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iii
DEDll CATION
BRIEF CONTENTS
PHASE I: SYSTEMS PLANNING 001
TABLE OF CONTENTS
PHASE I : SYSTEMS PLANNING I.9 The Systems Analyst 28
1.9.1 Role 28
1.9.1 Knowledge. SIUlb. and Ecb::auon 29
l.9J Certification 31
1.9.4 c..reer Opportunities 32
1.9.5 Trends"' lnformabon Technology 33
Introduction to Systems Analysis A Question of Ethics 35
and Design 1.10 Summary 35
Learning Objectives 2 Key Terms 37
I. I Information Technology 3 Exercises 42
I. I.I The Changing Nature of Information Technology 3
1. 1.2 Synems Analysis and Design 4
1.1 .3 What Does a Systems Analyst Doi
1.2 Information System s
"
4
1.2.1 Hardware
1.2.2 Software
5
5
Analyzing the Business Case
1.2.3 Data 6
1.2.4 Processes 7 Learning Objectives 44
1.2.S People 7 2. I Strategic Planning 45
Case In Point I. I. Data B~. che 8 2.1 . 1 Strategic Planning Overview 45
1.3 Internet Business Strategies 8 Case in Point 2.1; Pets for Rent 45
1.3. 1 The lnttrnet Model 8 2.1.2 SWOT Analysis 45
I .J 2 82C (BuS1ncsMo·Consumer) 8 2.1 J The Role of the IT Dep1rtmenc 46
I .J.3 828 (Business·tO· Buslness) 9 2.1 Strategic PlanningTools 47
1.4 Modeling Business Ope rations 9 2.l The Business Case 47
1.5 Busines$ Informa t ion Systems 11 2.4 Systems Requests 49
1.5 I Enterpriu Computing II
l.S.2 Trmuccion Processang II
2.5 Factors Affecting Syst e m s Projects so
2.5. 1 lntern>I Factors 50
I .SJ Business Support 12
2.5.1 Extern>! Factors 52
l.S.4 Knowled&e Mana&e"*" 13
I .S.5 User Producov1ty 14 2.6 Processing Systems Requests 54
I .S 6 D1giul Assistants 15 2.6.1 Sys<ems P.equen forms 54
1.5 .7 Systems lnteinuon 15 2.6.2 Systems Request Tools 54
2.63 Systems Review Committee 54
C..• ~ 1n P. t I 2: Au 1n• '"'° ~ h I • 5
1.6 Organiu.t ional Information Models 16 Case 1n P"'nt 2 1: At '"' y A1r1 " , P.art On~ SS
1.6 I Functions and Organlzadonal l.eve:s 16 2.7 Assessing Request Feasibility 56
1.6.2 Top Man~ers 16 2.7. 1 Feuibtlity Studies 56
1.6.3 Middle Maniiers •nd Know1ed&• Worker> 17 2.7.2 Operauon>l FeaS1bthty 57
1.6.4 Supervisor> and Team Leaders 17 2.7.3 Ecooom<e Feasib1l1ty 57
1.6.5 Operadonal Employees 17 2.7.4 Teclvlical F<!asibillty 58
2.7.5 Schedule Feasfblllty 58
1.7 Syst ems Deve lopment 17
2.8 Setting Priorities S9
1.7. 1 StructuredAnalysls 18
1.7.2 Object-Oriented Analysis 21 2.8.1 Dynamic Priorities 59
2.8.2 F•«ors That Affect Priority 59
1.7.3 Agile Methods 22
1.7.4 Prototyping 24
2.8.3 Discretionary and N ondlscretoonary Projects 60
1.7.5 Tools 24 Case in Point 2.3: Attaway Airline , Part Two 60
1.8 The Information Technology Department 26 2. 9 The Preliminary Investigation 60
1.8.1 Appllcatlon Development 27 2.9.1 Planning the Preliminary lnvesclgadon 61
C;ue in Point 1.3 : Global Hotel~ and Momma's Motels 27 2.9.2 Performing tho Preliminary lnvesdgatlon 61
1.8.2 Systems Support and Security 27 2.9.3 Sumtmn•mg the Preliminary lnvestlg-.tion 68
1.8.3 User Support 28 A Question of Ethics 69
1.8.4 D•toboseAdmlnt>trotJon 28
1.8.5 Network Adminlstrodon 28
2. 10 Summary 69
1.8.6 Web Support 28 Ke:yTerms 70
1.8.7 Qu>l1ty Assuranco (QA) 28 Exercises 72
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Ta ble o f Contents vii
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Ta ble o f Contents ix
Case in Point 8.l : Boolean Toys 2'46 Case 1n Point 9.3= Madera Tools 300
8.5 Source Document and Form Design 146 9.8 Data Storage and Access 301
2'47 9 8.1 Tools and Techniques 301
8.6 Printed Output
9.8.2 Logial Venu• Phytical Storage 302
8.6.1 Report ~'II' 2'48
9 8.3 O.ta Cod•ng 303
8.6.2 Report ~lgn Pnndples 248
8.6.3 Tn- of R"'°ru 250 9.9 Data Control 305
Ca.e in Point 8 .3: Luy Eddie 251 A Question or Ethics 306
8.7 Technology Issues 251 9. 10 Summary 306
8.7.1 Output Technology 252 KeyTe,.ms 308
8.7.2 Input TechnolocY 25'4
Exercises 313
8.8 Security and Control Issues 255
8.8. I 0uq>Vt Secumy and Control 255
8.8 2 Input Securtl}' and Control 156
8.9 EmergingTrends 257 Chapter 10
8.9. 1 Modulor Deslsn 257
8.9.2 Re•pon•lve Web Design 158 System Architecture
8.9.3 Prototyp1n1 258
A Question or Ethics 260 Learning Objectives 316
8.10 Summary 260 I 0. 1 A,.chitecture Checklist 317
I0.1.1 Corporat0 Organludon and Culture 317
Key Terms 262 I0.1.2 Enterprise Resource Planning (ERP) 317
Exercises 266 I 0. 1.3 lnltQI Cost and TCO 318
I 0. 1.'4 Sal•b•lity 319
I0. 1.S Web Integration 319
Chapter 9 I 0.1.6
10. 1.7
Legacy Systems
Processing Options
319
320
I 0. 1.8 Security Issues 320
Data Design 10. 1 9 Corporote Portals 320
Case in Point 10.1 ABC Sy.terns 32 1
Learning Objectives 268 I O.l The Evolution of System Architecture 321
9. 1 Data Design Concepts 269 I0.2.1 Mainframe Arch1tec:wre 321
9.1.1 O.ta Scructures 269 IO.l.l Impact of the Ptrsonal Computer 322
9.1.2 Mano and o.,,.ca: Ao.a cnsiin Ex.omple 269 I0.2.3 Network Evoluuon 322
9.1.3 Database Manaaement Systems 271
I 0.3 Client/Server An:hitecture 323
9.1 DBMS Components 272 10.3 I The Client's Role 324
9.2. I lnU!rfaces lor Usen, Database Administrators. and I 0.3.2 OoentJSeM1er Tiers 325
Related Systems 273 I 0.3.3 M1ddleware 326
9.2.2 Schema 2n 10.3.'4 Cost-Benefit luues 326
9.2.3 Physical Data Repository 273 10.3.S Ptrformanco Issues 327
9.3 Web-Based Design 274 I 0.4 The Impact of the Internet 327
275 10.4 .I lntemet·BuedArchiteca.o,. 328
9.4 Data Design Terms
9.'4. 1 Definitions 175 I 0.'4 2 Cloud Computing 328
276 10.4 .3 Web 2.0 329
9.'4.2 Key Field•
9.'4.3 Refttential Integrity 279 I 0.5 E-Commerce Architecture 329
9.5 Entity-Relationship Diagrams 280 I 0.5. 1 In-House Solutions 330
9.5. 1 Drawing an ERO 180 I 0.5.2 Packaged Solu11ons 33 1
180 I0.5.3 Service Providers 33 1
9.5.2 Typos of Refadon•hlps
9.5.3 Cardinality 183 Case in Point I O.l . Small Potatoes 332
Case In Point 9. 1: TopText Publishing 284 I 0.6 Processing Methods 332
9.6 Data N ormalii.ation 284 I0.6. 1 Online Processing 332
9.6. I Saindard N otation Format 285 I0.6.2 Batch Processing 333
9.6.2 First Normal Form 286 I0.6.3 Example 333
9.6.3 Second Normal Form 287 10.7 N etwork Models 334
9.6.'4 Third Normal Form 290 I 0.7. 1 The OSI Model 331
Case In Point 9.2: CyberToys 291 10.7.2 NetworkTopology 335
291 10.7.3 Network Devices 337
9.6.S Two Re>l-World Examples
9.7 Codes 297 I 0.8 W ireless Networks 338
297 I 0.8.1 Stand•rds 338
9.7. 1 Ottrv.-ofCodes
9.7.l Types of Codes 298 I 0.8 2 Topolog1u 339
299 1083 Trends 339
9.1.3 Designing Cod.s
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Ta b le o f Contents xi
PREFACE
The Shelly C:ishman Series~ offers the finesr rexes in compurer education. \Ve are
proud char our previous editions of Systems Anafysis and Design have been so well
received by insrructors and srudenrs. Systems Analysis and Design, 12th edition
continues with the innovation, qualiry, and reliabiliry you have come to expect.
T he Shelly Cashman Series dcvelopmenr ream carefully reviewed our pedagogy and
analyzed its effectiveness in reaching roday's srudenr. Conremporary srudents read les~
but need to retain more. As rhey develop and perform skills, students must know how co
apply the skills ro different ~errings. Today's students need co be continually engaged and
challenged to rerain whar they're learning. With chis book, we continue our commitment
to focusing on the user and how the)' learn besr.
Facing a c hallenging global markerplace, companies need strong IT resources ro 5ur·
vive and compete effecrivcly. Many of today's students will become the systems analysts,
managers, and lT professionals of tomorrow. This text will help prepare them for rh o e
ro les.
Overview
Systems A nalysis and Design, 12th edition offers a practical, streamlined, and
updated approach to information systems development. Systems analysis and design is a
disciplined process for creating high-qualiry enterprise information systems. An informa-
tion system is an amalgam of people, data, and technology to provide support for busi-
ness furn'tiom
.. •. As technology evolves, so docs systems analysis. The book cmphasi.i:es
the role of the systems ana lyst in a dynamic, business-related environment. A !.ystcms
analyst ii. a valued team member who helps plan, develop, and maintain information
systems. Analysrs must be exccllenr communicators with st rong analytical and crincal
thinking skills. The y must also be business savvy, technically competent, and be cquall)'
comfortable working with managers and programmers. Throughout the book, real-
world examples emphasize critical thinking and l T skills.
I\1any two· and four-year colleges and schools use this book in information systems
and computer science curriculums. The 12th edition includes expanded coverage of
emerging technologies, such as agile methods, cloud computing, and mobile applica-
tions. Thi!> new marcrial complements the updated treatment of traditional approaches
to systems analysis and design.
Using chi~ book, ~tudents learn how to translate business requirements into informa·
tion systems char support a compan y's strategic objectives. Case srudies and assignments
teach analytical reasoning, critical thinking, and p roblem-solving skills. Numerous proj-
ects, assignments, and end-of-chapter exercises are provided, along with detailed instruc-
tor support material.
One of the most fascinating, and at the same time, the most baffling
problem of the biographer, is to determine just what proportion of
the characteristics of a great man are inherited from his ancestors,
and what proportion take their origin in himself as an individual, to
what degree his personality is merely a resultant or résumé of
various qualities converging from many points into a fresh focus, and
to what degree it is a unique creation, without traceable precedents
or ascertainable causes. It is always possible to concoct a given
character, however striking or unusual, by a judicious selection of
ancestral traits; if we will but search far enough back, any man’s
ancestors will make up quite an adequate representation of the
entire human race, so that each of his qualities need only be
observed, noted, and traced to the particular great-grandfather or
great-great-grandmother who happened to manifest it previously;
and we can thus cleverly explain and label the oddest individual. The
real difficulty is to explain how he happened to inherit just these
qualities and no others, why he is, in a word, just this self instead of
some other self, equally derivable but totally different. This difficulty
has brought the whole subject of heredity into disfavor with some
students; and it is certain that in the present state of our knowledge
the study of the individual must precede and guide the study of his
origins. Nevertheless, there are cases in which the essential qualities
are so unmistakably inherited that the most illuminating way to
approach an individual is through a study of his ancestors.
Such a case is Beethoven’s. A French writer, M. Teodor de Wyzewa,
in a book called “Beethoven et Wagner,” has made so masterly, so
discriminating an analysis of Beethoven’s parents and grandparents,
that no one can read it without a strong conviction of the important
part played by heredity in the formation of this extraordinarily
unique, peculiar, and well-defined character. No man ever existed
who was more intensely individual than Beethoven; yet many of the
traits which in him were so marvelously blended, and which in the
blending produced so novel a flavor, were undoubtedly derived from
earlier, and quite undistinguished, members of his family.
Beethoven’s grandfather, Ludwig van Beethoven, born at Antwerp in
1712, was of an old Flemish family of marked national character. He
early removed to Bonn, the seat of the Elector of Cologne, as a
court-musician, and in 1761 became court music-director, a position
which he held with zeal and ability until his death in 1773. “He was,”
says M. de Wyzewa, “a man of middle stature, sinewy and thick-set,
with strongly-marked features, clear eyes, and an extreme vivacity
of manner. Great energy and a high sense of duty were combined, in
him, with a practical good sense and a dignity of demeanor that
earned for him, in the city he had entered poor and unknown,
universal respect. His musical knowledge and ability were
considerable; and although he was not an original composer, he had
frequently to make arrangements of music for performance by his
choir. He was a man of strong family and patriotic sentiment, and
established in Bonn quite a colony of Flemish, his brother and
cousins.”
Beethoven’s grandmother, on the other hand born Maria-Josepha
Poll, developed early in her married life a passion for drink which
finally obliged her husband to send her to a convent where she
remained, without contact with the family, until her death. It is
probable that this unfortunate tendency was but a symptom of
morbid weakness of the nervous system, beyond the control of her
will—a fact, as we shall see, interesting in its possible bearing or the
interpretation of her grandson’s idiosyncrasies.
In 1740 was born to this ill-assorted couple a son, Johann van
Beethoven, the father of the composer. M. de Wyzewa treats him
summarily: “His character, like his intelligence can be described in
one word—he was a perfect nullity”; adding, however, that he was
not a bad man, as some of the anecdotes regarding his conduct
toward his son seem to indicate:—“He was merely idle, common,
and foolish.” For the rest, he was a tenor singer in the court chapel,
and he passed his leisure in taverns and billiard-rooms.
Beethoven’s mother was a woman of tender sensibilities and
affections, condemned to a life of unhappiness by the worthless
character of her husband. Her whole life was devoted to the
education of her son Ludwig, who wrote of her: “She has been to
me a good and loving mother, and my best friend.” She was of
delicate health, and died of consumption when Beethoven was but
seventeen.
This was the curiously assorted set of ancestors from which
Beethoven seems to have drawn his more prominent traits. If, to
begin with, we eliminate the father, who, as M. de Wyzewa remarks,
was an “absolute nullity,” and “merely the intermediary between his
son and his father, the Flemish music-director,” we shall find that
from the latter, his grandfather, Beethoven derived the foundation of
his sturdy, self-respecting, and independent moral character, that
from his mother he got the emotional sensibility that was so oddly
mingled with it, and that from his afflicted grandmother, Maria-
Josepha Poll, he inherited a weakness of the nervous system, an
irritability and morbid sensitiveness, that gave to his intense
individualism a tinge of the eccentric and the pathological. Without
doubt the most important factor in this heredity was that which
came from the grandfather; and although M. de Wyzewa is perhaps
led by his racial sympathies to assign an undue importance to this
Flemish element, yet what he has to say of it is most suggestive.
Pointing out the obvious fact that purely German composers, as well
as poets and painters, are naturally disposed to vagueness,
sentimentality, and cloudy symbolism, he remarks that nothing of
the sort appears in Beethoven, “whose effort was constantly toward
the most precise and positive expression”; that he eliminated all the
artifices of mere ornament, in the interests of “a rigorous
presentation of infinitely graduated emotions”; and that he
“progressed steadily toward simplification of means combined with
complication of effect.” He shows how Beethoven owed to his
Flemish blood, in the first place, his remarkable accuracy and
delicacy of sensation; in the second place, his wisdom and solid
common sense, his “esprit lucide, raisonable, marchant toujours
droit aux choses necessaires”; in the third place, his largeness of
nature, grandeur of imagination, robust sanity, and heroic joy, justly
likened to similar qualities in Rubens; and finally, his moral
earnestness, that “energy of soul which in his youth sustained him in
the midst of miseries and disappointments of all sorts, and which
later enabled him to persist in his work in spite of sickness, neglect,
and poverty.”
Of Beethoven’s mother M. de Wyzewa says, “Poor Marie-Madeleine,
with her pale complexion and her blonde hair, was not in vain a
woman ‘souffrante et sensible,’ since from her came her son’s faculty
of living in the emotions, of seeing all the world colored with
sentiment and passion.” This emotional tendency, the writer thinks,
the Flemish blood could not have given; and “it was to the unusual
union of this profound German sensibility with the Flemish accuracy
and keenness of mind that Beethoven owed his power to delineate
with extraordinary precision the most intimate and tender
sentiments.” With a final suggestion, tentatively advanced, that the
weaknesses of Beethoven’s character, his changeable humor, his
sudden fits of temper, his unaccountable alternations of gaiety and
discouragement, may have been due to a nervous malady traceable
to the grandmother, Maria-Josepha Poll, this masterly study of
Beethoven’s antecedents, from which, whether we entirely accept its
conclusions or not, we cannot fail to gain illumination, comes to a
close.[37]
Ludwig van Beethoven, the second of seven children of Johann and
Maria-Magdalena Beethoven, was born at Bonn on the Rhine, on
December 16 or 17, 1770. Inheriting the musical talent of his father
and grandfather, he early showed so much ability that his father,
stimulated by the stories of the wondrous precocity of Mozart,
decided to make him into a boy prodigy. Ludwig was put hard at
work, at the age of four, learning to play the piano, the violin, and
the organ, and to compose; and though he had by no means the
facility of Mozart, he progressed so well that at thirteen he was
made “cembalist” [accompanist] in the court band of the Elector of
Cologne, whose seat was at that time in Bonn. The first public
mention of Beethoven occurs in an article entitled “An Account of the
Elector of Cologne’s Chapel at Bonn,” written in 1783, and runs as
follows:
“Ludwig van Beethoven is a promising boy of eleven. [Johann van
Beethoven had evidently trimmed his son’s age to suit his own idea
of what a self-respecting prodigy’s should be.] He plays the piano
with fluency and force, reads well at sight, and has mastered the
greater part of Sebastian Bach’s ‘Well-Tempered Clavichord.’ Any one
acquainted with this collection of Preludes and Fugues in every key
will understand what this means. His teacher has given him
instruction in Thorough Bass, and is now practicing him in
composition. This youthful genius deserves assistance, that he may
be enabled to travel; if he continues as he has begun, he will
certainly become a second Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart.”
The Elector of Cologne seems to have acted upon the suggestion of
the last sentence. In 1786 he sent Beethoven for a short visit to
Vienna, the Mecca of all musicians. Here he had the privilege of
playing before the great Mozart himself, who, becoming deeply
interested in his masterly improvisation, turned to the company with
the remark: “Look after him. He will some day make a great name in
the world.” The visit so auspiciously begun was unfortunately cut
short by the death of Beethoven’s mother, and he returned to Bonn
to assume the responsibilities of his inefficient father in caring for his
brothers and sisters. He now entered on a depressing and long-
continued drudgery of teaching, which he seems to have endured
courageously. His sterling character, as well as his genius, began to
attract the attention of many of the wealthy nobles of Bonn, patrons
of art; so that difficult as was this period of his life, it laid a solid
foundation for his subsequent fortunes.
Ludwig Nohl, in his “Beethoven Depicted by His Contemporaries,”
gives an interesting sketch of Beethoven as he appeared at about
this time to a young lady, afterwards Frau von Barnhard, who met
him at the musical soirées of Prince Lichnowsky and Herr von
Klüpfell. “Beethoven,” says Nohl, “thought so highly of the talents of
this young girl that for several years he sent her regularly a copy of
his new pianoforte compositions, as soon as they were printed.
Unfortunately not one of the friendly or joking little letters, with
which he accompanied his gifts, has been preserved: so many
handsome Russian officers frequented Herr Klüpfell’s that the ugly
Beethoven made no impression on the young lady.
“Herr Klüpfell was very musical, and Beethoven went a great deal to
his house, and often played the piano for hours, but always ‘without
notes.’ To do this was then thought marvelous, and delighted every
one. One day a well-known composer played one of his new
compositions. When he began, Beethoven was sitting on the sofa;
but he soon began to walk about, turn over music at the piano, and
not to pay the least attention to the performance. Herr Klüpfell was
annoyed, and commissioned a friend to tell him that his conduct was
unbecoming, that a young and unknown man ought to show respect
towards a senior composer of merit. From that moment Beethoven
never set foot in Klüpfell’s house.
“Frau von Barnhard has a lively recollection of the young man’s
wayward peculiarities. She says: ‘When he visited us, he generally
put his head in at the door before entering, to see if there were
anyone present he did not like. He was short and insignificant-
looking, with a red face covered with pock marks. His hair was quite
dark. His dress was very common, quite a contrast to the elegant
attire customary in those days, especially in our circles. I remember
quite well how Haydn and Salieri used to sit on the sofa at one side
of the little music-room, both most carefully attired in the former
mode with wigs, shoes, and silk stockings, while Beethoven came
negligently dressed in the freer fashion of the Upper Rhine. Haydn
and Salieri were then famous, while Beethoven excited no interest.
He spoke with a strong provincial accent; his manner of expression
was slightly vulgar; his general bearing showed no signs of culture,
and his behaviour was very unmannerly. He was proud, and I have
known him refuse to play, even when Countess Thun, Prince
Lichnowsky’s mother, a very eccentric woman, had fallen on her
knees before him as he lay on the sofa, to beg him to.’”
This passage gives us a glimpse of the Vienna of the early
nineteenth century, the Vienna of Beethoven’s young manhood; and
it is interesting to note how favorable an environment, on the whole,
this capital of the musical world was for the great composer. If the
middle classes were not yet sufficiently educated in music to support
many public concerts, there was at least among the aristocracy, who
were rich, hospitable, and music-loving, plenty of generous
patronage for rising composers. Many of the noble families
maintained private orchestras, and paid liberally for new
compositions. Haydn, as we have seen, spent most of his life in the
service of the Esterhazys, and Mozart, although without a regular
patron after his rupture with the Archbishop of Salzburg, wrote many
of his works for royal or noble amateurs. Beethoven was even more
generously supported. His removal from Bonn to Vienna, in 1792,
was made at the expense of the Elector of Cologne; and after he
was once settled there he received constant help from Rudolph,
Archduke of Austria, from Princes Lobkowitz, Lichnowsky, and
Kinsky, and from many others. Moreover, profiting much by Haydn’s
and Mozart’s pioneer work in popularizing the higher forms of
secular music, he was able to sell all his works to publishers at good
prices, thereby supplementing his income from patrons. By 1800 his
worldly situation was secure; in that year he wrote to a friend:
“Lichnowsky last year settled 600 florins on me, which, together with
the good sale of my works, enables me to live free from care as to
my maintenance. All that I now write I can dispose of five times
over, and be well paid into the bargain.”
There were, however, in Beethoven’s situation, trying elements
which gravely harassed and handicapped him. In the first place, he
was as unfortunate in his family as he was fortunate in his friends.
In his case, “the closest kin were most unkind.” Even after the death
of his shiftless and drunken father, in 1792, there were still two
brothers, Carl and Johann, who remained throughout his life his evil
geniuses. Almost incredible is their indifference to him, their utter
failure to appreciate his noble nature. When he was prosperous they
borrowed money from him, and even stole jewelry; when he was
poor and neglected they refused him the slightest favors. Carl left to
him the care of his worthless son, who proved the greatest trial of
his life. Johann, by withholding his closed carriage for a necessary
winter journey, directly contributed to the illness that ended in his
death. This utter lack of common sympathy had the most poisonous
effect on his sensitive, affectionate nature. It saddened, depressed,
and embittered him.
A second cruel disadvantage was the malady of deafness which
began to afflict Beethoven in 1798, and by the end of 1801 became
serious. At first there was merely buzzing and singing in the ears;
then came insensibility to tones of high pitch, such as the higher
register of the flute and the overtones in human speech; and finally
such a serious deafness that he had to give up playing in public and
conducting, and to carry on conversation by means of an ear-
trumpet or paper and pencil. Formidable to his musical work as was
such an impediment, it was even more baneful in its effect on his
relations with men, and so upon his disposition. As far as his work
was concerned, it had its compensations, in so far as it increased his
isolation, his concentration on the marvelously complex and subtle
involutions of his musical ideas. It insulated him from distractions,
and freed him to explore with single mind the labyrinths of his
imagination. But on his social and emotional life deafness wrought
sad havoc—all the sadder because the tendencies it reinforced were
already too strong in Beethoven’s intense and proud nature.
Beethoven had, in a peculiar degree, both the merits and the defects
of the individualist. Not even Thoreau was more resolved to follow
only the dictates of his own genius, to find his code of action within,
in the impulses of his own heart and mind, rather than without, in
the conventions, habits, and customs which guide the ordinary man.
Like all idealists, he believed in the beauty and rightness of the
whole world of human feeling, revealed to him by his naïve
consciousness, not trimmed to suit prejudice or partial views of what
is proper and admissible. Gifted with an emotional nature of rare
richness and intensity, and with an intellect capable of dealing
directly with experience on its own account, he lived the life and
thought the thoughts that seemed good to him, quite indifferent to
accepted views which happened to run counter. Thus his sincerity
necessarily led him into an unconventionality, an indifference to
established ways of acting, feeling, and thinking, which, when
circumstances pushed him still further away from the common
human life, easily passed over into morbid eccentricity.
His unconventionality appears in all his actions and opinions, from
the most trivial to the most momentous. Take, for instance, to begin
with, the matter of personal appearance, dress, and demeanor. What
an altogether unusual man it was that Carl Czerny, as a boy of ten,
in 1801, was taken to visit! “We mounted,” says Czerny, “five or six
stories high to Beethoven’s apartment, and were announced by a
rather dirty-looking servant. In a very desolate room, with papers
and articles of dress strewn in all directions, bare walls, a few
chests, hardly a chair except the ricketty one standing by the piano,
there was a party of six or eight people. Beethoven was dressed in a
jacket and trousers of long, dark goat’s hair, which at once reminded
me of the description of Robinson Crusoe I had just been reading.
He had a shock of jet black hair, (cut à la Titus), standing straight
upright. A beard of several days’ growth made his naturally dark face
still blacker. I noticed also, with a child’s quick observation, that he
had cotton wool, which seemed to have been dipped in some yellow
fluid, in both ears. His hands were covered with hair, and the fingers
very broad, especially at the tips.” The oddity in dress observed by
Czerny was habitual with Beethoven. “In the summer of 1813,” says
Schindler, “he had neither a decent coat nor a whole shirt.” His habit
of dabbling his hands in water, while following out a musical
thought, until he was thoroughly wet, cannot have improved his
clothes. Nor did his carriage set them off: he was extremely
awkward with his body—could not dance in time, and generally cut
himself when he shaved, which, however, he did infrequently.
Very marked was his unconventionality in social relations. So
profound was his sense of personal worth and of the fatuity of
arbitrary class-distinctions that no aristocrat ever regarded his birth
and breeding, no plutocrat ever regarded his wealth, with more
intense pride than Beethoven felt in his democratic independence
and self-sufficiency. That was a characteristic answer he made the
court, in one of his numerous lawsuits, when asked if the “van” in
his name indicated nobility. “My nobility,” he said, “is here and
here”—pointing to his head and heart. When he was offered a
Prussian order, as a recognition of his artistic achievements, he
preferred a payment of fifty ducats, and took the opportunity to
express his contempt for some people’s “longing and snapping after
ribands.” When his brother Johann, a stupid but prosperous
worldling, sent him a New Year’s card signed “Johann van
Beethoven, Land-owner,” he returned it with the added inscription:
“Ludwig van Beethoven, Brain-owner.” But this wholesome self-
respect, the result of a faith in himself and a discrimination between
essences and accidents too rare among men, sometimes became
exaggerated by passion into an impatient, egotistical pride less
pleasant to note. When the court just mentioned, for example,
refused, on the ground of his being a commoner, to hear his case,
he was so angry that he threatened to leave the country—a reaction
as childish as it was futile. On receiving, late in life, an honorary
diploma from the Society of Friends of Music in the Austrian Empire,
his impulse was to return it, because he had not been earlier
recognized. Nor was he inclined to forgive readily a fancied slight to
his dignity; he was always getting embroiled with his friends on
account of some insult he read into their conduct. He was indeed too
often the slave, instead of the master, of his own sensitiveness, and
though his point of view as an individualist was higher than that of
the herd, it had its own peculiar limitations. This is clearly illustrated
by the following passage in one of his letters: “Kings and princes can
indeed create professors and privy-councillors, and confer titles and
decorations, but they cannot make great men—spirits that soar
above the base turmoil of this world. When two persons like Goethe
and myself meet, these grandees cannot fail to perceive what such
as we consider great. Yesterday, on our way home, we met the
whole imperial family; we saw them coming some way off, when
Goethe withdrew his arm from mine, in order to stand aside; and
say what I would, I could not prevail on him to make another step in
advance. I pressed down my hat more firmly on my head, buttoned
up my great-coat, and, crossing my arms behind me, I made my
way through the thickest portion of the crowd. Princes and courtiers
formed a lane for me; Archduke Rudolph took off his hat, and the
Empress bowed to me first. These great ones of the earth know me.
To my infinite amusement, I saw the procession defile past Goethe,
who stood aside with his hat off, bowing profoundly. I afterward took
him sharply to task for this.” In the sort of pride manifested by
Beethoven on this occasion, there is an element of the hysterical;
had his sense of humor been applied to himself as well as to his
companion, he would have been “infinitely amused” to behold
himself, with his hat pressed firmly on his head and his great-coat
buttoned up, demanding for the aristocracy of genius that very
servility which he despised when it was shown to the aristocracy of
rank. It was Beethoven himself this time who, misled by an
overweening pride, was hankering after the accident when he
already possessed the essence.
Examined by and large, however, Beethoven does not often
disappoint us by failing to make that distinction between the nucleus
of reality and its swathings and accompaniments, which lay at the
foundation of his greatness. Nowhere were his instinct for the real
and his contempt for the superfluous more active than in his
thoughts on religion, the deepest and most serious topic on which a
man can think. Sturdily ignoring, all his life, the trappings of ritual,
and the narrow preciseness, as it seemed to him, of creeds and
theologies, he as resolutely clung to the essence of religion, the
belief in a universal, inclusive consciousness, and in the importance
to it of right human effort. On the practical side his religion was
eminently positive, efficient, sane; it prompted him to full
development of his genius, without neglect of the responsibilities of
ordinary life. Of the metaphysical side it is a sufficient description to
say that there lay constantly on his desk, copied by his own hand,
these sentences:
“I am that which is.”
“I am all that is, that was, and that shall be. No mortal man has
lifted my veil.”
“He is alone by Himself, and to Him alone do all things owe their
being.”
Combined with the mental originality, the habit of deciding all
questions for himself and as if they had never before received
solutions, which made Beethoven so pronounced a non-conformist in
all matters from his toilet to his religion, was a physical peculiarity
that underlay much of what was grotesque about him. This was the
nervous irritability inherited from his grandmother. His moodiness,
his sudden alternations of depressed and excited states, his bursts of
uncontrollable anger, his wild pranks and practical jokes, were
almost beyond doubt the result of an unstable nervous system. So
restless was he that he was continually changing his lodgings; once
it was because there was not enough sun, again because he disliked
the water, another time because his landlord insisted on making him
deep obeisances; in the later part of his life, when his habits were
well known, he had difficulty in finding rooms anywhere in Vienna.
He put little restraint upon his tongue; Schindler says that “the
propriety of repressing offensive remarks was a thing that never
entered his thoughts.” After hearing a concerto of Ries, he wrote a
furious letter to a musical paper, enjoining Ries no longer to call
himself his pupil. This his friends persuaded him not to send. He was
so impatient that he often took the medicines intended for an entire
day in two doses; so absent-minded that he often forgot them
altogether. A badly cooked stew he threw at the waiter, eggs that
were not fresh at the cook. To a lady who had asked for a lock of his
hair he sent, at the suggestion of a friend, a lock cut from a goat’s
beard; and when the joke was discovered he apologized to the lady,
but cut off all intercourse with the friend. An English observer wrote
that “One unlucky question, one ill-judged piece of advice, was
sufficient to estrange him from you forever.” Even on his best friends
and his patrons, he wreaked his ill-humors. When Prince Lobkowitz,
to whom he owed much, had been so unfortunate as to offend him,
he went into his court-yard, shook his fist at the house, and cried
“Lobkowitz donkey, Lobkowitz donkey.” It is not hard to see why
casual acquaintances, who knew nothing of the noble qualities
behind his stormy and perverse exterior, frequently thought him
mad.
Nor will it be difficult, after this brief summary of Beethoven’s
fundamental traits, to understand the formidable effect that
deafness, coming upon him slowly but relentlessly in early manhood,
when intellectual achievement and social and personal happiness
seemed equally attainable, exercised upon his character. Naturally
self-dependent, deafness made him self-absorbed; naturally proud, it
made him so sensitive to imagined slights, so suspicious of even his
best friends, that he would at times refuse all intercourse with
people; naturally taking keenest joy in intellectual activity, this
physical disability forced him, while gradually renouncing social
pleasures, to throw himself with ever greater concentration and
completer devotion into his work. All these effects of his deafness
are clearly discernible in the letters written about 1800. “I can with
truth say,” he writes in that year, “that my life is very wretched; for
nearly two years past I have avoided all society, because I find it
impossible to say to people, I am deaf!” “Plutarch,” he continues,
“led me to resignation. I shall strive if possible to set Fate at
defiance, although there must be moments in my life when I cannot
fail to be the most unhappy of God’s creatures.... Resignation!—what
a miserable refuge! and yet it is my sole remaining one.” And still
later in the same letter: “I live wholly in my music, and scarcely is
one work finished when another is begun; indeed, I am now often at
work on three or four things at the same time.”
Many such passages occur in the letters of this period, but in none
does the pathetic mingling of almost despairing wretchedness with a
noble courage that will not despair become so striking as in the
remarkable document known as “Beethoven’s Will,” written to his
brothers in the fall of 1802. The summer had been a trying one, and
at the end of it Beethoven, apparently half expecting and a little
desiring death, yet dreading its interruption of his beloved work,
uttered this cry of pain, which deserves to be quoted almost entire:
History and analytic thought alike reveal the fact that the highest
pinnacles of art can be scaled only at those happy moments when
favoring conditions of two distinct kinds happen to coincide. The
artist who is to attain supreme greatness must in the first place have
at his command a type of artistic technique that has already been
developed to the verge of maturity, but that still awaits its complete
efflorescence. As Sir Hubert Parry well says: “Inspiration without
methods and means at its disposal will no more enable a man to
write a symphony than to build a ship or a cathedral.” These means
must be already highly developed, yet not to the point of
exhaustion. If the technique is primitive, no ardor of artistic
enthusiasm can reach through it a full utterance; if all its potencies
have been actualized, no inspiration can reanimate it.
In the second place, the artist so happy as to inherit a technique
ripe but not over-ripe, must also, if he is to attain supreme
greatness, be in unison with the thought and feeling of his age, echo
from the common mind of his fellows a deep, broad, and universal
eloquence, as though all mankind spoke through him as mouthpiece.
He must live in the midst of some great general awakening of the
human spirit, to which he lends voice. Merely personal art can be
interesting, graceful, charming, moving, noble, but it cannot have
the profundity, the breadth, the elevation, which we recognize in the
highest art, such as Greek sculpture, Elizabethan drama, or the
symphonic music we are now studying. “A great man,” says
Emerson, “finds himself in the river of the thoughts and events,
forced onward by the ideas and necessities of his contemporaries.
He stands where all the eyes of men look one way, and their hands
all point in the direction in which he should go. Every master has
found his materials collected, and his power lay in his sympathy with
his people and in his love of the materials he wrought in. Men,
nations, poets, artisans, women, all have worked for him, and he
enters into their labors.”[44]
When Beethoven resolved on his “new path,” his ambition was
favored by the two necessary conditions. That he had at his
command an inherited technique, just brought to the verge of
maturity, we have already seen. And he had furthermore, behind
and below him, as a rich nourishing soil for his genius, a great, new,
common enthusiasm of humanity.
The eighteenth century had been a time of formalism in art and
literature, of rigid conventionality in social life, of paternalism in
politics, and of dogmatic ecclesiastical authority in religion. At its
end, however, all those dim, half-conscious efforts of humanity
towards freer and fuller life which we have indicated under the
general term of idealism, were beginning to reach definiteness and
self-consciousness. Men were beginning to assert deliberately and
openly what they had long been feeling intuitively but insecurely.
They were boldly erasing from their standards the mediæval
formula: “Poverty, celibacy, and obedience,” to write in its place the
modern one: “Life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.” They were
revolting from the tyrannies of Church and State, to proclaim the
sacredness of the individual soul.
It was Beethoven’s high privilege to be the artistic spokesman of this
new, enfranchised humanity. Haydn, as we know, had reflected for
the first time in music the universal interest in all kinds of human
emotion, sacred and profane, that marked the dawn of the new era.
But in his music the emotion remains naïve, impulsive, childlike; it
has not taken on the earnestness, the sense of responsibility, of
manhood. It is still in the spontaneous stage, has not become
deliberate, resolute, purposeful. But with Beethoven childishness is
put away, and the new spirit steps boldly out into the world, aware
of its obligations as well as of its privileges, clear-eyed, sad, and
serious, to live the full yet difficult life of freedom.
The closeness of Beethoven’s relation to the idealistic spirit of his
time is shown equally by two distinct yet supplementary aspects of
his work. As it was characteristic of the idealism which fed him to set
supreme store by human emotion in all its intensity and diversity, so
it is characteristic of his music to voice emotion with a fullness,
poignancy, definiteness, and variety that sharply contrast it with the
more formal decorative music of his forerunners. And as it was
equally characteristic of idealism to recognize the responsibilities of
freedom, to restrain and control all particular emotions in the
interest of a balanced spiritual life, so it was equally characteristic of
Beethoven to hold all his marvelous emotional expressiveness
constantly in subordination to the integral effect of his composition
as a whole, to value plastic beauty even more highly than eloquent
appeal to feeling. In other words, Beethoven the musician is equally
remarkable for two qualities, eloquence of expression and beauty of
form, which in his best works are always held in an exact and firmly
controlled balance. And if we would fully understand his supremacy,
we must perceive not only his achievements in both directions, but
the high artistic power with which he correlates them. Just as the
courage to insist on the rights of the individual, and the wisdom to
recognize and support the rights of others, are the two essentials of
true idealism, so eloquence and beauty are the equal requisites of
genuine art.
So closely interwoven, so mutually reactive, are these twin merits of
expression and form in the great works of Beethoven’s prime—in the
pianoforte sonatas from the Waldstein to Opus 90, in the String
Quartets, Opus 59 and 74, in the fourth and fifth piano concertos
and the unique concerto for violin, in the Overture to “Coriolanus,”
the incidental music to “Egmont,” and the opera, “Fidelio,” in the
Mass in C, and above all in the six great symphonies from the
“Eroica” to the Eighth—that it seems like wanton violence and
falsification to separate them, even for the purposes of study.
Synthesis, at any rate, should go hand in hand with analysis; we
should constantly remember that the various qualities our critical
reagents discern in this music, exist in it not, as in our analysis,
single and detached, but fused and interpenetrative in one artistic
whole. The chemist may find carbon, and hydrogen, and oxygen in
the rose, but a rose is something more, something ineffably more,
than a compound of these chemical elements.
FIGURE XX.