Part 10

It is futile to discuss the point at which Beethoven's second manner may be said to begin, but he has himself given us excellent evidence as to when and how his first manner (as far as that is a single thing) became impossible to him. Through quite a large number of works, beginning perhaps with the great string quintet, _op._ 29, new types of harmonic and emotional expression had been assimilated into a style at least intelligible from Mozart's point of view. Indeed, Beethoven's favourite way of enlarging his range of expression often seems to consist in allowing the Titanic force of his new inventions and the formal beauty of the old art to indicate by their contrast a new world grander and lovelier than either. Sometimes, as in the C major quintet, the new elements are too perfectly assimilated for the contrast to appear. The range of key and depth of thought is beyond that of Beethoven's first manner, but the smoothness is that of Mozart. In the three pianoforte sonatas, _op._ 31, the struggle of the transition is as manifest as its accomplishment is triumphant. The first movement of the first sonata (in G major) deals with widely separated keys on new principles. These are embodied in a style which for abruptness and jocular paradox is hardly surpassed by Beethoven's most nervous early works. The exceptionally ornate and dilatory slow movement reads almost like a protest; while the finale begins as if to show that humour should be beautiful, and ends by making fun of the beauty. The second sonata (in D minor) is the greatest work Beethoven had as yet written. Its first movement, already cited above in connexion with the dramatic sequences in _op._ 2, No. 2, is, like that of the _Sonata Appassionata_, a _locus classicus_ for such powerful means of expression. And it is worth noting that the only sketch known of this movement is a sketch in which nothing but its sequential plan is indicated. In the third sonata Beethoven enjoys on a higher plane an experience he had often indulged in before, the attainment of smoothness and breadth by means of a delicately humorous calm which gives scope to the finer subtleties of his new thoughts.

Beethoven himself wrote to his publisher that these three sonatas represented a new phase in his style; but when we realize his artistic conscientiousness it is not surprising that they should be contemporary with larger works like the 2nd symphony, which are far more characteristic of his first manner. His whole development is entirely ruled by his determination to let nothing pass until it has been completely mastered, and long before this his sketch-books show that he had many ambitious ideas for a 1st symphony, and that it was a deliberate process that made his ambitions dwindle into something that could be safely realized in the masterly little comedy with which he began his orchestral career. The easy breadth and power of the 2nd symphony represents an amply sufficient advance, and leaves his forces free to develop in less expensive forms those vast energies for which afterwards the orchestra and the string-quartet were to become the natural field.

In the "Waldstein" sonata, _op._ 53, we see Beethoven's second manner literally displacing his first; that is to say, we reach a state of things at which the two can no longer form an artistic contrast. The work, as we know it, is not only perfect, but has all the qualities of art in which the newest elements have long been familiar. The opening is on the same harmonic train of thought as that of the sonata, _op._ 31, No. 1, but there is no longer the slightest need for a paradoxical or jocular manner. On the contrary, the harmonies are held together by an orderly sequence in the bass, and the onrush is that of some calm diurnal energy of nature. The short introduction to the finale is harmonically and emotionally the most profound thing in the sonata, while the finale itself uses every new resource in the triumphant attainment of a leisure more splendid than any conceivable in the most spacious of Mozart's rondos. Yet it is well known that Beethoven originally intended the beautiful _andante_ in F, afterwards published separately, to be the slow movement of this sonata. That andante is, like the finale, a spacious and gorgeous rondo, which probably Beethoven himself could not have written at an earlier period. The modulation to D flat in its principal theme, and that to G flat near the end, are its chief harmonic effects and stand out in beautiful relief within its limits. After the first movement of the Waldstein sonata they would be flat and colourless. The sketch-books show that Beethoven, when he first planned the sonata, was by no means inattentive to the balance of harmonic colour in the whole scheme, but that at first he did not realize how far that scheme was going to carry him. He originally thought of the slow movement as in E major, a remote key to which, however, he soon assigned the more intimate position of complementary key in the first movement. He then worked at the slow movement in F with such zest that he did not discover until the whole sonata was finished that he had raised the first and last movements to an altogether higher plane of thought, though the redundancy of the two rondos in juxtaposition and the unusual length of the sonata were so obvious that his friends ventured to point them out. Beethoven's revision of his earliest works is now known to have been extensive and drastic; but this is the first instance, and _Fidelio_ and the quartet in B flat, _op._ 131, are the only other instances, of any later work needing important alteration after it was completely executed. From this point up to _op._ 101 we may study Beethoven's second manner entirely free from any survivals of his first, even as a legitimate contrast; though it is as impossible to fix a point before which his third manner cannot be traced as it is to ignore the premonitions of his second manner in his early works. The distinguishing features in Beethoven's second style are the result of a condition of art in which enormous new possibilities have become so well known that there is no need for stating them abruptly, paradoxically or emphatically, but also no need for working them out to remote conclusions. Hence these works have become for most people the best-known and best-loved type of classical music. In their perfect fusion of untranslatable dramatic emotion with every beauty of musical design and tone they have never been equalled, nor is it probable that any other art can show a wider range of thought embodied in a more perfect form. In music itself there is nothing else of so wide a range without grave artistic defects from which Beethoven is entirely free. Wagnerian opera aims at an ideal as truly artistic, and in so far of wider range than Beethoven's that it passes beyond the bounds of pure music altogether. Within those bounds Beethoven remained, and even the apparent exceptions (such as _Fidelio_ and his two great examples of "programme music," the _Pastoral Symphony_ and the sonata, _Les Adieux_) only show how universal his conception of pure music is. Extraneous ideas had here struck him as magnificent material for instrumental music, and he never troubled to argue whether instrumental music is the better or worse for expressing extraneous ideas. To describe the works of Beethoven's second period here would be to describe a library of well-known classics, and we must refer the reader for further details to the articles on SONATA FORMS, CONTRAPUNTAL FORMS, HARMONY and INSTRUMENTATION. It remains for us to attempt to indicate the essential features of his third style, and to conclude with a survey of his influence on the history of music.

Beethoven's third style arose imperceptibly from his second. His deafness had very little to do with it, for all his epoch-making discoveries in orchestral effect date from the time when he was already far too much inconvenienced to test them in a way which would satisfy any one who depended more upon his ear than upon his imagination. It is indeed highly probable that there are no important features in Beethoven's latest style that may not be paralleled by the tendencies of all great artists who have handled their material until it contains nothing that has not been long familiar with them. Such tendencies lead to an extreme simplicity of form, underlying an elaboration of detail which may at first seem bewildering until we realize that it is purely the working out to its logical conclusions of some idea as simple and natural as the form itself. The form, however, will be not merely simple, but individual. Different works will show such striking external differences of form that a criticism which applies merely _a priori_ or historic standards will be tempted by the fallacy that there is less form in a number of such markedly different works than in a number of works that have one scheme in common. All this is eminently the case with Beethoven's last works. The extreme simplicity of the themes of the first two movements of the quartet in B flat, _op._ 131, and the tremendous complexity of the texture into which they are woven, at first impress us as something mysterious and intangible rather than astonishing. The boldness with which the slow introduction is blended in broad statement and counter-statement with the _allegro_, is directly impressive, as is also the entry of the second subject with its dark harmony and tone, but the work needs long familiarity before its vast mass of thought reveals itself to us in its true lucidity. Such works are "dark with excessive bright." When we enter into them they are transparent as far as our vision extends, and their darkness is that of a depth that shines as we penetrate it. In all probability only a veil of familiarity prevents our finding the same kind of difficulty in Beethoven's earlier works. What is undoubtedly newest in the last works is the enormous development of those polyphonic elements which are always essential to the life of a composition, but which have very different functions and degrees of prominence in different forms and stages of the art. Polyphony inevitably draws attention to detail, and thus Beethoven in his middle period found its more obvious manifestations but little conducive to the breadth of designs which were not as yet sufficiently familiar to take any but the foremost place. Hence, among other interesting features of that second period, his marked preference for themes founded on rhythmic figures of one note, e.g. the famous "four taps" in the C minor symphony; an identical rhythm in a melodious theme of very different character in the G major concerto; a similar figure in the _Sonata Appassionata_; the first theme of the _scherzo_ of the F major quartet, _op._ 59, No. 1, and the drum-beats in the violin concerto. Such rhythms give thematic life to an inner part without causing it to assume such melodic interest as might distract the attention from the flow of the surface. But in proportion as polyphony loses its danger so does the prominence of such rhythmic figures decrease, until in Beethoven's last works they are no more noticeable than other kinds of simplicity. The impression of crowded detail is naturally more prominent the smaller the means with which Beethoven works and the less outwardly dramatic his thought. Thus those most gigantic of all musical designs, the 9th symphony, and the Mass in D, are, but for the mechanical difficulties of the choral writing, almost like works of the second period as far as direct impressiveness is concerned; and in the same way the enormous pianoforte sonata, _op._ 106, is in its first three movements easier to follow than the extremely terse and subtle works on a smaller scale that preceded it (sonata in A major, 101, and the two sonatas for violoncello, _op._ 102).

His enormous development of polyphonic interest soon led Beethoven to employ the fugue, not only, as in previous works, by way of episodic contrast to passages and designs in which the form and not the texture is the main object of interest, but as the culminating expression of a condition or art in which the unity of form and texture is so perfect that the mind is free to concentrate itself on the texture alone. This union was not effected without a struggle, the traces of which present a close parallel to that abrupt emphasis which we noticed in some of Beethoven's early works. In his fugue-writing the notion that the chief interest lies in the texture is as yet so difficult to hold together with the perception that these fugues are based on a modern firmness and range of form, that the texture is forced upon the listener's attention by a continual series of ruthlessly logical bold strokes of harmony. From this and from the notorious violence of Beethoven's choral writing, and also from his well-known technical struggles in his years of pupilage, the easy inference has been drawn that Beethoven never was a great master of counterpoint, an inference that is absolutely irreconcilable with such plain facts as, to take but one early example, the brilliant piece of triple counterpoint in the _andante_ of the string quartet in C minor, _op._ 18, No. 4, and the complete absence of anything like crudeness in his handling of harmonics, basses or inner parts at any period of his career. Beethoven may have mastered some things with difficulty, but he mastered nothing incompletely; and where he is not orthodox it is safest to conclude that orthodoxy is wrong. Had he lived for another ten years he would certainly have produced an immense amount of choral work, and with it many other great instrumental works in which this last remaining element of conflict between texture and form would have dwindled away. But while this would doubtless result in such work being easier to follow and might even have given us a version of the great fugue, _op._ 133 (discarded from the string-quartet, _op._ 131), that did not surpass the bounds of practical performance, it would yet be no sound criterion by which to stigmatize as an immaturity the roughness of the polyphonic works that we know. That roughness is, like the abrupt epigrammatic manner of some of his early works, the necessary condition in which such material realizes mature expression. Without it that material could receive but the academic handling of a dead language. And by it was created that permanent reconciliation of polyphony and form from which has arisen almost all that is true in "Romantic" music, all that is peculiar to the thematic technique of Wagnerian opera, and all the perfect smoothness of Brahms's polyphony.

The incalculable depth of thought and closeness of texture in Beethoven's later works are, of course, the embodiment of a no less incalculable emotional power. If we at times feel that the last quartets are more introspective than dramatic, that is only because Beethoven's dramatic sense is higher than we can realize. The subject is too large and too subtle for dogmatism to be profitable; and we cannot in Beethoven's case, as we can in Bach's, cite a complete series of illustrations of his musical ideas from his treatment in choral music of words which themselves interpret the intention of the composer. There is so little but the music itself by which one can express Beethoven's thought, that the utmost we can do here is to refer the reader, as before, to the articles on SONATA FORMS, HARMONY, INSTRUMENTATION, OPERA and MUSIC, where he will find further attempts to indicate in what sense pure music can be described as dramatic and expressive of emotion.

As our range of investigation widens, and thoroughness of analysis and study increases, so we shall surely find in ourselves an ever-deepening conviction that Beethoven, whether in range, depth and truth of thought, perfect sense of beauty, or absolute conscientiousness of execution, is the greatest musician, perhaps the greatest artist, that ever lived. There is no means of measuring Beethoven's influence upon subsequent music. Every composer of every school claims it. The immense changes he brought about in the range of music have their most obvious effect in the possibilities of emotional expression; and so any outbreak of vulgarity or sentimentality can with impunity claim descent from Beethoven, though its ancestry may be no higher than Meyerbeer. Again, we have already referred to that confusion of thought which regards a series of works markedly different in form as containing less form than any number of works cast in one mould. Hence the works of Beethoven's third period have been cited in defence of more than one "revolution," attempted in a form which never existed in any true classic, for the purpose of setting up something the revolutionist has not yet succeeded in inventing. To measure Beethoven's influence is like measuring Shakespeare's. It is an influence either too vaguely universal to name or too profoundly artistic to analyse. Perhaps the truest account of it would be that which ignored its presence in the works of ill-balanced artists, or even in the works of those who profited merely by an increase of technical and harmonic resource which, though effected by Beethoven, would, after the French Revolution and the Napoleonic wars, almost certainly have to some extent arisen from sheer necessity of finding expression for the new experience of humanity, if Beethoven had never existed. Setting aside, then, all instances of mere domination, and of a permanently established new world of musical thought, and omitting Schubert and Weber as contemporaries, the one attracted and the other partly repelled, we may, perhaps, take three later composers, Schumann, Wagner and Brahms, as the leading examples of the way in which Beethoven's influence is definitely traceable as a creative force. The depth and solemnity of Beethoven's melody and later polyphonic richness is a leading source of Schumann's inspiration, though Schumann's artistic schemes exclude any high degree of formal organization on a large scale. Beethoven's late polyphony is carried on by Brahms to the point at which perfect smoothness of style is once more possible, and there is no aspect of his form which Brahms neglects or fails to realize with that complete originality which has nothing to fear from its ancestry. Wagner does not handle the same art-forms; his task is different, but Beethoven was the inspiring source, not only of his purely musical sense, but also of his whole sense of dramatic contrast and fitness. When he had shaken off the influence of Meyerbeer, which has so often been confused with that of Beethoven, there remained to him, pre-eminently in his music and more imperfectly realized in his drama, a power of combining contrasted emotions such as is the privilege of only the very greatest dramatic artists. Bach and Beethoven are the sources of the polyphonic means of expression by which he attains this. Beethoven alone is the extraneous source of his knowledge that it was possible. And it is as certain as anything in the history of art that there will never be a time when Beethoven's work does not occupy the central place in a sound musical mind.

ANNOTATED LIST OF BEETHOVEN'S WORKS

Up to 1823 we give in most cases the dates of publication, the date of composition being generally from one to three years earlier. Beethoven seldom had less than a dozen projects in hand at once, and their immediate chronology is inextricable; whereas publication generally means final revision. This list is purposely incomplete in order that unimportant works may not distract attention, even when they are late and on a large scale.

Sonata = Pianoforte sonata. Violin or violoncello sonata = for pianoforte, V. or Vc. Pianoforte trio = Pfte., V., Vc. Pianoforte quartet = Pfte., V., viola and Vc. String trio = V., Va., Vc. String quartet = VV., Va. and Vc. Pianoforte or violin concerto = Concerto with orchestra.

1785. 3 pfte. quartets, of which the third contains important material for the sonatas, _op._ 2, Nos. 1 and 3. (Thayer's attribution of the masterly bagatelles, _op._ 33, published 1803, to this period can only be rationalized by some similar rough first idea.)

1790. 24 variations on an air by Righini (published 1801). A very remarkable work, anticipating Schumann's _Papillons_ in its humorous close. It was Beethoven's chief early _tour-de-force_ in pianoforte playing.

1795. 3 pfte. trios, _op._ 1 (E-flat, G, C minor).

1796. 3 pfte. sonatas, _op._ 2 (F minor, A and C, dedicated to Haydn).

1797. String trio, _op._ 3, 2 violoncello sonatas, _op._ 5, F and G mi., sonata, _op._ 7, E-flat.

1798. 3 string trios, _op._ 9; G, D, C mi., 3 sonatas, _op._ 10 (C mi., F, D). Trio for pfte., clarinet and violoncello in B-flat, _op._ 11.

1799. 3 violin sonatas (D, A, E-flat), _op._ 12. Pfte. sonata (_Pathetique_ not Beethoven's title) C mi., _op._ 13, 2 pfte. sonatas, _op._ 14, E, G (the first arranged by the composer as a string quartet in F).

1801. Pianoforte concertos, _op._ 15 in C, _op._ 19 in B-flat (the latter composed first). Quintet for pianoforte and wind instruments, _op._ 16 (also arranged, with new details, as quartet for pianoforte and strings), composed 1797. 6 string quartets, _op._ 18 (F, G, D, C mi., A, B-flat). 1st symphony (C), _op._ 21. 2 violin sonatas, A mi., _op._ 23; F ma., _op._ 24 (made into two opus-numbers by an accident in the _format_ of the volumes).

1802. Pianoforte score of the _Prometheus_ ballet, _op._ 24 (ousted by the F ma. violin sonata, and reissued as _op._ 43). Sonata in B-flat, _op._ 22. Sonata in A-flat, _op._ 26 (with the funeral march). 2 sonatas ("quasi fantasia"), _op._ 27, E-flat, C-sharp mi. Sonata in D, _op._ 28 (_Pastorale_ not Beethoven's title). String quintet in C, _op._ 29.

1803. 3 violin sonatas, _op._ 30 (A, C mi., G). 3 sonatas, _op._ 31, G, D mi., E-flat (the last appearing in 1804). Variations, _op._ 34. 15 variations and fugue on theme from _Prometheus_, _op._ 35.

1804. 2nd symphony (D), _op._ 36 (1802). 3rd pfte. concerto (C mi.), _op._ 37 (1800).

1805. The "Kreutzer" sonata, _op._ 47, for pfte. and violin (A) (finale at first intended for _op._ 30, No. 1). "Waldstein" sonata for pfte., _op._ 53 (C). First version of opera _Leonore_ in three acts (with overture "No. 2").

1806. Sonata in F, _op._ 54. _Eroica Symphony_, No. 3, _op._ 55 (E-flat), written in 1804 in honour of Napoleon Bonaparte. It was just finished when news arrived that Napoleon had made himself emperor, and Beethoven was with difficulty restrained from destroying the score. It is still the longest extant perfect design in instrumental music. The finale glorifies the material (and much of the form) of the variations, _op._ 35. The _scherzo_ is the first full-sized example of Beethoven's special type. _Leonore_ reproduced in two acts with overture No. 3. 32 variations in C mi. (no opus-number, but a very important work on the lines of a modernized _chaconne_).

1807. Triple concerto (pfte., V. and Vc.), _op._ 56, chiefly interesting as a study for the true concerto-form which had given Beethoven difficulty. Sonata, _op._ 57 (F mi., _Appassionata_, not Beethoven's title). New overture, _Leonore_, "No. 1," composed for projected performance of the opera at Prague (posthumously published as _op._ 138).

1808. 4th pfte. concerto, _op._ 58 (G). 3 string quartets, _op._ 59, F, E mi., C (dedicated to Count Rasoumovsky, in compliment to whom Russian tunes appear in the finale of No. 1 and the _scherzo_ of No. 2). Overture to _Coriolanus_, _op._ 62.