PREDECESSORS OF BEETHOVEN
I. Muzio Clementi
Muzio Clementi, born at Rome in 1752, was brought to England by Alderman Beckford, father of the author of Vathek, and at Fonthill Abbey he had leisure to study the works of Handel, John Sebastian Bach, Emanuel Bach, Domenico Scarlatti, and Paradies. Clementi, like Scarlatti, was a virtuoso; but although both indulged largely in technical display, they were true and intelligent artists. In Scarlatti, the balance between his musical ideas and the form in which they were presented was almost perfect; in Clementi, virtuosity often gained the ascendency over virtue. With the latter, however, as indeed with E. Bach, Haydn, Mozart, and many other composers, the necessity of earning a living, and therefore of writing for "long" ears, mixed with the love of fame, produced works which, like the old Eden tree, contained both good and evil. To judge such great men really fairly, the chaff ought to be separated from the wheat; and the chaff ought to be thoroughly removed, even at the risk of sometimes losing a portion of wheat.
To the true lover of music, choice selections are more precious than complete collections; the latter are, of course, necessary to those whose business it is to study the rise and development of the various composers. The pianoforte sonatas of Mozart, Haydn, Dussek, and Clementi might be reduced to very moderate compass. To suggest that any one of Beethoven's thirty-two should be removed out of its place would now sound flat blasphemy; but art progresses, and some even now are falling into oblivion. The catalogue of music performed at the Popular Concerts during the history of the past thirty-five years shows pretty clearly which sonatas of Beethoven are likely to live long, and which not. But to return to Clementi. He published his first three sonatas (Op. 2, Nos. 1-3) in 1770, the year in which Beethoven was born; and the influence which he exerted over that master was considerable. In Beethoven's library were to be found many sonatas of Clementi, and the master's predilection for them is well known. The world seldom renders full justice to men who prepared the way for greater than themselves; Pachelbel, Böhm, and Buxtehude, the immediate predecessors of Bach, and, again, Emanuel Bach, to whom Haydn was so indebted, and whose works were undoubtedly studied by Beethoven, are notable examples. This is, of course, perfectly natural: the best only survives; but musicians who take serious interest in their art ought, from time to time, to look back and see how much was accomplished and suggested by men who, in comparison with their mighty contemporaries and successors, are legitimately ranked as second-rate. Among such, Clementi holds high place. Beethoven over-shadowed the Italian composer; but the harsh judgment expressed by Mozart[77] has contributed not a little, we imagine, to the indifference now shown to the Clementi sonatas.[78] The judgment was a severe one; but Otto Jahn relates how Clementi told his pupil Berger that, "at the period of which Mozart writes, he devoted his attention to brilliant execution, and in particular to double runs and extemporised passages." And, again, Berger himself was of opinion that the sonata selected for performance by Clementi at the memorable contest with Mozart in presence of the Emperor Joseph the Second (December 1781), was decidedly inferior to his earlier compositions of the same kind. The sonata in question was the one in B flat (B. & H., No. 61; Holle, No. 37), of which the opening theme commences in the same manner as the Allegro of the Overture to the Magic Flute. Mozart suffered much from the predominant Italian influence at court, and the "like all the Italians" in the letter just mentioned shows, to say the least, a bitter spirit. But the letter was a private one, probably hastily written. The judgment expressed was formed from an inferior work; in any case, it must not be taken too seriously. Mozart, by the way, was not the only composer who failed to render justice to his contemporaries.
Clementi's sonatas may be roughly divided into three classes. Some he wrote merely for the display of technique, while some were composed for educational purposes. But there remain others in which his heart and soul were engaged, and in these he reaches a very high level. Our classification is a rough one, for often in those which we consider his best, there is plenty of showy technique. With the exception of Mozart's sonata in C minor, and Haydn's "Genziger" and "London" sonatas, both in E flat, also some of Rust's, of which we shall soon have something to say, there are, to our thinking, none which in spirit come nearer to Beethoven than some of Clementi's. Mr. E. Dannreuther, in his article on the composer in Sir George Grove's Dictionary of Music and Musicians, justly remarks "that a judicious selection from his entire works would prove a boon."
In order to trace the relationship between Clementi and Beethoven, it may be well to state that Clementi in 1783 had published up to Op. 11 (Sonata and Toccata; the Toccata, by the way, is not included in the Breitkopf & Härtel edition; it appeared first, we believe, together with the sonata, in a London edition. Beethoven's first sonatas (Op. 2) appeared only in 1796).[79] By 1802, Clementi had published up to Op. 40; in which year Beethoven composed two of the three sonatas, Op. 31, Nos. 1-3. Between 1820-21 appeared Clementi's sonata, Op. 46 (dedicated to Kalkbrenner), and the last set of three sonatas in (including the "Didone Abbandonata") Op. 50. Beethoven's sonata in E (Op. 109) appeared in November 1821. Thus Clementi at first influenced Beethoven, but, later on, the reverse must have been the case.
Breitkopf & Härtel have published sixty-four sonatas of Clementi; and of these, sixty-three are to be found in the Holle edition.[80]
The three sonatas, Op. 2, Nos. 1, 2, 3 (25, 26, 27), have only two movements, and are principally remarkable for their showy technique.[81]
Clementi, of course, was well acquainted with Scarlatti's music, yet it would perhaps be difficult to point out any direct influence of the one over the other. In the next three sonatas, Op. 9, Nos. 4, 5, 6 (11, 28, 12), the first and third are most interesting. In the second, Clementi indulges in his favourite passages of thirds, sixths, and octaves; there is, indeed, a Presto movement, a moto perpetuo for the right hand, in octaves, which, if taken up to time, would tax even pianists of the present day. The 1st sonata may be noticed for its bold chords, and its sforzandos on unaccented beats, which sound Beethovenish. The 3rd sonata reminds us in many ways of the Bonn master. In the opening Allegro there is a sighing figure—
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which plays an important part throughout the movement, and therefore gives a marked character to it. In the development section the bold contrasts, the powerful chords, the sighing figure in augmentation, all point to Beethoven. And, curiously enough, the principal theme, which now appears in major (the sonata is in G minor), reminds one very strongly of the "Eroica"—
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It is worth noticing that the "sighing figure" may be traced in the other two movements of the sonata. The next sonata, No. 10 (44), has three movements, all in the same key; the Trio of the Minuet is in the key of the subdominant. In the first movement may be noticed the extension of a phrase by repetition (pp) of its last two notes, a feature often to be met with in Beethoven (see, for instance, the first movement of the "Appassionata," development section).
The piano phrase in the Rondo of No. 11 (45), before the organ point and the pause bar, is striking. No. 14 (2) is interesting. The broken octaves at the end of the exposition section, and the return by ellipsis to the principal theme, call to mind passages in Beethoven's Op. 22 and Op. 109. Sonata No. 16 (4) has a delightful first movement; the evolution of the second subject from the first deserves attention. In No. 18 (51) there is one point to notice. The key of the first movement is in F, but the principal theme in the recapitulation section appears in E flat; the second theme, however, according to rule, in the tonic.
Sonata No. 19 (52), in F minor, demands more than a passing word. Our readers will, perhaps, be tired of our noticing foreshadowings of Beethoven, yet we must add others here. We can assure them, however, or rather those who are not familiar with Clementi's sonatas, that the passages to which we call attention only form a small proportion of those to which we might refer. The first movement (Allegro agitato) is concise; there is no padding. Every bar of the exposition section may be termed thematic. The second subject, in the orthodox relative major, is evolved from the principal theme. And the latter descends, but the former ascends—a true Beethoven contrast. The coda to the first section, with its working of a thematic figure in augmentation, forms a striking feature. At the close of the development section a long dignified dominant passage seems a preparation for the return of the principal theme, but the composer has a surprise; after a pause bar, the second theme appears, and in A flat. A modulation soon leads back to F minor, and quite in Beethoven fashion—
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and the exposition coda is repeated in extended form. In the next movement (Largo e sostenuto) sombre tones still prevail; the key is that of the dominant minor. There is evident kinship between the first and last movements; of this the opening bar of the former and the closing bars of the latter offer signal proof.
In No. 23 (43) at the end of the last movement, an organ point reminds us that the full intentions of the composer are not recorded. Thus, in Clementi's early sonatas at any rate, the interpreter, as in E. Bach's works, was expected to make additions. In No. 26 (7) the opening of the theme of the Arietta recalls, and in no vague manner, the opening of the Finale of Beethoven's Septet. No. 34 (8) is an excellent sonata; there is considerable freedom in the recapitulation section. In No. 39 (35) Clementi returns to an old form of sonata: there are only two movements, a Larghetto and Tempo di Minuetto, and both in the same key. With sonata No. 41 (32), the first of two published as Op. 34, Clementi breaks new ground. The idea of incorporating the subject-matter of an introductory slow movement had already occurred to Haydn,[82] but Clementi goes to greater lengths. (It must not be forgotten that Beethoven's "Sonate Pathétique," Op. 13, appeared in 1799; possibly, before Clementi's.) From the opening characteristic subject of the Largo is evolved the principal subject of the Allegro con fuoco, and there is also relationship between it and the second subject. In the unusually long development section, a dramatic passage, evolved from the concluding bars of the Largo, leads to a slow section in which the opening notes of the Largo are given out in loud tones, and in the unexpected key of C major (the three repeated sforzando crotchets remind one of the "fate" notes in the C minor Symphony); and when the Tempo primo is resumed, the
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also reminds one of
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in the same movement of the above-mentioned Symphony. Then, again, in an important coda the theme is given out in modified, yet intensified form. In the Finale of the sonata the Largo still makes its influence felt. Exception may perhaps be taken to the length of the first movement, and to the prominence throughout the work, of the principal key; but the evident desire of the composer to express something which was inwardly moving him gives great interest to the music.
The sonata in B minor, Op. 40, is one of Clementi's most finished productions. The name of Beethoven must again be mentioned; for depth of meaning, boldness, style of development, and gradation of interest, the music comes within measurable distance of the greater master. Not only is there no padding, but here the technique serves a higher purpose than that of display; there are no formal successions of thirds, sixths, or octaves, no empty bravoura passages. The long development section of the first movement, with its bold contrasts, its varied presentation of thematic material, its peculiar mode of dealing with fragments of a theme, and its long dwelling on dominant harmony previous to the return of the principal theme,—all these things remind one of Beethoven. This movement is followed by a Largo (mesto e patetico) leading to the final Allegro. These two are intimately connected; and, moreover, the latter includes reminiscences from the introductory Adagio. After a brief reference to the Largo, the movement concludes with a passionate Presto coda. In Mr. Banister's Life of Macfarren we learn that the latter considered the B minor of Clementi "one of the finest sonatas ever written"; and many musicians will, probably, agree with him.
Of the three last sonatas (Op. 50, Nos. 1, 2, and 3), it must be remembered that when they appeared Beethoven had published up to Op. 106, and possibly Op. 109. If, then, in some of the earlier Clementi sonatas we spoke of his influence on Beethoven, it is just the reverse here. Nevertheless, of these sonatas which must have been known to that master, one may have led him to think again of the idea of revealing the poetic basis of his sonatas.[83] Clementi gives the title, "Didone Abbandonata: Scena Tragica" to his work. The introductory Largo is sostenuto e patetico, while the Allegro which follows bears the superscription, deliberando e meditando; the Adagio is dolente; and the Allegro Finale, agitato e con disperazione. The music expresses throughout the sorrow and despair of the forsaken queen, while certain wild passages (as for example the coda of the first Allegro) tell also of her anger. This Allegro is an admirably sustained movement, and, at moments, the composer rises to the height of his argument. It is interesting, too, from a technical point of view, for there is no empty display. Whatever degree of inspiration may be accorded to the music, it will surely be acknowledged that the composer was full of his theme; that all his powers of head and heart were engaged in the task of illustration. This "Dido" sonata, of course, suffers if compared with those of Clementi's great contemporary; and some of the writing is formal and old-fashioned, and, at times, too thin to attract the sympathy or to excite the interest of pianists of the present day, who enjoy the richer inheritance of Beethoven, the romantic tone-pictures of Schumann and Brahms, the fascinating miniatures of Chopin, and the clever glitter of Liszt. Still it does not deserve utter oblivion. Hear what Fr. Rochlitz says of it in the Allg. Mus. Zeit.: "It (the sonata) is indeed a tragic scene, one so clearly thought out and so definitely expressed, that it is by no means difficult—not only in each movement, but in its various divisions—to follow literally the course of changing feeling which is here developed."
Schindler, with regard to the work, also remarks as follows: "Who understands nowadays how to interpret this musical soul-picture (written unfortunately in old stereotyped sonata-form!)? At best, glancing hastily over it, a pianist carelessly remarks that the poetical contents of this sonata are only expressed in the title." And again: "In the year 1827, at Baden, near Vienna, Clementi gave me details respecting the contents and interpretation of this tone-poem. A new edition of the work by J. André of Offenbach enabled me to insert a preface with the explanations of the veteran master."[84] And further, as a tone-picture expressing states of the soul, he knows "of no other work entitled sonata more worthy of a place beside those of Beethoven."
II. Johann Ludwig Dussek
This composer comes next to Clementi, in order of time, and, we may add, of merit. His natural gifts really exceeded those of Clementi; but the latter made a deep study of his art, and also of the pianoforte, to which, indeed, like Chopin, he devoted his whole attention. Dussek was fond of ease and pleasure, and never developed his powers to the full. It may be noted that both these celebrated pianists were connected with English music-publishing houses. Clementi prospered, though not in his first undertaking with Longman & Broderip; but Dussek was unsuccessful, and left England, so it is said, to avoid his creditors. There is, indeed, a letter written by Dussek from Hamburg, dated 12th June, 1801, to Clementi, and apart from the curious spectacle of these two pianists in commercial correspondence with each other, the letter is of interest, in that it belongs to a period of Dussek's life concerning the details of which there is some uncertainty.[85] Dussek, it may be mentioned, does not ever appear to have returned to London. In 1803 he became attached to Prince Louis Ferdinand, to whom he offered advice in pianoforte playing and composition. There is another letter extant of Dussek's written in the same year in which that Prince fell on the battlefield of Saalfeld (13th October, 1806), and this also we will give, as we believe, like the one above, it has never been published.[86] The catalogue of Dussek's works, in Sir G. Grove's Dictionary of Music and Musicians, mentions three quartets for strings (Op. 60: in G, B flat, and E flat), most probably the works referred to in the second letter.
Dussek, born in the year 1761, studied first with his father J.J. Dussek, and in his twenty-second year received further instruction from Emanuel Bach; he soon enjoyed great fame as an executant. Tomaschek, himself a pianist of note, thus speaks of him in his autobiography:—
"There was, in fact, something magical about the way in which Dussek, with all his charming grace of manner, through his wonderful touch, extorted from the instrument delicious and at the same time emphatic tones. His fingers were like a company of ten singers, endowed with equal executive powers, and able to produce with the utmost perfection whatever their director could require. I never saw the Prague public so enchanted as they were on this occasion by Dussek's splendid playing. His fine declamatory style, especially in cantabile phrases, stands as the ideal for every artistic performance—something which no other pianist has since reached."
The above quotation refers to a concert given at Prague in 1804.
There is, unfortunately, great confusion in the opus numbers of Dussek's works; and, moreover, it is difficult, if not impossible, to give the dates either of composition or publication. Breitkopf & Härtel have published more than fifty sonatas, but we shall only refer to some of the more important ones. Dussek, like all the prominent composers of his time, not even excepting Haydn and Mozart, wrote music on a practical, rather than on a poetical basis; one of the letters given above acknowledges this in very frank terms. But to Dussek's credit be it said, his least valuable works are masterpieces as compared with those which the sonata-makers, Steibelt, Cramer, and others, fabricated by the hundred. In Dussek we find great charm and refinement, while the writing for the instrument is often highly attractive; but the art of developing themes was certainly not his strong point. That he was at times careless or indifferent may be seen from such a bar as the following (Op. 47, No. 1, Litolff ed.; Adagio, bar 9):—
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The bar before the return of the principal theme in the Allegro of the sonata in E flat (Op. 75) furnishes another instance. Again, in the Allegro of the sonata in A flat, known as "Le Retour à Paris," there is a passage (commencing fifteen bars before the end of the exposition section) which, with slight alteration, might have been materially improved.
Of the early sonatas, Op. 10, No. 2, in G minor, is an interesting work. It consists of two well-contrasted movements: an Adagio in binary, and a Vivace in sonata form. Of the Presto of Op. 10, No. 3, Professor Prout, in his interesting article, Dussek's Pianoforte Sonatas,[87] says: "Both the first and second principal subjects remind us irresistibly of that composer (Mendelssohn), while the phrase at the conclusion of the first part, repeated at the end of the movement, is almost identical with a well-known passage in the first movement of the 'Scotch Symphony.' Is the coincidence accidental, or did Mendelssohn know the sonata, and was he unconsciously influenced by it?"
In his three last sonatas (Op. 70, 75, and 77), Dussek rises to a very high level; he was undoubtedly influenced by the earnestness of Beethoven, the chivalric spirit of Weber, and the poetry of Schubert. A new era had set in. These three composers were neither the fools of princes nor the servants of the public: they were in the world, yet not of it. They looked upon their art as a sacred thing; and most probably the shallowness of much of the music produced in such abundance towards the close of the eighteenth century spurred them on to higher efforts. Dussek had lived an irregular, aimless sort of life; he had wandered from one country to another, and had acquired the ephemeral fame of the virtuoso. Perhaps he was a disappointed man; there is a tinge of sadness about these last sonatas which supports such a view. Perhaps a feeling that his life was ebbing away made him serious: his music now shows no trifling. Explain it as you may, Dussek's three last contributions to sonata literature rank amongst the best of his day; and the indifference now shown to them—so far, at least, as the concert platform is concerned—is proof of ignorance, or bad taste. We say ignorance, because the rising generation has few, if any, opportunities of hearing this composer's music. It is eighteen years since his Op. 70 was given at the Popular Concerts; while twenty-three and twenty-nine years have passed since Op. 75 and Op. 77 have been played there.
The sonata in A flat, entitled "Le Retour à Paris," is known in England as "Plus Ultra," and in an old edition it is dedicated to "Non plus Ultra." The latter was meant for Woelfl, a famous pianist and contemporary. His music is now forgotten, and his name is principally remembered in connection with Beethoven; like the latter, his talent for improvisation was great. The late J.W. Davidson, in his long and interesting preface to Brewer & Co.'s edition of Dussek's A flat sonata, leads us to believe that Dussek's publisher, and not the composer himself, was responsible for the change of title to "Plus Ultra." The opus number, too, was changed from 70 to 71. The following story is also told by Davidson in a preface contributed by him to the Brewer edition of the Woelfl sonata:—"Who will play it?" asked the publisher (Well), looking through the music of the composer. "I vill it blay," replied Woelfl. "Yes, but you won't buy the copies. No one but yourself or Dussek can play the Allegro, and I doubt if either of you can play the variations." Woelfl, however, sitting down before an old harpsichord, convinced the publisher of his error. "What shall we call it?" asked Well. "Call it 'Ne plus Ultra,'" said Woelfl, rubbing his hands with joy, and adding, "Now shall we see if Herr von Esch vill more blay, or Herr Bomdembo make de variation."
Dussek's "Plus Ultra" (Op. 70) is justly admired; the music is fine, and in the matter of technique, setting aside a few sensational passages[88] in Woelfl's sonata, which his very long fingers enabled him to execute with comparative ease, far surpassed the earlier work. It must appear strange to many musicians who do not possess a copy of Woelfl's sonata, that, in any mention of the rivalry between the two composers, no reference is made to Woelfl's sonata beyond the title. An examination of the latter, however, would soon solve the mystery. The plain fact is this: both the music and even the technique are now absolutely uninteresting. The sonata, in the key of F major, commences with a brief introductory Adagio, followed by a long, tedious Allegro abounding in passages of thirds. A brief Andante comes between this Allegro and the Finale, consisting of flimsy variations on the popular melody "Life let us Cherish." In a book of small compass such as the present one, we only wish to dwell upon matters of interest. For some particular purpose Woelfl's sonatas might possibly prove of importance and even interest; but not here. The "Non plus Ultra," so far as we are concerned, may serve to remind us that Woelfl once lived; while the rest of his music, like some incidents in his life, may be consigned to oblivion. We cannot say that we have read all his sonatas, but enough of them, we believe, to judge, generally, of their contents.
Professor Macfarren's opinion of Dussek, as composer for the pianoforte, in the Imperial Dictionary of Biography, is so excellent, that we cannot perhaps do better than quote his words:—
"The immense amount of Dussek's compositions for the pianoforte have by no means equal merit; many of them were written for the mere object of sale, still more for the purpose of tuition, and some with the design of executive display. Of those which were produced, however, in the true spirit of art, expressing the composer's feelings in his own unrestrained ideas, there exist quite enough to stamp him one of the first composers for his instrument; and while these are indispensable in the complete library of the pianist, they are above value to the student in the development of his mechanism and the formation of his style. A strong characteristic of the composer is his almost redundant profusion of ideas;[89] but his rich fecundity of invention is greatly counterbalanced by diffuseness of design, resulting from the want of that power of condensation by means of which greater interest is often given to less beautiful matter."
And then, again, in an analysis of a Dussek Quintet, he remarks that in that composer's works we may trace "not only the origin of many of the most beautiful effects with which later writers have been accredited, but some of the identical ideas by which these very writers have made their way into popularity."
III. Friedrich Wilhelm Rust
During the years 1744-45 a young man named Johann Ludwig Anton Rust went to Leipzig to study jurisprudence and philosophy. But he was also musical, and played the violin at performances given under the direction of J.S. Bach. On returning to his home at Wörlitz, Rust tried to inspire those around him with enthusiasm for the music of Bach. With his younger brother, Friedrich Wilhelm, he was, at any rate, successful; for the latter, already at the age of thirteen, was able to play by heart the whole of the "Well-tempered Clavier." Later on, young Friedrich went to Halle to study law, and there not only made the acquaintance of Friedemann Bach, but, in return for attending to the correspondence of that gifted musician, he received from him instruction in composition, organ and clavier playing. Afterwards, at Potsdam, he continued his clavier studies under Emanuel Bach. Surely a finer training never fell to the lot of any pupil. Schumann recommends young musicians to make Bach their daily bread; and of that, Rust must have had full weight. But the list of his teachers is not yet exhausted; he went to Italy in 1765, and studied the violin under Tartini. Rust composed operas, cantatas, concertos, and sonatas for violin,[90] and for pianoforte; the last-named, of which he wrote eight, now concern us.
The earliest, entitled "Sonata Erotica," was composed in 1775; this work, however, was not published until the year 1888 (edited by his grandson, Dr. Wilhelm Rust,[91] late cantor of St. Thomas'). It is the first of a series of works extraordinary in many ways—in form, subject-matter, developments, and technique. With regard to the last-named, there is something to say, and it had better be said at once. Dr. E. Prieger, in his interesting pamphlet, F.W. Rust: Ein Vorgänger Beethovens, remarks as follows:—"While the grandson, full of enthusiasm, threw his whole soul into the creations of his ancestor, he gave a reflection, in his edition, of the pictures which had been vividly formed in his mind." To accomplish this he has strengthened the writing, and, in some cases, modernised it. Dr. Prieger, who has seen some, if not all of the autographs, has assured us that "these additions only concern the exterior, and do not affect the fundamental, character of the work." This statement is, to a certain extent, satisfactory, and we receive it thankfully. But a great deal of the writing is far ahead of the age in which it was written; it reminds one now of Weber, now of Schumann. Why, one may ask, did not the editor indicate the additions in smaller notes? Then it would have been possible to see exactly what the elder Rust had written, and what the younger Rust had added. At present one can only marvel at some of the writing, and long to know how much of it really belongs to the composer. It appears that Rust, as editor of his grandfather's work, had some intention of describing his editions, etc., but death, which frequently prevents the best intentioned plans, intervened.
The "Sonata Erotica" is noticeable, generally, for its charm, poetry, and spontaneity. The first movement, an Allegro moderato, is in sonata-form. The second, in the key of the relative minor, entitled Fantasie, has in it more of the spirit of Beethoven than of Emanuel Bach. The Finale is in rondo form; the middle section consists of a playful Duettino, containing free imitations.
The next sonata (1777), in D flat, opens with a graceful Allegretto, and closes with a Tempo di Minuetto, which, for the most part, points backward rather than forward. The slow movement, Adagio sostenuto, is, however, of a higher order than either of these. It has Beethovenish breadth and dignity, yet lacks the power of the Bonn master: those magic touches by which the latter makes us feel his genius, and secures gradation of interest up to the very close of a movement. This Adagio, however, were the date of its composition unknown, might pass for a very clever imitation of Beethoven's style.
In 1784, Rust wrote two sonatas, one in F sharp minor, the other in B flat minor. The latter consists of three movements, and the music, especially in the Adagio in E flat minor, bears traces of the great Bach; still there are passages which sound more modern even in this very Adagio, which points so clearly to him as the source of inspiration. The modern element, however, admits of explanation, for Haydn and Mozart, at the time in which the sonata was written, had appeared in the musical firmament. But in the works we are about to mention, the composer suggests Beethoven, Weber, and even Schumann. In writing about Clementi, we were compelled frequently, and at the risk of wearying our readers, to call attention to foreshadowings of both the letter and spirit of Beethoven. The cases of Clementi and Rust, however, are not quite parallel. With the former it was mere foreshadowing; with exception of a few passages in which there was note resemblance between the two composers, the music still bore traces of Clementi's mode of thought and style of writing. But with Rust, there are moments in which it is really difficult to believe that the music belongs to a pre-Beethoven period.
The sonata[92] in D minor (1788) opens with a vigorous yet dignified Allegro; the graceful Adagio is of eighteenth century type; it is in the key of the relative major, but closes on the dominant chord of D minor, leading without break to a final Allegro, full of interesting details. The movement concludes with an impressive poco adagio coda, in which Rust makes use of the principal theme of the opening movement. We will venture on one quotation, although a few bars, separated from the context, may convey only a feeble impression—
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The sonata in D major, composed six years later, opens with an interesting Allegro. The second movement, in B minor, bears the superscription "Wehklage" (Lamentation). Rust's eldest son, a talented youth, who was studying at Halle University, was drowned in the river Saale, 23rd March 1794. Matthisson, the "Adelaide" poet, sent to the disconsolate father a poem entitled "Todtenkranz für ein Kind," to which Rust sketched music, and on that sketch is based this pathetic movement, which sounds like some tone-poem of the nineteenth century. Here is the impressive coda:—
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There follows a dainty, old-fashioned Minuet, and a curious movement entitled "Schwermuth und Frohsinn" (Melancholy and Mirth);[93] though after the "Wehklage" these make little impression.
During four years (1792-96), Rust was occupied with a sonata in C minor and major. The work is a remarkable one. It opens with an energetic Recitativo in C minor, interrupted for a few bars by an Arioso Adagio in C major. Then comes a Lento in six-four time based on the celebrated Marlbrook song, a dignified movement containing, among other canonic imitations, one in the ninth. It leads by means of a stringendo bar to a brilliant Allegro con brio, a movement of which both the music and the technique remind one of Beethoven's bravoura style. A second section of the sonata commences with the recitative phrase of the opening of the work, only in A minor. This leads to a highly characteristic Andante, which Dr. Rust, the editor, in a preface to the published sonata, likens to the "mighty procession" in Lenau's Faust. The Finale consists of an animated Allegro, with a clever fugato by way of episode; there is still an Allegro maestoso, which, except for its length and the fact that it contains a middle section, Cantabile e religioso, we should call a long coda. The whole, evidently programme-music, is a sonata worked out somewhat on Kuhnau lines.
Now, was Beethoven acquainted with Rust's music? Dr. Prieger, in the pamphlet mentioned above, remarks as follows:—"During the years 1807-27 Wilhelm Karl Rust (b. 1787, d. 1855), the youngest son of our master, was in Vienna, and had the good fortune to make the acquaintance of Beethoven, who was pleased with his playing, and recommended him as teacher. Among Rust's lady pupils were Baroness Dorothea Ertmann and Maximiliane Brentano, both of whom belonged to Beethoven's most intimate circle of friends, and had been honoured by having works dedicated to them. The younger Rust was gifted with an extraordinary memory, and therefore it seems more than probable that he occasionally performed some of his father's works in that circle. On the other hand, we have Beethoven's energetic nature holding aloof from anything which might influence his own individuality."
There, in a few words, is the answer to our question. And it is about the only one we can ever hope to obtain. Rust was altogether a remarkable phenomenon, a musician born, as it were, out of due time. If Beethoven, as seems quite possible, was acquainted with his music, then Rust exerted an influence over the master quite equal to that of Clementi. It almost seems as if we ought to say, greater.