Beethoven's Ninth

Is Beethoven the "greatest composer in musical history"?

Is his Ninth Symphony his greatest masterpiece ?

What would one think of this great work, if one could hear it today for the first time?

No one can tell, of course, for the Ninth received its first public performance almost exactly 100 years ago (May 7, 1824) under peculiarly dramatic circumstances. The Master had spent years of agonized effort on its composition; it was to be the crowning achievement of his career. An orchestra and chorus had finally mastered the then "superhuman" difficulties of the score. The great concert hall in Vienna was packed to overflowing; tears came to the performers' eyes as the music started; the performance was frequently interrupted by thunders of the applause. But Beethoven himself heard nothing. He was 'deaf. It was not until his friend Unger wheeled him around that he saw the enthusiasm of the audience.

Now, on the centenary of this great event, we have been accorded the opportunity of judging the work afresh. It is an opportunity which does not often occur, for full performances of the Ninth are rare. But on March 4, in Carnegie Hall, Manhattan, the Philadelphia Orchestra, under the leadership of Leopold Stokowski, combined with the Mendelssohn Choir of Toronto braved the terrors of the formidable masterpiece.

The listeners heard a rousing, but polished, reading of the First Movement, with its bold tossing about of thundrous rhythms, alternating with gentle, simple melodies, rising again and again in a seemingly endless succession of climaxes. Then came the swift, breathless scherzo (musical jest) ; then the long-drawn-out, meditative Slow Movement; finally, after fragments of what had gone before, the rich baritone voice of Mr. Royal Dadmun, chanted: "O friends, no more such sound of discord. Let us sing a strain more cheerful, now flowing, a strai-ai-ai-ai-ai-ain of gladness!"

Whereupon the full choir and orchestra responded nobly and loudly, with:

Sing, then, O ye heaven-descended daughters of the starry realm.

Joy by love and hope attended, joy whose raptures overwhelm. . . .

Wine she gave to us and kisses, friend to gladden our abode;

E'en the worm can feel life's blisses, and the Seraph dwells with God!"

Yet it seemed to many in the audience that all this frantic striving after gigantic effects did not, could not, fulfil Beethoven's expectations for his magnum opus. The Master was straining every nerve to be really Heaven-storming. Not content with a mere orchestra, he had to have a quartet of solo-singers and a huge choir: something decidedly new and revolutionary for his time. He treated the voices brutally: made them sing a series of long high notes that are almost unmanageable.

Stokowski and the choir rendered an almost perfect performance. But the effect? Eloquent, yes. Sublimely inspired even, in spots--but with long, long stretches of infinite boredom.

It is possible that Beethoven, for all his reported genius, and for all the inspiration that overwhelms the listener to his Fifth, was near the end of his life merely a platitudinous Dr. Frank Crane of music?

Many serious-minded concert-subscribers are now pondering thoughtfully over this amazing possibility.