After the opening performances the music to “King Stephen” was laid aside until 1841, when it was given in Vienna; but the after-piece, “The Ruins of Athens,” was presented again during Beethoven’s lifetime upon the occasion of the opening of a theatre in that city. The new text, which was prepared for it by Carl Meisl, was entitled “Die Weihe des Hauses” (“The Dedication of the House”), and Beethoven wrote for it the overture which is now so famous, solos for soprano and violin, and a final chorus with dances.
The music to the “Ruins of Athens” comprises eight numbers. The overture is very light and unpretentious, and by many critics, among them Ferdinand Ries, Beethoven’s pupil, has been deemed unworthy of the composer. Thayer says:—
“When the overture was first played at Leipsic, people could hardly trust their ears, could hardly believe it to be the work of the author of the symphonies, of the overtures to ‘Coriolan,’ ‘Egmont,’ and ‘Leonore’ (Fidelio).”
The opening number is a chorus (“Daughter of mighty Jove, awake!”), which is followed by a beautiful duet (“Faultless, yet hated”), voicing the lament of two Greek slaves for the destruction of their temples and the degradation of their land. The duet is very pathetic in character, and the melody, carried by the two voices, leaves an impression of sadness which cannot be resisted. The third number is the well-known chorus of Dervishes sung in unison by tenors and basses, thus forming a kind of choral chant. The melody is a weird one, and full of local color, but its powerful effect is gained by the manner of treatment. It begins pianissimo and is gradually worked to the extreme pitch of true Dervish delirium, culminating in the exclamation, “Great Prophet, hail!” and then gradually subsiding until it dies away, apparently from the exhaustion of such fervor. It is followed by the familiar Turkish march, founded on the theme of the Variations in D, op. 76, very simple in construction, Oriental in its character throughout, and peculiarly picturesque in effect. After an instrumental movement behind the scenes, a triumphal march and chorus (“Twine ye a Garland”) is introduced. The seventh number is a recitative and aria by the high priest with chorus, which lead to a beautifully melodious chorus (“Susceptible Hearts”). An adagio aria for bass (“Deign, great Apollo”) and a vigorous chorus (“Hail, our King”) bring the work to a close. The piece was first brought out in England by Mendelssohn in 1844 at one of the Philharmonic Society’s concerts; and ten or twelve years later an English version of it was performed at the Prince’s Theatre, when the Royal Exchange and statue of Wellington were substituted for the Pesth Theatre, and Shakspeare took the place of the Emperor of Austria, concerning the good taste of which Macfarren pithily says:—
“Modifications admirably adapted to the commercial character and the blind vainglory that so eminently mark the British nation.”
[11] Born in the year 977 at Gran, and known in Austrian and Hungarian history as Saint Stephen.
The Glorious Moment.
In September, 1814, the same year in which the Allies entered Paris, the Vienna Congress met to adjust the relations of the various European States. It was an occasion of great moment in the ancient city,—this gathering of sovereigns and distinguished statesmen,—and the magistracy prepared themselves to celebrate it with befitting pomp and ceremony. Beethoven was requested to set a poem, written by Dr. Aloys Weissenbach, of Salzburg, in cantata form, which was to be sung as a greeting to the royal visitors. It was “Der glorreiche Augenblick,” sometimes written “Der heilige Augenblick” (“The Glorious Moment”). The time for its composition was very brief, and was made still shorter by the quarrels the composer had with the poet in trying to reduce the barbarous text to a more inspiring and musical form. He began the composition in September, and it was first performed on the 29th of the following November, together with the “Battle of Vittoria,” and the A major (Seventh) symphony, written in the previous year. The concert took place in the presence of the sovereigns and an immense audience which received his works with every demonstration of enthusiasm, particularly “The Glorious Moment,”—a moment which all hailed as the precursor of a happier epoch for Europe, soon to be freed from Napoleonic oppression. The occasion was one of great benefit to the composer at a time when he was sorely in need of assistance. The distinguished foreign visitors thronged the salon of the Archduke Rudolph to pay him homage. Handsome gifts were lavished upon him so that he was enabled to make a permanent investment of 20,000 marks in shares of the bank of Austria. Brilliant entertainments were given by the Russian ambassador, Prince Rasoumowsky,[12] in his palace, at one of which Beethoven was presented to the sovereigns. The Empress of Russia also gave him a reception and made him magnificent presents. Schindler says:
“Not without feeling did the great master afterwards recall those days in the Imperial Palace and that of the Russian Prince; and once with a certain pride remarked that he had allowed the crowned heads to pay court to him, and that he had carried himself thereby proudly.”
The stern old republican, however, who could rebuke Goethe for taking off his hat in the presence of royalty, spoke such sentiments jocosely. He expresses his real feelings in a letter written to the attorney, Herr J. Kauka, of Prague:—