PREDECESSORS OF BEETHOVEN
I. Muzio Clementi
Muzio Clementi, born at Rome in 1752, was brought to England by
Alderman Beckford, father of the author of _Vathek_, and at Fonthill
Abbey he had leisure to study the works of Handel, John Sebastian
Bach, Emanuel Bach, Domenico Scarlatti, and Paradies. Clementi, like
Scarlatti, was a _virtuoso_; but although both indulged largely in
technical display, they were true and intelligent artists. In
Scarlatti, the balance between his musical ideas and the form in which
they were presented was almost perfect; in Clementi, virtuosity often
gained the ascendency over virtue. With the latter, however, as indeed
with E. Bach, Haydn, Mozart, and many other composers, the necessity
of earning a living, and therefore of writing for "long" ears, mixed
with the love of fame, produced works which, like the old Eden tree,
contained both good and evil. To judge such great men really fairly,
the chaff ought to be separated from the wheat; and the chaff ought
to be thoroughly removed, even at the risk of sometimes losing a
portion of wheat.
To the true lover of music, choice selections are more precious than
complete collections; the latter are, of course, necessary to those
whose business it is to study the rise and development of the various
composers. The pianoforte sonatas of Mozart, Haydn, Dussek, and
Clementi might be reduced to very moderate compass. To suggest that
any one of Beethoven's thirty-two should be removed out of its place
would now sound flat blasphemy; but art progresses, and some even now
are falling into oblivion. The catalogue of music performed at the
Popular Concerts during the history of the past thirty-five years
shows pretty clearly which sonatas of Beethoven are likely to live
long, and which not. But to return to Clementi. He published his first
three sonatas (Op. 2, Nos. 1-3) in 1770, the year in which Beethoven
was born; and the influence which he exerted over that master was
considerable. In Beethoven's library were to be found many sonatas of
Clementi, and the master's predilection for them is well known. The
world seldom renders full justice to men who prepared the way for
greater than themselves; Pachelbel, Böhm, and Buxtehude, the immediate
predecessors of Bach, and, again, Emanuel Bach, to whom Haydn was so
indebted, and whose works were undoubtedly studied by Beethoven, are
notable examples. This is, of course, perfectly natural: the best only
survives; but musicians who take serious interest in their art ought,
from time to time, to look back and see how much was accomplished and
suggested by men who, in comparison with their mighty contemporaries
and successors, are legitimately ranked as second-rate. Among such,
Clementi holds high place. Beethoven over-shadowed the Italian
composer; but the harsh judgment expressed by Mozart[77] has
contributed not a little, we imagine, to the indifference now shown to
the Clementi sonatas.[78] The judgment was a severe one; but Otto Jahn
relates how Clementi told his pupil Berger that, "at the period of
which Mozart writes, he devoted his attention to brilliant execution,
and in particular to double runs and extemporised passages." And,
again, Berger himself was of opinion that the sonata selected for
performance by Clementi at the memorable contest with Mozart in
presence of the Emperor Joseph the Second (December 1781), was
decidedly inferior to his earlier compositions of the same kind. The
sonata in question was the one in B flat (B. & H., No. 61; Holle, No.
37), of which the opening theme commences in the same manner as the
Allegro of the Overture to the _Magic Flute_. Mozart suffered much
from the predominant Italian influence at court, and the "like all
the Italians" in the letter just mentioned shows, to say the least, a
bitter spirit. But the letter was a private one, probably hastily
written. The judgment expressed was formed from an inferior work; in
any case, it must not be taken too seriously. Mozart, by the way, was
not the only composer who failed to render justice to his
contemporaries.
Clementi's sonatas may be roughly divided into three classes. Some he
wrote merely for the display of technique, while some were composed
for educational purposes. But there remain others in which his heart
and soul were engaged, and in these he reaches a very high level. Our
classification is a rough one, for often in those which we consider
his best, there is plenty of showy technique. With the exception of
Mozart's sonata in C minor, and Haydn's "Genziger" and "London"
sonatas, both in E flat, also some of Rust's, of which we shall soon
have something to say, there are, to our thinking, none which in
spirit come nearer to Beethoven than some of Clementi's. Mr. E.
Dannreuther, in his article on the composer in Sir George Grove's
_Dictionary of Music and Musicians_, justly remarks "that a judicious
selection from his entire works would prove a boon."
In order to trace the relationship between Clementi and Beethoven, it
may be well to state that Clementi in 1783 had published up to Op. 11
(Sonata and Toccata; the Toccata, by the way, is not included in the
Breitkopf & Härtel edition; it appeared first, we believe, together
with the sonata, in a London edition. Beethoven's first sonatas (Op.
2) appeared only in 1796).[79] By 1802, Clementi had published up to
Op. 40; in which year Beethoven composed two of the three sonatas, Op.
31, Nos. 1-3. Between 1820-21 appeared Clementi's sonata, Op. 46
(dedicated to Kalkbrenner), and the last set of three sonatas in
(including the "Didone Abbandonata") Op. 50. Beethoven's sonata in E
(Op. 109) appeared in November 1821. Thus Clementi at first influenced
Beethoven, but, later on, the reverse must have been the case.
Breitkopf & Härtel have published sixty-four sonatas of Clementi; and
of these, sixty-three are to be found in the Holle edition.[80]
The three sonatas, Op. 2, Nos. 1, 2, 3 (25, 26, 27), have only two
movements, and are principally remarkable for their showy
technique.[81]
Clementi, of course, was well acquainted with Scarlatti's music, yet
it would perhaps be difficult to point out any direct influence of the
one over the other. In the next three sonatas, Op. 9, Nos. 4, 5, 6
(11, 28, 12), the first and third are most interesting. In the second,
Clementi indulges in his favourite passages of thirds, sixths, and
octaves; there is, indeed, a Presto movement, a _moto perpetuo_ for
the right hand, in octaves, which, if taken up to time, would tax even
pianists of the present day. The 1st sonata may be noticed for its
bold chords, and its _sforzandos_ on unaccented beats, which sound
Beethovenish. The 3rd sonata reminds us in many ways of the Bonn
master. In the opening Allegro there is a sighing figure--
[Music illustration]
which plays an important part throughout the movement, and therefore
gives a marked character to it. In the development section the bold
contrasts, the powerful chords, the sighing figure in augmentation,
all point to Beethoven. And, curiously enough, the principal theme,
which now appears in major (the sonata is in G minor), reminds one
very strongly of the "Eroica"--
[Music illustration]
It is worth noticing that the "sighing figure" may be traced in the
other two movements of the sonata. The next sonata, No. 10 (44), has
three movements, all in the same key; the Trio of the Minuet is in the
key of the subdominant. In the first movement may be noticed the
extension of a phrase by repetition (_pp_) of its last two notes, a
feature often to be met with in Beethoven (see, for instance, the
first movement of the "Appassionata," development section).
The piano phrase in the Rondo of No. 11 (45), before the organ point
and the pause bar, is striking. No. 14 (2) is interesting. The broken
octaves at the end of the exposition section, and the return by
ellipsis to the principal theme, call to mind passages in Beethoven's
Op. 22 and Op. 109. Sonata No. 16 (4) has a delightful first movement;
the evolution of the second subject from the first deserves attention.
In No. 18 (51) there is one point to notice. The key of the first
movement is in F, but the principal theme in the recapitulation
section appears in E flat; the second theme, however, according to
rule, in the tonic.
Sonata No. 19 (52), in F minor, demands more than a passing word. Our
readers will, perhaps, be tired of our noticing foreshadowings of
Beethoven, yet we must add others here. We can assure them, however,
or rather those who are not familiar with Clementi's sonatas, that the
passages to which we call attention only form a small proportion of
those to which we might refer. The first movement (Allegro agitato) is
concise; there is no padding. Every bar of the exposition section may
be termed thematic. The second subject, in the orthodox relative
major, is evolved from the principal theme. And the latter descends,
but the former ascends--a true Beethoven contrast. The coda to the
first section, with its working of a thematic figure in augmentation,
forms a striking feature. At the close of the development section a
long dignified dominant passage seems a preparation for the return of
the principal theme, but the composer has a surprise; after a pause
bar, the _second_ theme appears, and in A flat. A modulation soon
leads back to F minor, and quite in Beethoven fashion--
[Music illustration]
and the exposition coda is repeated in extended form. In the next
movement (Largo e sostenuto) sombre tones still prevail; the key is
that of the dominant minor. There is evident kinship between the first
and last movements; of this the opening bar of the former and the
closing bars of the latter offer signal proof.
In No. 23 (43) at the end of the last movement, an organ point reminds
us that the full intentions of the composer are not recorded. Thus, in
Clementi's early sonatas at any rate, the interpreter, as in E.
Bach's works, was expected to make additions. In No. 26 (7) the
opening of the theme of the Arietta recalls, and in no vague manner,
the opening of the Finale of Beethoven's Septet. No. 34 (8) is an
excellent sonata; there is considerable freedom in the recapitulation
section. In No. 39 (35) Clementi returns to an old form of sonata:
there are only two movements, a Larghetto and Tempo di Minuetto, and
both in the same key. With sonata No. 41 (32), the first of two
published as Op. 34, Clementi breaks new ground. The idea of
incorporating the subject-matter of an introductory slow movement had
already occurred to Haydn,[82] but Clementi goes to greater lengths.
(It must not be forgotten that Beethoven's "Sonate Pathétique," Op.
13, appeared in 1799; possibly, before Clementi's.) From the opening
characteristic subject of the Largo is evolved the principal subject
of the Allegro _con fuoco_, and there is also relationship between it
and the second subject. In the unusually long development section, a
dramatic passage, evolved from the concluding bars of the Largo, leads
to a slow section in which the opening notes of the Largo are given
out in loud tones, and in the unexpected key of C major (the three
repeated _sforzando_ crotchets remind one of the "fate" notes in the C
minor Symphony); and when the Tempo primo is resumed, the
[Music illustration]
also reminds one of
[Music illustration]
in the same movement of the above-mentioned Symphony. Then, again, in
an important coda the theme is given out in modified, yet intensified
form. In the Finale of the sonata the Largo still makes its influence
felt. Exception may perhaps be taken to the length of the first
movement, and to the prominence throughout the work, of the principal
key; but the evident desire of the composer to express something which
was inwardly moving him gives great interest to the music.
The sonata in B minor, Op. 40, is one of Clementi's most finished
productions. The name of Beethoven must again be mentioned; for depth
of meaning, boldness, style of development, and gradation of interest,
the music comes within measurable distance of the greater master. Not
only is there no padding, but here the technique serves a higher
purpose than that of display; there are no formal successions of
thirds, sixths, or octaves, no empty bravoura passages. The long
development section of the first movement, with its bold contrasts,
its varied presentation of thematic material, its peculiar mode of
dealing with fragments of a theme, and its long dwelling on dominant
harmony previous to the return of the principal theme,--all these
things remind one of Beethoven. This movement is followed by a Largo
(_mesto e patetico_) leading to the final Allegro. These two are
intimately connected; and, moreover, the latter includes reminiscences
from the introductory Adagio. After a brief reference to the Largo,
the movement concludes with a passionate Presto coda. In Mr.
Banister's _Life of Macfarren_ we learn that the latter considered the
B minor of Clementi "one of the finest sonatas ever written"; and many
musicians will, probably, agree with him.
Of the three last sonatas (Op. 50, Nos. 1, 2, and 3), it must be
remembered that when they appeared Beethoven had published up to Op.
106, and possibly Op. 109. If, then, in some of the earlier Clementi
sonatas we spoke of his influence on Beethoven, it is just the reverse
here. Nevertheless, of these sonatas which must have been known to
that master, one may have led him to think again of the idea of
revealing the poetic basis of his sonatas.[83] Clementi gives the
title, "Didone Abbandonata: Scena Tragica" to his work. The
introductory Largo is _sostenuto e patetico_, while the Allegro which
follows bears the superscription, _deliberando e meditando_; the
Adagio is _dolente_; and the Allegro Finale, _agitato e con
disperazione_. The music expresses throughout the sorrow and despair
of the forsaken queen, while certain wild passages (as for example the
coda of the first Allegro) tell also of her anger. This Allegro is an
admirably sustained movement, and, at moments, the composer rises to
the height of his argument. It is interesting, too, from a technical
point of view, for there is no empty display. Whatever degree of
inspiration may be accorded to the music, it will surely be
acknowledged that the composer was full of his theme; that all his
powers of head and heart were engaged in the task of illustration.
This "Dido" sonata, of course, suffers if compared with those of
Clementi's great contemporary; and some of the writing is formal and
old-fashioned, and, at times, too thin to attract the sympathy or to
excite the interest of pianists of the present day, who enjoy the
richer inheritance of Beethoven, the romantic tone-pictures of
Schumann and Brahms, the fascinating miniatures of Chopin, and the
clever glitter of Liszt. Still it does not deserve utter oblivion.
Hear what Fr. Rochlitz says of it in the _Allg. Mus. Zeit._: "It (the
sonata) is indeed a tragic scene, one so clearly thought out and so
definitely expressed, that it is by no means difficult--not only in
each movement, but in its various divisions--to follow literally the
course of changing feeling which is here developed."
Schindler, with regard to the work, also remarks as follows: "Who
understands nowadays how to interpret this musical soul-picture
(written unfortunately in old stereotyped sonata-form!)? At best,
glancing hastily over it, a pianist carelessly remarks that the
poetical contents of this sonata are only expressed in the title." And
again: "In the year 1827, at Baden, near Vienna, Clementi gave me
details respecting the contents and interpretation of this tone-poem.
A new edition of the work by J. André of Offenbach enabled me to
insert a preface with the explanations of the veteran master."[84] And
further, as a tone-picture expressing states of the soul, he knows "of
no other work entitled sonata more worthy of a place beside those of
Beethoven."
II. Johann Ludwig Dussek
This composer comes next to Clementi, in order of time, and, we may
add, of merit. His natural gifts really exceeded those of Clementi;
but the latter made a deep study of his art, and also of the
pianoforte, to which, indeed, like Chopin, he devoted his whole
attention. Dussek was fond of ease and pleasure, and never developed
his powers to the full. It may be noted that both these celebrated
pianists were connected with English music-publishing houses. Clementi
prospered, though not in his first undertaking with Longman &
Broderip; but Dussek was unsuccessful, and left England, so it is
said, to avoid his creditors. There is, indeed, a letter written by
Dussek from Hamburg, dated 12th June, 1801, to Clementi, and apart
from the curious spectacle of these two pianists in commercial
correspondence with each other, the letter is of interest, in that it
belongs to a period of Dussek's life concerning the details of which
there is some uncertainty.[85] Dussek, it may be mentioned, does not
ever appear to have returned to London. In 1803 he became attached to
Prince Louis Ferdinand, to whom he offered advice in pianoforte
playing and composition. There is another letter extant of Dussek's
written in the same year in which that Prince fell on the battlefield
of Saalfeld (13th October, 1806), and this also we will give, as we
believe, like the one above, it has never been published.[86] The
catalogue of Dussek's works, in Sir G. Grove's _Dictionary of Music
and Musicians_, mentions three quartets for strings (Op. 60: in G, B
flat, and E flat), most probably the works referred to in the second
letter.
Dussek, born in the year 1761, studied first with his father J.J.
Dussek, and in his twenty-second year received further instruction
from Emanuel Bach; he soon enjoyed great fame as an executant.
Tomaschek, himself a pianist of note, thus speaks of him in his
autobiography:--
"There was, in fact, something magical about the way in which Dussek,
with all his charming grace of manner, through his wonderful touch,
extorted from the instrument delicious and at the same time emphatic
tones. His fingers were like a company of ten singers, endowed with
equal executive powers, and able to produce with the utmost perfection
whatever their director could require. I never saw the Prague public
so enchanted as they were on this occasion by Dussek's splendid
playing. His fine declamatory style, especially in _cantabile_
phrases, stands as the ideal for every artistic performance--something
which no other pianist has since reached."
The above quotation refers to a concert given at Prague in 1804.
There is, unfortunately, great confusion in the opus numbers of
Dussek's works; and, moreover, it is difficult, if not impossible, to
give the dates either of composition or publication. Breitkopf &
Härtel have published more than fifty sonatas, but we shall only refer
to some of the more important ones. Dussek, like all the prominent
composers of his time, not even excepting Haydn and Mozart, wrote
music on a practical, rather than on a poetical basis; one of the
letters given above acknowledges this in very frank terms. But to
Dussek's credit be it said, his least valuable works are masterpieces
as compared with those which the sonata-makers, Steibelt, Cramer, and
others, fabricated by the hundred. In Dussek we find great charm and
refinement, while the writing for the instrument is often highly
attractive; but the art of developing themes was certainly not his
strong point. That he was at times careless or indifferent may be seen
from such a bar as the following (Op. 47, No. 1, Litolff ed.; Adagio,
bar 9):--
[Music illustration]
The bar before the return of the principal theme in the Allegro of the
sonata in E flat (Op. 75) furnishes another instance. Again, in the
Allegro of the sonata in A flat, known as "Le Retour à Paris," there
is a passage (commencing fifteen bars before the end of the exposition
section) which, with slight alteration, might have been materially
improved.
Of the early sonatas, Op. 10, No. 2, in G minor, is an interesting
work. It consists of two well-contrasted movements: an Adagio in
binary, and a Vivace in sonata form. Of the Presto of Op. 10, No. 3,
Professor Prout, in his interesting article, _Dussek's Pianoforte
Sonatas_,[87] says: "Both the first and second principal subjects
remind us irresistibly of that composer (Mendelssohn), while the
phrase at the conclusion of the first part, repeated at the end of the
movement, is almost identical with a well-known passage in the first
movement of the 'Scotch Symphony.' Is the coincidence accidental, or
did Mendelssohn know the sonata, and was he unconsciously influenced
by it?"
In his three last sonatas (Op. 70, 75, and 77), Dussek rises to a very
high level; he was undoubtedly influenced by the earnestness of
Beethoven, the chivalric spirit of Weber, and the poetry of Schubert.
A new era had set in. These three composers were neither the _fools_
of princes nor the servants of the public: they were in the world, yet
not of it. They looked upon their art as a sacred thing; and most
probably the shallowness of much of the music produced in such
abundance towards the close of the eighteenth century spurred them on
to higher efforts. Dussek had lived an irregular, aimless sort of
life; he had wandered from one country to another, and had acquired
the ephemeral fame of the _virtuoso_. Perhaps he was a disappointed
man; there is a tinge of sadness about these last sonatas which
supports such a view. Perhaps a feeling that his life was ebbing away
made him serious: his music now shows no trifling. Explain it as you
may, Dussek's three last contributions to sonata literature rank
amongst the best of his day; and the indifference now shown to
them--so far, at least, as the concert platform is concerned--is proof
of ignorance, or bad taste. We say ignorance, because the rising
generation has few, if any, opportunities of hearing this composer's
music. It is eighteen years since his Op. 70 was given at the Popular
Concerts; while twenty-three and twenty-nine years have passed since
Op. 75 and Op. 77 have been played there.
The sonata in A flat, entitled "Le Retour à Paris," is known in
England as "Plus Ultra," and in an old edition it is dedicated to "Non
plus Ultra." The latter was meant for Woelfl, a famous pianist and
contemporary. His music is now forgotten, and his name is principally
remembered in connection with Beethoven; like the latter, his talent
for improvisation was great. The late J.W. Davidson, in his long and
interesting preface to Brewer & Co.'s edition of Dussek's A flat
sonata, leads us to believe that Dussek's publisher, and not the
composer himself, was responsible for the change of title to "Plus
Ultra." The opus number, too, was changed from 70 to 71. The following
story is also told by Davidson in a preface contributed by him to the
Brewer edition of the Woelfl sonata:--"Who will play it?" asked the
publisher (Well), looking through the music of the composer. "I vill
it blay," replied Woelfl. "Yes, but you won't buy the copies. No one
but yourself or Dussek can play the Allegro, and I doubt if either of
you can play the variations." Woelfl, however, sitting down before an
old harpsichord, convinced the publisher of his error. "What shall we
call it?" asked Well. "Call it 'Ne plus Ultra,'" said Woelfl, rubbing
his hands with joy, and adding, "Now shall we see if Herr von Esch
vill more blay, or Herr Bomdembo make de variation."
Dussek's "Plus Ultra" (Op. 70) is justly admired; the music is fine,
and in the matter of technique, setting aside a few sensational
passages[88] in Woelfl's sonata, which his very long fingers enabled
him to execute with comparative ease, far surpassed the earlier work.
It must appear strange to many musicians who do not possess a copy of
Woelfl's sonata, that, in any mention of the rivalry between the two
composers, no reference is made to Woelfl's sonata beyond the title.
An examination of the latter, however, would soon solve the mystery.
The plain fact is this: both the music and even the technique are now
absolutely uninteresting. The sonata, in the key of F major, commences
with a brief introductory Adagio, followed by a long, tedious Allegro
abounding in passages of thirds. A brief Andante comes between this
Allegro and the Finale, consisting of flimsy variations on the popular
melody "Life let us Cherish." In a book of small compass such as the
present one, we only wish to dwell upon matters of interest. For some
particular purpose Woelfl's sonatas might possibly prove of importance
and even interest; but not here. The "Non plus Ultra," so far as we
are concerned, may serve to remind us that Woelfl once lived; while
the rest of his music, like some incidents in his life, may be
consigned to oblivion. We cannot say that we have read all his
sonatas, but enough of them, we believe, to judge, generally, of their
contents.
Professor Macfarren's opinion of Dussek, as composer for the
pianoforte, in the _Imperial Dictionary of Biography_, is so
excellent, that we cannot perhaps do better than quote his words:--
"The immense amount of Dussek's compositions for the pianoforte have
by no means equal merit; many of them were written for the mere object
of sale, still more for the purpose of tuition, and some with the
design of executive display. Of those which were produced, however, in
the true spirit of art, expressing the composer's feelings in his own
unrestrained ideas, there exist quite enough to stamp him one of the
first composers for his instrument; and while these are indispensable
in the complete library of the pianist, they are above value to the
student in the development of his mechanism and the formation of his
style. A strong characteristic of the composer is his almost redundant
profusion of ideas;[89] but his rich fecundity of invention is greatly
counterbalanced by diffuseness of design, resulting from the want of
that power of condensation by means of which greater interest is often
given to less beautiful matter."
And then, again, in an analysis of a Dussek Quintet, he remarks that
in that composer's works we may trace "not only the origin of many of
the most beautiful effects with which later writers have been
accredited, but some of the identical ideas by which these very
writers have made their way into popularity."
III. Friedrich Wilhelm Rust
During the years 1744-45 a young man named Johann Ludwig Anton Rust
went to Leipzig to study jurisprudence and philosophy. But he was also
musical, and played the violin at performances given under the
direction of J.S. Bach. On returning to his home at Wörlitz, Rust
tried to inspire those around him with enthusiasm for the music of
Bach. With his younger brother, Friedrich Wilhelm, he was, at any
rate, successful; for the latter, already at the age of thirteen, was
able to play by heart the whole of the "Well-tempered Clavier." Later
on, young Friedrich went to Halle to study law, and there not only
made the acquaintance of Friedemann Bach, but, in return for attending
to the correspondence of that gifted musician, he received from him
instruction in composition, organ and clavier playing. Afterwards, at
Potsdam, he continued his clavier studies under Emanuel Bach. Surely a
finer training never fell to the lot of any pupil. Schumann recommends
young musicians to make Bach their daily bread; and of that, Rust must
have had full weight. But the list of his teachers is not yet
exhausted; he went to Italy in 1765, and studied the violin under
Tartini. Rust composed operas, cantatas, concertos, and sonatas for
violin,[90] and for pianoforte; the last-named, of which he wrote
eight, now concern us.
The earliest, entitled "Sonata Erotica," was composed in 1775; this
work, however, was not published until the year 1888 (edited by his
grandson, Dr. Wilhelm Rust,[91] late cantor of St. Thomas'). It is the
first of a series of works extraordinary in many ways--in form,
subject-matter, developments, and technique. With regard to the
last-named, there is something to say, and it had better be said at
once. Dr. E. Prieger, in his interesting pamphlet, _F.W. Rust: Ein
Vorgänger Beethovens_, remarks as follows:--"While the grandson, full
of enthusiasm, threw his whole soul into the creations of his
ancestor, he gave a reflection, in his edition, of the pictures which
had been vividly formed in his mind." To accomplish this he has
strengthened the writing, and, in some cases, _modernised_ it. Dr.
Prieger, who has seen some, if not all of the autographs, has assured
us that "these additions only concern the exterior, and do not affect
the fundamental, character of the work." This statement is, to a
certain extent, satisfactory, and we receive it thankfully. But a
great deal of the writing is far ahead of the age in which it was
written; it reminds one now of Weber, now of Schumann. Why, one may
ask, did not the editor indicate the additions in smaller notes? Then
it would have been possible to see exactly what the elder Rust had
written, and what the younger Rust had added. At present one can only
marvel at some of the writing, and long to know how much of it really
belongs to the composer. It appears that Rust, as editor of his
grandfather's work, had some intention of describing his editions,
etc., but death, which frequently prevents the best intentioned plans,
intervened.
The "Sonata Erotica" is noticeable, generally, for its charm, poetry,
and spontaneity. The first movement, an Allegro moderato, is in
sonata-form. The second, in the key of the relative minor, entitled
Fantasie, has in it more of the spirit of Beethoven than of Emanuel
Bach. The Finale is in rondo form; the middle section consists of a
playful Duettino, containing free imitations.
The next sonata (1777), in D flat, opens with a graceful Allegretto,
and closes with a Tempo di Minuetto, which, for the most part, points
backward rather than forward. The slow movement, Adagio sostenuto, is,
however, of a higher order than either of these. It has Beethovenish
breadth and dignity, yet lacks the power of the Bonn master: those
magic touches by which the latter makes us feel his genius, and
secures gradation of interest up to the very close of a movement. This
Adagio, however, were the date of its composition unknown, might pass
for a very clever imitation of Beethoven's style.
In 1784, Rust wrote two sonatas, one in F sharp minor, the other in B
flat minor. The latter consists of three movements, and the music,
especially in the Adagio in E flat minor, bears traces of the great
Bach; still there are passages which sound more modern even in this
very Adagio, which points so clearly to him as the source of
inspiration. The modern element, however, admits of explanation, for
Haydn and Mozart, at the time in which the sonata was written, had
appeared in the musical firmament. But in the works we are about to
mention, the composer suggests Beethoven, Weber, and even Schumann. In
writing about Clementi, we were compelled frequently, and at the risk
of wearying our readers, to call attention to foreshadowings of both
the letter and spirit of Beethoven. The cases of Clementi and Rust,
however, are not quite parallel. With the former it was mere
foreshadowing; with exception of a few passages in which there was
note resemblance between the two composers, the music still bore
traces of Clementi's mode of thought and style of writing. But with
Rust, there are moments in which it is really difficult to believe
that the music belongs to a pre-Beethoven period.
The sonata[92] in D minor (1788) opens with a vigorous yet dignified
Allegro; the graceful Adagio is of eighteenth century type; it is in
the key of the relative major, but closes on the dominant chord of D
minor, leading without break to a final Allegro, full of interesting
details. The movement concludes with an impressive _poco adagio_ coda,
in which Rust makes use of the principal theme of the opening
movement. We will venture on one quotation, although a few bars,
separated from the context, may convey only a feeble impression--
[Music illustration]
The sonata in D major, composed six years later, opens with an
interesting Allegro. The second movement, in B minor, bears the
superscription "Wehklage" (Lamentation). Rust's eldest son, a talented
youth, who was studying at Halle University, was drowned in the river
Saale, 23rd March 1794. Matthisson, the "Adelaide" poet, sent to the
disconsolate father a poem entitled "Todtenkranz für ein Kind," to
which Rust sketched music, and on that sketch is based this pathetic
movement, which sounds like some tone-poem of the nineteenth century.
Here is the impressive coda:--
[Music illustration]
There follows a dainty, old-fashioned Minuet, and a curious movement
entitled "Schwermuth und Frohsinn" (Melancholy and Mirth);[93] though
after the "Wehklage" these make little impression.
During four years (1792-96), Rust was occupied with a sonata in C
minor and major. The work is a remarkable one. It opens with an
energetic Recitativo in C minor, interrupted for a few bars by an
Arioso Adagio in C major. Then comes a Lento in six-four time based on
the celebrated Marlbrook song, a dignified movement containing, among
other canonic imitations, one in the ninth. It leads by means of a
_stringendo_ bar to a brilliant Allegro con brio, a movement of which
both the music and the technique remind one of Beethoven's bravoura
style. A second section of the sonata commences with the recitative
phrase of the opening of the work, only in A minor. This leads to a
highly characteristic Andante, which Dr. Rust, the editor, in a
preface to the published sonata, likens to the "mighty procession" in
Lenau's _Faust_. The Finale consists of an animated Allegro, with a
clever fugato by way of episode; there is still an Allegro maestoso,
which, except for its length and the fact that it contains a middle
section, Cantabile e religioso, we should call a long coda. The whole,
evidently programme-music, is a sonata worked out somewhat on Kuhnau
lines.
Now, was Beethoven acquainted with Rust's music? Dr. Prieger, in the
pamphlet mentioned above, remarks as follows:--"During the years
1807-27 Wilhelm Karl Rust (_b._ 1787, _d._ 1855), the youngest son of
our master, was in Vienna, and had the good fortune to make the
acquaintance of Beethoven, who was pleased with his playing, and
recommended him as teacher. Among Rust's lady pupils were Baroness
Dorothea Ertmann and Maximiliane Brentano, both of whom belonged to
Beethoven's most intimate circle of friends, and had been honoured by
having works dedicated to them. The younger Rust was gifted with an
extraordinary memory, and therefore it seems more than probable that
he occasionally performed some of his father's works in that circle.
On the other hand, we have Beethoven's energetic nature holding aloof
from anything which might influence his own individuality."
There, in a few words, is the answer to our question. And it is about
the only one we can ever hope to obtain. Rust was altogether a
remarkable phenomenon, a musician born, as it were, out of due time.
If Beethoven, as seems quite possible, was acquainted with his music,
then Rust exerted an influence over the master quite equal to that of
Clementi. It almost seems as if we ought to say, greater.