I.

In the first part of Beethoven's Pastoral Sonata there is a mood or succession of moods portrayed, clearly concordant with
the feelings of gratefulness for Nature and the unspeakable confidence, peace and joy with which this soul-motion floods the
consciousness, when experienced in associations with the fresh beauty of springtime or the full maturity of the yearly fruits,
the harvest and the autumn.

Whenever I think of this first movement I always remember the Rosenthal in Leipzig one balmy spring night as the full moon
was rising while slight mists were clearing away after a warm rain. I was walking alone, after the tireless exertions of a long
day spent at my pianoforte. It was years ago, I was only a boy, but the mood I have described, coupled with the opening
allegro of this Sonata, lifted me to a plane of inner vision and experience never to be forgotten.

What a free, exalted, spirit breathes throughout the first ten-bar theme! How it clings to the higher light, the soul is rapt and
carried, and begs to be left not again a prey to the commonplace moods of earthly life.

When the melody in chords enters, the attraction of the individual soul to the Divine Forces, to the Universal Soul of Nature,
is marvelous and strong. The consciousness seems almost lost in silence and the insensible life of the spirit. Then how the
soul which has been drawn and has so gladly followed thus far, now left, as it seems, to renew the sense-throbbing of this
earth-life, flutters, trembles, falters, loth to take up again with the outer sense-life, with the excitement and friction and stress
of human. enthusiasm, as if it had but just now seen in a lofty vision some other, different, higher mode of life.

But this indecision soon passes; the soul forgets it, and sways itself in a sense of calm, pure joy and broad enthusiasm,
which expands rapidly and all too soon grows into a full out- burst of enthusiastic, one might say ecstatic, thanksgiving for life
even upon its present sense-plane.

In the close all is pulsating and vibrant with complete contentment as the soul covers itself in the arms of Mother Nature and
there rests rejoicing.

The Fantasie-part develops the first theme, not combining it with the other thoughts already given. It reaches a climax of
soul-motion wherein— on the long organ-point — the mind seems to find the

"Beatific vision, whole

Which lights and unifies the soul."

And in which mere thought blends with rapture.

II.

The second part, or Andante, seems to me more personal in character than either of the other sonata parts. The sadness
portrayed is almost too deep to allow its cause to be general and harmonious as that underlying the gladness of the other
three parts of the Sonata.

It may mean the Sabbath of the Soul, when the stress of action is replaced by the outward rest, and the soul wells up within,
communing with itself. It is true that in the modern world where Individuality in its evolution is in such a troubled seeking state
of transition, where personal rights are sieging and besieged, and personal wrongs are nursed and magnified, and when so
largely a person's own greatness and comfort is his dominant aim, there can be little of delight, simple joy or ecstasy in the
soul's Sabbath. It must be shadowy and dark. If peace and rest is there at all it must be far below the surface, and but feebly
and with ill-success struggle to come up and out. If anon a sunbeam glint through the clouds (bars 5 and 6) it is perforce of
fitful, theoretic optimism.

What a deep well of discontent pours out its grievances in the second theme (bars 8-i6), especially in the last two bars
thereof. It would not be a work of Beethoven if this depth of woe in the individual life did not somewhere creep out. for in this
he must unbosom himself! But is it himself only ? Is it not true also of the individual of his time and more so of our time?

Only in the acceptance of this can I see a connection among all of the Sonata parts. For if this be done, in the major strain
now introduced a connecting link is formed. This bright glint of sunlight seems to suggest the Sabbath of soul in the most
remote, prehistoric times. In times when the Greek legends and the Mosaic sight tells us man lived in direct intimacy with
Nature, when there were no cities and no sin (because no consciousness of wrong to sin), personality and individualism such
as we are now weighted under was undesired and unknown.

There is a gentle movement of soul ; it is a peaceful exhilaration or gladness. But the soul is not here alone sorrowing and
desolate ; it is attended by its mate. With an instructive feeling of reverence and awe it strikes the cymbals with quiet
simplicity, while in alternate moments its mate as devoutly shakes or tinkles a string of bells, and then they combine with
cymbals and bells in the expression of their peaceful, satisfied. Sabbath re-creation, or moments when the soul is allowed to
sway the being and, renovating it, pour into it new life, and re-create the life-giving poise among its forces.
But it is only for a moment that this beautiful picture is shown us. we are not allowed, at least not now, to dwell upon the
delightful scene. The long-drawn face of Individual rights and wrongs is again shown, the features are painted out in pathetic
detail, until sobbing and as if with broken heart the close in D minor is reached. The glad country air, the simplicity and at-
one-ness which the former mood represents as from the natural phases of life, has little influence upon this latter view of life.
It is the Sabbath of a city soul, half puritanical, altogether unnatural, which may have allowed itself to go into the field of a
Sunday afternoon, but if it is not reproaching itself for this, it is brooding over its favourite sorrow, which seems to consist in
individual right worsted, or the difficulties of a complete freedom, and yet, bliss of complete Union with Soul-mate or friend.