Famous composers and their works, Vol. 2

by Unknown

In composition he was extremely slow and fond of experimenting. We know his methods by his sketch-books which are preserved. Nearly every measure was re-written and re-written. The ideas at first were often trivial, but they were changed and elaborated until they grew to melodies of haunting beauty. Crude commonplaces became passages of mysterious grandeur. Many of the thoughts recorded hastily, in his room or in the fields, were never used. The thought did not spring from his brain, as in the fable, fully clothed: its birth was more akin to the Cæsarian operation. Florestan's air, for instance, had eighteen distinct and different beginnings, and the great chorus in "Fidelio" had no less than ten. The blood would rush to his head as he worked; the muscles of his face would swell; and his eyes would almost start from their sockets; then, if he were in his room, he would strip himself of his clothing and pour water on his head.

Among the innovations made by Beethoven, may be mentioned the extension of key relationship, which before him was not recognized. He broke down the restrictions that governed transitions. Here he was revolutionary. The principles of his harmonic combinations have been thus formalized by Mr. Dannreuther: "(a) Any chord can succeed immediately any chord belonging to another tonality, no matter how remote, provided they have one note in common, even if it be only harmonically so. (b) It is possible to produce quick harmonic progressions into the most remote tonalities by means of chromatic and enharmonic changes in individual parts, which are made to move on step by step, thus building a sort of chromatic or enharmonic bridge." And Mr. Dannreuther cites as instances, the connection between variations 32 and 33 in Op. 120; and the return from B major, at the close of the "working out," to the first subject in B-flat major in the first movement of Op. 106. Before the time of Beethoven composers of sonatas and symphonies had generally confined themselves to a narrow range of keys. The theme of the first movement was given out in the tonic, and if it was major, it was answered by the second theme in the fifth above; that is to say, if the sonata were in C, the second subject would be in G. If the movement were in the minor, the second subject would be in the relative major: i.e. the second theme of a movement in C minor would be in E flat. So too the key of the second movement was usually restricted, although sometimes there was a little more liberty. The painstaking Grove has examined the eighty-one works of Beethoven in sonata form. The transition to the dominant occurs only three times; to the subdominant nineteen times; to the third below thirty times. "His favorite change was evidently to the submediant or third below—that is to say, to a key less closely related to the tonic and more remote than the dominant key." He makes it as early as Op. 1, No. 2.

BUST OF BEETHOVEN.

Made by Franz Klein, after the Life-mask taken by him in 1812. (See page [327].)

Wagner once compared the conventional connecting passages between the melodic groups of Haydn and Mozart to "the rattling of dishes at a royal feast." Beethoven could not tolerate the traditional commonplaces, which were often mere padding. In these intermediate periods he used phrases which hinted at or were actually closely related to the main themes, and he thus gave the movement the effect of an organic whole, the development of which was as logical as the results that follow from a law of nature. Or he would surprise the hearer by the introduction of a fresh episode of length and importance, although by it the formal rules of the theorist were defied. Even in his second period there are remarkable instances of absolute originality in form as well as in style and conception, as the opening adagio of the pianoforte sonata in C-sharp minor, or the Con moto of the pianoforte Concerto in G. Nor was his manner of the introduction of the themes themselves after the manner of his predecessors; "the glory of the phrase often appeared as it were through clouds that first shrouded it and were then dispelled."

He was the greatest master of the art of varying a theme, and his genius ennobled even pianoforte variations, which are too apt, as made by others, to show mere skill and learning, or excite by superficial brilliancy the vain display of the virtuoso who plays simply that he may dazzle. In this species of art is seen the wealth of his ideas as well as the consummate mastery in expression. In the second and the third period of his style there are shining examples of his power in this direction. One kind of variation is peculiarly his own, in which everything is changed, the rhythm, the melody and the harmony, and yet the theme is clearly recognized. Then there are great variations without the name, as the slow movements in the sonata "appassionata" and the Trio in B-flat; the slow movements of the C minor and Ninth Symphonies; the finale of the Heroic.

Ehlert has spoken of the inexorable logic of Beethoven's music, the impossibility of rearranging the order of thought, of adding or taking away. In other words, the concentration of his musical thought is never too bold, his speech is never too laconic; nor is he tautological or diffuse. The intensely emotional and dramatic characteristics of his music impelled him to invent a great variety of dynamic changes, or rhythmical syncopations. When we compare him in this respect with his predecessors, we are struck by the great number of marks of expression. The care with which he indicated the nuances is seen in all his works, but he paid more and more attention to the matter as he neared the end of his career. The Cavatina in the Quartet in B-flat, for instance, is sixty-six measures long, and there are fifty-eight marks of expression. He wished by all possible means to produce what he himself called, in reference to the Heroic Symphony, "the special and intended effect." Furthermore certain of the indications reflect his personality, as the famous directions in the Mass in D, and the "beklemmt" in the Cavatina before mentioned.

It has been said that the criterion wherewith to judge of all music whatsoever is this: "Technical exposition being considered equal, the quality and the power of the emotional matter set forth should turn the scale between any two pieces of music." Now Beethoven not only invented a new technical language; he invented the necessity of a race of players that should speak it. The pianist that interprets properly a composition of Beethoven must clothe his mechanism with intellectuality and virile, poetic spirit. It was held by Jacob Grimm that no definite thought can exist without words, and that in giving up the words instrumental music has become an abstraction, as all thought has been left behind. It seems, however, an error to limit thought or consciousness to words. There is a state of consciousness, without verbal thinking, in which we realize great moments of existence; and this state of consciousness has its clear and powerful language. Such a spiritual language is music, and its greatest poet is Beethoven. Even those works of Beethoven which have no title to indicate the practical plan of the author are expressions of particular emotions and conceptions that cannot be explained in words, yet convey a distinct impression to the consciousness of the hearer.

Not that he was the originator or the abettor of that which is now known as program music; for program music, whether the epithet be applied solely to that music which without words aims to portray or suggest to the hearer certain definite objects or events, or whether it be applied loosely to all characteristic or imitative music, is not a thing of modern invention. In a sacred ballet of the Greeks, which represented the fight of Apollo with the Python, the action was accompanied appropriately by flutes, lutes, and trumpets, and the grinding of the teeth of the wounded monster was imitated by the trumpet. In the part-songs of Jannequin and his contemporaries, battles, birds and hens were imitated in music. Buxtehude described in double counterpoint, "the peaceable and joyous ending of Simeon after the death of his son." The first movement of Dittersdorf's orchestral symphony "Actaeon" portrayed the chase; Diana took her bath in the second; in the minuet Actaeon played the part of "Peeping Tom"; and in the finale he is torn in pieces by the hounds for his indiscretion. To prove that there is nothing new under the sun, a wise man of his day, named Hermes, wrote analytical programs of the fifteen symphonies of Dittersdorf for the benefit of the hearer and for his own glory. But why multiply such instances familiar to the searchers after the curious in music?