But this re-arrangement led to a new overture and to a new poetical expression of the subject, to the great Leonoren-Overture, known as No. 3, but which is properly No. 2. Beethoven, in this overture, lets us hear, as if in the voices of thousands, the depth of pain in Florestan’s dungeon; the glance of hope that flashes across his mind when he thinks of his Leonore; the struggle of love with native fear in the heart of the woman; her daring risk of her own life for her beloved husband, and in the signal of trumpets, the coming of her rescuer; the calm joy of the unutterably happy husband, as well as the boisterous, stormy joy of the prisoners, all of whom get their liberty with this one slave; and, last of all, the loudest song of praise of freedom and happiness. The symphonic poem, Leonore, as a whole, far surpasses the dramatic work itself. Together with the Eroica, it is the second monumental work of Beethoven’s genius in this early period of his musical creations, and proves him a matured master in his art.
The proud path thus entered on, he never left.
Besides the works already mentioned, we may, for the sake of completeness, mention the following likewise: The Opferlied (1st arrangement), Seufzer eines Ungeliebten, variations quant’è più bello, about 1795; variations to Nel cor più and minuet a la Vigano which appeared in 1796; sonata op. 49, I, about 1796; sonata for four hands op. 6, the rondo op. 51, I, and variations to a Russian dance, in 1797; variations to a Swiss song and Mich brennt, 1798; Gretels Warnung, La partenza, composed in 1798; variations to the La stessa, Kind, willst du and Taendeln und Scherzen, which appeared in 1799; sonata op. 49, I, composed in 1799; variations in G major, composed in 1800, serenade op. 25; rondo, op. 51, I; variations, Bei Maennern which appeared in 1802; terzetto op. 116, sonatas for violin, op. 30, variations op. 34 and 35, composed in 1802; Glueck der Freundschaft, op. 88 and Zaertliche Liebe which appeared in 1803; trio variations op. 44 and romance for the violin, op. 40, composed in 1803; three marches op. 45, variations to “Rule Brittannia,” and the Wachtelschlag, 1804; sonata op. 53, together with the andante in F major, originally belonging to it, the triple concerto op. 56, and the sonata op. 57, begun in 1804, An die Hoffnung, op. 32 and trio op. 38, which appeared in 1805; fourth concerto op. 58, composed in 1805; trio op. 36, sonata op. 34, which appeared in 1806; Empfindungen bei Lydiens Untreue belonging probably to 1806.
CHAPTER III.
1806-1812.
THE SYMPHONY C MINOR—THE PASTORALE AND THE SEVENTH SYMPHONIES.
The Pastorale—Its Composition—Meaning of the Apassionata—Its History—Beethoven’s Letter to His “Immortal Loved One”—His Own Opinion of the Apassionata—New Acquaintances—Thinks of Writing Operas—Court-theater Composer—Overture to Coriolanus—The Mass in C., op. 86—His Sacred Music—The Fidelio in Prague—Music for Goethe’s Faust—“Power, the Moral Code”—Power Expressed in Beethoven’s Music—Character of His Works about this Period—Intercourse with the Malfattis—The Cello Sonata, op. 69—Other Compositions and their Meaning—Improvement in His Pecuniary Circumstances—Joseph Bonaparte—Vienna Fears to Lose Him—Contemplated Journey to England—The Seventh Symphony—Wagner on the Seventh Symphony—His Heirathspartie—His Letter to Bettina—His Estimate of Genius.
Beethoven’s Heiligenstadt Will, written in the year 1802, closed with this painful appeal: “O thou, Providence, let one day more of joy dawn on me. How long have I been a stranger to the heartfelt echo of true happiness! When, when, O God, can I feel it once more in the temple of nature and of man. Never? No! O, that were too hard!” Our artist’s thoughts were thus directed into channels which carried him far from the scenes immediately surrounding him into regions of a higher existence—of an existence which he soon described so exquisitely in the language of music. The Pastorale which celebrates this “Temple of nature” was originally designated as No. 5, and was, therefore, intended to be completed before the symphony in C minor. But it would seem that Beethoven had to go through many an internal conflict, the result of his great depression of spirits, before he could acquire the calmness of mind necessary to form a proper conception of the “Peace of God in Nature,” and to give it proper form and expression in art.
Breuning wrote, on the 2nd of June, 1806, that the intrigues about the Fidelio were all the more disagreeable to Beethoven because the fact that it had not been performed reduced him to some pecuniary straits, and that it would take all the longer time for him to recover, as the treatment he had received deprived him of a great deal of his love for his work. Yet the first of the quartets, op. 59, bears the memorandum: “Begun on the 26th of May, 1806;” and the fourth symphony (op. 60), as well as the violin concerto (op. 61), also belong to this year. In the meantime op. 56, which had been begun some time previous, the triple concerto, op. 57, called the Apassionata, and op. 58, the fourth concerto, were all either continued or finished. What wealth there is here—in the number of compositions, in their magnitude and in their contents! The three quartets are dedicated to Count Rasumowsky, who had given Beethoven the commission to write them, and who had furnished the Russian melodies on which they are based. How well the adagio of the second of them points us to that higher region in which Beethoven now felt himself more and more at home. He himself told Czerny that that adagio suggested itself to him one night, when he was contemplating the starry heavens, and thinking of the harmony of the spheres. In the serene calmness of these vanishing tones, we see the revolution of the stars mirrored in all its grandeur. Here all pain seems lightened, all passion stilled. Yet how both had raged even in the Apassionata, the draft of which is to be found immediately following that of the Fidelio. The Apassionata is written in his heart-blood. Its tones are cries of excitement the most painful. It was finished in the summer, and dedicated to Count Franz Brunswick. An oil painting of the count’s sister, Countess Theresa, was found among Beethoven’s effects, after his death. It bore the superscription: “To the rare genius, the great artist, the good man. From T. B.” It is supposed that the letter to his “immortal love,” already referred to, was addressed to her—and it is truly a letter which gives us a pen-picture of Beethoven’s condition of mind at that time, and which affords an idea of the “gigantic sweep of his ideas.” It was found after his death, together with other important papers, in an old chest, and is dated on July 6, from a watering place in Hungary. It is rightly supposed to have been written in the year 1806, in which Beethoven paid a visit to the Brunswicks. But, be this as it may, it gives evidence of intense feeling, and shows that Beethoven now dwelt on that sublime height on which all earthly desires are silent. It seems also to lead us over to the understanding and appreciation of Beethoven’s subsequent creations, which henceforth gain an ideal character not of this earth. We can here touch only on the principal points in these letters.
“My angel, my all, my other self.” Thus does he begin it on the 6th of July, in the morning. He proceeds: “Only a few words to-day, and those in lead-pencil, and that your own pencil, dear. Nothing can be settled about my dwelling until to-morrow. What a wretched loss of time for such trifles! Why this deep affliction where necessity speaks? How can our love continue to exist except through sacrifice, except by limitation of our desires? Can you change the fact that you are not entirely mine nor I entirely yours? Look out on the beauties of nature, and resign yourself to what must be. Love asks everything, and rightly so. It does in my case. It does in your case. But you forget too easily that I have to live for you as well as for myself. Were we entirely one, you would feel the pain there is in this as little as I.... We shall, I trust, soon meet.... I cannot tell you to-day what reflections I have made upon my life, during the past forty-eight hours. Were our hearts always close to one another, I am sure I should make no such reflections. My heart is too full to tell you much. There are moments when I find that language is nothing at all. Cheer up; be my faithful, my only pet, my all, as I am all yours. The gods must direct the rest in our lives. Thy faithful