Symphony No. 5 in C minor, Op. 67
Ludwig van Beethoven (1770-1827)
Allegro con brio; Andante con moto; Scherzo: Allegro; Allegro
Perhaps more has been written about this work than any other in the classical canon. Often, commentaries begin by discussing the first four notes, teasing out what that famous motif, the Morse Code ‘V’ for Victory, might be trying to say. The American singer/song writer, Billy Joel, came up with his slant on this: ‘The thing that impresses me most about Ludwig van Beethoven’s Fifth is – da da da daaa – it’s fate knocking on the door. That’s one of the biggest hits in history. There’s no video to it, he didn’t need one.’ Hmm. ‘Fate knocking on the door’ goes back a long way. Anton Schindler, Beethoven’s secretary for a while, wrote a biography of the composer, published in 1840, 13 years after the composer’s death and 32 years after the première of the Fifth Symphony. He claimed that Beethoven himself had described it as ‘fate knocking on the door’, but the Beethoven Compendium, edited by Barry Cooper, suggests that Schindler’s talent for inaccuracy and fabrication was so great, virtually nothing he recorded could be relied upon. It may strike one as strange that the phrase is quoted so often when its provenance is doubtful, and it doesn’t really mean anything anyway.
Analysts point out that the first movement is based entirely on those four notes, and that its rhythmic pattern lies at the heart of the other movements as well. Although that’s true to an extent, we should remember that Beethoven loved the ‘triple anacrusis’. He used it in many other works, conspicuously so in his Fourth Piano Concerto, premièred in the same concert as the Fifth Symphony. Thanks to the almost subliminal links between its movements, the symphony coheres beautifully. Even so, it could be argued that a larger, two-edged scheme prevails, that of darkness and light: words often used to describe the minor and major modes in music. We could use comparable near-opposites: tension and repose; sadness and joy; fear and relief. Although the symphony as a whole is an undisputed masterpiece based on the development of motifs, it might explore the relationship between ‘darkness and light’ as well.
Following the unremitting drama of the ‘dark’ first movement, the second movement certainly offers repose, but an unsettled repose because of the frequent and restless variations on its main themes. While the form and style reminds us of Joseph Haydn’s ornate and almost ‘vocal’ symphonic slow movements, they are typical of Beethoven’s expansiveness, in which he combines beauty with length. Although this movement seems to be the longest within the symphony, an alternative view deserves consideration.
In The Carnival of the Animals, Camille Saint-Saëns used a double bass to depict an elephant. E.M. Forster could not have heard or known about that when, in Howards End, he described the ‘trio’ section of the third movement of Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony as ‘a trio of elephants dancing’. On the other hand he may have read Hector Berlioz describing it as, ‘like the gambols of an elephant’. Played by double basses and cellos, it is celebrated for the double basses being so lusty and galumphing. This short fugal passage separates the two renditions of a distinctly ‘dark’ scherzo, suggestive of ‘goblins’, according to Forster. The scherzo returns sotto voce but something portentous appears on the horizon. No more tunes, hardly any rhythm, little other than mounting tension. Even if we know the work intimately, this transition is thrilling. The finale bursts upon us in the major key: sheer light, sheer joy, sheer relief, afforded extra vibrancy by the entry of the trombones who have waited more than 20 minutes for this moment, as have the contrabassoon and piccolo.
The third and fourth movements are linked, a startling innovation in 1808. Even more startling is the ghostly return of the third movement in the middle of the fourth. This recall of darkness in the midst of light creates a spiritual balance for the work as a whole, and might lead listeners to wonder whether the two final movements are umbilically one, providing a foil for the leisurely slow movement within a symphony of three parts, rather than four.
Ludwig van Beethoven (1770-1827)
Allegro con brio; Andante con moto; Scherzo: Allegro; Allegro
Perhaps more has been written about this work than any other in the classical canon. Often, commentaries begin by discussing the first four notes, teasing out what that famous motif, the Morse Code ‘V’ for Victory, might be trying to say. The American singer/song writer, Billy Joel, came up with his slant on this: ‘The thing that impresses me most about Ludwig van Beethoven’s Fifth is – da da da daaa – it’s fate knocking on the door. That’s one of the biggest hits in history. There’s no video to it, he didn’t need one.’ Hmm. ‘Fate knocking on the door’ goes back a long way. Anton Schindler, Beethoven’s secretary for a while, wrote a biography of the composer, published in 1840, 13 years after the composer’s death and 32 years after the première of the Fifth Symphony. He claimed that Beethoven himself had described it as ‘fate knocking on the door’, but the Beethoven Compendium, edited by Barry Cooper, suggests that Schindler’s talent for inaccuracy and fabrication was so great, virtually nothing he recorded could be relied upon. It may strike one as strange that the phrase is quoted so often when its provenance is doubtful, and it doesn’t really mean anything anyway.
Analysts point out that the first movement is based entirely on those four notes, and that its rhythmic pattern lies at the heart of the other movements as well. Although that’s true to an extent, we should remember that Beethoven loved the ‘triple anacrusis’. He used it in many other works, conspicuously so in his Fourth Piano Concerto, premièred in the same concert as the Fifth Symphony. Thanks to the almost subliminal links between its movements, the symphony coheres beautifully. Even so, it could be argued that a larger, two-edged scheme prevails, that of darkness and light: words often used to describe the minor and major modes in music. We could use comparable near-opposites: tension and repose; sadness and joy; fear and relief. Although the symphony as a whole is an undisputed masterpiece based on the development of motifs, it might explore the relationship between ‘darkness and light’ as well.
Following the unremitting drama of the ‘dark’ first movement, the second movement certainly offers repose, but an unsettled repose because of the frequent and restless variations on its main themes. While the form and style reminds us of Joseph Haydn’s ornate and almost ‘vocal’ symphonic slow movements, they are typical of Beethoven’s expansiveness, in which he combines beauty with length. Although this movement seems to be the longest within the symphony, an alternative view deserves consideration.
In The Carnival of the Animals, Camille Saint-Saëns used a double bass to depict an elephant. E.M. Forster could not have heard or known about that when, in Howards End, he described the ‘trio’ section of the third movement of Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony as ‘a trio of elephants dancing’. On the other hand he may have read Hector Berlioz describing it as, ‘like the gambols of an elephant’. Played by double basses and cellos, it is celebrated for the double basses being so lusty and galumphing. This short fugal passage separates the two renditions of a distinctly ‘dark’ scherzo, suggestive of ‘goblins’, according to Forster. The scherzo returns sotto voce but something portentous appears on the horizon. No more tunes, hardly any rhythm, little other than mounting tension. Even if we know the work intimately, this transition is thrilling. The finale bursts upon us in the major key: sheer light, sheer joy, sheer relief, afforded extra vibrancy by the entry of the trombones who have waited more than 20 minutes for this moment, as have the contrabassoon and piccolo.
The third and fourth movements are linked, a startling innovation in 1808. Even more startling is the ghostly return of the third movement in the middle of the fourth. This recall of darkness in the midst of light creates a spiritual balance for the work as a whole, and might lead listeners to wonder whether the two final movements are umbilically one, providing a foil for the leisurely slow movement within a symphony of three parts, rather than four.