"Soleva la lancia
D'Achille e del suo padre esser cagione
Prima di triste e poi di buona mancia,"
to quote the _Italian_ Beethoven; the spear of Achilles, and his
father, heals its wounds. The cruel blows of Fate and Temptation (to
error and despair) are resisted, cured, and beaten, as before said, by
her own gift, or by herself, in the form of character and genius. In
the light of the higher reading before-mentioned, Fate, under the
terrible but divine form of duty (divine necessity), knocks at man's
heart, and bids it open; but that being human--
"Frailty, thy name is Man,"--
hesitates, protests, rebels, in all the strength of selfish passion,
of full-armed nature. As before thrown out, the grand lesson (whatever
dialect man may speak or think), the tremendous spectacle, is in the
Garden of Gethsemane and in Golgotha. Thither we must repair, if we
would realize the force of this idea--of this music. In the light of
morning we have once again played it (_gewiss_ not like a Rubinstein),
and find our words no whit too strong (after orchestral performance
one is simply overpowered). We are struck with the impression that it
is the most dramatic work, not only in music, but human performance
(no painting, even, can so evoke all the feelings of the Cross); and
we would use the higher imaginings we have to give our brother
musicians an idea of the true greatness, the sacred grandeur, of their
art: it knows no rival but poetry.
Let us, then, with a final glance at that stupendous drama, close.
Fate, in the thunder-pregnant darkness, over all the cypress-bowers
and cedar-glooms, "commends" the fearful chalice to the lips. Ensues
the highest of struggles--godlike; but, finally, with the most
immortal of earth's words, Character, the softly invincible heroism of
self-sacrificing love, the grandeur of filial submission to the
Universal Will, conquers; and a strain of seventh-heaven triumph bears
away the words--"FATHER, not my will, but Thine be done!" It is the
same in the fell scene of Golgotha. As we said, these blows are the
nails driven home; _but they cannot nail down the spirit_; and the
spouting blood is a fountain of glory; the cross by magic, made the
highest symbol of men. Fate may do her worst now--from without or
within; temptation was trampled under foot; and, lo! Fate is
conquered!--or rather, one with apotheosis and immortality.