Understanding Beethovan’s third symphony, Eroica

(To whom it may concern)......

And to do so, one has to be familiar the way in which Beethovan scored the Third Symphony, his frame of mind at the time, the environment, the social and political background and above all, his mental and physical state. (his doctor and Beethovan were aware of the impending deafness very early in life, probably around this time, 1803-1804. This was kept a secret by both to the end) The first performance of Symphony No. 3 Eroica was on 7 April, 1805.

He wrote nine symphonies in the span of about 23 years and are considered as the best of his works, with each symphony gathering momentum.

They are the clearest, most concise lyrical best and reveal how Beethovan’s musical style developed. But curiously, the even numbered symphonies are slightly less adventurous while the odd numbered ones are more profound and challenging in their scores, like the Third Symphony.

Written in 1803, Eroica has often been described as of incomprehensible deeds of art and letters though Beethovan never appreciated poetry and letters. Yet, this made him the greatest individual composer in the history of the symphony and the history of music in general.

This Symphony No. 3 in E flat proclaims its epic scale and defiance in everything that has preceded in symphonic terms. Beethovan never intended it as a dedication to anyone when he commenced scoring it but on the way, somewhere, somehow, he directed it towards an individual. Because the composer realized the magnitude of what he was writing and compared it with a sense of majestic grandeur, drama and conflict.

He realized its potential when he compared his two previous symphonies. Symphony No. 1 in C (1800) and Symphony No. 2 in D (1802) lacked depth and feeling to what he was putting into Symphony No. 3 (1803) and he was to write 6 more symphonies later.

In Eroica, the second movement is a funeral March and the first to appear in a symphony. The third is a bright big and brisk scherzo and the finale returns to the emotional torment of the first. Beethovan climaxed it with a hymn for the hero he was celebrating to. Subconsciously, the image of Napolean Bonapart was surfing over his score. This was because Beethovan considered Napolean to be a champion of freedom.

Beethovan burst into fiery. He lost control of his mind and raged over Napolean’s duplicity of events. To Beethovan he became a villain when he heard that Napolean had crowned himself Emperor. (He was crowned by Pope Pius VII in Notre-Dame in 1804). He was disillusioned by this act of self-aggrandizement that he ripped off the name of Bonapart from the first page of the manuscript and replaced it with one word, Eroica which he had earlier dedicated to the Emperor.

Why was Beethovan disenchanted? Because he had a miserable childhood with an alcoholic brute for a father. He was shrouded in unhappiness and his long hours of solitude even as a child, paved the way to a genius. Most of Beethovan’s scores are soft, gentle and warming.

Each score, each note was carefully placed to produce that magic we have come to inherit. As he progressed from a genius to an immortal, the inexorable progress of his deafness made him increasingly irritable, over sensitive and petulant.

This made him retreat unto himself and shun society. The shock of Napolean’s infidelity and ardour of all the beautiful women he courted, were illusions. But the music came pouring out. Out of a icon-mind. He wrote the first version of opera FIDELIO which was followed by Razumovsky String Quartets, Symphonies 4,5 and 6 the Violin Concerto and the Triple Concerto along with several lilting melodies.

Beethovan charged himself with energy in the third and final phase of his development as a composer and he did it with a vengeance. The wizard had arrived. The monumental Piano Sonata, Hammerklavier saw daylight as did many others that followed. Yet, all the time he was aware of his impending deafness may have been the reason that he rushed through his great masterpieces towards the later part of his life.

A sad incident occurred on May 1824 at the premiere of his Ninth symphony which he insisted in conducting himself. When the Symphony ended, Beethovan was several bars adrift from the orchestra and chorus but continued to conduct even as a storm of enthusiastic applause broke out.

Up sprang the contralto soloist, Caroline Unger and came over to him and gently turned him around to face the audience. Then and only then did the audience realized that Beethovan had not heard anything and wrote St. George.

May the green grass grow gently upon his grave.

This article is dedicated to Malinda of The Morning Inspection.

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