Symphony In A Modern Flat

New Zealand Listener, Volume 1, Issue 3, 14 July 1939, Page 19

Symphony In A Modern Flat

Word Sketch By

JEAN

STEVENSON

OWARDS eight o'clock on Saturday evening the family settled round the fire: the father with a rustling newspaper, the mother knitting a grey sock, Dick reading a detective novel, Janet sewing, and Lydia watching the clock with agitation. " For goodness sake, Lydia, settle down to something." She looked from her father .o the others, "Well," she hesitated, "well, do you mind if we have the radio? You don’t want anything special do you, cad?" Her father considered. "No," he said. "No. Not just at the moment." "What is it you want, dear?" "Well, mother, it’s the Beethoven Eighth, the charming one with the postillion’s horn." "Oh, yes! Such a pretty one. I’m very fond of that one,’ her mother purred. Dick objected that Lydia already had it on the gramophone. She patiently explained that there had been four recordings made since hers, which was secondhand anyway, and badly scratched. The family gave in. The announcer introduced the work that Beethoven named his " Little Symphony" because of its light and playful character. It had first been performed, the announcer explained, at a concert in Vienna in February, 1814; the seventh symphony was performed, but not for the first time, at the same concert. And of the two symphonies, which were both composed in 1812, the seventh was. a wild success and the eighth a sad failure -* Just because," said Beethoven at the time, "it is so much better." The family listened attentively to the historical account of the waxing of the eighth’s popularity. The announcer described the movements. "Allegro vivace e con brio," interrupted the father. "And what are we expected to understand by that." Lydia silently handed him her little green Radio Times Dictionary. He turned the pages and concocted a definition. "Lively, lively, and with liveliness," he said. " Well, seems as if it’s to be lively." The announcer had got out of the wood of the three themes and the octave figures of the first movement and was ready for the other three movements. He described them with a wealth of technical detail, pointing out that the third movement contained the theme of the postillion’s horn, noted by Beethoven during one of his journeys on the Karlsbad coach. The first movement began. There was a short time of listening. It was a pity, thought Lydia, that her mother’s needles clicked so persistently. Perhaps her mother felt the disapproval. "When does the horn come in, dear?" Lydia remained silent. Janet scolded as she rummaged for her scissors.

"The man said it was in the third movement." "Yes, yes, of course. How silly of me. Oh, now I do think this is a pretty part," and she began conducting with a long shiny needle. She looked appealingly at her husband for approval. "Aren’t you enjoying it, James?" But James frowned, indicating that he, at least, knew the right way to listen to a classical programme. The telephone. Janet hurried to it and came glumly back. ; "You, Dick." And then Dick came back, put his book face down on the sideboard, stretched, said Les wanted him to drop round for a few minutes, and went out. "Shut the door," instructed his father in a voice that dwindled from a shout to a petulant undertone as he realised the boy was already doing so. "Oh, Dick!" "What, mother?" "You won't be late, will you?" "No. G’night." He shut the door. The music progressed. Lydia caught her mother’s: eye. " Just what part is this, dear?" "The end of the second movement." "Oh, then we’ve missed the horn?" Janet began a remark, thought better of it, and said: "Next movement. By the way, ma, could I wear your old bracelet to-morrow night?" "Well, Janet-" "It’s exactly right*for my velvet-" "What! Another dance! I can see I should begin to play the heavy father." "Janet, please! Do listen. Now, mother, here comes the menuetto. The horn blows just before the trio begins. I'll tell you when. This’ll be the first time I’ve heard this movement in a good recording. What’s the matter, dad?" "Well, Lydia, it’s the end of the serial at 8.23. I think I’ve picked the murderer. It’s about 8.22. D’you mind if I have it on for five minutes or so?" There was a gleam in his eye. He sat up, took his glasses off, dropped his paper, and began to take a lively interest in the radio, He twiddled and got his station. "Tt won’t be long, of course," he told Lydia, stroking her bent head. "TI hope we don’t miss the horn," said her mother. "You’ve missed it," said Lydia, and went through to the cold music room to play her ancient second-hand Weingartner recording of the eighth symphony of Beethoven. And if she still found it impossible to separate the three themes in the first movement, and the instruments of the trio, she did at least triumphantly _ hear the who-whooo of the postillion’s — horn and the joyous motion of the finale, —