Rubinstein, in his "Conversation on music," has expressed admirably the
relations between Beethoven and his time: "Mankind thirsts for a storm;
it feels that it may become dry and parched in the eternal sunshine of
Haydn and Mozart; it wishes to express itself earnestly; it longs for
action; it becomes dramatic; the French revolution breaks out; Beethoven
appears.... The forms in his first period are the forms then reigning,
but the line of thought is, even in the works of his youth, a wholly
different one. The last movement in his first pianoforte sonata (F minor),
more especially in the second theme, is already a new world of emotion,
expression, pianoforte effect, and even pianoforte technique.... In the
works of his first period altogether, we recognize only the formulas of
the earlier composers; for, although the garb still remains the same for
a time, we see even in these works, that natural hair will soon take the
place of the powdered perruque and cue; that boots, instead of buckled
shoes, will change the gait of the man; that the coat, instead of the
broad frock with the steel buttons, will give him another bearing. The
minuet is supplanted by the scherzo; the works are of a more virile
and earnest character:--through him instrumental music is capable of
expressing the tragic, and dramatic humor rises to irony.... Smiling,
laughing, merry-making, bitterness, in short, a world of psychological
expression is heard in them. It emanates not from a human being, but as
from an invisible Titan, who now rejoices over humanity, now is offended;
who laughs and again weeps, a supernatural being not to be measured!"
Beethoven's music, more than any other before his time, is characterized
by vivid contrasts in the themes, passages, rhythmical effects, bold
dissonances and modulations, dynamic expression, varied and massive
instrumentation. This is true, not only of the several movements as a
whole, but of the subdivisions. The movements are held in close relation
by contrast of emotions, by elevated or depressed, passionate or calm
moods. If the opening movement is conceived in a fiery or tragic spirit,
the feelings after a time will be rendered all the more susceptible to the
calm mood of the slow movement, which may lead through sadness and longing
to the vivacity and jocoseness of the _Scherzo_; and this in turn may
give place to the triumphant joy of the finale. Each movement is employed
with its special æsthetic problem and contributes its share to the total
effect of the work.
First of all, Beethoven was destined to carry the art of free thematic
music to a point never before reached, never surpassed since his death.
The several movements of his works are built on the broadest foundations,
the musical periods are expanded to their utmost limits. The so-called
middle-part (mittelsatz) is more impressive and elaborate than with
his predecessors. This is also the case with the coda, which is much
extended, worked-up, and made the climax of the whole movement. The
opening movements of the Heroic and the Fifth Symphonies are conspicuous
examples. In the art of motive-building he followed Haydn and Mozart, with
new results. The thematic play is of never-ending variety. The opening
_allegro_ of the Fifth Symphony is a wonderful instance of the development
of a great dramatic movement from a single motive of four notes. We learn
from his sketch-books the pains he took in the invention of his themes;
how he turned them about, curtailed or amplified them. These themes
when chosen finally suffered endless metamorphoses. Yet through the
protean changes of rhythm, melody, and harmony the theme preserves its
individuality.
In composition he was extremely slow and fond of experimenting. We know
his methods by his sketch-books which are preserved. Nearly every measure
was re-written and re-written. The ideas at first were often trivial, but
they were changed and elaborated until they grew to melodies of haunting
beauty. Crude commonplaces became passages of mysterious grandeur. Many of
the thoughts recorded hastily, in his room or in the fields, were never
used. The thought did not spring from his brain, as in the fable, fully
clothed: its birth was more akin to the Cæsarian operation. _Florestan's_
air, for instance, had eighteen distinct and different beginnings, and the
great chorus in "Fidelio" had no less than ten. The blood would rush to
his head as he worked; the muscles of his face would swell; and his eyes
would almost start from their sockets; then, if he were in his room, he
would strip himself of his clothing and pour water on his head.
Among the innovations made by Beethoven, may be mentioned the extension
of key relationship, which before him was not recognized. He broke down
the restrictions that governed transitions. Here he was revolutionary. The
principles of his harmonic combinations have been thus formalized by Mr.
Dannreuther: "(_a_) Any chord can succeed immediately any chord belonging
to another tonality, no matter how remote, provided they have one note
in common, even if it be only harmonically so. (_b_) It is possible to
produce quick harmonic progressions into the most remote tonalities by
means of chromatic and enharmonic changes in individual parts, which
are made to move on step by step, thus building a sort of chromatic or
enharmonic bridge." And Mr. Dannreuther cites as instances, the connection
between variations 32 and 33 in Op. 120; and the return from B major, at
the close of the "working out," to the first subject in B-flat major in
the first movement of Op. 106. Before the time of Beethoven composers of
sonatas and symphonies had generally confined themselves to a narrow range
of keys. The theme of the first movement was given out in the tonic, and
if it was major, it was answered by the second theme in the fifth above;
that is to say, if the sonata were in C, the second subject would be in
G. If the movement were in the minor, the second subject would be in the
relative major: i.e. the second theme of a movement in C minor would be
in E flat. So too the key of the second movement was usually restricted,
although sometimes there was a little more liberty. The painstaking
Grove has examined the eighty-one works of Beethoven in sonata form. The
transition to the dominant occurs only three times; to the subdominant
nineteen times; to the third below thirty times. "His favorite change was
evidently to the submediant or third below--that is to say, to a key less
closely related to the tonic and more remote than the dominant key." He
makes it as early as Op. 1, No. 2.
[Illustration: BUST OF BEETHOVEN.
Made by Franz Klein, after the Life-mask taken by him in 1812. (See page
327.)]
Wagner once compared the conventional connecting passages between the
melodic groups of Haydn and Mozart to "the rattling of dishes at a royal
feast." Beethoven could not tolerate the traditional commonplaces, which
were often mere padding. In these intermediate periods he used phrases
which hinted at or were actually closely related to the main themes, and
he thus gave the movement the effect of an organic whole, the development
of which was as logical as the results that follow from a law of nature.
Or he would surprise the hearer by the introduction of a fresh episode of
length and importance, although by it the formal rules of the theorist
were defied. Even in his second period there are remarkable instances
of absolute originality in form as well as in style and conception,
as the opening adagio of the pianoforte sonata in C-sharp minor, or
the _Con moto_ of the pianoforte Concerto in G. Nor was his manner of
the introduction of the themes themselves after the manner of his
predecessors; "the glory of the phrase often appeared as it were through
clouds that first shrouded it and were then dispelled."
He was the greatest master of the art of varying a theme, and his genius
ennobled even pianoforte variations, which are too apt, as made by others,
to show mere skill and learning, or excite by superficial brilliancy
the vain display of the virtuoso who plays simply that he may dazzle.
In this species of art is seen the wealth of his ideas as well as the
consummate mastery in expression. In the second and the third period of
his style there are shining examples of his power in this direction. One
kind of variation is peculiarly his own, in which everything is changed,
the rhythm, the melody and the harmony, and yet the theme is clearly
recognized. Then there are great variations without the name, as the slow
movements in the sonata "appassionata" and the Trio in B-flat; the slow
movements of the C minor and Ninth Symphonies; the finale of the Heroic.
Ehlert has spoken of the inexorable logic of Beethoven's music, the
impossibility of rearranging the order of thought, of adding or taking
away. In other words, the concentration of his musical thought is never
too bold, his speech is never too laconic; nor is he tautological or
diffuse. The intensely emotional and dramatic characteristics of his music
impelled him to invent a great variety of dynamic changes, or rhythmical
syncopations. When we compare him in this respect with his predecessors,
we are struck by the great number of marks of expression. The care with
which he indicated the _nuances_ is seen in all his works, but he paid
more and more attention to the matter as he neared the end of his career.
The Cavatina in the Quartet in B-flat, for instance, is sixty-six measures
long, and there are fifty-eight marks of expression. He wished by all
possible means to produce what he himself called, in reference to the
Heroic Symphony, "the special and intended effect." Furthermore certain of
the indications reflect his personality, as the famous directions in the
Mass in D, and the "_beklemmt_" in the Cavatina before mentioned.
It has been said that the criterion wherewith to judge of all music
whatsoever is this: "Technical exposition being considered equal, the
quality and the power of the emotional matter set forth should turn the
scale between any two pieces of music." Now Beethoven not only invented
a new technical language; he invented the necessity of a race of players
that should speak it. The pianist that interprets properly a composition
of Beethoven must clothe his mechanism with intellectuality and virile,
poetic spirit. It was held by Jacob Grimm that no definite thought can
exist without words, and that in giving up the words instrumental music
has become an abstraction, as all thought has been left behind. It seems,
however, an error to limit thought or consciousness to words. There is a
state of consciousness, without verbal thinking, in which we realize great
moments of existence; and this state of consciousness has its clear and
powerful language. Such a spiritual language is music, and its greatest
poet is Beethoven. Even those works of Beethoven which have no title to
indicate the practical plan of the author are expressions of particular
emotions and conceptions that cannot be explained in words, yet convey a
distinct impression to the consciousness of the hearer.
Not that he was the originator or the abettor of that which is now known
as program music; for program music, whether the epithet be applied solely
to that music which without words aims to portray or suggest to the hearer
certain definite objects or events, or whether it be applied loosely to
all characteristic or imitative music, is not a thing of modern invention.
In a sacred ballet of the Greeks, which represented the fight of Apollo
with the Python, the action was accompanied appropriately by flutes,
lutes, and trumpets, and the grinding of the teeth of the wounded monster
was imitated by the trumpet. In the part-songs of Jannequin and his
contemporaries, battles, birds and hens were imitated in music. Buxtehude
described in double counterpoint, "the peaceable and joyous ending of
Simeon after the death of his son." The first movement of Dittersdorf's
orchestral symphony "Actaeon" portrayed the chase; Diana took her bath in
the second; in the minuet Actaeon played the part of "Peeping Tom"; and
in the finale he is torn in pieces by the hounds for his indiscretion.
To prove that there is nothing new under the sun, a wise man of his day,
named Hermes, wrote analytical programs of the fifteen symphonies of
Dittersdorf for the benefit of the hearer and for his own glory. But why
multiply such instances familiar to the searchers after the curious in
music?
Beethoven gave certain compositions a general name, as the pianoforte
sonata Op. 81 _a_, known as "Das Lebewohl" (or "Les Adieux"); the overture
to "Egmont"; the Pastoral Symphony. But these names were not supplied with
a detailed program of words that the music might be identified properly
and the right emotion recognized or subdivided. When he prefixed the
following words to the Pastoral Symphony, "more expression of emotions
than tone-painting," he at the same time made his confession of faith.
Nevertheless the commentators, the successors of Hermes above mentioned,
have seen in this same symphony a good citizen going with his family to
spend Sunday in the country, or a pantheistic hymn of subtle nature; just
as in the Seventh Symphony Wagner finds the apotheosis of the dance,
another the joy of Germany delivered from the French yoke, while others
see a festival in the days of chivalry, the reproduction of a brave
meridional people, a village marriage, a procession in the catacombs, the
love dream of a sensuous odalisque, a Bacchic feast, a battle of giants,
or a vulgar orgy to serve as a temperance lecture. "But in the kingdom of
hypothesis each one has a right to think freely, and even, alas, to speak
his mind."
If a striking characteristic of the music of Beethoven is its
individuality with accompanying infinite variety--as seen in the
symphonies, the concertos, nearly all of the pianoforte sonatas, and
the chamber music--a no less striking feature is its intense dramatic
spirit. The reproach has been made against Beethoven that his genius
was not dramatic, but surely reference was here made to the scenic
conventionalities of opera. But if the dramatic in music lies in the
development of passion, Beethoven was one of the greatest dramatic
composers. To quote Henri Lavoix in his remarks on the Fifth Symphony: "Is
this not the drama in its purity and its quintessence, where passion is no
longer the particular attribute of a theatrical mask, but the expression
of our own peculiar feeling?"
An important factor in the full expression of this dramatic intensity
in his orchestral writing is the instrumentation. All the instruments
are used with greater freedom and effect than ever before. In order to
express his great musical ideas the instruments move in a wider compass
with greater technical execution. In instrumental coloring, in variety of
solo and chorus treatment, and in massive rhythmical effects, Beethoven
advanced the art of orchestration to a point never before conceived,
His effects, however, are not gained by the introduction of unusual
instruments. With the exception of the Ninth Symphony and a few other
instances, his orchestra is practically the one used by Mozart. In the
Ninth Symphony, as in "the Battle of Vittoria," there is a liberal use
of percussion instruments. Beethoven used the contra fagott and the
basset horn on occasions; and he once indulged himself in the singular
fancy of arranging his "Battle of Vittoria" for Maelzel's instrument,
the Panharmonikon, a machine that brought in play all sorts of military
instruments. But the instrumentation of his symphonies does not depend for
its effects on unusual combinations; it is remarkable for the manner of
the speech of well-known members of the orchestra. Take the strings for
example. He knew full well the value of the _pizzicato_, and _tremolo_ as
well as the power of the unison. Outside of the famous chamber music, the
symphonies are filled with passages for the 'cello and double bass that
are unusual for his time. In his treatment of the double bass, which in
the C-minor Symphony was a stumbling block to Habeneck and his trained
men, he was influenced by the skill of Dragonetti. In his use of the
wood-wind he showed rare instinct and imagination. The oboe, for instance,
is with him not a gay rustic pipe of acid character; it is positive, it is
melancholy, it is tender and it soothes. In the famous solos of the first
movement of the Fifth Symphony and the dungeon scene of Fidelio, the oboe
utters heart-piercing accents of sorrow. What is more characteristic than
the odd cluckings of the bassoons in the scherzo of the Fifth Symphony;
the soulful clarinet solo in the allegretto of the Seventh, or the weird
effect of the low notes of the horn in the _trio_ of the scherzo of the
Seventh Symphony? Beethoven held the trombones in great reserve, but
whenever he employed them the effect was impressive, as for instance in
the _finale_ of the Fifth Symphony and the storm of the Pastoral Symphony.
Two famous passages in his symphonies, passages that have provoked angry
disputes, are made remarkable by a singular use of the horn in which the
laws of tonality are set at nought. Beethoven was the first that knew
the value of the kettle-drums. He first raised the drum to the dignity
of a solo instrument, as in the Fourth, Fifth and Ninth Symphonies. His
instrumental effects went hand in hand with the development of the
melodic idea. The different tone-masses are used in conversation; or a
solo instrument announces the return of the theme; or the whole orchestra
rages violently and then stops suddenly to listen to a far off voice.
It would be impossible in an article of this brevity to speak of his
manifold effects of instrumentation, or of the characteristics of his
compositions in detail. Among his instrumental works are the 9 symphonies,
overture and music to "Egmont," overture and music to "Prometheus,"
"The Battle of Vittoria," 9 overtures, 5 concertos for pianoforte and
orchestra, 1 triple concerto, the Choral Fantasia, the violin concerto, 16
quartets for strings, 8 trios for pianoforte and strings, 10 sonatas for
pianoforte and violin, 2 octets for wind, 1 septet for strings and wind,
1 quintet for pianoforte and wind, 5 sonatas for pianoforte and 'cello,
38 sonatas for pianoforte, and 21 sets of variations for pianoforte. The
chief vocal works are "Fidelio," the two masses, the oratorio, "Christus
am Oelberge," "Meerstille und glückliche Fahrt," the aria "Ah perfido!"
and 66 songs with pianoforte accompaniment.
We have already considered briefly the various ways in which Beethoven
expanded the structural elements of the sonata, and now it may not be
amiss to examine for a moment the æsthetical characteristics of his
pianoforte works in sonata form. In the early sonatas he began with the
four movements which others had almost wholly reserved for the symphony.
The scherzo in sonata and symphony was peculiarly his invention. To be
sure the name is older, and was used in describing secular songs in the
16th century as well as for instrumental pieces in the 17th. But the
peculiar quickly moving number with its piquant harmonies and rhythm and
its mocking, grotesque or fantastically capricious spirit is the musical
thought of Beethoven. At times the scherzo assumed gigantic proportions
as in the Third, Fifth and Ninth Symphonies, and in the sonata Op. 106.
Before his day the imagination of the composer had not had full play; it
was more or less hampered by conventionalities, by the necessities of
the men dependent on princes' favors. The expansion of a great idea in
the sonata is found first in his works. Deep feeling, passionate longing
took the place in the slow movement of simple melody with its unmeaning
and elaborate ornamentation. He introduced the recitative with thrilling
effect. Although the breadth of the thought in different movements is
majestic even to awe, all phases of human feeling are expressed. Strength
and delicacy, gloom and playfulness are found side by side. The sonata
form with Beethoven was the means of the full development of all the
expressive elements in music.
These considerations are likewise true of his piano and violin sonatas,
trios and concertos, the most prominent of which are the so-called
Kreutzer Sonata, for piano and violin, trio in B flat, violin concerto,
and piano concertos in G and E flat. These famous works stand foremost
in their respective branches, but to dwell on their individual
characteristics would exceed the limits of this article.
In contrast with the later symphonies, the First and Second seem without
the rare personality of the composer. Yet when the First Symphony appeared
its opening was regarded as daring; and there is the seriousness of
purpose that is found in all of his greater compositions. In the Second
the introduction is built on broader foundations; there is a warmth in
the slow movement that was unusual for the time, and the scherzo is new
in character. But in the Heroic, Beethoven laid the cornerstone of modern
symphonic music. It was written with a definite aim; the glorification of
a great man. The instrumentation is noticeable in a historical sense on
account of the treatment of the orchestra as a whole; the balance of the
parts, the conversations, the antiphonal choirs. The Funeral March is the
departure from the traditional slow movement that was generally devoted
to prettiness or the display of genteel emotion. And in this symphony
the scherzo is Shakesperian in spirit where melancholy or grimness is
mingled with the jesting. It has been said that the last movement of the
Haydn Symphony was designed to send the audience home in gay spirits; but
with Beethoven the finale became the crown of the work. The finale of
the Heroic is not as impressive as are the preceding movements; but it
abounds in interesting detail, and was in its day a remarkable revelation.
The Fourth is built on a lesser scale, and yet as Berlioz well said, the
adagio defies analysis, "the movement that seems to have been sighed by
the Archangel Michael when, a prey to melancholy, he contemplated from
the threshold of heaven the worlds below him." In the Fifth Beethoven rid
himself completely of the shackles of conventionality. It is the story
in music of the composer's defiance of Fate, the battling of man with
nature and unseen forces. Here trombones and contra fagott appeared for
the first time in the history of the symphony. The Sixth is full of peace
and serenity and joy in life that comes from the contemplation of Nature,
and stands in strong contrast with the sublime struggle and exulting
triumph of the Fifth. The Seventh is perhaps the most truly romantic
and sensuously beautiful of all. Joy and sorrow, humor and wild passion
alternate in its strongly contrasted movements. This great work, together
with the three string quartets, Op. 59, are held by some musicians to be
the highest manifestation of subjective feeling and ideal beauty that
musical art has yet revealed. In conciseness of form the Eighth is almost
a return to earlier conditions, but in concentrated power and joyousness
it is one of the most remarkable and Beethovenish. He himself described
it as a "little symphony in F." The substitution of the Ariel-like and
humorous _allegretto_ in place of the slow movement, and the use of the
_menuetto_ are eminently characteristic. The Choral Symphony stands
alone in the history of music. It is said that the first three movements
"have reference, more or less intelligible according to the organization
and sympathies of the hearer, to the _finale_," which is a setting of
Schiller's "Ode to Joy," or rather "Liberty," which was the original title
of the poem. Here all "the dramatic and human elements which Beethoven
introduced into his instrumental music to a degree before undreamed
of" are brought together in complete expression. Moreover in the Ninth
Symphony as in his great Mass in D there dwells the profound spirit of
religious consciousness. The burden of the hymn heard above the symphonic
struggle of the orchestra is joy, love and brotherhood for all mankind,
or that charity which is the true essence of the Christian religion. Like
Dante's Divine Comedy or Bach's Passion Music, the Ninth Symphony will
live as one of the greatest monuments of genius.
[Illustration: BEETHOVEN'S MONUMENT IN BONN.
Executed by Prof. Hähnel. Unveiled in August, 1845. From a photograph made
in 1880.]
The human voice was to Beethoven an orchestral instrument, and he too
often treated it as such. This failing is seen particularly in the Mass
in D, "Fidelio," and the Ninth Symphony. Yet he showed in the song-cycle,
"To the Absent Loved-one," a knowledge of the art of Italian song and the
principles of _bel canto_ that accompanied German taste and sentiment, as
also in his most famous song "Adelaide." In his great choral works and
in his opera he showed himself everywhere as the instrumental writer _par
excellence_. "Fidelio" is undoubtedly a masterpiece. The text has been
praised highly, but probably more on account of its noble subject than
dramatic treatment; for the interest stops with the great dungeon-scene.
As a drama it has the defects of operas in general of his time. Spoken
dialogue and separate solo and concerted numbers naturally prevent
dramatic unity and consistency of effect.
Undoubtedly the orchestra is the chief figure of the opera, dominating
constantly the scene. This, however, is as true of Wagner as of Beethoven.
"There is not an instrumental note that has not its passionate, dramatic
meaning; there is not an instrument that is not a party to the drama."
With the exception of the prisoners' chorus, the most impressive
passages of "Fidelio" are those in which the orchestra is openly master:
the overture No. III., the melodramas, the introduction to the air of
_Florestan_. The overture No. III. is the whole story of the agony and
the womanly devotion of Leonore in concise and tragic form; just as the
overtures to "Egmont" and "Coriolanus" are the summing up of the tragedies
of Goethe and Collin, although "Coriolanus" is undoubtedly derived
directly from Plutarch and Shakespeare. The force and the meaning of the
accompaniment is always in proportion with the degree of passion on the
stage. When _Pizarro_ meditates his vengeance and the orchestra mimics the
storm within his breast, it matters little that the voice of the singer
is drowned. And so the air of the delirious _Florestan_ is less thrilling
than the preceding prelude; and the oboe tells of his agony although he
himself cries it to the dungeon walls.
There is little or no doubt that when Beethoven wrote his Ninth Symphony,
he thought of Schiller's original conception, the ode to Freedom, and not
the altered and present version, the ode to Joy. To Beethoven, freedom
was the only joy; to him the universal freedom of loving humanity was
true religion: the brotherhood of man. That the singers rebelled against
the frightful difficulties of their task was nothing to him; he heard the
voices of a triumphant world, and he was not to be confined by individual
limitations. So in his mass in D, he thought not of the service of the
Roman Catholic church: he arrayed the human against the supernatural.
It is not church music so much as the direct, subjective expression of a
religious heart, which cannot be restrained by the barriers of mere form
and ritual. Some have argued seriously that because Beethoven was not
punctilious in the observance of the rites of the Church he was therefore
unfitted to celebrate in music her solemn service. Now whatever his
religious opinions were, whether he was deist or pantheist, there is no
doubt that he appreciated fully the dignity of his task and consecrated
all his energies to the performance of it. He meditated it most carefully,
as we know by his sketch-books. In 1818 he wrote a memorandum: "To compose
true religious music, it is necessary to consult the olden chorals in use
in monasteries"; and he added below: "Make once more the sacrifice of
all the petty necessities of life for the glory of thy art. God before
all!" In the manuscript is written over the _Kyrie_, "From the heart! May
it go back to the heart!" and over the _Dona Nobis, "Dona nobis pacem_.
Representing the inner and exterior peace."
It is idle to compare this Mass with the religious works of Palestrina
and Bach and to say that if Beethoven had been a devout Catholic or an
orthodox Lutheran his Mass would have been more thoroughly imbued with
religious feeling. In the first place it is necessary to define the word
"religious." Palestrina wrote in his peculiar style not because he was a
devout Catholic, but because his religious individuality found expression
in the methods of his time. Bach wrote his great Mass in a time when
counterpoint ruled in the music of the church and of the dance. Beethoven
was a man, not only of his time, but of the remaining years of this
century.
Now in this mass Beethoven wherever he is most imposing, he is intensely
dramatic, and when he follows tradition, he is least himself. Notice for
instance the change from the passionate entreaty that is almost a defiance
in the _Kyrie_ to the ineffable tenderness in the _Christe eleison_; the
wonderful setting of the _Incarnatus_ and the _Crucifixus_. On the other
hand, where Beethoven felt that it was his duty to follow the approved
formulas, as in certain passages of the _Credo_ that relate to the
communion of saints, the forgiveness of sins, etc., we realize fully the
story of Schindler, who found the composer singing, shouting, stamping,
and sweating at his work; for although he was a master of the _fugato_,
the fugue was to him, apparently, not his natural mode of expression.
But von Bülow's commentary should not be forgotten: "The fugue is with
Beethoven the last and highest means of intensifying the expression of
emotions."
Again, the religious element in the music of Beethoven is not confined
to works which have a sacred text. The yearning after heavenly rest,
the discontent with the petty vanities of life, sublime hope and humble
thanksgiving,--these are not found exclusively in his works for the church
or in such a movement as the _canzona in moda lidico_ in the A minor
quartet Op. 132. The finale of the Ninth Symphony as well as movements in
the sonatas, the chamber-music and the symphonies are religious music in
the profoundest sense of the word.
And yet the great works of his last years have been decried and are
not now accepted by many. He himself was discontented with many of his
earlier compositions, and this self-depreciation does not seem the
singular yet not uncommon affectation of genius. In a letter written to
Ries in 1816 he declared that the death of his brother had impressed him
profoundly and influenced not only his character but his works. For a
time following he wrote but little; and then he pondered compositions
of gigantic proportions. The pianoforte ceased to accommodate itself to
his thoughts; the string quartet and the orchestra were constantly in
his mind. "The most exalted, the most wondrous, the most inconceivable
music," says Rubinstein, "was not written until after his total deafness.
As the seer may be imagined blind, that is, blind to his surroundings,
and seeing with the eyes of the soul, so the hearer may be imagined
deaf to all his surroundings and hearing with the hearing of the soul."
Deafness befriended him when it closed the doors of sense. It helped him
to turn from outward things, and find peace and consolation in the ideal
world of tones. The spiritual voices that he heard were the companions
of his solitude. He thus vindicated the true spirituality of music. The
deaf man justified its ancient, poetical significance. This inward life
accounts for his early inclination for instrumental music. The highly
developed forms gave wide range to his imagination, through the almost
unlimited resources of the orchestra, in compass, technical execution, and
tone-color.
While in his orchestral works Beethoven reveals all the tragic fire, and
dramatic strength of his nature, it is in his string quartets that he is
most spiritual and mystical. This is due, first, to the nature of the
four combined instruments, so pure and ethereal in their tone effects.
His friend Schuppanzigh, the violinist, complained to him that certain
passages in one of his quartets were impossible; and Beethoven replied:
"Do you believe that I think of a wretched violin, when the spirit speaks
to me and I write it down?" The last five quartets have been called
transcendental, even incomprehensible, on account of their strangeness and
obscurity. They are his last utterances, the mystical creations of a man
who neared the end of his life-tragedy. "The events in Beethoven's life,"
says Nohl, "were calculated more and more to liberate him heart and soul
from this world, and the whole composition of the quartets appears like a
preparation for the moment when the mind, released from existence here,
feels united with a higher being. But it is not a longing for death that
here finds expression. It is the heartfelt, certain, and joyful feeling
of something really eternal and holy, that speaks to us in the language
of a new dispensation. And even the pictures of this world, here to be
discerned, be they serious or gay, have this transfigured light, this
outlook into eternity." Spirituality is impressed on the eternal features
of the music: that is, the technical treatment of the four instruments.
The melodies move freely in a wide compass, the voices cross each other
frequently. Widely extended, open harmony is often employed, giving
wonderful etherealness and spirituality to the effect of the strings
by their thinness and delicacy of tone when thus separated by long
intervals between the several parts of the chords. Nor is the polyphonic
melodiousness of the voices abandoned, as in certain quartets of later
masters in which the treatment is more orchestral than is in keeping with
the character of the solo instruments.
And yet these great quartets are not even now accepted by certain men
of marked musical temperament and discriminating taste. They are called
"charcoal sketches"; they are erroneously regarded as draughts for
elaboration in orchestral form. Others shrug their shoulders and speak
compassionately of the deafness of Beethoven. But he was deaf when, in
directing the Seventh Symphony, he was obliged to follow the movements of
the first violin that he might keep his place; he was deaf when he thought
out the melodic freshness and elegance of the Eighth Symphony; and even
before the Heroic, the Fifth and the Pastoral he mourned his physical
infirmity in the celebrated letter to his brothers. In judging of the
masterpieces of the so-called third period it is not necessary to join the
cry of the critics like Fétis who complain of "the aberrations of a genius
that goes out in darkness," or to swell the chorus of wild enthusiasts
as Nohl and Lenz, who wrench the dictionary in the expression of their
delight. In the light of these great works all criticism is blind and
impotent.
In the cyclical forms of instrumental music, Beethoven is preëminent from
all points of view, formally, technically, aesthetically, and spiritually.
Moreover, there is a Shakesperian quality in his wonderful tone-poems.
Like the great poet he touches every chord of the heart and appeals to
the imagination more potently than other poets. Beethoven's creations,
like Shakespeare's, are distinguished by great diversity of character;
each is a type by itself. His great symphonies stand in as strong contrast
with each other as do the plays of Shakespeare with each other. Beethoven
is the least of a mannerist of all composers. "Each composition leaves
a separate image and impression on the mind." His compositions are
genuine poems, that tell their meaning to the true listener clearly and
unmistakably in the language of tones, a language which, however, cannot
be translated into mere words, as has often been attempted in the flowery
and fanciful effusions of various writers, like Wagner, Lenz, Marx, and
others, who waste labor and thought in trying to do the impossible.
In the Pantheon of art Beethoven holds a foremost place beside the great
poets and artists of all time, with Æschylus and Dante, Michael Angelo
and Shakespeare. Like these inspired men he has widened and ennobled
the mind and the soul of humanity. "In his last works," says Edward
Dannreuther, "he passes beyond the horizon of a mere singer and poet, and
touches upon the domain of the seer and prophet, where in unison with all
genuine mystics and ethical teachers he delivers a message of religious
love and resignation, and release from the world." Or as Wagner wrote,
"Our civilization might receive a new soul from the spirit of Beethoven's
music, and a renovation of religion which might permeate it through and
through."
[Illustration: Signature: John K. Paine.]
[Illustration: FRESCO IN VIENNA OPERA HOUSE.