I. Allegro con brio
II. Andante con moto
III. Allegro; trio—
IV. Allegro
As for the Fifth symphony, what words can be said of its composer more
fitting than those of De Quincey’s apostrophe to Shakespeare; “O mighty
poet! Thy works are not those of other men, simply and merely great
works of art, but are also like the phenomena of nature, like the sun
and the sea, the stars and the flowers, the frost and the dew, hailstorm
and thunder, which are to be studied with entire submission of our own
faculties, and in the perfect faith that in them there can be no too
much or too little, nothing useless or inert, but that the farther we
press in our discoveries, the more we shall see proofs of design and
self-supporting arrangement where the careless eye had nothing but
accident!”
In all modern music there is no page more thrilling than that of the
mysterious, unearthly transition from the _scherzo_ to the _finale_, and
the preceding pages are the triumph of absolute music over that which
needs a programme or is the translation of something into music. Here is
music that was not suggested, but it suggests that which can only be
imagined, not spoken, not painted, not written in lofty rhyme or
passionate prose.
* * *
Beethoven sketched motives of the _Allegro_, _Andante_, and _scherzo_ of
this symphony as early as 1800 and 1801. We know from sketches that
while he was at work on _Fidelio_ and the pianoforte concerto in G
major—1804-06—he was also busied with this symphony, which he put aside
to compose the Fourth symphony, in B flat.
The Symphony in C minor was finished in the neighborhood of
Heiligenstadt in 1807. Dedicated to the Prince von Lobkowitz and the
Count Rasoumowsky, it was published in April, 1809. It was first
performed at the Theater an der Wien, Vienna, December 22, 1808.
Instead of inquiring curiously into the legend invented by
Schindler—“and for this reason a statement to be doubted,” as Bülow
said—that Beethoven remarked of the first theme, “So knocks Fate on the
door!” (it is said that Ferdinand Ries was the author of this
explanation and that Beethoven was grimly sarcastic when Ries, his
pupil, made it known to him), instead of investigating the statement
that the rhythm of this theme was suggested by the note of a bird—oriole
or goldfinch—heard during a walk; instead of a long analysis, which is
vexation and confusion without the themes and their variants in
notation, let us read and ponder the words of the great Hector Berlioz:
“The most celebrated of them all, beyond doubt and peradventure, is also
the first, I think, in which Beethoven gave the reins to his vast
imagination, without taking for guide or aid a foreign thought. In the
First, Second, and Fourth, he more or less enlarged forms already known,
and poetized them with all the brilliant and passionate inspirations of
his vigorous youth. In the Third, the _Eroica_, there is a tendency, it
is true, to enlarge the form, and the thought is raised to a mighty
height; but it is impossible to ignore the influence of one of the
divine poets to whom for a long time the great artist had raised a
temple in his heart. Beethoven, faithful to the Horatian precept,
‘_Nocturna versate manu, versate diurna_,’ read Homer constantly, and in
his magnificent musical epopee, which, they say, I know not whether it
be true or false, was inspired by a modern hero, the recollections of
the ancient Iliad play a part that is as evident as admirably beautiful.
“The Symphony in C minor, on the other hand, seems to us to come
directly and solely from the genius of Beethoven; he develops in it his
own intimate thought; his secret sorrows, his concentrated rage, his
reveries charged with a dejection, oh, so sad, his visions at night, his
bursts of enthusiasm—these furnish him the subject; and the forms of
melody, harmony, rhythm, and orchestration are displayed as essentially
individual and new as they are powerful and noble.
“The first movement is devoted to the painting of disordered sentiments
which overthrow a great soul, a prey to despair; not the concentrated,
calm despair that borrows the shape of resignation; not the dark and
voiceless sorrow of Romeo who learns of the death of Juliet; but the
terrible rage of Othello when he receives from Iago’s mouth the
poisonous slanders which persuade him of Desdemona’s guilt. Now it is a
frenetic delirium which explodes in frightful cries; and now it is the
prostration that has only accents of regret and profound self-pity. Hear
these hiccups of the orchestra, these dialogues in chords between wind
instruments and strings, which come and go, always weaker and fainter,
like unto the painful breathing of a dying man, and then give way to a
phrase full of violence, in which the orchestra seems to rise to its
feet, revived by a flash of fury; see this shuddering mass hesitate a
moment and then rush headlong, divided in two burning unisons as two
streams of lava; ... and then say if this passionate style is not beyond
and above everything that had been produced hitherto in instrumental
music....
“The _adagio_” [_andante con moto_] “has characteristics in common with
the _allegretto_ in A minor of the Seventh symphony and the slow
movement of the Fourth. It partakes alike of the melancholy soberness of
the former and the touching grace of the latter. The theme, at first
announced by the united violoncellos and violas, with a simple
accompaniment of the double-basses _pizzicato_, is followed by a phrase
for wind instruments, which returns constantly, and in the same tonality
throughout the movement, whatever be the successive changes of the first
theme. This persistence of the same phrase, represented always in a
profoundly sad simplicity, produces little by little on the hearer’s
soul an indescribable impression....
“The _scherzo_ is a strange composition. Its first measures, which are
not terrible themselves, provoke that inexplicable emotion which you
feel when the magnetic gaze of certain persons is fastened on you. Here
everything is somber, mysterious; the orchestration, more or less
sinister, springs apparently from the state of mind that created the
famous scene of the Blocksberg in Goethe’s _Faust_. Nuances of _piano_
and _mezzoforte_ dominate. The trio is a double-bass figure, executed
with the full force of the bow; its savage roughness shakes the
orchestral stands and reminds one of the gambols of a frolicsome
elephant. But the monster retires, and little by little the noise of his
mad course dies away. The theme of the _scherzo_ reappears in
_pizzicato_. Silence is almost established, for you hear only some
violin tones lightly plucked and strange little cluckings of
bassoons.... At last the strings give gently with the bow the chord of A
flat and doze on it. Only the drums preserve the rhythm; light blows
struck by sponge-headed drumsticks mark the dull rhythm amid the general
stagnation of the orchestra. These drum notes are C’s; the tonality of
the movement is C minor; but the chord of A flat sustained for a long
time by the other instruments seems to introduce a different tonality,
while the isolated hammering of the C on the drums tends to preserve the
feeling of the foundation tonality. The ear hesitates—but will this
mystery of harmony end?—and the dull pulsations of the drums, growing
louder and louder, reach the violins, which now take part in the
movement and with a change of harmony, to the chord of the dominant
seventh, G, B, D, F, while the drums roll obstinately their tonic C; the
whole orchestra, assisted by the trombones, which have not yet been
heard, bursts in the major into the theme of a triumphal march, and the
_finale_ begins....
“Criticism has tried, however, to diminish the composer’s glory by
stating that he employed ordinary means, the brilliance of the major
mode pompously following the darkness of a _pianissimo_ in minor; that
the triumphal march is without originality, and that the interest wanes
even to the end, whereas it should increase. I reply to this: Did it
require less genius to create a work like this because the passage from
_piano_ to _forte_ and that from minor to major were the means already
understood? Many composers have wished to take advantage of the same
means; and what result did they obtain comparable to this gigantic chant
of victory in which the soul of the poet-musician, henceforth free from
earthly shackles, terrestrial sufferings, seems to mount radiantly
towards heaven? The first four measures of the theme, it is true, are
not highly original, but the forms of a fanfare are inherently
restricted, and I do not think it possible to find new forms without
departing utterly from the simple, grand, pompous character which is
becoming. Beethoven wished only an entrance of the fanfare for the
beginning of his _finale_, and he quickly found in the rest of the
movement and even in the conclusion of the chief theme that loftiness
and originality of style which never forsook him. And this may be said
in answer to the reproach of his not having increased the interest to
the very end; music, in the state known at least to us, would not know
how to produce a more violent effect than that of this transition from
_scherzo_ to triumphal march; it was then impossible to enlarge the
effect afterwards.
“To sustain one’s self at such a height is of itself a prodigious
effort; yet in spite of the breadth of the developments to which he
committed himself, Beethoven was able to do it. But this equality from
the beginning to end is enough to make the charge of diminished interest
plausible, on account of the terrible shock which the ears receive at
the beginning; a shock that, by exciting nervous emotion to its most
violent paroxysm, makes the succeeding instant the more difficult. In a
long row of columns of equal height, an optical illusion makes the most
remote appear the smallest. Perhaps our weak organization would
accommodate itself to a more laconic peroration, as that of Gluck’s
‘_Notre général vous rappelle_.’ Then the audience would not have to
grow cold, and the symphony would end before weariness had made
impossible further following in the steps of the composer. This remark
bears only on the _mise en scène_ of the work; it does not do away with
the fact that this _finale_ in itself is rich and magnificent; very few
movements can draw near without being crushed by it.”