Reverend John Robinson in 1620

 

Remember, God has yet more Truth and Light to break forth from the Holy Word.

Rev. John Robinson to his congregation as they sailed for the New World in 1620

Beethoven: Symphony No. 9 - Klaus Mäkelä - Oslo Philharmonic

Paul Grabbe on Beethoven's Symphony No. 9

 SYMPHONY  9

In D Minor, with Final Chorus on Schiller's "Ode To Joy" Op. 125 (Popularly Known as the Choral Symphony)  FIRST PERFORMANCE: VIENNA, MAY 7, 1824

Beethoven had a habit of noting down musical ideas in sketchbooks which he carried around with him; of re-working these ideas, again and again, sometimes over a period of years, until, finally satisfied with their content, he would give them their final expression. Most of Beethoven's works passed through this exacting process, and the Ninth Symphony was no exception-- a fact rather upsetting to the "stroke of genius" view of the creative endeavor.

Notations and melodies intended for the Ninth Symphony date as far back as 1817. They make clear that Beethoven had the work in mind at least six years, thinking about it and tightening its ideas even while attending to the execution of other, lesser works. 

When the symphony was finally ready, its initial performance drew an enthusiastic  response. To this, Beethoven at first did not respond. Stone deaf, completely unaware of the ovation he was receiving, he stood there on the conductor's stand, his back to the audience, until one of the soloists took him by the sleeve and pushed him gently around. This incident, touching and rather pitiful, seems to have electrified the audience, for in it were many of Beethoven's friends and admirers; but it may be doubted if many of those present really perceived the greatness of this unprecedented symphony with voices in it. 

Not until the latter part of the nineteenth century did the work-- perhaps the most monumental work in all music-- make any appreciable headway, and then largely through  the ministrations of Richard Wagner who took it upon  himself, through repeated performances, to make the Symphony better known to the public at large.

GUIDE TO LISTENING

First Movement: The work opens with a mysterious rustling in the strings through which we hear the voices of different instruments, as if propounding questions. These are scarcely over when we begin to sense, dimly at first but with increasing certainty, that we are in the presence of something that has depth and width and titanic power. In accents subdued but more and more agitated the movement unfolds, its first theme appropriately likened by some to the pounding of a giant anvil. Suspense hangs over this music, and stress, and its occasional oases of relative tranquility are quickly swallowed by stormy outbursts from the entire orchestra .

Second Movement: Three spirited ejaculations by the orchestra-- the third preceded by a loud imitation on the kettledrums-- and the music rushes irresistible forward. Its exhilarating rhythm, wild yet somehow jolly, conjures visions of a giant skipping merrily along. A breathing spell that is gently lyrical is provided by a contrasting middle section.

Third Movement: This is the slow movement of the Symphony-- lovely, pleading, restrained in its principal melodies of which Hector Berlioz has said: "As for the beauty of these melodies, the infinite grace of the ornaments that envelop them . . . the tenderness, dreamy religious feeling they express-- if my prose could but give an approximate idea of them, music would have found a rival in written speech . . ."

Fourth Movement: The last movement starts clamorously, as though in a mood of militant defiance. This furious opening is followed immediately by brief snatches from the preceding three movements. Sir Donald F. Toby, one of the most scholarly students of Beethoven, has this to say on this subject:

. . ."Beethoven's plan is to remind us of the first three movements . . . and to reject them one by one as failing to attain the joy in which he believes. After all three have been rejected, a new theme is to appear . . . hailed and sung as the hymn of joy." 

This new theme is presently introduced, at first tentatively by the cellos and violas. These are joined by the violins, finally by the entire orchestra. Up to this point the singers have been silent, but now the baritone enters with the words: "O, friends, not these tones! Let us take up a more joyous strain." Whereupon the entire chorus joins in; and now, the triumphant accents of the Ode to Joy burst forth upon us-- music of transcendental and triumphant gladness

From THE STORY OF ONE HUNDRED SYMPHONIC FAVORITES

PAUL GRABBE (1902-1999)

PUBLISHERS GROSSET & DUNLAP, NEW YORK, 1940

Peter Pringle & The Oldest Song in The World

.

all the flowers are forms of water

the sun reminds them through a white cloud 

see how they wake without a question

even though the whole world is burning

W. S. Merwin (1927 - 2019)

From The Shadow of Sirius

"Rain Light" (excerpt)

Copper Canyon Press 2009

The Shadow of Sirius

Nathaniel Hawthorne (1804 - 1864) : "The World Around Us"

A writer who every day witnesses the glory of the New England countryside would naturally be especially aware of the varied wonders of Nature. Nathaniel Hawthorne, a native  New Englander, was aware , and these excerpts from his American Notebooks reflect his deep reverence for Nature's beauty:   

I left my Sophia at five o'clock this morning, to catch some fish for dinner. On my way through the orchard, I shook our summer apple-tree, and ate the golden apple which fell from it. Methinks these early apples, which come as a golden promise before the treasures of autumnal fruit, are almost more delicious than anything that comes afterwards. We have but one of such tree in our orchard; but it supplies us with a daily abundance, and promises to do so for at least a week to come. Meantime, other trees begin to cast their ripening windfalls upon the grass; and when I taste them, and perceive their mellowed flavor and blackening seeds, I feel somewhat overwhelmed with the impending bounties of Providence. I suppose Adam, in Paradise, did not like to see his fruits decaying on the ground, after he had watched them through the sunny days of the world's first summer.

Brooks and pools of water seem to me to have a peculiar aspect, at this season.You know that the water must be cold, and you shiver a little at the sight of it; and yet the grass about the pool is of deepest verdure, and the sun may be shining into it. The withered leaves, which over-hanging trees shed into the water, contribute much to the effect of it.

    Insects have almost vanished in the fields and woods. I hear locusts yet singing in the sunny hours; and crickets have not quite finished their song. Once in a while, I see a caterpillar--this afternoon, for instance, a red hairy one, with black hair at the head and tail. They do not appear to be active; and it makes one rather melancholy to look at them.

No language can give an idea of the beauty and glory of the trees, just as this time. It would be easy, by a process of word-daubing, to set down a confused idea of  gorgeous colors, like a bunch of tangled skeins of bright silk; but there's nothing, in the reality, of the glare which would thus be conveyed. And yet the splendor both of individual trees and of whole scenes, is unsurpassable.

The trees reflected in the river--they are unconscious of a spiritual world so near to them. So are we.

Yesterday afternoon I talk a solitary walk to Walden Pond. It was a cool, north-west windy day, with heavy clouds rolling and tumbling about the sky, but still a prevalence of genial autumn sunshine. The fields are still green , and the green masses of the woods have not yet  assumed their many-colored garments; but here and there, are solitary oaks of a deep, substantial red, or maples of a more brilliant hue, or chestnuts [sic], either yellow or of a tenderer green than in summer. Some trees seem to return to their hue of May or early June, before they put on the brighter autumnal tints. In some places, along the borders of low and moist land, a whole range of trees where clothed in the perfect gorgeousness of autumn, of all shades brilliant color, looking like the palette on which Nature was arranging the tints wherewith to paint a picture.

The clouds of any one day, are material enough, alone, for the observation either of an idle man or a philosopher.   

The cave makes a fresh impression on me every time I visit it--so deep, so irregular, so gloomy, so stern--parts of its walls the pure white of the marble--others cover with a grey decomposition, and with spots of moss, and with brake growing where there is a handful of earth. Then to stand and look into its depths, at various points, under the arch or elsewhere, and to hear the roar of the stream re-echoing up. It is like a heart that has been rent asunder by a torrent of passion, which has raged and roared, and left its ineffaceable traces; though now there is but a little rill of feeling at the bottom.

A north-west windy day, cool, with a general prevalence of dull grey clouds over the sky, but with brief, quick glimpses of sunshine. The foliage having its autumn hues, Monument Mountain looks like a headless sphinx, wrapt in a rich Persian shawl. Yesterday, through a prevalent mist, with the sun shining on it, it had the aspect of burnished copper. The sun-gleams on the hills are peculiarly magnificent, just in these days.

I visited my grape vine, this afternoon, and ate the last of its clusters. This vine climbs around a young maple tree, which has now assumed the yellow leaf. The vine leaves are more decayed than those of the maple. Thence to Cow Island, a solemn and thoughtful walk. Returned from the island by another path, of the width of a pair of wagon wheels, passing through a grove of hard-wood trees, the lightsome hues of which make the walk more cheerful than among the pines. The roots of oak trees emerged from the soil, and contorted themselves across the path. The sunshine also, broke across in spots, and in other spots the shadow was deep; but still there was intermingling enough of sunshine and bright hues to keep off the gloom from the whole path.

. . .

From "Great Writings" by Nathaniel Hawthorne

L. James Morgan Jr (Compiler)

The World Around Us

Published 1971 by Hallmark Editions

Hawthorne in Salem

out for a late afternoon walk with Mr. Hawthorne

The trees reflected in the river

they are unconscious of a spiritual world so near them. 

So are we.

Great Writings by Nathaniel Hawthorne

Published 1971 by Hallmark Editions

Hawthorne in Salem