In this magnificent symphony, the most picturesque of all, Beethoven seemed to have taken a new lease of originality. It is specially instructive and encouraging on that account; and, amongst other evidences, makes us weigh, whether his "third manner" (whereof this may be considered the noble isthmus that joins those continents), was really progress or decay, or a dubious transition step to something higher. However, the work is reckoned among those of his second manner, and so is certainly a potent argument for those who, with enlightened honesty (and not Philistine blindness), feel that Beethoven's second style is, par excellence, Beethoven—whether Wagner began or not where Beethoven left off. Apropos of Wagner, does not this "Poco Sostenuto" call to mind that Wizard of the South's famous morçeaux in "Lohengrin," in the same key? Is not the style—nay, the motiv—much the same?—
There seems something of the same mysticism, though Beethoven is not tainted with the morbidness one scents in Wagner; seems, as a whole, broader, nobler, more natural, more truly deep; in a word, more healthy, and therefore greater, notwithstanding Wagner's undoubted genius, and still more stupendous energy for which we most envy him. This opening theme has a powerful tranquility about it—like that, say, of some Epaminondas; seems, as it were, an assurance and announcement that Beneficence, at bottom and after all, is paramount in this stupendous paradox and discrepancy called the universe; notwithstanding, it seems to go on to say, the ground-bass of storm, on and over which true heroism will ever ride (re-entry of the theme ff); notwithstanding the painfulnesses, which are only subtler proofs and manifestations of self-justified righteousness and power—most sublime in its subtlest judgments—as the private life of every self-strict person knows. Then, a new theme—fragment of the same essential peace—enters; curiously (and beautifully) reminding us of that early, early work of Beethoven's (Oh, Rhine-lad, written how long ago!), the Sonata in C dedicated to Haydn—
but gaining by being slow.
But "action, action, action," which these climbing basses—("And ever climbing up the climbing wave"), "life is painfully real,"—seem to say, soon break in again on this Elysian dream. It re-appears, however, like a heavenly messenger, holding us spellbound, in a trance or veritable dream, whereof these two conflicting elements form the chief apparitions; conflicting, yet viewed largely, harmonious, like their counterparts in that oneness, Life,—whose painfulnesses are as much a necessary part of it, as discords are of entire music.
[ The Vivace.]
Great pictures—pictures of great action (like the actions themselves)—represent the moral qualities behind. Hence, many a page of music, eminently of Beethoven, may be objectively or subjectively interpreted, or both. It is the usual practice, and a natural one, to regard the "Eroica" symphony as objective, and the C minor as subjective—both illustrating the grand abstract fact, Conflict. The vivace of the A major symphony strikes, no less, as objective. There is a ringing cheerfulness about it that suggests no spiritual struggles, psychological battle, but the open air and its beloved objects—by no means excluding the world's great foreground feature, man; rather, pre-eminently presenting and illustrating him, and this from your Beethoven, the intensely subjective soul. Intensely subjective, yes! far more so,—more grandly so,—than your Byron; more characteristically so than Shakespeare; but, nevertheless—nay, therefore—also more truly, nobly objective than the former, kin with the latter (Turner is greater than Rosa).