The question of Bruckner’s place can hardly be said to be settled, although he has left nine symphonies.  He certainly shows a freedom, ease and mastery in the symphonic manner, a limpid flow of melody and a sure control in the interweaving of his themes, so that, in the final verdict, the stress may come mainly on the value of the subjects, in themselves.  He is fond of dual themes, where the point lies in neither of two motives, but in the interplay of both; we see it somewhat extended in Richard Strauss, who uses it, however, in a very different spirit.  The one evident and perhaps fatal lack is of intrinsic beauty of the melodic ideas, and further, an absence of the strain of pathos that sings from the heart of a true symphony.  While we are mainly impressed by the workmanship, there is no denying a special charm of constant tuneful flow.  At times this complexity is almost marvellous in the clear simplicity of the concerted whole,—­in one view, the main trait or trick of symphonic writing.  It is easy to pick out the leading themes as they appear in official order.  But it is not so clear which of them constitute the true text.  The multiplicity of tunes and motives is amazing.

Of the Wagner influence with which Bruckner is said to be charged, little is perceptible in his second symphony.  On the contrary, a strong academic tradition pervades.  The themes are peculiarly symphonic.  Moreover they show so strikingly the dual quality that one might say, as a man may see double, Bruckner sang double.  Processes of augmenting and inverting abound, together with the themal song in the bass.  Yet there is not the sense of overloaded learning.  There is everywhere a clear and melodious polyphony.

But with all masterly architecture, even enchanting changes of harmony and a prodigal play of melody, the vacuity of poetic ideas must preclude a permanent appeal.  Bruckner is here the schoolmaster:  his symphony is a splendid skeleton, an object lesson for the future poet.

In the FOURTH (ROMANTIC) SYMPHONY the main light plays throughout on the wind.  The text is a call of horns, that begins the work.  It is a symphony

[Music:  In tranquil motion (Horns, espressivo) (Strings)]

of wood-notes, where the forest-horn is sovereign,—­awakening a widening world of echoes, with a murmuring maze of lesser notes.  One has again the feeling that in the quiet interweaving of a tapestry of strains lies the individual quality of the composer,—­that the forte blasts, the stride of big unison figures are but the interlude.

In the Andante the charm is less of tune than of the delicate changing shades of the harmony and of the colors of tone.  We are ever surprised in the gentlest way by a turn of chord or by the mere entrance of a horn among the whispering strings.  The shock of a soft modulation may be as sudden as of the loud, sudden blare.  But we cannot somehow be consoled for the want of a heart-felt melody.