LUDWIG VAN BEETHOVEN
Bach's forty-eight Preludes and Fugues and Beethoven's thirty-two
Sonatas tower above all other works written for the pianoforte; they
were aptly described by the late Dr. Hans v. Bülow, the one as the
Old, the other as the New Testament of musical literature. Each fresh
study of them reveals new points of interest, new beauties; they are
rich mines which it is impossible to exhaust. Bach seemed to have
revealed all the possibilities of fugue-form; and the history of the
last seventy years almost leads one to imagine that Beethoven was the
last of the great sonata writers. To this matter, however, we will
presently return. In speaking of the various composers from Kuhnau
onwards, we have tried to show the special, also the earliest,
influences acting on them; and we shall still pursue the same course
with regard to Beethoven. When he went to Vienna in 1792 he found
himself in the very centre of the musical world. Haydn, though past
sixty years of age, was at the zenith of his fame; and Beethoven, for
a time, studied under him. Mozart had died in the previous year, so
his name was still in everybody's mouth. The early works of Beethoven
give strong evidence of the influence exerted over him by these two
composers. Then Prince Lichnowsky, the friend and pupil of Mozart, and
Baron van Swieten, the patron and friend of both Haydn and Mozart,
were among the earliest to take notice of the rising genius and to
invite him to their musical _matinées_ and _soirées_; and one can
easily guess what kind of music was performed on those occasions. But
the little story of Beethoven remaining at van Swieten's house, after
the guests had departed, in order to "send his host to bed with half a
dozen of Bach's Fugues by way of _Abendsegen_" reminds us of another
strong, and still earlier, influence. At Bonn, under the guidance of
his master, Christian Gottlob Neefe, Beethoven was so well-grounded in
the "Well-tempered Clavier," that already, at the age of twelve, he
could play nearly the whole of it. But, if we are not mistaken, he
also made early acquaintanceship with the sonatas of Emanuel Bach. For
in 1773 Neefe published "Zwölf Klavier-Sonaten," which were dedicated
to the composer just named. In the preface he says: "Since the period
in which you, dearest Herr Capellmeister, presented to the public your
masterly sonatas, worked out, too, with true taste, scarcely anything
of a characteristic nature has appeared for this instrument.[94] Most
composers have been occupied in writing Symphonies, Trios, Quartets,
etc. And if now and then they have turned their attention to the
clavier, the greater number of the pieces have been provided with an
accompaniment, often of an extremely arbitrary kind, for the violin;
so that they are as suitable for any other instrument as for the
clavier." Then, later on, Neefe acknowledges how much instruction and
how much pleasure he has received from the theoretical and practical
works of E. Bach (we seem to be reading over again the terms in which
Haydn expressed himself towards Bach). May we, then, not conclude that
young Beethoven's attention was attracted to these "masterly sonatas,"
and also to those of his teacher Neefe? This is scarcely the moment to
describe the Neefe sonatas.[95] In connection, however, with
Beethoven, one or two points must be noticed. In the third of the
three sonatas which Beethoven composed at the age of eleven, the last
movement is entitled: Scherzando allegro ma non troppo, and twice in
Neefe do we come across the heading, Allegro e scherzando (first set,
No. 5, last movement; and second set, No. 1, also last movement).
Then, again, No. 2 of the second set opens with a brief introductory
Adagio, one, by the way, to some extent connected with the Allegro
which follows. In the 2nd of the above-mentioned Beethoven sonatas
(the one in F minor) there is also a slow introduction; the young
master, no mere imitator, anticipates his own "Sonate Pathétique," and
repeats it in the body of the Allegro movement. Lastly, no one, we
believe, can compare the Neefe variations with those of Beethoven in
the 3rd sonata (in A) without coming to the conclusion that the pupil
had diligently studied his teacher's compositions, which, we may add,
were thoroughly sound, full of pleasing _cantabile_ writing, and, at
times, not lacking in boldness. Let us venture on one quotation of
only four bars from Sonata 1, in G, of the second set of six: it is
the opening of a short Adagio connecting the Allegro with an Allegro e
scherzando--
[Music illustration]
The enharmonic modulation from the second to the third bar reminds one
of E. Bach, who was so fond of such changes; also of a similar one in
the "Pathétique."
Beethoven wrote thirty-two sonatas, and in the following table the
opus number of each work is given, also the date of its publication;
some have a title, and the greater number a dedication:--
Sonata Published Dedicated to
Op. 2 No. 1 (F minor) 1796. Haydn.
" No. 2 (A) " "
" No. 3 (C) " "
Op. 7 (E flat) 1797. Countess Babette Keglevics.
Op. 10 No. 1 (C minor) 1798. Countess Browne.
" No. 2 (F) " "
" No. 3 (D) " "
Op. 13 (C minor, "Sonate
Pathétique") 1799. Prince Charles Lichnowsky.
Op. 14 No. 1 (E) " Baroness Braun.
" No. 2 (G) " "
Op. 22 (B flat) 1802. Count Browne.
Op. 26 (A flat) " Prince Charles Lichnowsky.
Op. 27 No. 1 (E flat) " Princess Liechtenstein.
" No. 2 (C sharp minor) " Countess Giulietta Guicciardi.
Op. 28 (D) " Joseph de Sonnenfels.
Op. 31 No. 1 (G) 1803.
" No. 2 (D minor) "
" No. 3 (E flat) 1804.
Op. 49 No. 1 (G minor) 1805.
" No. 2 (G) "
Op. 53 (C) " Count Waldstein.
Op. 54 (F) 1806.
Op. 57 (F minor) 1807. Count Brunswick.
Op. 78 (F sharp) 1810. Countess Theresa of Brunswick.
Op. 79 (G) "
Op. 81A (E flat; "Das Lebewohl,
die Abwesenheit,
das Wiedersehn") 1811. Archduke Rudolph.
Op. 90 (E minor) 1815. Count Moritz Lichnowsky.
Op. 101 (A) 1817. Baroness Dorothea Ertmann.
Op. 106 (B flat) 1819. Archduke Rudolph.
Op. 109 (E) 1821. Maximiliane Brentano.
Op. 110 (A flat) 1822.
Op. 111 (C minor) 1823. Archduke Rudolph.
The autograph of the last sonata does not bear any dedication, but,
from a letter of Beethoven (1st June, 1823) to the Archduke, it is
evident that it was intended for the latter.[96]
The fanciful name of "Moonlight" to Op. 27 (No. 2), the appropriate
publisher's title of Op. 57, and the poetical superscriptions of Op.
81A, have, without doubt, helped those sonatas towards their
popularity. It does not always happen that the most popular works of a
man are his best; but these in question justly rank among Beethoven's
finest productions. The last five sonatas are wonderful tone-poems;
yet, with the exception, perhaps, of Op. 110, in A flat, as regards
perfection of form and unity of conception, not one equals Op. 27 (No.
2), Op. 31 (No. 2), and Op. 57. Apart from any æsthetic
considerations, the digital difficulties of the last five sonatas
prevent their becoming common property. The brilliant technique of Op.
53 has proved a special attraction to pianists, and it has therefore
become widely known. With this one sonata Beethoven proved his
superiority, even in the matter of virtuosity, over the best pianists
of his day.
In order to be able to enter fully into the spirit of the music of
great composers, it is necessary to know the history of their lives.
Beethoven's is fairly well known. But it may be worth while to refer,
briefly, to the principal men and women to whom the master dedicated
his pianoforte sonatas.
Of the thirty-two, as will be seen from the above table, eight have no
dedication.
In the year 1792 Beethoven left Bonn and went to Vienna. There he
studied counterpoint under Haydn, yet the lessons proved
unsatisfactory. But the fame and influence of the veteran master no
doubt prompted the young artist to dedicate to him the three sonatas,
Op. 2. The title-page of the oldest Vienna edition runs thus:--
Trois Sonates pour le Clavecin Piano-forte composées
et dediées
A Mr. Joseph Haydn Docteur en musique par
Louis van Beethoven.
There was perhaps more of sarcasm than respect in the "Docteur en
musique"; Beethoven is related to have said that he had taken some
lessons from Haydn, but had never learnt anything from him.
Nevertheless he paid heed to his teacher's music. There are in the
sonatas one or two reminiscences of Haydn, which seem to us curious
enough to merit quotation. One occurs in the sonata in C minor (Op.
10, No. 1). We give the passage (transposed) from Haydn, and the one
from Beethoven:--
[Music illustration: "Letter V," Pohl, No. 58.[97] HAYDN.]
[Music illustration: Op. 10, No. 1. BEETHOVEN.]
And another--
[Music illustration: "In Native Worth" (_Creation_). HAYDN.]
[Music illustration: Op. 31, No. 1. BEETHOVEN.]
While speaking of reminiscences, a curious one may be mentioned. The
theme of the slow movement of Beethoven's sonata in A (Op. 2, No. 2)
strongly resembles the theme of the slow movement of his own Trio in B
flat (Op. 97):--
[Music illustration: Op. 2, No. 2.]
[Music illustration: Trio, Op. 97. _Andante._]
In Op. 111, again, the second subject of the Allegro recalls a phrase
in the Presto of the Sonata in C sharp minor.
Haydn, as the most illustrious composer of that day, stands first; but
the next name worthy of mention is Count Waldstein, a young nobleman
who had been a guide, philosopher, and friend to Beethoven during the
Bonn days. The well-known entry in the young musician's Album just
before his departure for Vienna shows in what high esteem he was held
by Waldstein. Count Ferdinand Waldstein died in 1823.
Prince Charles Lichnowsky was one of the composer's earliest patrons
after the latter had settled in Vienna. The Prince, descended from an
old Polish family, was born in 1758, and, consequently, was, by twelve
years, Beethoven's senior. He lived mostly in Vienna. In 1789 he
invited Mozart to accompany him to Berlin; and the King's proposal to
name the latter his capellmeister is supposed to have been suggested
by the Prince. Lichnowsky was also a pupil of Mozart's. His wife,
Princess of Thun, was famous for her beauty, her kindly disposition,
and for her skill as a musician. Beethoven had not been twelve months
in Vienna when he was offered rooms in the Prince's house. It was
there that the pianoforte sonatas Op. 2 were first played by their
author in presence of Haydn. Beethoven remained in this house until
1800. In 1799 the "Sonate Pathétique" was dedicated to the Prince, and
in the following year the latter settled on him a yearly pension of
600 florins. In the year 1806 there was a rupture between the two
friends. At the time of the battle of Jena, Beethoven was at the seat
of Prince Lichnowsky at Troppau, in Silesia, where some French
officers were quartered. The independent artist refused to play to
them, and when the Prince pressed the request, Beethoven got angry,
started the same evening for Vienna, and,--anger still burning in his
breast,--on his arrival home, he shattered a bust of his patron. The
composer's refusal to play to the French officers was grounded on his
hatred to Napoleon, who had just won the battle of Jena. Beethoven,
however, became reconciled with the Prince before the death of the
latter in 1814. It should be mentioned that Beethoven's first
published work, the three pianoforte Trios, was dedicated to Prince
Lichnowsky.
The Archduke Rudolph (1788-1831) was one of the master's warmest
friends, and one of his most devoted admirers. His uncle was Max
Franz, Elector of Cologne, to whose chapel both Beethoven and his
father had belonged. The Archduke was the son of Leopold of Tuscany
and Maria Louisa of Spain; his aunt was Marie Antoinette, and his
grandmother the famous Maria Theresa. He is supposed to have made the
acquaintance of Beethoven during the winter of 1803-4, and then to
have become his pupil. The pianoforte part of the Triple Concerto (Op.
58), commenced in 1804, and published in 1807, is said to have been
written for him.
Concerning the Countess Giulietta Guicciardi, for whom Beethoven
entertained a hopeless passion, and the Countess Theresa of Brunswick,
to whom he is said to have been secretly engaged for some years, there
is no necessity to enter into detail. Everyone has probably heard of
the famous love-letters, and of the discussion as to which of these
two they were addressed. Maximiliane Brentano was a niece of the
famous Bettine Brentano.
The Baroness Ertmann was an excellent performer on the pianoforte, and
is said to have been unrivalled as an interpreter of Beethoven's
music. Mendelssohn met her at Rome in 1831, and in a letter describes
her playing of the C sharp minor and D minor Sonatas.
We must now turn to the sonatas, yet neither for the purpose of
analysis nor of admiration. We shall briefly discuss how far Beethoven
worked on the lines established by his predecessors, and how far he
modified them. And, naturally, the question of music on a poetic basis
will be touched upon.
The number of movements of which Beethoven's sonatas consist varies
considerably: some have two, some three, others four. The three very
early sonatas dedicated to Maximilian, Archbishop of Cologne, have
only three movements (the second opens with a brief Larghetto, which,
however, really forms part of the first movement). But the four
Sonatas Op. 2 (Nos. 1, 2 and 3) and Op. 7 all have four movements--an
Allegro, a slow movement, a Scherzo or Minuet and Trio, and a final
Allegro or Rondo. There are examples in later sonatas of similar
grouping; but it is an undeniable fact that in some of his greatest
sonatas--Op. 31 (No. 2), Op. 27 (No. 2), Op. 53, Op. 57--he reverts to
the three-movement sonata so faithfully adhered to by Emanuel Bach,
Haydn, Mozart, and Clementi. And there is evidence that the omission
of the Minuet or Scherzo in Op. 10 (Nos. 1 and 2), in Op. 13, and in
others named above, was the result of reflection and not caprice.
Among sketches for the Sonatas, Op. 10, Beethoven writes: "Zu den
neuen Sonaten ganz kürze Menuetten" (to the new sonatas quite short
Minuets); and also, a little further on, "Die Menuetten zu den Sonaten
ins künftige nicht länger als von 16 bis 24 Takte" (in future the
Minuets to the sonatas not to exceed from 16 to 24 bars). Then, again,
there are two sketches for a movement of the Minuet or Scherzo kind,
which were almost certainly intended for the Sonata No. 1 in C minor.
One of these was afterwards completed, and has been published in the
Supplement to Breitkopf & Härtel's edition of Beethoven's works. Both
these were finally rejected, yet Beethoven made still another attempt.
There is a sketch for an "Intermezzo zur Sonate aus C moll," and at
the end of the music the composer writes: "durchaus so ohne Trio, nur
ein Stück" (exactly thus without Trio, only one piece). So the Minuets
were to be short; then the limit of length is prescribed; and, lastly,
an Intermezzo _without_ Trio is planned. The composer proposed, but
his [Greek: daimôn] disposed; the Sonata in C minor finally appeared
in print with only an Adagio between the two quick movements.
Schindler, in reference to the proposal made by Hoffmeister to
Beethoven to edit a new edition of his pianoforte works, tells us that
had that project been carried out, the master, in order to get a
nearer approach to unity, would have reduced some of his earlier
sonatas from four movements to three. And he adds: "He would most
certainly have cut out the Scherzo Allegro from the highly pathetic
sonata for Pianoforte and Violin (Op. 30, No. 2; the first and third
have only three movements), a movement in complete opposition to the
character of the whole. He always objected to this movement, and, for
the reason just assigned, advised that it should be omitted. Had the
scheme been carried out, a small number of Scherzos, Allegros and
Menuets would have been 'dismissed.' In our circle, however,
objections were raised against this proposal; for among these
Scherzos, etc., each of us had his favourite, and did not like the
idea of its being removed from the place which it had long occupied.
The master, however, pointed to the three-movement sonatas--Op. 10 in
C minor, Op. 13, Op. 14, Op. 31 (Nos. 1 and 2), Op. 57, and others.
The last sonatas--Op. 106 and Op. 110--which contain more than three
movements must be judged in quite a different manner" (_Life of
Beethoven_, 3rd ed. vol. ii. pp. 215-16).
Schindler's statements have sometimes been called in question; the
above, however, bears on it the stamp of truth.
But how came it to pass that Beethoven's first four sonatas--Op. 2
(Nos. 1, 2, and 3) and Op. 7--have four movements? That is a question
easier to ask than to answer. Schindler's remark that he followed
custom is difficult to understand. In our introductory chapter we
spoke of twenty sonatas containing four movements written probably
about the middle of the eighteenth century, also of one of Wagenseil's
for clavier with violin accompaniment; yet among the known sonatas of
that period, these form a minority. Woelfl's Sonata in B flat (Op. 15)
has four movements: Allegro, Andante, Scherzo Allegro, and Finale
(theme and variations), but that work appeared shortly after
Beethoven's Op. 2.
Even Haydn, who is said to have introduced the Minuet into the
Symphony, remained faithful to the three-movement form of sonata.
Beethoven, however, wrote six sonatas consisting of two movements.
This change in the direction of simplicity is striking, for in his
quartets the composer became more and more complex. It seems as if he
were merely intent on exhibiting strong contrast of mood: agitation
and repose, or fierce passion followed by heavenly calm; we are
referring especially to the Sonata in E minor (Op. 90) and to the one
in C minor (Op. 111). The two sonatas of Op. 49--really sonatinas
written for educational purposes--may be dismissed; also Op. 54, in
the composition of which the head rather than the heart of the master
was engaged. Even Op. 78, in F sharp, in spite of the Countess of
Brunswick, to whom it was dedicated, does not seem the outcome of
strong emotion; and therefore we do not take it now into
consideration. The two sonatas (Op. 90 and 111) mentioned above are
strong tone-poems, and the master having apparently said all that he
had to say, stopped. The story, already related, about having no time
to complete Op. 111 must not be taken seriously. Nevertheless, we do
not for one moment imagine that Beethoven was thus reducing the number
of movements, in accordance with some preconceived scheme.
The D minor (Op. 31, No. 2) and the F minor (Op. 57) sonatas, not to
speak of others, form the apotheosis of the sonata in three movements
as established, though not invented, by Emanuel Bach. To say that
Beethoven was the perfecter of the sonata is true, but it is scarcely
the whole truth. The E minor appears a first great step in the process
of dissolution; the C minor, a second. They were great steps, because
they were those of a very great man. The experiments as to number of
movements of which we spoke in our introductory chapter were
interesting; and with regard to the number, and also the position of
the Minuet before or after the slow movement, those experiments
acquired additional interest, inasmuch as Beethoven seems for a time
to have been affected by them. The two works named are, however, of
the highest importance; in them, if we are not mistaken, are to be
found the first signs of the disappearance, as it were, of the sonata
of three movements, and, perhaps, of the sonata itself, into the
"imperceptible." After Op. 90 Beethoven wrote sonatas in four
movements, but that does not affect the argument, neither does the
fact, that after Beethoven are to be found several remarkable sonatas
with the same number. The process of evolution of the sonata was
gradual; so also will be that of its dissolution. The title of
"sonata" given by Beethoven to his Op. 90 and Op. 111 does not affect
the music one jot; under any other name it would sound as well. You
might call the "Choral Symphony" a Divertimento, and the title would
be considered inappropriate; or a Polonaise, and the name would be
scouted as ridiculous; but the music would still remain great and
glorious. Yet taking into consideration the meaning of the term
"sonata" as understood by Emanuel Bach, Haydn, and Beethoven himself,
it can scarcely be the right one for these tone-poems in two sections.
The sonata-form of the first movement in each case may have suggested
the title. The two early sonatas Op. 27 (Nos. 1 and 2) are both styled
sonata, but with the addition _quasi una fantasia_. And in neither
case was the first movement in sonata-form; the one in E flat does not
even contain such a movement. There are other signs of the process of
disintegration in the later sonatas. Op. 109, in E, is peculiar as
regards the form of the movements of which it is composed; and the
fugues of Op. 101, 106, and 109--a return, by the way, to the
past--show at least an unsettled state of mind. The sonata in A flat
(Op. 110) was probably the germ whence sprang the sonata in B minor of
Liszt--a work of which we shall soon have to speak.
Beethoven departed from the custom of his predecessors Haydn and
Mozart, and the general practice of sonata-writers before him, in the
matter of tonality. In a movement in sonata-form the rule was for the
second subject to be in the dominant key in the exposition section,
and in the tonic in the recapitulation section, if the key of the
piece was major; but if minor, in the relative major or dominant minor
in the exposition, and in the tonic major or minor in the
recapitulation. Thus, if the key were C major, the second subject
would be first in G major, afterwards in C major; if the key were C
minor, first in E flat major, or G minor, afterwards in C minor or
major. In a minor movement the second subject is found more often in
the relative major than in the dominant minor. The first and third
movements of Beethoven's Sonata in D minor (Op. 31, No. 2) illustrate
the latter; in each case the second subject is in A minor.
In major keys, besides that of the dominant, Beethoven chose the
mediant (E) in his sonata in C (Op. 53); and in the recapitulation it
occurs first in the sub-mediant (A), and only afterwards, in varied
form, in the orthodox tonic. Then in the B flat sonata (Op. 106) the
second subject occurs in the sub-mediant (G). In the last sonata in C
minor, the second subject is neither in the relative major, nor in the
dominant minor, but in the major key of the sub-mediant. Once again,
in the sonata in D major (Op. 10, No. 3) a second theme is introduced
in the key of the relative minor before the dominant section is
reached. With regard, indeed, to the number of themes and order of
keys, some other movements of the Beethoven sonatas show departures
from the orthodox rules.
In the important matter of the repeat of the first section of a
movement in sonata-form, we find the master, for the most part,
adhering to the custom delivered unto him by his predecessors. And yet
there were two strong reasons why he might have been tempted to depart
from it. The repetition was a survival from the old dance movements in
binary form. E. Bach, Haydn, and Mozart not only repeated, but
introduced various kinds of ornaments, and even harmonic changes; and
they expected performers to do the same. Beethoven, however, allowed
no such licence--one, indeed, which in the hands of ordinary pianists
would be calculated to spoil rather than to improve the music. Part,
then, of the _raison d'être_ of the repeat ceased to exist. But a
still stronger temptation to suppress it must have been the
_programme_ or _picture_ which Beethoven had in his mind when he
composed. The repeat, now become almost an empty form, must have
proved at times a fetter to his imagination. In many ways he was bold;
but in this matter strangely conservative. It was only in the sonata
in F minor, Op. 57, that he first ventured to omit the repeat. It is
not to be found in the opening movements of Op. 90 or Op. 110, yet in
his last sonata (Op. 111) the composer almost seems as if he wished to
atone for his previous sins of omission. He had evidently not settled
the question one way or the other; but the fact that in three of his
most poetical works he departed from custom, deserves note. Before his
time the repeat, like the laws of the Medes and Persians, seemed
irrevocably fixed.
Beethoven added important introductions or codas, or even both, to
some of the movements of his sonatas. Codas are to be found in the
sonatas both of Haydn and Mozart, but not introductory movements; the
idea of the latter, however, did not originate with Beethoven. The
Grave which opens the "Pathétique" (Op. 13) does not merely throw the
listener into the right mood for the Allegro, but the opening phrase--
[Music illustration]
is afterwards made use of in the development section--
[Music illustration]
and, later on, it occurs in double augmentation.
The _maestoso_ which ushers in the Allegro of the last sonata contains
foreshadowings which are better felt than explained.
At times the codas of Haydn are interesting,--as, for example, the one
at the end of the first movement of his "Genziger" Sonata in E
flat,--yet they do not present the thematic material in any new or
striking light. With Beethoven it is different. In the Sonata in E
flat (Op. 7) not only is there contrapuntal working, but the principal
theme, just at the close, is, as it were, rounded off, completed.
Similar treatment may be seen in the first movement of the Sonata in D
(Op. 10, No. 3) (here the effect is intensified by contrary motion);
also in the Allegro of Op. 13, and other sonatas; the opening movement
of Op. 57 offers a striking illustration.
The coda to the first movement of the "Waldstein" Sonata (Op. 53) is
on a most elaborate scale: it is almost as long as the development
section. In the latter, only fragments of the principal theme had been
worked, but in the coda it appears in complete form; fierce chords
seem to retard its progress, and a sinking, syncopated figure is
opposed to it, counteracting its rising, expanding nature. But it
works its way onward and upward, until, as if exhausted by the effort,
two descending scales lead to a quiet delivery of the second theme,
which had not been heard during the development section. Then
principal theme is given for the last time; it has overcome all
obstacles, and proclaims its victory in loud and powerful chords. The
Presto which closes the "Appassionata" (Op. 57) is one of Beethoven's
grandest codas, and all the more wonderful in that it follows a
movement of intense storm and stress. It is a coda, not merely to the
last movement, but to the whole work: it recalls the first, as well as
the third movement. The coda of the first movement of the C minor
Symphony displays similar intensity; there, however, we have an
expression of strong will; here, one of savage despair. The coda of
the first movement of the "Adieux" Sonata (Op. 81A) is another
memorable ending. The farewell notes sound sad in the opening Adagio,
while in the Allegro which follows they are again plaintive, or else
agitated. But in the coda, though still sad, they express a certain
tenderness, and the lingering of friends loth to part. Whatever the
special meaning of the music, the point which we here wish to
emphasise is, that the coda presents thematic material, already amply
developed, in quite a new light.
In the matter of structure, Beethoven may be said, in the main, to
have followed Haydn and Mozart, but the effect of his music is,
nevertheless, very different. By overlapping of phrases; by very
moderate use of full closes; by making passages of transition
thoroughly thematic; by affinity and yet strong contrast between his
principal and second themes; by a more organic system of development;
by these and other means Beethoven surpassed his predecessors in power
of continuity, intensity, and unity. Then, again, his conception of
tonality was broader, and his harmonies were more varied; the fuller,
richer tone of the pianoforte of his day influenced the character of
his melodies; while the consequent progress of technique, as
exhibited in the works of some of his immediate predecessors and
contemporaries, enabled him to present his thoughts with greater
variety and more striking effect than was possible to either Haydn or
Mozart.
Once more, Beethoven seemed to be elaborating some central thought;
Haydn and Mozart (with few exceptions), to be deftly weaving together
thoughts so as to obtain pleasing contrasts. In a similar manner, the
first and last movements of a sonata with Beethoven are of kindred
mood, though perhaps of different degree. Haydn and Mozart seem again
to be aiming at contrast; after a dignified opening Allegro and a
soft, graceful slow movement, they frequently wind up with a Finale of
which the chief characteristics are humour, playfulness, and
merriment, so that the listener may part company from them in a
pleasant frame of mind.
We have been comparing the composer, and to his advantage, with Haydn
and Mozart. But the latter, however, sometimes come within near reach
of the former; and had the means at their disposal been similar, they
might possibly have equalled him. And, on the other hand, Beethoven's
inspiration was sometimes at a comparatively low ebb. Speaking
generally, however, the comparison, we believe, stands good.
John Sebastian Bach devoted the greater part of his life to the art of
developing themes. His skill was wonderful, and so, too,--considering
the restrictions of the fugue-form,--was the imagination which he
displayed. In Beethoven the old master seems to live again, only under
new and more favourable conditions. Bach was brought up in the way of
the fugue, Beethoven of the sonata; and, it may be added, from these,
respectively, neither ever departed. From early youth onward, our
composer was a deep student of Bach, and assimilated some of his
predecessor's methods. One special feature of Beethoven's mode of
development was to take a few notes, or sometimes merely a figure,
from his theme, and to expand them into a phrase; as, for instance, in
the opening movement of the sonata in C minor (Op. 10, No. 1), in
which
[Music illustration]
forms the material for the closing phrase of the exposition section.
And the opening figure of the Finale of the same sonata is employed in
a similar manner at the commencement of the second section of the
movement. The Rondo of Op. 10, No. 3, furnishes good illustrations.
Now let us turn to Bach. In the 13th Fugue of the "Well-tempered
Clavier," the closing notes of the subject
[Music illustration]
are expanded, commencing at bar twenty-four, into a melodious phrase.
Also in the Prelude which follows (No. 14)
[Music illustration] becomes [Music illustration]
And some magnificent examples might be culled from the noble Preludes
in E flat and B flat minor (Book 1, Nos. 8 and 22). Again, another
special feature of Beethoven is the extension of a phrase by
repetition of the last clause,--a method too familiar to need
quotation. But let us give one illustration from Bach (Book 1, Fugue
6)--
[Music illustration]
The 8th Prelude of Book I has been already mentioned to illustrate one
point, but there are other Beethovenisms in it.
These comparisons must not be misunderstood; study of Bach
strengthened Beethoven's genius. We are not speaking of bald
imitation, not even of conscious imitation. He not only received the
message of the old master, as a child, but while he was a child; and
that no doubt helped him more than all the works of his predecessors
from Emanuel Bach upwards. It appealed to him strongly, because it was
based on nature. Bach's Fugues are living organisms; they are
expansions of some central thought. Development reveals the latent
power, the latent meaning of the themes; were it merely artificial, no
matter how skilful, it would be letter, not spirit. A clever
contrapuntist once conceived the bold idea of competing with Bach; he
wrote a series of Preludes and Fugues in all the keys, and displayed
wonderful skill in all the arts of counterpoint, canon, and fugue,
while in the matter of elaborate combinations he actually surpassed
Bach (we refer here only to the "Well-tempered Clavier"). But the
result was failure; the laborious work was wasted. Klengel had
mistaken the means for the end; he had worked as a mathematician, not
as a musician. Beethoven felt the true secret of Bach's greatness, and
his own genius taught him how to profit by it. Next to the necessity
of having something of importance to say, something which development
will enhance, the great lesson which Beethoven learnt from Bach was
unity in variety, the "highest law in all artistic creation," as Dr.
H. Riemann well remarks in his _Catechism of Musical Æsthetics_.
Very many, probably the greater number, of Beethoven's sonatas rest
upon some poetic basis. Bombet, in his _Life of Haydn_, tells us how
that composer sometimes "imagined a little romance, which might
furnish him with musical sentiments and colours"; and the titles which
he gave to many of his symphonies certainly support that statement. At
other times the romance was already to hand, as in the case of the
32nd sonata, which was inspired by Haydn's dear friend, Frau von
Genziger. Of the poetic basis underlying some of Beethoven's sonatas
we have fair knowledge. Schindler, in the second edition of his
_Biography of Beethoven_, gives a few extracts from the Conversation
Books (Conversations Hefte), in which, on account of the master's
deafness, questions or answers were written down by those holding
conversation with him. Beethoven read, and, of course, replied _viva
voce_. We have not, it is true, his words, yet it is possible, at
times, to gather their purport from the context. For instance, there
is a conversation (or rather one half of it) recorded, which took
place in 1823 between the composer and Schindler. The latter says: "Do
you remember how I ventured a few years ago to play over to you the
Sonata Op. 14?--now everything is clear." The next entry runs
thus:--"I still feel the pain in my hand." A footnote explains that
after Schindler had played the opening section of the first movement,
Beethoven struck him somewhat roughly on the hand, pushed him from the
stool, and, placing himself on it, played and _explained_ the sonata.
Then Schindler says: "Two principles also in the middle section of
'Pathétique,'" as if the teacher had called upon him to give
illustrations from other sonatas of what he had explained concerning
Op. 14. But there is another record of a conversation which took place
between Beethoven and Schindler in the very month (March, 1827) in
which the composer died. "As you feel well to-day," says the disciple,
"we can continue our talk concerning the poetic basis ("wieder etwas
poetisiren") of the Trio in B flat." And after some remarks about
Aristotle's views of tragedy, and about the _Medea_ of Euripides, we
come across the following:--"But why _everywhere_ a superscription? In
many movements of the sonatas and symphonies, where feeling and one's
own imagination might dictate, such a heading would do harm. Music
ought not, and cannot, on all occasions give a definite direction to
feeling." Beethoven must have been alluding to some scheme of his for
indicating the nature of the contents of his works, and its boldness
seems to have astonished Schindler. It is possible that Beethoven,
conscious that his end was not far distant, carried away by the
enthusiasm of the moment, and desirous of giving all possible help to
the right understanding of his music, went far beyond the modest lines
by which he was guided when writing his "Pastoral" Symphony.[98] But
let us return to the conversation.
"Good!" says Schindler, "then you will next set about writing an
_angry_ sonata?" Beethoven would seem to have declared even that
possible, for Schindler continues: "Oh! I have no doubt you will
accomplish that, and I rejoice in anticipation." And, then, as if
remembering that his master was an invalid, and that it would not be
right to excite him by prolonging the argument, he added, probably in
a half-jocular manner: "Your housekeeper must do her part, and first
put you into a towering passion." The above extracts show pretty
clearly that the poetic basis of his music was a subject which
Beethoven took pleasure in discussing with his friends. Beethoven's
back was, however, at once up if he found others pushing the matter
too far. Of this we will give an instance. In the year 1782 Dr.
Christian Müller of Bremen organised concerts among the members of his
family, and, already at the beginning of the nineteenth century,
Beethoven's name figured on the programmes. A friend of the family,
Dr. Carl Iken, who took part in the musical proceedings, was an ardent
admirer of Beethoven's music, and he ventured to draw up explanations
and picture-programmes of the master's works; and these were read out
before the performances of the works in question. It seems, indeed,
that he was the first who felt impelled to give utterance to the
poetical feelings aroused by Beethoven's music. Dr. Iken's intentions
were of the best, and he may often have succeeded in throwing his
audience into the right mood. A poetical programme, if not too
fantastic, would often prove of better effect than the most skilful of
analyses. These "Iken" programmes so delighted Dr. Müller that he sent
several of them to the master at Vienna. Beethoven read, but his anger
was stirred. He sent for Schindler, and dictated a letter to Dr.
Müller. It was a friendly but energetic protest against such treatment
of his or anyone else's music. He drew attention to the erroneous
opinions to which it would give birth. _If explanations were needed_,
he declared, _let them be limited to the general characteristics of
the compositions_,[99] which it would not be difficult for cultured
musicians to furnish. Thus relates Schindler, and there seems no
reason to doubt his word. It is to be hoped that Dr. Müller's letter
will one day be discovered. It was not the plan to which Beethoven
objected, but the manner in which it was carried out.
Before quitting this subject, let us refer to one or two sonatas
concerning which there are well authenticated utterances of the
master. Schindler once asked him for the key to the Sonatas in D minor
(Op. 31, No. 2) and F minor ("Appassionata"), and Beethoven replied:
"Read Shakespeare's _Tempest_." The reply was laconic. Beethoven, no
doubt, could have furnished further details, but he abstained from so
doing, and in this he was perfectly justified. Then Schindler, growing
bold, ventured a further question: "What did the master intend to
express by the Largo of the Sonata in D (Op. 10, No. 3)?" And the
latter replied that everyone felt that this Largo described the
condition of the soul of a melancholy man, with various nuances of
light and shade. Beethoven's quiet, dignified utterances deserve
special attention in these days of programme-music. It is perhaps well
that he did not carry out his idea of furnishing the clue to the
poetic idea underlying his sonatas. It would, of course, have been
highly interesting to know the sources of his inspirations, but it is
terrible to think of the consequences which would have ensued.
Composers would have imitated him, and those lacking genius would have
made themselves and their art ridiculous. Berlioz went to extremes,
but his genius saved him; and Schumann, a true poet, though inclined
to superscriptions, kept within very reasonable lines.
It was undoubtedly this poetic basis that so affected the form of
Beethoven's sonatas. The little romances by which Haydn spurred his
imagination were as children's tales compared with the deep thoughts,
the tragic events, and the masterpieces of Plato, Shakespeare, and
Goethe, which in Beethoven sharpened feeling and intensified thought.
The great sonatas of Beethoven are not mere cunningly-devised pieces,
not mere mood-painting; they are real, living dramas.
In aiming at a higher organisation, he actually became a disorganiser.
"All things are growing or decaying," says Herbert Spencer. And in
Beethoven, so far as sonata and sonata-form are concerned, we seem, as
it were, to perceive the beginning of a period of decay.