LIFE MASK OF BEETHOVENTaken in 1812 by Franz Klein, Beethoven being then in his forty-second year. This mask and the bust made after it by the same artist (see page341) are of the first importance in forming a correct judgment of the value of all portraits of Beethoven.
LIFE MASK OF BEETHOVENTaken in 1812 by Franz Klein, Beethoven being then in his forty-second year. This mask and the bust made after it by the same artist (see page341) are of the first importance in forming a correct judgment of the value of all portraits of Beethoven.
LIFE MASK OF BEETHOVEN
Taken in 1812 by Franz Klein, Beethoven being then in his forty-second year. This mask and the bust made after it by the same artist (see page341) are of the first importance in forming a correct judgment of the value of all portraits of Beethoven.
But the life of Beethoven, the man, was not merely a chronicle of small-beer, a record of shifting of lodgings, quarrels, rude sayings and personal discomforts. His character was a strange compound of greatness and triviality. The influence of heredity, the early unfortunate surroundings, the physical infirmity that was probably due to the sins of his fathers, the natural impatience of a man whose head was in the clouds with the petty cares of daily life:—all these unfitted him for social intercourse with the gallant world in which he was, however, a welcomed guest. He was afraid of elegance or he disdained it. Frankness, that was often another name for brutality, was dear to him, and he saw nowrong in calling men and women who talked when he played "hogs." He was proud, and his pride was offended easily. He was sure of his own work, he would therefore brook no contradiction; irritable, he was inclined to quarrel. He preferred nature to man, and was never so happy as when walking and composing in the open. In fields and woods he meditated his great compositions. Winter and summer he rose at the breaking of day and began to write, but in heat or cold, rain or sunshine, he would rush out suddenly for air. Yet dear as light and air were to him, the twilight was his favorite hour for improvising.
DEATH MASK OF BEETHOVENTaken by Dannhauser, March 28, 1827, two days after Beethoven's death.
DEATH MASK OF BEETHOVENTaken by Dannhauser, March 28, 1827, two days after Beethoven's death.
DEATH MASK OF BEETHOVEN
Taken by Dannhauser, March 28, 1827, two days after Beethoven's death.
He used to read the Augsburg newspaper, and he was fond of talking of politics. It was a time of political unrest. Beethoven revered the heroes of Plutarch; the leaders in the American revolution; Napoleon Bonaparte as long as he was First Consul. A bronze statue of Brutus was on his work-table. It is not necessary, then, to add that he was a republican by sentiment. He dreamed of a future when all men should be brothers, and the finale of the Ninth Symphony is the musical expression of the dream and the wish. We have seen his fondness for women. There is no proof however that he was ever under the spell of an unworthy passion. A wife was to him a sacred being; and in an age when unlimited gallantry was regarded as an indispensable characteristic of a polished gentleman, Beethoven was pure in speech and in life. He was even prudish in his desire to find an untainted libretto for his music, and he could not understand how Mozart was willing to accept the text of "Don Giovanni." He was born in the Roman Catholic faith, and just before his death he took the Sacrament; but in his life he was rather a speculative deist. His prayer book was "Thoughts on the works of God in Nature," by Sturm. It was difficult for him to separate God from Nature. Many passages in his letters show his sense of religious duty to man and God, and his trust and his humility. He copied out and kept constantly on his work-table these lines found by Champollion Figeac on an Egyptian temple:
I am that which is,I am all that is, that has been, and that shall be; no mortal hand has lifted my veil.He is by himself and it is to him that everything owes existence.
I am that which is,I am all that is, that has been, and that shall be; no mortal hand has lifted my veil.He is by himself and it is to him that everything owes existence.
I am that which is,I am all that is, that has been, and that shall be; no mortal hand has lifted my veil.He is by himself and it is to him that everything owes existence.
I am that which is,
I am all that is, that has been, and that shall be; no mortal hand has lifted my veil.
He is by himself and it is to him that everything owes existence.
Although his education had been neglected sadly in his youth, he was not without literary culture. He could not write a legible hand;—indeed, he himself described his chirography as "this cursed writing that I cannot alter"; his letters are often awkwardly expressed and incorrect; but they also abound in blunt directness, in personal revelation, and in a rude and overpowering eloquence. In his reading he was first enthusiastic over Klopstock; he soon wearied of the constant longing of that poet for death and abandoned him for Goethe. He was familiar with Schiller and the German poets that were his own contemporaries. His literary idols were Homer, Plutarch, and Shakespeare. He read the latter in the translation by Eschenburg, which he preferred to that by Schlegel; this translation was in his library, and it was thumbed by incessant reading. Schindler says that Plato's "Republic" was "transfused into his flesh and blood." He was an insatiable reader of histories. At the house of Mrs. Von Breuning in Bonn he was guided in a measure by the brother of his hostess. He knew Milton, Swift and other English writers in the translations, and he was kindly disposed thereby toward England and Englishmen. It is not so easy to discover his opinions concerning music from the few works found in his library, nor would it be wise to argue from the chance collection. There was a volume of pieces taken from the compositions of Palestrina, Vittoria, Nanini and other Italians. He had but little of Sebastian Bach, who was then known chiefly as the author of "The Well-tempered Clavichord." He owned a portion of the score of "Don Giovanni" and a few of Mozart's pianoforte sonatas; he preferred, however, the sonatas of Clementi, which he praised extravagantly. He was not ashamed to call himself the pupil of Salieri. He held Gyrowetz and Weigl in sincere esteem. Prejudiced at first against Weber, who had written violent critical articles against him, he changed his opinion after a more careful examination of "Der Freischütz," in which he found "the claw of the devil" side by side with "singular things." "I see what he intends, but in reading certain pages, such as the infernal chase, I cannot help smiling. After all, the effect may be right; it is necessary to hear it; but alas, I can no longer hear!" He was undoubtedly jealous of Rossini; "Fortune gave him a pretty talent and the gift of inventing agreeable melodies"; but he thought him no better than a scene-painter and accused him of a want of learning. Of all composershe appears to have most admired Handel dead and Cherubini, his contemporary. In a letter that was written by him to that great Italian-French composer, who is too much neglected in these restless days, Beethoven assured him that he put his operas above all other works for the stage; that he took a more lively interest in one of his new compositions than in his own; that he honored and loved him; that if it were not for his deafness, he would go to Paris that he might see him; and he begged him to consider him as worthy of ranking in the number of true artists. Of Handel he said, and shortly before his death, "This is the incomparable master, the master of masters. Go to him, and learn how to produce, with few means, effects that are like a thunder-clap."
PEN AND INK SKETCH OF BEETHOVENAs he appeared on the streets of Vienna; drawn by J.P. Lyser, probably about 1820-25.
PEN AND INK SKETCH OF BEETHOVENAs he appeared on the streets of Vienna; drawn by J.P. Lyser, probably about 1820-25.
PEN AND INK SKETCH OF BEETHOVEN
As he appeared on the streets of Vienna; drawn by J.P. Lyser, probably about 1820-25.
An ancient Egyptian inscription found in a temple at Saïs, dedicated to the Goddess Neith, which impressed Beethoven so much that he copied it, as above, and kept it framed under glass on his desk.
An ancient Egyptian inscription found in a temple at Saïs, dedicated to the Goddess Neith, which impressed Beethoven so much that he copied it, as above, and kept it framed under glass on his desk.
An ancient Egyptian inscription found in a temple at Saïs, dedicated to the Goddess Neith, which impressed Beethoven so much that he copied it, as above, and kept it framed under glass on his desk.
But no collection of Beethoviana, no affidavits to the truth of anecdotes and conversations, no photographic, no phonographic record of his daily life can give a just idea of the character of this extraordinary man. Its grandeur, titanic in its aspirations, is best seen or felt in the music that was to him the true organ of speech. To comprehend, to appreciate Beethoven, the full knowledge of his compositions is necessary; and to the temperament of the composer must be added the corresponding temperament of a fit hearer. The Beethoven that has voiced the longings, the joys and the sorrows of humanity was not merely the man who walked in the streets of Vienna, not even the being to whom each tree sang the trisagion. The petty failings and the personal virtues of the individual assume in his music gigantic, supernatural proportions. In his life passion, tenderness, pride, arrogance, despair, tumultuous joy, fancy that was at times grotesque, gayety that often was clowning were strangely mingled; just as in "King Lear" the broken-hearted old man and the faithful fool defy together the raging of the elements. To the easy-going, amour-hunting citizen of Vienna Beethoven no doubt appeared, as to Rochlitz, "a very able man, reared on a desert island and suddenly brought fresh into the world," But to the faithful student of his life and works he seems one of the great high-priests of humanity. To the Beethoven of later years, shut off from the world, lonely and full of sorrow, the conceiver of unearthly music such as was never heard before, the sonorous hymn of the Opium Eater over the mystery known among men as Shakespeare might well be chanted:
"O mighty poet! Thy works are not as 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, like frost and snow, rain and 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 seen nothing but accident!"
Philip Hale
"TO MY BROTHERS CARL AND ——.To be read and acted upon after my death."
"TOMYBROTHERSCARLAND—— BEETHOVEN:
"O ye who think or say that I am rancorous, obstinate or misanthropical, what an injustice you do me! You little know the hidden cause of my appearing so. From childhood my heart and mind have been devoted to benevolent feelings, and to thoughts of great deeds to be achieved in the future. But only remember that for six years I have been the victim of a terrible calamity aggravated by incompetent doctors; led on from year to year by hopes of cure, and at last brought face to face with the prospect of a lingering malady, the cure of which may last for years, or may be altogether impossible. Born with an ardent, lively temperament, fond of social pleasures, I was early compelled to withdraw myself, and lead a life of isolation from all men. At times when I made an effort to overcome the difficulty, oh how cruelly was I frustrated by the doubly painful experience of my defective hearing! And yet it was impossible for me to say to people, 'Speak louder; shout, for I am deaf.' Ah, how was it possible I could acknowledge weakness in the very sense which ought to be more acute in my case than in that of others—a sense which at one time I possessed in a perfection to which few others in my profession have attained, or are likely to attain. Oh, this I can never do! Forgive me, then, if you see me turn away when I would gladly mix with you. Doubly painful is my misfortune, seeing that it is the cause of my being misunderstood. For me there can be no recreation in human intercourse, no conversation, no exchange of thoughts with my fellow-men. In solitary exile I am compelled to live. Whenever I approach strangers I am overcome by a feverish dread of betraying my condition. Thus has it been with me throughout the past six months I have just passed in the country. The injunction of my intelligent physician, that I should spare my sense of hearing as much as possible, well accorded with my actual state of mind; although my longing for society has often tempted me into it. But how humbled have I felt when some one near me has heard the distant sounds of a flute, and I have heardnothing; when some one has heard a shepherd singing, and again I have heardnothing!Such occurrences brought me to the border of despair, and I came very near to putting an end to my own life. Art alone restrained me! Ah! it seemed impossible for me to quit this world forever before I had done all I felt I was destined to accomplish. And so I clave to this distressful life; a life so truly miserable that any sudden change is capable of throwing me out of the happiest condition of mind into the worst. Patience! I must now choose her for my guide! This I have done. I hope to remain firm in my resolve, until it shall please the relentless Fates to cut the thread of life. Perhaps I shall get better; perhaps not. I am prepared. To have to turn philosopher in my twenty-eighth year! It is no easy task—harder for the artist than for any one else. O God, Thou lookest down upon my inward soul; Thou knowest, Thou seest that love for my fellow-men, and all kindly feelings have their abode there!
"O ye who may one day read this, remember that you did me an injustice; and let the unhappy take heart when he finds one like himself who, in spite of all natural impediments, has done all that was in his power to secure for himself a place in the ranks of worthy artists and men. My brothers, Carl and ——, as soon as I am dead request Dr. Schmidt in my name, if he be still alive, to describe my disease, and to add to these pages the history of my ailments, in order that the world, so far at least as is possible, may be reconciled to me after my death.
"Hereby I declare you both to be heirs of my little fortune (if it may so be called). Divide it honestly; bear with and help one another. The injuries you have done me I have, as you know, long since forgiven. You, brother Carl, I thank specially for the attachment you have shown towards me in these latter days. My wish is that your life may be more free from care than mine has been. Recommend Virtue to your children. She alone, not money, can give happiness. I speak from experience. It was she alone who raised me in the time of trouble; and I thank her, as well as my art, that I did not seek to end my life by suicide. Farewell, and love one another. I thank all friends, especially Prince Lichnowsky and Professor Schmidt. The instruments from Prince L—— I should like to be kept by one of you; but let there be no quarreling between you in regard to this. As soon as you can turn them to more useful purpose, sell them. How happy shall I be if even when in my grave I can be useful to you!
"And thus it has happened. Joyfully I hasten to meet death. Should he come before I have had the opportunity of developing the whole of my artistic capacity, he will have come too soon in spite of my hard fate, and I shall wish he had come a little later. But even in that case I shall be content. Will he not release me from a state of endless misery? Come when thou will'st! I go to meet thee with a brave heart. Farewell, and do not quite forget me even in death! I have deserved this, since during my lifetime I have often thought of you, and tried to make you happy. So be it.LUDVIGVANBEETHOVEN."Heiligenstadt, 6th October, 1802."
"Heiligenstadt, 10th October, 1802.—So I take leave of thee sorrowfully enough. Even the cherished hope, which I brought here with me of being cured, at least to a certain extent, has now utterly forsaken me. It has faded like the fallen leaves of autumn. Almost as I came here so do I depart. Even the lofty hope that upheld me during the beautiful summer days has vanished. O Providence! let one more day of pure joy be vouchsafed to me. The echo of true happiness has so long been a stranger to my heart!—When, when, O God! shall I again be able to feel it in the temple of nature and of man? Never?—no!—O that were too hard!"
FIGURE OF BEETHOVEN ON VIENNA MONUMENT.Executed by Zumbusch. From a photograph. (See page339.)
FIGURE OF BEETHOVEN ON VIENNA MONUMENT.Executed by Zumbusch. From a photograph. (See page339.)
FIGURE OF BEETHOVEN ON VIENNA MONUMENT.
Executed by Zumbusch. From a photograph. (See page339.)
ONE of the most painful of human spectacles is an intellect dominated by a physical ailment, a mind capable of the wise and useful exercise, of its powers enthralled or checked in its peripheral expression by some imperfection in the machinery in the midst of which it has its temporary abiding-place.
The mental effects of bodily disease, in which the organs of special sense are concerned, have been nowhere more carefully noted than in the cases of those whose aptitude for some particular line of intellectual process has raised them above the average of their fellows, and the biographies of celebrated men seldom fail to record some instance of those ills to which flesh is heir and to make deductions therefrom as to its influence upon the life-work of the individual.
There is no more pathetic picture than that of Beethoven in his later years, at an age when he should have been in the perfection of his physical manhood, deaf to overwhelming applause or striking in tumultuous discord the piano which to him was dumb.
References to this deafness, which was to Beethoven such a calamity, have been carefully studied and recorded by his various biographers, and occur nowhere more graphically than in those remarkable letters which give, without the need even of reading between the lines, so clear an exposition of the man as he was, as he aspired, and as he suffered. There has been as yet however no attempt to collate this evidence with a view to making a precise diagnosis of his case or with reference to the possible influence which the infirmity may have had upon his disposition, his habit of thought or possibly even upon the character of his compositions.
"It is hard to arrive," says Grove, "at any certain conclusion on the nature and progress of Beethoven's deafness owing to the vagueness of the information; difficulty of hearing appears to have shown itself about 1798 in singing and buzzing in his ears, loss of power to distinguish words though he could hear the tones of voice, and great dislike to sudden loud noise; it was even then a subject of the greatest pain to his sensitive nature; like Byron with his club-foot he lived in morbid dread of his infirmity being observed, a temper which often kept him silent, and when a few years later he found himself unable to hear the pipe of a peasant playing at a short distance in the open air, it threw him into the deepest melancholy, and he wrote the well-known letter to his brother in 1802, which goes by the name of his Will." The above passage is really an epitomization of Beethoven's case, and, in connection with the collateral evidence and viewed in the light of our present knowledge of aural disease, plainly sets forth the progress as well as the character of his disorder, the exciting cause of which must ever remain a question, though the inference from the course of his disease, from the report of the post-mortem examination and from the evidence afforded by Dr. Bartolini, is at least permissible, that Beethoven's deafness originated, in part at least, in a constitutional disorder which may have been one of his inheritances from his father. Be that as it may, it is shown that he first became definitely aware of his infirmity when he was twenty-eight years of age, that his attention was first drawn to it and his appreciation of it subsequently heightened by the concomitant symptom of subjective noises in the ears, rushing and roaring sounds which he designates as "sausen" and "brausen"; this symptom, common to many forms of aural disease, occurs in such cases as that of Beethoven's only after the changes in the ear have already become well established, it marks a definite stage in the progress of the malady and is explainable as follows: the normal circulation of blood through the blood-vessels is productive of sound, precisely as is the flow of water or other fluid through pipes; these sounds vary in pitch and in intensity in proportion to the size of the blood vessels and the rapidity of flow of the circulating fluid; in the smaller blood-vessels such as are found in the immediate vicinity of the perceptive portion of the human ear the flow of the blood is continuous and not rhythmic in response to the impulse from the heart as is the case in the larger arteries; the sound resulting from the circulation in the smaller blood vessels ofthe ear is a high pitched singing ranging from a tone of about 15000 v.s. to one of 45000 v.s. while the sounds produced by the larger vessels are very much lower in pitch; these sounds are present in normal conditions, but are not noticed because the adjustment of the sound-transmitting portion of the human ear, the drum head, the chain of small bones and the adjacent parts is such that sounds of this class, within certain limits of intensity, may be transmitted directly outward and pass unnoticed; in the event, however, of structural changes which interfere with the mobility of this sound-transmitting apparatus, the circulation sounds are retained within the ear and become appreciable. This does not occur however in chronic progressive cases such as was Beethoven's until the disease, insidious in its onset, is already well advanced, so that while the first mention of the impairment of hearing and of the subjective noises is made in 1798, it is more than probable that the disease had been at that time several years in progress.
Taking these facts in connection with the other symptoms already mentioned, difficulty of distinguishing words and the dread of sudden loud noises, a definite clinical picture is presented which taken in its entirety permits the diagnosis of a chronic progressive thickening of the mucous membrane lining the cavity of the middle ear and of the passages leading therefrom to the throat.
For a better understanding of the case it is necessary to recall briefly the structure of that portion of the ear affected, namely, the drum membrane placed at the bottom of the outer canal of the ear to receive the sound waves transmitted through that passage and in turn to transmit them through the three small bones which form a chain of communication with the internal or perceptive portion of the ear; the drum membrane forming the boundary between the outer passages and the middle ear, the latter cavity communicating by means of the Eustachian tube with the upper part of the throat and being lined throughout with mucous membrane continuous with that in the latter cavity; in the middle ear this mucous membrane, very delicate and rich in blood vessels, not only lines the middle ear cavity but forms the inner coat of the drum-membrane and also covers the small bones, their articulations and attachments, one of these latter being a muscle, the tensor tympani, which by its contraction renders all the sound-transmitting apparatus more tense. It is easily appreciable that a gradual thickening of this mucous membrane would result in a progressive impairment of the sound-transmitting apparatus, with a corresponding decrease in its power of transmitting sound waves not only from without inward but from within outward. This interference would be first noticed in the transmission of such short sound waves of slight impulse as occur in instruments of high pitch or such as make up the qualitative overtones of the human voice and it was therefore at a comparatively early period in his disease that Beethoven failed to hear the distant sound of the flute, and of the shepherd singing, and to distinguish the difference in the more delicate modulations of the voices of his friends.
The distress induced by exposure to loud noises is also accounted for by the fact that the comparative rigidity of the sound transmitting apparatus deprived the deeper sensitive portion of the ear of the protection normally afforded it by the elastic structure capable of taking up and dispersing the excessive impulse and by the further fact that the contraction of the tensor tympani muscle, which contraction is an almost invariable accompaniment of certain chronic diseases of the middle ear, served to still further impair the mobility of the drum-head and ossicles.
Later and numerous references to his deafness scattered throughout his letters and recorded by his friends and associates all point, with one exception, to the steady, pitiless progress of a disease, at that time unamenable to treatment, which finally totally deprived him of the sense most important to the musician; the one exception in question is that recorded by Charles Neate as heard from Beethoven's own lips in 1815, and is to the effect that in a fit of anger Beethoven threw himself upon the floor, and on arising found himself practically deaf in his right ear. There was no explanation of this occurrence offered, but, taken in connection with the report of the autopsy, it is apparent that the sudden loss of hearing in the right ear was the result either of a form of apoplexy of the labyrinth such as occurs in connection with the more advanced stages of chronic catarrh of the middle ear, or was due to a peculiar affection of that portion of the internal ear devoted to sound perception and consequent upon constitutional disease.
Setting aside this incident, it may be noted that,while himself aware of the gradual increase of his deafness, it was not until eight years later, in 1806, that it became especially appreciable to others, after which time its increase was so rapid that it could no longer be kept secret; the degree of the disability varying with his general condition, but its progress being always downward, in 1815 it had so increased that he abandoned his proposed visit to England, and before his death the hearing had become so much affected that his playing ceased to charm, he would play so loudly at times as to break the strings or drown soft passages of the right hand by striking the keys accidentally with the left, while the hearing for his own voice even had become so imperfect that he spoke with unnatural loudness and deficient modulation.
The influence of this almost life-long malady upon his disposition cannot be estimated without taking into consideration the nervous strain which the impairment of so important a sense would induce in a person of Beethoven's temperament; to the mental effects of apprehension of future evil and the disappointments due to the futility of his efforts at obtaining relief must be added the purely physical consequences of the natural attempt at compensation which results in what may be denominated the fatigue of deafness. Normally we possess double the amount of hearing ordinarily required for the uses of life, and it is possible therefore to lose one half of the fullest amount of hearing without being appreciably affected by the loss. Ordinarily, therefore, our hearing-power is exercised without conscious exertion, but when this sense becomes impaired to a certain degree, an effort at hearing is necessary because of the loss of the sound of the more delicate qualitative overtones, such for instance as those which make the difference between the parts of speech most nearly resembling each other; to help out this deficiency the sight is called upon to watch the motion of the lips, and still later by a conscious effort those parts of a sentence which have been lost to hearing and have failed of detection by sight are mentally filled in from the context, three distinct brain processes being thus required to afford the information which came before unconsciously of effort.
That such a nervous strain was part of the infliction which Beethoven suffered, is shown by his increasing disinclination for social intercourse and a tendency to lead as he says a life of isolation from all men. "You cannot believe," writes his friend Stephan von Breuning, "what an indescribable impression the loss of hearing has made upon Beethoven; imagine the effect on his excitable temperament of feeling that he is unhappy, then comes reserve, mistrust often of his best friends, and general irresolution. Intercourse with him is a real exertion, as one can never throw off restraint."
Undoubtedly his deafness, with the consequent isolation from his fellows, had the effect of increasing the morbid peculiarities which were his inheritance, and of all his portraits extant there is none which so distinctly shows the face of the deaf man as that painted by his friend Maler, Vienna, 1812.
"Beethoven's deafness," says Goethe, "has not hurt so much his musical as his social nature."
Indeed it may be questioned if his musical nature were affected at all other than favorably by his infirmity. His art was greater than the man, or rather the man in his art was greater than himself; his deafness, even by shutting him within, seems to have increased his individuality, for, from the time of its absolute establishment onward his compositions grew in musical and intellectual value, and each generation finds in them something new to study and to appreciate. He wrote not for his time alone but for all time, and from what we can learn of his life and of the influence of his infirmity upon his character, we are glad to believe that through all the clouds which overcast his career Beethoven's transcendent genius shone supreme, superior to circumstance, and that the world is left none the poorer, possibly the richer, because of the misfortunes which, while they developed the peculiarities and intensified the faults of the individual, served but to enclose and protect the intellect too great to be bounded or controlled by the limitations of a saddened life.
Clarence J Blake
Fac-simile autograph musical manuscript written by Beethoven. Opening measures of Pianoforte Sonata in A flat, Op. 26.
Fac-simile autograph musical manuscript written by Beethoven. Opening measures of Pianoforte Sonata in A flat, Op. 26.
Fac-simile autograph musical manuscript written by Beethoven. Opening measures of Pianoforte Sonata in A flat, Op. 26.
[Larger Image] [Midi] [XML] [[audio/mpeg]
THE greatest of all instrumental composers began his career as a pianoforte virtuoso, and his earlier compositions are chiefly for that instrument. During the first years of Beethoven in Vienna, he was more conspicuous as a virtuoso than as a composer, and it is said that Haydn prophesied greater things of him as a performer than a creator of music. The older master could not foresee that Beethoven's influence was destined to live in his epoch-making concertos, trios and sonatas, rather than in his wonderful piano playing. His superiority at Bonn as at Vienna was not so much in display of technical proficiency as in the power and originality of improvisation. When he was only eleven years of age Carl Ludwig Junker heard the boy play, and wrote in most enthusiastic terms of the inexhaustible wealth of his ideas; he also compared him with older players of distinction and preferred Beethoven on account of his more expressive, passionate performance, that spoke directly to the heart. And so Czerny described his improvisation as "most brilliant and striking; in whatever company he might chance to be, he knew how to produce such an effect upon every hearer, that frequently not an eye remained dry, and listeners would break out into loud sobs; for in addition to the beauty and the originality of his ideas, and his spirited style of rendering them, there was something in his expression wonderfully impressive." Ries and many others bear similar testimony. There were other pianists of great parts who lived in Vienna or were heard there: Steibelt, Wölffl, and especially Hummel. But whenever Beethoven met them in friendly or fierce rivalry, he conquered by richness of ideas, by variety of treatment and by intense musical individuality, although he extemporized in regular "form." Hummel excelled him undoubtedly in purity and elegance, and Wölffl had extraordinary mechanism. They excited lively admiration, but Beethoven moved the hearts of his hearers. This power was greater than even his feats of transposing, his skill in reading scores, or such tricks as turning the 'cello part of a quintet upside down and then extemporizing from the curious theme formed thereby. We are told that he was very particular as to the mode of holding the hands and placing the fingers, in which he followed Emanuel Bach; his attitude at the pianoforte was quiet and dignified, but as his deafness increased he bent more and more toward the keys. He was, when he played, first of all a composer, and in his maturity, the "composer's touch," distinguished his playing. Czerny said that he produced wonderful effects by the use of thelegato cantabile. He was, as a rule, persuaded easily to improvise—at least in his younger days—but he did not like to play his own compositions, and only yielded to an expressed wish when they were unpublished. It is also said that he interpreted his own compositions with freedom, although he observed rigorously the beat. And he made often a profound impression in acrescendoby retarding the movement and not accelerating it.
The compositions of Beethoven have been divided by many writers into three periods, and this division has been followed with absurd precision and has been as unjustly ridiculed. There were three periods, however, but they are not to be sharply defined; they correspond in general to the life-periods of youth, maturity, and old age. In his earlier works, he followed in some degree the path laid out by Haydn and Mozart; in his middle period, he appeared in the full strength and maturity of his wonderful originality; finally, in his last period, he revealed himself as a prophet and dreamer of unearthly things. But it is not strange that the style of a man of genius is modified by his age and his experience; that he thinks otherwise at forty than he thought at twenty; that his ideas are not rigid, immovable from youth to old age. In his earlier period, and in the first of his symphonies, he shows the influence of his predecessors, and yet in his sixteenth work, three trios, known as Op. 1, striking originality and independence are asserted on every page.
It was his independence of character as much as his great musical gift that impelled him on the path of progress. He was five years old when at Concord
... "the embattled farmers stoodAnd fired the shot heard round the world."
... "the embattled farmers stoodAnd fired the shot heard round the world."
... "the embattled farmers stoodAnd fired the shot heard round the world."
... "the embattled farmers stood
And fired the shot heard round the world."
He was the child of his time, and he lived to witness the great movement for freedom and humanity in America and Europe. Although he had warm friends and admirers among the nobility he would not bow down to rank and wealth. The prince held no higher position in his estimation than the private citizen. "It is good to be with the aristocracy," he said; "but one must be able to impress them." "A trace of heroic freedom pervades all his creations," says Ferdinand Hiller. The expression "Im Freien," which in German means both the open air and liberty, might serve as an inscription of a temple devoted to his genius. It was this lofty spirit that impelled him to find new methods of musical expression in the older forms of the symphony, sonata, string quartet, etc., which have the same general outlines of formal construction. These classical forms consist of a cycle or group of three or four movements related to each other by contrast in tempo, rhythm, key, and æsthetic character. These movements are combined so as to constitute an organic whole; complex and highly developed, like a great architectural building. Madame de Stael called architecture "frozen music." This fanciful idea, so often quoted, suggests a different conception, perhaps as near the truth, that music may be considered as a kind of rhythmical architecture. Such architectural music appeals to the æsthetic sense of form and proportion through the ear by the stream of melody and harmony that flows in a rhythmical mass, whereas the "frozen music" appeals to us through the eye, which is able to take in the great outlines of proportion and form at once; so that the element of time is not considered. So far as form and construction are concerned, a Beethoven symphony might well be compared with a Gothic cathedral in its grand outlines of beauty and strength, complexity, relation of the parts to the whole, sense of proportion, and unity in variety. But in music, as in all true art, form is but the means to an end: which is to move the soul through the æsthetic sense of beauty. This ideal structure of tones was not the invention of one musician; it was built up gradually, in the course of a century and a half, by various composers until it reached its culmination in the works of Beethoven. There are two distinct sources from which cyclical instrumental music is derived. First, the sonatas for violins and bass which sprang up in the 17th century under Corelli, Biber, Purcell and others. Subsequently the sonata was applied to the solo clavichord by Kuhnau, Sebastian and Emanuel Bach. Second, the Italian opera overture, which came into vogue as separate instrumental music early in the 18th century under the names of symphony and concerto. The Italian overture consisted of three short, related movements—allegro,adagio,allegro,—a slow movement between two fast ones. Sammartini, Emanuel Bach and a few others were the first to cultivate this three-movement form: but it was not until the advent of Haydn that its modern character was acquired. Under his genius first came classical models. The sonatas of Emanuel Bach were the starting point of Haydn's music. He worked out gradually the so-called art of free thematic treatment. Compared with the older style its chief features are greater freedom in developing the themes; the parts are not bound down to the rules of strict counterpoint; the melody is given chiefly to one voice, generally the upper. Free passages are introduced between the several melodic groups that make up the contrasted themes. A general air of lightness, grace, elegance and pleasantness is the result of this freedom of treatment. A whole movement is evolved out of little rhythmical motives or germs, which recur again and again, under ever changing conditions of melody, harmony, key, position or range, and instrumentation. By such kaleidoscopic changes the motives express constantly new meaning and beauty without abandoning the central idea of the piece. Then, too, each movement is polythematic instead of monothematic. Haydn in these and other respects prepared the way for Mozart and Beethoven, and neither of the three can be considered without the other. Mozart and Beethoven obtained the structural form and basis of instrumentation from Haydn; on the other hand, Haydn in his old age and Beethoven in his youth learned from Mozart a richer art of instrumental color and expressiveness, especially in the use of wind instruments. While Mozart did not enlarge the cyclical forms beyond the general outlines laid down by Haydn, he beautified and enriched them in all their details. In his last three symphonies and famous six quartets the beauty is more refined, the pathos more thrilling and profound, the dissonances and modulations more daring and fascinating. His music is conceived in a more serious vein.
BEETHOVEN'S MONUMENT IN VIENNA.Executed by Zumbusch. From a photograph. (See page332.)
BEETHOVEN'S MONUMENT IN VIENNA.Executed by Zumbusch. From a photograph. (See page332.)
BEETHOVEN'S MONUMENT IN VIENNA.
Executed by Zumbusch. From a photograph. (See page332.)
Rubinstein, in his "Conversation on music," hasexpressed 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 theScherzo; 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 openingallegroof 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'sair, 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 harmoniccombinations 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.