne Geliebte: it
occurs at mm.32- 37, first in the piano part, then shared by
voice and piano. (See Example 4:7.)
The Schumann passage consists of four short vocal
phrases the third and fourth linked of from four to eight
notes each, one phrase for each of the four lines of text
quoted above. This is followed by the reference to An die
ferne Geliebte in the piano. The Beethoven quotation is then
repeated and extended to provide the music for the remaining
measures of the C major section of the song. The vocal line
is accompanied throughout the first three phrases by
repeated chords in the right hand of the piano, and
fragments of countermelody in the left hand, moving on the
weak beats of the measure.
In his use of this section of "Susser Freund" as a
model for Statement 14, Brahms assigns the four vocal
phrases to solo clarinet and solo oboe in alternation, and
the Beethoven reference, which follows immediately, to the
solo flute. The parallel between solo voice in the Schumann
on the one hand and solo wind writing in the Brahms on the
other is significant, since it is only in Statements 13 and
14 that any extended solo writing is found in this movement.
More importantly, the shift in the Schumann song from voice
wllst duniiht sie te-hen, du g.lieb.ter,plieb. ter Mann! Lebhafler
IS
Bleib anmei _ nemOer.zoJ full . led e s. seoSchlig, dassith fest undfe . rter nur dichdru.cken
ua& frst and fr.*tr! flier ad meinern Bette hat dieWiegeRaum,
<S&. *
Example 4:7. Schumann. "SUsser Freund," mm.22-47.
213
to piano for the appearance of the Beethoven quotation is
paralleled by Brahms's change of instrumentation from
clarinet and oboe to flute the same instrument which plays
the 'Clara' theme in Statement 13. The two main elements of
Schumann's accompanimental texture are synthesized by Brahms
into weak-beat repeated chords which are used not only in 14
but throughout 13 as well. The essentially non-melodic
descending line of the final three bars of 14 simply follow
the pattern established in previous statements 9, 10, and
12, for example. One other intriguing feature is the
appoggiatura ending of the final oboe phrase in mm.112- 113.
(There is a similar but not identical concluding gesture in
the flute at the end of Statement 13-) It seems to echo the
last measures of "Susser Freund", where after a few bars
silence, the voice concludes the song with a similar
appoggiatura gesture to the words "dein Bildnis".
The melodic resemblance between Schumann and Brahms is
closest at the beginning of Statement 14, especially in the
first two phrases. Even the third phrase, however, retains
the general shape of its counterpart in the Schumann song.
There is no reason why Brahms should have quoted this
passage exactly though of course his failure to do so makes
the task of determining whether an allusion is actually
present more problematic but it is interesting that at
least some of his departures from what appears to be his
model for Statement 14 can be accounted for by compositional.
214
decisions which necessarily override any desire he may have
felt to adhere more closer to the melodic substance of the
Schumann passage. Brahms has placed himself under two such
compositional restraints which necessitate a degree of
departure from his model, especially in the third and fourth
phrases. First, the decision that melodic lines of all four
Statements 13 through 16 should proceed predominantly in
groups of five notes a device which helps to unify this
group of four statements. Schumann becomes more expansive in
the fourth phrase especially, where he choses to repeat the
word 'geliebter', producing a vocal line of eight notes.
Second, Brahms's melody is shaped around the rising line of
the theme on which all thirty-two statements of the movement
are based, whereas Schumann's vocal, line begins to curve
downwards after his first two phrases. This necessitates a
greater degree of deoarture from the Schumann model
beginning with third phrase, in the clarinet.
Allusions of this type found in Statement 14, whose
source passage itself contains an extra-compositional
reference to yet a third musical context, may be termed

15
"complex references". Because such an extra-compositional
reference is, as it were, an "allusion-within-an-allusion",
the task of both establishing the presence of such an
allusion and of determining its expressive significance must
be carried out not only with reference to the immediate
215
source of the allusion, but also keeping in mind the
relationship between the immediate source and the passage to
which i_t refers.
The fifth phrase of Statement 14 the "An die ferne
Geliebte11 phrase played by the flute illustrates this
principle. It does not resemble closely its counterpart in
the Schumann passage. It is, however, readily recognizable
as the Beethoven phrase, just as Schumann's own variety of
adaptations of this phrase are recognizable. (See the
discussion of this question on pp.62-65 above.) What it does
conform closely to is Schumanns first use of this phrase in
the coda of the first movement of the C major Fantasia. It
also resembles the Beethoven original more closely than the
version used by Schumann in "Siisser Freund".
By taking into account Schumann's own allusive source
in "Siisser Freund", and his other uses of the Beethoven
phrase, it can be seen that the criterion of exactitude of
resemblance is actually met much better than if only the
immediate source of the allusion the Schumann song had
been considered. It also makes something else clear: that
Brahms recognized the Beethoven allusion in the Schumann
song. This means that any interpretation of the expressive
significance of Brahms's allusion must take into account
both the Schumann passage itself, and Schumann's own use of
the Beethoven allusion in that passage.
216
"Siisser Freund" is the second of Schumann's generally
recognized uses of the Beethoven reference. The first is of
course found in the C major Fantasy, and is perhaps the most
notorious example of extra-compositional reference in all of
nineteenth-century music. Nevertheless, a brief resume of
its nature and significance will be undertaken, both to
provide a context for approaching "Siisser Freund", and to
illustrate an important methodological point: that an
extra-compositional, reference, to be fully understood, must
be approached first purely as musical gesture, analytically,
as if it were non-allusive; second, as an allusion, for its
purely musical extra-compositional aspects; and third, for
any extra-musical interpretations which suggest themeselves.
Viewed as musical gesture, the Beethoven reference is
well integrated into the movement as a whole. Schumann
prepares for its appearance at the end of the movement by
deriving many of the melodic ideas heard earlier from the
Beethoven quotation by means of thematic transformation. The
Beethoven reference, when it is finally heard in undisguised
form, therefore has the effect of a culmination of all that
has gone before. It is worth noting how well integrated the
quotation is with the rest of the movement, because it
contrasts with other possiBle treatments of allusive
passages: Brahms's "parenthetical" treatment of the
Beethoven allusion in the second movement of the Fourth
Symphony, for example. We may expect that the interpretation
217
of the Beethoven quotation in the Fantasy, therefore, will
have implications for the whole movement in a way that the
allusion in the second movement of the Brahms does not. (One
indicator of how unobtrusive Schumann's Beethoven reference
was is the late date of its first being mentioned in print:
by Hermann Abert in 1920 (Yonty Solomon 1972, 62). The An
die ferne Geliebte phrase in the C major Symphony, by
contrast, was first noted in 1880 (Newcomb 1984, 246,
n .26 ). )
Approaching the allusive nature of the passage in
purely musical terms, it seems significant that both source
passage and allusive passage are found near the conclusion
if their respective pieces. This similarity of position
suggests the relevance of the text of the Beethoven song,
"Nimm sie hin denn diese Lieder...," a dedication to a
distant beloved listener of the song cycle which is now
drawing to a close. A number of possible interpretations of
Schumann's use of this passage suggests themselves. Schumann
is commending his work to ail who have ears to hear the
allusion to Beethoven, a notion which implies a circle of
listeners a Davidsbund able to discern the secret message
of the quotation, Rosen views the quotation as a way of
commending the Fantasy to Beethoven, as a tribute (Rosen
1972, 451-452). The circumstances which attended the
original conception of the Fantasy support Rosen:s view:
Schumann's idea was that proceeds from the sale of the work
218
should go towards the erection of the Beethoven monument at
Bonn for which Liszt was trying to raise money.
But as Rosen himself admits, the overriding motive for
the presence of the Beethoven quotation is not musical or
historical, but autobiographical. There is an actual distant
beloved in Schumann's life at this time, and Schumann has
chosen this particular Beethoven reference because his own
circumstances resemble those of the lover in the song. He is
separated from Clara by the intervention of her father, and
seeking to bridge with music the distance between them.
Schumann himself tells us as much in a letter to Clara of
March 7, 1838: "I have finished a Fantasie in three
movements, which I had sketched out, all but the details, in
June 1836. I think the first movement is more impassioned-
than anything I have ever written a deep lament for you"
(quoted in Chissell 1972, 35).
The An die ferne Geliebte allusion in "Siisser Freund"
seems to function at one remove from the Beethoven
song-cycle itself. In a sense, it is not a reference to
Beethoven, but to the use of the Beethoven phrase in the C
major Fantasie. It has been taken over by Schumann as part
of his own referential musical language, like his other,
cryptographically derived "Clara" theme.
The "ferne Geliebte" phrase in "Siisser Freund" occurs,
not in a comparable position to its use in the Beethoven
219
song-cycle, as in did in the Fantasie, but in an interior
section of one of the inner songs of Schumann's cycle.
Furthermore, the text of the Beethoven phrase makes no sense
in the poetic context in which Schumann has placed it. The
stanza which precedes its occurence reads:
Weisst du nun die Thranen,

Die ich weinen kann,
Sollst du nicht sie sehen,
Du geliebter Mann?
(Do you know now why I am weeping?

Should you not see my tears, my beloved?)
Had Schumann been using the Beethoven phrase in
association with its text, as he did in the Fantasie, we
might have expected to find it, not in "Siisser Freund", but
in the coda of the cycle. But the woman who speaks through"
the poems of the Frauenliebe cycle has just addressed a
question to her husband at the point where the Beethoven
quotation occurs. "Now do you know why I am weeping, beloved
man?" Of all the poems of the cycle, it is only in this one
is the husband directly addressed, and only at this point is
he invited to respond. In the poem, the husband is provided
with no response. But Schumann wishes to provide a reply,
and he does so in the only way possible: through the piano,
using the musical phrase through which he has spoken before
to Clara. In doing so, he identifies both Clara with the
lady of the cycle, and by extension, himself as the

16
"geliebter Mann." Thus the quotation is not so much a
220
direct answer to the question as it is an interpolation at
the only point in the cycle which gives Schumann a chance to
"speak," just as he spoke to Clara once before by the same
means.
Before returning to Brahms's use of these measures from
"Siisser Freund" as the basis for Statement 14, there is
another allusive element to the group of Statements 13-16
which must be mentioned. Statements 15 and 16 may also be
heard as refering obliquely to Frauenliebe und -leben. It is
a relationship which is not strong enough to be established
apart from that in Statement 14, but the presence and nature
of this strong allusive relationship to "Siisser Freund" in
the preceding statement makes certain similarities between
the substance and structural function of the postlude of
Schumann's song-cycle and Statements 15 and 16 very
suggestive.
Statements 15 and 16 are dominated by a sarabande-like
rhythm. (See Example 4:6, above.) They have the character of
an elegy: sombre sustained chords, slow repetitive rhythm,
and the prominent use of trombones, whose association with

17
death and the supernatural is a long-standing one. The
first three movements of the Fourth Symphony lack trombones
altogether, and Brahms has reserved their use in the fourth
movement until now, except in the initial statement of the
theme, and in an occasional doubling capacity. (Reserving
221
the trombones until the finale is another parallel between
the Fifth of Beethoven and the Fourth of Brahms.) They
dominate the texture in Statement 15, and are joined by
winds and other brass in 16. Brahms uses them more
frequently in the second half of the movement, but again
usually in a doubling capacity. Their main function in the
Fourth Symphony is their role in these two statements.
The continuously reiterated sarabande rhythm of
Statements 15 and 16 is found in a few other statements, but
only here is it heard at this slow tempo. If we turn again
to Frauenliebe und -leben, we find the same conjunction of
chordal texture, slow tempo, and repeated sarabande-like
rhythm in the postlude of the cycle, in which the wife
grieves at the death of her husband. (See Example 4:8.) Much
of the expressive power of Schumann's postlude arises from
the fact that it was used in almost identical form as the
accompaniment of the first song, in which the then young
girl sings about being overwhelmed by the first sight of her
future husband. Now, that first hope and excitement are
recalled with tragic irony in the context of grief and
bereavement. The piano part without the vocal line which
originally accompanied it is an expressive symbol, of the
wife's bereavement. It also suggests that she is lost in her
memories of the past. (There is in fact a ninth and final
poem which Schumann chose not to set which explores this

.18
theme. )
Example 4:8. Schumann, Frauenliebe und -leben
postlude.
22 3
There would be an insufficient basis for hearing an
allusion to the Frauenliebe cycle in Statements 15 and 16 in
the absence of the allusion in Statement 14. But the use of
a model drawn from the same work in Statement 14, the
similar coda-like function played by both the Frauenliebe
postlude and the final statements of the first half of the
Brahms movement, and the similar expressive affect of both,

combine to suggest that 15 and 16 are intended as an
allusion to the postlude of Schumann's cycle.
The basic key to understanding the allusive function of
Statement 14 seems to be the same as that in the references
to Beethoven's Fifth Symphony and Bach Cantata #150: the
expressive context of the source passage is essentially
antithetical to the Brahms's purpose it is invoked in order
to focus Brahms's expressive intentions by means of
contrast. Once again, Brahms's allusive attitude is an
ironic one.
All of the extra-compositional references examined so
far have dealt with death or tragedy. It seems unlikely,
therefore, that Brahms intends the allusion to Schumann to
be taken at face value. The passage from "Siisser Freund" is
one of the emotional high points of that song cycle: the
tears of which the wife speaks are tears of joy shed in
anticipation of the birth of her first child. The Schumann
passage on which the Brahms is modelled is an open-ended
22H
one; the "ferne Geliebte" reference has the character of a
transition, leading to the more excited measures which
follow: "Bleib an meinem Herzen", which express the joyful
anticipation of new life.
The Brahms Statement is a closed unit, dominated by a
single mood. The "ferne Geliebte" quotation here does not
dispel the quiet mood which preceded it as it does in the
Schumann song, but is followed by the dissolving effect of
the final measures, and the reminder of the conclusion of *
"Siisser Freund" ("dein Bildnis") in the last few notes. This
leads in turn to the elegaic statements which follow. So
while the expressive sense of the two passages is not
dissimilar, Brahms provides a musical context which gives a
different sense to the words to which he alludes: the tears
which Brahms invokes do not lead forward expectantly to new
life, but to the inevitability of death, and backwards in
time through remembrance and elegy. In the context which
Brahms has created, the joyful tears of the Schumann song
become tears of sorrow.
At this point it becomes impossible to prevent the
autobiographical element from breaking in. There is no
reason to doubt that Brahms has the Clara of his own
experience in mind here, not just the Clara of Schumann's
song-cycle. Brahms seems to have considered Statements 13-16
as presenting a portrait of Clara, in much the same way that
225
the slow movement of the D minor Concerto is such a

ig
portrait. The initial five notes of Statement 13 present
her name in its musical cryptographical form, and the
unvarying use of five note phrases throughout these four
statements suggests that she is the "subject" throughout.
The appogiatura figure which accompanies the words "dein
Bildnis" are heard at the end of each of the four statements
except the last, where it is left inconclusive. Statement 14
again refers to her by means not only of the "ferne
geliebte" reference directly, but also indirectly within the
larger musical context in which Schumann uses it, to
identify her with the poetic porsona of the Frauenliebe
cycle. By extension, she becomes also the subject of
Statements 15 and 16, since it that same poetic persona
whose mourning is portrayed by Schumann in the postlude of
the cycle.
The fact that it should be Schumann's music which
provides the allusive means for the painting of this
portrait is not surprising, but nevertheless raises
questions of a psychological nature too large to be answered
here. To what extent did Brahms identify himself as the
person now speaking through the "ferne Geliebte" reference,
as Schumann had done in his lifetime? And to what'extent did
his use of that reference, with its accompanying musical
context from "Siisser Freund" represent an acknowledgement of
standing outside the relationship between Robert and Clara,
226
a relationship which Roberts death altered but did not
destroy a fact whose constant reminder was Clara's
remaining formally in mourning for the last forty years of
her life?
Hans Gal has commented about the finale of the Fourth
Symphony that the entire movement has the shattering force
and the merciless horror of a death dance (Gal 1961, 175).
Ludwig Finscher has written about the finale:
The Fourth ends with a passacaglia of gigantic

dimensions and elaborate, quasi-archaic structure.
Traditionally, the symbolic meaning of this sort of
ostinato (here an eight-bar set of chords) is that of
"law" or "fate", with overtones of inexorability, and
this must have been in the composers mind. The keynote
of the movement is fatalistic tragedy, formulated with
a forcefulness rarely equalled before or since. We can
understand why Brahmss contemporaries turned to Greek
tragedy and its theme of submission to fate to put an
interpretation on this movement (Finscher 1973,
173-174).
And Felix Weingartner, writing in 1926, had this to say
about the last movement of the Fourth Symphony:
The outer movements [of the Fourth Symphony]...are of

absolutely monumental grandeur, especially the final
movement. In this connection I mostly hear praise of
the tour de force of using the old form of the
passacaglia as a movement of a modern symphony.
Certainly that is astounding, but for me the truly
miraculous element is the extraordinary spiritual
content of this piece. I cannot get away from the
impression of implacable fate which imposes an
ineluctable downfall on a great man or a great people.
In spite of all struggle and efforts at defense,
destruction is foredoomed; it approaches with
inexorable steps. The conclusion of this movement
227
seared with deeply moving tragedy is a veritable orgy

of destruction, a frightful counterpart to the paroxysm
of joy at the end of the last symphony of Beethoven
(Weingartner 1969, 275-276).
These comments reinforce the view of the Fourth
Symphony as a last-movement symphony with a tragic
conclusion Weingartner even invokes the Beethoven Ninth as
antithetical and in particular for their perceptions of the
finale as depicting the relentless approach of tragedy and
death. Within this larger expressive context Brahms has
written four statements which speak with a more personal,
intimate voice. Perhaps it is not surprising, therefore,
that the allusive references found there are to be
understood in more personal, autobiographical terms. The way
the descending figure which ends Statement 16 is cut off
before the >'dein Bildnis" appogiatura which brings the
previous three statements to a close; the return to the
stark melodic gesture of the theme; to the inexorable flow
of the movement with mode and metre restored; and of the
powerful collective voice of the full orchestra; all of
these create a wrenching contrast whose effect is made more
brutal by the awareness of the personal significance for
Brahms of Statements 13-16.
In 1891, Clara Schumann dicovered with dismay that a
cadenza of hers which she was planning to publish was in
228
fact deeply indebted to one by Brahms. She wrote to him
asking what she should do. Brahms replied:
Please let me implore you to let the cadenzas go out

into the world in your own name without further
ado....I could show you many a recent work in which
there is more of me than a whole cadenza. Besides, if
you [acknowledge your indebtedness in print] I ought by
rights to put against my best melodies "Really by Clara
Schumann," for with only myself to inspire me nothing
profound or beautiful can possibly occur to me! I owe
you more melodies than all the passages and so forth
you could possibly take from me" (Brahms 1927, II,
200 ).
229
NOTES
CHAPTER FOUR
1 I shall use the terms "theme" and "statements" in

describing the movement, where the initial eight-bar
statement of the theme is Statement 1, the following
eight-bar statement is Statement 2, and so on.
2 This view is taken by Bairstow 1937, i'or example.
3 Some of the following observations regarding the way

statements in the first half form groups of four are
indebted to the analysis given in Osmond-Smith 1983,
especially pp.161-165.
4 I am indebted to George Bozarth for this analytical

insight.
5 The dating of this conversation by Raymond Knapp in

his forthcoming dissertation may help to clarify whether
Brahms was at this point already at work on such a symphonic
movement, or just beginning to consider the possibility of
composing such a movement. Supporting evidence for Ochss
account is offered by Brahms's correspondence with Philipp
Spitta from the period 1873-74 (Brahms 1920, 50-62). On
December 29, 1873, Spitta writes that he is having copies
made of works by Buxtehude as well, as "an unpublished Bach
cantata" which he will send to Brahms when they are
completed (Brahms 1920, 52). Spitta's remarks about the
cantata in a later letter of February 9, 1874 (Brahms 1920,
60) make it clear that the work in question is "Nach dir,
Herr, verlanget mich", later published as Cantata 150 in
Volume 30 of the Werke, in 1884. That Brahms studied and
became familiar with the work is made clear by an undated
letter, presumed to be from September 1874 (Brahms 1920,
62), in which Brahms points out errors in the copy of the
cantata which Spitta sent him. See also Hancock 1983a,
68-69, and endnote 157, p.181.
6 Ellen Rosand discusses primarily the music of the

1630s and 40s, but includes a note on Bach's Capriccio "on
the departure of a beloved brother" (Rosand 1979, 358-359).
Richard Hudson's study contains a chart of "Some of the
Principal Formulae of the Passacaglia-Ciaccona Ostinato"
which lists a number of stepwise descending forms as well as
230
an ascending form similar to the one Bach uses in Cantata

#150 (Hudson 1970, 312).
7 Cf. Horton 1968, 57: "...some of Bach's violin

figuration, incidentally, towards the end of the chorus may
have suggested to Brahms details of his own score."
8 Translation based on Whittaker 1959, I, 56.
9 "Das Finale wollte er mit dem Hinweis auf den

Schlusssatz der "Eroica" rechtfertigen, ohne den Gehalt und
Wert beider Satze in Vergleich zu ziehen, rein in formeller
Rucksicht. Beethoven habe in seinem Sonaten und Symphonien
sich nicht geniert, mit Variationen abzuschliessen. Das
Finale der "Eroica" sei zwar keine Chaconne, aber doch ein
zeimlich strenger Variationensatz, der das festliegende
Bassthema gehorig respektierte."
10 This does not, however, seem to be the tripartite

division Burkholder has in mind.
11 Burkholder's other two points of comparison are

problematical at best. His statement that there is rhythmic
intensification within each tripartite section of the two
movements, seems to me largely false (though it is true of
many of the Baroque chaconne and passacaglia movements). His
other statement, that in both movements there is "a faster
symphonic coda, which begins with a recall of the movement's
opening, then develops the thematic material in a new way,
divorced from the rigidity of the theme's recurring
eight-measure phrases" is partly true: both movements do
indeed contain codas in faster tempo which begin with a
reiteration of the opening gesture of the movement. But the
second part of his statement, that the theme is then
developed "in a new way, divorced from the rigidity of the
theme's recurring eight-measure phrases," seems inaccurate.
Certainly the Brahms movement procedes almost exclusively in
eight-measure phrases up to the coda. But although we may
not wish to divide the coda into eight-measure statements of
the kind the rest of the movement is made up of, it
nevertheless procedes mainly in eight-bar phrases. The
principle difference is that it is now able to go farther
afield harmonically. The Beethoven movement, on the other
hand, takes a more flexible approach to phrasing throughout,
so no significant departure of procedure can be claimed for
its coda.
12 The "Crucifixus" movement is a parody of a portion of

the second movement of Cantata 12, "Weinen, Klagen, Sorgen,
Zagen." The text of this section of the cantata movement is
231
very like that of the chaconne finale of Cantata 150. The

key is F minor.
13 Such as in the Davidsbundlertanze, #4 and #11. See

Fiske 1964, 576; Sams 1966, 395; Sams 1972, 398-399; and
Sams 1975, 21-26.
14 The other generally accepted uses of this phrase ir.

Schumann are discussed above, pp.62-65.
15 Complex references of various kinds may be found in

the works of Brahms. This is the only example of complex
reference in the Fourth Symphony, and consequently the only
one which will be examined in the present study, however it
is hoped that a number of such allusions will be examined in
a later study.
16 Eric Sams has shown how Schumann identifies himself

cryptographically with "der herrlichste von alien" in the
second song (Sams 1966 ).
17 Brahms was an enthusiastic admirer of at least two of

the works whose use of trombones for this purpose was
well-known, both by Mozart: Don Giovanni and the Requiem.
See Fellinger 1983, 41, 43, W .
18 An English translation of this ninth poem may be

found in The Ring of Words, ed. Philip L. Miller (New York:
W.W. Norton, 1973), 19.
19 Reynolds 1985, 5-7 both summarizes the discussion of

this view, and provides new evidence to confirm it.
232
CHAPTER FIVE
CONCLUSIONS
Public and private allusion and the revision of the
B major Trio, Op.8
The Beethoven and Schumann allusions in the second and
fourth movements of the Fourth Symphony have remained
unmentioned in print for over 100 years. For whom were they
intended? What audience did Brahms have in mind for his
allusive references, woven as they are into the fabric of
very public musical utterances? And is there a relationship
between how recognizable they are, how prominently they
appear, and the size and membership of the audience for
which they were intended?
In speaking of Schubert's Beethoven allusion in "Auf
dem Strom", Edward T. Cone distinguishes between its "public
meaning" and its "private meaning" (Hallmark 1982, 45). By
"public meaning" is meant that aspect of the allusion's
significance which can be apprehended on purely musical
grounds, without reference to biographical information.
"Private meaning" is thought of by Cone as that aspect of
the allusion's meaning which is purely personal, of
233
significance only to the composer, and is derived not from
musical relationships between the two works, but from other,
extra-musical and autobiographical associations.
But is it also possible that an allusion itself may be
considered public or private, that is intended to be heard
by the general audience (or at least some portion of the
audience) or on the other hand intended to remain
undiscovered? There is no reason for a composer to conceal
an allusion whose meaning is explicable entirely in musical
terms. But there may be some incentive to conceal one with a
"private", autobiographical significance (especially if that
composer is Brahms). If this is so, we would expect a
measure of correspondence between the degree of an
allusion's resemblance to its source and it3 prominence on
the one hand, which governs how clearly identifiable the
allusion is, and the composers intentions with respect to
potential audience for the allusion on the other.
Any allusion is more restricted in audience than the
work which contains it, because recognition and
interpretation requires both a wide and detailed knowledge
of a broad repertoire as well as the ability to perceive the
relevant relationships between works. It is perhaps for this
reason that Brahms was on occasion so abusive towards those
who, in pointing out such resemblances, betrayed an attitude
of having caught the composer out in an indiscretion rather
234
than of considering them as purposeful and expressively
significant.
The allusion to Beethoven's Fifth Symphony in the
second movement of the Brahms Fourth is clearly a public
reference. There is a strong, note-for-note resemblance to
the source passage, it is featured very prominently, as the
principal melodic line of the passage, and is set apart
markedly from the surrounding musical context. It requires
no biographical information about the composer to be
understood; it can be interpreted solely in terms of the
music itself. The fact that no-one has written about it
since the work was first performed in 1886 has no bearing on
whether we consider it a public allusion. It may have
been and probably was recognized and its significance
perceived by some, especially those in Brahms's circle. In
any case, the question of whether an allusion is public or
private should not be related primarily to how many people
actually perceive it, and when, but rather to the nature of
its expressive significance and, as far as can be
determined, the audience for whom Brahms intended it.
Brahms's use of fall in* ..h'rds in the first movement is
allusive, but atypical of allusive practice generally
because it refers not to a particular passage, but rather to
a referential motif which is found recurrently in Brahms's
own music. It is tempting to think of the meaning of this
allusive device as "half-private", or perhaps better,
235
"half-public". It is not difficult to imagine members of
Brahms's immediate circle, intimately acquainted with the
songs, being aware of Brahms's use of the third motif in
association with the idea of death, and perceiving the
relationship between these usages in the songs and the
opening of the symphony. But this perception would require a
thorough acquaintance not only with Brahms's music but also
of the relationship between text and music in the songs.
Still, the allusive significance of the falling third motif
in the symphony is essentially public, because it nu v be
inferred from a knowledge of Brahms's music alone.
A similar case is the reference to Bach Cantata #150.
But here the reason for thinking of the allusion as
"half-private" is that the establishment of the relationship
would probably not have been made without the composer
having supplied information about it, because the
resemblance is not especially strong, nor is the theme
itself very distinctive. Its expressive significance derives
entirely from the relationship between the two works,
however, and is not dependent on any personal significance
the Bach cantata might have had for Brahms.
The Schumann allusion of Statement 14, however, seems
to be essentially a private reference, even though its
significance derives in part from musical relationships
which are public. For one thing, the resemblance is not
obvious. It is based primarily on similarity of structural
236
outline of the two melodies, not on a note-for note
resemblance, as in the Beethoven allusion of the second
movement, and this makes it more obscure, requiring greater
musical sophistication to recognize. And while an
examination of the purely musical relationship between the
two passages is sufficient to establish an interpretation of
the allusions significance that it relates to bereavement
and mourning, for example the actual musical substance,
especially the "ferne Geliebte" reference, so clearly has
autobiographical relevance that Brahms would have had good
reason to wish to obscure the purely musical relationship.
Brahms's revision of the Op. 8 Trio in 1889, four years
after the completion of the Fourth Symphony, lends support
to the hypothesis that he wished his Schumann reference in
the symphony to remain undiscovered. The Trio was completed
early in 1854, during the first days of Brahmss infatuation
with Clara. It contains two well-known allusions to
Schubert's "Am Meer" and to the An die ferne Geliebte
phrase. Eric Sams has thoroughly and convincingly
established their expressive significance as references to
Clara; in the case of the Beethoven reference, Brahms had
become aware of Schumanns own use of that phrase and
appropriated it to his own use (Sams 1971).
The revision of the B major Trio in 1889 is a unique
event in Brahms's compositional career. It is the only
instance of Brahms returning to an already published
237
piece published 35 years earlier, at that and thoroughly
revising it. Various explanations have been offered,
including that the Trio was a favourite work of Brahmss,
and that the revision significantly improves the piece. But
if the work was a favourite, why alter it so radically? As
for the implication that the earlier version of the piece
was weak and needed improving, critical opinion is not
agreed on this point, and one can certainly think of less
successful early pieces than the B major Trio,
As Sams has pointed out, the revision had the effect of
removing entirely both of the allusive references in the
Trio. Is there a reason Brahms might have recently become
uncomfortable about the presence of these allusions in the
early version? The following series of events is suggestive.
In 1880, Schumann's use of the "ferne Geliebte" phrase
in the C major Symphony was pointed out in print for the
first time, by Wasielewski in the third edition of his
Schumann biography (Newcomb 1984, 246, n.26). Four years
later, in 1884, the very year that Brahms was completing the
finale of the Fourth Symphony, Kretzschmar published a study
which pointed out in print for the first time the existence
of the An die ferne Geliebte allusion in the Op.8 Trio
(Kretzschmar 1910, 158).2 Three years after that, in 1887,
Kretzschmar echoed Wasiliewskis observation in the first
volume of his Fvihrer durch den Concertsaal (Newcomb 1984,
246, n.26). Thus by the time Brahms came to revise the Opus
238
8 Trio, both his own and Schumann's use of the "ferne
Geliebte" phrase had become public knowledge, a coincidence
which might well have suggested to Brahms's contemporaries
what was in fact the case: that the two uses of this phrase
might be related, and connected to the most obvious link
between the two men: their attachment to Clara. If Brahms
wanted this aspect of his allusion to remain hidden from
public view, he would, by 1889, the year of the Trio
revision, have had cause for anxiety.
Simrock acquired the publication rights to Brahms's
early music from Breitkopf & Hartel in the spring of 1888.
Brahms reacted to this news in a letter to Simrock of April
1, 1888, speaking, as usual, in a disparaging tone about his
own work: "You expect me to congratulate you?..,I can't help
your over-estimating me immensely. Certainly I haven't

o
contributed to it through my behavior and language...
Simrock also invited Brahms to make any revisions to these
early works he felt inclined to undertake (Pascall 1983b,
71). Brahms accepted the invitation, lightly revising a
number of early works, but thoroughly recomposing the Trio
in such a way as to eradicate not only the Beethoven
allusion but the Schubert reference as well. He did not,
however, seek the total suppression of the earlier version.
On December 29, 1890, he wrote to his publisher Fritz
Simrock,
239
I think all that is needed for [the title page of the

new edition of] Opus 8 is the words "New Edition." In
your publicity you can add "completely revised and
changed" or anything you like. What should happen to
the old edition: there's really no point in talking
and deciding about it only I don't think you can very
well advertise it alongside the new edition. If it is
requested, send it, and if one day you find it
necessary or advisable to reprint it* then go
ahead...(Brahms 1917-19, IV, 38-39).
This sequence of events suggests that a large part of
Brahms's motivation in revising the Trio was precisely to
eliminate the allusive references. And if this hypothesis is
correct, it also lends support to the notion that the "ferne
Geliebte" reference of the Fourth Symphony finale was also
not intended to be recognized. As for the ambivalence about
the two versions of the Trio shown by Brahms in allowing
them to co-exist, perhaps this is a reflection of the
paradox inherent in the very nature of a "private allusion."
If an allusive reference is not meant to be recognized,
why make it? A full answer to this question would have to be
a lengthy and complex one, dealing in biographical and
psychological issues beyond the scope of the present study.
But the paradox of private allusion seems to lie at the
heart of understanding Brahms the man. As a composer, he
must have been subject to the impulse to create and to
communicate; but he was also strongly self-protective and
private about his personal life and feelings, frequently
passing off his most moving pieces by muttering some phrase

c;
such as "All rot, all rot, you know." It could be that a
240
private allusion like that in the Fourth Symphony was an
outlet for those things which were intensely felt by the
composer, but too personal to be spoken of openly, providing
a personal satisfaction, expressing a personal significance
in a way which allowed the composer to communicate the
intensity of the feeling in a very specific way without the
necessity of revealing the personal experience of which that
expression was a reflection. It is striking that this
allusive passage in the finale of the Fourth Symphony has
attracted so much attention to itself, appealing to so many
commentators as among the most beautiful in the entire work
(see pp.202-204 above). A message was somehow conveyed to
these listeners, in part because of the way Brahms set the
passage apart and drew attention to it, even while
concealing both the existence of the allusion and his
personal reason for making it. An allusion is not just a
reference, but also a musical gesture, integrated into the
non-allusive musical fabric which surrounds it. It may
attract attention purely because of its beauty as a gesture,
while at the same time enriching the work which contains it
in other ways, for those who are able to discern and
interpret its less obvious allusive properties.
241
A Brahmsian allusive syntax and the third movement of
the Fourth Symphony
The allusions found in the Fourth Symphony, while few,
suggest certain syntactical or formal functions that are
common to passages which embed allusions. The allusions tend
to occur in two structural or functional roles: either as
the initial melodic gesture of a movement; or set apart from
the flow of the movement in a manner we have been calling
"parenthet ical."
Most of the allusions mentioned in the secondary
literature are found in the first of these positions, as
opening gestures. Well-known instances of this type are
references to the Hammerklavier Sonata (in Op.1), the Chopin
B-flat minor Scherzo (Op.4), the finale of the Mendelssohn
Piano Trio in C minor (Op.5, scherzo) and the first movement
of the same work (Op.60, finale), Brahms's own song
"Regenlied" (Op.78).
One would expect these allusions to be essentially
"public in their significance. They occur with great
prominence, and have often been taken as an acknowledgement
by Brahms of his awareness of his historical position, and
of precedents within the genre in which he is writing. Such
references have also been interpreted as an indication to
the musically astute listener of other, less obvious
instances of indebtedness to the same work elsewhere in the
piece.^
242
But tne presence of parenthetical passages is not
unique to the Fourth Symphony, and it may be that they
present a second, relatively unexplored locus for the
discovery of extra-compositional reference in Brahms.
Passages of a similar type in other works have been noted by
both Tovey and Webster, writing about other concerns, and
many more such passages can easily be found in Brahms. As
James Webster has recently pointed out, Tovey has written on
a number of occasions about what he calls Brahms's
"ruminating" passages, in which, to use Webster's phrase,

7
"the tempo slackens and all outward brilliance disappears."
Speaking of the tranquillo section of the Second Symphony
finale, Tovey writes: "Like all things that Brahms marks
tranquillo, this passage has a peculiar atmosphere of
tenderness and mystery..."(Tovey 1935, I, 105).
Among the many other such "ruminating" passages in
Brahms's instrumental works are the Un poco sostenuto.
m m . 112-119, of the first movement of the Third Symphony and
the Piu Adagio of the slow movement of the B-flat Piano
Concerto. The first of these contains chains of descending
thirds, and the second is a quotation from Brahms's own

8
song, "Todessehen". Another such passage is the Poco meno
presto, mm.181-198 in the third movement of the Fourth
Symphony, to which we shall return shortly.
The various ruminative passages in Brahms form a group
overlapping but not identical with the group of
243
parenthetical ones. Statements 13 to 16 in the finale of the
Fourth certainly meet both Websters and Tovey's criteria
for such passages. With the allusive patch in the second
movement, it is a question not of slower tempo but of a
sense of stillness projected by the static harmony and
pianissimo dynamic. But there are other passages in Brahms
with the same disjunctive effect of the passages we have
been calling parenthetical which lack the sense of stillness
and mystery Tovey and Webster refer to. Such a passage is
found at mm.240-255 of the second movement scherzo of the
B-flat Concerto. (See Example 5:1.)
These measures consist of two parallel eight-bar
phrases for solo piano. The disjunction from the surrounding
musical environment which creates the effect of parenthesis
is apparent on several levels harmonic, melodic, and
textural. The effect is enhanced by the fact that these
sixteen measures of solo piano writing are flanked by short
passages for orchestra alone, but this is an effect which is
used in many other places in the movement, so cannot be
claimed as central to the effect of disjunction. The abrupt
return to the key of B-flat at the beginning of the passage
in question surprises since it immediately follows two short
orchestral phrases which both cadence on A. The soaring
lyricism of the melody has no counterpart elsewhere in the
movement. It is accompanied by even simpler arpeggio figures
in the left hand. The style of this brief interlude creates
24*f
929
K lu .

W.? Pi f TCf
Fg-
H r. 1.
(D) 2.
P
<w
251 ; ----- --------

j f t L.. = u = 1- - H r ?
K ltv . < '^rr' 5"'N . J__
rp r g i s
'fjETFff' " " *
2. Viol
Example 5:1. Brahms, Piano Concerto #2 in B-fiat major,

Op.83, second movement, mm.232-259.
the impression that Brahms has suddenly and briefly donned
one of Schumanns more Eusebian masks. The return to the
principal matter of the trio is almost as abrupt as the
departure from it.
Like the passages in the Fourth Symphony, this one too
is allusive, and it is indeed Schumann who is being invoked.
Specifically, the passage resembles the first eight measures
of the A-flat section of the first movement of The Schumann
Piano Concerto in A minor (mm.156-163). (See Example 5:2.)
The accompanimental arpeggios of the two passages begin in
identical fashion and the pitch and rhythmic outline of the
two melodies is also very close. Whereas in Brahms there are
two parallel eight-bar phrases, the second a third lower
than the first, in Schumann, the parallel phrases are half
as long, and the clarinet delivers the melody of the second
phrase, a semitone higher. The Schubertian echo effect in
the last measure of each phrase of the Schumann is extended
by analogy to two echo-like repetitions of the four-note
phrase in the inner voice of the Brahms at the conclusion of
its two parallel phrases. Even if the resemblance to this
particular passage were not as clear as it is, the style in
the Brahms passage of a single-note melodic texture and
arpeggio accompaniment can be found almost nowhere else in
all of Brahmss piano writing, but it is a not uncommon one
in Schumann.
246
uj SOW '
j q ir Aodante esproasiro (J.< )
armjft m 4CA.
Andante espreasivo
162
Example 5:2. Schumann, Piano Concerto in A minor, first

movement, mm.156-167.
247
Having said this, it is intriguing to note one other
passage in Schumann that comes to mind, not because of its
resemblance to the Brahms, but to the passage in the
Schumann Concerto. It is the ninth number of Carnaval,
entitled "Chopin." (See Example 5:3.) Here the melodic
resemblance is not notable, but rather the similar
accompanimental pattern, and the fact that both passages
share the key of A-flat. That it may have been the key
itself which called forth from Schumann this sort of soaring
lyricism and simple arpeggiated accompaniment is suggested
by other examples in the same key "Widmung", for example.
(See Example 5:4.)
But there is a particularly close affinity between the
passage in the Schumann Piano Concerto and "Chopin" from
Carnaval. Indeed, the A-flat section of the concerto seems
to be Schumann's own invocation of his earlier piano
portrait of an admired contemporary. The reason for Brahms's
having chosen this passage from Schumann as the object of an
allusive reference is suggested by an observation 'Of Charles
Rosen's: that Brahms took as his model for the movement the
Scherzo in E major by Chopin (Rosen 1981, 31).
Of course, the Brahms passage is not in A-flat, but
B-flat. But both the Brahms and Schumann passages involve
semitone shifts: the Schumann recasts its principal theme in
A-flat major from a home key of A minor, while Brahms
248
Chopin
A g itato
t - i- U
4* %x 4* ^
* $&. * %af * # *3
rita rd a n d o . a tempo g
* * <Ssi' *
Example 5:3* Schumann, Carnaval, Op.9, "Chopin."
Widmung.
N? 1. F.Rlckrrt.
Innig,leMiaft.
D a meine see . le.dumeinHerx. dnmeiue Wontf. - o da mem
Example 5:4. Schumann, "Widmung," Op.25/i, mm.1-4.
249
creates a temporary A minor environment with the two short
preceding orchestral phrases before his semitone shift
upwards to B-flat major.
Other resemblances to Chopin support Rosen's claim
regarding a structural model for the movement. The parallel
octave passages for solo piano in mm.215-223 and mm.257ff.
evoke Chopin Etude Op.25/10. (See Example 5:5.) The passage
immediately following the first of these sections recalls
another Etude, Op.10/7. (See Example 5:6.) Even the version
of the principal theme of the scherzo proper which is given
to the piano in the concluding section of the movement
following m.419, suggests the divided hand technique of the
Etude Opus 10/2, with its rapid alternation of the fourth
and fifth fingers of the right hand, while thumb and index
finger create triads at periodic intervals. (See Example
5:7. )
But it is not all Chopin, certainly. The horn motif
which begins and permeates the Trio is rather foreign to
Chopin's style, and the chords alternating between the hands
and the arpeggio style of passages like that at mm.132-138
suggest the finale of the Schumann piano concerto
(mm.883ff.). (See Example 5:8.)
Brahms's Schumann allusion, according to this reading,
is another instance of complex reference, like the one in
the finale of the Fourth Symphony. Both are examples of
Brahms alluding to a passage in Schumann which is itself
Allegro con fuoco <1-72 Opu* 25 Nr. 10 B I 78
250
Example 5:5. Chopin, Etude Op.25/10, ram.1-3; Brahms,

Piano Concerto #2 in B-flat, second movement, mm.207-22*1.
251
Vivace J-8i Opu* 10 Nr. 7 BI 68
m m
u m pret
Example 5:6. Chopin, Etude Op,10/7, mm.1-3; Brahms,

Piano Concerto #2 in B-flat, second movement, mm.218-231.
252
Opiu 10 Nr. 2 BI 59
Allegro J *144
sempre legale
419
FI.
Ob.
Fag.
K!av.
l.Viol.
2.Viol.
Br.
Vcl.
Example 5:7. Chopin, Etude Op.10/2, mm.1-3; Brahms,

Piano Concerto #2 in B-flat, second movement, mm.419-426.
253
KUv.
i.Viol.
Br.
Vd.
KrB.
Example 5:8. Schumann, Piano Concerto in A minor,

finale, mm.879-89**; Brahms, Piano Concerto #2 in B-flat,
second movement, mm.130-137.
allusive. In the case of Statement 14 of the symphony
finale, the Schumann allusion is carried over as a kind of
"quotation-within-a-quotation," and Schumann's own use of
the original Beethoven phrase is more important than the
Beethoven original itself. The Concerto allusion, on the
other hand, makes use of the passage from the Schumann
concerto because of its relationship to "Chopin" (though
again, within a Schumannian framework). The role it plays is
similar too but distinct from the other Chopin references
elsewhere in the movement. Why would Brahms make such an
oblique dual reference to Schumann and Chopin? We may
speculate that the dual focus of the reference reflects a
dual function. The Chopin resemblances, and the Chopin
aspect of the Schumann allusion, are simply "workings-out,"
as it were, of the larger structural indebtedness noted by
Rosen. The Schumann aspect of the complex reference,
however, is again as with the allusion in the finale of the
Fourth Symphony, related directly to Clara Schumann, who was
the dedicatee of the original Fantasy for Piano and
Orchestra, a one-movement work which was later incorporated

q
into the Piano Concerto as its first movement.
Not all parenthetical/ruminative passages in Brahms are
allusive. But certainly some others are. If allusions found
at the beginnings of movements are most likely to be public
in nature, then private references, or references with an
255
element of private significance are perhaps most likely to
be found in parenthetical or ruminative passages.
Private allusions, however, present special problems of
identification. Public allusions, allusions which are meant
to be heard and understood, even if only by a select
audience, must first be recognized to be comprehended. It is
therefore in the composer's interest to make them so. The
existence of private allusions, however, allusions which the
composer both wishes to make and also wishes to conceal,
must necessarily be difficult to establish. The criteria for
identifying allusive reference given in Chapter Two,
particularly the first three which deal with resemblance,
represent constraints which limit our ability to infer the
allusive intentions of the composer. But we must accept the
possibility that many instances of private allusion, whose
existence the composer does not wish us to be able to infer,
may never be able to be established on the basis of the
internal evidence of the score itself. It may be that these
criteria (or criteria like them) must be met in order for a
convincing case for the existence of an allusion to be made.
But this does not mean that only those allusions which we
can thereby identify were intended by the composer to stand
as extra-compositional references. The problem is one of
verifying the presence of allusion in the absence of
supporting documentary evidence. Where such evidence is
present, as in the case of the Cantata #150 allusion in the
256
Fourth Symphony, much lower standards of resemblance can be
tolerated in establishing the presence of an allusion. The
third movement of the Fourth Symphony presents a provocative
case which illustrates these difficulties.
The third movement of the Fourth Symphony was
apparently the last of the four to be completed.10 Its
expressive character seems somewhat at odds with those of

11
the other movements. However, like the first movement, the
third movement contains passages which seem to anticipate
the whole-bar rhythm and chordal texture of the finale
theme: see mm.85-88, 93-106, 317-325. Even the single
accented chord which follows the first four-bar phrase of
the first theme at m.5 and in corresponding places
throughout the movement serves to prepare for the finale
(Horton 1968, 60).
Michael Musgrave has pointed out the resemblance
between the opening of this movement and that of the Allegro
molto of Beethoven Sonata Op.110 (Musgrave 1985, 230).1^
(See Example 5:9.) This relationship gains plausibility
since it adds to the list of Brahms movements whose opening
thematic gesture alludes to the beginning of a work by
Beethoven. But there is another aspect of this initial idea
which is also suggestive: its reasonably strong resemblance
to the crypographically derived "Clara motif which is found
also at the beginning of Statement 13 in the last movement.
(See Example 5:10.)
Any claim to find this "Clara" cypher must be made with
great caution, because the motif's musical characteristics
are so likely to be produced fortuitously in any passage
which employs scalar motion. It is for this reason that it
was found to be significant, in the discussion of Statement
13. that the motif was found both prominently used, at the
Allegro motto
Urn
w w4^

t 4
u
______
Example 5:9. Beethoven, Piano Sonata in A-flat, Op.110,

second movement, mm.1-8.
Example 5:10. Brahms, Symphony #4, third movement,

mm.1-4.
258
beginning of the 3/2 section of the finale, that it was set
off as an independent phrase, and that it contained only the
five notes of the motif and no others. The first two of
these three criteria are met here, but not the other: there
is one too many notes in the descending stepwise beginning
to the theme. The claim to find the Clara motif at the
beginning of this movement is therefore a somewhat weak one,
although the presence of the same motif in the last movement
perhaps strengthens it somewhat.
However the main focus of our interest is not on the
beginning of the movement, but on the eighteen measure Poco
meno presto section, mm.181-198, a passage which is both
parenthetical and ruminative. (See Example 5:11.) (It must
be emphasized that by "parenthetical" I do not wish to imply
a structural or expressive role of lesser importance, only
that it is perceived as sigificantly set apart from the the
musical flow which surrounds it.)
The Poco meno presto of the third movement shares two
characteristics with the allusive sections found in the
other two movements. All three are set apart from the rest
of the movement in a temporal sense: in the finale, by a
metre change which seems to slow the four Statements down;
in the second movement, by the effect of suspended animation
produced primarily by the harmonic stasis and weakening of
the pulse, and here in the third movement by the actual
slowing of tempo. The other characteristic which these three
259
I |pHpllJ3S HB rt!
Poco meno preBto
Example 5 111. Brahms, Symphony #4, third movement,

mm.177-198.
260
sections share is the use of pedal point: an E pedal heard
throughout Statements 13 and 14; a B pedal in mm.106-110 of
the second movement (a feature which is of course related to
the harmonic stasis); and the successive presence of A-flat,
D-flat and G pedals throughout the Poco meno presto section
of the third movement. In addition, all three sections are
predominantly piano.
There is a third characteristic which the Poco meno
presto shares with the second movement. The allusive passage
in the second movement was described as tripartite in
structure: a transition into the allusion, the passage
containing the allusion itself, and a transition back out of
the allusion, in which the clarinet seems to reflect upon
the melodic substance of the allusion. While the presence of
an allusion in the Poco meno presto of the third movement
has not yet been established, a similar structure may be
discerned in it. There is a transition to the slower tempo,
provided by the sustained pianissimo chords and diminuendo
of mm.177-180. There follow four short balanced phrases of
equal length, the first two played by horns, the third by
solo horn in F, and the fourth by solo oboe. (Note here also
the unusual presence, as in the other two movements, of solo
wind instruments.) The rhetoric of the nine measures which
follow resembles the transition back to the normal flow in
the second movement in the way they reflect in improvisatory
fashion upon the eight measures which precede them.
261
The presence of these signposts for parenthetical
quotation invite a closer look at the eight measures of the
middle subsection of this passage. The four phrases
described above correspond to the thematic material first
heard in mm.10-18. And an almost exact restatement of these
measures is heard again immediately following the Poco meno
presto, starting at m.199* The Poco meno presto version of
these bars is little altered as regards their actual pitch
content in the first three phrases. The second of the
phrases presents, as it does in mm.12-14, as five-note
phrase identical with the "Clara" motif. It is in the fourth
phrase that a new melodic outline is heard. That melodic
outline bears a reasonably strong, though not a striking,
resemblance to the "ferne Geliebte" phrase which is invoked
in the last movement. It appearance here is unique in the
movement, though an altered version of it is found in the
reflective subsection which follows (mm. 190 198 ).
Although the resemblance of this phrase to the more
familiar versions of the "ferne Geliebte" phrase is not
exact, its presence here, in what appears to be a
parenthetical section, played by a solo wind, in a unique
occurence in the movement, and at the climax of the
four-phrase progression, much as in Statement 14-, and in
close conduction with the other "Clara" theme, also as in
the finale, strongly suggests a concealed allusive
reference. This in turn tends to reinforce the reading of
262
the opening motif of the movement as an intentional 'Clara'
reference. (It would also represent a preparation for the
more fully developed references of the finale in much the
same way that the half-note chordal passages mentioned above
prepare for the presentation of the finale theme in
Statement 1).
Like the presence of the falling third motif in the
first movement, the presence here of a motif which both
functions as a referential or symbolic element in a private
expressive language, while simultaneously referring to a
work by another composer, means that the reference to
Beethovens Op.110 must be interpreted in light of the
motif's private meaning (see pp.150-153, above). Also as
before, both elements seem to play a role. Obviously the
presence of the "Clara motif does not provide an adequate
explanation for the resemblance of the theme in other
particulars to the beginning of the Beethoven movement. But
it does provide adequate explanation for the alteration of
that movement's opening melodic gesture to resemble more
closely the Clara motif. It may also provide a partial
explanation for the Beethoven movements having been chosen
as a model for certain aspects of the Brahms movement in the
first place, because of the ease with which the Beethoven
theme could be altered to carry the "Clara" motif. Yet
another possibility in this regard is that the Beethoven
263
movement had a special association with Clara for Brahms
which provided a private reason for its selection as a local
model.
This example probably stretches the limits beyond which
the desire to identify the presence and significance of
private allusive symbols in Brahms's music cannot be
satisfied. However, if other instances of Brahms's use of
parenthetical, ruminative passages as loci for allusion can
be established, they may allow a greater latitude in the
interpretation of passages like the one in the third
movement.
The emerging figure of Brahms the allusive should be no
surprise to us. He is closely related to other aspects of
Brahms with which we are already familiar: Brahms the
cryptic, Brahms the game-player, Brahms the self-protective,
Brahms the evasive, Brahms the historically self-aware. For
a scholar whose primary focus is Beethoven, the allusion to
the Fifth Symphony in the second movement of Brahms's Fourth
may be taken as important evidence of Beethoven-reception by
a particular composer, writing in a particular time and
place, perhaps even of Brahms attempting to insinuate
himself into the roster of the great by suggesting the
264
comparisons with his own work that he would prefer his

13
audience to make. But it is also, and more importantly for
the listener interested primarily in the music of Brahms
himself, a device whereby Brahms enriches his own work
through means suggested by his unprecedented historical
awareness of the tradition in which his work stands. The
ironic use of allusion to imply a parodic relationship is,
according to Linda Hutcheon, an essentially
twentieth-century phenomenon (Hutcheon 1985, Introduction).
She sees the self-reflexivity it implies as foreign to
the art of earlier times. But as Burkholder has recently
suggested, Brahms's acute awareness of his own historical
position, of the existence of a canon of musical,
masterpieces to which he was attempting to add his own
compositions, is an early manifestation of the modernism
which Hutcheon is speaking of (Burkholder 1984). This is
another way in which we can speak of "Brahms the
progressive."
The Schumann reference of the finale, however, is
essentially an ahistorical one. It is not concerned with
contextualizing the symphony within a larger tradition, but
rather with creating a personal point of contact for the
composer with the larger expressive outline of the work. The
allusion can be interpreted purely in terms of the music and
text to which it refers ironically, but it is difficult to
imagine that Brahms would have been moved to make such a
265
reference in the absence of the personal associations
between the music and the two individuals with which its
composition is so closely associated.
But one other facet of Brahms remains to be mentioned,
the most difficult one for musicology to approach: Brahms
the expressive. The letter which Brahms sent to Clara
Schumann along with his arrangement of the Bach Violin
Chaconne is worth quoting again:
The Chaconne is in my opinion one of the most wonderful

and most incomprehensible pieces of music. Using the
technique adapted to a small instrument- the man writes
a whole world of the deepest thoughts and most powerful
feelings. If I could picture myself writing, or even
conceiving such a piece, I am certain that the extreme
excitement and emotional tension would have driven me
mad (Brahms 1927, 16).
The finale of the Fourth Symphony is the culmination of
Brahms's desire clearly implied in this letter to write a
movement which would rival Bach's. It is not the structual
or motivic ingenuities of the Bach Chaconne to which Brahms
refers here, though he was undoubtedly fully aware and
appreciative of them. It is the music conceived of as a
vehicle for the expression of "the deepest thoughts and most
powerful feelings" which affects him so forcefully.
Musicological concern with what I would like to call "the
explication of expressive content" is experiencing something
of a revival just now, at least within the English-speaking
world. There has been a spate of articles recently which
266
address, from a variety of approaches, the interpretation of
particular pieces by Schubert (Cone 1982), Schumann (Newcomb
1984), Beethoven (Jander 1985 ), and Brahms (Webster 1983 and
Reynolds 1985)- Even an eminent German musicologist like
Ludwig Finscher, writing out of a musicological tradition
with a longer and more comfortable relationship to
hermeneutic problems, could recently write deploring
the habit, even in current musicological practice, of

avoiding the interpretation of content by falling back
on mere description of form, with a concommitant
relegation of questions of content to the realm of the
ineffable. Although the widespread timidity before the
task of bringing into words the transmusical content of
large, structurally demanding works is all too
understandable after our experiences with common
program-booklet hermeneutics and with the historically
insufficiently grounded hermeneutics of Schering, this
timidity can scarcely be allowed to define the
considered behavior of a historian toward the object of
study, all the less so when the merest glance at the
scores shows that formal and idiomatic peculiarities of
the works cry out for an interpretation according to
transmusical content (quoted in Newcomb 1984, 247-248).
The study of allusion as a significative, expressive
device does not, of course, present a systematic method for
the explication of such expressive (or "transmusical")
content. But it can only take place against an implicit
background of such understanding. The Beethoven reference in
the second movement of Brahms's Fourth Symphony must remain
merely a gesture of hommage until the question of the
expressive meaning of both works is considered. The ironic
tone of an allusion can only be discerned against the
background of the expressive context within which it is
embeded. The interpretation of allusion does not require as
a prerequisite a fully developed theory of musical
expression, such as writers like Langer, Meyer, Sircello,
Coker, Cone, Kivy, and others have recently undertaken.^
Rather, it may provide an entree into the problems of
beginning to articulate something of the "expressive
content" of pieces written with the implicit assumption that
music is a communicative medium, a means of expression. The
allusive aspects of Brahms's music invite a consideration of
these larger problems of musical meaning.
268
NOTES
CHAPTER FIVE
1 The literature on the revision of Opus 8 includes

Tovey 1949, 222-230; Gal 1963, 161-163; Keys 1974, 41-50;
and Herttrich 1980. Heinz Becker writing in The New Grove
("Brahms,1' 164) opines that "the last movement actually
suffered from the revision". Gal and Tovey both see the work
improved by revision. Evans is responsible for the
suggestion that the revision indicates Brahms had a special
fondness for the Trio (Evans 1912, 15).
2 The 1910 date of this reference indicates the first

publication of Kretzschmar's study in book form. Kross 1983,
125 indicates the article first appeared in numbers 30, 31,
and 32 of Grenzboten for 1884. I have been unable to trace
copies of this original publication.
3 English translation in Geiringer 1982, 364-365.
4 "Ich meine, es brauchte bei op. 8 nichts weiter zuu

stehen als: Neue Ausgabe. In Ankiindigungen konnen Sie ja
beisetzen: vollstandig umgearbeitete und veranderte und was
Sie wollen. Was mit der alten Ausgabe geschehen soil: es ist
wirklich unniitz, dariiber zu reden und zu beschliessen nur
meine ich, man kann sie nicht wohl setzt mit der neuen
Ausgabe zugleich anzeigen. Wird sie verlangt, so sohicken
Sie sie, und scheint es Ihnen eines Tags notig oder
wunschenswert, so drucken Sie sie neu...."
5 A letter from Elisabet von Herzogenberg illustrates

this behaviour: "And now for my one grief with respect to
this movement: all that beauty, all that rich tenderness,
and then the rapid almost brutally rapid return to C
major! Believe me, it is as if you had played us some
glorious thing on the piano, and then, to ward off all
emotion and show your natural coarseness, snort into your
beard: "All rot, all rot, you know!" (Brahms 1909, 263)
6 As for example by Rosen: "These overt allusions warn

us of the presence of more recondite imitations..." (Rosen
1981, 28). Ollikkala 1980 concerns itself exclusively with
the wide range of resemblances between Brahms Op.1 and
269
Beethoven Op.106, taking as its cue the allusive

relationship heard in the first few measures of the Brahms
Sonata.
7 Webster 1983, 108, n.12, points to Tovey 1935, 105-6;

1939, 55-6; and 1949, 255, which discuss such passages in
the Op.60 Piano Quartet, the Tragic Overture and the finale
of the Second Symphony.
8 Observed by Friedlander 1928, 153, for example.
9 While I cannotexpect the reader simply to take my

word for it, I must also add that there are a significant
number of other allusive references in the B-flat Piano
Concerto whose full explication would considerably enhance
the speculative interpretation I have just given. I hope to
produce a study of the allusions in the Concerto in the near
future.
10 Kalbeck 1913-22, III/2, 445, gives Brahmss entry

into his pocket diary for 1885: "IV.Symphonie. Finale und
Scherzo."
10 The unease commentators have felt with the joviality

of the third movement is not always remarked upon, but is
almost always implied by the length and placement of the
discussion the scherzo is accorded. See for example Horton
1968, 58-61; and Musgrave 1985, 224-230.
11 Presumably his reference to the third rather than to

the second movement is an error.
12 Martin Zenck, in an important contribution to the

theory of musical Receptionstheorie, interprets Berg's
allusion to Mahler in the Epilogue of Wozzeck from the point
of view of Mahler-reception (Zenck 198(T| 274-275). In an
earlier scetion of his essay, Zenck discusses Wagners
performance of Beethovens Ninth Symphony as an attempt to
monopolistically appropriate the heroic image of Beethoven
for the purpose of influencing public perception of his own
work (Zenck 1980, 272-274). Clearly a historian of reception
could, in principle, make a similar case regarding a
composer's use of allusion.
13 Representative works by these authors are: Susanne K.

Langer, Philosophy in a New Key (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard
University Press, 1942); Leonard Meyer, Emotion and Meaning
in Music (Chicago:University of Chicago Press, 1956); Guy
Sircello, Mind and Art (Princeton: Princeton University
Press, 1972); Wilson Coker, Music and Meaning (New
York, 1972); Edward T. Cone, The Composer's Voice (Berkeley:
270
University of California Press, 1974); Peter Kivy, The

Corded Shell; Reflections on Musical Expression (Princeton:
Princeton University Press, 19 80 ).
271
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Brahm s the allusive: Extra-com positional reference in the

Hull, Kenneth Ross, Ph.D.

C o p y rig h t 1 9 8 9 b y H u ll, K e n n e th R oss. A ll rig h ts reserved .

EXTRA-COMPOSITIONAL REFERENCE IN THE INSTRUMENTAL MUSIC

KENNETH ROSS HULL

RECOMMENDED FOR ACCEPTANCE

PRINCIPAL READERS FOR THIS DISSERTATION WERE

Chapter 1 APPROACHING BRAHMS THE ALLUSIVE.................. 1

Chapter 2 QUOTATION AND ALLUSION: PROBLEMS OF DEFINITION,

Chapter 3 THE FOURTH SYMPHONY: FIRST AND SECOND

Chapter 4 THE FOURTH SYMPHONY: FOURTH MOVEMENT........... 163

Chapter 5 CONCLUSIONS................................ 232

This dissertation explores an aspect of Brahmss style

which has been noted frequently, but little discussed: the

many instances throughout the instrumental music of thematic

resemblances to the music of Brahmss predecessors. Many of

these resemblances are neither fortuitous resemblances nor

simple borrowings, but purposeful allusive references of

significance for our understanding of the pieces which

Chapter 1 surveys aspects of the relationship of

Brahmss music to the music of the past. It also sets out

some preliminary definitions of the terms "reference,

"borrowing" and "allusion." Brahms's own opinions about

thematic resemblances in his music are also analysed.

Chapter 2 addresses some of the methodological questions

raised by allusive reference: the study of allusion is

distinguished from questions of influence and of

intertextuality; the problem of considering allusion as a

reflection of authorial intention is discussed; and some of

the recent theory of allusion is surveyed. Six criteria for

inferring the presence of allusion are presented as

guidelines for evaluating the evidence in support of such

claims. These include three criteria for assessing the

relative strength of resemblance, and three extrinsic

manner and purpose of the putative allusion.

Chapters 3 and 4 deal with Brahmss Fourth Symphony.

They discuss earlier proposals of models and allusions in

the first, second and fourth movements of the symphony, and

assess these proposals in light of two other resemblances,

one little known and the other previously unrecognized.

These two resemblances, along with one other, are identified

as purposeful allusive references: one, to another

instrumental work (Beethovens Fifth Symphony), and the

other two to texted works (Bach Cantata #150 and Schumann's

song "Susser Freund"). Brahmss use of a personal motif

to represent the idea of death is also discussed.

Chapter 5 suggests the existence in Brahms's music of

different types of allusion, ranging in character from

"public" to "private". The revision of the Op.8 Trio is

discussed in relation to this typology. As well, some

tentative proposals are made for a Brahmsian "allusive

syntax," which are then tested against suggestive features

of the third movement of the Fourth Symphony and the B-flat

major Piano Concerto.

My advisor, Professor Carolyn Abbate, has contributed

immeasurably to this study. The breadth of her expertise and

the thoroughness of her comments have both enriched