BEETHOVEN.
[Sidenote: =C Minor Symphony, No. 5.=
_October 22, 1897._]
The opening of the first movement forms the subject of a celebrated
passage in Wagner's pamphlet on conducting, where he complains of the
manner in which the pauses on E flat and D used to be scamped, and of
many other defects which were usual in the performances of forty years
ago. He represents Beethoven rising from his grave and apostrophising
the conductor with a harangue that begins: "Hold thou my _fermate_
[pauses] long and terribly." Wagner was a most exacting critic, but we
venture to think that he would have been fairly satisfied with last
night's rendering of the first movement. The contrast of the masculine
and feminine elements which are inherent in the first and second
subjects respectively was presented with all possible effect; the pauses
were as long and terrible as Wagner could have desired, and were
sustained with a perfectly equable tone-delivery; the beautiful
unaccompanied phrase for oboe--which on the recurrence of the passage
takes the place of the _fermata_, or pause, at the twenty-first
measure--was given with all possible force of expression; and many
other individual beauties of the rendering might be cited. The second
movement is less taxing for the performers than the rest of the work; it
was given in a manner well in keeping with the spirit of the symphony,
which is like some vast work of sculpture in bronze, such as the gates
of the Baptistery at Florence. Just such plastic force in the moulding
of mighty tone-elements and just such nobility of the imagination did
Beethoven possess as enabled Ghiberti to mould those wonderful gates,
concerning which Michelangelo said that they were worthy to be the gates
of Paradise. The scherzo, too, was an artistic triumph for the
orchestra. Not a point was missed in that wonderful and uncanny
tone-picture. A dance of demons it has been called; but it must be
remembered that many great artists have treated grotesque and grisly
subjects with an ineffably beautiful touch, such as we see, for example,
in Alfred Rethel's marvellous drawing "Death the Friend." Not that the
scherzo in Beethoven's C minor symphony breathes the spirit of that
drawing, which is restful and serene, while the scherzo is full of weird
mockery. The only point of the comparison is that in both works we find
a grotesque subject ennobled and beautified by a great artistic
imagination. Strange that the C minor symphony should often have been
quoted as an irregular and anarchical composition. Sir George Grove has
pointed out in his well-known analysis that the entire work conforms
most strictly to structural principles, and that its chief
irregularities are the linking together of the scherzo and finale and
the _reprise_ of the scherzo shortly before the concluding presto.
[Sidenote: =The Sixth Symphony.=
_February 24, 1899._]
In dealing with this symphony, the conductor had occasion to show
qualities different from those that have been called forth by the
preceding works of the present Beethoven series. The third and fifth
symphonies are of a strongly exciting character, the second is also
distinctly exciting, at any rate in the finale, the fourth is a kind of
mildly celestial or seraphic utterance, and the first does not truly
represent the mature master in any of his moods. In previous
performances of the series it was the successful rendering of some
exciting element in the music, or the interpretation of a sublime
emotion, upon which the conductor seemed to lay a kind of stress.
Yesterday the case was quite different. The Pastoral Symphony is not
exciting, or sublime, or mysterious, those qualities being alien to the
genius of pastoral music or poetry. It is an expression of the emotion
stirred by simple and homely delights; and for its interpretation it
requires, in addition to the technical equipment, only a certain fresh
and healthy energy. Even the religious note near the end is of a simple
idyllic character. Once more the interpretation was, in our view, very
admirable. The conductor seemed fully to grasp the poetic import of each
section, and, under his guidance, the orchestra fully conveyed the
breezy delights of the opening movement, the soothing murmur of the
brook, the boisterous mirth of the ensuing allegro, the contrasting note
of the storm, and the final hymn of thanksgiving. It has been said that
Beethoven's music has an ethical bearing; and, as many persons have
great difficulty in understanding how any music can have an ethical
bearing, it may be worth while to suggest that the Pastoral Symphony,
following the tremendous emotions of the preceding symphonies, teaches
precisely the same lesson as the opening of Goethe's "Faustus and
Helena," where the sylphs, typifying simple, untroubled natural
influences, are busied about the person of the sleeping "Faust," pitying
the "unhappy man whether good or wicked," and seeking to soothe his
tormented spirit. According to the view of Goethe and Beethoven there is
no other healing for the unhappy man's tormented spirit but in the
simple, untroubled influences of nature. Such, in addition to its
musical beauties, is the ethical lesson of the Pastoral Symphony.
[Sidenote: =The Seventh Symphony.=
_March 3, 1899._]
One quality differentiating Beethoven's Seventh Symphony from the rest
of the nine is well expressed by Sir George Grove in his famous book
("Beethoven and his Nine Symphonies") when he calls it the most
rhythmical of them all. Beyond question the rhythm is on the whole more
strongly marked in the seventh than in any of the others. The slow
movement is not called a march; yet it has a far more definite tramping
rhythm than the movement that is called a march in the Heroic Symphony.
In the finale the rhythmical emphasis attains a degree of reckless
violence that has never been surpassed by any composer except
Tchaïkovsky. A scherzo is always strongly rhythmical; but in the scherzo
of this symphony one finds a kind of frenzied rushing, whirling
movement that is rare in Beethoven's works. Another differentiating
quality of the symphony is grotesque expression, which is strong in the
vivace, stronger in the scherzo, and goes all lengths in the finale. As
with the later works of many other great artists, it is hard to divine
the poetic intention of this symphony. One perceives a marvellous
design, for the most part grotesque in character; one perceives the work
of a gigantic imagination, smelting the stubborn tone-masses as in a
furnace and moulding them to its purposes with a kind of superhuman
plastic force. But what the mighty design illustrates is not, at
present, obvious. The grotesqueness of the first, third, and last
movements is all the more striking from the character of the slow
movement, which is absolutely remote from the grotesque. The quality of
the expression in that slow movement eludes all classification. It is
not exactly a funeral march, and not exactly a dirge, though it is
undoubtedly mournful in character. A kind of unearthly rhythmical chant
one might imagine it to be, accompanying some mysterious function among
the gods of the dead. There is perhaps no slow movement left by
Beethoven the beauty of which is more penetrating or more imposing.
After a fine and spirited rendering of the introduction and vivace, the
slow movement--inscribed "allegretto" in the score, though the composer
afterwards expressed a desire that the indication should be changed to
"andante quasi allegretto"--was played with fine expression, though
perhaps a trifle too quickly. The scherzo was entirely admirable. At the
opening of the finale the rushing semiquavers in the violin part were,
for some reason, not quite clear, though later in the movement, when the
music had become more complex, the same figure sounded clear enough. On
the whole, the rendering of the symphony well maintained the success
that had previously attended the series.
[Sidenote: ="Eroica" Symphony.=
_February 1, 1900._]
The fact that the leading theme in the first movement of the "Eroica"
Symphony is taken note for note from Mozart's youthful operetta,
"Bastien et Bastienne," is of no great importance. If an operetta
contained something that could thus be caught up into the seventh heaven
of art, its existence was thereby justified very much better than the
existence of most other operettas. The notion of bringing a charge of
plagiarism against Beethoven in reference to this theme is absurd beyond
expression. There is, after all, nothing in the theme but a certain
rhythmical arrangement of the common chord so simple that it might well
have occurred to two composers independently. Whether it occurred
independently to Beethoven or whether he heard Mozart's operetta at the
Elector's Theatre in Bonn while he was a boy and unconsciously
reproduced the theme, as is conjectured by Sir George Grove, is of no
importance. With Mozart the theme is little more than a piece of chance
passage-work. It leads to nothing; whereas with Beethoven it leads to
developments of extraordinary richness and significance, forming the
most important element in a tone-picture that greatly surpasses in
passionate and incisive eloquence, in fulness of matter, varied
interest, and plastic force anything that previously existed in the
world of music. It would be hard to mention any other of Beethoven's
themes from which results quite so tremendous have been obtained. It is
repeated between thirty and forty times in the course of the movement,
reappearing under an endless variety of forms, assigned to all sorts of
different instruments, changing in key, in tone-colouring, in loudness
or softness of utterance, producing an infinite variety of effects in
the harmony, combining in all sorts of unexpected ways with other
themes, and on every reappearance taking on new value, bringing fresh
revelation. To such great uses may an operetta tune come at last, if it
happen to be laid hold of by a Beethoven with an imagination like a
mighty smelting furnace, and a hand that can model like a great sculptor
in bronze. In Dr. Richter's interpretation of the "Eroica," the most
striking point is his treatment of the contrast between those musical
elements symbolising phases of virile energy and the strains of
consolation and reconciliation. Of the latter element a characteristic
example is the heavenly duet for oboe and 'cello that occurs just after
the terrific outburst of rage and defiance in the "working-out" section
of the first movement. It is a crisis of beauty and grandeur to which,
so far as we know, no other conductor can now do justice. But here, and
throughout the mighty first movement, we were reminded that Dr.
Richter's pre-eminence is really more unquestionable in Beethoven than
in any other music. His Wagner renderings are approached by others, but
his Beethoven renderings are not even approached. To the noble and
solemn strains of the Funeral March again complete justice was done; and
the same may be said of the scherzo--a movement full of radiant mirth
and containing in the trio the most beautiful horn music ever
written--and of the finale in variation form.
[Sidenote: =Symphony No. 2 in D.=
_January 15, 1904._]
According to Mr. Felix Weingartner, the advance from Beethoven's No. 2
to his No. 3 Symphony is so great as to be without parallel in the
history of art, and this we regard as sound doctrine. The No. 3--the
"Eroica"--represents not merely a contribution of unparalleled
brilliancy to the symphonic music of the period, but an immense
enlargement of its previously known possibilities. Such a work naturally
dwarfs all that has gone before in its own kind; but it is very
desirable to avoid the mistake of certain commentators who, perceiving a
great gulf between No. 2 and No. 3, declare the former to be an immature
work, not thoroughly characteristic of Beethoven, but exhibiting him as
a mere disciple of Haydn and Mozart. While listening yesterday to the
wonderfully animated and expressive rendering one could scarcely fail to
be struck by the fact that it is all intensely Beethovenish; that it
goes beyond Mozart, quite as distinctly and persistently as Mozart in
his superb G minor Symphony goes beyond Haydn. We need a revision of the
current view in regard to these early Beethoven Symphonies. Only the
first is immature. No. 2 is stamped with the true Beethoven
individuality on every page, and is comparable with Mozart's G minor in
the richness of its organisation and the potency of its charm. The
enormous difference between No. 2 and No. 3 is not to be correctly
indicated by calling the former immature. It is a difference that
separates the Beethoven Symphonies from No. 2 to the end into two
well-defined groups. As was long ago observed, the odd-number
Symphonies, beginning with 3, are cast more or less in the heroic mould,
while the intervening even-number Symphonies are much milder in
character--creations of halcyon periods in which the composer would seem
to have been storing up energy for the titanic labours of 3, 5, 7, and
9. Bearing this in mind, we have no difficulty in assigning No. 2 to its
proper place. It is to be grouped along with 4, 6, and 8, and it may
thus be called the first of the "halcyon" Symphonies. Besides the
general character of the music there is one very special reason for not
accepting the view of No. 2 as an immature work. In the second subject
of the Larghetto, we have a very beautiful and original musical idea, so
thoroughly recognised by the composer as one of his best and most
characteristic that he returned to it many years later when composing
his last and greatest slow movement. Compare pp. 29 and 363 of Sir
George Grove's "Beethoven and his Nine Symphonies," noticing in
particular that the key-relation of the syncopated theme to the general
scheme of the movement is the same in the two cases.
[Sidenote: ="Missa Solennis."=
_February 1, 1901._]
Until yesterday Beethoven's "Missa Solennis" had not been heard at these
concerts, but it is not surprising that performances of such a work
should be few and far between. It is, beyond question, the most austere
of all musical works--a product of Beethoven's quite inexorable mood. At
the period when it was written the composer had become a sort of
suffering Prometheus. Even apart from his deafness, it is wonderful that
Beethoven's persistent ill-fortune, his isolated and unhappy life,
should not have discouraged him and checked the flow of his creative
energy. But that the mightiest of his compositions should have been
produced when he was stone-deaf--that is surely one of the most
perfectly amazing among well-authenticated facts! So far as we know,
there never was any other case in which deafness failed to cut a person
off altogether from the world of music. With Beethoven it only brought a
gradual change of style. As the charm that music has for the ear faded
away he became more and more absorbed, aloof, austere, and spiritual.
The warm human feeling of his middle-period compositions gave way to a
style of such unearthly grandeur and sublimity as are oppressive to
ordinary mortals. Of that unearthly grandeur there is no more typical
example than the "Missa Solennis." Not only in regard to the composition
but even in regard to a performance the ordinary language of criticism
is at fault. Who ever heard a "satisfactory" performance of the "Missa
Solennis"? A spirit of sacrifice is demanded of the performers; for the
music is written from beginning to end with an utter want of
consideration for the weaknesses and limitations of the human voice. Of
course that would be intolerable in an ordinary composer. Handel's
combination of German structural solidity with Italian courtesy, sense
of style, and delight in rich vocal rhetoric is the ideal thing. By
comparison with the reasonable and tactful Handel, Beethoven is a kind
of monster, from the singer's point of view, but a monster of such
genius that his terrible requirements must occasionally be met.
The quartet was best in the astonishing "Dona nobis pacem" section,
where the composer seems to represent humanity as endeavouring to take
the Kingdom of Heaven by violence, protesting against all the oppression
that is done under the sun, and sending up to the throne of God so
instant a clamour for the gift of peace as may be heard amid the very
din of strife. For that prayer for peace sounds against the sullen
rolling of drums and menacing clangour of trumpets, the voices having
now a mighty unanimity, now the wail of this or that forlorn victim. One
looks in vain through the temple of musical art for anything to match
that tremendous conception marking the final phase of the "Missa
Solennis."
[Sidenote: ="Fidelio."=
_October 28, 1904._]
A most strange and unclassifiable chamber in the palace of musical art
is reserved for Beethoven's "Fidelio." A sort of despair is likely to
come over one who attempts to state how Beethoven stands in relation to
dramatic music. If one says that he was not a great dramatic composer,
there arise the questions--Did he not make the Symphony a hundred times
more dramatic than it ever was before? Did he not make music in
association with Goethe's "Egmont" that seems to belong for evermore to
that drama? Did he not individualise Leonora in music as well as Mozart
had individualised the much less exalted characters of Donna Anna and
Zerlina? Did he not achieve in his "Third Leonora" something that no one
has ever equalled or can ever hope to equal in the domain of the
dramatic overture? In fact he did all those things, and several more
that can be cited in apparent refutation of the statement that he was
not a great dramatic composer. And yet it is certain that he never
composed dramatic music as one to the manner born--not with the
unfailing adequateness to the theme of Gluck, the felicitous profusion
of Mozart, the glowing picturesqueness of Weber. No; in the mighty river
of Beethoven the symphonist's invention shrinks to a trickle in his one
opera. The water is incomparably limpid, and blossoms of the rarest
beauty and fragrance grow on the banks of the stream; but every page is
stamped, as it were, with the admission that writing operas was not
Beethoven's strong point: and beyond question he acted wisely in writing
only one. How mighty is the change when he takes the symbols of his one
musical drama and uses them for a monumental purpose, in the great
"Leonora" Overture! Beethoven is Shakespearean in the range of his mind
and in his attitude towards life, which he always approaches on the
purely human side, and without the preoccupations of the Court, the
camp, the cloister, the academic grove, or the church. But he is not
Shakespearean in his medium of expression, which is hard and
unyielding--a kind of musical bronze or granite. Yet "Fidelio"--despite
its jejune story, which suggests that Beethoven, having objected to
Mozart's "Don Giovanni" as scandalous, felt it his duty to compose an
opera on a subject that should be "strictly proper," and despite its
thin vein of invention--inevitably retains its hold on the musical
world. To call the success of it a _succès d'estime_ would be a misuse
of words. It focuses a certain range of poetic ideas that nothing else
of its kind touches, and stands--with its Wordsworthian simplicity and
moral goodness--among other operas like a Sister Clare amid a group of
fine ladies.