Beethoven in Lockdown

BEETHOVEN IN TIME OF LOCKDOWN

A Medley of Reflections

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BEETHOVEN IN TIME OF LOCKDOWN A Medley of Reflections from Marlborough College

Sophie Smith (L6), Portrait of Beethoven

CONTENTS Master’s Preface

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Pupil Editorial Honor Mills and Eva Stuart, (L6)

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Staff Editorial – Beethoven in time of lockdown Christopher Moule (CR, Head of History)

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#NYOdetoJoy – a performance during lockdown Emily Ambrose (Hu)

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PART 1: 1770-1803 EARLY BEETHOVEN: Character, Challenges, Context What was Bonn like during Beethoven’s childhood?

Hector Perry (U6)

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Beethoven’s Early Life and Introduction to Music Georgie Creswell (Re)

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The Moonlight Sonata in a time of lockdown Mr Brown (CR, Head of Modern Languages)

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Beethoven’s Depression Erin Butler (Re)

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The connection between Beethoven’s health and his music Sophie Herrmann (Re)

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The Man, the Mystery, the Manic: “Deus Ex Musica.”

Mrs Jerstice (CR, Psychology Department)

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The Link Between Autistic Spectrum Disorder and Musical Genius Mrs McClean (CR, Head of Learning Support)

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A Brief Overview of the Utilisation of Music in Therapy Willa Rowan Hamilton (L6)

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PART 2: 1803-1808 THE HEROIC AND THE ROMANTIC: From the 3rd to the 5th Beethoven’s Eroica Symphony in Historical and Political Context Ariana Jones (L6)

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The first movement of the Eroica Symphony Minnie Feather (L6)

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Depictions of Napoleon: Art and Music in Manipulating a Narrative.

Jack Harper-Hill (Re)

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Beethoven and the development of Romanticism Sophie Smith (L6)

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Romanticism in Art Alexa Scott (Re)

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Caspar David Friedrich and German Romanticism Ines Jeveons (L6)

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Beethoven the hero Rosie Hodgson (Re)

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The Effect of Pain and Suffering on Overall Musicality Helvetica Haydn Taylor (Re)

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Sense and Sensibility: Beethoven, Goya and The Romantic Movement Mr Clayton (CR, Spanish Department)

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Beethoven’s Love Letters Olivia Eversfield (L6)

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Translations of Meine Unsterbliche Geliebte (“Immortal Beloved”) Sophia Pauls (L6)

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Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony Poppy Mcghee (Re)

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Beethoven in Space Mr Tolputt (CR, Deputy Head Academic)

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First Steps…

Mr Dukes (CR, Artistic Director)

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PART 3: 1808 – 1815 THE PASTORAL AND THE FOREIGN: From the 6th to Wellington’s Victory How was Beethoven’s 6th Symphony– ‘Pastoral Symphony’ – instrumental in catalysing the Romantic Programmatic movement of the 19th century?

Rose Olver (L6)

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Can Beethoven’s Pastoral Symphony and Gide’s La Symphonie Pastorale soothe a troubled world?

Andrea Keighley (CR, French Department)

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Beethoven’s Pastoral Symphony and the Challenge of Climate Change Dima Montanari (Sh)

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Impressions of Beethoven’s 6th (Pastoral) Symphony Lara Rusinov (Sh)

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Beethoven in the Memorial Hall: The Appassionata Piano Sonata and the Pastoral Symphony Mr Brown (CR, Head of Modern Languages)

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A Bit About Pianos Oliver Chessher (L6)

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A Few Light Thoughts on Playing Beethoven Mrs Toomer (CR, Music Department)

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The Maths Behind the Music Flora Prideaux (Hu)

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Beethoven’s Manipulation of Sound Sasha Hosier (L6)

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Beethoven and his connection to Russia Poppy Bell (L6)

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Music, Sex and Destruction: The Kreutzer Sonata Lena Barton (U6)

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“Parody and Farce”: Beethoven at the Congress of Vienna Eva Stuart (L6)

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Beethoven and India Saira Chowdhry (L6)

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PART 4: 1815-27 BEETHOVEN IN LOCKDOWN UNIVERSAL STRUGGLES, UNIVERSAL IDEALS: The last phase Beethoven and his Religious Belief- “I am that which is.”

Reverend Tim Novis (CR, College Chaplain)

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Beethoven the Bad Uncle?

Honor Mills (L6)

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The Music of Silence George Honeyborne (L6)

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The Social Isolation of the Deaf Composer Mrs Harris (CR, Deputy Head Co-Curricular)

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Francisco Goya and his Response to Deafness Giacomo Prideaux (U6)

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Ludwig and Me Mr Gist (CR, English Department)

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An Ode to the Ode to Joy: Schiller and Beethoven Frau Rainer, (CR, German Department)

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Beethoven, Kubrick and Foucault: A Clockwork Subversion Mr Wills (CR, Music Department)

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The Use and Abuse of Beethoven’s Ode to Joy in Tengiz Abuladze’s 1987 Film Repentance J. Nelson-Piercy (OM), Research Assistant and Mr Nelson-Piercy (CR, Russian Department)

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PART 5 ALLE MENSCHEN WERDEN BRÜDER: Remembering Beethoven The Story of Beethoven’s Lock of Hair Charlotte Greenham (Re)

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Remembering Beethoven: Museums to Meteors Ned Wolfe (Re)

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The boiling point of genius: Beethoven and his reception in France Mr Brown (CR, Head of Modern Languages)

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Beethoven claimed by minorities: Heritage or Heresy?

Fizz Fitzgerald (Re)

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Beethoven and nationality in the 20th century Tigerlily Hamilton-Davies (L6)

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Beethoven’s influence on modern music Ben Spink (U6)

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The Celebrity Beethoven Re-Imagined Mr Gow (CR, Politics Department)

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Music for all Ages: An Afterword Mr Moule (CR, Head of History)

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APPENDIX A brief introduction to Beethoven’s Life and Works (with recommendations for listening) Mr Moule (CR, Head of History)

Finlay Stuart (L6) Violin

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p 125

Mr Twohig, Symphony 2 in D major

Master’s Preface I am delighted to introduce to you ‘Beethoven in Lockdown’; the most incredible pan-College academic collaboration which over fifty pupils and members of staff have played a part in creating. This work successfully marks the occasion of the 250th anniversary of Ludwig van Beethoven’s birth and also offers a tangible example of true academia at Marlborough. The challenge of distance proved no obstacle for these eager participants and we find ourselves with a College treasure which demonstrates the passion and determination of our Marlburian community in the face of the distance imposed by COVID-19.

All who contributed are to be thanked wholeheartedly and no one more so than Christopher Moule, our inspiring Head of History, who initiated this wonderful programme. Lower Sixth pupils, Honor Mills and Eva Stuart, have proved exceptional co-editors and I thank Jackie Jordan, our Director of Marketing, and Ian Leonard, our Photographer, who type-set the work for their unstinting support.

Authors and artists, spanning all year groups and departments, who contributed to this project have created an incredibly rich and eclectic seam of work which will be treasured in the archives of the College for generations to come. I thank them most sincerely for their participation in this unique programme and I do hope that readers thoroughly enjoy what follows.

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Pupil Editorial Honor Mills and Eva Stuart (L6) When Mr Moule first proposed this idea and we asked to co-edit, neither of us had much knowledge of Beethoven. To be entirely frank, even at the culmination of this project we cannot claim to be anything close to experts on his music. Perhaps it is fair to say that Beethoven can initially be rather daunting – certainly, when we were discussing the prospect of editing, we were concerned that our complete lack of musical flair (maybe the closest we got to exercising our limited abilities was heartily caterwauling ‘Jerusalem’ in the College Chapel) would mean that we could make very little connection with Beethoven. This has happily proved to be an erroneous presumption.

Interest and connection with Beethoven, we have learnt, can be sourced from many different angles, as this anthology of essays suggests: there really is – and apologies for the cliché – something for everyone. The joy is that his story and the numerous related topics may be accessed by many, regardless of musical ability.

Mathematicians may connect to him, as Flora Prideaux’s article shows. Artists may find fascination in the wider cultural context of his time, found in Ines Jeveons’s article on Caspar David Friedrich or Giacomo Prideaux’s on Goya. Psychologists may find interest in Mrs Jerstice’s article with the problems of the term ‘tortured artist’, or in Mrs McClean’s piece about musicality and the autism spectrum; historians will find the relation between Napoleon Bonaparte and Beethoven’s ‘Eroica’ of interest; biologists may find fascination in the narrative of the musician’s deafness, as explained by George Honeyborne and Mrs Harris. Anyone curious about the legacy of Beethoven and his influence on the modern day may find answers in Ben Spink’s article on his effect on pop music, or in Mr Tolputt’s piece about Beethoven and space. In these extraordinary times, Emily Ambrose’s account of partaking in an online concert of the ‘Ode to Joy’ has particular power. Equally, his influence on literature and film can be discovered in Lena’s article about Tolstoy’s Kreutzer Sonata, or in Mr Wills’s piece about the 1972 film A Clockwork Orange. And though most of the articles are not steadfastly focused on the music itself, musicians can find articles of interest in essays dedicated more directly to it, such as Rose Olver’s, Lara Rusinov’s or Minnie Feather’s. Accounts of the experience of playing Beethoven can be discovered in Mr Duke’s article, or Mrs Toomer’s.

These are but a few of the varied essays this anthology contains, and it was the prospect of their variety that attracted us to editing. It has clearly been shown that Beethoven can be approached from many academic angles, indicating the universality of his work and of his story. Perhaps, too, it may encourage our readers to take a similar approach to a wider variety of subjects. We would like to thank Mrs Jordan of the marketing team for her brilliance at helping produce this in such strange times. Further thanks must go to Mr Twohig, Nadia Johnson, Finlay Stuart and Sophie Smith, whose beautiful artwork inspired by Beethoven undoubtedly liven up these pages. Finally, we are immensely grateful to our brilliant authors for the effort they put into their pieces.

Their work has shown us – and we hope our readers, too, that something that may seem initially daunting can be accessed from such a variety of academic perspectives.

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Staff Editorial – Beethoven in time of lockdown Christopher Moule (CR, Head of History) Beethoven, who was famously in a kind of ‘lockdown’ and forced ‘self-isolation’ for much of his life, is one of the best imaginable subjects for these strange times. It’s just a matter of luck that 2020 is a big Beethoven year, the 250th anniversary of his birth, and one in which massive celebrations and commemorations were to take place across the world. Most of these have been cancelled, but Beethoven can strike us even more potently precisely because of our situation. Not only was he isolated by his deafness – the most obviously devastating condition to affect a musician – but he rose spectacularly to the challenge, producing (in spite of everything) scores of hours of the world’s finest music. So nothing could be more appropriate than to commemorate Beethoven this year, not only for the great music but for his experience of life and his defiant resistance to his predicament.

The idea for this Marlborough College publication was born before lockdown: it was to be a commemorative edition in which – following the principles of the HATA (History And The Arts) Society and the Lower 6th Scholars – as many subjects and disciplines were brought to bear on Beethoven as possible. We’ve had the same multi-disciplinary approach for other things – generally places rather than people – including Bristol, Spain, Prague, China and other places we’ve visited together. Since the lockdown the project has grown a great deal, and I’m extremely grateful to the large number of pupils and staff who have contributed such excellent and fascinating fare!

The argument that his achievement ‘is an inspiration to us all’ has rather obvious limitations, since I doubt that many of us are using the lockdown to churn out top-quality symphonies, concertos, quartets or sonatas.

Moreover, in some ways he’s a poor role model: grumpy, often aggressively rude, inconsistent in his treatment of others, impossibly idealistic and gloomy, extremely egotistical. He was an unhappy, long-suffering man – no inspiration in that sense. And he had a gigantic and comprehensive confidence in the quality of his work that I suspect none of us can really imagine, let alone share.

Nevertheless, we can still draw inspiration, and wonder at the spirit with which he tackled his cruel selfisolation: his sense of purpose and mission, the vigour and self-discipline that gave us so much treasured music and did much to define the course of Western music and indeed civilization thereafter.

Our eclectic mixture of essays is structured (very loosely) chronologically, so that pieces or themes – together with all their associations – that belong to particular parts of his life are dealt with in order. That means that there may be some striking changes of direction here and there: an article about early 20th century French literature sits beside one about climate change because both relate to the Sixth Symphony… we hope you enjoy this approach! Meanwhile, there is some conflict between the conclusions of some articles, and we’ve been happy not to iron these out. Finally, there is some repetition, especially in the articles about deafness, but we felt each article was distinctive and worthwhile.

At the back of the publication is an appendix with a brief and personal guide to Beethoven’s life and music.

I’m grateful to all who have taken part. Special thanks are due to Honor Mills and Eva Stuart (both L6) for co-editing: they invited participation from some of the writers, helped a great deal with collecting and proofreading the work, and provided ideas for its organisation and presentation. Special thanks is also due to Jackie Jordan and her team for help and advice with presentation.

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#NYOdetoJoy - a performance during lockdown Emily Ambrose (Hu) Over the Easter period I was involved in a week-long ‘digital residency’ with The National Youth Orchestra, in which I am a member of the bassoon section. Our planned 10 days of rehearsals and performances at The Royal Festival Hall were unfortunately cancelled due to COVID-19. However, NYO staff, tutors and conductors worked hard to ensure that we could still work together in a meaningful and productive way.

We had been due to perform Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony with American conductor Marin Alsop, as part of a year-long cycle she had planned, taking this epic work to audiences around the world. Her tour began last December in Sao Paulo, with further performances having been due to take place in London, New Zealand, Australia, China, South Africa, Vienna and America.

Commissioned by The Philharmonic Society of London and composed between 1822 and 1824, the Ninth Symphony is considered by many to be Beethoven’s finest work and is now one of the world’s best known and most performed symphonies. It was the last complete symphony that Beethoven wrote, and the first time a major Western composer used voices in a symphony. The orchestra are joined in the fourth movement by four vocal soloists and a large choir for a setting of German poet and philosopher Friedrich Schiller’s ‘Ode to Joy’.

Schiller revised his poem at least once after producing the first version in 1785. It has been suggested that he originally wrote it as ‘Ode to Freedom’ rather than ‘Joy’ and that it may have been this version that initially caught Beethoven’s attention. Indeed the monumental and uplifting ‘Ode to Joy’. has since been adopted by many people either striving for or celebrating freedom at prominent moments in recent history: students in China played it over loudspeakers in Tiananmen Square; it was played following the fall of the Berlin Wall; and on numerous anniversaries since and also in Chile during demonstrations against Pinochet’s regime. Although it seemed ironic to be studying this particular piece during lockdown, reflecting on the past struggles of others certainly put our current situation into perspective.

Our online residency over the last week has included sectional rehearsals, one-to-ones with tutors, webinars, Instagram takeovers, recordings, a Q and A with Marin Alsop and the obligatory NYO warm-ups and warm-downs. It has been fun and rewarding to work together again, although we really missed the tutti (whole orchestra) rehearsals. The culmination of our week was #NYOdetoJoy, when we encouraged people everywherevia social media and radio- to get outside and join us in a performance of ‘Ode to Joy’ dedicated to all frontline NHS staff, keyworkers and anyone finding it hard to cope with the current situation. It was lovely to see lots of recordings posted online showing musicians of all ages playing all sorts of instruments from many different places: I managed to play in the garden under a very large umbrella!

Beethoven brought the massed forces of the orchestra and choir together and Ode to Joy’ is still bringing people together today. Speaking about her Beethoven Ninth tour, Marin Alsop said ‘Ode to Joy is about standing up and being counted in this world. It’s about believing in our power as human beings’. Her aim when planning these concerts was to unite people, and I think #NYOdetoJoy achieved this, just in a very different way. The Ninth Symphony is incredibly powerful and uplifting and I would encourage everyone to go to a performance of this great piece if they possibly can.

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1770-1803 EARLY BEETHOVEN Character, Challenges, Context

Mr Twohig, Symphony 1 in C major

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What was Bonn like during Beethoven’s childhood?

Hector Perry (U6) It is fitting that Beethoven’s city of birth, Bonn, is one of the most culturally significant cities in Germany.

Although its Baroque remnants are often overshadowed by its recent history, namely the role of the city between 1949 and 1990 as the capital of the Federal Republic of Germany, Beethoven’s association with the city has continually attracted music and culture.

From 1597 onwards, Bonn had served as the seat for the Archdiocese of Cologne, ensuring a significant increase in terms of political influence over the various city states of Germany. The city was subject to a damaging siege in 1689, during which the attacking Dutch Republic was responsible for repeated bombardments. Bonn’s difficulties in terms of sieges continued into the eighteenth century, notably the siege of 1703 during the War of Spanish Succession. However, the prosperity of the city by the time of Beethoven’s birth was the result of several periods of dynamic and capable leadership. The leadership of the Elector Clemens August of Bavaria (1700–1761) saw an ambitious building programme. Today, much of the surviving Baroque architecture, such as the palaces of Augustusburg and Falkenlust, is a physical testament to August’s own influence on the city.

Another elector, Max Franz was the most significant political figure in Beethoven’s early life.

As well as being the Master of the Teutonic Order, a group much romanticised in nineteenth-and twentieth-century Germany, Franz held the role of elector between 1784 until the city’s conquest by France in 1794. During his tenure, Franz was responsible for maintaining a musical establishment at the court, in which Beethoven’s father served as a tenor. It was here that Beethoven was able to develop his skills as an organist, subsequently falling into favour with Franz. This relationship was ultimately responsible for kick starting Beethoven’s musical fame, with the elector financing Beethoven’s travels, famously allowing him leave in 1787 to become a student of Mozart in Vienna. However, Franz’s interest in the young composer didn’t wane in the aftermath of his journey to Vienna, and he asked for regular reports with details of Beethoven’s progress from figures such as Antonio Salieri. Although Bonn was absorbed into the territorial ambitions of Napoleon in 1794, Franz was arguably responsible for establishing Bonn as a cultural and musical centre during his 10-year rule. The Redoute, opened in 1792, was arguably the musical heart of the city, responsible for not only the return of Beethoven, but also attracting various other composers, notably Haydn. Although Beethoven’s connection to Bonn was severed with the city’s fall to the French, until its reconquest by Prussia in 1815, the place of his roots was important in his development: and it was the work of Electors like Franz and August who built a musical and cultural centre where one of the most historically significant composers was able to begin to blossom.

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Beethoven’s Early Life and Introduction to Music Georgie Creswell (Re) Beethoven was born in 1770 in Bonn, Austria. His family, at different stages, consisted of seven children but only three of the children, Ludwig van Beethoven and his two younger brothers, Caspar and Johann, lived through to adulthood.

His father was a musician at the court of Bonn and was the person who first taught Beethoven music.

However, it was his grandfather, Kapellmeister Ludwig van Beethoven, one of Bonn’s most prosperous and well-known musicians, who was Beethoven’s main musical inspiration and who drove him to become the great musician that he was. Beethoven’s father would teach him the violin and the clavier day and night. He was a very harsh teacher and would often beat his son for every mistake or hesitation he made. This brutal teaching method was the product of his father’s wish for Beethoven to be a musical prodigy like Mozart. To try and make this wish a reality, as well as the constant lessons and practice, Beethoven was put in for his first public recital at the age of seven. Although he played impressively, this first recital did not spark any attention from the press. People at that point paid no attention to Beethoven; little did they know that he would later become one of the world’s most famous musicians.

At the age of 10, Beethoven withdrew from school to study music full time under the concert organist Christian Gottlob Neefe. He then published his first composition, a set of piano variations, at the age of 12.

In 1787, the court of Bonn, having now realised Beethoven’s musical ability and gift, sent him to Vienna so that he could study under Mozart. However, after three weeks in Vienna, Beethoven’s mother fell ill so he returned home to Bonn. He then stayed there and continued to grow as a promising young court musician. There was never any proof that Beethoven ever met Mozart. However, rumour has it that when he heard Beethoven play Mozart said, ‘keep your eyes on him; some day he will give the world something to talk about’. He was right.

When Beethoven was 19, the Holy Roman Emperor, Joseph II, died and Beethoven was asked to compose a musical memorial in his honour. However, this composition was never performed and although most assumed that it was because Beethoven hadn’t risen to the challenge, Johannes Brahms later discovered that Beethoven had composed a beautiful piece called ‘Cantata on the Death of Emperor Joseph II’. This is now considered Beethoven’s earliest masterpiece.

Ludwig van Beethoven and his music amaze me. Having learnt and played Für Elise, one of Beethoven’s most famous pieces and one of, if not my favourite, pieces to play and, having looked at his life story and listened to many other of his compositions, it is astonishing that Beethoven accomplished all that he did. Although he suffered ill health and became deaf from a very young age, this did not impede him. Using only his memory of the notes and his imagination, he wrote most of his masterpieces. Beethoven was a truly gifted and incredible musician and deserves to be the well-known name that he is today.

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The Moonlight Sonata in a time of lockdown Mr Brown (CR, Head of Modern Languages) The current national lockdown and the timing of the Beethoven Inspire Project make me think of one of the great French films of the 1970s, Lacombe Lucien (1974), directed by Louis Malle (1932–1995). Although it is now nearly 50 years since it was made, its power to challenge preconceptions about what life was really like in France during the Occupation in the Second World War is as great and as memorable as ever. It is readily available to view on the College’s Planet Estream.

Mr Twohig, Moonlight Sonata

The film is set in France in June 1944, but not in Normandy where the D-Day landings are about to take place. The setting is rather in the south-west of France, ‘la France profonde’, seemingly as far away from the action of war as one could be. A local teenager, Lucien Lacombe, has a few days off from his menial job as a cleaner in a retirement home. To make his existence more ‘useful’ (as his mother’s boss happens to suggest to him), he tries to join the French Resistance but is refused as too young. By pure chance he ends up instead falling in with a group of pro-Nazi collaborators and quickly comes to enjoy the new feeling of carrying a gun and being able to order people around.

In a film full of contradictions which give the lie to the myth put forward by Charles de Gaulle after the War that the vast majority of French people had resisted the occupying forces (released less than four years after de Gaulle’s death, the film was one of the earliest examples of the French beginning to come to terms with the reality of the Occupation and was extremely controversial at the time), Beethoven has his own role to play. Amongst other schemes, the collaborators are keeping a Jewish tailor from Paris, Albert Horn, under local 16

lockdown, along with his teenage daughter, France, and his ageing German-speaking mother. Having moved from central Europe to France, he has had a successful bespoke tailoring business – that is now all over. His daughter is an aspiring concert pianist who should by rights be at the Paris Conservatoire. Holed up in their flat, unable to go out, deprived of their freedoms and waiting for the next call from the collaborators who are extorting money on the pretext of providing safe passage to neutral Spain, the three generations live out their lockdown lives against a daily background of Beethoven’s ‘Moonlight’ Sonata, which France is currently learning.

At one point in the film she is performing the opening of this masterpiece of German music to her father when Lucien arrives. Horn wistfully observes: ‘C’est une musique triste, n’est-ce pas? Il me semble que j’ai toujours marché au rythme de cette musique-là.’

(This is sad music, isn’t it? It seems to express the way my life has always been.)

Lucien, of course, has no idea of the depth of lifetime and generational emotions which Horn is expressing.

Three members of a bilingual French-German French Jewish family, assimilated into French life, at a professional peak before the War, now invisible, confined in a secluded flat and deprived of their freedom by French proGerman sympathisers, spend their days listening as one of their number (named France by her father) masters one of the most hauntingly beautiful piano works by one of Germany’s supreme composers.

Never has Beethoven been more expressive of the complexities of human existence, suffering and triumph. I won’t spoil the end. Lacombe Lucien on Planet Estream – a great film to watch during lockdown, or indeed at any time.

Mr Twohig, Moonlight Sonata

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Beethoven’s Depression Erin Butler (Re) From a very young age, Ludwig van Beethoven was considered a musical prodigy by his father and many of his friends. However, this had its downsides, and the pressure and abuse he faced from his father arguably paved the way for his depression to come. Beethoven had no say in his early life and did not have a good relationship with his alcoholic father. Johann would often slam the piano cover on young Ludwig’s knuckles if he made a mistake and he would have to play for hours on end. Some nights, his father would come home drunk with his friends and wake up his young son at one o’clock in the morning and force him to play for everyone. Due to his troublesome relationship with his father, Ludwig became very close with his mother, who then died when he was only a teenager. These difficult experiences left Beethoven traumatised and offer an explanation for the difficult experiences later on in his life.

Further troubles came after the completion of Beethoven’s First Symphony when he began to notice the first signs of his deafness. The cause of his hearing loss is unknown, but theories vary between lead poisoning, otosclerosis and nerve damage. However, this did not stop Beethoven from composing, and to cope he cut off the legs of his piano so he could feel the vibrations through the floor. Even his greatest works were composed after his hearing loss, including the last five piano sonatas, the Ninth Symphony and the Missa Solemnis. As it can be imagined, this played a huge part in his depression as his whole life revolved around music and the way he expressed his many emotions through it. Not being able to hear his compositions and perform any more seriously affected Beethoven’s mental health. He was extremely embarrassed by his deafness and resorted to social isolation where his esteem crumbled even further as the hearing loss progressed.

Beethoven began to disconnect from society after this terrible loss and stopped seeing family and friends.

This isolation made him miserable and lonely, and affected him in ways which one might expect. In the summer of 1802, Beethoven went to Heiligenstadt in Austria to get away from the social pressures and embarrassment.

Here he wrote his Heiligenstadt Testament, in which we can understand the severity of his struggles: But what a humiliation when one stood beside me and heard a flute in the distance and I heard nothing, or someone heard the shepherd singing, and again I heard nothing, such incidents brought me to the verge of despair, but little more and I would have put an end to my life, only art it was that withheld me, ah, it seemed impossible to leave the world until I had produced all that I felt called upon me to produce.

His testament talks about the psychological distress his hearing loss caused him and how he had thought about ending his life all together. However, whilst some might view it as a suicide letter, others might argue that it was a way for Beethoven to express the struggles he faced and how he wished to overcome them, through his music.

His Third Symphony – ‘Eroica’, meaning ‘heroic’ – could be perceived as Beethoven displaying himself as his own hero by overcoming his personal battles and continuing to bring music to the lives of many.

However, his time came on March 24th, 1827, where Beethoven fell unconscious. After suffering from many illnesses and colds which left him bedridden and miserable for weeks, his suffering ended. Otosclerosis is a disease which affects both the physical and mental health of a person and it caught up with Beethoven eventually.

It is said that one in ten people in Vienna attended his funeral, which shows the important and sentimental role he played in the lives of so many. Although his troubles and trauma left Beethoven in a state of misery, his story is an example of how psychological distress can also influence someone positively. His Third Symphony is greatly remembered today and although the question of who the ‘hero’ is still lives on, many believe that through his music Beethoven was able to express himself, making himself the hero, fighting to carry on his journey despite his great struggles. To Beethoven we owe so much, as he helped to set the wheels of the Romantic period in motion, and played a significant role in shaping the world we live in.

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The connection between Beethoven’s health and his music Sophie Herrmann (Re) One might wonder how Beethoven’s health affected his music. This is a question to which there are many answers. Historians think that Beethoven suffered from many diseases, including inflammatory bowel disease, Paget’s disease (abnormal bone destruction), liver disease, alcohol abuse and kidney disease, along with his deafness and cardiac arrhythmia (abnormal heart rhythm). When one hears this list of ailments, we wonder how he was able to continue composing at all. However, like many great people, his weaknesses were his greatest strength. Being deaf, Beethoven was very in tune with his own heartbeat, and much of his music reflects that.

For example, in the ‘Cavatina’ movement of one of the late quartets, the key suddenly changes from B♭ major to C♭ major. The move involves an unbalanced rhythm that evokes dark emotion in the listener. This move also reflects the unpredictability of his heart’s rhythm. Some historians believe that Beethoven’s music is quite often a ‘musical electrocardiogram’, telling the listeners what his heart was doing as he was writing it. The music is quite literally heartfelt.

So how did Beethoven become deaf and how did he get around it? We have seen how he used his heart for composing, but how did he cope with his lack of hearing? Surely, he still would have needed to hear the notes to go with the rhythm of his heart? The source of Beethoven’s deafness is still unknown, but it has been suggested that it came from syphilis, lead poisoning, typhus, or even his habit of dunking his head in cold water to stay awake. Beethoven first started hearing the buzzing in his ears aged 26 in 1796, and by the age of 44, in 1814, he was almost totally deaf. This slow degeneration of his hearing may have been one of the reasons he was able to continue composing.

Beethoven had been playing and listening to music for three decades before he went deaf, so he knew how the instruments and notes fit together and perhaps it is another testament to his genius that he was able to remember and apply this experience to his composing for the last 10 years of his life. His deafness did affect the music he composed, as he lost the ability to hear the higher notes, and his music changed to a lower pitch. These high notes only reappeared very late in his life, suggesting that he was imagining the music and could hear it in his head, yet another testament to his genius.

Beethoven’s deafness did not just affect his music; for two years he avoided all social gatherings for fear of telling people that he was deaf. The first time he was really confronted with his deafness was on a country walk with a friend. They passed a shepherd playing a pipe, and from the look on his friend’s face Beethoven could tell that it was beautiful music, but he could not hear it. This must have been very traumatic and had a huge impact on his mental health, another factor that may have changed his music.

Beethoven is a figure of strength in adversity and proves the human ability to create beautiful things in dire circumstances. Although many may see his deafness and illnesses as Beethoven’s greatest weakness, I see it as one of his strengths because it enabled him to produce music that was unlike anyone else’s, because it had been written in such unique circumstances.

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The Man, the Mystery, the Manic: ‘Deus Ex Musica’ Mrs Jerstice (CR, Psychology Department) ‘All the good poets are not in their right minds when they make beautiful poems.’

Plato.

I would like to start with a demolition of the concept of the mad genius as a heroic or tortured artist. I am not at all negating the heroic nature of Beethoven’s music but rather the misguided and problematic nature of attributing mental illness to heroism.

The cultural reference of the ‘tortured artist’ is a trope that is rolled out in almost every Hollywood film/ coming of age book and rock star biography. It is, at best, tired and lacking in inspiration, and at worst, damaging and utterly destructive to those that are suffering in the throes of mental illness. This pastiche of the idea that in great suffering comes great creativity or genius is a false idol and one that should be suppressed at all costs.

Despite my vitriol about the use of the ‘suffering artist’, I am not denying that Beethoven suffered.

His deafness, lack of marriage and family and childhood suffering all conjure up the image of a man racked by pain that explodes on to the manuscript. His work is pain; it is suffering; but it also life and joy. I challenge anyone to listen to Beethoven’s work at any seminal moment in their life and not feel a personal and immediate connection. It is through this ability to ‘see us’ that I would argue forces us to re-examine the trope when assessing Beethoven. I believe that he is just human: suffering, grieving, hating, exploding in anger, but we all experience these emotions. The difference is that he was able to encapsulate them for eternity.

Some would argue that the attempt at proving a critique or exposé into the mind of one long-passed is a fool’s errand at best; that it cannot, or maybe even should not, be done. It involves going beyond our known available evidence, and therefore even if a conclusion is made it is nefarious at best. Therefore, during this piece, it is crucial to note that the fashion of posthumous psychoanalysis is one that should attract serious criticism and restraint, especially in the case of Beethoven (as, unlike Schumann, he kept minimal diary records) Nevertheless, there are some important areas to assess when analysing the extent to how Beethoven’s state of mind could have contributed to his music. I will start with analysing the possible diagnosis offered and, with various examples from this personal life, assess whether these diagnoses would be made in today’s society. I will look at the various triggers that could have led to a manifestation of mental illness, as well as looking into how Beethoven presented various criteria.

It is important to note from the beginning that Beethoven did not lead a typical life. He spent large amounts of time in self-isolation (something which is strangely pertinent today), he felt pain quite acutely and struggled to reconcile the imposing strata of society and expectations. Beethoven encapsulates this best in his own words: ‘Compelled to contemplate a lasting malady, born with an ardent and lively temperament, susceptible to the diversions of society, I was obliged at an early date to isolate myself and live a life of solitude.’ He furthers this obsession with the rejection of social ties with the following musings: ‘For me there can be no recreation in human society, refined conversation, mutual exchange of thoughts and feelings; only so far as necessity compels may I give myself to society, — I must live like an exile’ and ‘Live alone in your art! Restricted though you be by your defective sense, this is still the only existence for you.’ The most dramatic musing is ‘I have emptied a cup of bitter suffering and already won martyrdom in art through the kindness of art’s disciples and my art associates.’

As a result of statements such as these, many psychologists have proposed, that at the very least, Beethoven was depressed. He is most frequently described as ‘manic depressive’. And he indeed, did suffer two major depressive episodes; one at the death of his ‘immortal beloved’ and again, when he realised the extent, and permeance of his deafness. He attempted suicide twice. But is that ‘manic’ depression (a now defunct term, more 20

commonly described as ‘Bi-polar Disorder’)? One could argue that suicidal thoughts and attempts, especially due to two, rather significant crises’, is a rational response. For example, in 1802, when he penned down the Heiligenstadt Testament, he contemplated suicide (when realising he was going deaf). Modern psychologists now reject the term ‘manic depressive’, in favour of the term ‘bi-polar’, although it is important to note that this term is also contentious.

Furthermore, the DSM V suggests that to present as having bi-polar disorder, the patient would have to experience periods of mania where they are unable to function adequately and do not adhere to societally approved schedules. This was not the case for Beethoven: he was a dedicated, disciplined and controlled worker.

Davis, amongst others, presents a rather convincing argument for the diagnosis; but as ever, his account feels that he is exploiting the maudlin diary extracts as gospel (imagine someone reading all your texts 150 years on and using them to ‘diagnose you’ – the horror!). I do concede, however, that other criteria for Borderline Syndrome (Kopitz, 2003) and in some instances bi-polar – such as instable relationships, switching back and forward between idolatry and disdain, excited feelings, being extremely hot-tempered and having great anxiety – are very typical of our Beethoven.

Other psychologists have taken a more Freudian viewpoint, and this again brings some extremely problematic diagnostic elements. Freudian psychologists focus extremely heavily on the experiences of an individual’s childhood and make assertions about how various events could have disrupted their development, most notably about how events can interfere with the development of their personality or psyche. Freudian thinking also looks at behaviours that could be masking or repressing the individual’s true desires (especially if these desires are not socially acceptable). Newman (1927) focused on digressions of Beethoven’s ‘disturbed’ sexuality and proposed that he was suffering from repression with regard to the speculation that he could have been harbouring homosexual tendencies amongst other socially degressive acts. Sterbas (1954) was not very different in his viewpoint and found additional support for the theory later on with Solomon defending the hypothesis that Beethoven may have been a homosexual. This could have explained some of his later self-isolating behaviours. However, it is pertinent to note that the Freudian interpretation is extremely fragile in terms of its empirical nature and is intensely subject. I would prefer, therefore, to move away from the speculation of his sexuality.

Mai’s explosive and extremely detailed work, not only chronicled Beethoven’s stormy relationships with women (undermining slightly the early 1920s obsession with homosexuality) but focused on Beethoven’s strength and his desire to get better, and to improve both his mental and physical health. He rejects the notion out of hand of Beethoven fulfilling the role of the suffering artist and believes that it was his ability to, especially in the early years, be a ‘mover and a shaker’ cemented his career. Mai does point out that the indication of very high levels of mercury in Beethoven’s hair could indicate heavy metal poisoning, which could contribute to some of his social and mental difficulties. He is, however, extremely cautious of drawing any firm conclusions and instead preferred to focus on the impact of his physical gastrointestinal health.

Beethoven did also, briefly, experience an episode of psychosis. ‘After his brother’s death, he directed his energy toward the aggressive pursuit of sole custody of his 9-year-old nephew. He became overtly psychotic during this custody battle, accusing the boy’s mother of poisoning her husband and insisting against all evidence that he was the actual biological father of the child’. Interestingly, many have asserted that after the custody battle psychosis, Beethoven’s work softened and took on a more ethereal quality; but perhaps that was a result of a lack of stress, rather than a perverse ‘benefit’ of psychosis and ‘defence mechanism’.

Biological psychologists will often look to hereditary factors or environmental triggers when attempting to offer a diagnosis. And, at first glance, Beethoven’s life is almost textbook with regard to both environmental and hereditary triggers for mental illness. His father was an alcoholic and died of alcohol misuse in 1792, his mother having died 5 years earlier of tuberculosis. Beethoven had two younger brothers: Casper Carl (177421

1815) died of tuberculosis, leaving a son, Karl, and Nikolaus Johann (1776-1852) died of atherosclerotic heart disease. It is well documented that the psychological impacts of growing up with an alcoholic parent are devastating and far reaching, no matter the era. This, coupled with the acute trauma of losing his mother, and brothers, would have had a lasting impact. These traumatic life events could explain some of the more disturbing aspects of Beethoven’s behaviour, but again, he seems strikingly ‘unremarkable’ in his reactions to these events.

He was of course deeply affected by these events, but it did not prevent him from being exceedingly productive or engaging in a range of well-formed relationships.

What is interesting, at least with today’s current understanding of the co-morbidity between gastrological and mental health, is the fact that he suffered terribly throughout his adult life with gastrointestinal and rheumatic complaints. We are beginning to understand that one very important symptom of mental illness can be poor gut health. Indeed, some scientists are concluding that our gut can communicate with our brain and therefore a defective gut bacteria culture can lead to a defective mental state. Anxiety and depression are now being linked to both IBS and UC (which Beethoven almost certainly suffered from). This research is in its infancy and there is a lot more to be discovered, but, perhaps, if we revisit this concept in 20 years’ time, we may have a clearer understanding of the impact and consequence of Beethoven’s gut on his mental health.

So, although we cannot for certain say what disorder, if any, Beethoven experienced; it is clear that the life he led was far from ordinary. His words reflect a life of solitude, pain and deep sense of longing. His music, however, would be powerful enough to fill any void that we could ever feel, for eternity.

I am going to leave you with his own last words: ‘Plaudite, amici, comedia finita est.’

Mr Twohig, Symphony 2 in D major

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The Link Between Autistic Spectrum Disorder and Musical Genius Mrs McClean (CR, Learning Support Department) It has long been recognised that cognitive difficulties such as dyslexia, manic depression, bipolar disorder, schizophrenia and autism can confer gifts or creative genius. Many of the great minds – the high achievers throughout history – have been considered to be on the autistic spectrum. The list includes innovators, scientists, philosophers, writers and musicians. Beethoven is among the musicians considered to be autistic. It has also been assumed that Beethoven had perfect pitch, more correctly known as ‘absolute pitch’. Research suggests that absolute pitch is more common among autistic people than the general population. This article examines the defining features of autism and how these behaviours and conditions relate to creative genius in the field of music, including the ability of absolute pitch.

Autistic Spectrum Disorder (ASD) can be defined as a neurodevelopmental condition which affects how a person communicates with, and relates to, other people, and how they experience the world around them.

According to Frith, two cognitive issues interact to produce the resulting difficulties: ‘central coherence’ and ‘theory of mind’ Theory of mind describes the ability to understand that other people have thoughts, knowledge, feelings and intentions which are different from our own. This begins with an individual’s awareness of their own perceptions and emotional state. In individuals with ASD this seems reduced and therefore affects awareness of the feelings of others. Central coherence describes the ability to extract information from what we see and hear to make sense of the whole. A difficulty with central coherence involves a narrow focus of attention which notices detail, but similarities, differences and the whole picture are not clear.

According to the Diagnostic & Statistical Manual-5 (DSM-5) in order to meet the threshold for a diagnosis of ASD an individual must present with two conditions. Firstly, persistent deficits in social communication and social interaction. Secondly, restricted, repetitive patterns of behaviour, interests, or activities. Examples of the first category include failure to engage in normal back and forth conversation and difficulty with understanding and using eye contact and body language. Examples of the second category include having fixated interests that are abnormal in intensity and focus and also hyper or hypo reactivity to sensory input.

The point along the neurological continuum at which a stimulus produces a response is known as the ‘threshold’. If it takes lots of stimuli to reach the threshold, the individual is hyposensitive. If very little stimulus is needed, the individual is hypersensitive. An individual may be hypersensitive to some stimuli such as auditory information (unable to screen out background noise) but hyposensitive to others such as taste (preferring strong tastes and spicy or salty foods). Exceptional talent in autistic individuals may begin with sensory hypersensitivity.

A love of and strength in music, along with auditory hypersensitivity, is a noted pattern in people with ASD. This may seem counterintuitive: one explanation is that music provides a positive experience because it is predictable and provides a barrier to other, less predictable noise.

Recent research by Remington and Fairnie suggest that both the strengths and difficulties seen with respect to auditory sensitivity in ASD are due to an increased capacity to process sound rather than a deficit in the ability to filter sound and focus. Their hypothesis is based on the theory that each individual has a finite capacity for processing information (‘perceptual capacity’). If the processing demands of a task are high, there is no spare capacity for distraction, but if a task demands only low levels of processing, the spare perceptual capacity automatically spills over and distractions are processed. The ability to process extremely high levels of auditory information at any given time could offer an advantage leading to advanced achievements in the field of music but could also lead to overwhelming levels of auditory stimulation and cause distress in noisy environments.

Beethoven was assumed to have absolute pitch. Absolute pitch is defined as the ability to instantly and effortlessly identify the pitch of a tone without the use of a reference tone. It differs from the more common 23

‘relative pitch’- which is the ability to distinguish a C, for instance, when someone plays an A- by calculating the interval between the notes. Musicians learn relative pitch as part of their training. According to estimates, between one and five people per ten thousand have absolute pitch. It appears to be the result of an innate predisposition combined with musical exposure and training. Research by Dohn et al suggests that there is a link between absolute pitch and ASD with the prevalence higher than in the general population.

There are two theories to explain why people with autism may have superior pitch. The first ties in with the weak central coherence theory. As autistic individuals tend to focus on the detail rather than the whole, it would make sense that focusing on an individual tone is an extreme form of this piecemeal information processing. The second theory is that perfect pitch is a function of the overdeveloped sensory perception that is characteristic of many autistic individuals.

There is a growing understanding that ASD represents a difference rather than a deficit: indeed, many agree that the word ‘disorder’ is not appropriate. Some traits of ASD present significant challenges to the individual but there are also many associated strengths. Autism can therefore be regarded as a gift which can result in unusual creativity and genius, as in the case of Beethoven.

Mr Twohig, Symphony 1 in C major

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A Brief Overview of the Utilisation of Music in Therapy Willa Rowan Hamilton (L6) From birth, through adolescence and adulthood we are submerged with music daily: from birds to melodies, rhythms to lullabies we use music to soothe, stimulate and express ourselves.

Music has played a huge role in all societies throughout history, with biblical accounts of King Saul being soothed by David’s harp music and the belief of the Greeks by the 5th Century bce in music as a key asset in restoring peace and harmony of both body and soul. The Greek philosophers Plato and Pythagoras wrote about music and its effects, and the earliest musical instrument found is a bone flute, thought to be 42,000 years old – these showcase the importance of music as medium throughout the world’s timeline. The first published study, Music Physically Considered (author unknown), was in 1789, but it wasn’t until the end of World Wars I and II that musical therapy witnessed an increase in popularity in the rehabilitation of war veterans: hospitals in United States employed musicians to work, aiming to deal with the shell shock and post-traumatic stress disorder which was bought back from the war. This facilitated the development of a professional music therapy practice. The development of two international associations of music therapy spearheading the progression of profession, overseeing the educational programming and research initiatives – the World Federation of Music Therapy, 1985, and the European Music Therapy Confederation in 1990 – led to the worldwide acceptance and acknowledgment of music as a medium of therapy.

The therapy aims to stabilise and facilitate the growth of social, sensory, physical, cognitive, emotional and communication skills. Through expression, concentration, listening and interaction it creates an environment for sustainable progression. With the application of the practice being highly versatile – used in schools, rehabilitation centres, hospitals and many more – the utilisation of music creates a safe space for development and a wide range of accessibility for all demographics. An array of music – in style and practice – can be applied and internalised. From improvisation or recreating to composition or listening, each express and engage different areas of the mind and body. There is no pre-determined sound or style required for a person or group: it must instead be reflective of the patient’s own needs and preferences. The therapist intuitively uses styles and instruments that seem appropriate for the particular patient or session: for example, music may be employed to facilitate gross or fine motor movement for a patient who has a movement disorder.

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1803-1808 THE HEROIC AND THE ROMANTIC From the 3rd to the 5th

Mr Twohig, Symphony 3 in E flat major

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Beethoven’s ‘Eroica’ Symphony in Historical and Political Context Ariana Jones (L6) The third (more commonly known as ‘Eroica’) symphony in E flat is remarkable in that the story of how the ‘Eroica’ Symphony got its name is almost as famous as the music itself. The story of the piece’s original dedication is the stuff of symphonic legend and is still widely acknowledged today.

In itself, it is a spectacular piece of music, marking both the peak of Beethoven’s musical career and the transition to the Romantic era. It was unlike anything anyone had heard before at the beginning of the nineteenth century and through its extensive length, its exploding dissonances, its expressive grandeur and even its terror, it could provoke every emotion one can think of in a listener. In its first public performance, one audience member was easily irritated by this previously unseen length and consequently shouted ‘I’ll give another Kreutzer if the thing will only stop!’. The piece builds and builds and builds and one can’t help but become lost in its plenitude, surging energy and confident demeanour.

However, I personally think that the story behind the symphony’s devotion is what makes it so sensational and alluring. It was originally dedicated to Napoleon Bonaparte, the French statesmen and military leader. Ludwig van Beethoven had been considering a piece in Bonaparte’s honour since 1798. For Beethoven, he represented the age of revolution (in particular the French Revolution) and the eighteenth century Enlightenment philosophy at a time that was politically and philosophically confused. He signified, for Beethoven, the freedom of the individual and opposition to tyranny and was known to desire reform in society so that even the working classes could enjoy more equality. He could therefore be seen as a humanist, an egalitarian and a libertarian.

All these desirable values which Beethoven thought Napoleon possessed encouraged him to write a piece in his honour and therefore the symphony was designed almost as a memorial to his heroic achievements.

However, the story takes a dark turn on 14th May 1804 when, just as Beethoven was finishing his symphony, Napoleon declared himself Emperor. This was treachery of the highest form for Beethoven and he felt personally betrayed by the very person he had immortalised. All the morals and ethics that Bonaparte had previously stood for had evaporated and Beethoven, no longer seeing Napoleon as a product of all of his idealised values could only watch on as he alike all others ‘became a tyrant’ (quote from Beethoven’s secretary Ferdinand Ries). His anger was so powerful that it is reported he ripped off the front page of the symphony which had the name ‘Bonaparte’ inscribed on it. Despite the historical accuracy of this story being questioned, his anger was still evident. The surviving first version of the symphony shows how Beethoven violently scribbled out the new Emperor’s name off the top of his piece. His hand was so aggressive and forceful that it tore through the page, leaving a gaping hole in the earliest copy we have. Additionally, Beethoven is quoted as saying ‘It’s a pity I do not understand the art of war as well as I do the art of music. I would conquer him!’ This expresses how Napoleon’s crime was unforgivable to Beethoven and had he possessed the capacity to do so, Beethoven would have retaliated in a passionate and fervent way to Napoleon’s supposed betrayal.

However, as most of this unfolded towards the end of the process, Beethoven couldn’t erase the memory of Napoleon in his writing. It was the longest and largest-scaled musical piece he had ever composed and was evidently Napoleonic in its ambition, scope and impact. Given the effort it had taken Beethoven to produce, it was too late to change, and it kept the same title ‘Eroica’ which in English means ‘heroic’. The only difference was that it no longer was intended as a tribute to Napoleon’s ‘heroic’ nature, but instead to heroes and actions of heroism of a more generic nature. If you listen closely in the Scherzo after the Funeral March, you can hear the horns, giving the audience and surrounding space a feeling of epic and valiant heroism and they feel, as soldiers do after hearing trumpets played on a battlefield, as though they have been saved and the battle has been won.

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A change in dedication was later made as Prince Franz Joseph von Lobkowitz offered to settle any pecuniary matters in return for the piece named in his honour. However, the facts remained: Beethoven was still agonised and wounded by Napoleon’s change in character. Whilst the piece was originally called Bonaparte it was never renamed in Lobkowitz’s honour and from then on was known simply as the ‘Eroica’ Symphony.

Mr Twohig, Symphony 4 in B flat major

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The First Movement of the ‘Eroica’ Symphony Minnie Feather (L6) Beethoven, to this day, is remembered as one of the greatest and most gifted men to walk this earth. He had the influence to pull classical music into the modern age with works that still sound new. When Beethoven wrote the ‘Eroica’ Symphony in 1803, he was already appreciated for his writing. Beethoven was a Romantic, both in the way he was portrayed and in his musical styling. Although his first compositions were finished in the classical period, arguably some of his best pieces were composed in his ‘middle period’, where it seems that it was not only the music that was heroic but a personal portrayal of himself as a hero. There was boundless public curiosity with him – both honourable and not – but he succeeded to sway the eminent princes in the city to be benefactors and was able to always have a publisher at hand. At the time of this composition, he was competent enough to be assured in that he was supported financially and that the symphony would be well received, which expanded his want to produce masterpieces, and he strove to create one of the greatest symphonies ever written.

However, it was not easy for Beethoven due to the fact that a couple years previously he had started to go deaf.

His feelings towards his deafness and the struggles it brought are displayed in the Heiligenstadt Testament, which was addressed to his brothers Karl and Johann, and instructed to be read and executed after his death. In the testament he rejects suicide as an option for a man capable of art such as himself, who was soon to write ‘Eroica’.

There are four movements in the ‘Eroica’, each inspired by a different aspect of the heroic style. The first movement is noble with a majestic style and the music continuously succeeds in being persistently determined and evolving. The second movement is a dramatic contrast to the first with a tragic death of a hero. The third movement calls to battle, leaving the fourth movement to express when the hero returns. All these different ideas are used and contrasted against each other to generate impact, which was one of his special talents which other composers struggled with. The talented composer and conductor, Leonard Bernstein, describes him as ‘a man who is capable of uniting all contradictions into one single perfect entity’.

The theme of the ‘Eroica’is heroic. There is charm abounding in this symphony. Beethoven started on this work in December 1803, which may explain why, when listening to the first movement, you get a real sense of battle which is believed to reflect the conflict with the Napoleonic forces which was occurring at this time. In the first movement, even in the lyrical parts, Beethoven adds constant unexpected stabs, sforzando punctuating the flowing lines. The orchestration is significant in the sense that it adds drama at critical moments such as the addition of a third horn which designs the hunting motif in the trio of the third movement. Another departure from ordinary sound is the prominence of the clarinet’s sound where they are given a more extravagant part. The strings are made to focus on the technical side of their playing, so all the instruments are pushed harder than before technically, making the piece impressive to listeners. The texture of the first movements uses ideas from all instruments sounding like multiple dialogue, there is a question to whether or not this emphasizes Beethoven’s democratic moralities. With so different emotions bouncing of each other and the different motifs used, his ‘Eroica’is clearly not simply a portrait of a life of a freedom-fighting hero but the struggles against adversity.

These two themes come up again and again in his work, empowering the ideas he is presenting. Everywhere in the piece there is vigour and pouring energy, as well as a purpose to use symphonic form. The symphony has been performed all around the globe with some of the greatest orchestras, thereby never allowing the world to forget the magnificent works of the great Beethoven.

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Depictions of Napoleon Art and Music in Manipulating a Narrative Jack Harper-Hill (Re) Throughout Europe, the reign of Napoleon was particularly turbulent and the assessments of his worth were controversial: this can clearly be seen through the works of numerous artists of the time. Prior to Napoleon’s rise to absolute power, he had formed an image for himself as a ‘Hero’, and ‘man of the people’, presenting himself as the only in the eyes of the French. This is displayed hugely throughout his early power (such as his role as First Consul of the Republic, formed by him following the coup in 1799).

For instance, Jacques-Louis David portrayed Napoleon crossing the Alps (a painting of 1802, the year before Beethoven started his Eroica Symphony, which it might illustrate!), much as Hannibal did millennia beforehand. This oil painting places Napoleon at the head of his army, leading them through the cold, as heroic as the great Carthaginian idol Hannibal. The painting shows Napoleon pointing upwards and onwards, perhaps to represent the ambition held by his people for his success through great heroism. Additionally, throughout history, the depiction of a horse has been used to symbolise power (including the power of controlling a wildlooking horse) and pride and in most cases victory.

In contrast to this, a painting by the same title and event painted by Paul Delaroche in 1850 took a different view on the poignant crossing of Napoleon and his army. This painting shows Napoleon dressed not in a vibrant gown but ordinary clothes, donned purely to keep the cold out, rather than to convey symbolism.

In Delaroche’s portrayal, it is evident that Napoleon shows a lack of confidence, hunched over the horse, unlike the flamboyant and lively leadership of Napoleon conveyed in David’s picture.

These contrasts may be due to the fact that they were both painted under different circumstances. David’s depiction was commissioned by the King of Spain as a gift for Bonaparte himself. The portrayal of Bonaparte in this image becomes apparently biased due to its commission and recipient. Unlike David, Delaroche seemed to have researched the matter prior to painting it. This is important as it maintains the vital authenticity of the painting.

For context I would like to mention Snowstorm: Hannibal and his Army (1812) by Turner. Turner saw the aforementioned link between Hannibal and Napoleon – and 1812 was the year of Napoleon’s doomed invasion of Russia. Both of the paintings by Delaroche and Turner show a struggle unlike David’s portrayal of ease and confidence despite the fact that Turner painted his as a response to that of David.

Another positive depiction of Napoleon is Gros’s Bonaparte Visiting the Plague Victims of Jaffa (1804).

At first glance, Napoleon is shown as a ‘man of the people’, visiting ill soldiers during his campaign into Egypt.

Although this painting may show Bonaparte in a great light – as a modest but heroic figure – it may in fact be the opposite as it was commissioned by Napoleon himself, potentially as an attempt to benefit the image of Napoleon and perhaps a way to quell the reports that Bonaparte ordered the death of 50 plague victims through lethal doses of opioids. This revelation would imply that, rather than the great hero depicted in many other paintings, Napoleon was in fact far more arrogant and concerned about his image than his leadership.

There are also many takes on Napoleon – or at least the effect of his wars – that are purely negative, such as those produced by Francisco Goya, who produced 82 prints of ‘the disasters of war.’ Although these may hold some bias as Goya was the first painter for the King of Spain, the pictures effectively show something of the devastation caused by Bonaparte’s aggression. However, these depictions were never published until 35 years after his death, in 1863, so could hardly be called propaganda. This was due to the oppression that Spain was faced with, depicted in each image. The plates portrayed a series of events, the first part the combat and 30

aggression itself, then the famine under French oppression, before finally the disappointment of those under the newly instated king who had rejected the new Spanish Constitution of 1812. These images show the squalid and vile side of the fresh campaign, with Bonaparte at the head, oppressing any who came before him. Each one individually captures some essence of war and suffering.

Finally, I would like to focus on the works of Beethoven and its reflection of Napoleon and his conversion from hero to tyrant. In 1802 he moved from Vienna to a small village named Heiligenstadt. Following a bout of depression due to his apparent and encroaching deafness, he began work on a new symphony. On top of this, Beethoven had always seen Bonaparte as a hero of his, labelling his works after Napoleon himself. However, soon after its completion, word spread that Napoleon had crowned himself emperor, which in the eyes of Beethoven was furious, claiming that Napoleon was ‘no more than a common mortal’. Thus, Sinfonia Eroica became the symphony’s new name.

The music itself also reflects the events themselves. ‘Eroica’ was started as a heroic, proud and vibrant symphony, just as his views had been upon the new Emperor. However, following the declaration of Bonaparte’s autocracy, he immediately begun a funeral march (the second movement) instead for the new leader, which lacked any of the positive glory that the first movement held.

It is clear to see that many works of the nineteenth century were formed around the development of French leadership: vibrant, colourful scenes of a hero within Europe, or those of him as a tyrant, grasping at any glimpse of power he could get.

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Beethoven and the development of Romanticism Sophie Smith (L6) In the early years of his career, Beethoven’s work followed the conventions of music belonging to the Classical era and was similar to that of Mozart and Haydn. The discovery and excavation of Pompeii and Herculaneum in the eighteenth century had spurred a resurgence of interest in the Ancient Greeks and Romans, the impact of which was to have an untold influence upon the arts and culture. In art, architecture and scholarship the ancient world became an object of study, and the aesthetic of the classical period became the ideal to which all fashionable society would aspire. Order, elegance and symmetry prevailed.

The inspiration composers could take from the classical past was, however, limited. Unlike architects, who could shape their plans on the remains of the classical ruins that survived, there was no style of music for composers to imitate. Instead, they had to invent their own structures and foundations on which to base the new ‘classical’ style. The variety of chords that had been used was stripped back, while discord and suspension were eliminated. Melody was to be the primary focus, a tool with which the most memorable and catchy tunes could be created. For this was a time when the purpose of music shifted to being something to provide pure pleasure and enjoyment. Despite the turmoil of events in the late eighteenth century, classical composers such as Haydn, Mozart and Beethoven (in his early years) continued to write playful, uplifting melodies, as an escape or reassurance that ‘all will be well’. They did not seek to recreate the problems of their day, instead offering sanctuary and security to their audience in the safe haven of classical symmetry and order.

I feel this brief overview of the musical landscape at the time Beethoven began his career is necessary in order to truly gauge the extent of the change which he was to have on the musical world. Beethoven, in his later years, could not have been more different to Mozart. Instead of wanting to appeal to his audience, to charm them with joyful melodies, Beethoven wanted to challenge them, and confront their expectations.

The first clear sign that Beethoven was steering away from Mozart and Haydn was his third symphony of 1804 (titled Eroica, after the original name Bonaparte was supposedly scratched out in anger and disgust over Napoleon having named himself ‘emperor’). For audiences used to the clear and coherent patterns of the classical style, the dramatic surprises within Beethoven’s Third Symphony would have been shocking and alarming. What was so new about ‘Eroica’ was the attitude it presented. The funeral march in particular was unique – mournful, restless, and experimental. Emotions were no longer being stifled within the melodies of polite and composed classicism – they were being confronted and shown for what they were. It is likely that ‘Eroica’ coincided with Beethoven’s discovery of his gradually worsening and incurable deafness, and that the mournful character of the march was an expression of his subsequent distress. Unlike Mozart, whose music shows little trace of his darker moods, Beethoven could not prevent his emotions from manifesting themselves within his compositions. For him, music-making was no escape from life, but was the best form through which to confront the darkness.

From this moment on, the role of music began to change from comfort and distraction, to an expression of the reality of human emotion.

With the growing importance given to emotion, a change spurred on by Beethoven’s innovations, the role of music itself began to change. Instead of being easy-listening, genteel, background entertainment, music had become an emotional drama: an all-encompassing experience which challenged listeners, presenting them with anxiety and doubt. But Beethoven’s own personality was in part responsible for the success of this change – the dark complexity of his inner emotions, the vulnerability mixed with volatile anger captivated the imaginations of his contemporaries and inspired them to follow his lead. Beethoven was the first example of the romantic genius – isolated, troubled, suffering – an idea which was to become something akin to a cult.

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Beethoven, therefore, heralded the coming of Romanticism in music, which was centred on the idea that the personal emotions of the composer or performer were of greatest importance. This movement took place as part of the general literary and artistic development, and the unified voice of artists in the early nineteenth century can be clearly seen across all artistic disciplines. Nature, for example, was seen to the Romantics as an extension of their own feelings, the wildness of the landscape reflecting the torments of the heartbroken lover.

Wordsworth’s poems, like his contemporaries Shelley and Keats, are few among countless examples of this: I wandered lonely as a cloud That floats on high o’er vales and hills, When all at once I saw a crowd, A host, of golden daffodils; Beside the lake, beneath the trees, Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

(The opening to Wordsworth’s ‘Daffodils’ 1807) Beethoven’s Sixth Symphony, ‘Pastoral’, written in 1808, shows how this movement was not confined to literary works. The piece was a musical celebration of the romantic beauty of the countryside near his home.

This was also incidentally the same year in which William Blake composed his poem ‘Jerusalem’, a clear warning to all of the threats that industrialisation posed to the preservation of the idyllic English countryside. Nature was clearly of heartfelt importance to the Romantics and to Beethoven.

But perhaps the most dramatic change brought to music by Beethoven was the change in the image of the composer. I have already mentioned the cult surrounding the idea of the troubled, heroic artist, but this was furthered by the belief that the artist was a genius and held some miraculous power which it was their duty to bestow on the world. This concept had arisen in relation to the fictional characters Faust and Prometheus, who had both been revived by the writer Johann Wolfgang von Goethe with huge influence. Both Faust (a character originated from German legend who, unsatisfied with his life, sought to make a deal with the devil, exchanging his soul for knowledge and worldly pleasures) and Prometheus (the Titan from Greek mythology who defied the gods and gifted fire to humankind) presented such fitting examples to the romantic mind of the isolated and disturbed figure separated from mortals by his gifts. Beethoven emerged as the first composer to so powerfully fit this image, and from then on, countless other composers would follow his lead, including Berlioz, Mendelssohn and Mahler.

Beethoven’s Ninth and final symphony, ‘Choral’, which premiered in 1824, is considered by many to be his greatest work, and was ground-breaking in its scale and ambition. The length of the symphony was unprecedented, and when combined with the increased size of the orchestra used and the addition of a choral element, produced a riveting work of monumental impact. The influence this work was to have on the next generation of composers was profound, showing how the symphony could signify more than it had ever before.

Such was the power and impact of the work that in the following decades composers would be inspired to follow Beethoven’s lead, carrying forward the idea he had sparked that it was the role of the musician to unite and reform humanity.

What is interesting, however, is what happened after the ‘Choral’ symphony. Whilst composers such as Berlioz and Wagner vigorously took up this cause initiated by Beethoven, believing in the crucial role their music would play in the future of humanity, Beethoven himself went down a completely different route. The six string quartets which he composed in the last two years of his life, at this time suffering from illness and almost completely deaf, were unlike anything ever heard before, and so modern as to be incomprehensible to his contemporaries. Withdrawn and secluded from outside influence, these quartets seem almost to be a private record of Beethoven’s own complex emotions, the results of an effort to distract from, or perhaps comprehend, his internal struggle and anguish.

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Beethoven was the bridge between eras of music, taking the order and calm of classical music at the start of his career before injecting it with his own fire and personality, giving birth to the idea that emotions were of central importance, becoming the first to bring Romanticism to music. His influence in altering the role of the artist and the image presented to the public of the ideal romantic genius was immeasurable. Following his death in 1827 there came to be two different paths which a composer could take: either that of striving to achieve popularity with the audience, providing pleasure through music, or that of the troubled romantic genius – a martyr – suffering for the sake of gifting their music to the world.

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Romanticism in Art Alexa Scott (Re) Beethoven (1770–1827) paved the way from the Classical (c1730–1820) to Romantic period (c.1800–1910) in music. Romantic music can normally be identified by its fluidity and powerful expression of emotion. Romantic composers were influenced by writers, artists and philosophers, and similar characteristics emerged across the arts during the period. Common themes were dreams, the night-time, the supernatural, nature and the joys and pains of love. Beethoven’s music arguably marks the beginning of the transition out of the Enlightenment into Romanticism as his work becomes increasingly emotional, ranging from very calm to agitated and even aggressive. This can also be seen in art of the Romantic period. Artists turned to the theme of the power and beauty of nature and the freedom and expression of man.

In his 1762 book, The Social Contract, Rousseau stated: ‘Man is born free, but everywhere he is found in chains’, a reference to the fact that humans are born with free will but due to rigid social structures, we are unable to do as we please. Artists of the Romantic era believed it was all about turning this around and painting their emotion, depicting the victim as well as the hero, in a style which expressed this, in order to exercise their power of free will.

Turner’s ‘The Slave Ship’ (slavers throwing overboard the dead and dying) (1849), illustrates a slave ship caught in a storm. The captain has thrown the slaves out of the boat in order to claim insurance for the damage of his boat. Nature dominates the painting and the slave ship itself is relatively small. Turner conveys emotion and the turbulence of the storm through his brush marks and colour, which can be compared to the way Beethoven extends the development section of his sonatas to make it the heart of his work, a characteristic unique to him and very different to other composers (e.g. Chopin, Liszt, Brahms) of the time who would extend the exposition section. It could be argued that this painting is a message expressing the need for the abolition of slavery overseas, as it was painted seven years after Britain abolished slavery. This again repeats the idea of expressing free will by strongly opposing laws of that time.

Romantic painter Casper David Friedrich represents many Romantic characteristics in his painting the ‘Wanderer Above the Sea of Fog’ (1818). Here a figure stands in contemplation, mesmerised by how vast the landscape is. This relates to the Enlightenment as it gives the impression of a religious and spiritual experience.

The angle of the painting allows us to see with him across the sea of fog which lets us see into his thoughts. This is also seen in Beethoven’s music in the way he puts his emotions down on to the page in a rather intense way.

The emotions always seem genuine rather than put on for glamour or effect.

‘Heroic Landscape with Rainbow’ (1805), by Joseph Anton Koch, depicts a very classical scene, beginning with the treeline on the left which draws you to the people, who seem both agricultural and mythical the composition draws you back to the classical architecture, a reminder of the great creations of man. Koch ultimately draws your eye towards the endless blue sky which represents God’s great creation of Earth. The rainbow brings an undoubtedly Romantic element into this otherwise stereotypical classical painting. The rainbow is something mysterious and uncontrollable. This painting is almost a gateway into Romanticism in art as it is subtly a painting of the Romantic era but looks very much like a classical piece of art. Beethoven’s inspirations were Haydn and Mozart, both significant figures in the classical period. So much of his music contains characteristics similar to those in the classical but he has taken more genuine emotion and put it into his pieces through the use of contrasting dynamics and techniques such as rubato which differentiates his music from his predecessors.

In conclusion, it shows us that music and art were aligned at the time and contained many characteristics.

Undoubtedly, the thing that stands out most about Beethoven is how ahead of his time he was, with radical expressive ideas that not many people had thought of before.

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Caspar David Friedrich and German Romanticism Ines Jeveons (L6) Caspar David Friedrich was considered to be one of the most important painters on the art scene in nineteenthcentury Germany, and one of the most important artists of his generation. This is owing to his contemplations of nature and his key role in the Romantic art movement from 1800 to approximately 1890. Friedrich was born in September 1774 in Greifswald, Germany, and was subject to what could be considered a grief-stricken childhood. Before the age of 13, Friedrich had witnessed the death of his mother, two sisters, and his favourite brother. His favourite brother, Johann Christoffer, fell through ice and drowned – supposedly trying to retrieve Caspar David from danger. Some of Friedrich’s contemporaries attributed the melancholy in his art to these childhood events, yet it is as likely that Friedrich’s personality was naturally so inclined. Many art historians and psychologists believed that such events greatly impacted the content of his art and shaped him into the emotional painter he was known to be. His love of landscapes was evident early on in his career and his work demonstrated his belief in the power of God through nature. Growing up with a heavily influential father, Friedrich belonged to the strict Lutheran creed. Alongside what can be seen as his melancholic response to the tragic happenings of his childhood, religion is also an important influence in his works. Most famously, the two inspirations are combined in his 1811 work A Winter Landscape (oil on canvas).

The Winter Landscape was probably painted in 1811 and therefore belongs to Friedrich’s first phase of mature work. Following his training in Copenhagen, Friedrich continued to develop his approach to innovative landscape painting, blending images of nature with religious symbolism. This development began the cycle of a few recurring subjects within his work which eventually came to dominate it: themes of death and withdrawal, the cycles of nature, or the ages of man and his search for religion. A Winter Landscape was the first painting Friedrich produced after his artistic success more of less peaked. According to most art historians, Friedrich’s reputation was at its height at the end of 1810, where for the duration of 1810 he had completed and sold one of largest works to date, Abbey in the Oakwood and Monk by the Sea (Fig 2) to Crown Prince and later Friedrich Wilhelm IV of Prussia. In that same year, Friedrich also sold a collection of five paintings (Fig 4) to Duke Karl August of Saxe-Weimar. After what seemed to be a prosperous year for Friedrich, he gained an election to the Berlin academy, culminated by his artistic successes that year.

Here he completed one of his best-known paintings, The Winter Landscape (Fig 1). In contrast to his previous works, this painting is a small, intimate work, on a scale that was probably intended to appeal to a modest private collector. Friedrich’s works are often open to a variety of interpretations but in the two Winter Landscapes his religious and artistic ideas are expressed with unusual clarity. Art historians have considered the Scherwerin painting (Fig 5) to be an image of despair and impending death, and the painting belonging to the National Gallery (Fig 1) evokes the promise of salvation through Christian faith, according particularly to John Leighton, Director-General at the National Gallery of Scotland. Leighton wrote, ‘The symbolic content is conveyed through the contrasting forms of the two works. The tangled, disordered limbs of the dead oaks are compared to the erect forms of the young fir trees: chaos is replaced by order, hopelessness is overtaken by faith.’

The composition of the Winter Landscape serves to underline the iconography. In the foreground the clearly defined objects are arranged in a narrow, stage-like space and are placed and silhouetted against a misty backdrop (Fig 6). Naturally, the objects are defined by the background. The symmetry of the composition, with the form of the distant cathedral, echoing the shape of the foreground trees, enhances the emblematic character of the picture. Leighton continues: ‘The ‘real’ space of the foreground is contrasted in the intangible mysterious quality of the background vision, creating an opposition between near and far, between the natural and supernatural.’

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The paintings were exhibited in Weimar later that year, and by 1813 it had entered he collection of Dr Ludwig Puttrich in Leipzig. Puttrich acquired several works by Friedrich, but an exhibition in Leipzig was the last known whereabouts of the painting in the nineteenth century, only to be re-discovered in a private collection in Paris in the early twentieth century.

Friedrich’s reputation was in decline long before his death and for much of the century he was a forgotten figure. A great number of his works disappeared during the long period of this obscurity, although many of the works came back into light in the twentieth century. In his old age, Friedrich suffered stroke causing him limb paralysis that left him slightly debilitated in his hand. As a result, he predominantly painted in water colour and sepia ink. This was probably a reason his work fell from popularity. By 1838, he was almost incapable of artistic work, lived in poverty and was increasingly dependent on the charity of friends. His work was considered anachronistic and his death in 1840 caused very little stir in the art community. However, in his autobiography, philosopher Gotthilf Heinrich von Schubert wrote of Friedrich, ‘He was indeed a strange mixture of temperament, his moods ranging from the gravest seriousness to the gayest humour . . . but anyone who knew only this side of Friedrich’s personality, namely his deep melancholic seriousness, only knew half the man. I have met few people who have such a gift for telling jokes and such a sense of fun as he did, providing that he was in the company of people he liked’. However, in Friedrich’s most advanced years his style changed, mostly in terms of his subject matter. He no longer focused on displaying the beauty of God through landscapes but became wholly focused on the matter of death. Friedrich’s ‘gayness’ soon faded as he became obsessed with the afterlife. This is seen most prominently in one of his latest works, Landscape with Grave Coffin and Owl (Fig 7).

This painting was executed a year after Friedrich suffered his stroke and is a clear example of the alteration of his style: he uses pencil and sepia, seemingly fitting media for this dreary example of death. The most obvious sense of iconography is the central focus of the owl – a bird of ill omen and death. The palette is dark and muted – art historian Anthony Reeve commented that Friedrich’s questioning of life and fascination with nature stopped at this painting. His lasting style and legacy presents an overwhelming sense of loneliness and melancholy.

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Beethoven the hero Rosie Hodgson (Re) Heroism is a subjective term, so it is hard to define someone as such without opposing views. When we are young, we learn about heroes from fictional story books, television and myths, typically of Greek heroes, which is where the word comes from. They are portrayed as superhuman with magical powers, which they use for doing good.

However, the question posed is: can we have real-life heroes within our own society? One Oxford dictionary definition for a hero is: a person who is admired for their courage, outstanding achievements, or noble qualities.

Other definitions of a hero are someone who gives themselves to others, someone who has achieved miraculous things, someone with immense bravery, someone who has overcome personal obstacles or simply someone who shows humility and selflessness, which are all possible qualities for a human to possess.

Beethoven was an exceptional character who achieved great things within his lifetime and because of this, has often been called a hero. He also had a lot of difficulties to overcome and many personal struggles, yet still achieved greatness, which is another reason some argue he was a hero, owing to these struggles.

Beethoven had many difficulties in his life, some of which stemmed from his childhood. His father was determined to make him a child protégé and worked him tirelessly against his will, not hesitating to rigorously beat him if he made a mistake. Because of his father’s extreme measures, Beethoven did become a talented musician. However, they also affected him for the rest of his life, leading to his immense temper and his volatile personality. In one incident, Beethoven stood in the doorway of Prince Lobkowitz, who was one of his closest friends, and shouted to everyone, ‘Prince Lobkowitz is a donkey’. Beethoven also struggled with love, mostly as a result of his temper and crippling shyness. He was deeply in love with a married woman, called Antoine Brentano, who may have been his ‘immortal beloved’. His love for her, yet not being with her, made him lonely, upset and angry, which made him withdraw into himself and become more awkward. His misery is likely to have led to his alcohol addiction, possibly stemming from his father’s alcohol abuse, and so, in turn caused many health problems, such as liver and kidney disease. He was also difficult, greedy, suspicious and paranoid, meaning he often fell out with everyone around him, including his brothers and his patrons, in a similar way to modern day stars. One of his most well-known ailments, which he seriously struggled to come to terms with, was his deafness. He was hearing ringing in his ears in his twenties and by the time he was thirty, he wrote a sorrowful letter to his friend explaining his deafness. He said, ‘if I had any other profession, I might be able to cope with my infirmity; but in my profession, it is a terrible handicap’. Beethoven was depressed by his deafness, and withdrew more and more from society, as a way of hiding his condition. Yet still, in his melancholy and despairing state, he continued to compose with great speed. Between 1803 and 1812, he composed an opera, seven piano sonatas, six symphonies, six string sonatas, five string quartets, five sets of piano variations, four solo concerti, four overtures, four trios, two sextets and 72 songs.

Beethoven’s quirks and personal struggles have meant that he is known as someone with a unique character and some people are of the opinion that his huge fame can be partly attributed to his personality. Is this the case?

Although Beethoven was a distinctive individual, who intrigued many people, his musical success was due to so much more than his personality. Beethoven was partly responsible for initiating a whole new era of music.

As he was growing up, music was very homophonic, meaning only one line of melody was used, accompanied by harmonies which blended well with the music. This structure of music was traditional for the classical era and this music was usually very obviously tidily structured, meaning it was not such obviously emotive music.

Beethoven, however, did not abide by the traditional musical format but composed new and sentimental music, helping to create the change into the Romantic era. The name of the Romantic era came from using the word ‘romance’ to mean ‘a story’, and Beethoven’s compositions told a story. They are known for being emotionally charged, intense, full of passion and also quite loud, as Beethoven was going deaf! He based his music on all kinds 38

of things, including love, loneliness, religion and war. This means everyone can connect with his music as he manages to capture all human emotions and the human spirit and depict it in his music, taking his listeners on a roller coaster, stirring up all manner of feelings. After Beethoven’s first live concert, in which his First Symphony and one of his piano concertos were preformed, a brief account of it was published, which was likely to be written by Haydn’s friend, Georg August Griesinger. He said that is was ‘truly the most interesting concert in a long time’ and ‘the new symphony possessed considerable art, novelty, and richness of ideas’. And so, his grand musical accomplishments can define him as a hero on their own.

There is absolutely no doubt that Beethoven’s music is some of the best music to ever be written. However, he also had a very complex personality which drew much attention to him within and after his lifetime, and because of his reputation some argue his fame grew. From early on, Beethoven had many struggles: an abusive, alcoholic father, various illnesses, money troubles, and his headstrong personality, which made him very difficult to get on with. However, his flaws drew people to him, as he was of great interest to them. He was once thrown in gaol as he was alarming people by mumbling, stomping and having sudden outbursts in the street. The police refused to believe he was Beethoven and called him a tramp. Furthermore, he would not be put in his place. At dinners, he demanded to be seated with royalty, rather than with the other musicians at the cook’s table. Yet he would turn up in common clothes. This all contributed to the image of him as a wildly passionate, intense, talented composer, which was mirrored in his work, and put people even more in awe of him, even if they found him very rude. His hindrances, although an issue in his personal life, actually helped him achieve greatness as, even though they almost led to his suicide in 1802, his passion for music helped him through. He emerged even more determined, wild and unruly, deeply involved with his emotions and his personal religiosity, which helped him to create some of his most masterful and captivating pieces of music. So, from this you can say that his struggles and his personality, and his overcoming them, led him to produce his most famous work, and therefore made him a hero.

There are strong points for both sides, however, I believe that although he had a very distinctive personality, he would not be considered a hero without his exceptional musical talents. His natural aptitude for performance and his incredibly emotive compositions created his image, as much as his temper and personality did. His music was admired by so many and it was the uniqueness of it that made him a hero, and without it he would not be known. It is quite likely that people only tolerated his behaviour because of his musical achievements.

He pushed the boundaries of the traditional music, and helped society progress into the romantic era, which is another reason his music is responsible for his fame. However, I also believe that after his death, his personality and his struggles helped him stand out against the many other composers from around his time. In the period following his life, his differences intrigued many and he was admired for overcoming his struggles. This helped his popularity grow, as they loved the idea of the wild, suffering genius. Although this reputation has lasted to the present day, it added to his fame but was not responsible for his reputation as a hero.

Beethoven can actually be compared rather a lot with modern day celebrities. He was very famous in his time, and still is now, and there are some noticeable similarities between him and our current famous icons. For a start, he had a troubled childhood with an overbearing, alcoholic father who was a musician himself. Many stars today come from a similar background, for example, Halle Berry, who grew up very poor, and whose father was also an alcoholic and abusive. This can sometimes increase their popularity, as celebrities use their fame to speak out against these domestic issues. Beethoven also helped his society become more aware of it. Like his father, Beethoven also grew up to be an excessive drinker, partly due to growing up with the struggles of fame, which is a common path for celebrities to take. Daniel Radcliffe was an alcoholic, following his Harry Potter success. However, he has managed to become sober since, which shows there have been multiple links between childhood fame and later substance abuse since Beethoven’s time. One of Beethoven’s most commonly known character traits was his temper. Many modern celebrities seem to have that trait too! For instance, Jeremy Clarkson who has been known for swearing, throwing insults and fighting, which has actually drawn people towards him for his open, expressive behaviour, similarly to how Beethoven was treated. Another comparison to 39

be made between modern day celebrities and Beethoven is that lots of them have an image of some sort, which has increased their fame. With Beethoven, it was his temper, emotions and his flair, which is similar to Jeremy Clarkson’s. Very modern stars such as Billie Eilish, who can attribute almost all her fame to her gothic image, always wearing baggy clothes, which stands out against many other stars. Even though Beethoven didn’t really try to create his image and it was more a reflection of his personality, celebrities today who are unique and stand out from others who are trying to make it tend to have a lot more success, as they are more memorable and people feel they can get to know that person, and that is similar to how people felt about Beethoven.

Mr Twohig, Symphony 4 in B flat major

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The Effect of Pain and Suffering on Overall Musicality Helvetica Haydn Taylor (Re) Imagine spending every waking hour completely overwhelmed by physical pain, unable to ever be rid of it.

Well-known for being deaf, Ludwig van Beethoven suffered many continuing medical problems throughout his extremely productive existence. With his continually encroaching loss of hearing and still producing some of the most influential music of all time, it is clear to see that Beethoven was an extremely talented man. However, could this pain have actually improved his ability rather than dampened it?

In Beethoven’s time (1700s – 1800s) medical knowledge and healthcare was nowhere near where it is in today’s society: the general consensus was that illness and pain were due to a ‘miasma’ or evil spirit which needed to be removed to regain health. Let’s just say that if the coronavirus pandemic had occurred back then it would have been a very different story. Therefore, one person possessing multiple diseases as Beethoven did was not uncommon. Although, throughout the last 10 years of his life as he began to contract many more illnesses, Beethoven produced some of his most important and influential pieces. These included: ‘Ode to Joy’, the fourth movement of Symphony No. 9 and String Quartet No. 14, which he described as ‘one of his most elusive compositions’. Obviously, it is unclear as to whether there is a correlation between this sudden downfall in health and rise in musical success; however, there is definitely a clear trend.

This idea of suffering being a driving force for increased talent and creativity is usually thought of as the ‘tormented genius’ concept based on the idea that ‘great art comes from great pain.’ Beethoven amongst others such as Mozart and even more modern-day musicians could be best described as tormented genii. In my personal experience some of the most promising and talented musicians of my age suffer from extremely serious medical conditions. A friend of mine, for example, has lived with severe epilepsy for the majority of their life whilst still achieving musical diplomas and being destined for some of the most prestigious music colleges in the country.

When she plays, much like Beethoven, her music is arguably enriched with more emotion: this could have been achieved through great efforts of practice or simply through extreme talent. Nonetheless, it is clear to see that this pain affects her music, maybe giving her a greater sense of perseverance or emanating from the notes themselves.

Parallels can be found in the world of literature where many poets and writers can be seen as tormented geniuses such as Coleridge, Sylvia Plath and Virginia Woolf, all of whom suffered from varying mental illnesses.

There is great discussion about whether someone can be born with a natural musical talent or if it is a skill that must be taught. Beethoven is a poignant example of the nurture argument as he was taught piano, extremely strictly, by his abusive father. Although personally I believe that there is a third element to determine the outcome of one’s ability musically and in fact across all of the arts, this is of course the presence of hardship in one’s life. So many of the world-renowned composers were in fact ‘troubled’: Beethoven, Vivaldi, Mozart, Delius, Gershwin, Chopin and Wagner to name a few. Overall, we will never know the complicated mixture of aspects that influence musicality, but it is clear to see that within them must be a strong sense of the tormented genius.

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Sense and Sensibility: Beethoven, Goya and The Romantic Movement Mr Clayton (CR, Spanish Department) In June of 1868, a Spanish Romantic poet, Gustavo Adolfo Bécquer wrote in the introduction to his collection of poems and short stories, Rimas y Leyendas, that: ‘Por los tenebrosos rincones de mi cerebro, acurrucados y desnudos duermen los extravagantes hijos de mi fantasía, esperando en silencio que el arte los vista de la palabra para poderse presentar decentes en la escena del mundo.’

(In the darkest recesses of my mind, hunched and naked, lie the outlandish children of my creation, waiting in silence for Art to dress them in word, so that they can stand, in all decency, upon the world stage.)

The images of Art as protagonist, of creation as the patrician act of nurture, and the overarching sense of vulnerability, are typical of the Romantic movement, a movement born of a reaction to the tyranny of reason in The Enlightenment. This tyranny had brought great advances in Science, Philosophy, Mathematics, and, indeed, the Arts, but the feeling that order, reason and structure (social and aesthetic) superseded emotion, fantasy and the expression of the individual had lost traction in the wake of the French Revolution almost 100 years prior to Bécquer’s words. The Ancien Régime was crumbling across Europe, and the child that The Enlightenment had raised, one suckled upon the milk of enquiry, exploration and challenge to accepted scientific mores, had grown to shake the very walls of the edifice that had nurtured it. Political systems, social structures and accepted roles were to be scrutinised and redefined across all disciplines, and it began in Germany, towards the end of the eighteenth century, which is where Ludwig van Beethoven comes in.

Standing astride the world of eighteenthcentury music in Europe stood Mozart, a composer and performer of such prodigious talent to match that of Shakespeare, Velázquez, Dante and Newton.

He was, however, rooted in the classical tradition, like Haydn, and though Beethoven was an avid scholar of both and studied under them in Vienna, he spent his formative years in provincial Bonn, breathing the air of a burgeoning literary atmosphere. He read, among others, Schiller and Goethe, two giants of the day who espoused a creed of national identity, but with reverence for the individual. Goethe’s The Sorrows of Young Werther, published in 1774, was catalytic, creating the trope of the young man as protagonist in his own artistic narrative, one rooted in emotion, love and pain. Goethe was not a Romantic himself, in the same way that Christ was not Christian, but music, painting, literature and even politics were changed forever, with form and structure no longer jealous overlords of emotion, expression and fantasy.

The Suicide of Young Werther, 1774, engraving by W Friedrich In musical terms, Beethoven, too, was branching out. He took classical ideas from the Mannheim School in Bonn, staples such as the dramatic rise and fall of the piano and leaping arpeggios, and developed them to the 42

level of protagonist within his music, not embellishments of the structured whole. Music had been rooted in the tradition of song, with musicians relegated to supporting roles. What was only an occasional effect for Mozart and others influenced by the Mannheim composers was to remain a fundamental element for Beethoven and central to his musical personality, and was to help him toward the liberation of instrumental music from its dependence on vocal style. Mozart himself recognised Beethoven’s genius, stating, ‘this young man will make a great name for himself in the world’. But it was a world that was changing.

In France, the democratisation of knowledge, in Diderot’s Encyclopédie, and Voltaire’s evisceration of arrogant academic and philosophical certainty, Candide, had both prefigured what was to follow. So too had Goya, even while holding the position of First Painter to the King of Spain, whose brutally honest portraits of the royal house of Bourbon showed them in all their lumpen crassness. In 1799, his series of private etchings Los Caprichos had caused a sensation, heaping withering, microscopic criticism upon superstition, corrupt social norms and ignorance. His central motif is the plate El sueño de la razón produce monstruos (The Sleep of Reason Produces Monsters). While it may appear a philosophical nod towards the ideas of The Enlightenment, it is, in fact, a visceral attack upon the corruption of its ideals. Notice how the central character is the artist, wearied and slumped across his desk, with the outlandish children of the dark recesses of his mind slinking out, naked, inhuman upon the stage. Surely, these are the same children that in 1868 Bécquer would seek to clothe in words. Goya was to be seen as the father of modernism in the plastic arts, and bore more than superficial similarities in style, character and execution of his art to Beethoven.

El sueño de la razón produce monstruos, Los Caprichos, 1799.

Meanwhile, in England, this expressive fervour had given poets like Wordsworth the impetus to seek out new, spiritual meaning in nature, and Jane Austen’s 1811 publication of Sense and Sensibility turned a forensic eye upon the class structure and the sense of estrangement and alienation inherent within it. It pitted the societal conformity of façade decency against the pulsating exhilaration of passion and instinct. The urbanisation of society during the Industrial Revolution created a nostalgia for the bucolic, for the days of a more tranquil, more naïve, albeit recent past, one that never existed, in fact. Yet, there did exist a tension between the dynamic advances in science that facilitated social advancement and emancipation for some and the entrenched hierarchy of a politically and artistically conservative elite in the face of squalor, fear and disease for the many.

This would be the fertile soil for the Pre-Raphaelites some 40 years hence, but for now, the tensions, artistic and social, were mounting, and all the time a shadow was looming over the royal houses of Europe. The French Revolution of 1789 had ushered in a new era, with Church, Crown and the blunted, inbred aristocracies of Europe coming under increasing scrutiny, and, atop the flashing, white steed of revolution, brandishing the neo-classical swagger of Alexander the Great, sat Napoleon Bonaparte.

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So it was, then, that in the first decade of the nineteenth century, amid this maelstrom of academic, political and social insurrection, the young Beethoven premiered two of his most revolutionary works to elite Viennese society, where the classical elegance of Bach and Haydn were de rigueur. These were his Third Symphony (‘Eroica’) and his iconic Fifth. The ‘Eroica’, elevated the spirit through cascading arpeggios and its epic scale, stretching the boundaries of the symphony, while retaining a pastoral, Enlightenment elegance.

The Fifth crashed upon the audience, a revolution of form and function. Initially dedicated to Bonaparte, the Third cemented the concept of the heroic protagonist, the breaker of worlds. Before it could be premiered, however, Napoleon had declared himself Emperor, so angering Beethoven that he tore up the score, believing the general to have betrayed the high idealism of freedom from tyranny, merely replacing one tyrant with another. Nonetheless, both were received with open-mouthed awe. E. Hoffmann, a reputed critic of the day, was inspired by The Fifth: Radiant beams shoot through this region’s deep night, and we become aware of gigantic shadows which, rocking back and forth, close in on us and destroy everything within us except the pain of endless longing . . . . . . the soul of each thoughtful listener is assuredly stirred, deeply and intimately, by a feeling that is none other than that unutterable portentous longing, and until the final chord – indeed, even in the moments that follow it – he will be powerless to step out of that wondrous spirit realm where grief and joy embrace him in the form of sound.

Heroism, expressiveness, revolution and iconoclastic zeal, allied to creative spirituality, vulnerability and the ephemeral. A work for the age.

At this point, the tale turns inward upon two figures: Beethoven and Goya.

Both were fervent admirers of the neoclassical figure of Napoleon, a man who stood as iconoclast to the old order, and promised a liberation of the individual from inherited, aristocratic dominion. His army cut a swathe across the continent and deposed stale and sterile royal houses. In Spain, his brother, Joseph, ousted the inbred and corrupt house of Bourbon, pushing into exile the incompetent Carlos IV and his scheming wife, María Luisa, and her arrogant, all-powerful lover, Godoy, to whom she had given all three of the highest offices in the land. Goya, the King’s Painter, welcomed the invasion and continued in post to make portraits of the liberators and the old aristocracy alike. In this, some see hypocrisy and double-dealing, a Faustian compromise. However, for Goya, as for all artists of the day, penury was but a decommission away, and he did indeed curry favour with all sides. In this, his life mirrors that of the protagonists of Austen’s Sense and Sensibility, as social pragmatism and artistic individualism collide to create a claustrophobic tension within the artist Flight of The Witches, 1797-8

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himself. Nevertheless, he observed the horrors of the Peninsular War at first hand, and his Desastres de la Guerra etchings evince all his dismay and revulsion at the inhumanity of man to man. The etchings were intimate, personal, not for public consumption, but they trace a line back to his Caprichos, in their brutal honesty, darkness and despair. And it was a despair that had been brewing for many years. Like Beethoven, Goya was beset by deafness, and it was to define much of how they are both now perceived, as well as how they perceived the world.

Both Beethoven and Goya were cruelly estranged from the world, Beethoven by an encroaching deafness, Goya by a crippling tinnitus, a piercing, constant ringing in the ears. For both, the onset deprived them of a vital sense, not least Goya, whose art hinged upon a forensic observation of character, not merely external carapace. For Beethoven, the deafness was a challenge to confront, and his work became ever bolder, more epic, more challenging. He wrestled with his demons and faced them down. Beethoven brooked no compromise, and was so unswerving in The Witches’ Sabbath, 1798 his pursuit of authenticity, that he was able to acquire the unquestioning patronage of Viennese high society, able to live out his days in unfettered artistic indulgence. Indeed, he was the first musician to ever really acquire such freedom. Goya, however, was neither so resilient nor lucky. Whereas solitude had, for Wordsworth, represented a pastoral idyll, for Goya it was an imprisonment. Wordsworth muses,

For oft, when on my couch I lie In vacant or in pensive mood, They flash upon that inward eye Which is the bliss of solitude; And then my heart with pleasure fills, And dances with the daffodils.

(Wordsworth’s‘Daffodils’ 1804–07)

Turning inwards for Goya was a more harrowing affair. His despair and disdain for a world that, to his eyes, turned ever more grotesque fed a darkening alienation from it, and began to What a feat!, 1812-14

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The Uprising of the Second of May, Goya, 1814-14

clothe his own outlandish children of fantasy in nightmarish rags and brooding shadow, caught in a frozen frame of mystical flight, brutish revelling or inhuman cruelty.

Nevertheless, upon the return of the king to Spain in 1813, after the withdrawal of the occupying French, Goya created two of the world’s great paintings: The Second of May 1808, and The Third of May 1808, both homages to the bravery and heroism of the uprising of the common man against the French invaders on said days in 1808. It was, clearly, an attempt to ingratiate himself with the new monarch, Ferdinand VII, a cold and vindictive man, but they bear the hallmark of his great genius and, indeed, the spirit of the age.

The first has the epic, swirling dynamism of the uprising, all flashing colour, contorted limbs and whirling frenzy, but the action is frozen in the moment of greatest tension: a rebel, wields a dagger that is about to be plunged into the heart of a mameluke mercenary of the French invading force, eyes and teeth glaring white amid the chaos, as a fellow rebel begins to plunge a sword deep into the chest of the mameluke steed, in agony its head turning away into the chaos.

The day after the uprising came the reprisals, and a heroic, Christ-like figure stands transfixed in fear and defiance, as a faceless firing squad points its rifles to his exposed chest. All is darkness, but for the light emanating from the martyr’s white shirt and the lantern that casts the executors in dark shadow. The moment is crystallised, the tension unbearable, the pathos crushing. Two paintings of vulnerability, revolution, empathy and resolution, tinged with a sense of loss, estrangement and despair. Hoffman’s reaction to Beethoven’s Fifth seems uncannily appropriate:

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The Third of May, Goya, 1814

‘Radiant beams shoot through this region’s deep night, and we become aware of gigantic shadows which, rocking back and forth, close in on us and destroy everything within us except the pain of endless longing . . .’

In 1824, unable to reconcile himself to the new regime, and living under the constant threat of investigation for collaboration with the French, as well as for having created material critical of the Spanish monarchy, Goya, now in his seventies, removed himself to Bordeaux where he too could indulge the ’extravagant children’ of his fantasy. Free at last, he was able to explore and indulge his whim. However, released from the tensions of a world that both enticed and reviled, his art lost its intensity and its grandeur, if not its invention and caprice. Nevertheless, both artists stand as giants in the pantheon of those who have changed their respective fields. Both pushed the boundaries of form and structure, extending the accepted norms of content and style, and did so bereft of that most vital function, hearing.

While this loss of a sense seems to have come to define their uniqueness, it is how they turned this senselessness into a sensibility that binds 47

Beethoven with the manuscript for Missa Solemnis (detail; 1820), Joseph Karl Stieler.

The Death of Chatterton, Henry Wallis, 1856.

them. Both turned inward to express universal and intimate truths, both saw heroism and depravity and felt darkest despair, and both battled for true artistic and personal integrity, filling the air of Vienna and the walls of Spain with a palette, sonic and visual, that would change art, all art forever. In their portraits, painted only five years apart, the essence of the struggle is etched upon the faces of both men: Beethoven looks defiant, aggressive and resilient; Goya looks tired, yet unbowed.

As Romanticism took hold, the image of Young Werther, the tortured artist, became a trope for the mideighteenth century. The defining image of the era is, perhaps, Henry Wallis’s The Death of Chatterton, mourning the loss of the promising young poet who took his own life in a tragic mimicking of Werther. The pallid complexion and withered body play to the nostalgia of the Pre-Raphaelites in their medieval melancholy, postindustrial alienation and languishing despair.

The words of Bécquer can be seen to be draped in the finery of this melancholia, then, and to modern eyes and ears the Romantics can appear self-obsessed, indulgent and hyperbolic. To a degree, they were, or at least some were, but at the heart of the movement lay a dynamism, a creative spark, an irreverent rebellion that echoed through the nineteenth century and prepared the topsoil for the flowering of social justice, emancipation and modernism. At that heart is the legacy of Beethoven, and alongside it stands the spirit of Goya. Two very different men, from different worlds, but both, by turning inwards, mined the lodestone of humanity and redefined sense and sensibility for generations to come.

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Beethoven’s Love Letters Olivia Eversfield (L6) One of the greatest mysteries of the nineteenth century is who the unsent love letter of Ludwig van Beethoven was meant for. ‘Ever thine, ever mine, ever ours,’ these words have endured throughout history and have inspired various songs, plays and films. The letter was found amongst his things after he died without an address, name written, and only the dates 6th and 7th of July. There are many unanswered questions: was it ever sent and most importantly, who was this mystery woman? The identity of Beethoven’s ‘immortal beloved’ has perplexed historians for 200 years. Many women have been suggested as possibilities for his ‘immortal beloved.’ This 10page letter was later sold by Beethoven’s sister to the Berlin state library, where it remains today.

Schindler’s biography of Beethoven in 1840 named Julie (‘Giulietta’) Guicciardi as the ‘immortal beloved.’

However, there is much speculation that perhaps Schindler was told this information regarding Julie by her cousin, Franz von Brunsvik, to distract him from the possibility of it being his sister, Josephine Brunsvik. It is believed that Beethoven had been madly in love with Josephine from 1799 to around 1810. Also, a piano pupil, Dorothea von Ertmann, to whom he dedicated a sonata, and the singer Amalie Sebald match the date and location of the letter. Beethoven was on a physician-ordered medical retreat in the spa town of Teplitz, (now Teplice) as was Amalie in the summer of 1812. Despite this seeming extremely hopeful, his other known letters to her seem more like those to a friend. In 1909 La Mara published Teréz Brunszvick’s memoirs, which showed her complete adoration of Beethoven – this has led many people to believe that Teréz must be the one, her family was even interviewed. But of course, nothing was ever certain and the question of who it is still remains.

Daughters of Austrian diplomats, various piano students, friends’ cousins and sisters of those cousins have all been suggested; however, it will remain a great mystery.

It’s curious that Beethoven clearly loved women and there are many wildly colourful accounts of him and various lovers, however he could never make a relationship work. His friend F.G. Wegeler once wrote that ‘Beethoven was never out of love.’ He never married – perhaps the reason for this could be his dedication to his work or his increasing deafness. From his letters, many people see a side of him that is not often acknowledged, a glimpse of his romantic nature.

The letters reveal his emotional torment, proposing an assignation at a nearby location known only as ‘K,’ which historians believe was likely Karlsbad, now the Czech town of Karlovy Vary. Many historians believe the letter was never even sent, whilst others suggest it was simply another copy for him to cherish. Nevertheless, it was clearly significant to him as it was kept with him until his death in 1827 despite him moving for his career, on average, once a year. In the 1950s it was concluded that the watermarks and other visual clues suggest the definitive date of 1812.

It must be pointed out that this doomed affair coincided with the start of one of Beethoven’s darkest life periods in which he failed to compose any major work for numerous years. The last section expresses his acceptance that perhaps their great love was never meant to be, as he signs off with perhaps his most famous line: ‘Ever thine, ever mine, ever ours.’

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Translations of Meine Unsterbliche Geliebte (‘Immortal Beloved’) Sophia Pauls (L6) The following are extracts from a series of love letters translated by Sophia. They were written by Ludwig van Beethoven and found amongst his personal papers following his death in 1827. The identity of who the letters are addressed to is unknown and continues to generate debate.

(6. Juli, Morgens.)

Mein Engel, mein Alles, mein Ich- nur einige Worte heute, und zwar mit Bleistift- mit Deinem, erst bis morgen ist meine Wohnung sicher bestimmt, welcher nichtswürdige Zeitverderb in d(er)g(leichen)- warum dieser tiefe Gram, wo die Notwendigkeit spricht. Kann unsre Liebe anders bestehen als durch Aufopferungen, durch nicht alles Verlangen, kannst Du es ändern, dass Du nicht ganz mein, ich nicht ganz Dein bin. Ach Gott, blicke in die schöne Natur und beruhige Dein Gemüt über 48 Ludwig van Beethoven das Müssende. Die Liebe fordert alles und ganz mit Recht, so ist es mir mit Dir, Dir mit mir- nur vergisst Du so leicht, dass ich für mich und für Dich leben muss, wären wir ganz vereinigt, Du würdest dieses Schmerzliche ebenso wenig als ich empfinden… …Nun geschwind vom Innern zum Äußern, wir werden uns wohl bald sehen, auch heute kann ich Dir meine Bemerkungen nicht mitteilen, welche ich während dieser einigen Tage über mein Leben machte – wären unsre Herzen immer dicht aneinander, ich machte wohl keine d[er]g[leichen]. Die Brust ist voll, Dir viel zu sagen – ach – es gibt Momente, wo ich finde, dass die Sprache noch gar nichts ist. – Erheitre Dich – bleibe mein treuer einziger Schatz, mein Alles, wie ich Dir, das Übrige müssen die Götter schicken, was für uns sein muss und sein soll.

Dein treuer Ludwig.

(6. July, Morning.)

My angel, my everything, my own self – only a few words today, and those with Pencil – (with yours) – my apartment is only definitely fixed until tomorrow, what contemptable waste of time in such things. Why this deep woe, where necessity speaks – Can our love consist of something else than sacrifices, than by not demanding everything, can you change that you are not all mine, that I am not all yours – Oh, God, look upon beautiful nature and calm your mind to the inevitable. Love demands all and this righteously, that is how it is for me with you, you with me – only you forget so easily, that I must live for myself and live for you, were we wholly united, you would sense this painful feeling as little as I would . . . . . . We will likely see each other soon, today again I cannot convey my commentaries to you, which I have made during these last days about my life – were our hearts always closely together, I should not likely have made such.

The chest is full, to tell you much – oh – there are moments in which I find that language is truthfully nothing yet. Brighten up – remain my loyal and only treasure, my everything, as I am to you, the remainder must be sent by the Gods, what must and should be for us.

Your true Ludwig.

(6. Juli, Abend.)

Du leidest, Du mein teuerstes Wesen- eben jetzt nehme ich wahr, dass die Briefe in aller Frühe aufgegeben werden müssen. Montags- Donnerstags- die einzigen Tage, wo die Post von hier nach K. geht. Du leidest- ach, 50

wo ich bin, bist Du mit mir, mit mir, und Dir werde ich machen, dass ich mit Dir leben kann, welches Leben! so! ohne Dich- verfolgt von der Güte des Menschen hier und da, die ich meine- ebenso wenig verdienen zu wollen, als sie verdienen- Demut des Menschen gegen den Menschen- sie schmerzt mich- und wenn ich mich im Ludwig van Beethoven 49 Zusammenhang des Universums betrachte, was bin ich und was ist der- den man den Größten nennt- und doch- ist wieder hierin das Göttliche des Menschen- ich weine, wenn ich denke, dass Du erst wahrscheinlich Sonnabends die erste Nachricht von mir erhältst- wie Du mich auch liebst- stärker liebe ich Dich doch- doch nie verberge Dich vor mir- gute Nacht- als Badender muss ich schlafen gehen- ach Gott- so nah! so weit! ist es nicht ein wahres Himmelsgebäude, unsre Liebe, aber auch so fest, wie die Feste des Himmels.

(6. July, Evening.)

You suffer, you my most precious being – only now I have realised that all letters must be posted first thing early. Mondays – Thursdays – the only days in which the post goes from here to K. You suffer – oh, where I am, you are with me, with me, and I shall arrange that I can live with you, what life! In this way! Without you – haunted by the graciousness of the people here and there, whom I mean, seem to desire to earn as little as they earn – humility of man towards man – it pains me – and when I picture myself in connection with the universe, what am I and what is he who one calls the Greatest – and still – within this lies the divine in man. I weep when I think you will only receive my first message on Saturday – however you love – stronger I love you still – but never conceal yourself from me. Good night – I must go to bed at last – oh, God – so near! So far! Is it not a true building of heaven, our love but also so firm as the firmness of the sky.

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Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony Poppy Mcghee (Re) Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony is an extraordinary piece of music, one that most people would know by the opening four notes. The four-note motif varies and repeats throughout the whole symphony. It was composed during the years of 1804 and 1808 and was premiered at Vienna’s Theatre an Der Wien on the 22nd December 1808.

Beethoven’s Fifth is often also known as the Symphony of Fate. However, there is a question over whether Beethoven’s intention was really for the symphony to be about fate. The reason that the symphony bears this title can mostly be attributed to Beethoven’s secretary and biographer, Anton Schindler. He was said to have asked Beethoven about the opening motif and Beethoven replied, ‘this is the sound of fate knocking at the door.’

Some people do not totally believe this story of fate because it could be said that Schindler presented some of his relationship with Beethoven differently from how it actually was. Nine years before the quote came about, Schindler had written an article about Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony and what he understood from it. He talked about how he felt the music could be about a hero’s struggle with fate. This makes researchers suspicious about how genuine the quote is. Musicologist Michael Stuck-Schloen thinks that Beethoven (if the quote really came from him) might have only wanted to get rid of his intrusive biographer with this short unexplained answer!

However, what we do know for certain is that at the time Beethoven wrote the symphony, he was battling his own fate – hearing loss and tinnitus. This all started in 1798 and it took 16 years for him to become completely deaf. In 1802, in his will he wrote, ‘There is little holding me back from ending my own life. It is only art that is keeping me going’. At this time, Beethoven’s career as a concert pianist suffered and this made him all the more ambitious with his composing. He found new methods of being able to feel and hear his music.

Several of Beethoven’s past housekeepers remember that when his hearing was at his worst, he would sit playing the piano with a pencil in his mouth, pressed to the piano’s soundboard so he could feel the vibrations of the notes. Other stories recall that he sawed the legs off his pianos and sat on the floor to play to feel the vibrations resonating through the floor. Of course, we will never know for certain exactly what Beethoven did.

The start of the symphony is so famous that it has been quoted many times. Other composers, such as Rachmaninoff, have used the theme in their compositions. It has also frequently been used in popular culture, in genres from disco to rock and roll and in television and film.

The opening four notes have become a motif known to the world. Most people will know the opening, even if not by name. They became a key part of Europeans’ passive resistance to the Nazis during World War II. The ‘V’ for Victory campaign started in Belgium, encouraging people to use the letter ‘V’ as a symbol of resistance.

This was promoted by Winston Churchill who united it with raising his fingers in a ‘V’ sign. The day after, the BBC radio started listeners in Paris staging a ‘quiet knocking’ demonstration using the Fifth Symphony’s opening motif since the Roman numeral for five is ‘V’. Coincidentally, ‘V’ in Morse code is also ‘short, short, short, long’ as is the rhythm of the motif.

Soon after, the BBC started to use the four notes as the station’s catchphrase. The BBC also explained to listeners how they could play the motif themselves as a sign of resistance throughout Europe. Teachers would tap it out on blackboards, children could clap it and cars could beep it on their horns! Because of this, it has also been known as the ‘Victory Symphony’ ever since.

Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony was deemed so important to the human race that it was even included 52

Mr Twohig, Symphony 5 in C minor

on the Golden Disc launched into space in 1977 on the Voyager spacecraft. This disc is floating around the spacecraft, filled with audio and imagery meant to show off the creativity and intelligence of human life on Earth to any extra-terrestrial being that may discover it.

What we may conclude from this is how loved Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony is. There are many stories and questions which still need answering, such as exactly what Beethoven meant to portray within his music, and if we knew the answers to these questions, then we may be able to understand his music a lot better than we already do. But even without knowing, we can still enjoy this amazing work and reflect on the integral part that it has played in the history of the world, especially in WWII. Maybe one day, some being from another world will discover the symphony in space!

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Beethoven in Space Mr Tolputt (CR, Deputy Head Academic) If I were to ask you ‘What links Beethoven and Chuck Berry?’ you’d answer straight away. I know you would: ‘Chuck Berry’s ‘Roll Over Beethoven’, released in 1956’. For that extra sprinkling of Egghead flair, you’d tell me that it was ranked number 97 in Rolling Stone magazine’s 500 Greatest Songs of all Time. ‘Correct, but not the answer I’m looking for’, I’d say in my best Paxman.

‘Ah. In which case: Electric Light Orchestra’s 1973 cover of the song, which includes the ‘Da Da Da Dum’ opening to the Fifth Symphony, and which credits Chuck Berry/Ludwig van Beethoven as its songwriters’.

(Point of information: it is a TERRIBLE song ~ Point of question: Why are iconic excerpts from classical music always so overblown and shouty? Opening to Beethoven 5, opening to Greig Piano Concerto, Hallelujah Chorus, etc. It’s such a missed opportunity. Imagine if half of the country could sing along to ‘Yet Can I Hear that Dulcet Lay’? That would be so much better. Rant over.)

‘Correct, but still not the answer I’m looking for’. You’d pause and think.

‘Ah. I’ve got it. They are both floating in space’.

Voyager

In 1977 (the year I was born), the Voyager 1 and Voyager 2 space probes were launched. The plan was for them to potter about the solar system for a few years, visit a few planets, discover a few moons, take a few measurements (magnetic field, atmospheric composition, sheath-independent electron-density profiles, all the usual stuff…) and then disappear quietly. Perhaps unsurprisingly (given (a) if in doubt, things carry on doing what they’re already doing – Newton noticed this, and (b) the half-life of the Plutonium-238 powering the crafts’ generators is 88 years), Voyager 1 and Voyager 2 are still going strong. Slowly dying, yes (from timeto-time, various instruments pack up or are switched off), but – a bit like my grandfather in his final years – doggedly determined, and deeply inspirational. Again, like my grandfather, they are/were extraordinarily well 54

Family Portrait

built. In 2017, their onboard thrusters were tested for the first time in 37 years – THIRTY-SEVEN YEARS. They started first time. Of course they did.

Each is roughly the size and *weight of a Vauxhall Nova (ironically Spanish no va for: ‘Not Going’), and houses about 10 instruments (about half of which are either switched off or kaput, including the cameras).

The instruments and communication systems of each probe are powered by a Radioisotope Thermoelectric Generator (containing radioactive Plutonium pellets – you may remember those from the film The Martian with Matt Damon), which at launch had a power rating of 470 watts (but are now, 42 years later, down to about 150 watts). For comparison, my electric kettle (which admittedly is one of those fancy ones which glows blue) has a power rating of 3,000 watts. These probes are communicating information to Earth from beyond the solar system, with 5% of the power of the kettle in my kitchen.

Oh, yes. Sorry. I forget to mention. Both probes are now beyond the solar system. In fact, technically, they aren’t (the Oort Cloud, which they have yet to reach, contains comets gravitationally bound to the sun) but they are in interstellar space, which is good enough for me. The plan for Voyager 2 (launched before Voyager 1, obviously) was to visit Jupiter, Saturn, Uranus and Neptune. Voyager 1 just visited Jupiter and Saturn, and hence was quick to overtake its twin. Both journeys took advantage of a once-in-alifetime alignment of the four outer planets (the next is in the year 2153) which enabled a slingshot gravity-assist (for more info, watch The Martian) from all four; like dancing a cosmic do-si-do, they swing from one planet to the next.

The Voyager space program captured the poetry of space exploration like no other. It was Voyager 1 that took the Family Portrait sequence of photographs, 60 photographs that stitch together to form a single mosaic 55

Pale blue dot

image of the Jupiter, Earth, Venus, Saturn, Uranus, Neptune and the Sun. The last photo taken, that of the Earth, was thanks to the year-long badgering by Carl Sagan of NASA, who were reluctant to turn the probe back to face the start of its journey. It is this photo that is the most emblematic of all: the Pale Blue Dot – about which Carl Sagan wrote something deeply lovely. It moved me to tears when I first read it, so I shall include it in full (but by all means skip over…): Look again at that dot. That’s here. That’s home. That’s us. On it everyone you love, everyone you know, everyone you ever heard of, every human being who ever was, lived out their lives. The aggregate of our joy and suffering, thousands of confident religions, ideologies, and economic doctrines, every hunter and forager, every hero and coward, every creator and destroyer of civilization, every king and peasant, every young couple in love, every mother and father, hopeful child, inventor and explorer, every teacher of morals, every corrupt politician, every “superstar,” every “supreme leader,” every saint and sinner in the history of our species lived there-on a mote of dust suspended in a sunbeam.

The Earth is a very small stage in a vast cosmic arena. Think of the endless cruelties visited by the inhabitants of one corner of this pixel on the scarcely distinguishable inhabitants of some other corner, how frequent their misunderstandings, how eager they are to kill one another, how fervent their hatreds. Think of the rivers of blood spilled by all those generals and emperors so that, in glory and triumph, they could become the momentary masters of a fraction of a dot.

Our posturings, our imagined self-importance, the delusion that we have some privileged position in the Universe, are challenged by this point of pale light. Our planet is a lonely speck in the great enveloping cosmic dark. In our obscurity, in all this vastness, there is no hint that help will come from elsewhere to save us from ourselves.

The Earth is the only world known so far to harbor life. There is nowhere else, at least in the near future, to which our species could migrate. Visit, yes. Settle, not yet. Like it or not, for the moment the Earth is where we make our stand.

It has been said that astronomy is a humbling and character-building experience. There is perhaps no better demonstration of the folly of human conceits than this distant image of our tiny world. To me, it underscores our responsibility to deal more kindly with one another, and to preserve and cherish the pale blue dot, the only home we’ve ever known.

Earth was the last thing Voyager 1 saw. 34 minutes after the photo was taken, the camera was switched off and she became forever blind.

Voyager 2 has a decent CV too, including the discovery of 11 moons of Uranus: Cordelia, Ophelia, Bianca, Cressida, Desdemona, Juliet, Portia, Rosalind, Belinda, Puck and Perdita (starter for 10: which isn’t a Shakespeare character?), and two of its rings. Other discoveries include the first active volcanoes beyond Earth (on Jupiter’s moon Io), hints of a subsurface ocean (on Jupiter’s moon Europa), the most Earth-like atmosphere in the solar system (on Saturn’s moon Titan) and ice-cold geysers (on Neptune’s moon Triton).

But what about Beethoven? Ah yes. Good point.

The Golden Record. No point in sending a probe into space without including a message for all the 1970s-record-player-owning extra-terrestrials that are bound to stumble upon it. But the message should probably be written on gold because the Voyager is great and so is gold. Actually, the record is gold-plated copper, 56

and the ‘sleeve’, which contains a coded instruction manual, is aluminium electroplated with Uranium-238 (with a half-life of four billion years – built to last…).

Carl Sagan summed it up nicely: The spacecraft will be encountered and the record played only if there are advanced spacefaring civilizations in interstellar space, but the launching of this ‘bottle’ into the cosmic ‘ocean’ says something very hopeful about life on this planet.

The record includes photographs (including a creepy one of three people eating and drinking in a weirdly sexual way, and another one of a woman in a supermarket eating grapes which she clearly hasn’t paid for yet). There are two messages: Per Aspera Ad Astra (through adversity to the stars, the NASA motto) written in Morse code, and one from Jimmy Carter: This is a present from a small, distant world, a token of our sounds, our science, our images, our music, our thoughts and our feelings. We are attempting to survive our time so we may live into yours.

There are sounds (footsteps, laughter, a baby crying), there are brain waves (the record includes a ‘recording’ of author Ann Druyan thinking about stuff – Earth’s history, the different problems faced by different civilisations, what it is like to fall in love…), and, of course, music.

The record includes music from many country and cultures. Of Western Classical music they went for Bach, Mozart, Stravinsky, Holborne (a jaunty 16th Century hemiola-laced galliard called ‘The Fairie Round’), and Beethoven: the first movement of his Fifth Symphony, complete with shouty opening, and the fifth movement of his String Quartet No. 13 in B♭ major, (which is gorgeous and not shouty at all).

And pop/blues/jazz… Blind Willie Johnson, Louis Armstrong, and, of course, Chuck Berry (‘Johnny B. Goode’ – ranked number 7 in Rolling Stone magazine’s 500 Greatest Songs of all Time. ‘Jonny B. Goode’ was almost vetoed for being too ‘adolescent’, but Sagan pushed it through with the justification: ‘there are lots of adolescents on this planet’.

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So there we are.

Like star-crossed lovers (or, perhaps, star-crossing lovers), Beethoven and Berry, the two great Bs of Western Civilisation, will, forever (or least until they fall delightedly into the arms of a pointy-headed alien cryptographer nerd with a passion for 1970s HiFi gear) soar through the **endless cosmos.

What a lovely thought. *On Earth **It isn’t endless

Mr Twohig, Symphony 5 in C minor

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First Steps…

Mr Dukes (CR, Artistic Director) Looking back on it now it was a significant moment. At the time it just ‘happened’, and I didn’t really think too much of it: after all, I was only six years old.

I come from humble roots: I grew up in a pleasant suburb of Birmingham in a semi-detached house as an only child, but with two very loving parents. Music was important to them, so I suppose it was only a matter of time before they wanted to share that passion with me.

Sunday night was usually LP night. I would get ready for bed and Dad would set up the system. In those days that amounted to one of those old HMV record players which have now come back into fashion, and it had a charm and quirkiness about it which made it rather endearing. You popped the record on the top of the spike, pressed the button and it dropped into place and off you went. It didn’t seem to matter too much that the turntable wasn’t entirely even and therefore the pitch was slightly variable. . .

Although there was a fine selection of records to choose from, I only ever chose one and it was always the same one. That Sophie Smith (L6), Violin was the beginning of a beautiful relationship with the Violin Concerto by Beethoven which to this day remains one of my Desert Island Discs - in fact, I’d go further – it is my chosen one above all others.

It’s a mighty work. Many years later, one of my General Musicianship teachers at the Guildhall School of Music and Drama (who shall remain nameless) referred to it once as ‘no more than a series of scales’. I can’t quite work out whether he was just trying to provoke me or whether he genuinely meant it, but either way he is wrong. From the opening solo timpani notes of the first movement, through the sublime G minor section in the same movement, via the exquisite slow movement and the joy and bounce of the Rondo Finale, it has everything you would wish for in the search for that ultimate emotional experience. If you add to that the options available in the first movement cadenza (look no further than the Joachim version) that experience is infinitesimal.

Going back to that old first LP of my childhood, which is now available in more modern formats, that particular recording is still my favourite over and above all others that I’ve heard and witnessed both pre-recorded and live. The version to which I refer is by the eminent Polish violinist Henryk Szerying with the Concertgebouw Orchestra. His majestic and highly expressive playing is ideally suited to this masterpiece and I’m sure if Beethoven could have heard his rendition he would have been truly inspired and uplifted. The distinguished English composer Benjamin Britten was famous for insisting that artists should always be at the service of the composer and Szerying does just that, and because the work itself is so utterly compelling and a work of genius, by a genius, the result for the listener is simply stunning.

If you haven’t listened to either the concerto itself, or that particular version, I urge you to do so. It will change your life forever. So, thank you Mr Szerying, but above all thank you, Herr Beethoven.

Oh, and by the way . . . happy 250th birthday!

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1808 - 1815 THE PASTORAL AND THE FOREIGN From the 6th to Wellington’s Victory

Mr Twohig. Symphony 7 in A major

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How was Beethoven’s Sixth Symphony– ‘Pastoral Symphony’ – instrumental in catalysing the Romantic Programmatic movement of the nineteenth century?

Rose Olver (L6) Completed in 1808, Beethoven’s Sixth Symphony or the ‘Pastoral’ Symphony as it is known, was first performed on 22nd December of the same year at the Theatre an der Wien in Vienna. The symphony consists of five movements, each of which was given a specific programmatic title relating to the various pastoral scenes depicted. A lover of nature himself, Beethoven often left Vienna to seek inspiration in rural locations, thus it is no surprise that he named the first movement accordingly as the ‘Awakening of cheerful feelings on arrival in the countryside’. Yet, while this symphony was a triumph in its own right, this piece in particular – in conjunction with additional factors of the evolving socio-political climate of the late-eighteenth century – changed the course and form of Western music.

Programmatic music is defined as a type of instrumental music that attempts to provide an additional musical narrative, offered to the audience via the piece’s title or programme notes in order to stimulate imaginative correlations to the music. The term exclusively applies to instrumental music, excluding the likes of opera or lieder. While this seems to be rather an arduous term, it essentially refers to music that has been externally and obviously influenced by either nature or literature for example. The notion of programme music, or music that contains programmatic elements, has been around since the Renaissance and Baroque eras; Martin Peerson’s ‘The Fall of the Leafe’ or perhaps more obviously Vivaldi’s Four Seasons concerti being sound illustrations of early programmatic music. However, it was not until the latter stages of the eighteenth century and the nineteenth century that this style of music properly flourished, giving source to a contemporary wave of compositions which are now defined to be categorised as the Romantic Programmatic movement.

The new century saw an increasing nonconformity of motives for instrumental music, in which musical works were far more influenced by external, non-musical factors – politics, philosophies or people for instance – than the ‘absolute music’, of the previous Classical era. This sentiment developed throughout the nineteenth century, culminating into a period of high romanticism which subsequently saw the rise of nationalistic feelings in music, epitomised by pieces such as Sibelius’s Finlandia of 1899, to feelings of the arbitrary, illustrated by works like Strauss’s Symphonie Domestique. Yet, this growth in the programmatic style can but only be attributed to Beethoven and his pioneering Symphony No.6, in which not only pastoral influence is paramount, but where passion and emotion become the dominant figures expressed throughout the piece. Indeed, Beethoven himself said of this work that it was ‘more an expression of feeling than tone-painting’. Thus, it seems that although rather reluctant to harbour this new proto-romantic style of programmatic music, Beethoven’s genius proved far too influential for his contemporaries such as Berlioz, Liszt and Strauss who heralded the evolution of the Romantic symphonic style.

In the previous half-century of the Classical era, what we now understand as the Wiener Klassik or ‘Viennese Classical style’ of composition was prevalent in the context of the ‘First Viennese school,’ namely through the works of such composers as Mozart, Haydn and Beethoven.

Whilst most musicologists place the end of this period in 1827 – Beethoven’s death – it is widely accepted that Beethoven was not solely a Classical composer, instead bridging the divide of Classical and Romantic periods. Yet, the question still remains of the nature of this transition. One argument suggests that the tumultuous socio-political climate of Vienna and indeed that of Germany and Austria, in conjunction with philosophical reactions against the rationalism of the age of Enlightenment, created a multi-ethnic environment through which diverging musical styles could coincide. Therefore rendering an inevitable evolution to more romantic 61

sentiments. The French revolution of 1789–95 and the subsequent Napoleonic wars also contributed hugely to the growing European unrest and stance against the forms of rationalism. In consequence, much of the European monarchies feared notions of radicalism and thus enacted a suppression of such ideas. For example, Francis II of Austria, supported by his Chancellor Klemens von Metternich, established an extensive network of police spies and implemented censorship of the press in the late-eighteenth century, in order to hinder any cells of Frenchlike rebellion. In the context of late Classicism in literature and music the movement of Sturm und Drang was seen to be overtly radical and was thus prohibited, illustrated by the prohibition of Friedrich Schiller’s play The Robbers in 1781 and the delayal of its Viennese premier until 1808.

In relation to the Romantic era, this movement of Sturm und Drang – arguably programmatic in nature – could perhaps also be considered as a potential influence of the Romantic Programmatic movement. Yet, while this style became very apparent within the later works of Haydn, observable in his Symphony No. 45, ‘Farewell’ for instance, he was still very much adhering to the classical form. It was not until Beethoven, who strove to break away from strict adherence to the traditional classical styles such as the sonata form, that Western music began to profoundly change and develop into romantic style that is identifiable today. Beethoven’s Symphony No. 5 is a prime example of his innovations; categorised by the Austrian musicologist Guido Adler - alongside other notable works such as the ‘Pathétique’ piano sonata and his Symphony No. 6 – as ‘transitional’ works, these pieces are regarded to be fundamental in the shift from the Classical to romantic styles. This change is characterised by greater melodic lyricism and emphasis on the quality of emotion often portrayed through increasing use of programmatic elements.

In his Sixth Symphony Beethoven’s utilisation of programmatic techniques are abundant throughout. The second movement, Andante molto mosso ‘scene by the brook,’ contains a cadenza for the woodwind in which Beethoven actually identifies bird species on the score to be ‘played’ by the flute (nightingale) oboe (quail) and clarinet (cuckoo). Such tangible sounds of nature seem perfectly apt in capturing the essence of the pastoral scene, both physically and evocatively. This movement in particular brings to mind Vivaldi’s ‘Spring’ concerto from his Four Seasons where Vivaldi similarly uses programmatic motifs played by the violin soloist and orchestra in order to illustrate the sounds of spring birdsong.

Earlier in the same movement, the motifs played by the strings are indicative of flowing water, and, illustrating just how great a reach Beethoven has had on Western classical music, calls to mind the beginning of Smetana’s tone-poem ‘Vltava’, from the collection Má Vlast (1874-1879) in which a related programmatic motif is played by the woodwind in order to depict the flowing of the Vltava river at its source in the Czech Republic. It is interesting to note the transformation of the context and development of such programmatic elements. While Beethoven used this motif to illustrate cheerful feelings of the pastoral scene, Smetana has telescoped this idea almost eighty years later, using programmatic features to accentuate nationalistic and patriotic sentiments within the music.

While a vast number of composers have been influenced by the genius of Beethoven, Hector Berlioz perhaps remains his most dedicated advocate. He was greatly influenced by Beethoven, as seen in this excerpt in a letter to a friend written on the 11th January 1829, ‘Now that I have heard this terrifying giant Beethoven, I know what stage musical art has reached, and the aim is to take it from there and push it further… not actually further, that is impossible, he has reached the limits of art, but as far in another direction’. This influence can be seen in many of his works; however, most noticeably in his Symphonie Fantastique (1830) which presents the story of a young artist who is caught in the extremities of unrequited love. The third movement specifically can be paralleled with the V movement of Beethoven’s ‘Pastoral’ Symphony. In Berlioz’s movement, programmatically titled ‘Scène aux Champs,’ or, ‘scene in the fields,’ the protagonist hears two shepherds dialoguing with their Kuhreihen across the valleys, which is represented by a simple melodic duet between a Cor anglais and an off-stage oboe. In a strikingly similar manner, in Beethoven’s V movement, ‘Shepherd’s song. Cheerful and thankful feelings after the storm,’ emphasises a simplistic eight-bar theme to programmatically represent the song of thanksgiving.

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In both symphonic movements, reference to the idealised pastoral idyll of the Golden Age first described by the ancient Greek philosopher Hesiod in his didactic poem Works and Days, can be found. Through programmatic features both composers manage to perfectly convey such pathos of human vulnerability and nostalgia. Yet, again, we can observe how this romantic idea of programmatic music has been transformed through time.

While in Beethoven’s Symphony No. 6 he utilised programmatic motifs to represent physical sounds of nature, the development of his ground-breaking musical ideas have rendered Berlioz to collectivise both literary and idealistic themes culminating in the representation of not only physical sound, but the abstract idea of nostalgia and the affliction of unrequited love.

It is no exaggeration to identify Beethoven as one of the most important figures of Western Classical music. His innovative and ingenious development of the Wiener Klassik of the first Viennese school to the domineering triumph of his truly Romantic symphonies could doubtfully ever be achieved by any other.

Whilst hugely influential in influencing the shift of Classical forms to the Romantic style, perhaps aided also by European socio-political unrest, it was Beethoven’s pioneering use of programmatic elements within his music which ultimately catalysed the burgeoning of the Romantic Programmatic movement. It was this vast influence and dominance of style which enabled the growth of such a broad movement throughout the nineteenth century and into the twentieth century. Beethoven is almost unrivalled in his ability to influence so vast a change in the course of Western Classical music, and thus, it seems apt that we should all remember him as the revolutionary figure that he was.

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Can Beethoven’s Pastoral Symphony and Gide’s La Symphonie Pastorale soothe a troubled world?

Andrea Keighley (CR, French Department) At times during the coronavirus lockdown, I have felt guilty that here in Marlborough we have been able to spend it surrounded by such beauty. Often during this period of isolation, I have woken early enough to watch the sun rise from the top of MC’s pitches; the incredible sense of stillness and peace, accompanied by the rising trill of birdsong, made it so easy to forget that the world was in the grip of a pandemic. It may sound sentimental, but watching the rising sun colour the world fills me with the same joy and sense of peace I derive from listening to the first movement of Beethoven’s Sixth Symphony and the increasingly animated birdsong at dawn is reminiscent of its second movement, which Beethoven called ‘Scene by the brook’. How can a world so full of beauty, be it music or the splendour of nature, be so full of fear and illness as it is now? In André Gide’s, La Symphonie Pastorale (published 1919), a Protestant pastor gives refuge to an orphaned young woman who was born blind and dedicates himself to educating her. Struggling to explain colours and shades, which of course, she (Gertrude) has never seen, he takes her to hear a performance of Beethoven’s Sixth Symphony, otherwise known as the ‘Pastoral’ Symphony: . . . the shades of reds and orange likened to the sound of the horns and trombones; the yellows and the greens like those of the violins, cellos and double bases; the violets and the blues suggested by the clarinets and oboes. A sort of inner rapture now took the place of her doubts . . .

For a long time after we had left the concert hall, Gertrude remained silent, as though lost in ecstasy.

‘Is what you see really as beautiful as that?’

‘As beautiful as what, my dear?’

‘As that ‘scene by the brook.’.

The pastor did not reply immediately as he was ‘reflecting that those ineffable harmonies painted the world as it might have been . . . rather than the world as it really was’. He tries to shield Gertrude from all that causes unhappiness, but in doing so he himself becomes blind to the harm he is doing; he neglects his wife and family, banishes his own son who has fallen in love with Gertrude and above all refuses to accept that he is in love with her. In the end, Gertrude’s sight is restored to her and although she sees that the world is even more beautiful than she imagined, she is also able to see the unhappiness on the faces of the pastor’s wife and family.

She realises that the world is not perfect. Beethoven never pretended that all was ‘sweetness and light’ though and the fourth movement of the Pastoral symphony, known as ‘the Storm’, cuts into the languid peace like an explosion. In many ways, this pandemic has caused a storm of horror, but unlike Gide’s tragic story which ends with Gertrude taking her own life, Beethoven’s Sixth (or ‘Pastoral’) Symphony ends with an incredibly beautiful movement named ‘Shepherds Song: Thankful feelings after the Storm.’ I sadly do not know enough about music to describe in accurate detail how Beethoven achieves this spine-tingling spiral of notes that hits highs and lows but I do know that I believe this sad storm of coronavirus will soon end and the world , as flawed as it is, will continue to offer beauty and music. Gide’s use of the word ‘pastorale’ is a brilliantly clever play on words as pastoral can either mean spiritual guidance or can refer to pastures and an idealised vision of country life. Be it faith or music, a love of literature or our amazingly beautiful landscape, I am sure that, like Beethoven’s ‘Pastoral’ Symphony, we shall feel ‘Thankful feelings after the Storm’ . . . and indeed even during it, if we keep our eyes on all that is good in our world.

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French quote: Les colorations rouges et orangées analogues aux sonorités des cors et des trombones, les jaunes et les verts à celles des violons, des vioncelles et des basses ; les violets et les bleus rappelés ici par les flûtes, les clarinettes et les hautbois. Une sorte de ravissement intérieur vint dès lors remplacer ses doutes …..

Longtemps après que nous eûmes quittés la salle de concert , Gertrude restait encore silencieuse et comme noyée dans l’extase.

- Est-ce que vraiment ce que vous voyez est aussi beau que cela ? dit-elle enfin.

- Aussi beau que quoi, ma chérie ?

- Que cette « scène au bord du ruisseau » Je ne lui répondis pas aussitôt , car je réfléchissais que ces ineffables peignaient non point le monde tel qu’il était , mais bien qu’il aurait pû être

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Beethoven’s Pastoral Symphony and the Challenge of Climate Change Dima Montanari (Sh) Beethoven, whose deep love of nature inspired him to write the Pastoral Symphony, would be turning in his grave if he listened to Claire Perry O’Neill’s eloquent but alarming speech to the Marlborough College community on 28th April, because today nature is under unprecedented threat and mankind is on course to destroy his environment unless really urgent action is taken.

But the great German composer might take a little comfort from the launch in 2017, at the Bonn UN World Climate Change Conference (COP 23), of the Beethoven Pastoral Project, an initiative welcomed by the UN Secretary General. Its purpose was to inspire artists around the world to take a stand on climate change, inviting them to come forward and give their own rendition of Beethoven’s Sixth Symphony, which depicts the harmonious unity between nature and mankind. The plan was for the artists to perform at concerts on 22nd April and 5th June this year, to coincide with Earth Day and UN World Environment Day. It was also an opportunity to celebrate the 250th anniversary of Beethoven’s birth. Sadly, COVID-19 has led to the cancellation of nearly all events. It is not clear if any online concerts will take place instead.

Mr Twohig, Symphony 6 in F major

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Impressions of Beethoven’s Sixth (‘Pastoral’) Symphony Lara Rusinov (Sh) After listening to the complete symphony, I am left in the most serene state of mind, with an air of happiness which I picked up while listening. I think this is a truly remarkable piece of music, and I could listen to it over and over again.

The 1st movement, ‘Happy Arrival’ begins in a calm manner, though joyous. As I listen, I’m already waiting for the arrival. The beginning of this symphony makes me feel as if I am walking through the dewy grass on a warm spring morning. The birds wait amongst the branches for the arrival too. I believe the repeated melody signifies the arrival, where the music flows so gracefully. Listening made me feel as if I was transported into a Jane Austen novel. This is interesting as this symphony was composed in 1808, which was at the end of the classical era, the time of Jane Austen. Later on in the symphony, it suggests a little more of the Romantic style than the 1st movement, which I think is more classical in style. This shows how Beethoven really was at the turning point of these two periods.

‘By the Brook’, II, is much more peaceful and relaxed than the first movement. I can see the gushing waterfall as the flowing melody soars over it. I can really feel the peace of nature in this movement. The use of the flute and its light trills reminds me of water creatures playing near a pond, or brook. It is life-enhancing, as we can feel and hear so much nature around us in the music.

Furthermore, the 3rd movement, ‘Merrymaking’ starts very joyfully and playfully. My initial thought was of gathering crops for harvest after a successful year. There is also an air of preparation and celebration. Beethoven manages to make his music feel so untroubled and joyful. This movement is faster, meaning that it feels much livelier as a result.

The ‘thunderstorm’ movement is brief, but it definitely doesn’t lack action! It is very frantic, and it sounds as if everyone is unprepared. Funnily enough it sounds rather like the coronavirus! The virus reflects this thunderstorm on a much larger scale. The climax of the movement is the piercing piccolo note, where the storm rages on for a little while more, before calming.

Finally, the last movement of this symphony is called ‘Shepherd’s Song’ and starts with a very distinctive horn, waking the world after the storm. It is a call for rejoicing and thankfulness now the storm has passed.

Also, I think it really signifies the happiness of when something bad passes. This is so relevant for us now with coronavirus, it shows us there is light at the end of the tunnel and that everything will be OK. I thoroughly enjoyed this epic symphony and recommend it to others. Beethoven must have loved the natural world to have composed this, and I believe he is trying to take us on a journey through nature.

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Beethoven in the Memorial Hall: The Appassionata Piano Sonata and the Pastoral Symphony Mr Brown (CR, Head of Modern Languages) In the first two Marlborough College Concert Society (MCCS) performances of 2020, two of Beethoven’s works have been performed in the Mem Hall by visiting professional musicians. Below are the programme notes that have accompanied these performances.

The first occasion was on nineteenth January, when pianist Martin Roscoe performed the Piano Sonata No. 23 in F minor, op. 57, nicknamed ‘Appassionata’.

I. Allegro assai II. Andante con moto III. Allegro ma non troppo The Sonata No. 23 in F minor was written between 1804 and 1805. One of Beethoven’s greatest and most technically challenging piano sonatas, it is an appropriate piece with which to mark the start of this 250th anniversary year of the composer’s birth. Beethoven himself was clearly proud of his achievement, describing it as a ‘brilliantly executed display of emotion and music’. Its nickname (meaning ‘Passionate’ in Italian) was applied some years after Beethoven’s death and seems to point to an intense struggle between the darker forces of nature and the power of man to overcome them. These darker forces may well be the progressive deafness which by 1804 had already become apparent: we may find in this tempestuous sonata statements of revolt and passion in the face of the ordeal which Fate has cruelly decreed will be this master musician’s lot.

The first movement Allegro assai starts with a strong theme which descends low in the minor before rising with power in an associated major key. Contrasting this is a short, low motif which seems to hint at dark forces of destiny and foretell the famous opening of the Fifth Symphony (Fate knocking at the door?), composed shortly afterwards. The second theme of the movement then makes its appearance, rhythmically similar to the first, but calm and assured, confidently contrasted to the first though linked to it and so providing, as Peter Gutmann notes, an extraordinary sense of unity in a work of such widely changing moods.

The second movement, Andante con moto, begins with a warm toned theme (hardly a melody) which suggests tender kindness. As the movement progresses through four variations, we are, however, reminded of a wider atmosphere of struggle and passion, before two dramatic chords take us into the moto perpetuo of the final movement, Allegro ma non troppo. This is a complex and highly charged movement, breathtaking and full of energy for life. While the final victory seems in no way assured, perhaps the real human triumph lies in the phenomenal outpouring that is unleashed as the sonata drives on to the final cadence which we have, up to now, been denied. This is music of the emotions that in 1805 had been neither written nor played nor heard before.

At one performance by Beethoven, he is said to have had an assistant standing by whose job it was to prise away the broken strings as the maestro pounded the instrument into submission!

The second Beethoven performance was given on 8th March by Southbank Sinfonia, conducted by Simon Over. Included in their orchestral concert was the Symphony No. 6 in F major op. 68, nicknamed the ‘Pastoral’: I. Erwachen heiterer Empfindungen bei der Ankunft auf dem Lande (Awakening of cheerful feelings on arrival in the countryside) II. Szene am Bach (Scene at the brook) III. Lustiges Zusammensein der Landleute (Merry gathering of country folk) IV. Gewitter, Sturm (Thunder, storm) V. Hirtengesang. Frohe und dankbare Gefühle nach dem Sturm (Shepherd’s song. Cheerful and thankful feelings after the storm) 68

Beethoven completed his Sixth Symphony in 1808, and it received its first performance in Vienna on 22 December 1808 in a legendary four-hour concert in which his Fifth Symphony and G major Piano Concerto were also premiered. Since the time of its composition it has been known as the ‘Pastoral’ Symphony. Beethoven was a lover of nature and spent much time on country walks: in addition, he frequently left Vienna to work in the countryside. His intention in this symphony is to share these experiences with the listener, ‘more the expression of feeling than painting’, as he wrote at the start of the manuscript. The work has five movements, rather than the typical four of the Classical era, and, unusually for Beethoven, each is given a title.

The first movement, marked Allegro ma non troppo, sets a placid and cheerful mood, as the composer arrives in the country. Natural sounds tend to be repetitive, and Beethoven reflects this with an orchestral texture is built up through multiple repetitions of very short motifs. As the music moves into second subject, woodwind chuckles capture the ‘cheerful feelings’ of the programmatic title. The development builds in vigour, before the triplet figure of the coda vanishes into the air. Six unexpectedly loud chords precede an ending as quiet and innocent as the opening.

The second movement, Andante molto mosso, opens with the strings playing a motif imitating flowing water. Towards the end of the movement, a cadenza for woodwind instruments imitates bird calls: Beethoven even identifies the three species in the score – nightingale (flute), quail (oboe) and cuckoo (two clarinets). These calls are an essential part of the movement, for Beethoven has extended his vision beyond the ceaseless flow of the brook to a sense of the ageless movement and sounds of all nature.

The third movement, marked Allegro, depicts country folk dancing and revelling and is a scherzo in 3/4 time. Here is Beethoven in humorous mood – the bassoon, in the hands of (we imagine) a rustic performer, seems at times uncertain how many notes to play and exactly when to play them. Later, the oboe nearly misses its entry! The trio appears twice, rather than the more usual single appearance (the dancers carried away with their own enjoyment, perhaps?), and at the final return of the main theme a faster tempo evokes a riotous atmosphere – so much so that everyone is caught unawares by an approaching storm, the movement ending abruptly and leading without a pause into the fourth movement.

The fourth movement, Allegro, depicts the violent thunderstorm, starting with a few raindrops and building to a huge climax (marked by the entry of the trombones) with thunder, lightning, high winds and sheets of rain, before the storm slowly dies away. With an occasional peal of thunder still heard in the distance, the oboe sings a radiantly beautiful phrase, and a rising scale passage in the flute leads quietly into the final movement.

The finale, Allegretto, opens with first the clarinet and then the horn playing a yodelling call, which heralds the innocently happy theme of this rondo movement. A tender transition theme leads back to an embellished version of the rondo tune. With the gentle flow of the music steadily maintained, the movement ends with an individual and inspired touch: a muted horn echoes the yodelling notes from the start of the movement, when suddenly two loud chords interrupt the peace and bring the symphony to a close. As we reflect on the beautiful timelessness of what Beethoven has unfolded for us in these five movements, the words of Sir Donald Tovey (1875 – 1940) seem apt, when he writes that this music ‘has the enormous strength of someone who knows how to relax.’

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A Bit About Pianos Oliver Chessher (L6)

The Piano. Arguably the most complex and versatile instrument the world had ever seen up until around 90 years ago when it was dethroned by its successor, the electric keyboard. With the invention of synthesizers electric keyboards would soon be able to produce just about any sound that could be recorded, but there was a problem, they struggled to imitate existing instruments.

I’ll start off by doing my best to describe how a grand piano works. A piano is a stringed percussion instrument and on a grand piano the strings are what give it its distinctive shape. Lower pitch notes have fewer, thicker and longer strings and the contrary for the higher notes on the right, and the mechanisms responsible for striking these strings and the ones that control the quality and duration of the sound are simply fascinating.

Striking the string isn’t as simple as it may seem, as the part that strikes the strings (the hammer) has to only use its own momentum to hit the string as it cannot rest on it, for it will dampen the sound.

Sophie Smith (L6) Beethoven’s piano

However, the hammer needs to be pushed for as far as possible before hitting the string to give the player as much control as possible. This poses the problem of the hammer bouncing off the part that pushed it (the jack) once it has hit the string, possibly hitting the string a second time. A string damper and other moving pieces have to be controlled and, and all of these wood, metal and felt parts are moved perfectly in sync with each other to stimulate a string to vibrate at the desired amplitude and for the desired duration, all by just pressing a key.

Now imagine that multiplied by 88, the number of keys on a piano.

Another form of controlling the sound of a piano is through use of its pedals. Starting on the left, the una corda pedal shifts the keys, and all the parts mentioned above, to the right. This will make the hammer strike only two of the three strings found on medium/high pitched notes as the lower notes only have one or two strings they will not be affected.

The middle pedal known as the sostenuto pedal holds up the dampers of played notes letting those notes be heard until the pedal is released meanwhile other notes can be played normally. It does this by rotating a bar which catches a piece of felt on the raised dampers.

The final pedal raises all dampers regardless of whether keys are pressed or not. This pedal is known as the sustain pedal. Even though it raises all dampers, the very highest notes are unaffected as they do not have any dampers because their sound fades away quickly.

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Referring back to the very first paragraph, synthesizing the sound of piano has become easier and easier through advancements in electronics made over the past 90 years, since the first electric keyboard was made. The easiest way to have the sound of a piano come out of a box of metal and plastic is by recording the sound of a real acoustic piano and playing that sound back. The problem is that there are an infinite number of sounds a single key of a piano will make, as not only does the amplitude of the sound wave change when a key is played louder, but the shape of the wave itself, and this makes life difficult.

Currently, sound sampling (the method mentioned in the previous paragraph) is the only way people have managed to create an authentic piano sound and that means someone has to sit at a piano for days and play a single note until the sound fades to nothing around a hundred times per key. On modern pianos, these recorded files take up around 50 gigabytes of data, or around 1,000 hours of normal music.

Some of you may be aware of an equation called the Fourier transform and may be thinking: well why couldn’t someone analyse the wavelengths for different pitches, spot how each wavelength changes when the dynamics of the note change and generate all sound files using an inverse Fourier transform (or the fast Fourier transform to save processing time) and then you would have arrived at the same point as via the other method, but by only using at most an hour of manually recorded sound files, a couple of hours of a sound technician’s time and a computer running for a day or two (depending on the computer). The answer to that is that the sound of an acoustic piano is ridiculously complicated and made up of such a variety of waves that it is too difficult to construct in the manner mentioned above. Essentially your product would not sound much like an acoustic piano.

You now know a little more about pianos and I hope you have found this interesting. If you wish to understand how grand pianos work in more detail I’ve pasted a video URL below for a video which explains just that, quite well, with animations. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NDvS2V7HbnY

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A Few Light Thoughts on Playing Beethoven Mrs Toomer (CR, Music Department)

Sophie Smith (L6) Pianist’s hands

I am a pianist and so, for me, Beethoven is simply a god. There are very few passages in his whole oeuvre that are not exquisitely written for the piano. Passages that look impossible on the page, after a good deal of practice, seem to fall beautifully under the hands. The mystery and wonder of Beethoven are found more in the emotional journey. It is often said that one shouldn’t tackle the late Piano Sonatas by Beethoven until you have experienced life. I would suggest that for most that would mean at least 50 years, but this does not mean that you cannot listen, process and enjoy such works of genius. May I suggest that you all try the Hammerklavier Sonata, perhaps watching Valentina Lisitsa on YouTube, and you will not only hear the wonderful colours and dramatic outbursts but be able to see the pianistic shapes. In contrast, Beethoven famously found it extremely difficult to write for the voice, and professional singers recoil when asked to sing his sacred vocal works or his only opera, Fidelio.

Don’t give up! One of my top five pieces of music is from Fidelio. Listen to Mir Ist So Wunderbar. (Try the Bernstein version on YouTube with Lucia Popp.) If you don’t weep, you have no heart!

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The Maths Behind the Music Flora Prideaux (Hu) Beethoven was a pianist and composer, and he is widely considered one of the greatest musical geniuses of all time. But Beethoven spent the majority of his career slowly going deaf. Despite this he still wrote works such as the Ninth Symphony and the last five piano sonatas, managing to create beautiful and interesting music. The answer to how he achieved this is in the patterns hidden beneath the music, innate in their harmonies. In this article, we will explore the Maths and Physics concealed in some of the world’s greatest music.

Sound itself is an amazing thing, travelling from one place to another invisibly and apparently instantaneously. This is because sound waves create minute pockets of higher and lower air pressure which hit your ears. All sound is the result of these changes in air pressure. The faster or more frequently these changes come, the higher the pitch of the sound. For example, Middle C has a frequency of 261.6 Hz, meaning it oscillates at 261.6 per second, and once every 0.00382 seconds.

For early musicians in ancient Greece and China they had to tune each instrument specifically for each key. They worked using a mathematical system based on ratios that gave one notes in the circle of fifth. They derived this circle by starting with a string giving C, dividing it into 3 to get G, then again to get D, then A, then E. In Greece, they divided it one further to get B, called ‘Pythagorean Tuning’. However, in China they discounted B as it produced dissonant harmony, leaving them with the pentatonic scale.

Later, the Western world standardised all tuning to the chromatic 12-note octave, a system of 12 semitones per octave spaced equally. Every time you go up an octave you double the frequency of the note exactly.

This is why they sound like the same note. So C5, an octave above middle C has the frequency 523.2 Hz. They then worked out the frequency of each successive note, so they fitted evenly in the octave. The frequency of each note is bigger than the one below by 12√2. So, C#4 has a frequency of 277.2 Hz, the same as 261.6 x 12√2. Maths was the key to developing the octave as we know it today.

But music is more than sound, for music is sound that causes emotion. Beethoven used a mixture of consonant and dissonant harmonies to trigger emotion. For instance, in the first movement of ‘Moonlight’ Sonata, Beethoven uses a steady stream of triplets. In some bars, the triplet is a triad, this means it is a series of notes separated by intervals of a third e.g. D, F#, A. These three notes have a consonant harmony, but why? The key lies in the ratios between the frequencies of the notes. D4 has a frequency of 293.7 Hz. F#4 has a frequency 1.25 times bigger of 367.1 Hz. A4 has a frequency 1.5 times bigger than D4, of 440 Hz. If we map the sine waves of these notes, we see an interesting pattern. They all meet at 0 seconds, and again every 0.042 seconds later.

During this time, D undergoes 2 oscillations, F# 2.5 and A undergoes 3. This symmetry between their frequency produces consonance. Beethoven also frequently uses dissonance in his music. For example, by using the notes B4 and C4 which are only a semitone apart. When we map their sine waves, they almost never intersect, producing a clashing sound.

There are many other ideas in Maths that are mirrored in music, for example the fractal. A fractal is a pattern that repeats itself when you zoom in. It can be seen in snowflakes, cauliflowers and broccoli. But it is commonly found in music. A musical fractal is a piece that harmonises with a slowed down version of itself.

This was a technique commonly used by Beethoven, specifically in his Seventh Symphony. Logarithms are also frequently found in music. The chromatic scale was derived using base 2 to deduce the next note. For this reason, the piano was formed in the shape of a logarithm graphic.

During Beethoven’s life, there were many advancements in the field of music. Beethoven was a massive advocate of the fortepiano, which later took over from the harpsichord. Beethoven oversaw the transition from 73

the Classical to the Romantic, from balance and poise, to emotion and impact. He saw the introduction of the conductor’s baton, the invention of the metronome and the tuba, and the expansion of the orchestra. Beethoven’s style and genius helped change the course of music.

Pythagoras, Plato and Aristotle all considered music to be a part of Maths and until the end of the middle ages it was taught as such. Music was the fourth area of Maths. Maths is intrinsic in music, and key to its development. It provides a tool to understanding music. But the emotion that music causes, something that Beethoven understood, is a mystery that still defies the quantifiable nature of Maths.

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Beethoven’s Manipulation of Sound Sasha Hosier (L6) Music, in metaphysical terms, is the manipulation of arbitrary fragments of sound to create one continuous succession of vibrations. The combinations of instrumental notes give us the perception of melody, harmony and other musical properties. When considering music in such light, how is it possible that Beethoven can illicit an emotional response by simply amalgamating these different vibrations?

Take for example, Beethoven’s String Quartet No. 14, 1st movement in C# minor. If you were to analyse each isolated sound within the sonata, no deeper poignant value would be revealed. However, together these individual musical notes unite to swell, intensify and create an inarguable tone of tragedy. How do a series of sounds, who independently have no sentiment value, string together to create such a strong perceived emotional expression?

Sound in itself is not capable of expressing emotions. The paradigm expressers of emotions are psychological agents, as we are the only ones capable of experiencing the emotions themselves. Neither performances, nor pieces of music, have such capabilities, thus it is perplexing that music is able to convey powerful sentiment to the listener. This is often referred to as the ‘paradox of fiction’, where we respond emotionally to fictitious things.

The paradox is especially prevalent in Beethoven’s works, where often there is a strong emotional reaction to his compositions.

Additionally, this paradox appears to be universal. On the whole as a species, we intrinsically associate emotions with particular musical keys. This premise was proved by a study with the Mafa people of Cameroon.

The participants, who had never been subjected to Western music, were able to identify happiness, sadness and fright within compositions, aligning with the results of the Western participants. Thus, they showed a universal recognition of emotion within music across cultural boundaries, discrediting the notion that our perception is solely shaped by environmental exposure and emotional association.

This elucidates the impression that there seems to be something inherent within our nature to react to music with certain responses. The question posed is, how does Beethoven employ our subconscious responses to create his desired reaction?

The answer seems to be a fusion of mathematics and the natural world. It originates in the 5th century bc, where mathematician Pythagoras constructed a system of musical tuning based on his own arithmetical principles. He used frequency ratios of all intervals based on the 3:2 ratio, also known now as the ‘pure’ perfect fifth. This system of tuning is known for its high degree of consonance, a musical term affiliated with satisfaction and sweetness.

It seems the reason we discern these sounds to be joyful is through our innate drive for patterns. Cognitive scientist Jamie Hale in his book, Patterns: The Need for Order, explains how we naturally seek order. Throughout history, our ability to decipher patterns and detect order was essential to survive, and through evolution we have further developed this behaviour. Consequently, we find fulfilment with the simplistic, ordered whole number ratio of the ‘pure’ perfect fifth. Our pleasure is the result of gratifying our hunger for organisation. To prove this, listen to Beethoven’s Piano Sonata No. 21 in C major. The perfect fifth exists in the C major chord, thus explaining the sanguine tonality of the composition. Beethoven, knowingly or unknowingly, exploits the relationship between order and pleasure, creating a sonata that is psychologically enjoyable to hear.

This is also applicable to evoke contradictory emotions. In minor keys, the intervals within the chords are as not evenly structured as major keys chords. The minor keys are configured with sharps and flats, which juxtaposes the smooth and uniform organisation of the natural keys. When using the sharps or flats in a chord, 75

Mr Twohig, Symphony 7 in A major

the ratio within the chord is compromised and the sense of order dissolves. The notes within the chord create vibrations that are not arranged evenly, disrupting our ear for patterns. This disturbance we naturally associate negatively, giving us on the whole the impression that minor keys are sad or angry. Beethoven’s Sonata ‘Pathétique’ is an example of this, his use of the C minor key chord contributes to the melancholic tone of the composition.

Beethoven’s usage of major and minor keys is certainly paramount for what the listener perceives to be emotion. He manipulates our ingrained responses to certain blends of vibrations to fabricate a sense of emotion, which explains why his music resonates with so many people. The popularity of his compositions reflect that his music is able to move people to tears, all through constructing vibrations to satisfy or disturb our desire for structure.

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Beethoven and his connection to Russia Poppy Bell (L6) Ludwig van Beethoven had many connections all over Europe, but also one with Russia. The relationship developed over the beginning of the 1800s and even his last performance as a pianist was to the wife of Tsar Alexander I on her birthday, despite rarely playing piano around that time, owing to his deafness. His compositions written for the two are also the only ones that resulted in payment, therefore marking a significant period in his life. I will explain these two of his most prominent connections: to Tsar Alexander I himself and to Alexander’s wife, Empress Elizabeth Alexeievna of Russia, as well as that with Count Razumovsky, as they produced some of his most famed quartets.

Beethoven’s first connection with Russia was through his own awe of Tsar Alexander I of Russia. Just like the rest of Europe, Beethoven admired the Tsar’s great courage and power, who within a year had conquered Georgia and was moving on south towards Tbilisi. Alexander was idolised as the epitome of a modern monarch and, because of this, Beethoven decided to dedicate to him his Violin Sonata No. 8, op. No. 30 for piano and violin. The music is full of imagery correlating to the quick marches, fanfares, drum rolls, gunshots and even the moaning of wounded and dying soldiers. Some believe that parts of the music were in memory of Beethoven’s experience when the French bombarded Vienna, in which he had to hide on the cellar of the Schwarzenspanienhaus. Although this story calls upon people’s creative imagination and sounds like it ought to be connected to the music, the siege did not occur until 11th May 1809, while the music had been written in 1801–02. Therefore, it has been deduced that it must be associated with Tsar Alexander, especially Beethoven’s awe for him, which of course mirrors Europe’s awe as well. Beethoven was paid for his services, although there is some dispute over this. Apparently, Alexander gave Beethoven a diamond as a down payment for the sonata.

However, the composer claimed he had never received a full payment, even though it seems that no payment had been discussed. This was later resurrected by Alexander’s wife, Elizabeth, which I will briefly mention.

Beethoven was amongst composers who produced music in order to entertain diplomats and heads of state of Europe. In 1814, at the Congress of Vienna, Beethoven met the wife of Tsar Alexander I, Empress Elizabeth Alexeievna of Russia. The Empress’s gentle manner deeply impressed him and, apparently, he talked with her in a frank and open way, forgetting all etiquette, which was very unusual for such a situation. Despite this, Elizabeth was enchanted and soon a friendship blossomed. They met often at receptions and balls, and she clearly gave him a lot of attention upon their meetings, which pleased Beethoven and he often referred to her affability and courtesy. At the time of his first meeting, Beethoven was hugely in debt. A friend had been trying to convince him to write a polonaise, dedicated to the Empress, in order to solve this problem seeing as these dances were all the rage at the time. Beethoven admitted that he disliked writing polonaises but was eventually persuaded and he wrote Polonaise in C major, op. 89. He, obviously, had to obtain the consent from the Empress himself and so he presented the piece to her and an audience, and as expected she loved the piece and paid 50 ducats for the composition. She paid a further 100 ducats for the violin sonatas, op. 30, which he had dedicated to the Russian Emperor a few years before and had never received a payment for, thus resolving the dispute about Beethoven’s payment. These were the only dedications that resulted in payment.

He later wrote a more dramatic piece, his Seventh Symphony, op. 92, dedicated to Elizabeth. No one can deduce what prompted Beethoven to write this piece; however, it is evident that the piece mirrors her unhappiness and seclusion during those times. It also presents her character; her resilience, dignity and her patience in such hard times. This strong portrayal meant she surely must have quite liked it, and her relationship with Beethoven probably grew much stronger because of it.

One piece of evidence of their close relationship was later in Beethoven’s career. When Beethoven was into his forties, he refused to play piano, as he was no longer as skilful as he had once been, owing to his 77

deafness. However, his wholesome relationship with the Empress meant he felt he could not turn down her invitation to play at her 36th birthday on 25th January 1815. He played his favourite composition, ‘Adelaide’, at her encouragement, and this turned out to be his last public performance as a pianist.

Another interesting connection Beethoven had with Russia was with Count (and later Prince) Razumovsky.

Andrei was a great patron of the arts and even spent a vast amount of his very own money to build a new embassy overlooking the Danube, known as the Palais Rasumofsky. However, unfortunately, on the morning of the 31st December 1814, when Razumovsky was due to host Tsar Alexander I, a fire broke out and the embassy was almost wholly destroyed.

Razumovsky’s connection with Beethoven was earlier in 1806 when the count commissioned Beethoven to compose three string quartets, String Quartet No. 7 in F major, op. 59, No 1; No 8 in E minor, op. 59, No 2; No. 9 in C major, op. 59, No. 3. Despite the fact that Razumovsky spent most of his life in Vienna, hence he built an embassy there, Beethoven included ‘Thème russe’ in op. 59, No. 1 and No. 2, although not in op. 59, No. 3.

This means that the pieces contain some traditional Russian themes, previously being used in their folk music.

At first these pieces were received with uncertainty and doubt, for their content was very different from that of the typical genre of string quartets, and caused unrest with their unusual melodies and rhythms. The closest respectable review Beethoven received for these pieces was published in the Allgemeine Musikalische Zeitung on the 27th February 1807, reading: ‘three new, very long and difficult Beethoven string quartets . . . are attracting the attention of all connoisseurs. The conception is profound and the construction excellent, but they are not easily comprehended.’

In response to all the critics, Beethoven said, ‘they are not for you, but for a later age’. And as the years went by, they were received much better for their complexity and the intense, shifting emotions among the pieces. The Razumovsky Quartets are, today, one of Beethoven’s most popular works.

Ludwig van Beethoven had close connections with the Russian Empire and its monarchy, clearly being in awe of them as well as getting on splendidly with them. You can see the clear emergence of a strong friendship between the Empress and Beethoven, which lasted for the rest of his life. His connection with Count Razumovsky produced one of his most famous works, even if not at the time. As I mentioned before, these years left a huge mark on him, and his connection to Russia ought to be remembered because of it.

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Music, Sex and Destruction: The Kreutzer Sonata Lena Barton (U6) The publication of The Kreutzer Sonata in 1889 catapulted Russia into a decade-long debate over the question of sexual morality. This work, although not as famous as its predecessors Anna Karenina and War and Peace, is considered by some scholars to be among the best examples of his storytelling. The novella is an expression of Tolstoy’s fanatic beliefs about music, sex, women and even God. The story itself is told by Pozdnyshev to a stranger on a train. He recounts how the entrance of a violinist, Trukhachevsky, into his household led to Pozdnyshev murdering his wife in a jealous rage. The publication of the text immediately provoked a scandal in Russia: the Russian Orthodox church condemned its immorality; the censor banned the text and the Minister of the Interior outlawed it and officially forbade its publication both as a separate volume and in Tolstoy’s complete works. The text was only published because Tolstoy’s wife obtained a personal interview with the Tsar to plead his case.

By the time he began this work, Tolstoy was Christian fanatic whose idea of ideal love had moved from eros to agape. By his own explicit definition, Tolstoy was a didactic writer, and so – both paradoxically and provocatively – the Kreutzer Sonata is a didactic story about murder. His narrator declares: ‘They think that I killed her with a knife, on the 5th of October. It was not then that I killed her, but much earlier.’ What is this ‘earlier’ murder? It can be inferred from the rest of the text, particularly his lament, ‘I, too, became a fornicator and remained one, and that was my undoing,’ that Pozdnyshev viewed his wife as dead from the moment they Twohig Symphony 8 in F major slept together. So intent was Tolstoy on conveying his message of abstinence that he wrote Afterword to the Kreutzer Sonata the following year, in which he explicitly condemned sexual love. Husbands and wives, in his view, ought to live together in a sexless conjugal union, much like brother and sister. His doctrinal evidence was that ‘in genuine Christian teaching there is no foundation for the institution of marriage.’ It seems irreconcilable that Tolstoy, a man with thirteen children, frequenter of brothels in his youth, and self-described ‘tireless f***er’ in his youth, should repudiate sex, and yet repudiate it he did.

Its explosive nature was undeniable. Here was Tolstoy not only writing about the murder of a wife, but also seeming to lift the blame from the perpetrator and lay it on female sexuality and music. the Kreutzer Sonata seemed to incite extreme emotions in every reader. In 1890, Robert G. Ingersoll, American writer, orator, and advocate of freethought declared that he ‘disagree[d] with nearly every sentence in his book’ and ‘regard[ed] the story as brutal and absurd, the view of life presented as cruel, vile, and false.’ He went as far as to say that ‘Tolstoï [sic] seems to be a stranger to the heart of a woman.’ There seems to be two schools of thought regarding Tolstoy’s presentation of women. Just as Anna Karenina did, Tolstoy’s presentation of women incited great critical debate.

There is ambiguity surrounding all of his female characters across his oeuvres: the reader can never quite decide if they have autonomy and agency or if Tolstoy as the author even cares about them as characters. Some critics have argued that there is a deep ambivalence towards his female characters, and so to discuss them is futile because he never fully realises them. In the Kreutzer Sonata, some, like Ingersoll, believe that his message was that ‘woman is at fault, that she has no right to be attractive,’ also noting that she does not even have a name, but there are others who believe that far from condemning female sexuality, Tolstoy celebrates it; instead of sympathising with the murderer, he issues a warning about the dangers of inequality between a man and his wife. Undeniably, among his jealous paranoia and violent rage, Pozdnyshev manages to express a sentiment far more profound than it first may seem: ‘it all happened because of that terrible abyss there was between us.’ Yes, Pozdnyshev misguidedly plays the role of the victim, never taking responsibility for his actions, but he – perhaps Tolstoy too – nevertheless understands the root of his neurosis stems from nothing other than his own isolation and incomprehension.

It is necessary not to overstate the importance of Beethoven in this work, despite its evident presence.

Tolstoy’s son, Sergei, noted that his father ‘always protested against the exceptional cult of Beethoven, considering his predecessors Haydn and Mozart to be equal if not superior to him’, though Count Sergei stressed 79

that he himself disagreed with his father’s view. Critics have nevertheless searched for – and found – structural similarities between the original sonata and Tolstoy’s work. Despite his scepticism of Beethoven’s genius, Tolstoy was a known lover of music and would have been acutely aware that in the original sonata, Beethoven’s minor key movement had a major key introduction: the reverse of classical custom. Perhaps today this subversion of custom would be meaningless, but in 1803, this reversal was virtually unheard of and could easily be interpreted, as it was

by Tolstoy, as an expression of uncontrollable passion. The later harsh – yet carefully prepared – turn from minor to major helps to define the movement as a study of the conflict between excess and restraint. Likewise, Tolstoy’s novella The Kreutzer Sonata is defined by opposing bursts of passionate jealousy and rage and intense moments of self-reflection and understanding.

What The Kreutzer Sonata reveals above all is Tolstoy’s view of the relationship between lust, sin and music. About his father, Count Sergei wrote: ‘never in my life have I met anyone who felt music so intensely’, and so it seems inevitable that in Tolstoy’s works, music and sex are inextricably linked. Pozdnyshev notes that ‘music only excites [the listener] but does not consummate ( finish)’ (‘музыка только раздражает, не кончает’). Tolstoy constantly fuels the tension between beginning and ending (начать/кончить) and all the images and innuendoes these to which these verbs contribute. The character of Pozdnyshev seeks a finale that is more conclusive and powerful than the ‘feeble finale’ of Beethoven’s Kreutzer Sonata. But, just like Pozdnyshev’s opinion of sonata’s andante, his own ending is ‘lacking in novelty, with commonplace variations.’ Yet his impassioned criticism of the Kreutzer Sonata is, in essence, Pozdnyshev admitting that it – if only for a moment – drove away his jealousy and filled him with joy: ‘jealousy and the feelings that provoke it seemed to me trivialities, nor worth thinking of.’ When his wife and Trukhachevsky play their duet, Pozdnyshev compares the magic of the composer to that of a hypnotist; it is a dangerous power because it imposes actions which are at odds with the surroundings.

His reaction as he listens to the music is like a voyeur, furtively spying on the excitement of this shared musical performance, as he might have spied on actual intercourse between Trukhachevsky and his wife. The performance of the Kreutzer Sonata to Pozdnyshev, therefore, is grotesque, even dangerous, because the mundane domestic settings (and his own blind rage) are antithetical to the noble thoughts and actions the music suggests.

In a letter to his prospective publisher, Tolstoy wrote, ‘I am glad I wrote it. I know that people need to be told what is written there.’ His convictions may have been misplaced, and Tolstoy himself was later ‘horrified’ at some of his beliefs, but the Kreutzer Sonata was explosive for a reason. Tolstoy explored shocking themes, examining the furthest boundary of humanity and exposing the dangers of indulging in one’s own excesses.

It is no wonder the audience of the 1890s was so drawn to a tale that condemned fundamental aspects of life.

Certainly, The Kreutzer Sonata remains obscure in Tolstoy’s body of works, and certainly, it pales in comparison to his previous works, but there is no denying that it contains something darkly alluring.

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‘Parody and Farce’: Beethoven at the Congress of Vienna Eva Stuart (L6) On 29 November, at the personal invitation of the composer, he and the other sovereigns attended Beethoven’s musical academy in the great Redoutensaal. The programme included his 7th Symphony, his occasional orchestral work commemorating the Battle of Vittoria, Wellington’s Victory, and the cantata Der Glorreiche Augenblick, specially composed for the occasion, all conducted by the composer himself. The audience particularly liked Wellington’s Victory, with its simulated cannon-shots and special effects.

‘Rites of Peace: The Fall of Napoleon and the Congress of Vienna’, Adam Zamoyski

It’s a well-known story – the defeat of Napoleon at Leipzig and the consequential Treaty of Fontainebleau that exiles him, supposedly for good, to the island of Elba. Despite this, the former Emperor returns, reclaims his throne and rallies his troops during the Hundred Days, before being decisively defeated by Wellington’s Combined Army at the Battle of Waterloo. Undeniably, it’s a famous victory – one only has to look at the train station in Lambeth or listen to the 1974 Abba Eurovision winner for evidence of this – and the defeat of Napoleon was assured in the peace talks at the Congress of Vienna.

The Congress was chaired by the Austrian Klemens von Metternich and involved the meeting of delegates and ambassadors to discuss the most effective means of ensuring a balance of power in Europe. Most of these delegates were conservative – outlooks enhanced by disgust of the French Revolution – and were united in their desire to restore the status quo to Europe that left little room for radicalism or republicanism. In addition to restoring boundaries ante bellum, the overarching aim was to concretely establish the sizes of the main powers so that they would be balanced. The aim of this was to bring about peace – indeed, those in support of the Congress’ outcome argue that it prevented another widespread European war for practically a century. Henry Kissinger wrote his 1954 doctoral dissertation, A World Restored, in praise of it. It provided a framework for the later League of Nations and United Nations. Criticisms of it were equally as prevalent, however, particularly immediately afterwards: it was perceived as reactionary and archaic, becoming part of the Conservative Order that deliberately depreciated the revolutionary principles of liberty and civil rights, and, whilst it maintained peace in Europe, it did little to halt the revolutionary uprisings often known as the ‘Springtime of the Peoples’ in 1848.

The success of the Congress and its legacy is certainly contentious but contained within this narrative is another area for argument: the success of Beethoven’s contemporary music. Beethoven, as Zamoyski outlines, premiered Wellington’s Victory and the cantata Der Glorreiche Augenblick, commissioned for the entertainment of the Congress on the 29th November 1814. The former work was an overt celebration of the success of the British Commander and the latter, with Aloys Weißenbach as the librettist, is translated as ‘The Glorious Moment’: they were written with the intention of exalting the success of the Sixth Coalition. I won’t delve into the technicalities of the works, for I am absolutely not qualified to do so and would not know where to begin, but the interest for me lies primarily in their reception. Later criticisms – ‘When the man of Waterloo has fallen, Beethoven imperator also abdicates’ (Rolland) – have suggested that Wellington’s Victory signalled the end of Beethoven’s heroic style, having declined significantly since his 1802-1804 ‘Eroica’. Solomon argues that the aforementioned works do not possess uniqueness – thus making a ‘complete sacrifice of music to the occasion’ – but instead are crafted without the subtlety that can usually be attributed to the ideas Beethoven conveys for the purpose of entertainment. Thereby, ‘the heroic style dies a historical death.’ Comparisons are often drawn 81

between Wellington’s Victory and ‘Eroica’, with the former being perceived as, as articulated by Carl Dahlhaus, ‘only a petrifact, a parody of the heroic style established in the ‘Eroica’.’ Solomon states that ‘heroic style is revived but as parody and farce. Rather than moving forwards to his late style, he here regressed to a pastiche of his heroic manner.’ The piece is generally accepted to be more simplified and clumsy, with even the labelling of the protagonist and his accomplishments on the title page representing a rejection of previously subtler approach.

Kinderman argues that it is ‘crude realism’: in his view, Beethoven quotes God Save the King and Rule Britannia in hasty and clichéd imitation.

Indeed, Beethoven himself seems less enamoured by these creations than with his others: whilst he did not consider it ephemeral – his selling Der Glorreiche Augenblick to the Vienna publisher S.A. Steiner in 1815 and his considering writing an overture for it in 1825 indicates this – he does not seem to have been incredibly proud of them. Indeed, after Gottfried Weber published something of a polemic against it in 1825, Beethoven, rather amusingly, annotated the article with notes including ‘Oh you primitive scoundrel, my shit is better that anything you have ever thought’ (‘ach du erbärmlicher Schuft, was ich scheisse, ist besser, als wie du je gedacht.’) The fact that he referred to his work as ‘shit’, even if with irony, implies that he did not view this creation in the most sacred light.

Surely, however, it is necessary to consider the context of the time, before imposing conclusions drawn purely from retrospective viewpoints upon it. It must be acknowledged that he wrote the pieces for a particular occasion upon commission and for a purpose which they eminently satisfied. He was not writing for absolute connoisseurs of his work but rather to augment the victory and the celebrations, rather like propaganda. The more overt references to the success on the battlefields – the cannon and the quoting of God Save the King, for example – that may later be seen as rudimentary and amateur arguably served to enhance feeling of victory for those less attuned to the intricacies of a more subtle approach. Whilst Der Glorreiche Augenblick may be somewhat histrionic, it nonetheless achieved its purpose: the Austrian newspaper the Wiener Zeitung reported that ‘the applause was unanimous.’

Mr Twohig, Symphony 8 in F major

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Beethoven and India Saira Chowdhry (L6) It is well known that Beethoven was on a tireless quest for spirituality – while his music was a source of solace, his inability to hear it caused him to suffer, which led him to finding spiritual connections. This is where Indian culture comes in, as there is a genuine historical link that binds Beethoven to India. In his notebooks, he quotes the Upanishads – mystical Indian philosophical texts which were released in 1816 in Germany. He also wrote a poem on Brahma, the god of Creation in Hinduism, with the intention to write music to it. This valued ancient manuscript essentially glorifies universality, humanity and brotherhood, all the values that Beethoven celebrated through his musical creations.

Similar currents run through Indian musical traditions, and philosophically we find that classical Indian music and the work of Beethoven is similar and there are parallels that can be drawn musically as well – the ‘music vibrations achieved by the depressed pedal’ used by Beethoven is alike to the quarter notes of the Indian sitar.

Some musicians in India are also attempting to create a musical dialogue between Beethoven’s sonatas and Indian ragas. One such example is the Cosmos project, an amalgamation of the West and the East, which explores the spiritual relationship between Beethoven and India through music. It is helping to spread awareness of Beethoven’s fascination for Indian culture and the link between the enchanting sonatas and the Indian devotional ragas.

The liberation of India in 1947 from the British also allowed the country to embrace Western classical music more, and today India has found many ways to honour the German composer – there have been classical ragas named after him, a commemorative stamp was issued to celebrate his 200th birthday and now his music is even being used in performances to create a unique fusion with Bharatnatyam, a traditional Indian dance style. Beethoven’s music ripples across India’s states and history. Gandhi, the ‘father of the nation’, listened to Beethoven’s pieces as they were introduced to him by one of his disciples. In a village called Siolim in Goa, there stands a statue of him, and a quote by Giuseppe Verdi on the marble plaque reads: ‘before the name of Beethoven, we must all bow in reverence’. In Kashmir, Zubin Mehta, a highly acclaimed conductor, led a Beethovian performance by the Bavarian orchestra which was held during a time of extreme difficulty and hardship for the state. Many people were first opposed to the idea, but as soon as one of Beethoven’s sonatas began playing, a ‘very positive wave’ went across the stage to all of Kashmir.

Western classical music has never enjoyed the same support and patronage as its Indian counterpart, but a new future might be in the making. Beethoven is our gate to the West, the stepping stone to embracing parts of another culture more.

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1815 - 1827 BEETHOVEN IN LOCKDOWN: UNIVERSAL STRUGGLES, UNIVERSAL IDEALS The last phase

Mr Twohig, Symphony 9 in D minor

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Beethoven and his Religious Belief- ‘I am that which is.’

Reverend Tim Novis (CR, College Chaplain) Of Bach, Mozart and Beethoven, the latter’s religious beliefs and proclivities are by far the most difficult to assess. His Mass in D, the Missa Solemnis, utilises the traditional setting for the Eucharist in a spiritually personal and revelatory fashion. Interestingly, he called this piece ‘the Crown of my life’s work’. In fact, it was written to celebrate the installation as Archbishop of Beethoven’s patron and close friend, Archduke Rudolph of Austria.

The piece is so gigantic it was meant for the concert hall and not actually, in fact, for the Church.

From it, we learn something of the spiritual and religious beliefs of the great composer. He was not just a child of the secular-humanist Enlightenment with its new emphasis on the individualistic and personal.

Beethoven was not interested in dispensing with the orthodoxies and traditions of the Church, but instead wished to bring the devotion of the past into the active belief of the present.

Baptised and raised a Catholic, he was a mystic who ‘believed in an ultimate, benign and intelligent Power, and that he believed that existence was planned and purposeful’ (Sullivan, 1936). For the Church, these beliefs are utterly orthodox. Before writing the Mass, he made a special study of Palestrina – the Church composer and liturgist. Beethoven’s setting for the Eucharist is saturated with Catholic tradition, rich with musical-religious symbolism and references to the shape of the rite itself. To cite just a few examples: ‘fluttering flute bird-calls representing the Holy Spirit, a hovering violin suggesting Christ’s presence on the Eucharistic altar, and imitations of organ preluding during the Eucharistic rite’ (DeSapio, 2016).

But the Mass in D is also deeply personal and subjective, and his inclinations towards the mystical here enter the realm of Eastern religion (Hinduism in particular) – something the Roman Catholic Church, of which he was a member, would have been deeply suspicious at the time. So fond was Beethoven of the Eastern traditions that he kept, framed upon his desk, these words and in his own handwriting: ‘I am that which is. I am all that was, that is, and that shall be.’ That belief in the unity of everything is not, strictly speaking, orthodox Catholicism.

He is perhaps in ‘safer territory’ with the choral movement of the Ninth Symphony where he finds himself one with the entire human family, all children of a Heavenly Father.

And the Ninth Symphony illustrates the spiritual growth, development and change that Beethoven had made over time.

In the Fifth Symphony, he is resigned to the crushing nature of doom foretold with the very first dreadful four notes, reminiscent of the implacability of fate knocking at the door and insisting to be let in - despite what it may bring to the person who opens it. In the Ninth, that resignation to the demands of fate becomes instead an acceptance of God-given destiny. In the Adagio movement, he is reaching out towards something that transcends the human and that subsumes it in something far greater and universal and now much more deeply aware. Perhaps he would even prefer the Eastern term, ‘enlightened.’

As exemplified by differences between the Fifth and Ninth symphonies, Beethoven moves from subjective and personal to objective and universal, culminating in the great chorus, now popular as a church hymn, the ‘Ode to Joy’, in which the human collective is celebrated and exalted.

That Beethoven was a proponent of an active Christian faith can also be seen in his writings from 1801.

Ludwig had fallen in love with a woman, but their affections were prohibited because she was of a higher social class. After dedicating his ‘Moonlight’ Sonata to her, he wrote: ‘No friend have I. I must live by myself alone; but I know well that God is nearer to me than others in my art, so I will walk fearlessly with Him’ (Mauro, 2019).

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Other Beethoven quotations about God – particularly those written during the agonizing onset of his deafness– emphasize his nearness and his understanding of suffering, in language that often recalls the Psalms.

Christ is invoked as a suffering fellow-man (if not as Son of God). Beethoven also frequently wrote religious inscriptions and titles on his compositions: ‘Grateful thanks to the Almighty after the storm,’ and ‘Holy song of thanksgiving of a convalescent to the Deity’ (DeSapio, 2016).

And yet, even as Beethoven journeyed spiritually more deeply into a sense of universal fellowship with all humankind and with unity with all creation and Christ in his suffering, his deepening deafness plunged him more deeply into himself, in a cruel irony that no doubt fuelled his creative genius.

Interestingly, the intensity of his belief and devotion might well be illustrated by the fact that he went to Pater Weiss in Vienna, a Catholic priest who claimed to be a wonder worker with the deaf.

Beethoven had plans to write another Mass after the Missa Solemnis, but it didn’t come to pass. In March 1827, racked by illnesses, he lay at the point of death. On the suggestion of his doctor, Beethoven consented to being given last rites by a priest; afterwards, the composer exclaimed: ‘I thank you, ghostly sir! You have brought me comfort!’ That the priest allowed a Catholic burial and high requiem Mass for Beethoven would seem to indicate that he thought Beethoven died a believer (DeSapio, 2016).

Based upon the clearly inspired magnificence of the Mass in D, how could anyone doubt Beethoven’s faith and devotion and spiritual depth, easily akin to that of Bach and Mozart, if not more intense than that of both combined?

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Beethoven the Bad Uncle?

Honor Mills (L6) Have we misjudged Beethoven over his treatment of his sister-in-law and his attempt to gain sole guardianship over his nephew?

On the 25th May 1806, one of Beethoven’s two surviving brothers, Kasper Anton Karl, married a woman called Johanna Reiss, the daughter of a prosperous Viennese upholsterer. About three months later she gave birth to her first, and Karl’s only, child, also named Karl. Beethoven’s brother, Johanna’s husband and Karl’s father died of tuberculosis on the 15th November 1815 and two days later there begun what Lewis Lockwood, considered the leading American authority on Beethoven, calls ‘a tortured and emotional legal struggle between Beethoven and his sister-in-law for the custody of the boy that lasted for more than four years and entailed perpetual rancour, court appearances, seeming successes, reversals and appeals.’

Beethoven was hugely difficult to get along with. Almost everyone who knew him, including his teachers, pupils and patrons, attest to his brusque and arrogant personality. He was said to have impossibly high and unrealistic moral standards and to be entirely intolerant of those who fell short of them, which most who encountered him did. ‘In many ways, Beethoven was a fierce moralist. He had a very pronounced sense that there was ‘right’ and, often, an equally emphatic feeling that he knew what it was. Such an attitude is not necessarily compatible with his occasional engagement in actions which might be seen as ‘immoral’ by many people.’ This intolerance extended to his brother’s choice of wife, whom he was never able to accept. Nor did he attempt to conceal his disapproval and dislike of her, frequently denouncing her in conversation as well as in letters to friends and family. Johanna, according to almost everything I’ve read about her relationship with Beethoven and each of their lives, is said to have suffered greatly at his hands while many find it hard to understand what prompted Beethoven to feel the need to remove Johanna’s son from her guardianship and, indeed, drag her through the courts in such a lengthy and painful manner. Johanna is widely perceived as the victim in the events which played out between Beethoven and her, at the mercy of his ‘short-tempered, absent-minded, greedy and suspicious to the point of paranoia’ character traits. Furthermore, his supposed ill-treatment of her significantly shapes our view of his character and in turn the way in which we perceive Beethoven as a whole, including his work. Yet, on further inspection of Johanna’s own character and past, distinct from that of Beethoven, and their legal struggle in its entirety, I began to find it hard to believe that Beethoven was in fact the person both contemporary and modern media make him out to be. The following questions in particular came to mind: to what extent was his treatment of Johanna justified? Does the guardianship wrangle actually support the view that Beethoven was a bad guy rather than just a difficult one? And has the whole rigmarole contributed to our potential misjudgement of Beethoven?

Many consider Beethoven’s treatment of Johanna to have been completely unjustified. They often times claim that few would have lived up to his wildly unrealistic expectations. Some say Beethoven’s virulent hostility towards his sister-in-law was rooted in jealousy. His brother’s attention, once directed solely at him, was now divided, while he found real happiness in love despite Beethoven’s inability to do the same. Beethoven undoubtedly treated Johanna badly, nicknaming her ‘Queen of the Night’, referring to the character in Mozart’s Opera, The Magic Flute. As Serbas put it, ‘the Queen of the Night represents the evil principle which the high priest, Sarastro, seeks to fight and destroy . . . Johanna . . . represented the principle of evil from which he felt it his task to save the men near and dear to him.’ Admittedly, prior to investigation, I too looked on accounts of their interactions with horror and disgust. However, on further inspection, I found Johanna was far from angelic herself. In 1806, she was accused of theft by her own parents, an unimaginable feat. In 1811, tasked with selling a pearl necklace, worth 20,000 florins, on commission, she faked a burglary in her own home, breaking open chests and cupboards. As if this wasn’t bad enough, she accused her former maid, one Anna Eisenbach, of the crime. Having sold two of the three strings for 4,000 florins, she was found wearing the third, resulting in a police 87

interrogation under which she eventually confessed. She was convicted on the 30th December 1811, for both embezzlement and calumny, and sentenced to a year of ‘severe imprisonment’ (involving leg irons, a meatless diet, a bare board bed and the prevention of conversing with anyone other than one’s jailers). Fortunately for her, Karl, a government clerk, managed to gradually reduce her sentence, ultimately to the time served before her trial. Beethoven makes reference to this crime in a written statement to the court: ‘In 1811, when, already a wife and mother, though as such highly frivolous and lax, headstrong and malicious, she had already partly sacrificed her good name, she committed a new more frightful crime, which even brought her before the Criminal Court; here too she again calmly alleged that entirely innocent persons were involved in her crime. Finally, she had to admit that she was the sole perpetrator . . .’

She was also convicted for stealing money from her own husband. Aside from her illegal activity, she was said to be very generous with her favours before her marriage and it is probable this didn’t change. She did in fact give birth soon after Karl’s death and considering the severity and timeframe of his particular illness, it’s highly unlikely it was his own. A further illegitimate pregnancy occurred in the spring of 1820. All things considered, one begins to wonder whether Beethoven’s expectations weren’t too dissimilar from one’s own. I, for one, wouldn’t be best pleased if my own brother married a woman twice convicted and thrice accused of theft.

Nor did she appear to be able to support her son financially. During her 1811 trial, regarding the stolen pearls, it emerged that she owed thousands of florins to numerous individuals. It appears she continually lived beyond her means, piling up debt and prompting her, in 1818, to sell the house that she had brought with Karl. Despite this, she remained in debt for much of her life.

It’s worth mentioning that the desire for custody didn’t arise out of nowhere. Karl made a will two days before he died, the first sentence reading: ‘Along with my wife I appoint my brother Ludwig van Beethoven co-guardian.’ However, the phrase ‘along with my wife’ and the prefix ‘co-’ were crossed out. The story goes that Beethoven coerced his brother into making these deletions. While some consider this behaviour to be incredible, he genuinely believed that he was protecting his family from a woman whom he saw as a completely unsuitable mother, ‘this I had my brother bring about since I did not wish to be bound up in this with such a bad woman in a matter of such importance as the education of a child’. Despite these deletions, Karl later had a codicil drawn up indicating that the guardianship should be exercised by both Johanna and Beethoven.

It seems likely that Beethoven believed that in accepting the responsibility he had made a solemn undertaking to his brother. Everything we know about his character tells us that this was a pledge, once made, impossible to step away from. Beethoven was a man, who having given his word, would want to keep it come what may and there is much in this that is admirable.

Wasn’t it reasonable for Beethoven, who loved his brother Karl a great deal, to want to bring up his nephew rather than leave him to the tender mercies of Johanna? Should we really hold against him the fact that he pursued guardianship so doggedly when we know that, for better or for worse, doggedness was part of his character? Doggedness, after all, is a character trait we often admire.

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The Music of Silence George Honeyborne (L6) It started with the unceasing buzzing sound of insomnia. At 26, Beethoven started to experience the highpitched ringing noises often associated with deafness. By 30 he was avoiding social gatherings and struggling to hear higher instruments or voices, existing in an isolated and ‘frightful state.’ His hearing continued to degrade until finally, at the age of 49 (1819), he was left very nearly in silence.

The exact cause of Beethoven’s deafness is unknown, although theories ranging from typhus to lead poisoning and syphilis have been raised. Upon autopsy, he was found to have a distended inner ear covered in lesions. At first, he tried to find a cure, succumbing to early nineteenth century homeopathy and tying bark to his upper arms until blisters formed. This only further worsened his overall health. By 1822, he changed tack and turned to hearing aids, using a range of crude hearing trumpets to amplify sound.

In his early works, Beethoven utilised the full range of pitch (frequency) but as his hearing deteriorated, he became more dependent on the lower notes, which he could hear easier. Incredibly, without access to the music itself, he produced potentially his most famous works including the ethereal ‘Moonlight’ Sonata. But by the end of his life, it seems that Beethoven even managed to imagine or recall how each note would sound and reintroduce high notes into his movements. Pieces like Große Fuge, Op.133 were conjured up entirely from his extraordinary imagination.

Beethoven’s housekeeper recounted that in order to tell between the sounds, he would hold a pencil in his mouth, touch it against the piano and experience the vibrations as music. When playing in concerts, however, it is said that he would hit the keys so hard (in an attempt to hear the music) that entire pianos would break in one sitting.

Composing multiple masterpieces whilst oblivious to sound is no mean feat, but Beethoven had 25 years of experiencing music before going deaf. Evelyn Glennie, a Scottish percussionist who opened the Olympic Games in 2012, has won countless awards and been given 15 honorary doctorates from UK universities went profoundly deaf at the age of 12. Although she had lost the ability to use her ears, she says that she can still hear music. She hears throughout her entire body, sensing the vibrations (like Beethoven), transforming her organs into natural resonating chambers and ‘feeling’ the music. In this way, Glennie achieves a full body immersion in sound.

Music is constantly evolving and transforming. And within this infinite transformation, there is a place for everyone to experience and create music. From the virtuosi of classical music to modern contemporary artists and schoolchildren around the world, music is and always should strive to be inclusive and indiscriminatory.

Music is the power of a few notes, a few vibrations in the air, to convey ceaseless, unadulterated emotion as nothing else can. And this emotion can be felt by anyone and everyone – even those without hearing.

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The Social Isolation of the Deaf Composer Mrs Harris (CR, Deputy Head Co-Curricular) Deafness and its associated social isolation chimes a chord for many during the current period of lockdown due to COVID-19. Helen Keller, herself blind and deaf, once said that blindness cuts a person off from things but deafness cuts one off from other people. From his early twenties, Beethoven struggled with the most devastating handicap a musician could encounter. Thus, Beethoven had constraints cast upon him, both professionally and socially by his deafness.

Beethoven’s deafness had a gradual onset; he did not suddenly lose his hearing and so was able to develop a number of coping strategies. Today the profoundly deaf might turn to the latest technology of cochlear implants.

These transform sound to electrical impulses which are sent straight to the auditory nerve, thus bypassing the damaged parts of the ear. Such magic was way out of reach at the beginning of the nineteenth century, but Beethoven still turned to the latest gadgetry; in his case, a series of ear trumpets and resonators for his piano. He made extensive use of ear trumpets, some of which were invented by his friend Johann Nepomuk Maelzel. The resonator that he had built for his piano may have allowed him to hear some sounds even towards the end of his life. Beethoven’s motivation for turning to the latest technology was powerful. He wanted to hear music better and he longed for social interaction.

It is interesting to note that hearing loss amongst professional musicians is not entirely unusual. The hearing loss amongst professional and popular musicians is a well-kept secret often because of denial by the musicians themselves. Beethoven was unfortunate in that he also suffered badly from tinnitus. He once said, ‘My ears continue to ring and hiss night and day. I must say that I lead a wretched life. Much of the time I can hardly hear someone who speaks quietly – but as soon as someone shouts I find it unbearable’.

The tinnitus and sensitivity to loud sounds that Beethoven described are today considered symptoms of sensory hearing loss rather than the more simple conductive hearing loss often associated with old age. It should be noted that if Beethoven started to experience problems with his hearing at the age of 27, it is likely that the process of his hearing loss started much earlier. The most common causes of sensorial deafness are either a recent or past physical illness or a vascular episode in which the inner ears are temporarily deprived of blood. Beethoven bore the scars of smallpox upon his face, but this disease rarely leads to deafness. Viral infections, such as Measles, can lead to deafness of the type Beethoven experienced but there is no record of him suffering from this disease.

In the late 1790s, it is likely that Measles was so common that was not considered worthy of mention.

Conductive hearing loss at a young age is often hereditary and there is no record of anyone in the Beethoven family suffering from otosclerosis, for example, a disease where the small bones such as the hammer, anvil and stirrup lose their flexibility and thus cannot effectively conduct sound.

Beethoven did suffer from severe intestinal problems throughout his adult life and it is worth considering that his two most notable health problems were in some way related. An argument has been made that an autoimmune bowel disease is the most persuasive argument for Beethoven’s deafness although this is far from proven.

Beethoven noticed his deafness in about 1796, but it was not until 1802 that his friends noticed the condition. Beethoven and Ferdinand Ries were walking in the fields around Heiligenstadt, a country town outside Vienna, and where the Heiligenstadt Testament would be written a few months later, when Ries commented on the beautiful sound of a shepherd’s wooden flute; a sound that Beethoven was forced to admit that he could not hear at all. In 1804, aged 33, Beethoven is said to have had trouble hearing the wind instruments when the full orchestra was rehearsing for his recently completed ‘Eroica’ Symphony. However, in 1802 at the incredibly long 90

concert when his Fifth and Sixth Symphonies were premiered, Beethoven stopped the orchestra at a point in the middle of his Fantasy for Piano, Chorus and Orchestra, op. 80, when only two oboes were supposed to be playing with the piano. The fact that so few instruments were playing does not contradict the report from 1804 but does suggest that his hearing of live music still could be very accurate. The sensitivity of Beethoven’s hearing gave him trouble again in 1809 when he had to bury himself in the basement of his brother Casper Carl’s house in Vienna during Napoleon’s bombardment of the city.

Beethoven was mostly concerned by the social isolation that poor hearing inevitably entails, and it severely affected his personal identity. Beethoven’s father was a severe alcoholic who sought very early to exploit his son’s exceptional talent. One manifestation of this was that he did not know his actual age as his father pretended that he was two years younger than he was in the hopes of presenting him as a Mozartian child prodigy. This meant that his musical talent was very much part of his own vision of himself and led to him having the psychology of a prototypical ‘gifted child’. As such, he sought constant validation of his talent through public recognition. Thus, the need to compose and have the works performed was central to his being and the obstacle of deafness. This may have been part of his drive to keep composing as his deafness worsened.

Most of the great works of the famous ‘late period’ including the Ninth Symphony and Missa Solemnis were written in the last decade of Beethoven’s life (1817–27), when his deafness had progressed to the point when he could no longer perform in public and the only way for people to communicate with him was through writing. Progress was painstakingly slow for him, but his deafness led to works of unsurpassed profundity. He did use his other senses to enjoy music and experience his own compositions. At the rehearsals for the premiere of his Ninth Symphony, it was said that his eyes followed the bows and were able to judge the smallest fluctuations in tempo or rhythm and correct them immediately.

As his deafness worsened Beethoven had demanded louder pianos, the three pianos associated with him today are the Erard, the Broadwood and the Graf, but his methods of composition remained the same. In 1818 he received a larger and heavier piano from the English manufacturer Thomas Broadwood and this instrument has become part of the legend surrounding his later compositions; the names of Broadwood and Beethoven are often closely linked. He improvised at the piano, he sketched and he revised. His ability to play with a singing tone was compromised but his techniques remained largely unchanged.

Beethoven’s deafness has become very much part of his identity; sensory deafness was an affliction that had been with him, and one he had been coping and wrestling with from his mid-twenties. His coping strategies were formed over a number of years and he used his other senses, his eyes watching orchestral performers and the sense of touch through his resonators to augment his ever-decreasing sense of hearing. His use of effective but cumbersome ear trumpets gave him as much help as was available in his lifetime, but could not cure him, nor could medicine arrest the progress of the disease. His composition style evolved to give the world some of its finest classical music, but his composition methods remained similar. His triumph over a considerable disability is remarkable but his social isolation was real. He wrote of himself in a letter in 1798 after the completion of his Second Symphony, ‘Born with a passionate and excitable temperament, keenly susceptible to the pleasures of society, I was yet obliged early in life to isolate myself, and to pass my existence in solitude’ For him deafness was isolating and was a great influence of his composition style particularly in his later works. Isolation affected Beethoven deeply; will COVID-19 cause a lasting change on us all?

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Francisco Goya and his Response to Deafness Giacomo Prideaux (U6) Francisco Goya (1746-1828) painted at a pace so energetic that by his death in 1828 (a year after Beethoven’s), he had completed more than 1800 works, which historians have generally partitioned into two distinct periods.

The first of these periods is the one in which Goya undertook the historically consuming task of redefining the role of the painter as a creative mind rather than a workman through images of pastoral scenes, portraits and tapestries. The second, however, seems rooted in an emotional and expressive liberty as evident in works ranging from the Los Caprichos and Disasters of War prints to the notorious Black Paintings. Historical speculation roots this paradigm shift in Goya’s artistic priorities to signs of severe illness, perhaps syphilis, which he had contracted in his youth and which acted as a catalyst to cause complete deafness. This emerged for Goya at the age of 46 and remained until death.

Goya’s deafness necessitated his resignation from teaching at the Royal Academy in Madrid as he had lost ‘all hope of giving any assistance, since he was unable to hear anything that the pupils said . . . and this led to general amusement among the boys and disruptions of the class’. Goya’s earlier work, in particular his 1777 painting, El Quitasol (The Parasol), is characterised by a palette and subject matter which recalls the work of Jean-Antoine Watteau and the French Rococo. Here, Goya amalgamated French and Spanish fashion through the representation of a woman sitting on the ground likely resting after a long walk, whilst a young man holds a parasol above her. This young man in El Quitasol is dressed in what was then referred to as the ‘majo’ style, the style of the working class. His bodily arrangement, however, recalls a kind of masculine heroism, protecting the delicate, passive female figure, thus illustrating Goya’s awareness of such societal and social norms. There seems little which could contrast more than El Quitasol, and all of its traditional yet recreational imagery to the jarring, nightmarish images of Goya’s later life.

Janis Tomlinson, who has written six books about Goya, argued that his descent into illness forced an ‘acute awareness of the physical, gestural and emotional characteristics of an image’. It was as if deafness had brought Goya’s artistic practice into a kind of tunnel vision of focusing on the visible, without the distractions of the audible. Saturn Devouring his Son (1821-1823) is a seminal work of Goya’s later life, which had been produced at Goya’s home outside Madrid named La Quinta del Sordo. Here, Goya was influenced the Greek myth of Titan Kronus, who ravaged his sons because of a belief that he would eventually be overthrown by one of them. In this work, the corpse’s mutilated body serves alongside the wide, bulging eyes of Saturn to create an image so explicitly dark and horrifying, though it is unknown how documentary or mythical it is in influence.

It takes far from a precisely analytical eye to recognise that Saturn Devouring his Son surely demonstrates the most sinister and darkest aspects of Goya’s psyche, perhaps his ‘Saturnine’ temperaments of melancholia. Such cynicism could perhaps be an exploration of his own fears over losing power in light of his deteriorating physical and mental health (recall his aim early in his career of elevating the social standing of the artist). Tomlinson’s point regarding Goya’s increased sense of awareness is also not least illustrated in the sense that this work can be read on a much wider political level and perhaps an allegory of reactionary rule. Goya saw Ferdinand VII as a ruler who refuted change and development to suit the rapidly modernising world, whilst the horrors of the Inquisition had quite literally cannibalised Spain’s soul. Spain’s collective soul perhaps symbolised by the son of Saturn’s torso which bears uncanny similitude appearance to Spain’s shape on a map. Goya had, however, not written about these works which means that his genuine motivations remain unclear. Though perhaps this absence of literature illustrates a kind of raw expressivity to Goya’s later work where images such as Saturn Devouring his Son had not undergone the formal, structural consideration which for example a royal portrait had. Goya’s dark paintings are characterised by a treatment of paint looser than his earlier work, illustrating not only an increase in speed, but a gestural expressivity rawer than Goya’s contemporaries.

These so-called Black Paintings, robbed of optimism and light, are not so simplistic as to be explained 92

solely in terms of Goya’s deafness or darkened vision post 1792. The genuine horror of Goya’s works including The Third of May 1808, painted in 1814, can also be explored in the city of Zaragoza, capital of Spain’s Aragon region. It was here that Goya had trained as a painter, for example in the Basílica de Nuestra Señora del Pilar, and thus has come to represent the world in which Goya understood what religion really meant. This cathedral in many ways can be said to illustrate the almost archaic Christianity which Goya had been surrounded by: spiritually and dramatically charged. Perhaps Goya’s later work demonstrates his true belief of such organised religion – none. It is in this sense that the notion of deafness transforming Goya from an energetic Mozart to a dejected Beethoven is surely too simple. In Zaragoza, Goya had painted scenes of representing God’s love and generosity, whilst at the same time Spanish soldiers were fighting the French in shadowed, humid streets. It was this irony and exposure to such darkness that Goya really saw hell – a hell which became increasingly recurring through his later works, catalysed by illness and a darkening psyche.

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Ludwig and Me Mr Gist (CR, English Department) My parents were not particularly interested in music and never, as far as I can remember, listened to records. We did own a gramophone but there were only a few records, which was a great blessing because I became fascinated by them and, by playing them over and over, singing and dancing along, I quickly internalised every note. When they weren’t actually playing, they were still running through my head while I sang along to the internal orchestra.

My mother seemed happy to put up with it, and always enjoyed singing herself.

Tchaikovsky was my great favourite, and the 1812 Overture, Swan Lake and The Nutcracker boomed and pirouetted around the house, endlessly. Alongside those were Elgar’s Enigma Variations, Dave Brubeck’s Take Five, a couple of calypso records from when we had lived in Jamaica, Bing Crosby’s White Christmas, Beethoven’s Fifth and Jascha Heifetz’s recording of Beethoven’s Violin Concerto. These were all mono recordings, of course, and the crackling of the needle was an integral part of the effect. So, from the age of four, I grew up with a tiny, internal library of pieces that have stayed with me all my life.

At the same time, pop was arriving and so did Radio London, and then Radio 1, Juke Box Jury and Top of the Pops. In the playground at Moss Hall primary school, we would pretend to be Freddie and the Dreamers or The Beatles, arguing over who would be John so you could belt out Twist and Shout, while the other kids did the twist. Pop was a mania for anyone who was six in 1963. Tchaikovsky, Elgar and Beethoven sat on the shelf for a while as Cliff and Roy Orbison spun ridiculously quickly on the record player.

But the idea of orchestral music and the sounds and big tunes, particularly of Romantic composers, were still lodged in my head and came vividly back to life when I was thirteen, on a school exchange in France. For six weeks, my class boarded at L’Ecole St Martin in Pontoise, and it was a revelatory experience. Everything was different. Drinking coffee from a bowl at breakfast, discovering yogurt for the first time, and eating horsemeat for lunch were only some of the delights. The family whose son I partnered, lived in Paris and the weekend train opened up a complete world of wonders.

The boarding house had a common room for pupils with a cassette player in the corner. There were only a few tapes, but they included a compilation of classical hits, a sort of Classic FM selection from 1970, and on it was the final movement of Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony. I had never heard it before and was immediately hooked, once again playing it whenever there was free time in the common room. I thought that vast, expansive, optimistic tune was the greatest tune I’d ever heard and, as soon as I got back to England, rushed down to The Spinning Disc record shop and bought a copy. This was the first stereo record I had ever heard, and a school friend of mine who was already dabbling in circuit boards and other electronic wizardry, built me a stereo amplifier in a biscuit tin that I could plug headphones to and attach to the portable record player. It cost me £5 and I was away!

After that, I began buying records more regularly and, in particular, the Karajan recordings of Beethoven symphonies with the Berlin Philharmonic. They were wonderful recordings, each with that heroic, black-andwhite portrait of Karajan on the cover, looking like a brooding god. The ‘Eroica’, the ‘Pastoral’ Symphony and the Seventh and Eighth Symphonies soon followed and from there I explored Mahler, Brahms, Bach, Sibelius, Mozart, and Haydn, discovering delights of all kinds. Quite soon, my parents took pity on me and bought a proper, stereo hi-fi so that I could come down from isolation in my bedroom and listen in comfort, downstairs.

As a classical music listener, I never looked back. I listened to rock and pop as well, of course, but I always felt, deep down, that it was a different order of music, a form that excited and stimulated but could not match either the complexity of thought, or provoke the same emotional, and even spiritual, response that Beethoven, Bach and Brahms could achieve. I could quickly get tired of a song, but The ‘Jupiter’ Symphony seemed endlessly 94

enjoyable. At university, Radio 3 became the soundtrack of my undergraduate years, reading and studying in small rooms with This Week’s Composer in the background.

So, Ludwig was a pathfinder for me, someone who captured my imagination, aged 13, and led me on a lifetime’s journey of exploratory listening. I still like listening to the pop and rock of my era – Steely Dan, Joni Mitchell, James Taylor, The Beatles, Stones and Dylan are all firm favourites. But they are fixed in time, mostly reminding me of particular places, friends and events, and evoking memories of what was a generally very happy, younger life. Whereas Ludwig, Wolfgang and friends are always current, always offering something new.

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An Ode to the Ode to Joy: Schiller and Beethoven Frau Rainer (CR, German Department) During the coronavirus crisis and the social distancing, you can hear now or then musicians unite on balconies or on virtual platforms. Amateurs in Spain, the professionals of the Rotterdam Philharmonic Orchestra in the Netherlands, or in professionals and amateurs in Germany, and they all seem to play one song: Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony. Or, to be more precise, its last movement, the last 16 bars, which were set to Friedrich Schiller’s poem, Ode an die Freude- or ‘Ode to Joy’.

The Ode has proved itself to be the most versatile piece of music in modern Germany: it was used during the German March Revolution in 1848 on the barricades by Richard Wagner in Dresden, when he was young and idealistic. Two decades later, the democrat-turned-nationalist tried to declare the Ode ‘German’ as he had to listen to the French singing the composition during in the Franco-Prussian war. In 1918, it was part of the peace celebrations after the First World War . The same composition was used by the national socialists during their rallying Marches – and on Hitler’s birthday. It was the uniting hymn for both: divided Germany at the Olympics in Oslo in 1952 and re-united the country in 1989, when Leonard Bernstein, the conductor of the concert honouring of the fall of the Berlin Wall, even changed the lyrics and replaced ‘Freude’– ‘Joy’ with ‘Freiheit’– ‘Freedom’.

But all of this started with Friedrich Schiller’s poem.

Friedrich Schiller, only eleven years older than Beethoven, was born 1759 in Marburg. He grew up in the duchy of Württemberg, which was part of the ‘Holy Roman Empire of the German Nation’. This politically loose construct consisted of hundreds of subunits – kingdoms, principalities, duchies, counties, bishoprics and Free Imperial Cities. Schiller, son of a military doctor, lived in Ludwigsburg, which was still reigned in an absolutist manner. The Duke was able to order young Schiller to enter the Karlsschule in Stuttgart-a military academy- even against his parents’ wishes, who wanted him to be a priest. After studying law, he eventually switched to studying medicine and became a regiment doctor. Hating the military, he discussed Classical ideals and wrote his first play, The Robbers. The drama criticises social corruption and the economic inequities of the German society, but especially the absolutists like the almighty duke whose power Schiller had to endure every day.

The tragedy is part of the German ‘Sturm und Drang’ period, which were also Beethoven’s formative years. Due to the non-existing larger state structure, culture became for many Germans an escape from the narrow world of princely absolutism. As the Germans couldn’t reform the wider community or state, their ideal became to emancipate and educate the individual, who should strive to be true and beautiful (something Schiller will write a lot about as a History professor in Jena). The practicality of British Sensibility or the intellectualism of French nationalists were impractical for the German system, in which the bourgeoisie had no political influence.

Culture and striving for higher education unified the Germans. Culture tried to overcome the many barriers of all little Germanic nations. Culture was the replacement for political influence. The Germans started to see themselves as ‘Dichter and Denker’- ‘Poets and Thinkers’.

It was humanity as a whole that these philosophers wanted to change: the emancipated and educated individual would then change the state and reality they lived in. The first authors were Kant and Lessing, who strove to give to all Germans ethical values, make them think for themselves, and not follow the church or state blindly. Everything had to be logical, reasonable and sensible. But for young Schiller and his early contemporaries – the young poets of ‘Sturm und Drang’ – sensibility was just stifling. Schiller in particular resented political injustice and tried to get rid of all accepted conventions – if need be, with violence. The feeling of the individual was important: the inner genius, fighting against the evils of the world. Who wants to be bogged down by rules and reasons?

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This feeling of fighting against discrimination and for the people made Schiller and a lot of his contemporaries support the French Revolution (at least, in the beginning). Beethoven dedicated his Third Symphony to Napoleon, and both Beethoven and Schiller were even granted honorary citizenship of the French Republic (together with George Washington).

Schillers’ The Robbers was an immediate success and he became a household name. To be able to see the premiere in Mannheim in 1782, just a mere eighty miles from his home but a different state (Palatine) he had to abscond the militia. When coming back home to Stuttgart, the duke forbade him to write – for Schiller, this was the best reason to flee from the city, which he did with his best friend Johann Streicher (the pianist, composer, and piano maker, who later moved to Vienna and married Nannette Stein. Both became surrogate parents to Beethoven who in turn wrote about Streicher’s pianos they were too good for him. We know Beethoven bought at least one pianoforte from him.)

For the next three years, Schiller had to rely on friends to accommodate and feed him, the typical picture of the poor poet. He was able to complete his next play, Intrigue and Love – the undying love of a young aristocrat for the middle-class daughter of the music instructor ends in death for both (note: Act 2, scene 2 is an anti-British parody. Schiller refers to his contemporary events when young Germans were forced to help the British Army in the American Revolutionary war. When refusing, they were shot as the German Duke of Hesse had already sold his citizens to the British.) Luckily for Schiller, the fairly rich Christian Gottfried Körner, who fell in love with a girl not befitting his social status, could identify himself within the play and immediately invited the famous writer to stay at his house on his vineyard to Leipzig in 1785.

Schiller, thankful and joyous about his new-found friend and benefactor, immediately wrote a poem: thus, An die Freude (‘To Joy’) was born. The main topic of the poem is the ideal society of equal men which are bound to each other by joy and friendship. Joy in the form of an allegory is spoken to directly and put on a level with the divine. In unison with friendship, joy is the uniting virtue of mankind. Striving for both would make sure that the whole of humanity would be united – a utopia of world peace, a world without war.

Fifteen-year-old Beethoven knew immediately that he would put the poem to music, but the teenager was not the only one who was inspired by the poem. Körner himself was the first who composed a tune so the poem could be used – as a drinking song (well, we’re still talking about Germans . . .) There are several edited versions published for students at universities. Later on, Schubert, Tchaikovsky and Strauss composed their own melodies for the poem.

The ‘Ode’ itself is not ‘Sturm and Drang’ anymore, but the start of the ‘German Classicism’ or ‘Weimar Classicism.’ This movement would find its culmination in the friendship between Johann Wolfgang von Goethe and Friedrich von Schiller when they both lived in Weimar – Goethe as a politician, poet and scientist, Schiller as a history professor and – always poor and sick – poet. Classicism under their lead tried to balance the Enlightenment with sensibility, reason and heart, thought and feeling. They established a new humanism. These two most important men in German literature defined the era. It is very rare that a literary period has a defined end – and the German Classicism ended abruptly with Schiller’s death from tuberculosis in 1805.

After Schiller’s death, Körner published the revised version of the Ode to Joy as Schiller had criticised and changed his own work shortly after the French Revolution. The line ‘was der Mode Schwerd geteilt (what the sword of custom divided)’ sounded too warlike for him after the bloodshed in France, so Schiller had changed it to ‘was die Mode streng geteilt (what custom strictly divided)’. The more important change though was from ‘Bettler werden Fürstenbrüder (beggars become brothers of princes)’- a clear message for French revolutionariesto the more tame version ‘Alle Menschen werden Brüder’ (‘all people become brothers)’.

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Mr Twohig, Symphony 9 in D minor

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During the Napoleonic wars, students fought not only against France, but also for their dream of a united Germany- the first time a military corps was founded to unite all young people from Germany, their uniform being black, red and gold. The princes used this nationalistic sentiment to rally for more soldiers, but as soon as Napoleon was defeated, they squashed the German nationalistic movement. Politically unifying ideas were soon pushed back into their box (even though nationalism became more and more difficult to suppress) and the middle class concentrated again on culture- Beethoven’s great era of Romanticism started: the Viennese Classic.

By 1817, enthusiasm for Beethoven’s music was so strong that the London Royal Symphonic Society invited their musical idol to compose two symphonies. Two years earlier, Beethoven had already drafted some notes for the ‘Ode to Joy’. When sitting down to compose the Ninth, a revolutionary idea sprung up, something which had never been done before – using a choir in a symphony! On 7th May 1824, the Ninth premiered in Vienna. By then, Beethoven had been deaf a few years. In order to feel the music, he had demolished the piano’s legs so that he could feel the vibrations of its music through the floor. He tried to lip-read the last movement from the choir singers. He did not see the spectators’ reaction at first as he could not hear their frantic applause. It is said that Caroline Unger, one of the singers, had to turn Beethoven around so that he could see the applauding Austrians. Within two weeks, the Ninth was played again, but in the much larger hall of the Viennese Hofburg.

Despite its huge success, Beethoven was not so sure about the use of the choir in the finale and still considered an instrumental ending. Nevertheless, a year later, the first performance in London took place, conducted by Sir George Smart – including the choir.

From then onwards, the ‘Ode to Joy’ was not only used in Germany but had its international purposes: demonstrators in Chile used it against the Pinochet dictatorship, Chinese students played the Ninth at Tiananmen Square in 1989 as the troops came in to crush their democratic movement. The Daiky (‘number nine’ as it is called in Japanese) is not only played at New Year’s Eve in Japan but was also the chosen rallying anthem after the 2011 tsunami. Emmanuel Macron used it after he was elected president in 2017, the UNESCO World Orchestra for Peace chose the song as a commemoration to the centenary of the end of the First World War the year after that. It even has its own documentary – Following the Ninth (2013.) Additionally, of course, it has been the anthem of the European Union since 1972.

And what will the future bring? In the spirit of the poem ‘To Joy’, the conductor Marin Alsop wants to lead performances of the Ninth Symphony on six continents with 10 partner orchestras, 6th December 2020 at Carnegie Hall, all being united, joyful and friends.

Through Beethoven’s music, Schiller’s words came true – ‘Freude, deine Zauber binden wieder’- ‘Joy, thy magic, friendship and music bind humanity together again.’

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Beethoven, Kubrick and Foucault: A Clockwork Subversion Mr Wills (CR, Music Department) The use of the music of Ludwig van Beethoven throughout the score of A Clockwork Orange has long been identified as representing the innate violence of the protagonist, Alex. The juxtaposition of imagery and music have led to a standard narrative that the Music in A Clockwork Orange has a dual function: representing Alex’s insanity, and the rites and order of society. This idea was clearly laid out by Foucault in Madness and Civilisation: A History of Insanity in the Age of Reason. The score, however, has a far more subtle level of nuance which subverts both the standard narrative, and Foucault’s model of society.

Beethoven was a singularity in the history of art: a virtuoso, a classicist, a romanticist, a moral idealist, but (according to Foucault) above all, an egalitarian (Foucault, 1961, p. 189). Not long after completing his Third Symphony, Beethoven wrote the Italian words Sinfonia Intitolata Bonaparte (Symphony Entitled Bonaparte) on the cover page and left the manuscript on a table so that all his friends could see. On hearing the news that, on 18 May 1804, Napoleon had declared himself Emperor of France. Beethoven was furious. Flying into a rage, the composer shouted, ‘So he is no more than a common mortal! Now he, too, will tread underfoot all the rights of man [and] indulge only his ambition; now he will think himself superior to all men [and] become a tyrant!’

(Ries, 1804) Snatching up a pen, Beethoven then strode over to the score and scribbled out the title so violently that he tore through the paper. Thereafter, the work would be known simply as the Sinfonia Eroica. This episode has become the stuff of legend, giving rise to an abiding image of Beethoven as a lover of liberty, an admirer of the French Revolution and – above all – an egalitarian (Lee, 2018).

Stanley Kubrick has cast an equally long cultural shadow over the latter half of the twentieth century: iconoclast, autodidact, pacifist, perfectionist, intuitive cinematographer, but (according to Herr (2001)) above all, a liberal-humanist. Writing about his 1971 masterpiece, A Clockwork Orange, Kubrick stated that a work of art does not have as its primary purpose ‘a political or philosophical policy statement. Burgess’s novel had everything: great story, great ideas, and a main character, Alex, who summarizes what [Kubrick] think[s] natural man is all about. You identify with Alex because you recognize yourself,’ he says. ‘It’s for this reason that some people become uncomfortable’ (McGregor, 1971).

A Clockwork Orange is a synthesis of binary oppositions: society and social reconstructionism; anarchy and orthodoxy; violence and classical music. Hold on – violence and classical music? Beethoven would have disagreed with setting up this last pair as opposing.

Foucault believed that it must be taken into consideration that ‘for a very long time music has been tied to social rites and unified by them: religious music, chamber music; in the nineteenth century, the link between music and theatrical production in opera’ (1984), and by extension, in the twentieth century, cinema. Kubrick was infamous for controlling every aspect of his productions, including assembling the iconic soundtracks for both Clockwork Orange and its predecessor, 2001: A Space Odyssey.

Alex, the antichrist-protagonist of Clockwork, is a fan of the music of Beethoven. Haberler contends that Beethoven acts as a Leitmotiv for Alex’s innate violent and unchained nature (2016) throughout the course of the film. But, according to Foucault, Beethoven also has associations of social order. This juxtaposition of function is typical of Kubrick’s work. He frequently frustrated collaborators by removing any element of the cinematography which might lessen the ambiguity (e.g. the extensive narration recorded for 2001).

Kubrick’s juxtaposition is even more complex than this opposition might initially suggest: the first Beethoven Leitmotiv heard in the film is the opening motive of the Fifth Symphony, played by the doorbell of HOME. The next is the Woman who foreshadows Beethoven’s epic egalitarian magnus opus, the Ninth 100

Symphony. The function of naturalistic and synthesized music hints at a deeper diegesis. The soundtrack is remarkable for the work of Wendy Carlos, one of the early pioneers of FM synthesis. The early 1970s saw huge technological developments in the synthesizer; an instrument capable of creating any sound electronically, without recourse to acoustic instruments. Carlos recreated a range of classical scores for the soundtrack utilising her Moog sub 37 and M3 4-track tape recorder (Pinch, 2011).

The naturalistic incidents of Alex’s beloved ‘Ludwig van’ in the score are frequently diegetic; characters singing; Alex playing a record in his room. The juxtaposition of on-screen imagery suggests that these are representative of humanism; images of female sexuality; religious symbolism with an emphasis on stigmata, the element of human suffering; Alex’s own first-person narration overplaying the scene.

The next morning, the diegetic is replaced by the non-diegetic in the form of Carlos’s ghostly, dehumanised version of the Ninth Symphony – this time the seventh variation of the choral fantasia. Alex is forced to engage with the society which Beethoven celebrates. For Foucault, this subversion of meaning would be reflective of Beethoven’s own egalitarianism; the social forces Foucault saw as driving this conceptual distinction throughout the early nineteenth century were a direct result of the drive towards social equality (1961).

The choice of the Ninth Symphony for the soundtrack was a typically deliberate act by Kubrick. The combination of Shiller’s epic egalitarian text (Alle Menschen Werden Brüder) with Beethoven’s already neoenlightenment philosophy forms a binary opposition with the social themes of Clockwork Orange’s dystopian society. The narrative progresses on to ideas of redemption and forgiveness, themselves religious autotrophs. The ‘treatment’ is underscored by a recording of the Ninth Symphony, which functions both dietetically and nondietetically; the Karajan 1963 recording with the Berlin Philharmonic is featured initially as background score, before Alex’s request to ‘turn it off ’ brings the score in to focus as the central narrative diegesis (Hanoch-Roe, 2002).

This juxtaposition between synthesised and acoustic treatments of Beethoven presents a more complex dichotomy than Haberler initially suggests; the synthesized portions of the score act as a leitmotiv for what Foucault would term Alex’s insanity; the acoustic treatments underscore the social rites against which Alex is rebelling. Wendy Carlos’s score is used universally to foreshadow and underscore those acts of violence and social disobedience which put Alex at odds with the dystopic social conventions. Thus, in Foucault’s model, the act of dissociating Alex from Beethoven is also dissociating Alex from his own humanity. This fits in with Kubrick’s own profession towards liberal humanism; seeing the ‘live’ music as indelibly linked with the role of society, and thus Alex’s struggle between wanting to conform to, and destroy that same society. This is further underpinned when Alex stumbles back to HOME, where the Karajan recording is used to torture him, prior to breaking his conditioning.

This model is further nuanced by Kubrick. The choice of recordings is particularly unusual, given the respective roles that the synthesized and acoustic scores play in the film. By the point the film was made, Karajan had recorded three complete sets of the Beethoven symphonies (1951, 1963, and 1971), in addition to the many other recordings of both the Ninth and Fifth Symphonies extant in the catalogue (Allmusic). Karl Schumann (1985) describes the differences between the three recordings: . . . (the 1951) shows off the young Karajan’s ‘Bacchanalian’ Beethoven; others may be content to think of (the 1963 set) . . . with the Philharmonia performances as objective. They are, as all of Karajan’s most characteristic performances were to be, free of anything smacking of gratuitous interpretive overlay. They proceed – all of them – with what seems the most uncontrived natural momentum.

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This dichotomy between the Apollonian interpretation and the Bacchanalian excesses of pre-treatment Alex might initially seem at odds with Foucault’s model of insanity and social rite, were it not for Kubrick’s own gift for subversion. The choice of this recording, as seen from the painstaking care with which he selected not only the score, but also the recording and final edits for 2001, could be nothing but deliberate. Kubrick is having the last laugh.

By choosing the Apollonian 1963 interpretation for Beethoven Ninth, Kubrick is drawing parallels between the dehumanised world of the synthesized score, representing anti-society, and the automatized world of ‘functional’ society, as represented by the stark, grandiose expanse of Karajan’s interpretation. Kubrick subtly subverts the idea that a functional society would inflict the horrors of the Ludovico Technique on its citizens.

The sophistication of the use of Beethoven throughout the film is perhaps best highlighted in the Deus Ex Machina, where Alex breaks his conditioning. Reunited with his beloved ‘Ludwig van’, Alex’s freeze-frame act of violence is underscored by Karajan, and the strains of the erstwhile humanising Beethoven 9. Far from being the leitmotiv for social order, or a representation of Alex’s inner violent self, the cries of Schiller’s mighty anthem become an antithesis of both, creating a new and deeper meaning of self-expression and liberality.

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The Use and Abuse of Beethoven’s Ode to Joy in Tengiz Abuladze’s 1987 Film Repentance J. Nelson-Piercy (OM), Research Assistant and Mr Nelson-Piercy (CR, Russian Department) Покаяние, Repentance, is a Georgian film directed by Tengiz Abuladze. Originally made in 1984, it was only released in 1987 due to its highly controversial and stark critique of Stalin. Not only is the film a condemnation of Stalin’s reign of terror, but perhaps more importantly, it is a condemnation of the ‘de-Stalinisation’ period: the 30 years following the death of Stalin in 1953. Throughout this period there were mixed messages concerning the legacy of Stalinism and society at large could not find a common voice with which to denounce or appease for Stalin and his terrors. This first foray into the Soviet Union analysing its own history led Roy Medvedev to call the film, ‘the most important event in post-Soviet cultural life.’

The film is set in a small Georgian-speaking town, unnamed and in an unstated time period. The town’s mayor, Varlam Aravidze, has recently died and his body is dug up three times by a woman named Ketevan, whose parents, Sandro and Nino, were victims of Varlam’s Stalinesque regime of terror and oppression. She does not want to allow his legacy go unchallenged with him to the grave. She wants him to answer for his crimes, ‘to bury him means to forgive him’.

Ketevan’s father, Sandro Barateli, is a Christian artist and poet and therefore subject to Varlam’s terror as the dictator à la Stalin seeks to eradicate cultural and religious practices in his town to ‘make way for (scientific and economic) progress’. Varlam is a parody of the ultimate dictator: he sports Beria-like pince-nez eyeglasses, a Hitleresque moustache, dresses and speaks like Mussolini and of course, speaks the native Georgian of Joseph Stalin.

Repentance is rich in its musical canon. During the two-and-a-half-hour film we hear amongst others: an aria from Verdi’s opera Il Trovatore, the march from Aida, Soviet ‘oompah-pah’ music, the spirited dance of the sabres from Khachaturian’s Gayane; funereal dirges, Mendelssohn’s ‘Wedding March’, ‘Sunny’ by Boney M and several Georgian folk songs.

But by far the most poignant use of music as a backdrop to the narrative of the film is Beethoven’s chorale, ‘Ode to Joy’, from the fourth movement of his Ninth Symphony. Some background is required. In one scene, the dictator mayor is orating one of his many speeches from a high balcony: We should trust no one, no one’s deeds or words! We must be vigilant and know how to detect the enemy. That’s our paramount task and not an easy one, ladies and gentlemen! Even more complicated, because out of every three people, four are enemies! Don’t be surprised, quantitively one enemy equals more than one friend. It’s always been so. And it is so today.

Our motherland is in danger, ladies and gentlemen! Let our people become like a tight fist.

Like the great wall of China, the enemy would be powerless to surmount.

This rousing speech is a call to arms for people to follow their leader. It tells of paranoia, atrocities carried out in the name of the greater good and justification for friends, neighbours and families to turn against one another. In the next scene, Sandro’s wife, Nino, is mourning her husband’s fate of a certain death sentence for being a progressive artist and poet. A female friend and also sympathiser of the mayoral office enters carrying a globe and daffodils. The mayor’s political idealism and call to arms gives way to the bigger and all-encompassing idealism of brotherhood and shared ideals where ends justify all means. The symbolism of the globe carried in the mayoral assistant’s hand is not lost as she opines: I’m sure it will end well; everything will be alright. Nino, think now of your girl - Keti must 103

become a good citizen and an honourable woman. Your misfortune must not lead her astray.

Don’t forget that we’re serving a great cause: future generations will be proud of us. But since the scale of events are so grand, big mistakes are inevitable. It may even happen that innocent people are victimised but I can already hear our favourite ‘Ode to Joy’ by Beethoven which will surely sound all over the world very soon.

This speech of, on the one hand sympathy, sisterly love and compassion and on the other, blind ascent, agreement and justification for evil ends with the assistant singing unaccompanied, the fourth movement, ‘Ode to Joy’, of Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony. Composed in 1823, the choral part of this symphony uses as its libretto a poem written by Schiller in 1785: Freude, schöner Götterfunken, Tochter aus Elysium, Wir betreten feuertrunken, Himmlische, dein Heiligtum!

Deine Zauber binden wieder Was die Mode streng geteilt; Alle Menschen werden Brüder Wo dein sanfter Flügel weilt.

Joy, beautiful spark of Divinity, Daughter of Elysium, We enter, drunk with fire, Heavenly one, thy sanctuary!

Thy magic binds again What custom strictly divided; All people become brothers, Where thy gentle wing abides.

This a capella singing in the original German language comes at an important juncture in the film: It is positioned after the politically tendentious speech by the mayor, and a sympathiser’s justification of the tactics employed, and just before Nino’s husband’s sentence is carried out. The chilling words of the assistant, ‘Don’t forget that we’re serving a great cause: future generations will be proud of us. But since the scale of events are so grand, big mistakes are inevitable’, chime with Schiller’s words of balm that offer comfort and pardon for such barbarous acts: ‘We enter, drunk with fire, Heavenly one, thy sanctuary!’.

One might call Abuladze’s choice of music in this scene masterful and perfect for the occasion. The haunting and well-known melody has been used as a manipulative call to arms by less-than-savoury regimes before. As Beethoven’s biographer, Jan Swafford says, ‘how one viewed the Ninth depended on what kind of Elysium one had in mind, whether all people should be brothers or that all non-brothers should be exterminated’.

The ‘Ode to Joy’ tune has been adopted as the theme of dictatorships as well as of democracies. It is, by reasonable ascent, the peoples’ hymn; we all know it, own it even, hum it and have our own recollection of it. Beethoven composed it as a motto for the whole world to unite, for it to become a national anthem of humanity itself. This is why Abuladze’s use of it to justify Stalin’s crimes is so, powerful and perfect. Or is it…?

Nicholas Cook puts it well: ‘From its first performance, in Vienna in 1824, up to the present day, the Ninth Symphony has inspired diametrically opposed interpretations’. Early listeners and commentators thought that Beethoven had gone too far in the complexity of his composition. The piece, with its near-impossible technical demands, incomprehensible scale was madness, they thought. Its naïve utopian, humanist idealism in the Schiller-inspired choral section was further evidence to denounce this piece.

On the other side, Hector Berlioz thought it the ‘culmination of its author’s genius’. It has been the anthem of the Council of Europe since 1972; it has been used by Chileans demonstrating against the Pinochet regime; Chinese students whistled it on Tiananmen Square; it was performed at the Berlin Wall soon after its dismantling; it is performed every December in Japan to commemorate the tsunami there; it is the sound of Hogmanay and New Year celebrations everywhere; it is an annual fixture at the Proms; football competitions have made it their own as did Macron at his Presidential victory in 2017; Mr Nelson-Piercy and his wife even walked back down the aisle at their wedding to its strains on the organ.

The Ninth Symphony is a sounding bell of social change, of emotional hope, and even of political reform.

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Beethoven shared Schiller’s idealistic vision of the human race becoming a brotherhood of men. Some say that he was simply too successful in writing a tune that really could be sung by all humanity, and that its vision of universal brotherhood is kitsch at best, or politically dangerous at worst. Conductor Gustav Leonhardt, talking about the finale, said simply: ‘That ‘Ode to Joy’, talk about vulgarity! And the text! Completely puerile!’ What might the dictator Mayor Varlam have said to this?

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ALLE MENSCHEN WERDEN BRÃœDER Remembering Beethoven

Mr Twohig, Symphony 9 in D minor

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The Story of Beethoven’s Lock of Hair Charlotte Greenham (Re) When Ludwig van Beethoven lay dying in 1827, a young musician named Ferdinand Hiller came to pay his respects to the great composer. As many individuals inspired by Beethoven, he snipped a lock of hair off the corpse a day after Beethoven had died as a keepsake to remember this great composer (a normal custom at the time). The lock was passed down through the family as an heirloom when it was given to Ferdinand’s son Paul on 1st May 1883. In 1911, Paul took it to be examined by a conservator in Cologne and resealed it in a locket with a wooden frame, with an inscription by Paul Hiller describing how his father had come to have the hair, and how he came to be in possession of it, placed underneath the glass backing.

Over a century after the hair was cut by Hiller, it somehow made its way to the tiny fishing village of Gilleleje, in Nazi-controlled Denmark and came into the hands of the local physician Kay Fremming. This doctor helped save the lives of hundreds of Jews fleeing from Denmark to Sweden. It is thought it may have come into Fremming’s possession when one Jewish refugee, possibly a relative of Hiller, most likely used it as payment of some kind. After Dr Fremming’s death, his daughter assumed ownership of the lock, selling it in a Sotheby’s auction in London in 1994 to an American urologist named Alfredo Guevera for £3,600. Guevera kept 160 strands and the remaining 422 strands were donated to the Ira F. Brilliant Centre for Beethoven Studies at San Jose State University California. When the locket was opened a fragment of the original note written by Ferdinand Hiller was found. Although most words had faded beyond recognition, you could still make out the words ‘Beethoven’ and ‘cut off ’ in German.

A series of complex forensic tests were done on the lock of hair to attempt to finally solve the mystery of Beethoven’s history of illnesses and his deafness. Tests were carried out for mercury, morphine, arsenic and many more substances, but these all came up negative. The only test that yielded a positive result was lead. Further studies have suggested that Beethoven probably drunk from a lead goblet. He was quite a heavy drinker and wine from that era often contained a high amount of lead as a sweetener, which could have contributed to this high lead concentration. This lead poisoning could have led to his deafness. Lead can cause hearing loss, which is well known in the scientific community. It may have even been a contributing factor to Beethoven’s death and chronic illness. Hearing loss, irritability, abdominal pain, headache, joint pain and mood disorders are all the symptoms that absolutely dominated every day of the latter half of Beethoven’s life, according to the documents. These are all symptoms of lead poisoning.

However, many argue that the evidence for lead poisoning is not sound enough. There is a huge risk of cross-contamination, due to the hair being so old, especially by lead because the keratin proteins present in hair chemically bind easily to lead. This makes it virtually impossible for a researcher to determine whether the lead contamination was internal or external.

Furthermore, a set of detailed forensic tests that found lead in the hair show a number of sharp peaks in lead levels. These are far too large to correlate to internal lead levels. Even if a large amount of lead had been ingested by Beethoven, it would have come out much more gradually in his hair. It is more likely that the lead contamination was external, especially considering that lockets were often sealed by lead soldering, and the first locket would have been sealed around 1827. However, no evidence can be found to prove this.

We will probably never be certain what caused Ludwig van Beethoven’s chronic history of illnesses and deafness. However, I will leave it to you to decide if you think this lock of hair, after taking a fantastical ride though the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, holds part of the answer.

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Remembering Beethoven: Museums to Meteors Ned Wolfe (Re) If I asked you to name a famous musician who is dead, your first answer would probably be either Mozart or Beethoven. Both are incredible musicians and very famous with amazing legacies. But, arguably, Beethoven is the most remembered and renowned musician of all time. He is still remembered hugely today, and his music is still a wonder to listen to for everybody. He has an incredible legacy and has been honoured in so many ways from a huge funeral to having an asteroid named after him – you name it.

Let’s start with his funeral. Beethoven died on the 26th March 1827, aged 56, in Vienna. His funeral was then three days after, on the 27th March, where he was buried in Währing cemetery. His funeral was attended by a huge crowd estimated to be between 10,000 to 30,000 and many theatres were closed during the procession.

Many famous artists also attended, like Johann Hummel, Franz Grillparzer and Franz Schubert. This is one piece of evidence that shows how famous and respected Beethoven was. Later, on the 3rd April, there was a memorial mass for Beethoven at a church in Vienna where Mozart’s Requiem was played in remembrance of him.

As Beethoven is still a very famous person today, many museums and other institutions have been set up about or after him. There are many museums for Beethoven in Vienna and in Bonn in Germany. Two of the more famous ones are the Beethoven House in Bonn and the Ira F. Brilliant Centre for Beethoven Studies. Not only this, there is a musical academy in Bonn, which is called the Beethoven Academy. This school also created the international Beethoven Prize, which gets awarded to a young musician who promotes peace, charity and good will. Finally, his is the only name inscribed on one of the plaques at the Trim Symphony Hall in Boston. The others were left empty because it was felt that only Beethoven’s popularity would endure.

There are also many statues and monuments that have been made in remembrance of Beethoven. For example, the Beethoven statue in Bonn that we unveiled in 1845 to honour his 75th birthday. This was also the first statue of a composer in Germany. Later, in 1880, Vienna honoured him with another statue. There is also a Beethoven festival which started in 1845 in Bonn. This was never a regular event up until 2007, when it was decided that it would be held annually. There have also been many films to remember the life of Beethoven and in honour of him since the first one in 1927. Beethoven is not only remembered on earth, for the third biggest crater on Mercury is named after him. Also, a large asteroid in the asteroid belt is named after him and is called ‘1815 Beethoven’.

So, to sum it all up, Beethoven is a very famous musician and composer who is still very much respected for his musical skill nearly two centuries after his death. He has been remembered and honoured in so many ways from museums to meteors. He is one of the most remembered composers of all time.

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The boiling point of genius: Beethoven and his reception in France Mr Brown (CR, Head of Modern Languages) Beethoven’s works began to come to the attention of French audiences with the inauguration of the Société des concerts du Conservatoire in Paris in 1828. This was a time when Romanticism was the prevailing artistic movement in France, its flourishing having been delayed by the final years of the ancien régime and the subsequent upheavals of the Revolution and the Napoleonic Wars, before the restoration of the Bourbon monarchy in 1814 under Louis XVIII, whose Charte constitutionnelle (Constitutional Charter) preserved many of the liberties won during the Revolution. As if to underline the significance of Beethoven’s music in a country which still remembered (and among a sector of the bourgeoisie revered) Napoleon, the first concert that the society presented, on 28 March 1828, opened with a performance of the Eroica Symphony. Over time, all the symphonies would be performed, in addition to concertos and chamber works, and the French (or at least Parisian music lovers) were thus able to become acquainted with the composer’s music from only a short time after his death.

As Beethoven’s reputation grew after his death, novelist and playwright Honoré de Balzac (1799-1850) and composer Hector Berlioz (1803-1869) were among early admirers, both regular attenders of the concerts at the Paris Conservatoire. This was a time when French intellectuals were becoming interested in other European cultural traditions, shown in, for example, growing fascination with Shakespeare and Goethe, Walter Scott and Byron. The most prolific French writer of his age, the poet, novelist and dramatist Victor Hugo (1802–1885), would prove, however, to be the figure who would ultimately embrace Beethoven’s memory with the greatest public impact in the years between the composer’s death in 1827 and the rupture in Franco-German relations which took place in 1870 with the outbreak of the Franco-Prussian War. Beethoven is mentioned admiringly in Hugo’s poem Mages (Magi), published in his collection Les Contemplations in 1856. However, it was his work William Shakespeare (1864) in which his admiration for Beethoven is most richly shown. In part a biography of Shakespeare (it was written in gratitude to England while Hugo was living in political exile in St Peter Port, Guernsey), this long prose work is much more an appreciation of some of the greatest creative geniuses of European civilisation. In all, some 50 figures are discussed, each of which, in Hugo’s memorable metaphor, has reached the boiling point of genius: ‘Comme l’eau qui, chauffée à cent degrés, n’est plus capable d’augmentation calorique et ne peut s’élever plus haut, la pensée humaine atteint dans certains hommes sa complète intensité.’ (William Shakespeare 55) ( Just as water, heated to 100 degrees, is unable to become any hotter, so human thought reaches its full intensity in certain men) Among these 50, Beethoven is the only musician named. For Hugo, such people reach close to godliness and are taken out of the human realm: ‘L’esprit humain a une cime. Cette cime est l’idéal. Dieu y descend, l’homme y monte.’ (William Shakespeare 55).

(The human spirit has a summit. This summit is an ideal state. God comes down to it, while mankind rises to it.)

Later in the same section, he will turn to Germany. Recognising Beethoven the musician as being in a category different from other writers and artists, Hugo continues: ‘Quant à l’Allemagne, matrice, comme l’Asie, de races, de peuplades et de nations, elle est représentée dans l’art par un homme sublime, égal, quoique dans une catégorie différente, à tous ceux que nous avons caractérisés plus hauts. Cet homme est Beethoven. Beethoven, c’est l’âme allemande.’ (William Shakespeare 116) (As for Germany, like Asia a matrix of races, peoples and nations, it is represented in art by a sublime man, equal to all those we have described above, though in a different category. This man is Beethoven. Beethoven is the soul of Germany.)

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Hugo’s Romantic roots are never far away. A dreamy paragraph on music echoes a traditionally Romantic French view of the German soul which almost deliberately aimed to counterbalance its own literary aspirations in its description of music from across the Rhine: ‘La musique . . . est la vapeur de l’art. Elle est à la poésie ce que la rêverie est à la pensée, ce que le fluide est au liquide, ce que l’océan des nuées est à l’océan des ondes. Si l’on veut un autre rapport, elle est l’indéfini de cet infini. . . La musique est le verbe de l’Allemagne. Le peuple allemand, si comprimé comme peuple, si émancipé comme penseur, chante avec un sombre amour.’ (William Shakespeare 287) (Music . . . is art’s steam. It is to poetry what daydreaming is to thinking, what fluid is to liquid, what the ocean of clouds is to the ocean of waves. To offer another description, it is the indefinite element of the infinite. . . Music is Germany’s statement. The German people, so packed together as a people, so liberated in their thinking, sings with serious love.)

Concluding his reflections on Beethoven and on German music, Hugo turns particularly to singing. In doing so, he may well be alluding to the lasting power of the Ninth Symphony, with its choral final movement, to appeal through singing to universal feelings of brotherhood (‘Alle Menschen werden Brüder’ (All people become brothers)) as expressed in the text of Schiller’s Ode an die Freude (‘Ode to Joy’). Equally, we may see Hugo’s observations as a richly Romantic vindication of Beethoven’s power to communicate a deep, heartfelt message entirely from within the German soul: Chanter, cela ressemble à se délivrer. Ce qu’on ne peut dire et ce qu’on ne peut taire, la musique l’exprime.

Aussi toute l’Allemagne est-elle musique en attendant qu’elle soit liberté. … Le chant est pour l’Allemagne une respiration. C’est par le chant qu’elle respire, et conspire. La note étant le syllabe d’une sorte de vague langue universelle, la grande communication de l’Allemagne avec le genre humain se fait par l’harmonie, admirable commencement d’unité. C’est par le nuage que ces pluies qui fécondent la terre sortent de la mer; c’est par la musique que ces idées qui pénètrent les âmes sortent de l’Allemagne. Aussi peut-on dire que les plus grands poëtes de l’Allemagne sont ses musiciens, merveilleuse famille dont Beethoven est le chef.’ (William Shakespeare 287-288) (Singing is like being set free. Anything that cannot be said or kept silent can be expressed by music.

So all of Germany is music until it is freedom … For Germany singing is breathing. It is through singing that it breathes and comes together. As a sung note is the syllable of a sort of undefined universal language, Germany communicates with the human race through harmony, an admirable forerunner of unity. It is by clouds that the rains which water the earth are drawn out of the sea: it is by music that the ideas which enter the soul are drawn out of Germany. So we can say that the greatest German poets are musicians, a great family whose head is Beethoven.)

Shortly after Hugo’s work was published, the Franco-Prussian War of 1870–71 brought French admiration of German culture to an abrupt end and heralded decades of animosity and mistrust. Not until the 1960s would French writers return to Beethoven. By then the world was a very different place, one in which artistic freedoms and the capacity of artists for reinventing themselves would be seem much more topical and relevant. The twentieth-century French view of Beethoven’s expressions of freedom is a subject of study for another day.

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Beethoven claimed by minorities: Heritage or Heresy?

Fizz Fitzgerald (Re) As is often the case with extraordinary figures throughout history, everyone is desperate to claim Beethoven as their own. Countries, religions and ethnic groups all over the world gather together to celebrate Beethoven’s music every year and to claim their influence on his compositions. Nearly every community has linked itself with Beethoven in some way or another and uses their links with him to inspire their people or strengthen their culture.

One of these communities is the Jewish community. In 1816 Beethoven composed a song cycle or a ’Liederkreis’ in German, which is a selection of songs meant to be performed in a particular way and sequence.

The famous Jewish physician, poet, playwright and translator Alois Isidor Jeitteles was handpicked by Beethoven to write the lyrics. In his C# minor quartet op. 131, Beethoven strongly recalls the melody of Kol Nidre in the sixth movement. This is an Aramaic prayer sung by the Jews on the opening day of the atonement service on the eve of Yom Kippur, the holiest day of the Jewish year.

Beethoven also developed an intense interest in Handel’s Saul, which was a libretto (the text of an opera or other long vocal work) from the Hebrew Bible. This lead to him studying ancient Hebrew music in depth for a long period of time, so much so that it is said to bear significant influence on his later compositions. The poem ‘Ode to Joy’ was written by the German poet Friedrich Schiller in 1785 and in 1824 Beethoven used it in the final movement of his Ninth Symphony. This adaptation lead to Yiddish translations by the poets Y.L. Perez and M. Rivesman. These were not just translations of Schiller’s words, for the poem was titled ‘All people are brothers’. It was used to emphasise that the equality of man was not to be achieved but was already an accepted fact. It is arguably one of the most influential Yiddish poems of all time and had a huge effect on the movement against antisemitism.

Whilst the Jewish community love and celebrate Beethoven regularly today, maybe things would have been different if Beethoven’s alleged antisemitic attitudes had been revealed more readily at the time. In one of the letters that he wrote to the music publisher Hoffmeister, he said ‘You are neither a Jew or an Italian... so I am sure we will come to some agreement’. Despite this, and despite other supposed proof that the composer was an anti-Semite, not long afterwards he dedicated a piano sonata to the baptised Jew and social reformer, Joseph von Sonnenfels. He also chose a Jewish company (the Schlesinger family) to publish his final compositions.

Therefore, it seems that the Jewish enthusiasm to prove their affiliation with Beethoven is not unfounded.

Some of his compositions were based on Hebrew music and he studied it comprehensively for a long time. He also dedicated various pieces to different members of the Jewish community and chose to work with Jewish artists on several different occasions. Although he may not have been completely immune to anti-Semitic attitudes at the time, it is quite clear that he had huge respect for the Jewish community which negates any claims of alleged anti-Semitism.

There is also a significant argument for Beethoven being black. It is theoretically possible that this could have been the case because his family on his mother’s side traces back to Flanders. This was invaded and then under Spanish monarchical rule for a considerable period of time. Because the Moors – a term which at the beginning of the Renaissance referred to people with dark skin – were part of Spanish culture, it is probable they were involved in the invasion. Flanders has also maintained long-standing historical connections with North Africa since then.

This theory re-appeared in several important works of the twentieth century, including in the books of notable Jamaican historian Joel Augustus Rogers (1880–1966). It was also theorised that Thomas Jefferson, 111

Robert Browning and several popes were black based on their ancestry. It is questionable whether this information strengthens the theory or discredits it further: in my opinion, it is most likely the latter. All existing portraits of Beethoven portray him as white, however, this is could be unreliable as non-white skin tones would not necessarily be presented due to the political climate at the time.

Physical descriptions from credible sources such as lovers, teachers and friends claim he had: ‘Negroid traits, dark skin, thick, flat nose’; he is also described as having ‘coal-black hair . . . stood up around his head’. One pencil sketch in particular which was Beethoven’s favourite depiction of himself, which he allegedly printed and re-printed to distribute to his friends and family, paint him with a broad face, unruly hair and dark skin. Whilst this is slightly vague, it does give enough evidence to suggest that Beethoven could have been black, but no names were provided by way of the sources and there is no solid evidence to suggest the pencil sketch even existed.

If Beethoven was black, history may have inaccurately recorded him as white either intentionally or accidentally. Europeans and other parts of the world are known for whitewashing history and have a past in dehumanising people of colour by treating them as inferior. White people have taken credit for their achievements on the grounds that people of colour were meant to be slaves or were less than human. Whilst the logic requires imagination and taste for conspiracy theory, it is not altogether absurd or unfounded that the musician’s true race could have been disguised.

Beethoven’s death mask – a cast made of someone’s face when they die – which resides in Bonn, Germany (his birthplace) portrays him with black features. Beethoven was one of many composers held up as an icon by the Nazis during the Second World War, but Hitler despised black people almost as much as he did the Jewish community. They were among the many shipped off to concentration camps and mass-murdered as a result of their race. If there was even the slightest possibility during this time that Beethoven was black, I am sure that he would not have been admired by the Nazis in the way that he was.

Whilst all of this is enough evidence to suggest that it is possible Beethoven was black, I think it is safe to say that he probably wasn’t. Although history has been somewhat whitewashed and the dehumanisation of people of colour is an incontrovertible fact, it is very unlikely that all portraits misrepresented his colour completely. Whilst the sources of physical description are claimed to be credible, we have no way of knowing whether they were fabricated or not. Now that this theory has been brought to light, I guess we will be left to ponder upon the truth forevermore.

One of the many countries that links itself with Beethoven is Scotland. They often celebrate him and his strong connections to Gaelic music. Many take the view that he was one of few composers that contributed to the effort to save the genre of music from extinction at a time of a great national arts reformation. The bonds between Beethoven and Scotland are strong, particularly by way of a notorious music publisher at the time.

Beethoven struck up a long-term partnership with George Thomson, a music publisher and folk song collector, based in Edinburgh. Thomson commissioned more than one hundred and twenty semi-classical arrangements of Scottish, Irish and Welsh folk songs from Beethoven from 1809–1820. As a result of this, the composer is regularly celebrated at ‘Celtic Connections,’ an annual Scottish festival that celebrates Celtic music.

This year, because it is the 250th anniversary of Beethoven’s birth, they will showcase the original Gaelic versions of songs which he adapted. The event will be called ‘Ludwig Mòr Òran’ (‘Songs for Beethoven’) and is set to explore his link with Gaelic culture and relationship with Thomson.

Thomson was not interested in original Gaelic songs and so he employed writers such as Walter Scott and Robert Burns to create lyrics for arrangements created by Beethoven and others. It is thought that 50 letters passed between Thomson and the composer over a period of 17 years, clearly demonstrating that they had a close professional relationship and did a lot of work together. Thomson wanted up-to-date songs and is thought to 112

have ‘taken melodies and stripped them of their original titles and lyrics’ until almost nothing of the original song was left. He asked composers such as Haydn and Beethoven to arrange the songs in accordance with the latest musical trends in high-society Europe. As aforementioned, there was nothing traditional or Scottish about the songs anymore, so why was Beethoven’s link to Scotland so important? Thomson was doing all of this to save Scotland’s traditional songs and culture because ‘Edinburgh’s Enlightenment and literati were trying to reshape Scottish industry and culture’.

Beethoven’s work with Thomson allowed a lot of Scotland’s traditional songs and culture to be saved in order for us to listen and enjoy today. Whilst he was certainly not the main engineer behind the plan, his various arrangements definitely helped to put it in motion. His link with Scotland and Celtic music is very important and perhaps without his help fewer traditional songs would have been saved.

It has been interesting whilst exploring this aspect of Ludwig van Beethoven’s life to discover how many minority groups claim influential figures in history as their own. To assert that someone as extraordinary as Beethoven is a part of your culture can be an instantly defining quality, conveying sophistication or prestige.

Equally, if an important figure in history has an allegiance to a minority race or group, it is highly likely to positively influence the wider public’s perception of them.

Whilst this is beneficial for the parties concerned, it makes it difficult to know where the truth lies, and where it has been manipulated for material gain or power. As the lines between truth and fiction are blurred it leaves room for wild conspiracy theories to develop.

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Beethoven and nationality in the 20th century Tigerlily Hamilton-Davies (L6)

Attempts to control Beethoven’s music – including by sometimes banning it –in the First World War indicate the power his work had heavily to influence a number of nations during the conflict. And it is no wonder that the Nazis in the Second World War used Beethoven’s music to generate extensive German sentiment and patriotism. Beethoven’s magnificent works had spread widely and had striking effects in the twentieth century.

It feels most fitting to be sitting here and listening to Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony whilst writing during a global pandemic: I find Beethoven’s musical works a comfort for all moods, and for someone to accomplish and provoke such strong emotions to all who listen enhances the sense of him being almost legendary.

During the First World War, Beethoven’s magnificent work suffered at the hands of a broader assault on German culture, following perceived aggression on the part of the German state led by Kaiser Wilhelm II. Beethoven’s work still occasionally fell victim to a global anti-German sentiment; his works were sometimes frowned upon, not to be listened to, despite their huge popularity.

However, even in the First World War there was a universal quality to Beethoven that knew no borders.

In 1914 the first Anglo-Japanese operation of war took place, this Anglo-Japanese coalition was successful in the siege of the colonial city that Germany had established in Tsingtao. Great Britain and Japan were successful in their operation and captured over 4,000 German soldiers placing a vast majority of this number in a Prisoner of War camp in Bando. The POW were allowed to enjoy various activities and one included music. A performance of Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony was conducted on 1st June, 1918. This was the first time Beethoven was performed in Japan. It was performed by 45 Bando POW orchestra members and 80 Bando POW members of the choir; this performance took place at liberty behind the walls of the prison camp. At the end of the war the Bando POW began leaving the camp and by 1920 all POW had departed. The symphony was then performed by the NHK Symphony Orchestra in 1925 and again throughout World War II showing Beethoven’s music chose no sides in war and his music could be loved by all.

Nevertheless, there was some anti-Beethoven prejudice. In 1915, whilst residing in Cornwall writing his latest novel, DH Lawrence and his wife Frieda were subjected to accusations of spying for Germany. This occurred not only because Frieda was German, nor that Lawrence was a very outspoken pacifist; but their love of Beethoven led locals to believe this to be a cry of German pride. Many saw the playing of Beethoven as a sign of defiance against the war effort and perhaps even against the unwritten rules as the composer was German. Locals complained that the Lawrences deliberately left their lights on at night, so the German U-boats knew where the coast was.

When America joined the war in 1917, the orchestra of Pittsburgh decided to ban all German-composed music from being played. This is the only other case of the outright banning of Beethoven I could find during the First World War. All German music was banned, and this obviously included Beethoven’s music. This action was not to single out Beethoven’s work, but was to enhance the anti-German sentiment. All the evidence of any kind of anti-Beethoven feeling was either really localised or in fact anti-German sentiment. To further this anti-German sentiment American schools stopped teaching German, German street names in many cities in America were changed to names with strong British associations such as ‘Balmoral’ or ‘Severn’. Even the ‘German Shepherd’ breed of dog was not safe in this anti-German sentiment and was renamed to the ‘Alsatian’; the English Kennel Club only re-authorised the use of ‘German Shepherd’ as an official name in 1977.

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Nationalist Germans of course strongly claimed Beethoven as their own. In 1938, the infamous Entartete Musik exhibition was mounted by the Nazis in order to identify to the German public what music was ‘degenerate’, and to demonstrate what was unacceptable for German society. The propaganda was developed as Hitler identified Beethoven as possessing the idealistic good German heroic spirit; therefore, he sought to join an idea of Beethoven and himself united in principles. The Nazis in the Second World War interpreted Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony as a ‘fight for existence’, and his Seventh Symphony as a ‘victory symphony’. Soldiers were encouraged to listen to these two symphonies in regular radio broadcasts to build up their stamina. Even children’s books were created to suggest that Beethoven’s symphonies were nationalistic pieces which would encourage fighting spirit.

But Beethoven’s work still prospered overseas as perhaps it was too ingrained in many cultures to be seen as a solely German possession. During the Second World War, the opening of Symphony No. 5 became a powerful emblem for the allied forces. It is therefore perhaps ironic that a German piece of music became a source of solace, in particular to British troops during the bombings of England, many people appreciated the irony of German music providing a motivating force for the war effort. In some of the Holocaust camps, Jews played Beethoven’s music, defiantly presenting its humanity as a contrast to their German captors.

After both world wars, eventually, the EU was born. Its anthem, Beethoven’s ‘Ode to Joy’, symbolises the unity in which the EU sets out to accomplish. Emmanuel Macron on becoming the French president in 2017 decided to mark this moment in French history by greeting the crowds gathered to see him in the Louvre museum with the German ‘Ode to Joy’, which also being the European anthem showed signs of broader politics. Again Beethoven’s music transcended boundaries of nation as he was so celebrated by all nations during times both of upheaval and of peace: he was known for the universality of his music, not his nationality.

Many nations have clearly recognised the potential of Beethoven’s music to inspire either victory or intimidation: consequently, there were efforts to promote it and also to ban it. Its importance is reflected in its potential to convey a variety of messages – to belong to anyone. Though it can be abused, more generally it is employed to fight abuse. All of this is a reflection on the failure of propaganda and the shining popularity of Beethoven’s musical works.

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Beethoven’s influence on modern music Ben Spink (U6) Undoubtedly, Beethoven is most well renowned for breaking the bounds of the Classical period (1750–1830), a time when compositional writing was full of poise and balance, bringing about a stark transition towards the romantic style (1830–1900). This era was characterised by emotion and impact, inspiring composers like Mahler and Brahms and the shift towards further experimental music in the early 20th century, guided by composers like Schoenburg.

However, if one were to look further into Beethoven’s works and compare these to modern music, such as Popular music, which originated in Britain in around 1950, what starts to become evident is the apparent effect he had on these various styles, just as powerful as the composers that followed him directly after. Whether Pink Floyd or The Beatles and many more eminent Pop Bands of the 1900s, the ‘Beethoven effect’ is clear not only in the re-introduction of classical styles in their music, but the way they portray emotion, imitating Beethoven’s ability to push himself to break his own barriers, both physical and mental, and to overcome his limitations.

(By 1820 when he was almost totally deaf, Beethoven composed his greatest works. These include the last five piano sonatas, the Missa Solemnis, the Ninth Symphony, with its choral finale, and the last five string quartets.

Yet, Beethoven’s frustrations also included unrequited love and his critics inability to fully understand his work).

Yet, Beethoven continued to strive for excellence in his work, truly pouring out his personality and this certainly echoed amongst song writers of the twentieth century.

He once said; ‘I have never thought of writing for reputation and honour. What I have in my heart must come out; that is the reason why I compose’. His funeral was attended by around 10,000 people and his music overshadowed much music of the nineteenth century. Therefore, although his reputation is clearly as one of, or the, greatest composers ever, an emphasis must be made on the emotion he was able to portray in his works.

Looking back to Beethoven’s symphonies, the titles commonly given to them suggest the weight of the emotion he was feeling at the time of composing them; for instance, Symphony No 5 is sometimes titled ‘Fate’. I aim to make a comparison between Beethoven’s greatest works listed above and the impact he had on modern music after his time.

The years of 1802–1812 are often described as the ‘Heroic period’ of Beethoven’s composing. During this time some of Beethoven’s most popular works originated, such as his fourth and fifth piano concertos, the violin concerto, and the ‘Appassionata’ Sonata. All these works displayed extraordinary melodic and harmonic richness.

Beethoven’s Symphony No. 3, ‘Eroica’ composed in 1803 saw a revolutionary pushing of the boundaries of composition. It was his largest solely instrumental work, ambitious and stunning in its epic scope and emotional impact.

Beethoven went beyond his contemporaries’ limits and even his very own limits. In many ways, the style outlined in ‘Eroica’ is similar to Pink Floyd’s approach to popular music. They also strived to break the conventions of rock ‘n’ roll of their day. For example, they did this by employing a brass section, choir, and a solo cello, to compose a side-long suite entitled ‘Atom Heart Mother’ (released 1970). Alongside this, the Rock band ‘Ekseption’, centered around jazz trumpet player Rein van den Broek and keyboardist Rick van der Linden took ideas from Beethoven. Their rock arrangements of classical works made them one of the most successful rock bands in Europe. Ekseption’s version of Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony became a hit, storming the charts well beyond the band’s home country.

If one were to look at Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony alone, it is remarkable to think the effect he had on modern music. Many would believe that the opening melody itself would have an influential span towards the disco era, peaking in the late 1970s and to this day a popular genre, particularly amongst the youth. ‘A Fifth of 116

Beethoven’, released in 1976, is a disco instrumental recorded by Walter Murphy and the Big Apple band adapted from the opening melody of Beethoven’s Fifth itself. The record, part of the album ‘Saturday night fever’ reached number one on the Billboard Hot chart and has sold over 2 million copies.

Despite some artists such as Chuck Berry declaring Beethoven finished with his song ‘Roll over Beethoven’, the song itself has helped revive interest in the composer time and again since the 1960s. Pop musicians dug around in the composer’s body of work to find motifs and themes for use in their songs. The Beatles got inspired in 1969, as John Lennon recounted in 1980, reflecting on writing the song ‘Because’. He said, ‘Yoko was playing Beethoven’s ‘Moonlight Sonata’ on the piano. I said, ‘Can you play those chords backwards?’, and wrote ‘Because’ around them.’

In honour of the bicentennial anniversary of Beethoven’s birth, Spanish conductor Waldo de los Rios set out to arrange a poppy arrangement of ‘Freude schöner Götterfunken’ (Ode to Joy) from the 9th Symphony. He chose singer Migual Rios to sing the words of what came to be called ‘A Song of Joy.’ The tune went on to be a hit around the world, selling seven million copies. In the German-speaking countries alone, the song stayed in the charts for weeks and featured at number one. Beethoven’s influence can also be seen amongst the music of Billy Joel who became famous with ‘Piano Man’ from his LP An Innocent Man in 1984, his tribute to the music of his youth. A tribute paid it not just to the rockers of the 1950s and 60s, but also to his favorite composer, Beethoven.

The top-selling star likes to quip that he played Beethoven long before he was playing his own stuff. He once said that his favorite piece is the Adagio from Beethoven’s Sonata Pathetique. That theme served as the melody for the refrain of his love song ‘This night’ (1984). In this case, not only was Beethoven inspiring generations after him, yet compositional devices were being reciprocated.

It would be impossible to pick out all the influences on modern music Beethoven had. Yet, what about any other form of influence?

The Avant-Garde tradition originated in around 1912 with Charles Seeger who was studying at the university of California at Berkeley. The first major student to have real influence on musical thought was Henry Cowell; he is seen as the Godfather of the American experimental tradition that would further gain ground.

He called it an ‘an undefiled Eden’. In his book, ‘New musical resources’ he proposed that ‘highly engrossing rhythmical complexes could be punched out on the paper roll of a player piano.’ At this point it was evident that the traditional, classical music, that of Beethoven himself were being challenged by this new tradition.

These ideas, however, showed that these Californian composers were discovering the joys of insistent repetition and gradual change. This was further outlined by Henry Patch, in the 1930s, another West coast Conformist of America. It wasn’t until Arnold Schoenberg that significant change came about. For him, the ultimate sin was to repeat an idea unnecessarily (‘Hi-Yo, Silver!’). Schoenberg was the inspiration and mentor for Lou Harrison and John Cage to lead the revolution of Avant-Garde. This was purely experimental music that challenged the great works of the Classical period. Indeed, Classical music prides itself on the incessant repetition and form that creates such aesthetic structure.

Cage found the seeds for many of his most extreme inspirations on the West Coast of The United States.

Cowell had passed on his knowledge on the interchangeability of music and noise and Harrison helped Cage refine his writing for percussion. The significance of John Cage is the way that his music was influenced on a distaste for Beethoven’s music. He did not detest it, yet he wanted to create a form of music that differed from Beethoven’s traditional sense, regardless of the fact that Beethoven was in fact experimental at the time. Cage avoided tonality and repetition in his music from 1950 onward and hovered over the radical end to American music as a liberating spirit. He had done the preliminary work of dismantling the European ‘vogue of profundity’ as he called it. In 1952, quite remarkably, he scandalized a crowd at Black Mountain by saying that Beethoven had misled generations of composers by structuring music in goal orientated harmonic narratives instead of letting it 117

unfold moment by moment. ‘Beethoven was wrong’ he once said. To prove his definitive refutation of Beethoven he once asked a team of 12 pianists to play Erik Satie’s piano piece ‘Vexatations’ from 6:00pm until 12:40pm the following day in 1963. The score is a page long and usually takes two minutes, yet at the top it says; ‘in order to play this motif 840 times, one would have to prepare themselves in advance, and in the utmost silence, through serious immobilities’. By taking this sentence literally, Cage was attempting to show his authority and promote Avant-Garde in music. Although I do not agree with much of what Cage says and by any means any of his music (and Beethoven was also revolutionary for his time period), there is a clear link between Beethoven’s music and the influence he had on other composers after him to create other forms of music (i.e Avant Garde) totally differing in structure, harmony and form.

Further to this, if it weren’t for Beethoven, perhaps we would never have experienced the bebop era of music, most prominent in the 1950s. The greats of this era, such as Dizzy Gillespie, Charles Parker, Miles Davis and John Coltrane played on musical freedom and improvisational harmony. In 1959, Miles Davis, put the brakes on bebop’s forward drive. ‘So What’, defined the dreamlike slowness of harmonic rhythm. It could be said that his writing had much in common to the expanded tonality of Debussy and Stravinsky. What begins to come to view is that, if it weren’t for Beethoven, composers of the late romantic and Early twentieth century, as well as composers of the Jazz era and many more music producers to this day, would not have pushed their boundaries as much as they did. Just as Beethoven did beforehand, they had to push themselves to the limit due to how revolutionary he was.

Where would we be without Beethoven?!

Bibliography: Ross. A: ‘The rest is noise’ (2007) https://musiciselementary.com/2017/05/15/14930/ https://www.dw.com/en/pop-star-beethoven/a-17072038 https://www.britannica.com/topic/Eroica-Symphony https://www.google.co.uk/amp/s/amp.theguardian.com/music/2013/jan/24/what-pop-music-owes-classical-masters https://www.bbc.co.uk/teach/class-clips-video/music-gcse-a-profile-of-beethoven/zhcrkmn https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=i7QqWue_QuQ

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The Celebrity Beethoven Re-Imagined Mr Gow (CR, Politics Department) Ludwig van Beethoven was an amazing footballer, one of the greatest of his era whose outstanding contributions to the game were all the more remarkable being achieved against the backdrop of encroaching deafness which plagued the latter part of his footballing career. Leading the line in his number nine shirt he was a player of many parts switching from one wing to the other and changing lines of attack with the kind of skill only his own team-mates could interpret. Ludwig began his footballing career in the Bundesliga as a young protégé without the support of both his parents who died when he was young. He impressed many coaches with his virtuoso performances and his improvisation which were heavily influenced by earlier footballers like Mozart and Haydn.

Ludwig caught the eye because he didn’t like to impose order by demanding strict formations instead preferring to free up the midfield and let the ball winners float free as a sign of their liberation. As he matured, his football was less innovative, but he still had the imagination and inventiveness to unlock opponents’ defences. He had a strong competitive spirit and some of his best games were compared to the finest concertos and symphonies of that age. When he lost his hearing it was obviously difficult for his team-mates to communicate with him but ironically it was in his later years that he produced some of his best performances marked by scores (including an unforgettable hat-trick against France, with Napoleon watching on) of huge emotional power. Winning the European Championships in his final season was an ode to joy and few will forget the soaring and jubilant lap he did holding the trophy aloft.

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Music for all Ages: An Afterword Mr Moule (CR, Head of History) Our very eclectic collection of articles has been authored by people from three generations (just about!): Beethoven is music for all ages indeed – all age-groups and all periods of time – and many of us feel strongly bound to him. I first fell for him when I was 13, hacking through the Seventh Symphony in the school orchestra, and there were a number of us who thereafter had a sort of cult around him, feeling an almost personal connection to him – both the stormy, tragic Beethoven (who can indeed speak very loudly to the young!), and also the playful, cheerful, serene Beethoven. Of course we weren’t alone: millions have done this.

Indeed, his music belongs to all historical periods, and indeed all to places and peoples. One fascinating thread in this series of articles concerns the degree to which his music has been used and appropriated by peoples from so many different communities, in all periods since his death. It’s fascinating to read of the ‘Black Beethoven’, or of his use in the Soviet or European Unions, or his connections with the Jewish community or with India, or the paradox of Allied propaganda employing Beethoven in the Second World War. It’s hard to find much evidence of groups or societies actively rejecting him (as some have Wagner or Mendelssohn, for instance): most want him as a standard-bearer.

It’s a cliché to say he’s a ‘universal’ artist like Shakespeare or Michelangelo: his ‘universality’ is obvious to anyone who has more than a passing acquaintance with him. Mostly it lies in the vast emotional range of the music. Sometimes he’s caricatured as rather grandly grumpy (that’s certainly what pictures of Beethoven show!), and indeed some of the music is awesome in its tragedy and dark pathos. But every other possible emotion is on show in abundance, and superficial observers sometimes miss the fact that some of the world’s most fizzingly joyful – not to mention comical – music is by Beethoven. Often this is juxtaposed with the tragic, for instance in some of the late string quartets, or in the mighty Third, Fifth, Seventh and Ninth Symphonies. He describes, with perfect musical control, the whole gamut of human experience, and can reflect the rapidity of change as well as the eternal.

We’re also struck by Beethoven ‘the character’, and more interested in his life than that of most composers.

As some of our authors have intimated, his larger-than-life personality (doubtless coloured by myth) has strong connections with our cult of celebrity today: the wild, irascible genius. Beethoven lived on the cusp of the Romantic age, in which creative characters were mythologised even in their own lifetimes. He was among those subjected to extreme romantic hyperbole: coming from the world of court musicians and aristocratic service, he was possibly somewhat surprised to find himself treated in such a way.

Beethoven is one of very few artists who has never really been out of fashion, even though different peoples, places, and periods have focused on different pieces, depending on their tastes and priorities. The kind of hyperbolic worship accorded him in the nineteenth century couldn’t survive the cynical age of modernism, when many composers sought to deconstruct some of the excesses of romanticism. In the 1990s, when I grew to love him, there was a certain sardonic, crisp, sometimes cynical flavour to music appreciation – this was not the age of heroes – and a love of Beethoven could be treated a little as a romantic indulgence against the less overtly impassioned music of the two other titans, Bach and Mozart, each of whom in recent decades has I think been even more generally praised. My piano teacher said as much, suggesting that Beethoven – marvellous though he was – would strike me most as a teenager, and as I grew up Bach and Mozart would take over my affections.

(Though they caught up, this hasn’t quite proved true!). Occasionally, some professionals went further: a couple of decades earlier the pianist Glenn Gould dismissed the great music of Beethoven’s middle period as ‘that junk’.

However, Beethoven was never seriously removed from his pedestal (how could he be? – it’s not difficult to see that his is music for all seasons, after all!). And, I sense that in our own time, when former crisp certainties 120

are being regularly shaken or shattered, he is yet again absolutely in tune with our concerns, certainties, doubts and joys.

Below are a few more various fascinating uses and reflections on Beethoven, demonstrating – as part of this summary – the free and versatile ways in which he has been treated through the ages.

The silly: Beethoven (the movie) is an American family comedy (1992) about a German shepherd dog called Beethoven. There’s a very good soundtrack by the human Beethoven. The movie was followed by Beethoven’s 2nd, Beethoven’s 3rd etc. Somehow efforts to make films about Beethoven himself have tended to go awry (cf. Gary Oldman as Beethoven in Immortal Beloved (1984), a largely fictional account of his love affairs: ‘I shall have to beat you’, says Gary/Beethoven to one of his young female pupils, who has just made a really abominable hash of her piano-playing).

The negatively motivational: In 2010 Transport for London started playing Beethoven in some tube stations. I can’t quite get to the bottom of this: was this to ‘civilise’? The journalist Philip Hensher claims ‘At the time, criminological theorists had discovered that there was no noise which would disperse people more quickly than classical music. Beethoven 7 was being played, not because it would give innocent pleasure to passers-by, but because people, on the whole, could be relied upon to loathe it’. I think it was hoped that loitering gang types might wish to move on. Mind you, the terrifyingly violent gangster who is the hero of Anthony Burgess’ A Clockwork Orange, is inspired to acts of ‘the old ultra-violence’ by ‘Ludwig Van’ (cf Dale Wills’ article). I’m not sure that kind of motivation drove TfL. Speaking of the old ultra-violence and mass murderers… Vladimir Lenin’s love of the dark and powerful ‘Appassionata’ Sonata, one of Beethoven’s most dramatic (cf. Andrew Brown’s article), has inspired some to emphasise his humanity (in the midst of all that mass-killing). Said Lenin: ‘I know the ‘Appassionata’ inside out and yet I am willing to listen to it every day. It is wonderful, ethereal music. On hearing it I proudly, maybe somewhat naively, think: See! people are able to produce such marvels! I’m often unable to listen to music, it gets on my nerves, I would like to stroke my fellow beings and whisper sweet nothings in their ears for being able to produce such beautiful things in spite of the abominable hell they are living in. However, today one shouldn’t caress anybody – for people will only bite off your hand; strike, without pity, although theoretically we are against any kind of violence. Umph, it is, in fact, an infernally difficult task!’. ‘Stike without pity . . .’: these are chilling words and I don’t think that listening to the ‘Appassionata’ can really excuse one from mass murder. If that were the case one may as well exonerate Hitler because he loved Wagner.

Beethoven in China…; and while we’re still on monsters, we should reflect on how Chinese Communists, fascinated by Beethoven’s triumph over adversity, sponsored a performance of the Ninth Symphony to celebrate the 10th anniversary of the Communist revolution in China – that was in 1959. A few years later Mao Zedong and his wife secretly listened to Beethoven during the Cultural Revolution, when the music had been formally banned. But in 1989, the ‘Ode to Joy’ could be heard blaring out from tape players held by protestors in Tiananmen Square.

The King’s Speech: In the 2010 movie The King’s Speech, about George VI’s struggle with his stammer, the climax involves the king’s speech to the nation at the outbreak of war with Germany. The background music for this scene is the peerlessly powerful second movement of Beethoven’s Seventh Symphony: an iconic and stirring German piece of music beefing up an iconic and stirring moment of English patriotism in the struggle with Germany. It’s hard to imagine mainstream English music being played in a film scene celebrating Indian resistance to the British Empire. It says a lot for Beethoven that his ‘Germanness’ has generally been subsumed by his ‘universality’ – his possession by all nations, who claim him as a symbol of their civilisation. His music was employed by propagandists not only in Germany, but also in France, Britain, the Soviet Union and even Mao’s China. Though Beethoven was decidedly German, it’s entirely uncontroversial that his music was used to augment the power of the king’s speech in the movie.

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Dealing with fast bowling: When he was facing fast bowlers, the former England cricket captain Mike Brearley used to hum the opening cello melody from Beethoven’s String Quartet op. 59 No 1 (the first of the Razumovsky group). I recommend this lovely piece for anyone facing dangerous fast bowlers, both literal and metaphorical.

People who don’t like Beethoven: I’m bemused by the views of the pianist Glenn Gould (and also pretty unconvinced by most of his Beethoven interpretations!). He did apparently like some Beethoven, but – like many Bach-ians who insist that their man is miles higher on Parnassus than anyone else – he delivered some wonderfully crass attacks: he spoke of the ‘pomposity of the Fifth Symphony, the banality of the violin concerto, the empty rhetoric of the ‘Appassionata’ ’. A former choirmaster of MC described late Beethoven quartets to me (half-jokingly – but only half-jokingly) as ‘fairground music’. Some sense a shouty pomposity in Beethoven.

Some early critics yearned for the less obtuse and stretching world that came before: ‘Beethoven’s Second Symphony is a crass monster, a hideously writhing wounded dragon, that refuses to expire, and though bleeding in the Finale, furiously beats about with its tail erect’ (from a Vienna review, 1804); his Ninth Symphony ‘the obstreperous roarings of modern frenzy’ (after the first London performance, 1825). John Ruskin, one of the greatest commentators on nineteenth-century taste, wrote ‘Beethoven always sounds to me like the upsettings of bags of nails, with here and there an also dropped hammer’ (in 1881).

I think many of these criticisms are reactions to the grand, heroic or angry aspects of Beethoven – in short, the seriously noisy. It’s harder to level such complaints at the serene and joyful ‘Harp Quartet’, the spacious generosity of the ‘Archduke Trio’, or the mesmeric rippling worlds of the last pages of the last piano sonata (op.

111). But the gentler and more intimate sides of Beethoven have at times been pushed to the background, both because of the demands and tastes of romanticism, and the popular tastes of the general concert-going public.

‘Beethoven is not human’: Hoffmann and Berlioz and the hyperbole of the nineteenth century romantics: You don’t have to look very far to find wild and magnificently OTT commentaries on Beethoven written in the early Romantic period; and indeed, the grandiloquence continued well into the 20th century. The great French composer Hector Berlioz, though a latecomer to Beethoven, was typical in his purple appreciation: ‘It is when you have heard the sublime instrumental compositions of the eagle Beethoven that you can see how right the poet is in exclaiming: ‘O divine music, speech is powerless and weak, and yields to your magic’’. A little later, Richard Wagner – whose ego was, amazingly, perhaps as big as Beethoven’s – said that Beethoven ‘was a titan wrestling with the gods’ and declared ‘I believe in God, Mozart and Beethoven’.

But the most exciting of the romantic commentators was the composer and writer E.T.A. Hoffmann, famous for the psychologically charged horror stories he wrote late in his life, such as The Sandman and the Mines of Falun (Offenbach wrote an opera based on some of these stories, The Tales of Hoffmann). Hoffmann stated baldly that ‘Beethoven is not human’. In 1810 Hoffmann wrote a remarkable review of the Fifth Symphony, very different from the rather lacklustre commentaries that were then still standard fare in Vienna (and – at 4,500 words – very much longer): ‘Beethoven’s music sets in motion terror, fear, horror, pain and awakens the infinite yearning that is the essence of romanticism’, he claimed. He wrote: Thus does Beethoven’s instrumental music open up for us the realm of the monstrous and the immeasurable. Glowing rays shoot through the deep night of this realm, and we become aware of giant shadows that wave up and down, close us in more and more narrowly, and annihilate everything in us except for the pain of infinite yearning, in which every pleasure . . . sinks down and founders, and only in this pain, which, consuming within itself, but not destroying, love, hope, and joy, wants to burst open our breast with a full-voiced harmony of all passions, do we live on, enchanted spirit-seers.

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Wow. We know that Beethoven read this. He was not a literary man – in spite of the heartfelt power of a couple of famous letters, his own writings about his music are not very eloquent – but he paid close attention to reviews of his music, and he probably raised his eyebrows at this extraordinary writing. It has been argued that Beethoven – having read that he was responsible for such intense romanticism – himself became more of a romantic: perhaps Hoffmann’s review contributed to the strangeness of some of the late period music that followed.

There’s a vexed argument over whether Beethoven counts as ‘Classical’ or ‘Romantic’ – not an argument that has been much aired in these pages. My head says he was ‘classical’, in his forms and structures and many of his moods – but my heart says he must really be called a ‘romantic’, because of the fierce emotional and sometimes confessional nature of so much of the music. But really, I think the argument is neither here nor there: the terminology was in its infancy, and I think Beethoven is in any case much too big for such terms.

‘The most sublime noise that has ever penetrated into the ear of man’: Beethoven in Forster and Huxley: Beethoven’s power also been regularly acknowledged by post-Romantic writers, and I cite here two of the greatest examples. E.M.Forster in Howard’s End (1910) and Aldous Huxley in Point Counter Point (1928) both employ listenings of Beethoven as key plot devices. Forster, like Hoffmann, focused on the Fifth Symphony, teasingly presenting its ‘universal appeal’ in a much more comical way than Hoffmann, but noting that when you listen to it ‘the passion of your life becomes more vivid’: It will be generally admitted that Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony is the most sublime noise that has ever penetrated into the ear of man. All sorts and conditions are satisfied by it. Whether you are like Mrs. Munt, and tap surreptitiously when the tunes come-- of course, not so as to disturb the others--or like Helen, who can see heroes and shipwrecks in the music’s flood; or like Margaret, who can only see the music; or like Tibby, who is profoundly versed in counterpoint, and holds the full score open on his knee; or like their cousin, Fraulein Mosebach, who remembers all the time that Beethoven is echt Deutsch; or like Fraulein Mosebach’s young man, who can remember nothing but Fraulein Mosebach: in any case, the passion of your life becomes more vivid, and you are bound to admit that such a noise is cheap at two shillings.

Beethoven, suggests Forster, enhances that which you already are. In the next paragraphs Forster lightly describes a tension in the progression music (he mentions goblins and elephants), a tension that is echoed, almost step by step, by the plot of the novel, which really gets going after this scene. Interestingly, he was not the only one to echo Beethovenian structures in fiction: Anthony Burgess (the author of The Clockwork Orange, with its Beethoven-loving psychopathic hero and his love of ‘the old ultra-violence’) also wrote a novel called Napoleon Symphony, structured exactly like the ‘Eroica’ Symphony.

Huxley’s novel Point Counter Point is likewise ‘musically’ structured, as the title would suggest, and – like Howard’s End, it’s a novel of ideas, with intense discussions between the main characters (all of whom are based on real intellectuals and artists). But Huxley is more ambitious in his use of Beethoven: the slow movement of the String Quartet in A minor, op. 132, is presented by one character to another as evidence for the existence of God. It’s close to the climax of the novel, a pivotal moment. Huxley’s beautiful writing does its best to reflect the unutterably great music: Slowly, slowly, the melody unfolded itself. The archaic Lydian harmonies hung on the air. It was an unimpassioned music, transparent, pure and crystalline, like a tropical sea, an Alpine lake. Water on water, calm sliding over calm; the according of level horizons and waveless expanses, a counterpoint of serenities. And everything clear and bright; no mists, no vague twilights. It was the calm of still and rapturous contemplation, not of drowsiness or sleep. It was the serenity of a convalescent who wakes from fever and finds himself born again into a realm of beauty. But 123

the fever was ‘the fever called living’ and the rebirth was not into this world; the beauty was unearthly, convalescent serenity was the peace of God. The interweaving of Lydian melodies was heaven . . .

Beethoven in time of lockdown – a recent performance of the ‘Heiliger Dankgesang’(String Quartet No.15 in A minor ‘Heiliger Dankgesang’, op. 132.) in Kansas City: The great music described in Huxley’s passage was written near the end of Beethoven’s life, immediately after he’d recovered from a horrid illness. It was unusual in receiving a title from the composer: ‘Heiliger Dankgesang eines Genesenen an die Gottheit, in der Lydischen Tonart’ – the ‘Holy Song of Thanksgiving of a Convalescent to the Deity, in the Lydian Mode’. To my mind it’s as sublime and profound as Beethoven gets, and I love it very much indeed.

And as the present lockdown arrived, I came across the story of a young quartet who decided – partly to provide fuel for a Spectator podcast – to make a last live recording of the ‘Heiliger Dankgesang’ in a church in Kansas City before the church, like most other things around, locked its doors. They reported on the silence and concentration of the passers-by who stopped to hear them play at this large moment in history. I listened to the recording one evening just as Marlborough was also shutting its doors. The coming of the great stillness which has overcome our towns, our markets, our roads and airports and pubs and churches and schools could be sensed, almost tangibly. There was a deep and ethereal fragility to the playing. I felt that no music could be more apposite than hearing this hymn-like Beethoven piece, so bound to sickness, health, isolation and transcendence, in time of lockdown.

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APPENDIX: A brief introduction to Beethoven’s Life and Works (with recommendations for listening)

Mr Twohig, Moonlight Sonata

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A brief introduction to Beethoven’s Life and Works (with recommendations for listening) Mr Moule (CR, Head of History) Listening to Beethoven Most of Beethoven’s famous works are in three or four separate ‘movements’, each of which has its own characteristic melodies and structure. The movements vary in length between about three minutes and about 20 minutes, and they are sometimes brilliantly fast, sometimes very slow, or anything in between; similarly, they have a huge emotional range (sometimes even within the same movement). In most pieces there’s a large first movement, which is often quite quick; then a large second movement, which tends to be slow. The last movement or movements tend to be a little shorter, rather quicker (sometimes very fast): they can sometimes be great culminations of what’s come before; sometimes they offer something rather lighter.

You can listen to and love a particular Beethoven movement and ignore the rest of the work – that’s fine (and relatively easy, especially considering how accessible many of them are), but it’s like loving one room in a house without noticing what the rest of the house is like. Or just having one course of a meal, or judging someone’s physical beauty merely on the sight of their face or their legs, or trying to understand a story when you’ve only heard a part of it. The movements of a symphony, concerto, sonata or quartet all complement one another to make up a whole, and the total structure is a wondrous consummation of the movements. Meanwhile, each movement itself is tightly and often fascinatingly structured (mathematicians can have a field day). Remember that there were no recordings in Beethoven’s day, no chance of pressing ‘pause’ or ‘rewind’. The apparition of each theme and rhythm is very carefully timed to impress itself exactly upon the listener, and the balance of movements (both their timing and their mood) is also supposed to have the maximum impact. The whole achievement of each composition is utterly marvellous, and Beethoven does it again and again and again: almost all of his 32 piano sonatas, 16 string quartets, nine symphonies, six concertos, dozens of other sonatas, variations, romances, bagatelles, songs are enormously impressive.

If you’re a Beethoven novice, I suggest that it pays to listen to the music repeatedly: sometimes to concentrate hard on it; at other times just to have it on the background (some people say that’s sacrilegious; but you can still gradually get to know it that way!). I do suggest that you sometimes listen to it loud, especially those pieces that were clearly intended for that.

Below are some personal recommendations, in the context of a brief outline of his life.

His early period (1770-1802) Beethoven was born in Bonn in 1770. He was a child prodigy and shown off by his bullying drunken father, who was a local musician. He had a miserable childhood. Beethoven was averse to child prodigies for the rest of his life. In 1792 he moved to Vienna, the greatest German-speaking metropolis and the city of Mozart and Haydn (he studied with Haydn). He made a name for himself as an impressive virtuoso, winning piano ‘contests’ against other well-known pianists, and catching the eye of many a music-loving aristocrat. His first stream of great music dates from the second half of the 1790s – he was, compared with Mozart or Schubert (who wrote a good deal in their teens) a relatively late starter. Some of his ‘early period’ music is polite and friendly, nodding cheerfully to his teacher Haydn. But from the first his dramatic and wild style was evident.

Of the ‘politer’ music in this period I recommend the lovely Septet, suave, attractive, fun and warm, which was the best-selling piece of his lifetime (he got fed up with its popularity, especially since his style ‘grew out of it’). It’s still the music of the eighteenth-century Ancien Regime, not of the age of revolution and romanticism.

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The ‘stormy’ and emotionally powerful early period music can best be experienced in some of the early piano sonatas, such as the ‘Pathetique’ Sonata, with its angry first movement and tender second movement. The moodily ethereal first movement of the ‘Moonlight’ Sonata is one of his most famous pieces; the last movement of the same sonata is especially wild and dramatic. Beethoven wrote a great many piano sonatas in his early period, and they are very varied and all, frankly, superb. He also wrote some wonderful string quartets (opus 18), and his first two symphonies.

His middle period (1803-c.1815) Beethoven’s ‘middle period’ tends to be defined by his rising sense of personal crisis, based on his deafness and encapsulated in a famous letter, the Heiligenstadt Testament, in which he declares his misery, his desire for suicide – but also his insistence to live for the sake of creating his art. The music that followed is astonishingly bold and confident, and much of the ‘classic’ Beethoven which is so famous dates from this time. In this period, he was supported as a ‘freelance’ composer in Vienna by a fan club of fascinated aristocrats. It was also the time of Napoleon’s victories over Austria, and Vienna was at times occupied by French troops, though not very harshly.

Beethoven was, at this time, quite a celebrity.

There is so much very great music from this period. In spite of the huge drama of much of it, it’s worth bearing in mind that Beethoven always had several strings to his bow, and he created at least as much cheerful, serene and relatively ‘undramatic’ music as he did stormy and turbulent music. The former, in my opinion, is every bit as worthwhile as the latter.

Some of the most famous music of all is in the great Symphonies (each magnificently reflected here in recent images by Mr Twohig). He wrote nine in total, and numbers 3–8 date from this period. Symphony No. 3 (the ‘Eroica’ (much written about in this publication)) has a most exciting and thrilling first movement – vigorously grand – celebrating the heroism of Napoleon. The second movement, by contrast, is a vast and dark funeral march. The third movement is a wild and exhilarating ‘Scherzo’ – which means ‘joke’. The fourth a noble and spacious take on a joyous theme. Listen primarily to first and second movements – much of the essence of the famous, public Beethoven is to be found here. Symphony No. 5 – if anything even more famous, and even more written about both here and in great literary works – is shorter, fiercer (at least in the first movement), and comes closest to a spectacular narrative, starting with dark and massive despair and fighting towards a vastly triumphant and positive conclusion. Symphony No. 6 (the ‘Pastoral’) has also received plenty of attention in these pages, and is – by contrast – gorgeously serene: it reflects the joy of being in the countryside. There’s a dramatic storm in the middle, followed by a song of joy, one of the most powerfully happy of all pieces of music.

Perhaps this is my favourite of all the symphonies. Symphony No. 7 – whose darkly powerful and tragic second movement drew me to Beethoven in the first place – was called by Wagner ‘the Apotheosis of Dance’, and it is perhaps the most consistently exciting of the lot. The great conductor Thomas Beecham, reflecting upon its vast and dizzying swirls of sound, said ‘What can you do with it? – it’s like a lot of yaks jumping about’.

Beethoven’s Concertos tend to be rather more intimate, though still on a very grand scale. Philip Dukes has written movingly here of his relationship with the spacious and serene Violin Concerto, a generally happy piece which keeps high drama and virtuosity at bay in favour of a gentle, almost spiritual mood: it’s a mountain range of a piece, but the mountains aren’t jagged ones. The Fourth Piano Concerto is one of my very favourite pieces of Beethoven. The gentle but very exciting first movement flows round you like beautiful streams in a great colourful landscape, and I remember my parents describing the first piano runs as like ‘waterfalls’. The melodies are extremely attractive, the happiness tangible. In contrast, the slow second movement – a weird dialogue of piano and orchestra – feels loftily tragic. The rapid last movement is an exhilarating and joyful ‘party’! This is a completely loveable piece of music. The Fifth Piano Concerto (nicknamed the ‘Emperor’) is full of energy and has a particularly beautiful slow movement (the middle movement).

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There is a large quantity of fabulous Chamber Music – music for small groups of instruments – dating from this middle period. All the string quartets (three of them nicknamed ‘Razumovsky Quartets’, another ‘the Harp’) are gorgeous, full of character and depth. But I especially recommend the magnificently spacious Archduke Piano Trio, which is completely smooth and serene, hugely confident, frequently profound, and breathtakingly beautiful throughout its long, four movement span.

All of Beethoven’s 32 piano Sonatas are worth knowing, as are his violin and cello sonatas. If you want some really wild and darkly exciting music, try the ‘Kreutzer Sonata’ (violin and piano), the energy of whose first movement is really something to behold (and note Helena Barton’s article about the Tolstoy novella of the same name). Another especially dark and stormy sonata which is many times mentioned in these pages is the ‘Appassionata’ (piano solo), praised by Lenin, considered by Berlioz to be the greatest piece of music in the world, and much enjoyed by Mr Brown too. The last few pages are among the most frenzied in Beethoven’s oeuvre, and this piece buttresses the image of the wild tortured genius. Altogether more cheerful is the ‘Waldstein’, (Piano Sonata No. 21 in C major, Op. 53), which has a sparklingly exciting first movement and a sublime and grandly happy last movement, based on a simple and artless theme. Among the many other beautiful sonatas of the middle period, I’d like to recommend Piano Sonata No. 26, ‘Les Adieux’ (Das Lebewohl, the ‘farewell’), which has a kind of story: lovers say farewell to one another, languish away from each other’s company, and then are reunited in a brilliantly happy and energetic finale. Most of the other sonatas don’t have nicknames, but that doesn’t mean that they are inferior.

Finally, I should mention Beethoven’s only opera, Fidelio. I confess to knowing this less than the other works, and also to finding it less convincing as a whole. Mrs Toomer writes of the struggle Beethoven had setting vocal parts – something generally acknowledged – but that doesn’t mean it isn’t full of enormous beauty and (at times) great power. The big idea of the opera, a song to liberty, is grand indeed, and can be powerfully sensed in the great overtures Beethoven wrote for it and in the famous ‘Prisoners’ Chorus’. But the plot and libretto (‘lyrics’) are clumsy and sometimes silly, and it’s a very difficult opera to bring off in the opera house.

His late period (1815-27) For a few years at the beginning of this period Beethoven had a fallow time, writing almost nothing at all. He was depressed, possibly because of the restoration of a repressive and aristocratic government (after all the fury and intensity of the Napoleonic wars, and the hopes he’d entertained of liberty and republicanism); and he was certainly depressed by his growing deafness, which, in this last period, was acute. In his ‘late period’ he struggled more with his finances and suffered from illness after illness. He was even more difficult company than before, and fought a savage court case against his sister-in-law for custody of her son (you can read about this in Honor Mills’s article).

He was brooding and introspective, and the music he wrote, when he started writing again, was mostly obscure, extraordinarily ambitious (often nearly un-performable), and awesomely powerful. He was still famous (his funeral was huge), but was less presentable to the public and lived (many say) in squalor. The music of this period is tougher to listen to than most of the earlier stuff I’ve described, but many Beethovenians reckon that some of it is the best stuff of all: it takes one on particularly intense journeys, to particularly remarkable places.

Two gigantic pieces mark the first part of this period: the Ninth Symphony, whose last movement melody (the ‘Ode to Joy’) is the most famous Beethoven piece of all, and the Missa Solemnis. If you would rather avoid the louder and more monumental side of Beethoven, don’t focus on these! Some people find them too much: rather bombastic and over-spectacular, and you might rarely be in the mood to take them on. Nevertheless, they are marvellous, full of breathtaking wonders. The Ninth Symphony describes an epic journey from tragic chaos through whirling anger then intense, hymn-like serenity before the great ‘Ode to Joy’, sung by a huge choir, in the last movement. This is another work much addressed in these pages by various authors. The Missa Solemnis, 128

alluded to particularly by Mr Novis, is an extraordinary setting of the Catholic mass, a huge affirmation of a very personal faith, eccentrically and monumentally grand. It’s exceptionally difficult to perform.

Beethoven’s late piano music and string quartets are equally ambitious in their way: sometimes spikily experimental, as in the sharply ‘avant garde’ and remarkably diverse Diabelli Variations; sometimes clearly attempting to address everything under the sun, as in the huge Hammerklavier Sonata, which has a heroically wild and mad-sounding fugue in the last movement. Mrs Toomer writes warmly of this. The quartets and sonatas abandon the forms earlier used by Beethoven (and innumerable other composers) in favour of much stranger and more surprising structures. Sometimes they went too far even for the circle of fans who still doted on Beethoven: he had to withdraw his vast Grosse Fuge (Great Fugue) from the longer quartet for which it was written because the audience and critics rejected it as incomprehensible (‘like Chinese’, said one reviewer). This judgement isn’t really far off the mark for most of us, but nowadays it’s considered utterly brilliant (if hardly loveable); certainly it’s spectacular, extraordinary listening, and far removed, say, from the classic, measurable power of the middle period symphonies.

However, many will love the late music more than all else for its peerless slow movements, in which Beethoven creates atmospheres and weaves patterns that elevate one into near-mysticism, that humble one and encourage one to be contemplate the world spiritually. For me, two movements stand out in particular: his last piano piece, the second movement (Arietta) of the Sonata Opus 111 (Piano Sonata No. 32 in C minor); and the seemingly simple, very deeply beautiful ‘Heiliger Dankgesang’ of the String Quartet Opus 132 (String Quartet No. 14 in C♯ minor), a ‘song of thanksgiving’ to God for the recovery from an illness. I reflect on this – and quote Huxley, who wrote beautifully about it – in my article at the end of this publication.

If there’s one late piece I’d recommend above all others, though, it would be the Sonata opus 110, (Piano Sonata No. 31 in A♭ major) which is a good deal milder than most of the late music but full of the same cosmic spirituality and glimpses of eternity. In the last pages it moves from deepest (quiet) despair to a sublime affirmation of radiant joy, and I think of eagles circling above high cliffs above the sea.

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Nadia Johnson (L6), Beethoven’s Rage over a Lost Penny