Man divides his time chiefly between love (of all sorts) and action.
One of his most passionate, as well as purest, loves, is of nature.
When the two blend--when at once the lover, and lover of nature, roams
in nature, besouling and transfiguring her by love, then is passion at
its sweetest, life at its highest. In this opening gush, or burst, of
the 8th Symphony (_allegro vivace e con brio_) we seem to have such
love. Here is that rapture we missed in the expressly culled Pastoral
Symphony--rapture of emancipation, thrill and burst of joy! The great
action of the Eroica, and C minor--aye, and of the A major
symphonies--here gives place to the pure ecstatic emotion.
Here we have indeed the broad breath of the fields; we perfectly revel
in the flowery gold; the sweet streams winding there enchant us; the
blue mountains sublime us with their great tender reminders; in the
divine whole--this "_transcenden Tempel des Frühlings_"--we are ready
to fall on our knees for joy. Rural, without doubt, are these opening
strains; "escaped into the country"--"love in the country," seems
written over them. Later, Alberti's and Elterlein's notion
(independent) more obtains; "the symphony represents humour," (chiefly
caprice, mood); "the base and character of the work is throughout
humouristic." This, however, may well be, and the scene of these
caprices still remains the divine country; the lights and shadows and
fleecy clouds of the soul amid those of nature. Here we may fancy the
scene of a superior Watteau. By running brook and swaying bough,
gracious nymph and gallant swain exchange fancies and glances, and
sport, and make love. Nay it is indeed like a back-glance of our
Beethoven himself into his early years--when the days were bluer, the
world broader, by the celestial Rhine yonder, and when he too, in his
sweet and awful heart, felt shy unutterable emotions; thrill'd, as
though fire had flashed in waves through his veins when _she_ touched
his hand--that hand to be so creative. This may be a glance at those
days, as the Countess Guicciardini Sonata (most lyric of all, like the
passion of an Oriental night) is a burning record of others.
In a word, and finally, Beethoven, who was essentially imaginative,
has in this pendent to the Fourth Symphony, given himself up to, and
given us, fancy; and a gracious present it is, like a handful of
pearls, from the master. Not less precious, but more precious, are the
smiles and sportive caresses of Hercules--the pleasantries of Jove.
Ah! He who challenged the terrors of the cross, and threatened _Dies
Irae_, (we must ever recur to Him as our highest type), spoke of the
lilies of the field, and gathered to him little children; and more
precious, if possible, than his words, or very deeds, were--if He ever
had them--his smiles.
The query is suggested by this youth-fresh work--did Beethoven write
this Opus 93 out of his heart at that age (if so, what a heart!--with
styles one and three close together), or did he draw upon fancies of
his early years--tone-lyrics of that time?
The Allegretto Scherzando, that Ariel-gush ("On a bat's back I do
fly") is thus described by the German critic:--"In the second movement
we have, especially, naïve joy; nay, at once the child-like innocence
and mischievous sport of humour. The first motiv (as is well known)
had its origin in a playful canon improvised by Beethoven for the
metronome-maker, Maelzel; the whole piece has been praised by many, as
the most charming morçeaux of Beethoven's." The Minuet he speaks of
as dry humour, the Trio as revealing an inner _Liebesdrange_ (urgent
need of and for love)--"such as is ever innate in the true humourist."
The Finale seems another piece of "Tempest" music; now grateful as
chased or filagree silver, now inly tender, as the soul of Ferdinand
and Miranda of course is; now, even with a glance at the "dæmonish."
These extraordinary "_Schreckennoten_," now as C sharp, now as D
flat--which we were tempted to substitute on the first appearance of
the note as C sharp--may furnish another pretty quarrel between the
wranglers over "False Notation." They form one of the most original
flashes of Beethoven (if not a hint of aberration), and strike us as
properly belonging to a profoundly tragic movement, and not to such a
one as this; where, indeed, their value seems hardly utilised. Such
notes might have been blown as the "Blast of the breath of His
displeasure"--before the Hand-writing on the Wall; at the Rending of
the Veil 'fore the Holy of Holies; at the dawn of the Day of Doom;
though, indeed, this latter also would break upon fairy revels,
foambells, and butterflies, as well as wars, earthquakes, and
volcanoes.
In conclusion, we regret the absence of an Adagio in this genial work.
We now turn to the portentous Choral Symphony.