Beethoven's Symphonies Critically Discussed Part 4

"Mio ben non cape in intelletto umano"--

in the sphere Mamiani's "Ithuriel" describes, where there reigns an eternal

"Santa armonia di voglie e di pensieri"--

sacred harmony of thought and will--which is the eternal desideratum, which so few men have, even the greater ones; sphere wherein our Beethoven himself, that

"Anima alpestre,"

storm-tossed soul, buffeted spirit, out of harmony with himself and others, did not most reside (Shakespeare, on the contrary, did--seemed a _native_ of it, nay, dwelling _in_ it, and speaking _thence_ of the tragedies and annoys of earth); but of whose profoundest heart in compensation he knew the deepest secret, in whose bosom's centre he nestled (in his happy hours), repairing thither from the disgusts and battles of the world, or expatiating in the blessed hope of everlasting life, after the raging conflict of doubts and queries, to whose inmost holy of holies he penetrated, and was welcomed; he, the wayward child--to extend the idea--leaving all his toys, and running in a pa.s.sion of sobs to the Eternal Bosom, with a more peculiar smile than that other who dwelt for ever in its courts, or lingered round his mother's (the Madonna's) knee; for Mozart I fancy the Mother's favourite, Beethoven the Father's; o'er Mozart's music one would inscribe this--

"Madre, fonte d'amore Ove ogni odio s'ammorza Che su dal ciel tanta dolcezza stille,"

but over Beethoven's--

"Ma sovra Olimpo ed Ossa Trona il gran Giove."

Here, in this andante of andantes, we have, as in the bosom of spring after the storms of winter--as over cerulean seas in a southern clime after them,--that effluence, which is like the satisfaction of a good conscience; that breath which went up from the dominated ocean, when One said--"Be Still!"

THE ALLEGRO.

"_Quando Giove fu arcanamente giusto._"

"_Ich glaube, nur Gott versteht unser Musik._"

These two mottoes, from Dante and Jean Paul, give some sort of expression to the feelings excited by this music--music which makes rather premature that offer of a premium for a new epithet, at Symphony, No. 2. And yet it is distinctly the same Beethoven here, only full grown; not only serpent-strangling, but hydra-killing and labour-doing Hercules. Jove, left for ever the society of the nymphs, and speaking from the central throne, _orcanamente giusto_. One is certain, Beethoven himself could not have _explained_ this music; there is such a mysterious pregnancy in it, such a holy ominousness (if not played too fast), such a shadowy sorrow, such other-world tones of pathos and resolution and triumph. This is a message the prophet does not dream of daring to try and comprehend; an utterance which oracle itself would never attempt to explain. This is the sort of music Jean Paul alluded to, when he declared that it was above our own understanding, clear only to the Divine. This is the sort of music which might ill.u.s.trate his sublime utterance, "Women are beautiful, because they suffer so much." Here (once more), we have the Invisible Host chaunting in almost appalling mournfulness round the cross, or the tomb--"It is over; it is over. The Man of Sorrows, and acquainted with grief! Thus have they 'done to death' their Highest among them!"

But then--

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ensues such high retrospect and encouragement--

"Love bears it out even to the end of doom;"

then such angelic clamour of triumph--"O grave, where is thy victory!

O death, where is thy sting?" This, too, is a walk "over the field of battle by night" (Marx, _re_ the Funeral March, _Eroica_); but it is another battle-field than a Napoleonic one--the world is the field, and Heroic Love has gone down on it, like a cloven star at sea. The world is the field, and the highest and the lowest in us doing battle therein, amidst heaps of slain. Poor humanity!

It has been a fearful conflict. What do we not deplore? But, lo! as the infernal volumes roll sluggishly away, as though loth to quit the hateful banquet, high above all an unspeakable orb s.h.i.+nes through, the orb of promise and peace. "Ach!" poor man, there is enough, indeed, to root pessimism in thee; evil seems to have nestled in every pore; life seems to try how hard she can make it to live; thou thyself shudderest at thy self; art tortured by appet.i.tes, goaded by pa.s.sions, infested by thoughts, distracted by doubts, almost driven to despair. But, no!

do _not_ despair. Progress is slow, but sure. All is justified at last; and higher life lightens in the dawn. Nay, even if thy dearest hope be a dream--that word too great for any mouth, Immortality--be good (great and strong) _here; that_, if not so happy, is a still higher immortality--

"Then what could death do, if thou should'st depart, Leaving thee living in posterity?"

In such a sea of thoughts--such a thousand-path'd forest--does Beethoven's music plunge us; such a branching piece of the Infinite is it. For the rest, apart from ideas and images, the mere notes have an eternal self-charm. Who fore-ordered this collocation and sequence?

Who suggested these harmonious mysteries? How minor and major here phrase and fall together! Never did they do so before; rarely will they do so again. Beethoven was a divine kaleidoscope in a divine hand.

The _fugato_ page takes us into another order of ideas. Here it would almost seem as though tragedy, which threatened to take entire possession of the spirits, were shaken off, and cheerful activity resumed. Here we seem to have the chase, or a military _festival_, or the resolute alacrity which precedes a patriotic war. The climax, those _klingende_ concords, in C _alt._, are very fresh and brilliant; and the imitation is a very interesting characteristic bit of Beethoven (proof amongst many that he studied Handel, if he studied anybody); nevertheless, though the resumption of the original inspired motive is simply grand (peculiar to Beethoven), a slightly uncomfortable feeling is occasioned by this music, in juxtaposition with its predecessor. A certain violence seems done to us; we feel "Is not this rather an incongruous intercalation?" Contrast it certainly is, and excellent in itself; but, had it not been better to have left it out altogether? nay, to have been content with the wonderful allegro as it stood--in those continent bars sublime, and not to be eclipsed. Are we not here too suddenly transported from sub-tropical to temperate zone; or, rather, from some undiscovered inter-world, where is the highest discourse on the

"Issues of Life and Death"

to every-day life? In any case, the music is curiously lighter than the preceding; nay, almost suggests the thought that Beethoven might have here made use of a more youthful idea. And, in strict justice, we must say, it is below the level--if not, indeed, unworthy of, incompatible with, this stupendous symphony. In one word, it does not seem to exist of inner necessity (the eternal test), like its marvellous predecessor: it was written, but not inspired.

THE FINALE.

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This, rather than, as Marx says, the last movement of Symphony No. 2, might be designated the finale of finales (?)--"The most sublime chaunt of triumph ever pealed forth by an orchestra." _Multum in parvo_ I have put a mark against the D, because that one touch (of nature) makes all the difference; nay, I had almost said, stamps the pa.s.sage. Subst.i.tute a B, and the emphasis is lost, together with the originality. Nevertheless, the movement is hardly of equal value throughout; it has its "worser half;" and is also, unfortunately, too long. As in so many other cases, ideas are repeated, repeated already.

But this is not the worst; the worst is, that the overwhelming effect of the stupendous burst is seriously impaired. It should have

"Smitten once, to smite no more."

This terrible "elaboration," so superfluously "necessary"; such a fancied _sine qua non_! Here, we must seriously repeat the protest against the conventional custom; nay, almost raise the question, whether it is not rather a reproach to Beethoven (the original) that he did not get out of this thoughtless old groove. Here, the idea did not extrude the form, but rather _con_formed to it; was, as it were, poured into the traditional mould. But the form should be the eventuation of the idea, of the germ-soul ("_pensiero di Dio_"), as in a living organism (tree, _e.g._, or man).[A] With regard to the "worser half" we ventured to speak of, it is simply, as in so many cases, even in Beethoven himself, and notably (as we have so often felt) in the _Lieder ohne Worte_; there, very rarely is the second motive equal to the first; the first _was motive_--the "germ-soul,"

inner necessity of the piece, _perforce_ giving birth to it; the second was fact.i.tious. In the present case, does not this subject--

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seem really trifling (nay, almost jiggy) by the side of the grand opening, so broad and victorious? We are rather reminded of that traditional movement, whose ambling hilarity is our special horror, viz., the Rondo--we hope by now decently dead and buried; nay, we think, too, of the Sonata in G (Op. 31). This unlucky subject seems to us as unworthy its glorious predecessor as the last movement of that sonata is unworthy of the first--that burst of inspiration, like water from the rock, rolling on into broad _Symphonische Dichtung_. (In the course of the present _motiv_, consecutive octaves are prominent). A little further on--one bar and a half, true Beethoven, is worth a page of such undignified _Tonspiel_.

It is one of those bars which convey a "shock of delight" whenever they catch the musician's eye--

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[A] Neither can we but regret the re-introduction of the "allegro"

subject; that sublime idea had already done its true work (as we feel), and there only remained to break into one overwhelming burst of triumph, and then an end.

Few pleasures could be more elegant than to extend such an idea _ad lib._ as an andante on the organ. (We can imagine its effect as a prelude in some old rural church--say on a mellow Sunday afternoon).

Another notable point is, the "grinding out" (long before Berlioz) of the minor second against the tonic; an effect of extraordinary resolution and power--

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eloquently expressive, indeed, of a determination to bear it out against the shocks of doom. In this and other traits, we have the true Beethoven--such spiritual energy as (except in Handel, and with him it was less human) had not yet been dreamt of; such suffering in strife, and yet such glorying in it; such temptations in the wilderness (of his own heart, as well as elsewhere); such final victorious success!

And, here we are brought back into our old more genial vein and strain; we forget the spots on the sun, and lose ourselves in his overpowering effulgence. This "_erhabensten Triumphgesang_" is, to us, that of resurrection; when the ponderous lid was burst from within with light, which at once--so the great fancy expatiates--redoubled the splendour of day all over the world. Handel's selected words--nay, and very remarkably, the great flash-of-chorus itself (one could, indeed, imagine it as having suggested Beethoven's, they are so much alike)--come into the mind,--

"By Man came also the Resurrection of the Dead."

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And these--

"LA RISURREZIONE."

"Viva l'eterno Dio: sconfilto e vinto D'Averno il crudo regnator sen giace: L'empio pur sente il fiero braccio avvinte.

E l'aspra morte abba.s.sa it ciglio, e tace.

Cade all'uom la catena onde fu cinto Per fallo antico di pensiero audace: Iddio, dell'nom vendicatore ha vinto!

Il ciel canta vittoria, e annunzia pace.

Io veggo gia sovra l'eterea mole Erger di Croce trionfale insegna, Primo terror d'ogni tartarea trama.

E veggo in alto soglio il sommo Sole, Che a regnare in eterno ov'egli regna I redenti mortali aspetta, e chiama."