AS Beethoven was such an intensely subjective composer, a knowledge of his personality and environment is indispensable for a complete appreciation of his works.[132]
Beethoven, Ludwig van (1770-1827), born at Bonn on the Rhine, though his active career is associated with Vienna, may be called the first thinker in music; for at last the art is brought into correlation with man's other powers and becomes a living reflex of the tendencies and activities of the period. Notwithstanding the prodigious vitality of Bach's work, we feel that his musical sense operated abstractly like a law of Nature and that he was an unconscious embodiment, as it were, of the deep religious sentiment of his time and of the sturdy independence of his race. At any period and in any place Bach would have been Bach. Beethoven's music, however, in its intense personality and as a vivid expression of the ideals of his fellow men, was different from any the world had heard before. There were three paramount advantages in his equipment: first, Beethoven was a strong character who only happened to find in music his most suitable means of self-expression. The full import of his works cannot be understood unless he is recognized, great creative artist that he was, as first and foremost a unique personality. Had he not written a note of music we should have sufficient historical evidence to assure ourselves of the vigor of his intellect and the elevation of his ideals. Whereas Haydn and Mozart are to be judged purely as musicians, in Beethoven it is always something underlying the musical symbols which claims our allegiance. Furthermore he had the inestimable advantage of finding the mechanical structure of instrumental music carefully formulated by his predecessors. The stone had been quarried, the rough cutting done and the blocks lay ready for a genius to use in the erection of his own poetically conceived edifice. And these forms were still fresh and vigorous; they had not yet hardened into formalism. In Beethoven's works we rarely find form employed for its own sake, as a mere "tour de force" of skilful workmanship, rather is it made to adapt itself to the individual needs of the composer. Finally Beethoven's career coincided with momentous changes and upheavals in the social, political and artistic world. He is the embodiment of that spirit of individualism, of human freedom and self-respect which found its expression in the French Revolution, in our American War of Independence and in the entire alteration of social standards. Beethoven at all costs resolved to be himself. With him music ceases to be a mere "concourse of sweet sounds"; it must always bring some message to the brooding human soul, and be something more than a skilful example of abstract ingenuity. These personal tendencies of Beethoven were fostered by the spirit of the times, and his music became in turn a vital expression of revolt against existing conditions and of passionate aspiration towards something better. He was the first musician to free himself from the enervating influence of having to write exclusively for aristocratic patronage. Such was the social emancipation of the period that he could address himself at first hand to a musical public eagerly receptive and constantly growing. His representative works could never have been composed in the time of Haydn and Mozart; for though in formal structure the logical development of preceding methods—Beethoven being no reckless iconoclast—in individual content they reveal a freedom of utterance which took its rise in tendencies hitherto unknown. Beethoven's mighty personality and far-reaching influence can not be stated in a few formulae. An extensive library covering his life and times is accessible to the interested layman, and a thorough appreciation of his masterpieces is a spiritual possession which everyone must gain individually. Since Beethoven's works compel a man to think for himself, the constructive power of the creator must be met with an analogous activity on the part of the receptive hearer. The symphonies, for example, are more than cunningly contrived works of musical art; they are human documents of undying power to quicken and exalt the soul which will submit itself to their influence. Beethoven's great instrumental compositions are few in number in comparison with the voluminous and uneven output of his predecessors. Thus from Haydn we have 125 symphonies, from Mozart about 40, from Beethoven 9. Of Haydn's symphonies possibly a half dozen have permanent vitality; of Mozart's four; of Beethoven's all, with the possible exception of the experimental first. Condensation of subject matter, conciseness of style, a ceaseless exaltation of quality above quantity are the prominent features in Beethoven's work. All adipose tissue is relentlessly excised, and the finished creation resembles a human being in perfect physical condition—the outward mechanical organism subservient to the spirit within.
Beethoven's life is of supreme interest and importance, for his music is the direct expression of himself, of his joys and sorrows. His ancestry raises many perplexing questions as to the influence of heredity and the sources of genius. In the first place Beethoven was not a pure-blooded German, but partly Flemish on his father's side. His paternal grandfather, Ludwig van[133] Beethoven, was a man of strong character and of a certain musical aptitude, who had migrated from the neighborhood of Antwerp to Bonn where he served as court musician to the Elector of Cologne. The paternal grandmother early developed a passion for drink and ended her days confined in a convent. The son of this couple, Johann (the father of the composer) was a tenor singer in the court chapel at Bonn and soon became a confirmed drunkard. He seems to be a mere intermediary between grandfather and grandson. In 1767 he married a young widow, Maria Keverich, a woman of warm affections and depth of sentiment, whose life was bound up in the care of her gifted son. The tender love between Beethoven and his mother was a bright spot in his early years, in many ways so sordid and unhappy. Unfortunately she was delicate, of consumptive tendencies, and died when Ludwig was but seventeen. "She has been to me a good and loving mother," he writes, "and my best friend." As we ponder on such facts and then consider for what Beethoven stands, we can only exclaim, "God works in a mysterious way, his wonders to perform." It was early seen that the young Beethoven had unusual ability, and so the shiftless father, with the example of Mozart's precocity before him, submitted the boy to a deal of enforced drudgery in the way of harpsichord and violin practice. He had one good teacher however, Neefe, who records that the boy of thirteen played the harpsichord with energetic skill and had mastered the Preludes and Fugues of the Well-Tempered Clavichord. Beethoven's general education was sadly neglected, and when he was thirteen practically ceased. These deficiencies were a source of mortification all his life. He spelled atrociously, was never sure of his addition and subtraction and so was often involved in altercations with landlords and washerwomen. By nature Beethoven was of strong, eager intellect. He became an omnivorous reader, and later in life acquired a working facility in Latin, French, Italian and English. The first period of his life ends with his departure in 1792 for Vienna, whither he was sent by the Elector to study with Haydn. In summing up its special incidents we are struck first by the vivid and lasting impression which Beethoven, in spite of his lowly origin and deficiencies in education and cultivation, made upon wealthy and refined people of distinction, simply through his extraordinary personality and unmistakable sincerity. Two of these friends were the von Breuning family, including the charming daughter Eleanore—one of Beethoven's early loves—and the cultivated and influential Count Waldstein, in whose companionship he became acquainted with the German poets and with the dramas of Shakespeare. For a vivid picture of these boyish years the student is recommended to the Romance, Jean Christophe (by Romain Rolland) which, though somewhat idealized, is mainly on a historical basis. Two of Beethoven's most unique characteristics date from this period. First, his constant habit of drawing inspiration directly from Nature, of which he was a passionate and persistent lover. He says of himself "No one can love the country as I love it. Here alone can I learn wisdom. Every tree exclaims to me 'Holy, Holy, Holy.'" In long walks through wood and field he would allow his thoughts to germinate, giving himself up utterly to creative emotion. When in this state of mind Madame von Breuning used to say that he was in his "raptus." Consequently, in comparison with the works of previous composers, which often have a note of primness and artificial restraint—they smell a bit of the lamp and the study—those of Beethoven have the elemental power of Nature herself, especially shown in the vigor and variety of the rhythm. Second, he would always carry sketch books in which to jot down ideas as they came to him. These he would polish and improve—sometimes for years—before they took final shape. Many of these sketch books[134] have been preserved and edited, and they illustrate, most vividly, Beethoven's method of composing: slow, cautious, but invincible in its final effect; an idea frequently being altered as many as twenty times. At the age of twenty-two he was chiefly known as a pianist with wonderful facility in improvisation; his compositions had been insignificant. The next eight years—up to 1800, when Beethoven was thirty—were spent in acquainting himself with the Viennese aristocracy and in building up a public clientÈle. Then follows the marvellous period until 1815 in which his power of inspiration was at its height, and which gave to the world a body of work for magnitude and variety never surpassed: all the symphonies except the Ninth, the first twenty-seven pianoforte Sonatas, five concertos for pianoforte and orchestra, the opera of Fidelio, several Overtures, numerous string quartets and ensemble chamber music. We realize even more vividly the heroic and sublime character of Beethoven when we learn that, as early as 1798, there began the signs of that deafness which altered his whole life. By nature he was hypersensitive, proud and high-strung, and these qualities were so aggravated by his malady that he became suspicious, at times morose, and his subsequent career was checkered with the violent altercations, and equally spasmodic renewals of friendship, which took place between him and his best friends. His courage was extraordinary. Thus we find him writing: "Though at times I shall be the most miserable of God's creatures, I will grapple with Fate, it shall never pull me down." On the artistic side this affliction had its compensations in that it isolated the composer from outer distractions, and allowed him to lay entire stress on the spiritual inner side of his art; certainly this is one of the strongest notes in his music—the pure fancy manifested therein. As a deaf musician he is comparable to the blind seer who penetrates more deeply into the mysteries of life than those whose physical eyesight is perfect. Beethoven's closing years form a period of manifold complications, caused by the care of his scapegrace nephew, by his settled deafness and precarious financial position. Yet he grimly continued to compose, his last works being of titanic dimensions such as the Choral symphony, the Mass in D and the last Quartets and Pianoforte Sonatas. Beethoven died on March 26, 1827; nature most appropriately giving a dramatic setting to the event by a terrific storm of hail and snow, lightning and thunder. It would take too long to dwell on the many characteristics of the man Beethoven. Power, individuality and sincerity were stamped upon him, and his music is just what we should expect from his nature. He embodied all the longings, the joys and sorrows of humanity, and gave them such burning utterance that the world has listened ever since.
To touch now upon a few of the formal aspects of Beethoven's work, as far as verbal analysis can help, it may be asserted that he is the acknowledged master of the Sonata Form as Bach was of the Fugue, and in his hands this form, and also the Air with Variations, were raised to a potency the influence of which is felt even to-day. From beginning to end every portion of the Sonata Form was made over and vitalized. Instead of the perfunctory "flourish of trumpets" which served previous composers for an introduction, this portion with Beethoven deftly leads on the hearer to a contemplation of the main work, and is as carefully planned as the porch of a great Cathedral. For examples, witness the continually growing excitement generated in the introductions to the Second and Seventh Symphonies, the breathless suspense of the introduction to the Fourth, and the primeval, mysterious beginning of the Ninth. And then what a difference in the character and emotional suggestiveness of the themes, that with Beethoven are actual human voices, dramatic characters, which once met can never be forgotten. As Lavoix says of the Fifth Symphony, "Is not this a drama in its purity, where passion is no longer the attribute of a theatrical work, but the expression of our own individual feelings?" No longer are the transitions mere mechanical connections, but a portion of the structure which, though subsidiary, is yet organically developed from that which precedes and inevitably related to that which follows. In the development section we find the real Beethoven. Here his marvellous freshness of invention found full play. Such inexhaustible fancy, such coherence of structure, such subtlety of transformation were unknown in former times, when development was often as lifeless as the perfunctory motions of an automaton. Beethoven's developments are no mere juggling with tones; they are vast tonal edifices, examples of what the imagination of man controlled by intellect can achieve. Possibly Beethoven's greatest skill as a musical architect was shown in his treatment of the Coda, which became the crowning climax of a movement, a last driving home with all possible eloquence of the message heretofore presented. The end of previous compositions had too often been a mere ceasing to go, a running down, but in Beethoven there is usually a strong objective point towards which everything converges.
Fully conscious as he was of the throbbing human message it was his mission to reveal, we may be sure that Beethoven spared no effort to enhance the expressive capabilities of music as a language. Certain aspects of his style in this respect are strikingly noticeable in every one of his representative works. First, the marvellous rhythmic vitality. Note the absence of the former sing-song rhythm of Haydn; in its stead we hear the heart-beat, now fast, now slow, of a living human being. No longer can the hearer in dreamy apathy beat time with his foot. Second, his use of the fiercest dissonances to express the heights and depths of our stormy human existence. In listening to contemporary works nothing should persuade us more strongly to a sympathetic tolerance, or at any rate to a suspension of judgment, than the fact that many of Beethoven's most individual cries (surely in his case the outward expression of what he heard within, those very outbursts which to-day ring longest in our consciousness) were considered at the time of their creation as the ravings of a mad-man. Dissonances, both acoustically and psychologically, are a vital principle in music. In no respect was his music more original than in his Promethean boldness in their use. One of his favorite conceptions was that music should strike fire from the soul of man; it was not meant to lull the hearer into a drowsy revery, but to awaken his spiritual consciousness with a shock at times positively galvanic. A third feature is his subtlety in expression, as is shown by the minute indications in which every page of his work abounds. The crescendos, often leading to a sudden drop to pianissimo, the long stretches of hushed suspense, the violent sforzandos on unimportant beats, the plasticity of periodic formation, all these workings of a rich imagination first gave music its place as the supreme art of human expression.
A word must be spoken concerning two forms which we owe to Beethoven's constructive genius. In place of the former naÏve Minuet, so characteristic of the formal manners of its time, he substituted a movement with a characteristic name—the Scherzo, which opened up entirely new possibilities. No mere literary distinction between wit and humor[135] can explain the power of Beethoven's Scherzos; only through his own experience of life can the hearer fathom their secrets. The expression of real humor, akin to that spirit which is found in Cervantes, Swift, Mark Twain and Abraham Lincoln, was a genuine contribution of Beethoven. Deep thinkers alone are capable of humor which, to quote a recent writer, is "that faculty of imagination so humane and sympathetic in its nature that it can perceive at the same time serious and jocose things. It can feel the pathos of a scene on life's stage and yet have an eye for the incongruities of the actors. It is imagination, the feel of kinship with the universal human soul." Beethoven's Scherzos are as varied as life itself. Who can forget the boisterous vitality of this movement in the Eroica, which quite sweeps us off our feet, the haunting mystery of the Scherzo of the Fifth Symphony, or listen unmoved to the grim seriousness, alternating with touching pathos, in the Scherzo of the Ninth? Secondly, his conception of the Air and Variations was so different from anything previously known that he may fairly be called its creator. With him variations became poetic transformations, and the notable works in this form of Brahms, Tchaikowsky, Franck and d'Indy are only freer manifestations of Beethoven's method. Upon two last features, his use of titles and his individualizing of the orchestral instruments, we cannot dwell in detail. Although program music in its literal sense dates back several centuries, Beethoven—far more than was customary before—used external suggestions or incidents, often intimate subjective experiences, as the quickening impulse to his imagination. We know from his own words that, while composing, he generally had some mental picture before him. Very often we are not given the clue to his thoughts, but the titles, familiar to every one, which he did use, such as the Heroic and Pastoral Symphonies, the Coriolanus and Egmont Overtures, those to several of the Sonatas, are full of import and show clearly that he was engaged in no mere abstract music making for its own sake. These works are the point of departure for the significant development of modern music along this path. With Beethoven the orchestra began to assume its present importance, and the instruments are no longer treated as mere producers of sound and rhythm, but often as living beings. How eloquent is the message of the Horns in the Trio to the Scherzo of the Heroic! Berlioz compares the double basses in the Fifth Symphony to the gambols of sportive elephants, and instances might be multiplied. But words are futile in describing the wonders of Beethoven. A striking tribute is that of Professor John K. Paine. "In instrumental music Beethoven is pre-eminent, from all points of view, formally, aesthetically and spiritually. Like Shakespeare's, his creations are distinguished by great diversity of character; each is a type by itself. Beethoven is the least of a mannerist of all composers. His compositions are genuine poems, which tell their meaning to the true listener clearly and unmistakably in the language of tones, a language however which cannot be translated into mere words."
We are now in a position to approach intelligently, enthusiastically and reverently the mighty works of Beethoven which, though built upon the foundations of Haydn and Mozart, yet take us into an entirely new world of power and fancy. For illustrations we select the first movement of the Third or Heroic Symphony; the Seventh Sonata in D major for Pianoforte; the Fifth Symphony in C minor (entire) and the Coriolanus Overture. In regard to the symphonies it is understood that the emphasis on certain ones and the omission of others implies no ultra-critical attitude. Each of Beethoven's symphonies has its characteristic attributes and each is the work of a genius. But just as in Nature some mountains are more majestic than others, so concerning the nine symphonies we may say that their order of excellence as endorsed by the consensus of mankind would be as follows. The First Symphony is somewhat experimental, composed when Beethoven was working out his technique of expression. It is closely modeled on the style of Haydn and, though showing certain daring touches and though perfectly direct and sincere, is not of marked individuality. In the Second Symphony a long advance is made, for we find numerous traits which are thoroughly distinctive of the genius of Beethoven: the exciting Prelude to the first movement; the heavenly Larghetto, one of the first slow movements of real emotional power; the rollicking Scherzo (note the fantastic touches in the Trio) and the splendor of the last pages of the Finale, which can only be compared to a sunset with its slowly fading colors and its last burst of glory. The general style of the Second Symphony however is that of Haydn and Mozart, though raised to the highest pitch of eloquence. In the Third Symphony the complete Beethoven steps forth. It was his declaration of independence, and in this work, as he himself said, he began a completely new line of activity; it was also his own favorite among the symphonies.[136] Heretofore there had been no such impassioned utterance as is revealed in the first movement of this Third Symphony and there have been few, if any, to equal it since. The Fourth Symphony is an entrancing work and shows Beethoven's inexhaustible variety of mood; since, save for the "grand manner" peculiar to all his works, it differs strikingly from the Third and the Fifth. It was composed during the happiest period of Beethoven's life and is related in its whole character to his emotions and aspirations at that time.[137] The slow movement is the most sublime love-song in music. The Fifth Symphony is undoubtedly the most popular of them all, in the true sense of the term.[138] The reason for this verdict is the unparalleled combination in a single work of the emotional intensity found in the first movement, the touching appeal of the slow movement, the mystery, followed by the reckless display of spirit, in the Scherzo and the paean of rejoicing which rings through the Finale. The Sixth or Pastoral, Beethoven's one excursion into the realm of tone-painting based on natural phenomena, is of interest more as a point of departure for the work of his successors than for its intrinsic message. The conception of the possibilities of musical description has so widened since Beethoven, and the facilities for orchestral color so increased, that this symphony, though it has many characteristic beauties, sounds a bit old-fashioned. The Seventh is one of the most original of them all, incomparable for its rhythmic vitality—the Apotheosis of the Dance, as Wagner called it.[139] If rhythm be the basis of music and of life itself, this symphony is thoroughly alive from start to finish, hence immortal. The Eighth is the embodiment of Beethoven's (possibly) most individual trait—his abounding humor. Never before had symphonic music played such pranks as are found here, especially in the Finale. The Symphony is in fact a prolonged Scherzo[140]—the third movement (a Minuetto) being merely for contrast. The Ninth Symphony, composed in the philosophic period of Beethoven's life, when he was attempting still greater heights, is a vast work, the first three movements purely instrumental, and the Finale, for the first time in symphonic literature, a union of solo voices and chorus with the instrumental forces. The text was taken from Schiller's "Ode to Joy." The spirit of the poem made a strong appeal to Beethoven's humanitarian and democratic aspirations and there is no question of the grandeur of his conception. But it is not carping criticism to say that his thoughts were too heaven-soaring for a perfect realization through any earthly means. Beethoven moreover was seldom happy in writing for the human voice—he thought in terms of the instruments—and it is not to be denied that there are several passages in the Finale which consist of mere boisterous shouting. No one save believers in plenary inspiration can give to this Finale the whole-hearted admiration that is paid to the three instrumental movements which are pure gold; especially the seraphic Adagio and the Gargantuan Scherzo with its demoniacal rhythmic energy. To sum up the foregoing estimates, if the student is forced to select and cannot become equally familiar with all of the nine symphonies, a reasonable order of study would be the following: the Fifth, the Third, the Seventh, the Eighth, the Fourth, the Ninth, the Second, the Sixth and the First. See Supplement No. 44.
We shall now make a few comments[141] on the first movement of the Third or Heroic Symphony, merely to stimulate the hearer's interest, for the music may be trusted to make its own direct appeal. After two short, sonorous chords, which summon us to attention, the first theme, allegro con brio, with its elemental, swinging rhythm, is announced by the 'cellos. It is often glibly asserted that these notes of the tonic triad are the whole of the first theme. This is a great misconception, for although the motive in the first four measures is the generative basis for the entire movement, the arresting, dramatic note of the theme is the C-sharp in measure five. This theme in fact is a typical example of Beethoven's broad sweeps of thought; for prolonged with secondary melodic phrases in the first violins and flutes, its real close does not come until the 13th measure, e.g.
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After a varied repetition of the first motive of the theme, there occurs a passage (measures 23-33)[142] which illustrates one of the most characteristic features in all Beethoven's work, i.e., those sharp dislocations of the rhythm, indicated by the sforzando accents (sf) on beats usually unaccented and often coupled with strong dissonances. Although the basic rhythm is triple, the beats for several measures are in groups of two quarter notes or their equivalent, one half note, e.g.
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No longer can we drift along in dreamy apathy; our vitality is quickened as by the gusts of a tornado. There have been those who for the first time in their lives were jarred from the even tenor of their way by these impassioned onslaughts. When Beethoven's Symphonies were first played in Paris, it is reported that the operatic composer Boieldieu was much disconcerted, because, as he said, he liked "musique qui me berce." The transition (measures 43-81) is a remarkable example of Beethoven's power of creating ever more and more excitement and expectancy. It contains three subsidiary melodic phrases, each of increasing rhythmic animation, e.g.,
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and fairly whirls us into the beautiful contemplative theme at measure 81. This theme embodies some entrancing modulations into remote keys, and then, after one of Beethoven's typical passages of hushed pianissimo (beginning in measure 97) we are led through a series of sforzandos, crescendos and titanic ejaculations to the overpowering dissonances in measure 145, which with the tonic chord close the Exposition in the dominant key. The Development (measures 164-396) is extremely long and varied, but a perfect manifestation of spontaneous, organic treatment—each portion growing inevitably from what has preceded and marching irresistibly onward to its objective goal. Every modulatory, rhythmic and polyphonic device is employed to vary and intensify the message; yet, notwithstanding the diversity of the material, we are held spellbound by the directness and coherence of the thought. Such is Beethoven's passionate insistence on the right to speak out just what he felt that in one stupendous passage (measures 246-277) it seems as if the very Heavens were falling about our heads. At measure 282 a theme of ideal repose is interpolated—just the contrast needed after the preceding cataclysm. The Development proper is renewed in measure 298 and after a repetition of the interpolated theme in measures 320-335 the rhythm of the first theme asserts itself in all its majesty, carrying us upward to a veritable table-land of sublimity. From this we are brought down through a series of decrescendo, modulatory chords, like drifting mists, to an almost complete cessation of musical life—nothing but a pianissimo tremolo on the strings. From this hush there floats in upon us the rhythmic motive of the first theme; then, with a ff chord of the dominant, we are suddenly brought back into the sunshine of the main theme, and the Recapitulation has begun. This portion with certain happy changes in modulation—note the beautiful variant on the horn in measures 406-414, e.g.,
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—preserves the customary emphasis on the main tonality of E-flat major, ending in measures 549-550 with the same dissonances which closed the Exposition. Then are declaimed by the full orchestra those two dramatic outbursts which usher in the Coda and which may be likened to "Stop! Listen! the best is yet to come." The blunt, intentional disjunction of the harmony adds weight to the assertion, e.g.
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Here we have a convincing illustration of Beethoven's individual conception that the Coda should be a second and final development; special points of interest and treatment being held in store, so that it becomes a truly crowning piece of eloquence. Observe how the reappearance of the interpolated theme balances the Coda with the Development proper and how the various rhythms of the Exposition are concentrated in the last page. Finally a series of bold, vibrato leaps in the first violins—based on the dominant chord—brings this impassioned movement to a close.
A lack of space prevents the inclusion in the Supplement of the rest of the Symphony, but the student is urged to make himself familiar with the three remaining movements: the Marcia FunÈbre, the Scherzo and the Finale. The Funeral March is justly ranked with that of Chopin in his B-flat minor Sonata and that of Wagner in the last act of the GÖtterdÄmmerung as one of the most eloquent in existence, and contains melodies so touching that they could have come only from the very soul of Beethoven. Especially noteworthy is the aspiring melody of the middle, contrasting portion (Maggiore) where the spirit, freed from earthly dross, seems to mount to the skies in a chariot of fire. The third part, where the minor mode is resumed, abounds in dramatic touches; especially that fugal passage, where the ecclesiastical tone, combined with pealing trumpets, brings before us some funeral pageant in a vast, medieval cathedral. The Coda, beginning in A-flat major, with an impressive mood of resignation, illustrates at its close a psychological use of programmistic effect; for the first theme, treated as a real person, disintegrates before our very eyes—becoming, as it were, a disembodied spirit. Nothing can show more clearly than this passage the widening of the expressive powers of music which we owe to the genius of Beethoven. The same effect with a slightly different dramatic purpose is found at the end of the Coriolanus Overture.
The Scherzo, allegro vivace, in triple time, but marked one beat a measure = 116 (almost two measures per second!), is unsurpassed for sustained brilliancy and daring rhythmic changes. It is so idiomatically conceived for orchestra that only the barest idea can be gained from a pianoforte transcription. The prevailing background is a mass of shimmering strings, marked by Beethoven "sempre pp e staccato" and against this stands out a buoyant, folk-song type of melody on the oboe. After some mysterious and fantastic modulations a ff climax is reached which leads to the famous syncopated passage where the orchestra seems to hurl itself headlong into space, e.g.
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The Trio, with its three hunting horns, gives a fresh, woodland note typifying Beethoven's love of nature. Some mysterious modulations lead us back from the dim recesses of the forest to the sparkling animation of the Scherzo. In this part of the movement Beethoven plays one of his characteristic practical jokes; for, just where we expect the same syncopated effect as before, the time is changed from 3/4 to 2/2, the duration of the measure remaining the same, e.g.
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This effect may be likened to the uproarious guffaws of a giant. The Coda has a clear reminiscence of the dramatic C-sharp in the main theme of the first movement, e.g.[143]
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Such an organic connection between movements begins to be very frequent in Beethoven's works.
The Finale, Allegro molto, has caused considerable difficulty to the commentators for reasons known only to themselves. Different forms are assigned to it by different critics; one regrets the falling off of inspiration, another asserts that the movement "does not fulfill the requirements which the human mind makes of art; it leaves us confused." Poor Beethoven! But why all this pother? If the inner evidence of the music itself be any justification for structural classification, this wonderful, inspired Finale is a series of free Variations[144] on a double theme of which the parts are related to each other as Soprano and Bass, e.g.
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By beginning the first two variations with the less important of the two melodies (i.e., the bass) Beethoven is simply indulging in his fondness for piquing the fancy of the hearer by starting him on a false trail—not giving away, as it were, his real purpose too soon. Yet from the first announcement of the leading melody in the Third Variation it assumes increasing importance, through successive appearances in E-flat major, B minor, D major and C major, until after a long fugal development we reach the inspired passage (Poco Andante con espressione), e.g.,
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in which the main theme is stated first in its noble simplicity and then enhanced by an obligato melody on the oboe. It is one of the most eloquent passages in all symphonic literature. At its last appearance the real theme comes fully to its own—for the first time in the bass, that fundamental voice—where it is declaimed ff in gorgeous splendor by all the lower instruments of the orchestra. It is evident that not even the most inspired genius can sustain such a flight for ever, and after this magnificent paean the workings of Beethoven's imagination resemble those of Nature herself. Following a tranquil intermediary passage in A-flat major we enter upon one of those long, mysterious periods of hushed suspense which may be compared to a long expanse of open country or to the fading lights on the sea at sunset. The last page, beginning with the Presto, is sheer orchestral jubilation of the most intoxicating kind. We may picture an enthusiastic gathering, with hats thrown aloft and shouts of triumph ringing from every throat. It is of historical interest to know that the theme of this Finale must have been a favorite with Beethoven, for he had used it in three former works: a Contre-dance, as the basis for a set of Pianoforte Variations and in the Ballet Music to Prometheus. It may not be too fanciful to trace a dramatic relationship between its use in portraying the daring spirit who first stole fire from Heaven and as the crowning message of a work meant to glorify all heroic endeavor. A thorough familiarity with this movement will repay the student not only as exemplifying Beethoven's freedom of expression but indeed as a point of departure for so many modern works in free variation form. See Supplement No. 45.
To illustrate Beethoven's Pianoforte compositions we shall now analyze the Seventh Sonata in D major, op. 10, No. 3. Only wholesale hero-worshipers consider all of the thirty-two Sonatas of equal significance. It is true that, taken as a whole, they are a storehouse of creative vitality and that in each there is something, somewhere, which strikes a spark; for everything which Beethoven wrote was stamped with his dominating personality. But the fire of genius burns more steadily in some of the Sonatas than in others. It is the very essence of genius to have its transcendent moments; only mediocrity preserves a dead level. It is therefore no spirit of fault finding which leads us to centre our attention upon those Sonatas which have best stood the test of time and which never fail to convince us of their "raison d'Être": the Appassionata, the Waldstein, the C-sharp minor, the PathÉtique, the Sonata in G major, op. 14, No. 2, and all the last five, especially the glorious one in A-flat major, op. 119. It is futile to deny that some of the early sonatas are experimental and that certain others do not represent Beethoven at his best, being more the result of his constructive power than of an impelling message which had to be expressed. The D major Sonata has been selected for study because, though composed in Beethoven's first period, it is thoroughly characteristic, and because its performance is within the powers of the average intelligent amateur. The full beauty of the later Sonatas can be realized only by great virtuosi who devote to them years of study. The work is in four movements: the first, complete Sonata-form; the second, modified Sonata-form; the third, Three-part; the Finale, a freely treated Rondo-Sonata-form. The first movement, Presto, begins with a vigorous presentation of the main theme which ends in measure 22 with the last of three ff octaves. The unusually long transition, containing a subsidiary theme in B minor, is remarkable for its onrushing excitement and for the playful false leads which usher in the second theme. After a brilliant cadence in the dominant key, one would suppose this theme might be announced in measure 53, but not so; after three measures of cantabile melody, progress is interrupted by a group of descending octave leaps. A second attempt is now made, this time in A minor, only to be thwarted by a still more capricious octave descent. This time, however, after a dramatic pause, we are rewarded with a clear-cut, periodic melody beginning in measure 66, against which the rhythm of the first theme keeps up a gentle undercurrent. Some interesting modulations develop into a series of descending octaves which, accompanied by sf chords, lead to the closing portion. This brilliant passage accentuates the dominant key of the second theme. After a short tranquillo phrase and some free imitations of the main theme we repeat the Exposition, or go on to the Development ushered in by a bold change to the mediant key of B-flat major. After several appearances of the main theme in the bass, Beethoven takes a leaf out of D. Scarlatti's book and revels in some crossing of the hands and some wide leaps. The Recapitulation corresponds exactly with the first part until we reach the Coda in measure 298, which affords a striking example of Beethoven's power of climax. After a long period of suspense an imitative treatment of the first theme, with kettle-drum effect in the bass, leads to a stringendo ascending passage which closes with two crashing dissonances and two peculiarly grouped chords, e.g.
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They have a hard, cutting brilliance all their own and give just the touch of color needed to finish this dazzling movement.[145]
In the Slow Movement, Largo e Mesto, there is a depth of emotion quite unparalleled in the early history of music.[146] Certainly no composer since Bach had uttered such a message. As soon as the movement begins we are convinced that it represents the outpouring of a soul capable of deep meditations upon life and its mysteries, and with the eloquence at its command to impress these thoughts upon the hearer. The number of themes and their key relationship are those of Sonata-form, but instead of the usual development we have a new contrasting theme of great pathos in the major mode. Observe the poignancy of the dissonances, e.g.,
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in the second theme of the Exposition which begins in measure 17, and the passionate outcries in measures 35 and 37 of the middle portion. Just before the Recapitulation, in measures 41-43, is an early example of Beethoven's fondness for instrumental recitative—music speaking with a more intimate appeal than words. The movement ends with an impassioned Coda which, beginning with the main theme in the bass and working up, more and more agitato, to a powerful climax, dies away with mysterious fragments of the opening measures. The dissonant element so characteristic of the whole movement is retained to the end, e.g.
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The growing importance of dissonance may be seen from a comparison of this movement with the average slow movements of Haydn and Mozart These, although they have serenity and grace, beauty and finish of form, and are sincere manifestations of the genius of their creators, are yet lacking in passion. This placid mood and amiability of style is shown by the comparatively slight employment of dissonances. By unthinking and uncultivated persons dissonances[147] are often considered as something harsh, repellant—hence to be avoided. But dissonances contain the real life and progress of music. They arouse, even take by storm our imaginations and shake us out of our equanimity. Consonant chords represent stability, satisfaction and, when over-used, inertia. The genius of the composer is shown in establishing just the right proportion between these two elements; but if there is to be any disproportion let us have too much rather than too little dissonance, for then, at any rate, the music is alive. Since Beethoven the whole development of music as a human language shows the preponderating stress laid on dissonance; to this fact a knowledge of the works of Schumann, Chopin, Wagner, Debussy and Franck will amply testify.[148] The same analogy holds equally in all realms of life, human and physical. The truest development of character depends on the warring elements of good and evil. Honest discontent is the first step to progress. Dissonance is the yeast of music and should be welcomed for its invigorating influence.
The third movement, Minuetto, may be taken as a reply to Haydn's well-known wish "Oh! that some one would write us a new Minuet." Well, here it is—with all the grace and charm of the 18th century type and yet with more import, especially in the Coda with its haunting retrospect. The rhythmic formation of the opening sentence would be clearer if two measures had been thrown into one, for the swing is clearly that of a 6/4 measure. The Trio, with its Scarlatti-like crossing of the hands, is a playful bit of badinage, affording a delightful contrast to the Minuetto. Such genuine variety in mood makes the Three-part Form of lasting worth.
The Finale, Allegro, with its capricious fortissimo outbursts and unexpected sforzandos is a characteristic example of Beethoven's freedom of utterance. Any cast-iron conception of form was entirely foreign to his nature; instead, he made form the servant of the freest flights of fancy. The movement begins as if it were to be worked out in the so-called Rondo Sonata-form—a hybrid, tripartite structure related to the Sonata-form in that it has two themes in the first and last portions, and to the Rondo in that the middle portion is a free Episode instead of the customary development of former material. The salient feature by which this form may always be recognized is that the Exposition closes with a definite return to the first theme—thus emphasizing the Rondo aspect—instead of with an expanded cadence based upon the second theme. As we have stated before (see Chapter IX), many of Beethoven's Finales are in this mixed form, clear examples of which may be found in the last movements of the Fourth, Eighth and Twelfth Sonatas. The Finale of the Twelfth Sonata has been included in the Supplement in order to make this important form familiar to the student. To return now to the Finale of the sonata we are studying. Its first two portions correspond exactly to the usual practice in the Rondo-Sonata form just explained; i.e., we find in the Exposition a first theme, a modulatory transition, a second theme (beginning in measure 17) and a definite repetition of the first theme, in measures 25-32. Then, after two measures of bold modulation, begins the middle, episodical passage which, closing with a whimsical cadenza-like passage, leads back to the beginning of the third part. After a complete, slightly varied appearance of the first theme, Beethoven does not repeat the second theme, as we should expect, but allows his fancy to indulge in a series of brilliant passages, exciting modulations and dynamic contrasts. All this freedom is held together by insistence on the fundamental rhythmic motive (measures 72-83). A final embellished statement of the first theme ushers in the fiery Coda, in measure 92, which ends with a long running passage; beneath, we hear reminiscences of the main theme. It is often stated that Beethoven's Sonatas are lacking in pianistic effect, and it is true that his pianoforte works do not bring out the possibilities of color and sonority as we find them, for example, in Chopin and Debussy—the orchestra and the string-quartet being indeed his favorite media of expression. Yet during his entire early career Beethoven was famous as a performer and improviser on the pianoforte and some, at any rate, of his deepest thoughts have been confided to that instrument. That he was not at all insensible to the beauty of pianistic effect for its own sake is shown by the syncopated, shadowy chords in measures 101-105, the whole justification for which lies in their enchanting sound.[149]
The Fifth Symphony in C minor, op. 67, is deservedly popular because it is so human; a translation, in fact, of life itself into the glowing language of music. Beethoven's emotional power was so deep and true that, in expressing himself, he spoke, like every great philosopher, poet or artist, for all mankind. Which one of us in his own experience, has not felt the same protests against relentless Fate that find such uncontrollable utterance in the first movement? Who, again, is untouched by that angelic message, set before us in the second movement, of hope and aspiration, of heroic and even warlike[151] resolution, mingled with the resignation which only great souls know? The third movement (Allegro)—in reality a Scherzo of the most fantastic type, though not so marked—might well typify the riddle of the Universe. We indeed "see through a glass darkly," and yet there is no note of despair. Amid the sinister mutterings of the basses there ring out, on the horns and trumpets, clarion calls to action. While we are in this world we must live its life; a living death is unendurable. The Finale, Allegro maestoso, is a majestic declaration of unconquerable faith and optimism—the intense expression of Beethoven's own words, "I will grapple with Fate, it shall never pull me down"—to be compared only with Browning's "God's in his heaven, all's right with the world," and the peroration to Whitman's Mystic Trumpeter, "Joy, joy, over all joy!" No adequate attempt could be made to translate the music into words. The Symphony is extremely subjective; indeed, autobiographic. For all historical details as to its composition, the reader is referred to the Grove essay,[152] and for eulogistic rhapsodies nothing can surpass the essay of Berlioz, that prince of critics. We shall content ourselves with a few comments of a structural nature and then trust the student to seek a performance of the work by a good orchestra. Of the first movement (Allegro con brio)[153] the dominant characteristics, especially in comparison with the wealth of material in the Heroic, are conciseness and intensity. It starts at once, without prelude, with the motive—one of the tersest in music—from which is developed, polyphonically, the first theme, e.g.[A]
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Everything is concentrated in the highest degree and the assault upon our consciousness is of corresponding power. A tempestuous transition leads to two short sf chords and then in measure 59, announced ff by the horns, appears the first phrase of the second theme, based on the same motive as the first, but in the relative major (E-flat), e.g.
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It is answered by a second phrase of marked simplicity and loveliness—a mood, indeed, of resignation. This is only momentary, however, for the relentless rhythm of the chief motive continues to assert itself in the basses until, as it gathers headway after a short closing phrase (95-99), it is thundered out ff by the full orchestra in a series of descending groups. The Development continues the same resistless impetuosity. Note the grim effect of the empty fifths and fourths in measures 126-127. Once only is there a slackening of the titanic, elemental drive—in the mysterious passage (212-239) where the pent-up fury of the composer seems to have exhausted itself. It is only, however, a lull in the storm which breaks forth with renewed energy in the Recapitulation and Coda. Observe the pathetic commentary which the solo oboe makes upon the main theme at the outset of the third part (268)—a flower growing out of the dÉbris of the avalanche. The Coda begins, at measure 374, with a passionate insistence upon the fundamental rhythm, driven home with sharp hammer-blows and, as in all Beethoven's symphonic movements, furnishes an overpowering climax, not a mere perfunctory close. The second Movement, in A-flat major, is a series of free[154] Variations (five in number) based on a theme, Andante con moto,[155] of great rhythmic vitality, peculiarly rich and suave—announced, as it is, by 'celli and violas in unison, e.g.
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The first two presentations of the theme are in each case followed by a passage of martial character which bursts triumphantly into C major. There is an orchestral touch of great beauty and originality in the first and second variations (beginning in measures 49 and 98 respectively), where a solo clarinet—later a flute, oboe and bassoon—prolongs a single tone which seems to float above the melody like a guiding star.[156] A passage of special significance is that in measures 123-146, where Beethoven indulges in a touching soliloquy upon his main theme. It is mysteriously introduced by the repetition, eight times, pp, of the dominant chord (the simplest medium of suspense) which seems to say "Hush, I have something most intimate reveal." The Coda (PiÙ Moto) begins with a mood of wistful reverie, but the clouds are soon dispelled and the movement ends in radiant sunshine.
The salient structural feature in the last two movements[157] is that they are merged together; there is no pause after the Scherzo; and the movements are further interlocked by an interpolation, in the middle of the Finale, of a portion of the preceding Scherzo—a kind of inter-quotation or cross reference. This composite movement is a striking example of the organic relationship which Beethoven succeeded in establishing—between the different movements of the symphony. Prior to him, it is fair to say—to use a homely simile—that a sonata or a symphony resembled a train of different cars merely linked together, one after the other; whereas the modern work, as foreshadowed by Beethoven, is a vestibuled train: one indivisible whole from beginning to end.[158] But before the Fifth Symphony there had been no such systematic unification; for it is not too much to say that the whole work is based upon the persistent iteration of a single note in varied rhythmic groups. Thus in the first movement we find continually the rhythm music; in the second, in several places music; in the Scherzo music; and in the Finale music. Furthermore a C, repeated by the kettle-drums for fifty measures, is the chief factor in the connecting link between the Scherzo and the Finale. We shall observe this tendency to interconnection still further developed by Schumann in his Fourth Symphony, by Liszt in the Symphonic Poem[159] (to be treated later), and a climax of attainment reached in such highly unified works as CÉsar Franck's D minor Symphony and Tchaikowsky's Fifth. To return to the Scherzo, well worthy of note is the Trio, in free fugal form (its theme announced by the ponderous double basses), because it is such a convincing illustration of the humorous possibilities inherent in fugal style. The way in which the voices chase each other about—compared by Berlioz[160] with the gambols of a delighted elephant—and their spasmodic attempts at assertion, produce an effect irresistibly droll. The humour is as broad as that of Aristophanes or Rabelais. Words are powerless to describe the thrill of the last fifty measures which launch us into the Finale. We may merely observe that this long passage, pp throughout until the last molto crescendo, and with the rhythmic element reduced to a minimum, makes more of an impact upon our imagination than that of the loudest orchestral forces ever conceived. We are reminded of the effect of the "still, small voice" after the thunders on Sinai. The Finale, with its majestic opening theme in fanfare, contains a wealth of material and is conceived throughout in the utmost spirit of optimistic joy and freedom.[161] The Exposition has a subsidiary theme of its own, beginning at measure 26, which reappears with rhythmic modification (diminution), and most eloquently announced by the bassoons, in the first section of the final Coda. After the brilliant second theme (45-63) there is an impressive closing theme (with some biting fp dissonances) which forms the basis of the Presto portion of the Coda. The Development is a marvellous treatment of the second theme, in imitation, modulation and climactic growth; the rhythm music, so vitally connected with the whole work, persisting with stupendous energy. In the final measures it would seem as if Beethoven were storming the very heavens. Here occurs the quotation from the preceding Scherzo which binds the movements together and serves as a point of departure for a still greater climax. It seems unreasonable to expect a higher flight, but the genius of Beethoven is equal to the effort. If, before, we have reached the heavens, now we pierce them. The brilliant Coda—note the ascending runs for the piccolo—is in three sections, the first based on the subsidiary theme, e.g.,
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the second on the closing theme in quickened tempo, e.g.,[B]
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and the third, a canonic treatment of the opening fanfare, e.g.,
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in which the orchestra seems to tumble head over heels in a paroxysm of delight. The movement closes with prolonged shouts of victory and exultation.[162]
The Coriolanus Overture
This dramatic work is of great importance, not only for its emotional power and eloquence, but because it represents a type of Program music, i.e., music with a suggestive title, which Beethoven was the first to conceive and to establish. From the inherent connection between the materials of music (sound and rhythm) and certain natural phenomena (the sound and rhythm of wind, wave and storm, the call of birds, etc.) it is evident that the possibility for Program—or descriptive—music has always existed.[163] That is, the imagination of musicians has continually been influenced by external sights, sounds and events; and to their translation into music suggestive titles have been given, as a guide to the hearer. Thus we find Jannequin, a French composer of the 16th century, writing two pieces—for voices!—entitled "Les cris de Paris" and "La Bataille—dÉfaite des Suisses À la journÉe de Marignan;" in the former of which are introduced the varied cries of street venders and in the latter, imitations of fifes, drums, cannon and all the bustle and noises of war. In the Fitzwilliam Virginal Book there is a Fantasie by John Mundy of the English school, in which such natural phenomena as thunder, lightning and fair weather are delineated. There is a curious similarity between the musical portrayal of lightning in this piece[164] of Mundy and that of Wagner in the Valkyrie. In the Bible Sonatas of the German composer Kuhnau (1660-1722) we have a musical description of the combat between David and Goliath. Anyone at all familiar with the music of Couperin and Rameau will recall the variety of fantastic titles assigned to their charming pieces for the claveÇin—almost always drawn from the field of nature: birds, bees, butterflies, hens, windmills, even an eel! It is but fair to state that we also find attempts at character drawing, even in those early days, as is indicated by such titles as La Prude, La Diligente, La SÉduisante.[165] Haydn's portrayal of Chaos, in the Prelude to the Creation, is a remarkable mood-picture and shows a trend in quite a different direction. All these instances corroborate the statement that, in general, composers were influenced by external phenomena and that their program music was of an imitative and often frankly literal kind. From what we know of Beethoven's nature and genius, however, we should imagine that he would be far more interested in the emotions and struggles of the soul and we find that such indeed is the case. With the exception of the Pastoral Symphony with its bird-calls and thunderstorm and the Egmont Overture with its graphic description of a returning victorious army, his program music invariably aims at the description of character and the manner in which it is influenced by events—not, be it understood, at a musical portrayal of the events themselves. This difference in type is generally indicated by the terms subjective and objective, i.e., program music is subjective, when it deals with the emotions and moods of real or historical persons; objective, when it is based upon incidents or objects of the actual world. It is evident that in subjective program music an adjustment must be made, for the dramatic needs of the subject are to be considered as well as the inherent laws of music itself. We may state that the widening of the conception of form, so marked in modern music, has been caused by the need of such an adjustment; for as composers became more cultivated, more in touch with life and of more richly endowed imagination, the arbitrary conventions of strict form had perforce to yield to the demands of dramatic treatment. This implies not that program music is without a definite structure, only that the form is different—modified by the needs of the subject. As there is no other point in aesthetics which has caused more loose thinking, a few further comments may be pertinent. Some critics go so far as to deny the right of existence to all program music.[166] Of course there is good as well as bad program music, but to condemn it per se is simply to fly in the face of facts, for a large proportion of the music since Beethoven is on a poetic basis and has descriptive titles. Others claim that they cannot understand it. But that is their loss, not the fault of the music; the composer writes it and it is for us to acquire the state of mind to appreciate it. Another misleading allegation, often heard, is that a piece of program music should be so clear and self-sufficient that the hearer needs to know nothing of the title to derive the fullest enjoyment. But this simply begs the question. As well say that in listening to a song we need to know nothing of the meaning of the text. It is true that in listening to Beethoven's Coriolanus, for example, any sensitive hearer will be impressed by the vitality of the rhythm and the sheer beauty of orchestral sound. But to hold that such a hearer gets as much from the work as he who knows the underlying drama and can follow sympathetically the correspondence between the characters and their musical treatment is to indulge in reckless assertion. The true relationship between composer and hearer is this: when works are entitled Coriolanus, Melpomene, Francesca da Rimini, Sakuntala, L'aprÈs-midi d'un Faune, The Mystic Trumpeter, L'apprenti Sorcier, and the composers reveal therein the influence such subjects have had upon their imagination, they are paying a tacit compliment to the hearer whose breadth of intelligence and cultivation they expect to be on a par with their own. If such be not the case, the fault is not the composer's; the burden of proof is on the listener.[167] Let us now trace certain relationships between the drama of Coriolanus and the musical characterization of Beethoven. The Overture was composed as an introduction to a tragedy by the German playwright von Collin, but as the play is obsolete and as both von Collin and Shakespeare went to Plutarch for their sources, a familiarity—which should be taken for granted[168]—with the English drama will furnish sufficient background for an appreciation of the music. The scene before the city gates is evidently that in which Volumnia and Virgilia plead with the victorious warrior to refrain from his fell purpose of destruction. The work is in Sonata-form, since the great Sonata principle of duality of theme exactly harmonizes with the two main influences of the drama—the masculine and the feminine. It is of particular interest to observe how the usual methods of Sonata-form procedure are modified to suit the dramatic logic of the subject. The work begins Allegro con brio, with three sustained Cs—as if someone were stamping with heavy foot—followed by a series of assertive ff chords for full orchestra (note the piercing dissonance in the 7th measure), which at once establishes an atmosphere of headstrong defiance. The first theme, beginning in measure 15 with its restless rhythm, is not meant to be beautiful in the ordinary sense of the term—"a concourse of sweet sounds"; rather is it a dramatic characterization, a picture in terms of music, of the reckless energy and the fierce threats which we naturally associate with Coriolanus. The theme is repeated and then the transition develops this masculine mood in an impassioned manner—observe the frequency of sf accents and the crashing dissonances[169]—until a sustained note on the violins, followed by a descending cantabile phrase, brings us to the second theme, e.g.
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This theme, in distinction from the first, typifies the appeal for mercy made by the women in the drama. No contrast could be stronger than that between these two themes—the first, impulsive, staccato, of sweeping range, and in the minor; the second, suave, legato, restrained and in the major. They show indeed how powerfully Beethoven's imagination was impressed by the subject. After an eloquent expansion of the second theme there follow several stormy measures (the deprecations of the women are at first of no avail) that lead through a crescendo to a closing theme, at measure 83, in which the mood of defiant assertion is strongly marked. The exposition closes in this mood, in measure 100, and the following Development accentuates it through several successions of restless, crescendo passages until a ff descent sweeps us back to the Recapitulation, in measure 151. It is now evident that the furious intentions of the warrior have raged themselves out, for not only is the theme which represents him much shortened but it loses somewhat of its former fiery intensity. From here on, the trend of the music is largely modified by the dramatic demands of the subject. That the appeals of the women are beginning to prevail is evident from the emphasis laid on the second theme, which gives its message no less than three times, instead of the single appearance which we should expect in the usual Recapitulation. The third appeal, in measures 247-253, is rendered most pathetic by being expressed in the minor mode. In the Coda there are fitful flare-ups of the relentless purpose, but that the stubborn will has been softened is evident from the slowing down of the rhythm, in measures 285-294. Finally, in the wonderful closing passage, we have a picture of broken resolves and ruined hopes. The theme disintegrates and fades away—a lifeless vision. Although much of the structure in this overture is identical with that which prevails in absolute music—for, after all, the composer must be true to the laws of his medium of expression—there is enough purely dramatic treatment to justify the foregoing analysis. Beethoven, at any rate, called the overture Coriolanus, and we may be sure he meant it to represent Coriolanus and to be something more than a skillful combination of sounds and rhythms.
We now add a few last words on the quality of Beethoven's themes in his moments of supreme inspiration. The unshaken hold which his music has upon the affections of mankind is due chiefly to two striking characteristics: first, the way in which he dramatized everything—themes, instruments, even single notes, i.e., treating them as actual factors in life itself rather than as artistic abstractions; second, the spirituality and sublimity in his immortal message. The first quality is exemplified in a number of passages, notably in the first movement of the Violin Concerto and in the Finale of the Eighth Symphony. In the opening measures of the Concerto the use of the single note D-sharp, and the entry pp of the F natural in the following passage—in each case, entirely disconnected from the normal rules of musical grammar—are most dramatic, e.g.
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At the mysterious entrance of the F natural in this passage it would seem as if some mighty spirit were suddenly looking over our shoulder. In the Finale of the Eighth Symphony what can be more startling than the sudden explosive entrance of the unrelated C-sharp—before the orchestra continues its mad career—which can be compared only to the uproarious laughter of Rabelais himself, e.g.
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There are numerous examples in Beethoven showing his dramatic use of such orchestral instruments as the bassoons, horns, kettle-drums and double basses. Possibly the most striking[170] is the Slow Movement of the G major Pianoforte Concerto—that inspired dialogue, as it has been eloquently called, "between Destiny and the human soul," in which the touching appeals of the solo instrument are constantly interrupted by the sinister mutterings and forebodings of the strings. Observe especially the closing measures where the basses, alone are heard pp, e.g.
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A spiritual quality escapes verbal definition; but just as we can feel it in certain characters, and just as we recognize the sublime in nature and in such works of art as a cathedral or a Shakespearian Drama, so we may find it in the following specific examples from his works: the Trio of the second movement of the Seventh Symphony; the Slow Movement theme of the B-flat major Trio and the Slow Movement of the Sonata op. 109. (See Supplement Nos. 47, 48, 49.) Anyone who allows these themes to sink into his consciousness is carried into a realm of ideality where he begins to recognize the truth that "the things which are unseen are eternal." Music of this transporting power is far above that which merely excites, amuses or even fascinates; and of such music Beethoven is the poet for all time.
We have referred above to the voluminous literature extant concerning Beethoven. Several scholars, in fact—notably Alexander Thayer and Sir George Grove—have devoted a large part of their lives to finding out all there is to be known about his life and works. Obviously the layman cannot be expected to become familiar with this entire mass of historical and critical writing. The following books, however, may be considered indispensable aids to those who would become cultivated appreciators of Beethoven's masterpieces: the Life of Beethoven by Alexander Thayer—a great glory to American scholarship; the life in Grove's Dictionary; the illuminating Biography by d'Indy (in French and in English); Beethoven and his Nine Symphonies by Grove; the Oxford History of Music, Vol. V; and the essay by Mason in his Beethoven and his Forerunners.[171] We cite, in closing, a eulogy[172] by Dannreuther—in our opinion the most eloquent ever written on Beethoven's genius:
"While listening," says Mr. Dannreuther, "to such works as the Overture to Leonora, the Sinfonia Eroica, or the Ninth Symphony, we feel that we are in the presence of something far wider and higher than the mere development of musical themes. The execution in detail of each movement and each succeeding work is modified more and more by the prevailing sentiment. A religious passion and elevation are present in the utterances. The mental and moral horizon of the music grows upon us with each renewed hearing. The different movements—like the different particles of each movement—have as close a connection with one another as the acts of a tragedy, and a characteristic significance to be understood only in relation to the whole; each work is in the full sense of the word a revelation. Beethoven speaks a language no one has spoken before, and treats of things no one has dreamt of before: yet it seems as though he were speaking of matters long familiar, in one's mother tongue; as though he touched upon emotions one had lived through in some former existence.... The warmth and depth of his ethical sentiment is now felt all the world over, and it will ere long be universally recognised that he has leavened and widened the sphere of men's emotions in a manner akin to that in which the conceptions of great philosophers and poets have widened the sphere of men's intellectual activity."
