Listeners accustomed to the modern technique of recording generally do not understand why Toscanini insisted so persistently on the dampened, echo-less acoustics of NBC’s Studio 8H. (Toscanini’s will continued to prevail in the early 1950’s, when one of the record company’s engineers wanted, in the interest of ‘euphony’, to touch up his Beethoven recordings with artificial reverberations. The records had to be called back). His justification for this almost qualifies as an artistic confession. He was only willing to work under such acoustic conditions in which every element of the music was ‘clearly audible’. It is no coincidence that Bruno Walter chose an echoing riding school for the scene of his later recordings, the reverberating sounds of which embraced the orchestra with soft and even euphony. For Bruno Walter worked with a broad brush, while Toscanini drew with a sharp steel blade. Walter’s recordings were like an impressionistic photograph, prepared with the help of a ‘blurring lens’, whereas in Toscanini’s recordings even the finest details must be seen clearly. He put reality of feeling and exactness of form before aurally gratifying euphony. It is interesting that even a mediocre record-player gives a more or less acceptable picture of the Olympian proportions of Klemperer’s rhythms, Furtwängler’s demonic dynamics or Bruno Walter’s dreamlike agogics, because the changes in the acoustical sphere – the musical character changes – take place relatively slowly, allowing our ears to follow them more easily. It is not so with Toscanini. If, as a result of weakness in the playing-back of sounds, the infinitely nuanced drawing of the musical formation becomes blurred, the musical intentions will, together with it, also remain in obscurity. Just as Leonardo’s Mona-Lisa would lose its magic if we were to know it from a picture in a daily paper, a mediocre musical reproduction is unable to represent Toscanini’s ideas. The tangible perceivability of the instruments and the clear soundscape were for him the essentials of every musical performance.

He was well aware of the reasons. His musical dramaturgy, one of the most characteristic traits of his orchestral art, was realized by the qualitative changes in the tone. (However unbelievable this may seem: in the case of an ideal reproduction, next to the tone of the Toscanini-orchestra, recordings prepared using a much more advanced procedure seem also to be more monotone – they awaken a more one-sided impression.) There was hardly anyone among his contemporaries who was more perceptive of the form of the music in the momentary transformations of timbre, or who would have attached so much importance to the difference between quantitative and qualitative elements of expression; that is to say, between dynamics and color. Perhaps no one knew better than him the value of the moment (or rather the value of the event that occurs at that moment). The meaning of tonal colors; their rapid changes similar to human speech – if one may say, the ‘articulation’ of color – formed the basis of his musical phraseology. He demanded the same of his players, just as he demanded perfectly clear diction from his singers.

The clarity of the ‘consonants and vowels’ of the orchestral timbre – the volubility of the tonal picture – appears immediately in the signature theme of the symphony that we are to examine: Toscanini shades the initial a-e step of the oboe with no less than four timbre changes. We should rather write the smooth half-notes of the motive as:

Neither the resonant background of the short forte and long piano chords nor the motivic inversion (the reflection of the fourth) alone gives the reason for the unveiling of the ‘active’ and ‘passive’ face of the pair of bars – the reason lies much deeper. This must be approached through a bit of a detour.

The basic form of a classical melody, as we know, is the period – the melody usually falls symmetrically into 2+2, 4+4 and 8+8 bars. (To the ‘question’ of the first two bars, the subsequent two bars give an ‘answer’, the thus unified four bars can nevertheless be seen as a single question, to which bars 5–8 now give an answer. The form continues to develop in a similar manner: the eight bar period ends in a half cadence and rhymes with the resolution – the authentic cadence – of the sixteen bar period.)

There is, however, a characteristic and frequent type of melody found in Haydn, Mozart and Beethoven that allows a deeper view of the proportional laws of the classical theme. (One is amazed that the following order has thus far escaped the notice of musicologists.)

In the characterization of this type of melody, we must view as the ‘unit of measurement’ that meter in which we should have to conduct the melody (or in which an ideal conductor would conduct it). The smallest motivic component comprises four beats arranged in such a manner that the tension point ²⁾ touches the beginning of the second beat, which means that this tension point actually appears in order to determine the value of the ‘unit of measurement’:

There is no more need to determine the value of the ‘unit of measurement’ in the following four-beat group – the place of the tension point shifts. Not one, but two units of time elapse before it reappears, since the form itself has grown twofold:

The melody continues to develop logically along the same principle: a newer 8 beats answers the already measured 8 beats, meaning that we must now take a four-step, rather than a two-step path to the tension point:

For the sake of completeness, let us also cite a period consisting of 32 units of measurement. In the second half of the melody, as expected, not four, but eight units of value determine the position of the tension point (indeed, after the unchanging repetition of bars 1–4, something new occurs in the 13^th bar of the second half period):

In summary, along with the periodic growth of the melody (4–8–16–32), the tension point also undergoes a gradual shift (by 1–2–4–8 units).

The extent to which the dynamic qualities of this theme structure can be used to create tension is shown by the following two examples of intensification from the 1^st movement in Toscanini’s recording ³⁾: 

Returning now to our starting point, let us prepare an ‘electrocardiogram’ of bars 1–2 by breaking down the dynamic and color components of the sound:

What is happening on the second eighth? The oboe’s sound throbs with pain after the forte stroke and the short, whip-cracking chord of the orchestra. The opposite can be seen, on the other hand, from the last fourth of the bar: the oboe’s timbre changes captivatingly (a touch of bliss is concealed in that change), as if the performer had changed unnoticed to a softer-colored instrument, thus preparing the easing of the second bar. The splendor (I cannot find a better word for this) that accompanies this relaxation is the first great event of the performance. It is also the first lesson, for we buy this event at a price: the first bar’s burst of pain makes the relaxation of the second bar possible. It is just the unity of the principles of tension and joy that preserves this event from all elements of romantic eroticism.

In the two Haydn excerpts we can observe that the tension point ‘steps out’ from the preceding events and connects to the consequent element of the motive:

(that is to say, it is not so much with the antecedent, but rather with the consequent that the tension point forms a magnetic unit). For this reason we divided our signature theme into two layers. We must imagine the timbre changes of the second eighth and the fourth quarter as if new instruments were stepping out of the score and were melodically stringing the melody line to the next note (see the arrows of Fig. 7).

The relaxed state of the melody (in the middle of bar 2) multiplies the intensity of the forte shaking that follows. It is thus that this music born of explosions results in Beethoven’s most effective ‘music of creation’, or musica in nascendi. According to Toscanini’s interpretation, the melody must cry out with pain because the forte shaking has woken it from some kind of sleep beyond dreams, and when it wishes to slip back into unconsciousness, the stroke repeats itself again and again in order to prod the melody back to life. This is the deeper meaning of the tension and absence of tension in the theme. It is in this birthing-thought, however, that Toscanini’s interpretation (not only here, but also in the case of the second theme) strays from the traditional understanding, which holds – and here we can quote Schumann – that this introduction ‘announces the celebration’. Toscanini lives through every pain and jolt of birth in contrast to his usual, ceremonial intonation ⁴⁾.

Nevertheless, bar 7 is the real touchstone of the musical logic that nearly mirrors natural laws; it is the breakwater of the structure ⁵⁾. The basic rule of this style of expression is that on ‘this’ and on the ‘other’ side of the peak, inverted regularities and opposing attractions in form become valid. (Toscanini is also justified by the outward appearance of the score, since the relation between the ‘active’ odd and the ‘passive’ even measures reverses in bars 9–14). After the breakwater of bar 7, bar 8, rather than being eased, is made more and more troubled. Yet after the gradually heavier-growing chords of the strings ⁶⁾, a momentary breath enters, and in the place of the earlier explosions (in the odd bar 9), there follows the s o l u t i o n. I would like to express here the true, living significance of this concept that has become clichéd over the course of time: the fundamental point of Toscanini’s ‘ars poetica’ may be that there are no empty, worn-out modes of expression and faded or threadbare musical clichés – the creative power is enthralling in the way that each of the seemingly cooled musical formulas is brought to new life, returning the phrases that have become conventional to their original, untamed raw and powerful states. In bar 9, the heartbeat of the music stops at a motion from Toscanini, and an indescribable easing spreads over our ‘limbs’. There is no such Tristan-like softening; no romantic appeal to death (‘ancestral oblivion’) ⁷⁾, that could attain this point with such an effect. Toscanini, however, as we have said, knows the value of the ‘moment’: the easing only lasts for a few moments so that subsequently a light cloud arises from it in bar 10 ⁸⁾.

After the condensed action of the opening measures, bars 15–22 build with monumental rocks. The chords of the wind instruments, as the score also shows, create a cohesive force between the odd and the even bars. The sustained chords of the odd bars strain towards the muffled beats of the even bars. The difference between, on the one hand the sustained, tense character, and on the other hand, the beat-like, explosive character of the intonation (that is, of the ‘linear’ and the ‘partitioning’ elements) will be one of the key questions of our stylistic examination. Only the slower tempo differentiates bars 34–41 from the earlier fortissimo section: the wilfully shortened endings – ‘fist-raisings’ – of bars 34–36–38 plunge into bars 35–37–39 with a dull beat.

In the last bars of the fortissimo blocks (bars 22 and 41) this anger ‘evaporates’ without a trace. The staccatos of the scale motive are airily and nimbly becoming light (like at bar 10) and are flung into a weightless state. This is already the forest of Ariel and Puck, and this evocation of a ‘fairyland’ belongs among the most enticing of Toscanini’s ‘pleasurable experiences’. It is as if the glittering incorporeality and weightlessness were that dimension, in which his lively spirit flutters around the most at home. In fact, this scale motive could serve as an example that one single, seemingly unimportant difference in phrasing can change the entire order of the elements of form. According to the conventional understanding, the new melody is born in bar 23, while in Toscanini’s interpretation, it arises four sixteenths earlier. Thus the scale motive can rush into bar 23 with a single swoop, and the half note (f) pops up unexpectedly in front of us ‘in amazement’ – not in ‘emotional’ tension, but rather in ‘sensuous’ color.

Incidentally, three short remarks will be inserted here:

     1. The oboe melody begins in the score as well with four sixteenths run (see Fig. 9).

     2. The 4 sixteenths lead (in the violins) at the end of bar 28 fully supports Toscanini, making an appearance with similar logic. 

3. We also receive an answer as to why Toscanini exposed the analogous sixteenths in bar 9 so resolutely (to which the playful decrescendo of the peak of the scale effectively replied):

As we mentioned, the maestro also places the second theme in the service of the ‘birthing’ thought, and thus tears himself fundamentally even further from the conventional conception. After the intensely singing, melodically saturated odd bars (23, 25), almost every conductor would handle the even bars (24, 26) merely as minor components or afterthoughts, with the help of which the motif’s form can be rounded off. Toscanini, however, on the basis of the score, restores the melody’s original accentuation; that is, facing the passive-sensuous magic of the first bar, he restores to right the active-rhythmical tension of the second bar:

In fact, Beethoven also does this when he emphasizes the characteristic rhythms of the even bars, in order to make them distinct in the ostinato of the viola (these are made even more contoured in bars 43 and 45). With this Toscanini unveils one of the most important motifs of the introduction: in that rhythm lies the basic motion – the basic rhythm – of the composition, which follows through the four movements of the symphony (cf. Fig. 106). It means nothing less than that in this rhythmic motion we can observe moments of the conception of the piece. Toscanini’s interpretation compellingly desires that we imagine the rhythm of the Vivace next to this rhythm:

The two rhythms relate to each other as if they were of the same thought; as if the two facades of night and day, underground and above ground – Hades and Olympus – were to face each other. The two formulas are mirror images of each other ⁹⁾, and this duality unfailingly affects us like the basic motion’s ‘prenatal’ and ‘postnatal’ form – a latent ‘Hades’ and a sun-flooded ‘Olympus’. (In bars 60–66, with the metamorphosis of the rhythm, we can peek at the moment of birth.) 

With this interpretation, namely, with the activation of the even bars, Toscanini creates order in a different sense, too. This motion (bar 24) is no other than the continuation of the symphony’s signature theme – the opening theme. The opening theme connects a downward and an upward stepping motion to each other (a-e and c# -f#). The above mentioned motion merely changes the elements of the melody:

The interval of the fourth (at the end of the motive) becomes so expressive with Toscanini, because it rhymes in a natural manner with the opening step of the symphony. ¹⁰⁾ (This is caused by the sudden ‘burst’ of the c-g melody arch of bar 24 and the gesticulating effect of the condensed rest after the 2^nd quarter, together with the suddenly high-leaping g-c fourth’s sharp rhythm). That Beethoven also intends such a role for it is evident from bar 28, where, almost as the ‘punch-line’ of the theme, this fourth interval steps forward unexpectedly in the violins. Our recording illuminates this moment with exceptional sharpness ¹¹⁾. 

Behold! What complications and ramifications there are that Toscanini simply calls ‘faithfulness to the score’. However, it contains no fewer problems than the formation of the opening bars of the theme.

In contrast to that intractable opinion that Beethoven’s works can necessarily only be properly interpreted by German conductors, we must assert the counterexample – that German conductors frequently misinterpret the French influences that crop up all over in Beethoven’s music, such as sensuous-color elements, acoustic effects, and elements of intonation. The French influence accompanied Beethoven through his entire life. Early on he became acquainted with the works of Méhul, Dalayrac, Grétry, Gossec, Kreutzer, Gaveau and Monsigny. Moreover, he considered Cherubini, and not Mozart, to be the greatest opera composer of the age (he heard some seven of Cherubini’s operas and took notes for himself on some of the scenes of The Water Carrier). He employs the French influence, for instance, in the harp in the ballet music Prometheus. He received an abundance of influences from Gluck’s operas, and above all, through his tutor, Neefe. His contemporaries already take note of this influence (Hoffmann, later Wagner himself mentions it; cf. Schmitz, Thayer and R. Rolland’s relevant publications). His birthplace, Bonn, due to its geographical location is a French-spirited cultural territory. From his years in Bonn on, his fantasy was occupied by the questions of color and painting. Among other works, he was familiar with the study on the art of painting in music by the contemporary writer Engel. Nothing shows his ideas on acoustics better than a diary-entry from 1823: ‘If a thought occurs to me, I always hear it on some instrument…’

By way of explanation, let us add to this that the ‘sensuous’ and ‘emotional’ contents of the sounds differ mainly in that the sensuous elements originate in real perception – from the outer, direct effect of the sound. The emotional elements, on the other hand, are invisible, since their effect is expressed through the inner dynamics of the emotions (in this, they carry an irrational content: they are not directly ‘palpable’). It is no coincidence that the emotional world of expressionism found its true home in Germany, while sensuous impressionism was at home in France.

One of the chief virtues of Toscanini’s interpretation lies in the fact that he creates an ideal balance between the tonal elements of French and German origin. In the case of the recent theme (bar 23), he contrasts the 1^st and 3^rd bars, with their sensuous color-effect, to the rhythmical strength of expression of the 2^nd and 4^th bars. In this, the score once again supports him. Beethoven writes, obviously for coloring purposes, a violin pedal-point over the 3^rd bar that pulls a magic color curtain above the melody. (Most likely, the majority of conductors would interpret the melody differently, if one were to imagine this g-pedal-point over bar 23 as well – how well the sensuous violin position of bar 25 thus rhymes with the naive wonderment of bar 23.)

The melody line itself (bars 23 and 25 f-g-f-e-f-g-f), however, was born to be painted. With the help of a written-out ornament, it colors around the f, returning the original, coloring meaning to the ornamentation, not to mention that the f, as overtone (‘natural seventh’), is color itself.

If we were to grasp the event by the roots, we would have to say that the significant material of the odd and even numbered bars moves on paths going in the opposite direction (as if the sounds themselves were progressing in the reverse direction): the impressions of the 1^st and 3^rd bars arrive from outside – just like the pictures of a natural phenomenon. The tense motions of the 2^nd and 4^th bars, on the other hand, rise from inside (the ‘source of sound’ of the former is outside, while that of the latter is inside us). We ‘notice’ the one, gazing intently at it, while we intensively ‘want’ the other.

All in all, the Toscanini performance casts light on the correlation of content and form, as cannot be acquired from any composition handbook nor from any study on aesthetics. The secret of Toscanini’s stern greatness and spiritual strength is that he judges the characters of the individual thematic forms from the entire form – he always derives the details from the entirety of the work, and does not have the whole follow from the details. (We know that he never yielded to the temptation of momentary impressions and always made fun of those conductors who conducted to the ‘public’ or melted every time they reached a ‘beautiful’ passage.) Toscanini mercilessly sacrificed all outside effects for the sake of artistic truth. This is why his way of performing awakens the impression that superhuman powers are manifesting themselves in him.

If we listen to Bruno Walter, it appears even involuntarily as if ‘we were talking to ourselves’. We can say with Thomas Mann’s words: if I were a conductor, I would conduct like Walter. In listening to Toscanini, however, supernatural forces play with us – such forces with which one cannot argue, that are irrevocable. (How did Beethoven acknowledge it? ‘Above me is the starry sky, inside me is the moral law! Kant!!!’ Diary, 1820.) His art illuminates the specific aspect of Beethoven’s greatness that is not measurable with ‘human’ measurements – the ‘immeasurable Beethoven’ that Berlioz also saw. Still, the humanism of art can be found in this passionate love of truth. If Wagner called the Beethovenian creation the ‘good person’s melody’, then we could say that Toscanini makes the ‘true person’s melody’.

Let us add to this that later, with the same inspiration, he brings to light the other secret of the Sostenuto, which is that the ‘signature’ theme of the movement is found deeply rooted in the Vivace organism (cf. Fig. 24).

Just a few more remarks. The heightening that follows in the wake of the second theme is felt not only in the quickening tempo of bar 29. Toscanini recognizes the acoustic counterpole of the approaching storm in the pianissimo color that replaces the piano that has been present until now. His violins sing in a penetrating pianissimo, as if they wanted to tell intimate ‘stories’ ¹²⁾. Toscanini believes that the piano, forte, etc. markings do not primarily designate volume, but rather character ¹³⁾. Then the melodic accents slide according to schedule at the crescendo marking from the odd quarters to the even ones:

to which the accompaniment gives the initiative.

In the unison sound of the more than fifty times repeated ‘e’ of bars 57-63, every sound is weighed. (It appears that this ‘e’ sound – this vox-repercussa ¹⁴⁾ – will have frequently returning symbolic meaning over the course of the performance; see Fig. 107.) The repetitions tuned to the e at the beginning of bar 59 suddenly stop with an accent as if they had hit an invisible wall. The flute gives a delayed answer to the softened sound of the violin on bar 60 (‘tired’ echo-sound). The embryonic main theme is being born at this standstill ¹⁵⁾. At the turning point of bar 61, it is barely breathing, however a measure later, the sixteenth up-beat of the flute sparkles expressively, and finally, at the third attempt, the Vivace bursts open ¹⁶⁾.

Most performers look for the driving force of the main theme in the outstanding motoric pulsations of the melody (as the concert programs call it: the twittering pulsations). For Toscanini this idea meant something completely different. In his view, the structure of the entire movement is reflected in the main theme, like the whole ocean in a drop of water. That this is not a poetic exaggeration is tangibly verifiable both inductively and deductively. Some of the components of the theme possess certain characteristics and basic elements which affect the further development of the movement; moreover they provide us with a dramaturgical clue. The movement had to develop exactly according to the pattern of the score, because the main theme carried the germ of the movement’s development from its moment of inception. The reverse is also true, however. The various connecting parts of the piece are built up exclusively from each of the elements of the main theme. From the character of these details, the meaning of the basic elements can be followed in reverse. The scheme of the development and the coda, for instance, is not even approachable without a knowledge of the elemental idea hidden in the motions of the main theme.

Let us set out from the opening bar (bar 67). Whenever this 3-note motive crops up in the course of the movement, Beethoven uses it for the question-answer game between the instruments – for the echo effect. He places the resonance in the ‘space’ (such as, for instance from bar 142; at the beginning of the coda these echo and space effects appear more noticeably – bars 393–400).

The second element of the theme was not made from such a mold (bars 69–70). This thought drives a sort of feverish activity – a desire for action, that is now being expressed in the rhythm as well. The galloping ta-ti ta-ti basic rhythm is unexpectedly stopped by an intruding ti-ta opposing rhythm. This rhythmical conflict provides in itself an explanation for why we meet with this motive precisely at the most tense points of the movement (e. g. from bar 119).

The two basic elements of the main theme do not just create opposition, but also create unity. Toscanini unifies the opposing elements according to the laws of the dialectics of language, hence the volubility of the interpretation. He arranges the material into sentences, in the strictest sense of the word, and within the structure of the sentence he clearly makes a difference between the roles of ‘nouns, verbs, adjectives and conjunctions’. Let us just think of a simple sentence, such as ‘the farmer plows’. It consists of two elements – a noun and a verb. The word ‘farmer’ calls a picture to mind – a picture that we unintentionally visualize in space. The other, the verb, expresses an action, therefore its real dimension is time.

Do the above-mentioned musical elements not tie together in a similar intimacy, however? That is the technique with which Toscanini ‘places and displays’ the first two bars of the main theme – this is painting in its entirety. The ‘vocalized’ notes between the 1^st and 5^th eighths of the melodically revealing opening bars are pictures. Toscanini strives for color-effects – the initial notes open towards space, or as I would rather say: he makes the flute sing into space. As we mentioned previously, even Beethoven himself places this motive all through the exterior space during the course of the movement.

Therefore the accent rests on the visual image and not on the action. The acting function of the verb is fulfilled by the second motive (which is revealed in the tempo of the performance). The polarized ta-ti ta-ti ti-ta rhythm shows that this is the dynamic element of the main theme, which wants to ‘change’ at any cost. Moreover, as we have seen, it carries within itself the possibilities of conflict. In the score, it is also noticeable that the accompanying voices which have so far been restful, are now suddenly liberated into elements of motion (the held notes of bars 1–2 and 5–6 and their resting voices are being changed in bars 3–4 and 7–8 by the elements of motion: cf. clarinet, bassoon and horn).

Let us try to follow the happenings of the performance with motions. We react unintentionally to the first and second bars with upwards arching, opening motions, while the third and fourth bars urge us towards downward strikes.

In the following, Beethoven condenses the 4+4 bar structure systematically to a 3+3, 2+2, then 1+1, and finally half+half bar structure. Toscanini consequently stays with the earlier principle: he always couples a dynamic element with a static element, keeping the fantasy of the listener active. It is in this that he differs from the traditional interpretations. We usually hear the continuation of the main theme as such: the f# -e-c# -a motive answers the sounds of the a-d-f# of bar 75. In Toscanini’s performance manner, the basic note (a), which is repeated four times, gains a static character due to the repetition and divides the notes following it sharply from it. Through the attachment of the d-f# -f# turn to the consequent, however, there appears a joyful liveliness and teasing character in the melody.

What is even more interesting is that this constructive line is not even broken after bar 80: Toscanini explodes the forte-dynamics with sudden force (subito technique), and thus the statically-stiffening E-major ‘column’ can only fulfill the part of a noun (bar 82).

In the fortissimo form of the main theme, Toscanini now connects larger units (he precisely draws the 4+4 bar borderline by cutting the b-motif-ending note in the 92^nd bar) and differentiates between a half-cadence and an authentic cadence. The authentic cadence (bars 95–96) answers with the energetic braking of the tempo to the more vigorous rhythm of the half-cadence (bars 91–92), for which the analogous turn of the recapitulation provides an example: the heavily rhythmic bars 284–285, where the leaden weight of the brass and percussion ends the chase. The immediate task of this broadening of the tempo is to make its point of support a pillar of form for the steep heightening that follows out of it:

(We must note that the notes of the melody are not joined as triplets in motivic unity, but rather according to the style of the previous sketch, and as we see, every repetition of the motive climbs higher on the dynamic ladder.)

The dynamic structure of bars 89–96 can be traced back almost naturally to the laws of attraction as described in connection with the themes of Haydn:

For Toscanini, the score is a dramatic scene. The events that closely follow upon each other obey not the rules of form, but the particular laws of dramaturgy. (In the exposition of the movement, for instance, we cannot even find a trace of the conventional main theme-secondary theme-ending theme order.) The earlier compression (exposition: bars 105–108) was accompanied by a violent agitato and acceleration, but this time it does not lead to a stop (as in bar 88), but rather ends in a crisis.

Toscanini dramatizes the course of the conflict with his nearly sensational tools. It was not for nothing that he was a theater conductor – he knows the psychology of excitement and the function of the stage: the crisis signifies the medium through which the development is made possible. In the middle of bar 110, which according to the score is still fortissimo, he hits upon the source of the crisis in the alarming stroke of the timpani. The suffocating excitement of the next bars comes as a reaction to the alarming stroke. From here stems the staggered rhythm, the square, choked galloping of the string accompaniment (the panting caesura after the first quarter of every bar), and last but not least, the rapid changes of the keys that are seemingly ‘unable to find their place’. (In the recapitulation, it proceeds in a similar manner: the b-a-g# closing notes of bar 325 step aside in fright with a subito diminuendo at the forceful drumming of the timpani.)

Conventional performances, however, do not in the least reflect this commotion, although according to the meaning of the frequent key changes, the staggered dynamics and the abrupt motif, one could also conclude this. This difference of opinion is even more flagrant at the climax. After an unsuccessful attempt (bar 115), bar 119 finally succeeds in heating it up. How could it have happened, that from this melody, which in the opinion of formal analyses is ‘insignificant material’, he liberates dance movements that have elemental effects?

The counter-rhythm of bar 119 ¹⁷⁾ – the conflict fanning ta-ti ta-ti ti-ta rhythm – is interpreted by most conductors as a resolution:

It is not so with Toscanini: he sharply accents both notes of the ti-ta counter-rhythm at the end of the motive ¹⁸⁾. Thus the polarized tension becomes active and liberates the elemental energies that are latent in the rhythm:

For this reason, the above-mentioned part is neither the supplement nor the epilogue of the main theme – that is, it does not fulfill the task of rounding-off the form, as we are usually accustomed to – but rather crowns, or brings the theme to its peak. (In bars 112–118, Beethoven placed the ‘ta-ti’ galloping rhythm in the forefront, so that he can realize this burst of activity with the ‘ti-ta’ counter-rhythm.) Moreover, the tension quickly becomes charged, which shows itself in that the counter-rhythm pushes out every other element and becomes independent (from bar 124 onwards it repeats 8 times):

Under Toscanini’s baton, this music is indeed lightning (he makes the rhythmic patterns in the 2^nd and 4^th bars flash more quickly). Nothing characterizes Toscanini’s way of thinking better than the fact that bar 128 starts from this condensed rhythmic tension, and not from that external fact, that in bar 130, he glimpses a ‘new theme’ (certain guides believe it to be the secondary theme). The immense blocks of chords at the climax crash down upon the sforzando, which is resolved by the sigh ‘of relief’ of the woodwinds.

Toscanini sets this ‘solution’ in the mid-point of the construction of the exposition. Let us stay at this point for a while. The post-romantic performance style only attributes direct effectiveness to the ‘active’ actions. The performer unceasingly strives to go somewhere – even in moments of calm and resolution, his facial features distort in spasms of ‘active’ enjoyment, and he therefore cannot recognize the finest fruits of his exertion – the value of those short moments and the lawful joy that accompanies the quenching of the tension. A romantically inclined artist wants to actively impress, seduce and thaw, even with the resolution. Toscanini wants to redeem with the resolution: he wishes to free from the weight of the tension, to unlock the shackles of the spasm, and to soften and put out the fire of anguish. He does not accomplish this with active deeds, but rather the opposite – with inactivity, loosening, relaxation of the muscles and an end to the gripping. That is, he does this with some sort of negative force, that nevertheless, stronger than any activity, reaches the deepest roots of our physical and spiritual existence, because it effects our familiar innermost being as the untamed, natural reflex of existence. I confess that on my part, never has any type of performance created so much joy as Toscanini’s ‘resolutions’.

This is the significance of the easing sigh and dolce that accompany the ‘e’ solution of b.130 ¹⁹⁾. Afterwards, the released melody signals only a weak recovery (Toscanini did not preserve anything from the sharp rhythms or pulsations of the main theme, which he gradually softens into an almost ‘ta-titi’ throbbing). This fluttering turn is primarily produced by the joy felt concerning the solution:

Only the scherzando of bars 132–133 answers somewhat more rhythmically, no doubt because it can return to the ‘e’ (bars 134 forte). That Beethoven did not intend this to be a secondary theme (at most a transition), is evident because he opens the motive unaccented, in the middle of the bar. This picture is only broken apart by the bold change of keys in bar 136 (E major to C major). The theme returns with the stress of the bar, takes a firm stand, straightens itself vigorously, and announces the greatest event of the exposition.

While we are on this subject, let me add a personal anecdote. For a long time, I believed the weaving of the motive in the opening movement of the Ninth Symphony to have a loose, fantasy-like form – the pathless line of the melody sometimes popping up, sometimes diminishing in fog and sometimes waving up and down as if in a vision. Later when I became acquainted with Toscanini’s interpretation, what had seemed to be an unfathomable tangle revealed itself with such a concentration of creative logic that, with a sudden force, it provided me with the key of the form’s construction. Toscanini puts the two choral-bars – their sensuous, rainbow-colored string resonances – that appear in the middle of the exposition in front of us with such complete beauty and harmony, that, acting like a watershed, they cut the exposition into two parts. Everything that previously was fight, struggle and strain becomes fulfilled after these two bars.

Such a watershed divides the exposition of the Seventh Symphony into two as well (bar 142). It is a watershed not only between two worlds, but also between two fundamentally opposite modes of perception. What has happened so far was ‘expression’, which took place because we wanted it, and the communicative desire was within us, tensing in our muscles. What is revealed here is ‘impressions’ – the magic of sound captures us from the outside, and the floating sensation elevates us above ourselves. As if they had changed the instruments of the orchestra, thus do the sounds begin to vibrate and shudder. The glory of the colors – the ‘beautiful harmony’, which conventional artistry places on a pedestal in a self-centered way, is only a tool in the hands of Toscanini – a tool of expression and creation of structure. When time comes for him to show the power of his baton, we are forced to believe that ‘miracles’ are possible.

The pianissimo, like a light maelstrom, appears above our heads (bar 142), and an excitement of spring perfumes trembles in the tremolos. The technique that creates this magic is built on the fairylike vibration and space-effect of the 2^nd and 4^th bars. Toscanini glimpses the impressionistic painting possibilities in the instrumental answers of bars 143 and 145, and, with the help of the shifting of the violins, holds back the intonation of these two bars like an ethereal echo (bars 143, 145). He makes us feel with sensual excitement that this light floating, and this sensuous magic are indeed the forerunners of the fulfilling explosions in bar 152 ²⁰⁾.

We can already observe that on the peak before the watershed (bars 119–124), the ‘active elements’ of the main theme claimed leadership, while after the watershed (bars 142–151), Beethoven allows those components of the main theme to prevail in the impressionistic picture, which represent the picturesque ²¹⁾ element:

In summary: before the watershed, the crisis is triggered from the dynamics of the inner emotions, while beyond the watershed, the external beautiful harmony dominates and leads to the culmination.

Toscanini realizes the culmination of form and content of the exposition with unparalleled perspicacity. In conventional performances, the motif generally goes unnoticed, because the conductor places the rhythmic explosions into the focus of the heightening (bar 152), and the motif itself is placed in the shadows. If we regard the rhythmic explosions as mere reflectors, whose function is to lighten the culmination itself, however, then we immediately realize that this motive is none other than the opening theme of the symphony: the emotionally enlarged version of the signature theme.

The material of the slow and fast parts of the movement are thus incorporated into one arch by the two motifs ²²⁾ (and so the dynamic drawing of the signature-theme will have new light shed on it). But how does this reflector work?

The blinding light intensity is fed by the polar energy that is created between the inner tension of the above accents (‘inner crescendo’). The same accent relations are taking care of the fortissimo’s sudden interruption. In other words, Toscanini energetically accents the last member of the rhythmic pattern, then suddenly interrupts the process. Thus the explosion creates a ‘vacuum’ and, through the cracks, pushes the motive of fulfillment with unstoppable force. Toscanini again was faithful to the score, since the rhythmic motive should have been finished in such a manner:

Beethoven, however, tears off the ending note and leaves only this from the formula ²³⁾:

What comes after this – the dual-theme, rhythmicized with heroic freshness (a canon from bar 164) – already confirms the safety and the final arrival. The performance accordingly strives for maximum clarity of the material ²⁴⁾.

As we mentioned, Toscanini builds up the exposition from the two opposite (both in material and tone) components of the form. While the ti-ta counter-rhythm, which is repeated 8-times, determines the boundaries of the end of the first part, much like an ostinato, the ta-ti base-rhythm at the end of the second part, which is also repeated 8-times, attains exclusive, absolute domination:

Toscanini outlines all this even more radically with the shortening of the ‘iambs’ (as we said: with flashes), or rather by the expansion and rhythmical overstraining of the ‘trochees’. (The protracted fourths of bars 171–178 snap away in sharp staccato notes; the last eighth, at the end of bar 174, receives a murderous accent.) With this procedure, he makes us aware of the fact that the overall structure of the exposition also follows the construction of the main theme:

It would almost require a separate chapter for us to discuss the dramatization of the recapitulation’s main theme, which here first appears as fortissimo, and only afterwards as piano (bars 278 and 301). The currents that work in the intonation in all cases give evidence of a consciousness of performance: the maestro stresses just those elements that cause the two parts – the fortissimo and the pianissimo blocks – to functionally complete each other. His fortissimo motive points forward passionately, thus leading Toscanini now to stretch out towards new effects – ones that have not yet been applied in the exposition. He ‘hurls down’ the motive endings in the heat of passion:

Whereas from bar 310, he reverses the motive’s dynamic ‘cape’ ²⁵⁾:

As we see, he also adds to the effect with echo-interactions (the bassoon and oboe reply to the clarinet with echoes in bars 315 and 317).

If we wished to measure the volume relations on the basis of the ‘density’ of dynamics, then the fortissimo block of bars 278–299 would certainly determine the location of the center of gravity of the movement. (With Toscanini, this is genuine ‘heavy cavalry’, or at least a precursor to the ride of the Valkyrie.) It is exactly this that gives exceptional meaning to the metamorphosis (after bar 300), for there is always something moving when we succeed in spying upon one normally known for his energetic, unapproachable greatness, in one of his gentle, intimate moments. The suddenly emotional moods of Beethoven, Bartók and Toscanini strike deeper than those of Petrarch, Werther or Wagner, because they always firmly opposed sensual temptation. If the fortissimo-block was the center of gravity of the movement, then the metamorphosis after bar 300 leads to the subtlest display of the performance. A delicate smile flutters along bars 309 to 318. Let us think of the airily breakable (the ‘coming up with gentle caresses’) dolce sound and the murmuring ‘endearing turns’ of the instruments that receive their musical shape in the previously mentioned softening and breath-like echoes. Let us not forget for a moment, however, that only the polar organization of the material justifies Toscanini in this sensuous melting.

The dolce intonation is already present from bar 301, and the theme-heads of bars 301–302–303 become a little dreamy, later escaping into a delicate scherzando:

This time, Beethoven himself makes the active elements of the theme disappear (he covers them up with the upper voice), and also creates the upper voice from the material of the first bar.

What I would like to speak about at this time is one single chord. Between the already analyzed two parts (the forward-moving fortissimo and the withdrawing piano blocks), at the sudden stop – like at the meeting point of two lines of force – there stands a quiet chord: a frozen, unmoving wind-chord. I still cannot find an explanation for the shock created by this dead chord (bar 300). The chord expresses with staggering suggestivity that we have stepped into a ‘no-man’s land’ between two worlds.
 
 

The formation of the development into an action is no small dramatic task in the organization of the material. Here as well we can find that bridge, that makes the meaning of the world suddenly change after we cross it. This metamorphosis, however (in comparison to the exposition) happens in the reverse direction. If allowed, I would call this turning point the ‘rainbow bridge’, which not only indicates the center of the middle part of the movement, but the most daring distance from the A major tonality of the work: Db major and F major together with the A major create an augmented third relationship. The prismatic diffraction of their direct linking becomes the most unexpected harmonic happening of the movement. It turns this rainbow game into an intangible and delusive reflex of distance, that gives a necessary new turn to the happenings.