Karl Klauser

THE greatest of all instrumental composers began his career as a pianoforte virtuoso, and his earlier compositions are chiefly for that instrument. During the first years of Beethoven in Vienna, he was more conspicuous as a virtuoso than as a composer, and it is said that Haydn prophesied greater things of him as a performer than a creator of music. The older master could not foresee that Beethoven's influence was destined to live in his epoch-making concertos, trios and sonatas, rather than in his wonderful piano playing. His superiority at Bonn as at Vienna was not so much in display of technical proficiency as in the power and originality of improvisation. When he was only eleven years of age Carl Ludwig Junker heard the boy play, and wrote in most enthusiastic terms of the inexhaustible wealth of his ideas; he also compared him with older players of distinction and preferred Beethoven on account of his more expressive, passionate performance, that spoke directly to the heart. And so Czerny described his improvisation as "most brilliant and striking; in whatever company he might chance to be, he knew how to produce such an effect upon every hearer, that frequently not an eye remained dry, and listeners would break out into loud sobs; for in addition to the beauty and the originality of his ideas, and his spirited style of rendering them, there was something in his expression wonderfully impressive." Ries and many others bear similar testimony. There were other pianists of great parts who lived in Vienna or were heard there: Steibelt, WÖlffl, and especially Hummel. But whenever Beethoven met them in friendly or fierce rivalry, he conquered by richness of ideas, by variety of treatment and by intense musical individuality, although he extemporized in regular "form." Hummel excelled him undoubtedly in purity and elegance, and WÖlffl had extraordinary mechanism. They excited lively admiration, but Beethoven moved the hearts of his hearers. This power was greater than even his feats of transposing, his skill in reading scores, or such tricks as turning the 'cello part of a quintet upside down and then extemporizing from the curious theme formed thereby. We are told that he was very particular as to the mode of holding the hands and placing the fingers, in which he followed Emanuel Bach; his attitude at the pianoforte was quiet and dignified, but as his deafness increased he bent more and more toward the keys. He was, when he played, first of all a composer, and in his maturity, the "composer's touch," distinguished his playing. Czerny said that he produced wonderful effects by the use of the legato cantabile. He was, as a rule, persuaded easily to improvise—at least in his younger days—but he did not like to play his own compositions, and only yielded to an expressed wish when they were unpublished. It is also said that he interpreted his own compositions with freedom, although he observed rigorously the beat. And he made often a profound impression in a crescendo by retarding the movement and not accelerating it.

The compositions of Beethoven have been divided by many writers into three periods, and this division has been followed with absurd precision and has been as unjustly ridiculed. There were three periods, however, but they are not to be sharply defined; they correspond in general to the life-periods of youth, maturity, and old age. In his earlier works, he followed in some degree the path laid out by Haydn and Mozart; in his middle period, he appeared in the full strength and maturity of his wonderful originality; finally, in his last period, he revealed himself as a prophet and dreamer of unearthly things. But it is not strange that the style of a man of genius is modified by his age and his experience; that he thinks otherwise at forty than he thought at twenty; that his ideas are not rigid, immovable from youth to old age. In his earlier period, and in the first of his symphonies, he shows the influence of his predecessors, and yet in his sixteenth work, three trios, known as Op. 1, striking originality and independence are asserted on every page.

It was his independence of character as much as his great musical gift that impelled him on the path of progress. He was five years old when at Concord

... "the embattled farmers stood

And fired the shot heard round the world."

He was the child of his time, and he lived to witness the great movement for freedom and humanity in America and Europe. Although he had warm friends and admirers among the nobility he would not bow down to rank and wealth. The prince held no higher position in his estimation than the private citizen. "It is good to be with the aristocracy," he said; "but one must be able to impress them." "A trace of heroic freedom pervades all his creations," says Ferdinand Hiller. The expression "Im Freien," which in German means both the open air and liberty, might serve as an inscription of a temple devoted to his genius. It was this lofty spirit that impelled him to find new methods of musical expression in the older forms of the symphony, sonata, string quartet, etc., which have the same general outlines of formal construction. These classical forms consist of a cycle or group of three or four movements related to each other by contrast in tempo, rhythm, key, and Æsthetic character. These movements are combined so as to constitute an organic whole; complex and highly developed, like a great architectural building. Madame de Stael called architecture "frozen music." This fanciful idea, so often quoted, suggests a different conception, perhaps as near the truth, that music may be considered as a kind of rhythmical architecture. Such architectural music appeals to the Æsthetic sense of form and proportion through the ear by the stream of melody and harmony that flows in a rhythmical mass, whereas the "frozen music" appeals to us through the eye, which is able to take in the great outlines of proportion and form at once; so that the element of time is not considered. So far as form and construction are concerned, a Beethoven symphony might well be compared with a Gothic cathedral in its grand outlines of beauty and strength, complexity, relation of the parts to the whole, sense of proportion, and unity in variety. But in music, as in all true art, form is but the means to an end: which is to move the soul through the Æsthetic sense of beauty. This ideal structure of tones was not the invention of one musician; it was built up gradually, in the course of a century and a half, by various composers until it reached its culmination in the works of Beethoven. There are two distinct sources from which cyclical instrumental music is derived. First, the sonatas for violins and bass which sprang up in the 17th century under Corelli, Biber, Purcell and others. Subsequently the sonata was applied to the solo clavichord by Kuhnau, Sebastian and Emanuel Bach. Second, the Italian opera overture, which came into vogue as separate instrumental music early in the 18th century under the names of symphony and concerto. The Italian overture consisted of three short, related movements—allegro, adagio, allegro,—a slow movement between two fast ones. Sammartini, Emanuel Bach and a few others were the first to cultivate this three-movement form: but it was not until the advent of Haydn that its modern character was acquired. Under his genius first came classical models. The sonatas of Emanuel Bach were the starting point of Haydn's music. He worked out gradually the so-called art of free thematic treatment. Compared with the older style its chief features are greater freedom in developing the themes; the parts are not bound down to the rules of strict counterpoint; the melody is given chiefly to one voice, generally the upper. Free passages are introduced between the several melodic groups that make up the contrasted themes. A general air of lightness, grace, elegance and pleasantness is the result of this freedom of treatment. A whole movement is evolved out of little rhythmical motives or germs, which recur again and again, under ever changing conditions of melody, harmony, key, position or range, and instrumentation. By such kaleidoscopic changes the motives express constantly new meaning and beauty without abandoning the central idea of the piece. Then, too, each movement is polythematic instead of monothematic. Haydn in these and other respects prepared the way for Mozart and Beethoven, and neither of the three can be considered without the other. Mozart and Beethoven obtained the structural form and basis of instrumentation from Haydn; on the other hand, Haydn in his old age and Beethoven in his youth learned from Mozart a richer art of instrumental color and expressiveness, especially in the use of wind instruments. While Mozart did not enlarge the cyclical forms beyond the general outlines laid down by Haydn, he beautified and enriched them in all their details. In his last three symphonies and famous six quartets the beauty is more refined, the pathos more thrilling and profound, the dissonances and modulations more daring and fascinating. His music is conceived in a more serious vein.

BEETHOVEN'S MONUMENT IN VIENNA.

Executed by Zumbusch. From a photograph. (See page 332.)

Rubinstein, in his "Conversation on music," has expressed admirably the relations between Beethoven and his time: "Mankind thirsts for a storm; it feels that it may become dry and parched in the eternal sunshine of Haydn and Mozart; it wishes to express itself earnestly; it longs for action; it becomes dramatic; the French revolution breaks out; Beethoven appears.... The forms in his first period are the forms then reigning, but the line of thought is, even in the works of his youth, a wholly different one. The last movement in his first pianoforte sonata (F minor), more especially in the second theme, is already a new world of emotion, expression, pianoforte effect, and even pianoforte technique.... In the works of his first period altogether, we recognize only the formulas of the earlier composers; for, although the garb still remains the same for a time, we see even in these works, that natural hair will soon take the place of the powdered perruque and cue; that boots, instead of buckled shoes, will change the gait of the man; that the coat, instead of the broad frock with the steel buttons, will give him another bearing. The minuet is supplanted by the scherzo; the works are of a more virile and earnest character:—through him instrumental music is capable of expressing the tragic, and dramatic humor rises to irony.... Smiling, laughing, merry-making, bitterness, in short, a world of psychological expression is heard in them. It emanates not from a human being, but as from an invisible Titan, who now rejoices over humanity, now is offended; who laughs and again weeps, a supernatural being not to be measured!"

Beethoven's music, more than any other before his time, is characterized by vivid contrasts in the themes, passages, rhythmical effects, bold dissonances and modulations, dynamic expression, varied and massive instrumentation. This is true, not only of the several movements as a whole, but of the subdivisions. The movements are held in close relation by contrast of emotions, by elevated or depressed, passionate or calm moods. If the opening movement is conceived in a fiery or tragic spirit, the feelings after a time will be rendered all the more susceptible to the calm mood of the slow movement, which may lead through sadness and longing to the vivacity and jocoseness of the Scherzo; and this in turn may give place to the triumphant joy of the finale. Each movement is employed with its special Æsthetic problem and contributes its share to the total effect of the work.

First of all, Beethoven was destined to carry the art of free thematic music to a point never before reached, never surpassed since his death. The several movements of his works are built on the broadest foundations, the musical periods are expanded to their utmost limits. The so-called middle-part (mittelsatz) is more impressive and elaborate than with his predecessors. This is also the case with the coda, which is much extended, worked-up, and made the climax of the whole movement. The opening movements of the Heroic and the Fifth Symphonies are conspicuous examples. In the art of motive-building he followed Haydn and Mozart, with new results. The thematic play is of never-ending variety. The opening allegro of the Fifth Symphony is a wonderful instance of the development of a great dramatic movement from a single motive of four notes. We learn from his sketch-books the pains he took in the invention of his themes; how he turned them about, curtailed or amplified them. These themes when chosen finally suffered endless metamorphoses. Yet through the protean changes of rhythm, melody, and harmony the theme preserves its individuality.

In composition he was extremely slow and fond of experimenting. We know his methods by his sketch-books which are preserved. Nearly every measure was re-written and re-written. The ideas at first were often trivial, but they were changed and elaborated until they grew to melodies of haunting beauty. Crude commonplaces became passages of mysterious grandeur. Many of the thoughts recorded hastily, in his room or in the fields, were never used. The thought did not spring from his brain, as in the fable, fully clothed: its birth was more akin to the CÆsarian operation. Florestan's air, for instance, had eighteen distinct and different beginnings, and the great chorus in "Fidelio" had no less than ten. The blood would rush to his head as he worked; the muscles of his face would swell; and his eyes would almost start from their sockets; then, if he were in his room, he would strip himself of his clothing and pour water on his head.

Among the innovations made by Beethoven, may be mentioned the extension of key relationship, which before him was not recognized. He broke down the restrictions that governed transitions. Here he was revolutionary. The principles of his harmonic combinations have been thus formalized by Mr. Dannreuther: "(a) Any chord can succeed immediately any chord belonging to another tonality, no matter how remote, provided they have one note in common, even if it be only harmonically so. (b) It is possible to produce quick harmonic progressions into the most remote tonalities by means of chromatic and enharmonic changes in individual parts, which are made to move on step by step, thus building a sort of chromatic or enharmonic bridge." And Mr. Dannreuther cites as instances, the connection between variations 32 and 33 in Op. 120; and the return from B major, at the close of the "working out," to the first subject in B-flat major in the first movement of Op. 106. Before the time of Beethoven composers of sonatas and symphonies had generally confined themselves to a narrow range of keys. The theme of the first movement was given out in the tonic, and if it was major, it was answered by the second theme in the fifth above; that is to say, if the sonata were in C, the second subject would be in G. If the movement were in the minor, the second subject would be in the relative major: i.e. the second theme of a movement in C minor would be in E flat. So too the key of the second movement was usually restricted, although sometimes there was a little more liberty. The painstaking Grove has examined the eighty-one works of Beethoven in sonata form. The transition to the dominant occurs only three times; to the subdominant nineteen times; to the third below thirty times. "His favorite change was evidently to the submediant or third below—that is to say, to a key less closely related to the tonic and more remote than the dominant key." He makes it as early as Op. 1, No. 2.

BUST OF BEETHOVEN.

Made by Franz Klein, after the Life-mask taken by him in 1812. (See page 327.)

Wagner once compared the conventional connecting passages between the melodic groups of Haydn and Mozart to "the rattling of dishes at a royal feast." Beethoven could not tolerate the traditional commonplaces, which were often mere padding. In these intermediate periods he used phrases which hinted at or were actually closely related to the main themes, and he thus gave the movement the effect of an organic whole, the development of which was as logical as the results that follow from a law of nature. Or he would surprise the hearer by the introduction of a fresh episode of length and importance, although by it the formal rules of the theorist were defied. Even in his second period there are remarkable instances of absolute originality in form as well as in style and conception, as the opening adagio of the pianoforte sonata in C-sharp minor, or the Con moto of the pianoforte Concerto in G. Nor was his manner of the introduction of the themes themselves after the manner of his predecessors; "the glory of the phrase often appeared as it were through clouds that first shrouded it and were then dispelled."

He was the greatest master of the art of varying a theme, and his genius ennobled even pianoforte variations, which are too apt, as made by others, to show mere skill and learning, or excite by superficial brilliancy the vain display of the virtuoso who plays simply that he may dazzle. In this species of art is seen the wealth of his ideas as well as the consummate mastery in expression. In the second and the third period of his style there are shining examples of his power in this direction. One kind of variation is peculiarly his own, in which everything is changed, the rhythm, the melody and the harmony, and yet the theme is clearly recognized. Then there are great variations without the name, as the slow movements in the sonata "appassionata" and the Trio in B-flat; the slow movements of the C minor and Ninth Symphonies; the finale of the Heroic.

Ehlert has spoken of the inexorable logic of Beethoven's music, the impossibility of rearranging the order of thought, of adding or taking away. In other words, the concentration of his musical thought is never too bold, his speech is never too laconic; nor is he tautological or diffuse. The intensely emotional and dramatic characteristics of his music impelled him to invent a great variety of dynamic changes, or rhythmical syncopations. When we compare him in this respect with his predecessors, we are struck by the great number of marks of expression. The care with which he indicated the nuances is seen in all his works, but he paid more and more attention to the matter as he neared the end of his career. The Cavatina in the Quartet in B-flat, for instance, is sixty-six measures long, and there are fifty-eight marks of expression. He wished by all possible means to produce what he himself called, in reference to the Heroic Symphony, "the special and intended effect." Furthermore certain of the indications reflect his personality, as the famous directions in the Mass in D, and the "beklemmt" in the Cavatina before mentioned.

It has been said that the criterion wherewith to judge of all music whatsoever is this: "Technical exposition being considered equal, the quality and the power of the emotional matter set forth should turn the scale between any two pieces of music." Now Beethoven not only invented a new technical language; he invented the necessity of a race of players that should speak it. The pianist that interprets properly a composition of Beethoven must clothe his mechanism with intellectuality and virile, poetic spirit. It was held by Jacob Grimm that no definite thought can exist without words, and that in giving up the words instrumental music has become an abstraction, as all thought has been left behind. It seems, however, an error to limit thought or consciousness to words. There is a state of consciousness, without verbal thinking, in which we realize great moments of existence; and this state of consciousness has its clear and powerful language. Such a spiritual language is music, and its greatest poet is Beethoven. Even those works of Beethoven which have no title to indicate the practical plan of the author are expressions of particular emotions and conceptions that cannot be explained in words, yet convey a distinct impression to the consciousness of the hearer.

Not that he was the originator or the abettor of that which is now known as program music; for program music, whether the epithet be applied solely to that music which without words aims to portray or suggest to the hearer certain definite objects or events, or whether it be applied loosely to all characteristic or imitative music, is not a thing of modern invention. In a sacred ballet of the Greeks, which represented the fight of Apollo with the Python, the action was accompanied appropriately by flutes, lutes, and trumpets, and the grinding of the teeth of the wounded monster was imitated by the trumpet. In the part-songs of Jannequin and his contemporaries, battles, birds and hens were imitated in music. Buxtehude described in double counterpoint, "the peaceable and joyous ending of Simeon after the death of his son." The first movement of Dittersdorf's orchestral symphony "Actaeon" portrayed the chase; Diana took her bath in the second; in the minuet Actaeon played the part of "Peeping Tom"; and in the finale he is torn in pieces by the hounds for his indiscretion. To prove that there is nothing new under the sun, a wise man of his day, named Hermes, wrote analytical programs of the fifteen symphonies of Dittersdorf for the benefit of the hearer and for his own glory. But why multiply such instances familiar to the searchers after the curious in music?

Beethoven gave certain compositions a general name, as the pianoforte sonata Op. 81 a, known as "Das Lebewohl" (or "Les Adieux"); the overture to "Egmont"; the Pastoral Symphony. But these names were not supplied with a detailed program of words that the music might be identified properly and the right emotion recognized or subdivided. When he prefixed the following words to the Pastoral Symphony, "more expression of emotions than tone-painting," he at the same time made his confession of faith. Nevertheless the commentators, the successors of Hermes above mentioned, have seen in this same symphony a good citizen going with his family to spend Sunday in the country, or a pantheistic hymn of subtle nature; just as in the Seventh Symphony Wagner finds the apotheosis of the dance, another the joy of Germany delivered from the French yoke, while others see a festival in the days of chivalry, the reproduction of a brave meridional people, a village marriage, a procession in the catacombs, the love dream of a sensuous odalisque, a Bacchic feast, a battle of giants, or a vulgar orgy to serve as a temperance lecture. "But in the kingdom of hypothesis each one has a right to think freely, and even, alas, to speak his mind."

If a striking characteristic of the music of Beethoven is its individuality with accompanying infinite variety—as seen in the symphonies, the concertos, nearly all of the pianoforte sonatas, and the chamber music—a no less striking feature is its intense dramatic spirit. The reproach has been made against Beethoven that his genius was not dramatic, but surely reference was here made to the scenic conventionalities of opera. But if the dramatic in music lies in the development of passion, Beethoven was one of the greatest dramatic composers. To quote Henri Lavoix in his remarks on the Fifth Symphony: "Is this not the drama in its purity and its quintessence, where passion is no longer the particular attribute of a theatrical mask, but the expression of our own peculiar feeling?"

An important factor in the full expression of this dramatic intensity in his orchestral writing is the instrumentation. All the instruments are used with greater freedom and effect than ever before. In order to express his great musical ideas the instruments move in a wider compass with greater technical execution. In instrumental coloring, in variety of solo and chorus treatment, and in massive rhythmical effects, Beethoven advanced the art of orchestration to a point never before conceived, His effects, however, are not gained by the introduction of unusual instruments. With the exception of the Ninth Symphony and a few other instances, his orchestra is practically the one used by Mozart. In the Ninth Symphony, as in "the Battle of Vittoria," there is a liberal use of percussion instruments. Beethoven used the contra fagott and the basset horn on occasions; and he once indulged himself in the singular fancy of arranging his "Battle of Vittoria" for Maelzel's instrument, the Panharmonikon, a machine that brought in play all sorts of military instruments. But the instrumentation of his symphonies does not depend for its effects on unusual combinations; it is remarkable for the manner of the speech of well-known members of the orchestra. Take the strings for example. He knew full well the value of the pizzicato, and tremolo as well as the power of the unison. Outside of the famous chamber music, the symphonies are filled with passages for the 'cello and double bass that are unusual for his time. In his treatment of the double bass, which in the C-minor Symphony was a stumbling block to Habeneck and his trained men, he was influenced by the skill of Dragonetti. In his use of the wood-wind he showed rare instinct and imagination. The oboe, for instance, is with him not a gay rustic pipe of acid character; it is positive, it is melancholy, it is tender and it soothes. In the famous solos of the first movement of the Fifth Symphony and the dungeon scene of Fidelio, the oboe utters heart-piercing accents of sorrow. What is more characteristic than the odd cluckings of the bassoons in the scherzo of the Fifth Symphony; the soulful clarinet solo in the allegretto of the Seventh, or the weird effect of the low notes of the horn in the trio of the scherzo of the Seventh Symphony? Beethoven held the trombones in great reserve, but whenever he employed them the effect was impressive, as for instance in the finale of the Fifth Symphony and the storm of the Pastoral Symphony. Two famous passages in his symphonies, passages that have provoked angry disputes, are made remarkable by a singular use of the horn in which the laws of tonality are set at nought. Beethoven was the first that knew the value of the kettle-drums. He first raised the drum to the dignity of a solo instrument, as in the Fourth, Fifth and Ninth Symphonies. His instrumental effects went hand in hand with the development of the melodic idea. The different tone-masses are used in conversation; or a solo instrument announces the return of the theme; or the whole orchestra rages violently and then stops suddenly to listen to a far off voice.

It would be impossible in an article of this brevity to speak of his manifold effects of instrumentation, or of the characteristics of his compositions in detail. Among his instrumental works are the 9 symphonies, overture and music to "Egmont," overture and music to "Prometheus," "The Battle of Vittoria," 9 overtures, 5 concertos for pianoforte and orchestra, 1 triple concerto, the Choral Fantasia, the violin concerto, 16 quartets for strings, 8 trios for pianoforte and strings, 10 sonatas for pianoforte and violin, 2 octets for wind, 1 septet for strings and wind, 1 quintet for pianoforte and wind, 5 sonatas for pianoforte and 'cello, 38 sonatas for pianoforte, and 21 sets of variations for pianoforte. The chief vocal works are "Fidelio," the two masses, the oratorio, "Christus am Oelberge," "Meerstille und glÜckliche Fahrt," the aria "Ah perfido!" and 66 songs with pianoforte accompaniment.

We have already considered briefly the various ways in which Beethoven expanded the structural elements of the sonata, and now it may not be amiss to examine for a moment the Æsthetical characteristics of his pianoforte works in sonata form. In the early sonatas he began with the four movements which others had almost wholly reserved for the symphony. The scherzo in sonata and symphony was peculiarly his invention. To be sure the name is older, and was used in describing secular songs in the 16th century as well as for instrumental pieces in the 17th. But the peculiar quickly moving number with its piquant harmonies and rhythm and its mocking, grotesque or fantastically capricious spirit is the musical thought of Beethoven. At times the scherzo assumed gigantic proportions as in the Third, Fifth and Ninth Symphonies, and in the sonata Op. 106. Before his day the imagination of the composer had not had full play; it was more or less hampered by conventionalities, by the necessities of the men dependent on princes' favors. The expansion of a great idea in the sonata is found first in his works. Deep feeling, passionate longing took the place in the slow movement of simple melody with its unmeaning and elaborate ornamentation. He introduced the recitative with thrilling effect. Although the breadth of the thought in different movements is majestic even to awe, all phases of human feeling are expressed. Strength and delicacy, gloom and playfulness are found side by side. The sonata form with Beethoven was the means of the full development of all the expressive elements in music.

These considerations are likewise true of his piano and violin sonatas, trios and concertos, the most prominent of which are the so-called Kreutzer Sonata, for piano and violin, trio in B flat, violin concerto, and piano concertos in G and E flat. These famous works stand foremost in their respective branches, but to dwell on their individual characteristics would exceed the limits of this article.

In contrast with the later symphonies, the First and Second seem without the rare personality of the composer. Yet when the First Symphony appeared its opening was regarded as daring; and there is the seriousness of purpose that is found in all of his greater compositions. In the Second the introduction is built on broader foundations; there is a warmth in the slow movement that was unusual for the time, and the scherzo is new in character. But in the Heroic, Beethoven laid the cornerstone of modern symphonic music. It was written with a definite aim; the glorification of a great man. The instrumentation is noticeable in a historical sense on account of the treatment of the orchestra as a whole; the balance of the parts, the conversations, the antiphonal choirs. The Funeral March is the departure from the traditional slow movement that was generally devoted to prettiness or the display of genteel emotion. And in this symphony the scherzo is Shakesperian in spirit where melancholy or grimness is mingled with the jesting. It has been said that the last movement of the Haydn Symphony was designed to send the audience home in gay spirits; but with Beethoven the finale became the crown of the work. The finale of the Heroic is not as impressive as are the preceding movements; but it abounds in interesting detail, and was in its day a remarkable revelation. The Fourth is built on a lesser scale, and yet as Berlioz well said, the adagio defies analysis, "the movement that seems to have been sighed by the Archangel Michael when, a prey to melancholy, he contemplated from the threshold of heaven the worlds below him." In the Fifth Beethoven rid himself completely of the shackles of conventionality. It is the story in music of the composer's defiance of Fate, the battling of man with nature and unseen forces. Here trombones and contra fagott appeared for the first time in the history of the symphony. The Sixth is full of peace and serenity and joy in life that comes from the contemplation of Nature, and stands in strong contrast with the sublime struggle and exulting triumph of the Fifth. The Seventh is perhaps the most truly romantic and sensuously beautiful of all. Joy and sorrow, humor and wild passion alternate in its strongly contrasted movements. This great work, together with the three string quartets, Op. 59, are held by some musicians to be the highest manifestation of subjective feeling and ideal beauty that musical art has yet revealed. In conciseness of form the Eighth is almost a return to earlier conditions, but in concentrated power and joyousness it is one of the most remarkable and Beethovenish. He himself described it as a "little symphony in F." The substitution of the Ariel-like and humorous allegretto in place of the slow movement, and the use of the menuetto are eminently characteristic. The Choral Symphony stands alone in the history of music. It is said that the first three movements "have reference, more or less intelligible according to the organization and sympathies of the hearer, to the finale," which is a setting of Schiller's "Ode to Joy," or rather "Liberty," which was the original title of the poem. Here all "the dramatic and human elements which Beethoven introduced into his instrumental music to a degree before undreamed of" are brought together in complete expression. Moreover in the Ninth Symphony as in his great Mass in D there dwells the profound spirit of religious consciousness. The burden of the hymn heard above the symphonic struggle of the orchestra is joy, love and brotherhood for all mankind, or that charity which is the true essence of the Christian religion. Like Dante's Divine Comedy or Bach's Passion Music, the Ninth Symphony will live as one of the greatest monuments of genius.

The human voice was to Beethoven an orchestral instrument, and he too often treated it as such. This failing is seen particularly in the Mass in D, "Fidelio," and the Ninth Symphony. Yet he showed in the song-cycle, "To the Absent Loved-one," a knowledge of the art of Italian song and the principles of bel canto that accompanied German taste and sentiment, as also in his most famous song "Adelaide." In his great choral works and in his opera he showed himself everywhere as the instrumental writer par excellence. "Fidelio" is undoubtedly a masterpiece. The text has been praised highly, but probably more on account of its noble subject than dramatic treatment; for the interest stops with the great dungeon-scene. As a drama it has the defects of operas in general of his time. Spoken dialogue and separate solo and concerted numbers naturally prevent dramatic unity and consistency of effect.

Undoubtedly the orchestra is the chief figure of the opera, dominating constantly the scene. This, however, is as true of Wagner as of Beethoven. "There is not an instrumental note that has not its passionate, dramatic meaning; there is not an instrument that is not a party to the drama." With the exception of the prisoners' chorus, the most impressive passages of "Fidelio" are those in which the orchestra is openly master: the overture No. III., the melodramas, the introduction to the air of Florestan. The overture No. III. is the whole story of the agony and the womanly devotion of Leonore in concise and tragic form; just as the overtures to "Egmont" and "Coriolanus" are the summing up of the tragedies of Goethe and Collin, although "Coriolanus" is undoubtedly derived directly from Plutarch and Shakespeare. The force and the meaning of the accompaniment is always in proportion with the degree of passion on the stage. When Pizarro meditates his vengeance and the orchestra mimics the storm within his breast, it matters little that the voice of the singer is drowned. And so the air of the delirious Florestan is less thrilling than the preceding prelude; and the oboe tells of his agony although he himself cries it to the dungeon walls.

There is little or no doubt that when Beethoven wrote his Ninth Symphony, he thought of Schiller's original conception, the ode to Freedom, and not the altered and present version, the ode to Joy. To Beethoven, freedom was the only joy; to him the universal freedom of loving humanity was true religion: the brotherhood of man. That the singers rebelled against the frightful difficulties of their task was nothing to him; he heard the voices of a triumphant world, and he was not to be confined by individual limitations. So in his mass in D, he thought not of the service of the Roman Catholic church: he arrayed the human against the supernatural. It is not church music so much as the direct, subjective expression of a religious heart, which cannot be restrained by the barriers of mere form and ritual. Some have argued seriously that because Beethoven was not punctilious in the observance of the rites of the Church he was therefore unfitted to celebrate in music her solemn service. Now whatever his religious opinions were, whether he was deist or pantheist, there is no doubt that he appreciated fully the dignity of his task and consecrated all his energies to the performance of it. He meditated it most carefully, as we know by his sketch-books. In 1818 he wrote a memorandum: "To compose true religious music, it is necessary to consult the olden chorals in use in monasteries"; and he added below: "Make once more the sacrifice of all the petty necessities of life for the glory of thy art. God before all!" In the manuscript is written over the Kyrie, "From the heart! May it go back to the heart!" and over the Dona Nobis, "Dona nobis pacem. Representing the inner and exterior peace."

It is idle to compare this Mass with the religious works of Palestrina and Bach and to say that if Beethoven had been a devout Catholic or an orthodox Lutheran his Mass would have been more thoroughly imbued with religious feeling. In the first place it is necessary to define the word "religious." Palestrina wrote in his peculiar style not because he was a devout Catholic, but because his religious individuality found expression in the methods of his time. Bach wrote his great Mass in a time when counterpoint ruled in the music of the church and of the dance. Beethoven was a man, not only of his time, but of the remaining years of this century.

Now in this mass Beethoven wherever he is most imposing, he is intensely dramatic, and when he follows tradition, he is least himself. Notice for instance the change from the passionate entreaty that is almost a defiance in the Kyrie to the ineffable tenderness in the Christe eleison; the wonderful setting of the Incarnatus and the Crucifixus. On the other hand, where Beethoven felt that it was his duty to follow the approved formulas, as in certain passages of the Credo that relate to the communion of saints, the forgiveness of sins, etc., we realize fully the story of Schindler, who found the composer singing, shouting, stamping, and sweating at his work; for although he was a master of the fugato, the fugue was to him, apparently, not his natural mode of expression. But von BÜlow's commentary should not be forgotten: "The fugue is with Beethoven the last and highest means of intensifying the expression of emotions."

Again, the religious element in the music of Beethoven is not confined to works which have a sacred text. The yearning after heavenly rest, the discontent with the petty vanities of life, sublime hope and humble thanksgiving,—these are not found exclusively in his works for the church or in such a movement as the canzona in moda lidico in the A minor quartet Op. 132. The finale of the Ninth Symphony as well as movements in the sonatas, the chamber-music and the symphonies are religious music in the profoundest sense of the word.

And yet the great works of his last years have been decried and are not now accepted by many. He himself was discontented with many of his earlier compositions, and this self-depreciation does not seem the singular yet not uncommon affectation of genius. In a letter written to Ries in 1816 he declared that the death of his brother had impressed him profoundly and influenced not only his character but his works. For a time following he wrote but little; and then he pondered compositions of gigantic proportions. The pianoforte ceased to accommodate itself to his thoughts; the string quartet and the orchestra were constantly in his mind. "The most exalted, the most wondrous, the most inconceivable music," says Rubinstein, "was not written until after his total deafness. As the seer may be imagined blind, that is, blind to his surroundings, and seeing with the eyes of the soul, so the hearer may be imagined deaf to all his surroundings and hearing with the hearing of the soul." Deafness befriended him when it closed the doors of sense. It helped him to turn from outward things, and find peace and consolation in the ideal world of tones. The spiritual voices that he heard were the companions of his solitude. He thus vindicated the true spirituality of music. The deaf man justified its ancient, poetical significance. This inward life accounts for his early inclination for instrumental music. The highly developed forms gave wide range to his imagination, through the almost unlimited resources of the orchestra, in compass, technical execution, and tone-color.

While in his orchestral works Beethoven reveals all the tragic fire, and dramatic strength of his nature, it is in his string quartets that he is most spiritual and mystical. This is due, first, to the nature of the four combined instruments, so pure and ethereal in their tone effects.

His friend Schuppanzigh, the violinist, complained to him that certain passages in one of his quartets were impossible; and Beethoven replied: "Do you believe that I think of a wretched violin, when the spirit speaks to me and I write it down?" The last five quartets have been called transcendental, even incomprehensible, on account of their strangeness and obscurity. They are his last utterances, the mystical creations of a man who neared the end of his life-tragedy. "The events in Beethoven's life," says Nohl, "were calculated more and more to liberate him heart and soul from this world, and the whole composition of the quartets appears like a preparation for the moment when the mind, released from existence here, feels united with a higher being. But it is not a longing for death that here finds expression. It is the heartfelt, certain, and joyful feeling of something really eternal and holy, that speaks to us in the language of a new dispensation. And even the pictures of this world, here to be discerned, be they serious or gay, have this transfigured light, this outlook into eternity." Spirituality is impressed on the eternal features of the music: that is, the technical treatment of the four instruments. The melodies move freely in a wide compass, the voices cross each other frequently. Widely extended, open harmony is often employed, giving wonderful etherealness and spirituality to the effect of the strings by their thinness and delicacy of tone when thus separated by long intervals between the several parts of the chords. Nor is the polyphonic melodiousness of the voices abandoned, as in certain quartets of later masters in which the treatment is more orchestral than is in keeping with the character of the solo instruments.

And yet these great quartets are not even now accepted by certain men of marked musical temperament and discriminating taste. They are called "charcoal sketches"; they are erroneously regarded as draughts for elaboration in orchestral form. Others shrug their shoulders and speak compassionately of the deafness of Beethoven. But he was deaf when, in directing the Seventh Symphony, he was obliged to follow the movements of the first violin that he might keep his place; he was deaf when he thought out the melodic freshness and elegance of the Eighth Symphony; and even before the Heroic, the Fifth and the Pastoral he mourned his physical infirmity in the celebrated letter to his brothers. In judging of the masterpieces of the so-called third period it is not necessary to join the cry of the critics like FÉtis who complain of "the aberrations of a genius that goes out in darkness," or to swell the chorus of wild enthusiasts as Nohl and Lenz, who wrench the dictionary in the expression of their delight. In the light of these great works all criticism is blind and impotent.

In the cyclical forms of instrumental music, Beethoven is preËminent from all points of view, formally, technically, aesthetically, and spiritually. Moreover, there is a Shakesperian quality in his wonderful tone-poems. Like the great poet he touches every chord of the heart and appeals to the imagination more potently than other poets. Beethoven's creations, like Shakespeare's, are distinguished by great diversity of character; each is a type by itself. His great symphonies stand in as strong contrast with each other as do the plays of Shakespeare with each other. Beethoven is the least of a mannerist of all composers. "Each composition leaves a separate image and impression on the mind." His compositions are genuine poems, that tell their meaning to the true listener clearly and unmistakably in the language of tones, a language which, however, cannot be translated into mere words, as has often been attempted in the flowery and fanciful effusions of various writers, like Wagner, Lenz, Marx, and others, who waste labor and thought in trying to do the impossible.

In the Pantheon of art Beethoven holds a foremost place beside the great poets and artists of all time, with Æschylus and Dante, Michael Angelo and Shakespeare. Like these inspired men he has widened and ennobled the mind and the soul of humanity. "In his last works," says Edward Dannreuther, "he passes beyond the horizon of a mere singer and poet, and touches upon the domain of the seer and prophet, where in unison with all genuine mystics and ethical teachers he delivers a message of religious love and resignation, and release from the world." Or as Wagner wrote, "Our civilization might receive a new soul from the spirit of Beethoven's music, and a renovation of religion which might permeate it through and through."