Opus 55 – Symphony No. 3 in E flat major (Eroica)
I) Allegro con brio – II) Funeral March – Adagio assai – III) Scherzo – allegro molto – IV) Finale: Allegro molto
Opus 55 Symphony No. 3 in E-flat major, op. 55 (Eroica), dedicated to Prince Lobkowitz, 1802–early 1804, published in orchestral parts in Vienna, Bureau d’art et d’industrie (Wiener Kunst- und Industrie-Comptoir), October 1806; in full score in London, Cianchettini and Sperati, March–April 1809 (first German edition, with the same Italian title, Bonn and Cologne, Simrock, 1822). GA. no. 3 (series 1/3) – B. 55 – KH. 55 – L. II, no. 285 – N. 55 – T. 115
The original manuscript is lost. All we possess is a single copy, revised by the composer himself, held in the archive of the Society of the Friends of Music in Vienna. Sketches for all four movements fill a large portion of a notebook described by Nottebohm, preserved in the Deutsche Staatsbibliothek in Berlin. The substantial nature of these sketches led the aforementioned scholar to suppose that there may have been earlier preparatory materials.
It remains debatable, however, whether the sketches in the Wielhorsky notebook, already mentioned, can be counted among them. Originally, the work did not bear the title Sinfonia eroica composta per festeggiare il sovvenire di un grand’uomo, as found in the first editions of 1806 (orchestral parts) and 1809 (full score), as well as in the German edition of 1822, but was instead titled Bonaparte. “Beethoven,” writes Ries, “was thinking of Bonaparte, but while he was still First Consul. He admired him greatly at the time and compared him to the great Roman consuls.
Both I and several of his closest friends saw the symphony, already completed in full score, lying on his table; at the top of the title page the word Bonaparte was written, and beneath it: Luigi van Beethoven, and nothing more. Whether and how that gap was later filled, I do not know. I was the first to bring him the news that Bonaparte had declared himself Emperor. He flew into a rage, shouting: ‘So he too is nothing more than an ordinary man! Now he will trample on all human rights, he will place himself above everyone, he will become a tyrant!’ Then he went to the table, seized the title page, tore it into pieces, and threw it to the ground. The first page was then rewritten; and only then did the work receive the title Eroica Symphony.”
According to Prod’homme, the score seen by Ries was likely a fair copy originally intended for Napoleon, later lost. The copy preserved in the archive of the Society of the Friends of Music in Vienna bears a different title: Sinfonia grande / intitolata Bonaparte (this second line scraped away and erased to the point of being barely legible) 804 im August / del Sgr. / Louis van Beethoven / Geschrieben / auf Bonaparte (Written / on Bonaparte) (these last two lines also barely legible).
The first, second, fourth, and fifth lines are in the hand of a copyist; the third, in a different hand added later, refers to the date of the first (private) performance at the Lobkowitz residence; the sixth and seventh, in Beethoven’s own hand but added many years later, possibly after Napoleon’s death, reveal the composer’s intention not to let the true origin of his music be forgotten over time. For this purpose, after all, he had already written to Breitkopf & Härtel on 26 August 1804, offering the work: ist eigentlich betitelt Bonaparte.
That Beethoven was originally a great admirer of Napoleon is, after all, quite understandable. His sentiments were shaped by the liberal ideals he had begun to nurture during his time in Bonn, in the company of university students and professors, artists and men of letters who gathered at the widow Koch’s tavern, through his studies with Christian Gottlob Neefe, the enlightened and broad-minded teacher, and later in Vienna, under the influence of the Francophile ideas prevailing during the residence of the ambassador Bernadotte (even if one does not wish to attribute to him specifically the original suggestion for the symphony).
It seemed that such an ideal would find nourishment and discipline in France, under its republican regime, once the years of terror had passed and with Napoleon at the helm. To what extent Beethoven may also have been influenced by a form of Platonic ideology, he is said by Schindler to have professed great admiration for the Republic of the great philosopher, cannot be determined with absolute certainty.
The hypothesis that the idea for a musical composition celebrating Napoleon was suggested to Beethoven by the French general Bernadotte and his circle of friends during his diplomatic mission in Vienna from February to April 1798 has already been mentioned in passing. This is not universally accepted today; in any case, the real question would still be the extent to which such a suggestion may have had a genuine influence on the conception and execution of the Symphony.
Nottebohm’s supposition regarding the existence of sketches earlier than those currently in our possession remains within the realm of conjecture. For historical and chronological purposes, then, we must limit ourselves to the sketches from 1802 as reported by Nottebohm—sketches which in themselves serve to highlight the gradual and deepening creative process that led to the work’s completion.
Private performances of the Symphony took place, it seems, in August 1804 at Prince Lobkowitz’s palace in Vienna, and later at the end of September the same year at the castle of Raudnitz in Bohemia, a property of the same prince, in the presence of Prince Louis Ferdinand of Prussia, who was said to have been greatly impressed by the work.
A semi-public performance took place in December 1804, at one of the Sunday concerts hosted by the bankers Wurth and Fellner at their residence, conducted by the violinist Franz Clement (for whom Beethoven would later write the Violin Concerto op. 61); the first fully public performance was conducted by Beethoven himself at the Theater an der Wien on 7 April 1805, as the second part of a concert organised by Clement for his own benefit.
The first movement is, after that of the Ninth Symphony, the most extensive and complex among Beethoven’s symphonies. Introduced by two fortissimo chords played by the full orchestra—which immediately establish both atmosphere and character—the principal theme emerges right away with a clearly defined identity, followed by various complementary elements, at times gentle or stormy, yielding or resistant, through which it will later move and act.
Further complementary elements appear around the second theme, which stands in contrast to the first with its sweet and expansive character, now challenged by agitated figures that grow increasingly pronounced towards the end, shaped by rhythmic dislocations that impose a duple metre within the framework of a triple-metre structure—until the main theme returns, calm and emphatic, to bring the exposition to a close.
The development section intensifies the action; and while the combative elements become more vivid and insistent through opposition and superimposition, daring harmonic, rhythmic, and timbral ideas, the pleading figures are enriched with an entirely new melody. This rises to meet the others, not in a fully rational sense, but asserting itself as a distinct and meaningfully active voice within the whole.
A passage of exceptional poetic-instrumental imagination is found in the transition to the recapitulation, marked by the gradual dissolution of the theme, its almost whispered return in the horn against a dissonant double-stop in the violins, and finally—following a cadential outburst from the full orchestra—its restoration in full.
Following the recapitulation, the composer’s inexhaustible imagination conjures further episodes and contrasts, revisiting the imploring melody introduced in the development section, and ultimately leading the dominant theme to a radiant triumph. In an ideal celebration of heroism, there could be no absence—alongside images of greatness, struggle, victory, and the affirmation of life—of pain and sacrifice, evoked by reflection and spiritual meditation on death. This is the essence of the Funeral March, which, in both form and meaning, goes far beyond the scope typically suggested by the commemorative genre.
Its opening, with the rhythmic shape and thematic character, suggests an intention to imitate military forms; an intention which, in the subsequent major section—with its gradual crescendo, the solemnity of its cadences, the blare of trumpets, and the roll of timpani—rises to the grandeur of an epic celebration. In the fugato in F minor that follows, it is as if the voices of an entire humanity in mourning converge. The approach to the recapitulation, heralded by the horns and trumpets emerging from the turbulence of the strings, sounds like a proud awakening—which, however, cannot withstand the return of the March in its mournful original guise. After this reprise, a passage of subdued calm in a different key and with a distinctly different character leads into the desolate conclusion, where the voice of grief, humble and alone, fades into the dissolution of all defined form.
The Scherzo, even more distant from the spirit of the traditional Minuet than those in the two preceding symphonies, reveals from the outset its double character—fantastical and rustic—in the murmuring introduction and the delicate melodic theme that emerges, elements later developed and expanded: the second especially, where melody and rhythm converge in a kind of violently exuberant festivity. The Trio has a picturesque quality, with a rustic horn theme reminiscent of a hunting call (though not descriptive of a hunt), softened by echoes and connecting passages, then taken up fully once more before dissolving into shifting harmonies that lead back to the reprise of the first section.
The Coda provides a fitting conclusion, echoing the rhythmic motif in the timpani and reinforcing it with a gradual crescendo of all the instruments until the concise and forceful final bars.
In the Finale, Beethoven returns to a theme he had already used in The Creatures of Prometheus, and included among the Twelve Contredanses for two violins and bass, later making it the basis for the Piano Variations op. 35. He begins by following the same structure, presenting the bass line after a brief, tumultuous introduction, repeating it twice with three- and four-part counterpoint (in a mysterious instrumental guise that bears some resemblance to the beginning of the previous Scherzo), finally introducing the melodic theme in the third variation.
Here the principal analogy with op. 35 ends. The episodes that follow consist essentially of three different reworkings of the bass line—or more precisely, of its four-note opening motif: the first in the form of a fugue, the second in a march-like treatment characterised by rhythmic vigour and a contrasting tone in the minor key, and the third again as a fugue, with the theme inverted. In this third episode, the melodic idea—already reappearing with graceful lightness at the end of each of the two previous sections, though limited to its initial phrase and without further expansion—enters again in a curious abbreviated form as a developmental element.
After the suspended and somewhat overinflated final cadences, the Poco Andante follows, representing a resolution of all that had so far seemed merely a means or a striving, rather than an end or an expression. The melody, now freed from the constraints of the bass, unfolds with breadth and a variety of attitudes, rich in harmony and instrumental colour, shifting from a melancholy-tinged sweetness to triumphant brilliance; finally, it fades into a gradual languishing, reminiscent of the dissolution at the end of the Funeral March. Then a fortissimo, with the return of the impetuous opening movement, brings back the outward, celebratory “heroic” spirit, and the melodic idea rings out like a fanfare—brimming with instrumental exuberance and festivity that connects it to the triumphant culmination of the first movement.
The name of Napoleon and the title Eroica have kept commentators on the symphony busy for generations. Some have sought in it references to military episodes—battles, victories, glorious deaths, scenes of soldierly life; others have drawn on figures from classical mythology and antiquity. Still others have moved away from the idea of a specific, named figure, interpreting the work instead as a reflection of humanity: of a person who acts, suffers, and rejoices in the fullness of their intelligent and sensitive being. The use in the Finale of the Prometheus theme—which in its original context was intended to glorify precisely such an idea—has inspired the belief that here too Beethoven sought to celebrate something similarly profound and exalted, as the ultimate goal of an idealised heroism.
There is scarcely a scholar or musician who has studied Beethoven and not wished to share their opinion on this point—from Wagner to Berlioz, to Schuré, Rolland, Bekker, and d’Indy, to name but a few of the more prominent voices.
Among more recent thinkers, special mention must be made of Schering, whom we have already discussed and to whom we will return later, citing further Beethovenian interpretations that stem from his highly personal—and often debatable—method of connecting musical events with specific poetic or literary sources. Drawing here, indirectly, on an image used by Berlioz to characterise the Scherzo, Schering connects the first three movements with episodes from the Iliad: first, Hector’s farewell to Andromache before the impending battle; then, the combat between Hector and Patroclus, followed by the death of Patroclus; and finally Hector’s victorious return and reunion with Andromache. The second movement represents Hector’s funeral; the third, the funeral games in honour of Patroclus.
The fourth movement, on the other hand—“since the Iliad ends with Hector’s funeral”—was imagined by Beethoven independently of that narrative. Yet even here, in line with his noble nature, Beethoven turns to reflections on humanity. He wished to show the influence that great souls exert beyond time and space. The myth of Prometheus revealed to him how the grandeur of the soul can draw joy and inspiration from even the most barren material: into a theme initially rigid and cold, his creative spirit gradually breathes life—first organic, then animal, and finally spiritual. The work concludes in an apotheosis of power and splendour.
[By Biamonti Giovanni – Catalogo cronologico e tematico delle opere di Beethoven comprese quelle inedite e gli abbozzi non utilizzati, Torino, ILTE 1968]
Official title: Symphonie Nr. 3 (Es-dur) Sinfonia Eroica Widmung: Franz Joseph Maximilian Fürst Lobkowitz NGA1/2 AGA 3 = Serie 1/3
Composition and Publication: Beethoven outlined the design of a symphony in E‑flat major following his work on the Piano Variations op. 35 in the autumn of 1802. He continued composing (though perhaps only for a few further months) until October of the following year. Before 22 October 1803 Beethoven played the symphony at the piano for Ferdinand Ries; by the time of the first performances in May/June 1804, transcriptions of both the full score and the parts were available. The original edition in parts was published in October 1806 by the Kunst‑ und Industrie‑Comptoir in Vienna.
In the notebook called “Wielhorsky,” which already contains the final sketches for op. 35, one finds a detailed plan for a new symphony, which Beethoven copied across two pages in the autumn of 1802. This suggests that Beethoven took from that composition the “Bass of the Theme” of the Variations op. 35 and then further developed it. In the absence of sketches for the finale of the symphony, it is assumed that the variation movement in op. 55 was planned from the start as the final movement. The theme of the variations is derived from the finale (No. 16) of the music to „Die Geschöpfe des Prometheus“ op.43 from late 1800/early 1801. Beethoven used it again at the end of 1801 / beginning of 1802 in the contredanse WoO 14 n.7.. Sketches for the entire symphony are documented in the “Landsberg 6” notebook. Precisely when these sketches were made is a matter of various hypotheses. Johnson, Tyson, and Winter assume that the work recorded in the “Wielhorsky” and “Landsberg 6” notebooks succeeded each other in time without overlap. Alan Tyson even conjectured a lost notebook between the two surviving ones, to explain among other things the lack of sketches for the oratorio „Christus am Ölberge“ op.85. The sketches for op. 55 were written between May and June 1803. Katherine Syer, on the other hand, offers indications that Beethoven might have composed those sketches immediately after his return from Heiligenstadt at the end of October 1802, when he was still using the “Wielhorsky.”
An exact dating of the completion of the autograph score is difficult. In October 1803 Beethoven turned his attention to the composition of the opera “Vestas Feuer” Unv. 15, which he abandoned in early January 1804 in favour of Leonore. Around December 1803 he also sketched the Piano Sonata op. 53. Taking into account Ferdinand Ries’s statement that Beethoven had played the symphony to him at the piano before 22 October 1803, it is thus plausible that the full score was already finished by then. On that day Ries wrote to Simrock: “Die Symphonie will er Ihnen für 100 Gulden verkaufen. Es ist, nach seiner eigenen Äußerung, das größte Werk, welches er bisher schrieb. Beethoven spielte sie mir neulich und ich glaube Himmel und Erde muß unter einem zittern bei ihrer Aufführung.” (BGA 165.) Already on 6 August he had informed Simrock that “Beethoven jetzt zwei Symphonien schreibt, wovon die eine bereits schon fertig ist” (BGA 152; cf. also BGA 165)—and he probably meant the Eroica. Even after the autograph score was completed, Beethoven worked on problematic areas of the score during early performances and the printing process. These included the repeats in the first movement and in the scherzo. For example, in a letter by Kaspar Karl van Beethoven to Breitkopf & Härtel, dated 12 February 1805, it was stated that the exposition of the first movement should be repeated: “Mein Bruder glaubte anfangs, ehe er die Symphonie noch gehört hatte, sie würde zu lang seyn wenn der erste Theil des ersten Stücks wiederholt würde, aber nach öfterer Aufführung derselben fand es sich, daß es sogar nachtheilig sey, wenn der erste Theil nicht wiederholt würde” (BGA 212).
The first editorial offers for op. 55 were sent by Kaspar Karl van Beethoven to Breitkopf & Härtel in Leipzig (BGA 138) and Nikolaus Simrock in Bonn (BGA 139) on 21 and 25 May 1803—well before the symphony was completed. Both publishers initially showed interest; in Simrock’s case, Ferdinand Ries soon took on the task of driving the negotiations for the composer. At first Beethoven naturally intended to sell the symphony to Bonn, since Ries wrote to Simrock: “Von Leipzig sind schon 180 Gulden für diese 2 Werke [Op. 47 und 55] geboten, weil aber sein Bruder [Kaspar Karl] mit unter der Decke liegt, so will er sie nicht geben” (BGA 165). At the end of November and beginning of December 1803, Kaspar Karl van Beethoven and Ferdinand Ries declined the publishers’ offers. Ries informed Simrock: “Die neue Symphonie von Beethoven will er nun gar nicht verkaufen und sie für seine Reise aufbehalten, wozu er nun noch eine macht” (BGA 173). At that time Beethoven was planning a journey or perhaps even a move to Paris (BGA 152).
Title and Dedication: On 22 October 1803 Ferdinand Ries reported to Nikolaus Simrock Beethoven’s intentions regarding the title and dedication: “Er hat viel Lust, selbe Bonaparte zu dedizieren, wenn nicht, weil Lobkowitz sie auf ein halb Jahr haben und 400 Gulden geben will, so wird sie Bonaparte genannt” (BGA 165). Shortly thereafter the symphony was dedicated to Franz Joseph Maximilian Fürst Lobkowitz, to whom was also granted a six‑month exclusive performance right. Ries recalls Beethoven’s reaction in May 1804, when Napoleon Bonaparte was proclaimed Emperor: “Sowohl ich, als Mehrere seiner näheren Freunde haben diese Symphonie schon in Partitur abgeschrieben, auf seinem Tische liegen gesehen, wo ganz oben auf dem Titelblatte das Wort ‘Buonaparte’ ganz unten ‘Luigi van Beethoven’.”
It is unclear which manuscript this referred to. In the surviving score copy, the title “intitolata Bonaparte” has been so vigorously erased as to puncture the paper. Later, Beethoven added in pencil beneath the erasure “geschrieben auf Bonaparte.” In August 1804, the composer informed Breitkopf & Härtel that “die Symphonie ist eigentlich betitelt Bonaparte” (BGA 188). Pragmatic considerations also played a role in Beethoven’s changing attitude toward Napoleon: these include efforts to gain greater access to the French market and his plans for travel or relocation to Paris. On 3 and 5 November 1804 Beethoven received 700 florins and 80 ducats from Prince Lobkowitz. This was likely a sum for the dedications of op. 55 and the Triple Concerto op.56. The 1806 original edition of op. 55 not only records the official dedicatee—“dedicata A Sua Altezza Serenissima il Principe di Lobkowitz”—but also contains a secondary, cryptic dedication: “composta per festeggiare il sovvenire di un grand Uomo.” By the autumn of 1806, Napoleon was hardly a viable option. Walther Brauneis conjectures that behind the cryptic phrase lay a personage of high rank whose identity was meant to remain concealed for reasons of state—perhaps Louis Ferdinand, Prince of Prussia, to whom Beethoven dedicated his Piano Concerto op.37 in 1804, and who was a frequent guest of Prince Lobkowitz at his estates in northern Bohemia. It is possible that the “grand Uomo” even found its way into the title at the suggestion of the prince himself. Prince Louis Ferdinand died in October 1806 in a battle against the French. His imposing personality quickly became the subject of legend and glorification.
The first edition of the Eroica score, published in London in 1809, bears the title “composta per celebrare la morte d’un Eroe,” emphasising the dedication to the Prussian prince. Rita Steblin, however, suggests that the Funeral March may have been intended for the last Elector of Bonn, Maximilian Franz, as a posthumous homage from Beethoven.
Its first performance took place before 9 June 1804 as part of two “rehearsals” at the city palace of Prince Lobkowitz in Vienna.
The sketches will be featured in an article specially created for the Beethovenian Music Research Center, www.lvbeethoven.org
