The Critical Reception of Beethoven’s Compositions by His German Contemporaries Op. 101 to Op. 111

The Critical Reception of Beethoven’s Compositions by His German Contemporaries, Op. 101 to Op. 111 Contents Foreword 6 Op. 101. Piano Sonata in A Major 101.1 “Review.” Allgemeine musikalische Zeitung mit besonderer Rücksicht  auf den österreichischen Kaiserstaat 1 (27 February 1817): 65–66. 8 101.2 “Reviews (Museum for Keyboard Music, Volume 1).” Allgemeine musikalische Zeitung 19 (1 October 1817): col. 686–89. 10 101.3 “Music. Overview of New Publications. L. in January and February 1818.” Journal f ür Literatur, Kunst, Luxus und Mode 33 (February 1818): 95–96. 16 Op. 102. Two Sonatas for Piano and Violoncello, C major, D Major 102.1 “Review." Allgemeine musikalische Zeitung 20 (11 November 1818): col. 792–94. 18 102.2 20 3 v.d.O… “Reviews.” Berliner allgemeine musikalische Zeitung 1 (1 December 1824): 409–10. contents Op. 107. Ten Themes with Variations for Piano with Optional Flute or Violin Accompaniment 107.1 “Review." Allgemeine musikalische Zeitung 23 (15 August 1821): col. 567–69. 23 Op. 108. Twenty-Five Scottish Songs 108.1 “Music. Overview of New Publications. L. in October 1822.” Journal für Literatur, Kunst, Luxus und Mode 37 (October 1822): 606–8. 26 108.2 “Musical Review.” Zeitung  für Theater, Musik und bildende Künste, Beilage zum Freymüthigen 2 (2 November 1822): 144 and 148. 28 108.3 v.d.O…r. “Review.” Berliner allgemeine musikalische Zeitung 2 (5 May 1824): 159–62. 30 108.4 “Review.” Allgemeine musikalische Zeitung 27 (28 December 1825): col. 866–68. 36 108.5 “Reviews. Songs.” Berliner allgemeine musikalische Zeitung 4 (28 February 1827): 65. 38 108.6 Adolf Bernhard Marx. “Review.” Caecilia 7 (September 1827): 107. 40 108.7 “Brief Notices.” Allgemeine musikalische Zeitung 30 (23 April 1828): col. 283–84. 41 Op. 109. Piano Sonata in E Major 109.1 4 “Sonata for Pianoforte by L. v. B.” Zeitung f ür Theater und Musik zur Unterhaltung gebildeter,  unbefangener Leser: Eine Begleiterin des Freymüthigen 1 (1821): 184. 42 contents 109.2 N. G. “Reviews.” Berliner allgemeine musikalische Zeitung 1 (4 February 1824): 37–38. 43 109.3 “Review.” Allgemeine musikalische Zeitung 26 (1 April 1824): col. 213–25. 46 Op. 110. Piano Sonata in A-flat Major 110.1 “Music. Overview of New Publications. L. in October 1822.” Journal f ür Literatur, Kunst, Luxus und Mode 37 (October 1822): 605–6. 55 110.2 Adolf Bernhard Marx. “Review.” Berliner allgemeine musikalische Zeitung 1 (10 March 1824): 87–90. 56 Op. 111. Piano Sonata in C Minor 111.1 “Music Literature.” Zeitung f ür Theater, Musik und bildende Künste 3 (14 June 1823): 93–94. 63 111.2 Janus a Costa (Christian Wilhelm Schmidt) Journal für Literature, Kunst, Luxus und Mode 38 (September 1823): 706–8. 65 111.3 “As a Review of the Sonata Op. 111. Letter from a Critic to the Editor.” 68 Berliner allgemeine musikalische Zeitung 1 (17 March 1824): 95–99. 5 contents Foreword T his installment completes the originally planned third volume of The Critical Reception of Beethoven’s Compositions by His German Contemporaries with reviews of works that mark the beginning of Beethoven’s late period. These include his two final sonatas for cello and piano, Op. 102, and the last five piano sonatas, with the exception of the “Hammerklavier,” Op. 106, for which there are no contemporary reviews; we can only assume that the nearly complete absence of comments on this work in the musical press is a reflection of its enormous length and technical difficulty, which must have baffled those who first encountered it. It will perhaps come as a surprise that the work with the largest number of reviews in this installment is the Twenty-Five Scottish Songs, Op. 108. Modern writers have widely regarded Beethoven’s folksong settings as minor and insignificant works. By contrast, a critic writing in the Berliner allgemeine musikalische Zeitung (BamZ) in 1824 said that these songs “will shine eternally in [Beethoven’s] diadem for as long at the song retains its modest position with feeling souls” (108.2), while a critic writing four years later in the Allgemeine musikalische Zeitung (AmZ) said that “whoever wishes to become acquainted with Beethoven’s inner essence precisely and from all sides must not overlook these songs” (108.6). Even Adolf Bernhard Marx, one of Beethoven’s most progressive admirers, called them “works toward which the public needs to grow to maturity” (108.5). The most negative comments, on the other hand, were elicited by the cello sonatas, Op. 102. The reviewers in the AmZ and the BamZ carefully hedged their comments about works that they clearly did not much like (102.1 and 102.2). The author of the AmZ review of the last three piano sonatas, Opp. 109, 110, and 111 (109.3), was more blunt, saying that despite approaching the cello sonatas with an open mind, “we have nevertheless not been able to acquire a taste for the sonatas, Op. 102.” The sonatas for piano solo, including the three just mentioned above, as well as the sonata in A major, Op. 101, were received much more enthusiastically. The author of the review of Op. 109 in the BamZ (109.2) acknowledged that “a great portion of Beethoven’s admirers now certainly occupy themselves with his most recent works for keyboard and voice 6 foreword only in utter privacy.” However, he says, some will always say that “though they all fall away because of you, I will never fall away.” The allusion here is biblical, with Beethoven cast as Christ and his fickle admirers as the apostle Peter. The fact that by 1824 (the year of the premiere of the 9th symphony) Beethoven could be spoken of in these terms attests to the way his genius had already been exalted and mythologized. In this regard, it is significant that the AmZ reviewer of the last three piano sonatas faults the last movement of Op. 111 for not living up to the expectations set by Beethoven’s “lofty genius” (109.3). The last review in this installment (111.3) neatly summarizes the aesthetic tensions that surrounded the reception of challenging new music in the 1820s. It is cast as a letter from a per­ plexed reviewer to the editor of the Berliner allgemeine musikalische Zeitung, excusing his inability to review Beethoven’s new piano sonata, Op. 111. Much of the letter, though, is given over to the views of a young musician named Edward, whose passionate embrace of this music contrasts with the reviewer’s bafflement. At issue is the question of whether a work like Op. 111 is bound by the traditional criteria of musical aesthetics—in which case the final movement can only be heard as a “chaos of sounds”—or whether it can communicate ideas and move people in ways that are disturbing and even painful. Edward suggests that the final movement of Op. 111 describes Beethoven’s death, even though the composer was still alive at the time the review was written. The tension between Edward’s provocative flights of imagination and the reviewer’s bemused bafflement encapsulates the conflicting reactions of Beethoven’s contemporaries to the challenges of his late music, as well as anticipating some of the central controversies of musical aesthetics over the next two centuries. I would like to thank Wayne Senner and William Meredith for their central role in initiating this project, and to acknowledge the Retrospective Index to Music Periodicals (RIPM) for permission to copy the music examples from the original sources. Readers will notice that while the translations are newly typeset, the music examples are reproduced exactly as they first appeared. Information on the dates of composition and publication of Beethoven’s works is based on the new edition of the Kinsky-Halm catalogue, edited by Kurt Dorfmüller, Norbert Gertsch, and Julia Ronge. The New Grove Dictionary of Music and Musicians, second edition, is the default reference source for biographical information. This installment was supported by a summer sabbatical from Baylor University. Robin Wallace Baylor University 7 foreword Op. 101. Piano Sonata in A Major 101.1. “Review.” Allgemeine musikalische Zeitung mit besonderer Rücksicht auf den österreichischen Kaiserstaat 1 (27 February 1817): 65–66.1 I t was probably not possible to open the museum in a more appropriate manner than with this once again so completely original composition by our Proteus—Beethoven. This sonata again contains so many unique characteristics, such an interesting, artistic arrangement and working out of completely new ideas, that we can unconditionally recommend it to all those who want not merely to nibble, but to enjoy with all the senses, to those who crave not merely a confection, but a nourishing, healthy meal. The first movement, A major 6/8 Allegretto ma non troppo (the composer, who is genuinely German-minded, not dressed up that way, has also set down markings in the mother tongue for each of the tempos, as well as for the instrument itself ),2 this first movement proves that one can accomplish much with little expense, can say much with few words, an art that has become truly rare in our luxurious times, which The piano sonata Op. 101, which is widely considered Beethoven’s first solo keyboard work in his third-period, or “late,” style, was begun perhaps as early as 1813 and completed in 1816. The first edition was published by Steiner in Vienna in February 1817, almost simultaneously with this review in the Allgemeine musikalische Zeitung mit besonderer Rücksicht auf den österreichischen Kaiserstaat, which Steiner also published. This work was announced as the first volume of a series titled “Museum für Klaviermusik,” which was advertised as containing “only musical products of acknowledged worth, compositions distinguished by an aesthetically pure style, artistically, gracefully, and clearly worked-out,” that would serve as the foundation of a repertory of lasting value. 2 Seeking for a German term to describe the larger pianos that were being built in the 1810s, Beethoven designated both Op. 101 and Op. 106 as being written for the “Hammer-Klavier,” and the term appeared on the title page of both sonatas. It is currently used to designate only Op. 106, which is much larger in scope than the present work, and must have baffled Beethoven’s contemporaries, judging from the lack of reviews or references to it in the contemporary press. Unlike the three sonatas that preceded it, however, Op. 106, however, does not have German tempo markings. In Op. 81a, Beethoven provided German equivalents to the Italian markings, and in Op. 90 he used only German. In Op. 101 the German designations come first, with Italian markings underneath. The movements are designated “Etwas lebhaft und mit der innigsten Empfindung,” “Lebhaft. Marschmäßig,” “Langsam und sehnsuchtvoll,” and, after a brief “Zeitmaß des ersten Stücks” and Italian “stringendo” and “presto” designations, “Geschwinde, doch nicht zu sehr, und mit Entschlossenheit.” Since the German markings are sometimes longer than the Italian ones (in Italian, the last movement is designated simply “Allegro”), it is clear that the latter are secondary, not vice versa, even though the Italian designations appear in somewhat larger type in the first edition. 1 8 92.1 Bach fundamentally understood, and which here as well draws us irresistibly. The Vivace, alla Marcia, F major 4/4 that follows has a completely strange character, modulates unusually and surprisingly, and belongs in the category of those children who can by no means deny their father. In the alternate section, in B-flat major, after which the march follows da capo, the scholar comes across his true heart’s delight in a strict two-voice canon at the octave. An Adagio non troppo con affetto, A minor 3/4 makes the entryway to the Finale, in which, according to the composer’s directions, only one string should be used at the beginning, and only gradually the full instrument.3 After a rhapsodic repetition of several measures from the first movement, A major 6/8, the concluding Allegro in 2/4 begins, about which one can say with complete justification: “The work praises its master,” for only an accomplished master can write thus or comparably. Here everything breathes life; here everything pushes and drives on irresistibly. Here upper, lower, and middle voices chase each other in narrowly entwined imitations; here the all-surpassing flight of imagination unites with old, classical purity, and offers its hand in brotherly concord, recognizing what alone is true and beautiful. In the second part, after a salto mortale4 into C major, the bass begins the principal theme pianissimo, extends it further, and the other voices gradually answer it alternately at the tenth, at the fourth, and at the octave.5 Now it appears divided, now in inversion, now in combination with related countersubjects; in a word: this piece of music contains a true treasure, an inexhaustible wealth, which will disclose itself to the diligent miner who submits himself to the lucrative effort of investigating the vein of gold in this shaft, and will be for him a spring of the purest pleasure that never dries up. For the delivery of this work one frankly does not have to be a technical wizard, but sensibility and feeling, head and heart, are indispensable conditions. An honorable handshake to the great master, in thanks for this magnificent gift! Using the same combination of German and Italian described in the previous note, Beethoven indicated that the opening of this movement should be played “Mit einer Saite” and “Sul una corda,” meaning that the pianist should hold down the una corda pedal (the so-called soft pedal), shifting the hammers so that they strike only one string on each note. At the very end of the short slow movement, he indicated “Nach und nach mehrere Saiten,” meaning that the pianist should gradually release the pedal to return the hammers to their normal position. The effect of this change was much more pronounced on the pianofortes of Beethoven’s time than it is today, since the una corda pedal literally reduced the instrument to one string per note, producing an almost harp-like sonority that notably contrasted with that of the full instrument. The beginning of the brief quote from the first movement that follows is then marked “Alle Saiten” and “tutto il Cembalo, ma piano.” 4 Italian: “Death leap.” 5 Mm. 121ff. 3 9 92.1 101.2. “Reviews (Museum for Keyboard Music, Volume 1).” Allgemeine musikalische Zeitung 19 (1 October 1817): col. 686–89.1 T his newest product with which Beethoven presents us provides continuous proofs of his inexhaustible versatility, his deep practical knowledge of art, his lively imagination, his universal originality. Truly, here in his 101st work, admiration and renewed esteem take hold of us when we wander with the great soul-painter on strange, never trodden paths, as though on Ariadne’s thread through labyrinthine twists, where now a cool brook whispers to us, now a rough rock stares; here an unknown, sweetly fragrant flower draws us, there a thorny path is ready to frighten us away. One must restrain oneself from describing further these and other pictures which force themselves upon a person, if one is to follow this wonderful genius as well in this his creation, for surely such effusions become no one less than a reviewer. Thus, there may follow, in place of anything further, only a short analysis of this work of art, which is certainly small in size, but grand, truly grand in content, and whose sometimes unpretentious exterior hides many precious jewels. The first piece (Allegretto, ma non troppo, or as the composer also indicated in the German tongue: Somewhat lively, and with the most heartfelt emotion, A major 6/8), has a simple, childishly tender character; contains few notes, which, however, say a great deal; and demands an intelligent, sensitive delivery, truly felt with the heart. This movement, consisting of 102 measures, proceeds from the following unassuming theme: Figure 1. Op. 101, 1st movement, mm. 1–6 This review, like the previous one, is based on the Steiner edition of February 1817. 1 10 101.2 With the greatest possible clarity, completely without ornament and show, this sweet melody glides uninterruptedly forward, remaining ever constant, only in different arrangements; joins with another, completely strange one;2 and then appears as the lower voice, treated in this manner: Figure 2. Op. 101, 1st movement, mm. 29–40 Just as interesting is the harmonic progression by which the composer leads to the conclusion: Figure 3. Op. 101, 1st movement, mm. 81–95 The second movement, Vivace alla Marcia (Lively, marchlike), F major, ctime, deviates totally from the previous one. It remains in dotted figures throughout, modulates unusually, and is not exactly easy to perform. The trio, B-flat major, after which the march proper is repeated once again, is built on the lovely motive that follows, and composed of the most beautiful imitations: Mm. 16ff. 2 11 101.2 Figure 4. Op. 101, 2nd movement, mm. 55–693 The following passage may find a place here as well: Figure 5. Op. 101, 1st movement, mm. 77–90 The connoisseur will be grateful to us for these excerpts, and will not fail to recognize the skillful contrapuntist in them. The Adagio non troppo, con affetto (Slow and longingly), A minor 2/4 time, consists of only twenty measures in which a single figure predominates. In it, that mutation of the The autograph manuscript has a repeat sign after m. 64, which does not appear in the first edition. 3 12 101.2 instrument is used by means of which the hammers touch only one string.4 After a cadenza leading into the major mode, wherein more and more strings gradually enter, the composer lets fragments from the beginning of the first movement be heard again in the tempo of that piece, quickly turning, however, to the last movement, Allegro (Fast, but not too much, and with resolution), A major 2/4 time, which immediately announces itself as a peculiar guest: Figure 6. Op. 101, 3rd movement, mm. 29–36 In order to develop all the beauties of this admirable piece, one would have to copy it in its entirety. It emerges, so to speak, from one integrated whole, neither too much nor too little; it consists of only a pair of principal ideas, but these are used completely exhaustively, decked out with all the arts of counterpoint that stand at the command of the genuine master, and thoroughly and strictly worked out with a certainty that vouches for study of the old classicists. Our readers will certainly pardon us if we cannot resist the temptation to cite at least several examples as proof of our assertion. See how the composer arranges his second part: Figure 7. Op. 101, 4th movement, mm. 120–47 See 101.1, n3. 4 13 101.2 Later comes this magnificent passage: Figure 8. Op. 101, 4th movement, mm. 198–212 Then the beautiful treatment of the theme at the return to the maggiore: Figure 9. Op. 101, 4th movement, mm. 238 (with upbeat)–53 Finally this cajoling transitional passage: Figure 10. Op. 101, 4th movement, mm. 270–79 The composer succeeds just as originally with the conclusion, letting his motive be heard once again now by itself, now in two voices, while the bass gently murmurs along with the heavy pedal notes.5 If we have succeeded well, with these notices, in preparing the friends Mm. 349ff. 5 14 101.2 of true keyboard playing, for whom Bach’s school remains forever valued and beloved, for the elevated, truly rare enjoyment that awaits them, then our purpose is fulfilled, and we rejoice in a new opportunity to be able to pay to the great composer in a similar manner the tribute of our heartfelt esteem that is due to him. 15 101.2 101.3. “Music. Overview of New Publications. L. in January and February 1818.” Journal f ür Literatur, Kunst, Luxus und Mode 33 (February 1818): 95–96.1 T he deserving Nägeli in Zürich formerly earned the thanks of all friends of selected music for the pianoforte with his substantial Repertoire des Clavecinistes, and acknowledged masters like v. Beethoven decorated this beautiful collection. Now a similar idea has been undertaken in Vienna by Steiner and Comp. in a manner that deserves no less applause and arouses agreeable expectations for its continuation. We mean, namely, the Musée musical des clavecinistes. Museum for Keyboard Music. First Volume. Vienna, Steiner and Comp. “Only musical products (one reads in the enclosed announcement) of acknowledged worth, compositions that are particularly distinguished by an aesthetically pure style, artistically, gracefully, and clearly worked out, will be admitted to this museum. Therefore we have claimed as our property the most recent works by the best-known composers of our time in their original form, alternating amicably with substantial works from earlier times that are distinguished by originality of invention as well as by precision, fire, and life in their working out.” Now this first volume contains, under the special title Sonata ( for the pianoforte, or for the Hammer-Klavier) of the Museum for Keyboard Music, first installment, composed Ludw. v. Beethoven, 101st work, property of the publisher, Vienna at the firm of Steiner and Comp., (Price … ) 19 S.2 The movements of this splendid sonata are as follows. The first, an Allegretto ma non troppo, in A major and 6/8 time, it distinguished no less by its tender expression, lovely melodic turns, and its refined harmony, than by the equally beautifully characteristic working out of the whole. There follows a Vivace alla marcia in F major, in 4/4 time, with a trio in B-flat major, which is formed very originally out of canonic imitations, just as the march itself joins much surprisingly beautiful expression with this contrapuntal art. A shorter Adagio ma non troppo, con affetto (slow and full of longing)3 leads beautifully As the text makes clear, this review is also based on the first edition of Op. 101 by Steiner. These words, with the exception of the price designation, appear on the title page, along with a dedication to Baroness Dorothea Ertmann. On the use of the term “Hammer-Klavier,” see 101.1, n2. 3 The German “langsam und sehnsuchtsvoll” was indicated by Beethoven himself; see 101.1, n3. 1 2 16 101.3 back to the opening theme of the sonata, which, however, connects immediately to the concluding movement, an Allegro (A major, 2/4 time). Here the master has combined fugal or canonic treatment, in a predominantly four-voice texture, with flights of imagination and entertaining moods in a very interesting way. One will be sufficiently rewarded for the many difficulties that the strict style requires the player to conquer with manifold enjoyment of original beauties. 17 101.3 Op. 102. Two Sonatas for Piano and Violoncello, C major, D major 102.1. “Review.” Allgemeine musikalische Zeitung 20 (11 November 1818): col. 792–94.1 B oth of these sonatas certainly belong among the most unusual and peculiar that have been written for the pianoforte in quite a while, not just in this form, but in general.2 Everything here is different, completely different from what one has received elsewhere, even from this master. May he not take offense, though, if we add that not a little also seems, as it stands here, and as it is put together, published and distributed, to be formed so as to come out completely unusual, completely peculiar. If we wanted to give those who do not yet know them an approximate concept of the manner and taste with which these sonatas were invented, and, at least in their principal sections, worked out, we would say: remember the so-called keyboard symphonies and similar works of Sebastian Bach;3 think further of what was the general taste at that time in regard to instrumental music generally; think moreover of what the taste of the present time is in that regard (but in both, high taste); and, in place of what is simple and comprehensible, deck out what remains (given all the inner variety of the old great master) with the fantastic variety, together with all the inner unity, of the new one; then perhaps you will have such a concept. As little clear and incomplete as that concept still is, it will not be wrong to form it as far as possible, for it will lead closer to the proper view of these compositions and to the evaluation they deserve. Otherwise, they would scarcely receive their due, deviating thoroughly and in every regard from that which one now is accustomed to declaiming and enjoying; indeed, they would probably be set aside by most keyboard players, at least among the dilettantes, as repugnant and unpalatable. As soon as this concept takes shape from out of the work’s most characteristic features, then these features can indeed be discussed again on the basis of it. As regards its technical and artistic structure, for example: that The two sonatas of Op. 102 were written in 1815, with the second possibly completed early the next year. This review is based on the first edition, published in 1817 by Simrock in Bonn. 2 In other words, they are unusual as piano works, not just as works for piano and cello. The reviewer’s perspective is typical of this time in regarding the piano as the main instrument and the cello as the accompanying one. 3 This probably refers to Bach’s sinfonias, also known as the three-part inventions. 1 18 102.1 the voice of the violoncello and each hand of the pianoforte is worked out not merely as what is now called obbligato, but as what was further called real;4 that everything merely brilliant, as even more so everything provocative, noisy, and ear-filling is disdained; that for the most part only gradually does the sense, indeed in part even the technical context, become clear to the player or listener; that the melody is not infrequently coarse, the harmony now and again hard, and so forth. Whether the last and second to last of these were necessary to the master’s purpose in this degree; whether many other peculiarities, for example the occupation of the keyboard player in many passages at once and exclusively with the lowest and highest notes and so forth, were necessary; whether something else would have been better, if also not as striking: this we would like to leave undecided, as is appropriate with all works of such an artist that are intentionally written in this way. Everyone is free to make his own judgment, but it is not always well to make his own free judgment public, particularly where for many it will lose the appearance of an individual one and obtain that of a general one. The first of these sonatas begins with a cantabile Andante in C major, which soon runs into an Allegro vivace in A minor. A short Adagio, again in C major, follows and leads back to the first tempo, and an Allegro vivace, which is attached to it, concludes. The second of these sonatas consists of an Allegro con brio in D major, an Adagio5 in D minor (with such a magnificent melody and harmony in the principal idea!), and an Allegro in D major, which is fugued throughout (in part most strangely). The violoncellist must be completely secure in intonation, meter, etc., and also a very good singer on his instrument, if his performance is to succeed. For the keyboard player only the last movement of the second sonata is very difficult to perform, even if he is quite accustomed to regular fugue playing; all the others, at least apart from the finale of the first sonata, are not exactly difficult, at least as regards the mechanical aspect of performance. As concerns the sense and expression, and also particularly the most precise agreement of both players in sense and expression, which is necessary throughout, everything offered here can bear casual performance as little as casual listening. The performance would be much more difficult for both players, however, if the artistically knowledgeable publisher had not let the violoncello part be set throughout for the pianoforte in small notes on a separate line, by means of which understanding and that agreement are greatly facilitated. In general, everything external to the work deserves much praise.6 In other words, the cello part and each hand of the piano are not merely essential, but each contain an independent contrapuntal voice. 5 Actually Adagio con molto sentimento d’affetto. 6 Unlike those of Beethoven’s previous works for piano and other instruments, the piano part of the first edition of Op. 102 included the cello part, as is standard practice for the piano parts of such works today. 4 19 102.1 102.2. v.d.O… “Reviews.” Berliner allgemeine musikalische Zeitung 1 (1 December 1824): 409–10.1 (With piano sonata in A-flat Major, Op. 110) A work of our great master’s most recent muse. It does not need to be said that, like all his works, it distinguishes itself strikingly through originality not only from all remaining products of other composers, but also from his own compositions. The inexhaustible fountain of his great and shining genius streams forth each time fresh and bright, from a new effusion of his emotion, and with each new gift one must confess to oneself, after playing it through frequently and repeatedly, not only that it is beautiful, but that it also has not been heard until now, neither from him nor, naturally, from another. No. 1.2 The first Allegro (D major) begins boldly and firmly and is only interrupted by one gentle cantilena of the cello, which would like to seek sweet conciliation: Figure 11. Op. 102, no. 2, 1st movement, mm. 29–31. The key signature of two sharps is missing. but cannot achieve it. The aroused passion of a somewhat powerful emotion predominates until the end of the movement, whose conclusion appears extremely new and interesting. The second, which is more extensively worked out, is an Adagio con molto sentimento d’affetto, which remains in a dismal, almost exhausted and sick emotion. This is beneficently interrupted by the secondary passage in D major, which, however, is not as consoling as it Kunze attributes this review to Adolf Bernhard Marx. It refers to the edition issued by Artaria in Vienna in January 1819. 2 The work discussed here is actually Op. 102 No. 2, in D major. No. 1, in C major, is discussed next, and is called No. 2. 1 20 102.2 appears at the beginning. The theme returns in D minor, is spun out in this key with restless figurations, appears once again sempre pp like an unlucky, horribly hovering shadow, and leads into the following third and last movement. This Adagio, strangely, moves for four pages only through D minor and major. Can this be the reason why the reviewer, in spite of the fact that he finds individual passages infinitely beautiful, has not become enamored of the whole to the degree that tends to be the case with other movements of his celebrated and revered favorite composer? There now follows an artfully worked out fugue six pages long, to which the reviewer at least concedes originality. As a rule, fugues tend to abound in commonplaces and shopworn figurations because they customarily owe their development to the so-called Greek or church modes, with their well-known progressions and harmonic sequences, which are heard to the point of boredom, so that one fugue of this old cut is as similar to the other as one egg to another. One cannot say that about this fugue, or about any by Beethoven, and therefore criticism must be cautious. The opinion of an individual about the aesthetic content of this work cannot be given much consideration here, for everything new always astounds. If the reviewer may confess his opinion candidly, after playing it through most diligently he cannot call this fugue beautiful, despite the fact that it is artfully worked out and highly original. Perhaps he will like it better after knowing it for years. It is different with the fugue in the A-flat major sonata, Op. 110.3 This one is also original and artistically worked out, but at the same time sung so sweetly and naturally in every voice that one carries it with one always. This is a very special thing with fugue compositions. Beautiful fugues—by which we understand those that 1) are thoroughly original, with no commonplaces heard to the point of boredom, 2) with all outward, technical artistry, nevertheless 3) have beautiful, natural melody in all voices and are true to an emotion once grasped, and for just that reason also 4) make clear and establish the necessity of their form, which in itself is somewhat compulsory—thus belong among the white sparrows in arte musices. The fugal form unfolded magnificently for Händel, and his fugal works in the eternally beautiful Messiah fill the connoisseur and nonconnoisseur with the deepest admiration. A fugue like this present one, however, will scarcely be able to please everyone, neither the connoisseur nor, even less, the nonconnoisseur. First, it does not sound good, and second, it awakes no definite emotion. The theme is too merry for such a serious working out, and for that reason also contrasts too harshly with the two previous movements. How much would we rather have heard another movement in place of this fugue: a Beethoven finale! It is thus to be wished that Beethoven not take up the fugue so deliberately, for his great genius is certainly exalted over every form. Everyone would have believed that he can produce fugues, even if he had never written one, for to produce a finale like that in the Sinfonia eroica in E-flat is an entirely different work of art and masterpiece than a fugue. Incidentally, to speak bluntly, the double fugue in the Requiem, “Kyrie eleison,” A footnote in the original review reads: “Ztg. No. 10, p. 87.” See the review of Op. 110 in BamZ, no. 110.2. 3 21 102.2 awakens an emotion that is just as untrue as it is unlovely.4 Such a theme, with such an intricate secondary subject, chanted firmly and powerfully in an Allegro, is no Kyrie eleison, and would be better suited to a “confutatis.”5 The reviewer, and certainly everyone who, with unprejudiced feelings, does not adhere to great names, greatly regrets that the immortal Mozart made such a gross blunder in this, his otherwise so magnificent and radiant work, which, in the breast of every devout listener, thoroughly obliterates the grand impression of the introduction and damages the piece so painfully yet again at the conclusion.6 This is not devotion, and it never will be. How differently would a restful, pleading, simple Palestrina-like chord progression with pleading figures have suited these moving, holy words. No. 27 pleased the reviewer decisively better than the first. This sonata consists of an introductory Andante, C major, which has a sweet, lovely melody for its theme. It is just as simple and moving as it is heartfelt, breathing a pleading emotion of feminine beauty. A short Allegro8 (A minor) in sonata form begins harshly and coarsely, with masculine anger, truly and beautifully invented, raging with great unity through to the end. An Adagio in C major gently improvises, as though upon a lute, on the first introductory phrase, which moves in a childlike manner into a cheerful, light-hearted Allegro vivace in C major. This finale is completely worthy of the great genius. Beautifully rocking, bright discant triplets alternate in feminine tenderness with the powerful bass passages, which can be compared to masculine footsteps. Here, as in other highly imaginative works of a Beethoven, a great many beautiful emotions and ideas, which are the stamp of the genuine work of art, crowd upon the performer. Such a movement is worth more than a great many ever so artistic fugues, which do not answer to more elevated demands. The engraving is clear and beautiful, the price not stated. The reviewer is evidently referring to the Kyrie eleison from Mozart’s Requiem, K. 626. The double fugue actually sets both the “Kyrie eleison” and “Christe eleison” texts. 5 The “confutatis” is the section of the Dies Irae, often set as a self-contained piece of music, that contrasts the damnation of evildoers with the hope of the individual for salvation. 6 Because Mozart did not live to finish the Requiem, it was completed by his pupil Franz Süssmayr, who reset the “Kyrie eleison, Christe eleison” chorus to the concluding words, “Cum sanctis tui in aeternam.” 7 That is, No. 1 in C major. 8 Actually Allegro vivace. 4 22 102.2