Our author’s statement that he heard a manuscript pianoforte trio at this time piques curiosity. Schindler disposes of the question as to what it may have been in the manner more characteristic of the present than the past attitude of German writers towards everything English or American. “Who knows what it was that the non-musical gentleman took for a trio?” he asks. Evidently Schindler was of the opinion that no Englishman except, possibly, a professional musician, could count three or recognize the employment of pianoforte, violin and violoncello in a piece of music. He is right in scouting the idea that it could have been the great Trio in B-flat, for that work had long been in print. Nor is it likely to have been the little trio in the same key dedicated to Maximiliane Brentano; for though that was not published at the time, it is not likely that Beethoven would produce it in 1823 as a novelty. There are in existence sketches for a Trio in F minor made in 1815, but nothing to show that the work was ever written out. Had it been in Beethoven’s hands at a time when he was turning over the manuscripts of earlier days, it would surely have been offered to a publisher; so that is out of the way. There is only one other known work which invites speculation—the “Adagio, Variations and Rondo,” for pianoforte, violin and violoncello, which Steiner and Co. gave to the public in 1824, as Op. 121. The variations are on a melody from Wenzel Müller’s opera “Die Schwestern aus Prag” (“Ich bin der Schneider Kakadu”). It is at least remotely possible that this was the trio which the English traveller heard, and if so we have in the fact a hint as to the time of its origin—the only hint yet given.

A few days after the one just recorded Beethoven received a visit from a man of much greater moment than the English traveller. The new visitor was Carl Maria von Weber. That the composer of “Der Freischütz” was unable in his salad days to appreciate the individuality of Beethoven’s genius has already been set forth; and the author of the letter in the “Harmonicon” seems to have learned that Beethoven was disposed to speak lightly of Weber only a month before he received him with most amiable distinction at Baden. Schindler’s explanation, that a memory of Weber’s criticism of the Fourth Symphony may at the moment have risen, ghost-like, in Beethoven’s mind and prompted the disparaging allusion quoted by Schulz, is far-fetched. It is not necessary to account for such moody remarks in Beethoven’s case. He was often unjust in his comments on even his most devoted friends, and we may believe that to Schulz he did speak of the composer as “one Weber,” and at the same time accept the account which Max Maria von Weber gives of the reception of his father by Beethoven. From the affectionate biography written by the son, we learn that after the sensational success achieved by “Der Freischütz” Beethoven was led to study its score and that he was so astonished at the originality of the music that he struck the book with his hand and exclaimed: “I never would have thought it of the gentle little man (sonst weiche Männel). Now Weber must write operas; nothing but operas—one after the other and without polishing them too much. Casper, the monster, stands out here like a house. Wherever the devil puts in his claws they are felt.” He learned to know “Euryanthe” later and was less impressed by it than by its predecessor. After glancing through it hurriedly he remarked: “The man has taken too much pains.”[97] Whatever may have been their earlier feelings and convictions, however, the representations of “Fidelio” at Prague and Dresden under the direction of Weber warmed their hearts towards each other. Weber’s filial biographer says that when the youthful sin of his father was called to the notice of Beethoven, the latter showed some resentment, but there is no shadow of this in the pictures which we have from the pens of Weber himself, Max Maria von Weber and Julius Benedict, of the meeting between the two men. Weber had come to Vienna, bringing with him his pupil Benedict, to conduct the first performance of “Euryanthe.” On his visit in the previous year, when “Der Freischütz” was produced, he had neglected to call on Beethoven, but now some kindly words about “Euryanthe” spoken by Beethoven to Steiner being repeated to him, he made good his dereliction and, announced by Haslinger, drove out to Baden to pay his respects. In his diary Weber noted the visit thus: “The 5th, Sunday (October, 1823), at 8 o’clock, drove with Burger (Piringer), Haslinger and Benedict to Baden; abominable weather; Saw spring and baths; to Duport and Beethoven; received by him with great cordiality. Dined with him, his nephew and Eckschlager at the Sauerhof. Very cheerful. Back again at 5 o’clock.” On the next day (though the letter is dated “October 5”) Weber wrote an account to his wife as follows:

Max Maria von Weber in his account of the incident says that Beethoven, in the conversation which followed his greeting of the “devil of a fellow,” railed at the management of the theatre, the concert impresarios, the public, the Italians, the taste of the people, and particularly at the ingratitude of his nephew. Weber, who was deeply moved, advised him to tear himself away from his discouraging environment and make an artistic tour through Germany, which would show him what the world thought of him. “Too late!” exclaimed Beethoven, shaking his head and going through the motions of playing the pianoforte. “Then go to England, where you are admired,” wrote Weber. “Too late!” cried Beethoven, drew Weber’s arm into his and dragged him along to the Sauerhof, where they dined. At parting, Beethoven embraced and kissed him several times and cried: “Good luck to the new opera; if I can I’ll come to the first performance.”

A generation later Sir Julius Benedict, who had also put his memory of those Vienna days at the service of Weber’s son, wrote down his recollections for his work in these words:

Madame Marie Pachler-Koschak, with whom Beethoven had spent many happy moments in 1817, was among those who took the waters at Baden in the summer of 1823, but we are told she searched for him in vain, a fact which shows in what seclusion he must have dwelt some of the time at least. She was more fortunate when she returned in September to complete her cure; and when she left Baden she carried with her an autographic souvenir—a setting of “The beautiful to the good,” the concluding words of Matthison’s “Opferlied” which he had in hand in this year. Towards the close of October Beethoven returned to Vienna. We know the date approximately from Benedict’s account, the first performance of “Euryanthe” having taken place on October 25. He removed to new lodgings in the Ungarstrasse, where his nephew remained with him as long as he continued a student at the university. Here he worked at the Ninth Symphony, more particularly on the last movement.

The exact chronological order in which works were taken up in 1823 cannot be recorded here. Matthison’s “Opferlied” was taken up several times—in 1794, then in 1801 and 1802; finally in 1822 and 1823. In its last stages he extends its dimensions, adds the refrain for chorus and an orchestral accompaniment.[99] Beethoven had offered it to Peters in February, 1823, though at that time he described its accompaniment as being for two clarinets, horn, viola and violoncello, so that the violins and bassoon were added later. Why Peters did not publish the song is not known; the manuscript does not seem to have been returned to Beethoven. Nottebohm concludes that two or more versions were made in 1822 and 1823 (possibly as late as 1824), and that the final form was that known as Op. 121b. On April 9, 1825 (“Notizen,” p. 161), a letter was written to Ries which said: “You will soon receive a second copy of the ‘Opferlied,’ which mark as corrected by me so that the one which you already have may not be used. Here you have an illustration of the miserable copyist whom I have, since Schlemmer died. You can depend on scarcely a note.” A sketchbook analyzed by Nottebohm,[100] which contains sketches made at different times bound up with sketches for the last quartets made in 1824, shows sketches for a pianoforte sonata for four hands, the Ninth Symphony, the Mass in C-sharp minor, a fugue on B-a-c-h, and the “Bundeslied,” besides the latest form of the “Opferlied” but not wholly like the printed edition. The impetus to the C-sharp minor mass came in 1823 and the other sketches in all likelihood were made in the same year. It is therefore to be concluded that he worked on the new “Opferlied” in 1823 and possibly carried it over to the early part of 1824. Beethoven owed money to his brother and offered the song as Johann’s property, in a letter of November 1824, to Schott and Sons, who published it in 1825; but he made alterations by letter as late as May 7, 1825. Schindler’s statement that the two songs “Opferlied” and “Bundeslied” were composed to be sung by the tenor Ehlers at a benefit concert in Pressburg, is wrong. Schindler’s inexactitude as to dates is shown by his statements that the concert took place in 1822 and the song published in 1826. The first song was written in the soprano clef; the second has tenor clef but two solo voices; neither was made for Ehlers. As to the “Bundeslied” (words by Goethe) so far as the history of the song is concerned, the documentary evidence is found in the sketchbook just mentioned; whether or not it had its origin at an earlier date has not been ascertained,[101] but received alterations later. It, too, was published by Schott in 1825.

Besides these songs, and the Bagatelles mentioned in the letter of February, 1823, as sent to Peters, there are several other minor compositions which may well be discussed here. The Tattoo with percussive instruments (Turkish music), the two other Tattoos and a March, were all old compositions. Up to 1874, when the letter was made public, only one of the Tattoos had been printed. It was that in F major, which, according to the autograph preserved by Artaria, was composed for the Bohemian Landwehr in 1809 and then designated as March No. 1. A copy more fully orchestrated than it is in the printed form was dedicated to Prince Anton in that year.[102] A second autograph of later date (also in Artaria’s collection) is entitled “Zapfenstreich No. 1.” Here the march had a trio which has not become known. It was then, together with the one that follows, rewritten for the tournament at Laxenburg held in honor of the birthday of Empress Maria Ludovica on August 25, 1810, and this version has been printed in the Complete Edition of Beethoven’s works.[103] In the earliest print by Schlesinger it is number 37 in a collection of “Quick-steps for the Prussian Army. For the York Corps”; but Nottebohm says that the version does not agree with any of the manuscripts mentioned. Simultaneously with this march another was published which was composed in 1810 for Archduke Anton. An autograph at Haslinger’s bears the inscription “Zapfenstreich No. 3,” and below it “One step to each measure.” A copy in the archives of the Gesellschaft der Musikfreunde is inscribed “March for H. I. Highness, the Archduke Anton, by Ludwig van Beethoven, 1810 on the 3rd of the Summermonth” (i. e., June). A third form was prepared for the tournament of 1810, and this has been published. Artaria had a “Trio No. 3” in F minor, 6-4 time. This is followed in the “Gesammt-Ausgabe” by a third in C major with a trio in F major, which was published from a copy made by Nottebohm. This, which has been published by Haslinger, Steger, and Liszt and Franke, was entitled “Zapfenstreich No. 2.” In Nottebohm’s opinion it belongs to the two others and like them had its origin between 1809 and June 1810. These were the three Tattoos which Beethoven sent to Peters, who, however, did not publish them. The fourth March was the Military March in D major composed in 1816.[104] It was first published in 1827, after Beethoven’s death, in an arrangement for pianoforte, by Cappi and Czerny; a four-hand arrangement followed soon after and it was given to the world in its original shape in the Complete Edition. It was composed at the personal request of F. X. Embel, “Magisterial Councillor and Lieut.-Colonel of the Civil Artillery,” who probably preferred his request in 1815, a sketch for it appearing in a book used in 1815-1816.—The data concerning these old works are given here because Beethoven brought them out of his portfolio and offered them to the publishers in this year.

The Bagatelles, Op. 126, belong to this period, though their completion fell later. Taking up earlier sketches probably, Beethoven worked on them after the Ninth Symphony was practically complete in his mind and the sketchbooks—at the close of 1823 at the earliest. It is likely that they were not finished until the middle of 1824. Nottebohm had subjected them to a minute study which leads him to the conclusion that the pieces were conceived as a homogeneous series, the numbers being linked together by key-relationship. On the margin of a sketch for the first one Beethoven wrote “Cycle of Trifles” (“Kleinigkeiten”), which fact, their separation from each other (all but the first two) by the uniform distance of a major third, taken in connection with their unity of style, establishes a cyclical bond. When he offered them to Schott in 1824 he remarked that they were probably the best things of the kind which he had ever written. They were among the compositions which had been pledged to his brother, in whose interest he offered them to Schott. They were published by that firm, probably in the early part of 1825.

In 1828 Diabelli and Co. published a “Rondo a Capriccio” in G which had been purchased at the auction sale of Beethoven’s effects after his death. It bore on its title-page the inscription: “Die Wuth über den Verlornen Groschen, ausgetobt in einer Caprice” (“Rage at the loss of a groat stormed out in a Caprice”). Nothing is known of its origin. In the catalogue of the Gesellschaft der Musikfreunde, Czerny noted it as belonging to Beethoven’s youthful period; which may be true of its theme, but can not be of its treatment. Among the sketches and drafts for the Bagatelles is a sketch for an arch and mischievous piece evidently intended for strings,[105] and a two-part canon on the words “Te solo adoro” from Metastasio’s “Betulia liberata,” which, as transcribed by Nottebohm, has been printed in the Complete Edition.

Chapter V

The Symphony in D minor, familiarly known the world over as the “Ninth,” and also as the “Choral” Symphony in England and America, was completed in February, 1824. The conclusion of the work upon it, Schindler says, had a cheering effect upon Beethoven’s spirits. He no longer grudged himself occasional recreation and was again seen strolling through the streets of Vienna, gazing into the shop-windows through eyeglasses which dangled at the end of a black ribbon, and, after a long interregnum, greeting friends and acquaintances as they passed. The history of the work is far more interesting than that of any of his compositions, with the possible exception of the Mass in D. Nottebohm has painstakingly extracted from the sketchbooks all the evidence which they afford, touching the origin and development of the work, and presented it in a chapter of his “Zweite Beethoveniana”;[106] and his conclusions have been adopted in the presentation of facts which follow.

Thoughts of a symphony to succeed the Symphonies in A and F major (Nos. 7 and 8), were in the composer’s mind while he was making sketches for those two works in 1812; but the memoranda there found tell us only in what key the new symphony was to be; they are mere verbal notes: “2nd Sinfonie, D minor” and “Sinfonie in D minor—3rd Sinfonie.” A fugue-theme, identical, so far as the first three measures go, with that of the Scherzo of the Ninth Symphony, presented itself to him and was imprisoned in his note-book in 1815, being recorded among the sketches for the Sonata for Pianoforte and Violoncello in D, Op. 102, No. 2.[107] There is another sketch with a note[108] to show that Beethoven was thinking of a new symphony at the time; but the sketch cannot be associated with the Ninth Symphony, the composition of which really began when the beginning of the first movement was sketched. Of this fragments are found on loose leaves belonging to the year 1817. By the end of that year and the beginning of 1818 (presumably from September to May) extended sketches of the movement were made. The principal subject is definitively fixed, but the subsidiary material is still missing. The fugue-theme of 1817 is assigned to the third movement. There is no suggestion of the use of Schiller’s “Ode to Joy,” but a plain intimation of an instrumental finale. In 1818 a plan is outlined for the introduction of voices into the slow movement of a symphony which is to follow the “Sinfonie in D.” It is as follows:

It will be recalled that in 1822 Beethoven told Rochlitz that he had two symphonies in his mind which were to differ from each other. One difference at least is indicated here by the purpose to use voices in a movement to be written in the old modes. His well-known love for classic subjects, no doubt, prompted the thought of the “pious orgies” of a Pagan festival. Schiller’s hymn is still absent from his mind. These sketches were all sidewise excursions undertaken while Beethoven was chiefly occupied with the composition of the Pianoforte Sonata, Op. 106. What progress, if any, was made with the Symphony during the next four years can not well be determined. The work was interrupted by the composition of other works, notably the Mass in D, the last three Pianoforte Sonatas and the overture and chorus for “The Consecration of the House.” It was not until the Mass and the Josephstadt Theatre music were finished in the sketches that he gave his attention largely to the Symphony. In the sketches of 1822, there are evidences of considerable progress on the first movement, little if any on the Scherzo (designed to take third place in the scheme of movements), the fugue-themes of 1815 and 1817 appearing in them almost unchanged. There is no hint as yet of the slow movement, but among the sketches appears the beginning of the melody of the “Ode to Joy” with the underlying words, assigned as a Finale. The thought of using the ode for a concluding movement had presented itself, but only tentatively, not as a fixed determination. Following this sketch, but of another date (to judge by the handwriting and the contents), comes a memorandum indicating that the symphony in mind was to consist of four movements—the first (no doubt, though it is not mentioned) being the present first, the second in 2-4 time, the third (presumably) in 6-8, while the fourth was to be built on the fugal theme of 1817 and to be “well fugued.” The next recognizable sketch is for a Presto in 2-4 designated as a second movement and this is followed by the beginning of the first movement preceded by four measures in triple time marked “Alla Autrichien.” A third sketch is marked as belonging to a “Sinfonie allemand.” It is a new melody to the words beginning Schiller’s ode to be used in a chorus; and again the accompanying memorandum reads: “Sinfonie allemand,” but now with this addition: “either with variations after which the chorus Freude schöner Götterfunken Tochter aus Elysium enters or without variations. End of the Sinfonie with Turkish music and vocal chorus.” It is possible that the melody had an earlier origin than that which appears first in the sketches and was eventually used. The last relevant sketch in the book of 1822 is a sort of thematic index to the symphony as it now lay planned in Beethoven’s purpose:

The second movement was to be a fugued Scherzo with the theme of 1815, the fourth the Presto in 2-4 time which first appeared in this year, the fifth the “Ode to Joy.” In the midst of these sketches appears the significant remark: “Or perhaps instead of a new symphony, a new overture on Bach, well fugued with 3——.”[109]

The conclusions to be drawn from the sketches thus far are that, as was the case in 1812 when the Seventh and Eighth Symphonies were brought forth as a pair, Beethoven was again contemplating the almost simultaneous production of two symphonies. He did not adhere to the project long, so far as we can know from the written records, and the remark about the substitution of an overture on B-a-c-h probably marks the time when he began seriously to consider the advisability of abandoning what would then have been the Tenth Symphony. With the exception of a portion of the first movement, the Ninth Symphony was still in a chaotic state. Taken in connection with negotiations which had been concluded with the Philharmonic Society of London, it may be assumed, however, that the present Symphony in D minor was associated in Beethoven’s mind with the English commission, and that the second, which he had thoughts of abandoning in favor of the overture, was to have been a “Sinfonie allemand.” For a time, at least, Beethoven is not likely to have contemplated a choral movement with German words in connection with the symphony for the London Philharmonic Society: this was to have an instrumental finale. The linguistic objection would be invalid in the case of the German symphony, however, and to this was now assigned the contemplated setting of Schiller’s poem.

Work now proceeded with little interruption (except that occasioned by the composition of the Variations, Op. 120), and most of the first half of 1823 was devoted to the first movement, which was nearly complete in sketch-form before anything of the other movements appeared beyond the themes which have already been cited. When the foundation of the work is firmly laid we have the familiar phenomenon of work upon two or three movements simultaneously. In a general way it may be asserted that the year 1823 saw the birth of the Symphony, though work was carried over into 1824. The second movement was complete in the sketches before the third—this was about August; the third before the fourth—about the middle of October. The second theme of the slow movement was perfected before the sketches for the first movement were finished. In a Conversation Book used in the fall of the year 1823 the nephew writes: “I am glad that you have brought in the beautiful andante.” The principal theme of the movement appears to have been conceived between May and July, 1823, but it had to submit to much alteration before it acquired the lovely contours which we now admire. This was the case, too, with the simple folksong-like tune of the Finale.

Sketches for the Finale show that Beethoven had made considerable progress with the setting of Schiller’s ode before he decided to incorporate it with the Symphony. In June or July, 1823, he wrote down a melody in D minor which he designated “Finale instromentale,” and which, transposed into another key and slightly altered, was eventually used in the finale of the Quartet in A minor, Op. 132. That it was intended for the Finale of the symphony is proved by the fact that it is surrounded with sketches for the Symphony in D minor and Beethoven recurred to it twice before the end of the year; there was no thought of the quartet at the time.

When he began work on the Finale, Beethoven took up the choral part with the instrumental variations first and then attacked the instrumental introduction with the recitatives. The present “Joy” melody, as noted in the fall of 1822, was preceded by a different one conceived later, if the sketches are taken as a guide. After adoption the tune, especially its second period, underwent many transformations before its definitive form was established. Among the musical sketches occur several verbal memoranda containing hints which were carried out in part, for instance: “Turkish music in Wer das nie gekonnt stehle”; in sketches for the Allegro alla marcia: “Turkish music—first pianissimo—a few sounds pianissimo—a few rests—then the full strength”; a third: “On Welt Sternenzelt forte trombone blasts”; a fourth (in studies for the final chorus): “the height of the voices to be more by instruments” (which may be interpreted to mean that Beethoven realized that he was carrying the voices into dangerous altitudes and intended to give them instrumental support). Other sketches indicate that Beethoven intended for a considerable time to write an instrumental introduction with new themes for the Finale. For this prelude there are a number of sketches of different kinds, some of them conceived while sketches for the first movement were still in hand. Before July, 1823, there are no hints of a combined vocal and instrumental bridge from the Adagio to the setting of the “Ode to Joy.” After that month there are evidences that he had conceived the idea of introducing the “Joy” melody played upon wind-instruments with a prelude in the recitative style, a reminiscence of the first movement and premonitory suggestions of the fundamental melody. This was the first step towards the eventual shape of the finale. The lacking element was the verbal link which should connect the instrumental movements with the choral conclusion. The sketches bear out Schindler’s remark: “When he reached the development of the fourth movement there began a struggle such as is seldom seen. The object was to find a proper manner of introducing Schiller’s ode. One day entering the room he exclaimed ‘I have it! I have it!’ With that he showed me the sketchbook bearing the words, ‘Let us sing the song of the immortal Schiller Freude.’”

Later comes the memorandum which Beethoven showed Schindler (“I asst uns das Lied des unsterblichen Schillers singen, Freude, etc.”) and then:

The entire Symphony was finished in sketch-form at the end of 1823 and written out in score in February, 1824. Omitting from consideration the theme of the second movement, noted in 1815 and again in 1817 (probably with an entirely different purpose in mind), the time which elapsed between the beginning of the first movement (1817-1818) and the time of completion was about six and a half years. Within this period, however, there were extended interruptions caused by other works. Serious and continuous labor on the Symphony was not taken up until after the completion of the Missa solemnis; it began in 1822, occupied the greater part of 1823 and ended in the early part of 1824. Beethoven, therefore, worked on the Symphony a little more than a year.

Those who cherish the fantastic notion that the Symphony was conceived ab initio as a celebration of joy, and therefore feel obliged to go back to Beethoven’s first design to compose music for Schiller’s ode, have a large territory for the play of their fancy. Beethoven formed the plan of setting the ode while still living in Bonn in 1793. It is heard of again in a sketchbook of 1798, where there is a melodic phrase adapted to the words, “Muss ein lieber Vater wohnen.” Amongst sketches for the Seventh and Eighth Symphonies (say in 1811) there crops up a melody for the beginning of the hymn, and possibly a little later (1812) a more extended sketch amongst material used in the Overture, Op. 115, into which he appears at one time to have thought of introducing portions of it. All these sketches, of course, preceded the melody of 1812, conceived for use in a “Sinfonie allemand.” When Beethoven first took up the ode for setting it was to become a “durchkomponirtes Lied,” i. e., each stanza was to have an illustrative setting; when he planned to incorporate it in an overture he proposed to use only selected portions of the poem, for he accompanies the melodic sketch with the note: “Disjointed fragments like Princes are beggars, etc., not the whole”; and a little later: “disjointed fragments from Schiller’s Freude connected into a whole.”[110]

The questions which have been raised by the choral finale are many and have occupied the minds of musicians, professional and amateur, ever since the great symphony was first given to the world. In 1852 Carl Czerny told Otto Jahn that Beethoven had thought, after the performance, of composing a new finale without vocal parts for the work. Schindler[111] saw the note in Jahn’s papers and wrote in the margin: “That is not true”; but it must be remembered that there was a cessation of the great intimacy between Beethoven and Schindler which began not long after the Symphony had been produced, and lasted almost till Beethoven was on his deathbed. Schindler can not have been present at all of the meetings between Beethoven and his friends at which the Symphony was discussed. Nevertheless he is upheld, in a measure, by the fact (to which Nottebohm directed attention) that Beethoven, if he made the remark, either did not mean it to be taken seriously or afterwards changed his mind; for after keeping the manuscript in his hands six months he sent it to the publisher as we have it. Seyfried, writing in “Cäcilia” (Vol. IX, p. 236), faults Beethoven for not having taken the advice of well-meaning friends and written a new finale as he did for the Quartet in B-flat, Op. 130. Even if one of the well-meaning friends was Seyfried himself, the statement has value as evidence that Beethoven was not as convinced as Czerny’s story would have it appear that the choral finale was a mistake. Sonnleithner, in a letter to the editor of the “Allgemeine Musikalische Zeitung” in 1864, confirmed Jahn’s statement by saying that Czerny had repeatedly related as an unimpeachable fact that some time after the first performance of the Symphony Beethoven, in a circle of his most intimate friends, had expressed himself positively to the effect that he perceived that he had made a mistake (Misgriff) in the last movement and intended to reject it and write an instrumental piece in its stead, for which he already had an idea in his head. What that idea was the reader knows. That Beethoven may have had scruples touching the appropriateness of the choral finale, is comprehensible enough in view of the fact that the original plan of the Symphony contemplated an instrumental close and that Beethoven labored so hard to establish arbitrarily an organic union between the ode and the first three movements; but it is not likely that he gave long thought to the project of writing a new finale. He had witnessed the extraordinary demonstration of delight with which the whole work had been received and he may have found it as easy as some of his commentators to believe that his device for presenting the choral finale as the logical and poetically just outcome of the preceding movements had been successful despite its obvious artificiality.