It will at once be noticed that Beethoven begins this symphony quite differently from its predecessors; allegro con brio, two emphatic chords, and then in medias res; the bass, however, leading off, as in No. II., with, moreover, the same well-balanced poise (delicate, yet firm as that of planet in its orbit), springy step, and self-contained power. A characteristic originality is the C sharp, where the bass breaks off, hardly begun, and the
"Upper air bursts into life,"
with glorious breadth and soaring—soaring to the primum mobile through obstructive cloud (discords of the dim. 7th on pedal tonic) with only increased éclat! Thereupon, the basses worthily show forth the heroic confidence of the nobly unstudied theme—great and gay with the certainty of final victory; as it were, the warriors of Israel advancing to conquer the Promised Land. Then, from none knows where—from the very heart of heaven—fall shafts of light indeed, as it were through the bosom of fragrance; which exquisite strain, perhaps, contradicts what we said about the absence of youth in this work. In any case, it is one of those many melodies which so movingly proclaim Beethoven a profoundly good man, and how he wrote them so from above, or rather they poured through him from infinite heights (depths overhead) of ineffability. In this, in the power of his sweetness, he has never been surpassed, hardly equalled.
There are melodies by later men very beautiful too, which seem, however, to come (we are almost tempted to write) like certain later poetry, from a profoundly bad source; they have demoniac, not divine beauty. The strain in question:—
Certainly a
"Dolce melodia in aria luminosa,"
seems the spirit of Love itself pure and simple—as it were, a glance from the "young-eyed cherubim" into the Warrior's—into Beethoven's own heart. But, in this "painfully earnest world," such blessedness cannot long last, and the sunshafts are soon again obscured in the smoke of battle—the mystic whisperings drowned in the din of artillery. Apropos, it struck us that, if we like the warlike figure, this grand battlepiece (by Rubens? or Tintonello?—Rembrandt, we would rather say) gains, if we consider it as a sea-battle, in a storm, with wizard lights and seams of fire all along the horizon. Nay, in the second part—those wonderful strokes of genius where the chord of the sub dominant (?) is piled on to and clashes against that of the relative minor A—we fancy it vividly depicting "Nelson falls!" (the true hero, whose pole-star is duty; not pleasure, nor ambition); and the unspeakable passage a little further on (in E minor—Beethoven alone capable of it—never dreamt of in the philosophy of his predecessors), suggested his death—(or rather, more stupendously, that of the Christian Hero, when He "gave up the ghost," crying, "Finitus est!").
More than one modern work has attempted to depict the world-old great subject: Virtue and Vice contending for (or within) a human soul—the struggle of Good and Evil. Methinks, as long ago as this Heroic Symphony the same struggle is represented, or shadowed forth (for its great text, like music in general, and more so with Beethoven, has many meanings). The third (?) subject in this theme-rich movement, where Beethoven from his full heart pours forth one motiv after another, is especially suggestive of conflict—what shocks, clashes, contentions!—but the "good angel fires the bad one out," and bears the precious prize aloft in a whirl of triumph—resounding, as it were, through the halls of heaven—