[music]

Before moving on to the second movement, I want to return to the question of this work’s

influence. As we saw, the first movement resembles the Mendelssohn E major Sonata in way that

is very pronounced, but also superficial. Its connection to Schumann is much less obvious,

but ultimately much more profound. One of Schumann’s largest and greatest solo piano

works, the C major Fantasy, was conceived as an homage to Beethoven, and its first movement

– despite being three times the length of Opus 101’s – also avoids its home key,

C major in this case, until its very last moments. The sense of delayed gratification

is still more remarkable in the Schumann, because in this case it is not only harmonic,

but motivic. The opening of the Fantasy’s first movement presents the movement’s main

idea in a wild, amorphous way.

[music]

This idea comes again in iteration after iteration,

and each time it becomes a bit more in focus, with this

[music]

then turning into this

[music],

and then this

[music],

and then this

[music],

and then finally this, the theme's purest version

– and finally in C major – in the coda.

[music]

The idea of delaying the harmonic arrival

[music]

that comes right out of Opus 101, but this thing of withholding the proper theme does

not. So why am I banging on about it? Because that theme?

[music]

It’s by Beethoven. It's the opening

of the last song of An die Ferne Geliebte.

[music]

The text is “Nimm sie hin den, diese lieder/

die ich dir, Geliebte, sang.” "Take these songs that I sang to

you, beloved.” Schumann’s tribute to Beethoven is both literal – borrowing his theme – and

not – taking Opus 101’s harmonic plan and refashioning it into something totally

original; it is profound, sophisticated, and moving. This is a slightly extreme example,

which hopefully illustrates the extent to which the romantic composers were in Beethoven’s

debt, and often in his shadow.

So, onto the second movement, in which Beethoven immediately – and completely – drops the

hesitation and ambiguity that were the hallmarks of the opening movement. The two movements

are remarkably dissimilar -- the only thing they share, really, is the fact that they

both helped inspire the Schumann Fantasy. This time, the link to the Schumann is an

obvious one: the second movements of both works are marches. Putting a march in the

middle of a piano sonata is a bold and surprising choice: it wasn’t something Beethoven had

done previously. The String Quartet Opus 132 has a march in it, but I can't readily think

of any work written prior to Opus 101 that contains one. The Sonata Opus 26, which we

covered in the “New Paths” lecture, it has a funeral march, but that is a very different

kettle of fish. This inclusion of a brand new type of movement is a further demonstration

of Opus 101’s unique shape.

Now the new element here is not really structural – the march fills the same role that a menuet

or a scherzo might have; the relative length of the sections, the location of the repeats,

the inclusion of a central, contrasting trio – these all make it clear that the march

is standing in for a menuet or scherzo. No, what’s new here is the character. Menuets

are, by and large, courtly pieces: dances. And "scherzo” is Italian for “joke,”

and accordingly, Beethoven scherzos are generally filled with humor. But the march in Opus 101

is neither courtly nor funny: it is vigorous and brash. It doesn't inspire laughter, and

no one would think to dance to it – and anyway it has 4 beats to the bar, rather than

the menuet’s 3.

And while it is shaped like a menuet or scherzo, its role in the larger context of the sonata

is a different one. Whereas menuets and scherzos are almost invariably the shortest movements

in a sonata (or string quartet or symphony, or whatever the piece in question is), this

march is actually a fair bit longer than the first movement, which was a sonata allegro,

no matter how halting or how stripped down. And the march may be emotionally lighter than

the first movement, but in sonority, it’s quite the opposite – whereas the first movement

often seems to be floating, in the march one feels the force of gravity very strongly,

all the way through; this is strong, assertive music. With this movement, the scope of the

piece begins to expand.

So, here is the march’s opening.

[music]

It has all the harmonic certainty that the first movement lacks.

Already, with that opening chord, we have a landing, an announcement of a key

[music]

– the rather distant F major, as it happens. In the entirety of the first movement, there

is no moment in which a key, any key, is established with such certainty and force. To me, these

opening chords always sound like Beethoven saying “Snap out of it!” after the reveries

of the first movement.

In addition to the harmonic stability – or, rather, harmonic solidity – the other area

in which this movement is so strikingly different from the preceding one is, again, its sonority.

It is defiantly hard-edged, rather than soft-grained.

In fact, there are moments at which it verges

on ugliness. Certainly, beauty is not on Beethoven’s agenda here. The voice leading is often gnarled,

thorny, and that is the source of much of the music’s character.

[music]

Those half-steps

[music],

they give the music a toughness which add a great deal to its character. When you

hear the word “march,” you most likely imagine something very simple, or even simplistic

– forceful, proud, and probably not much else. Beethoven’s March has far more contrapuntal

complexity than that, and therefore more emotional complexity. But “pretty” it isn’t.

After that very brief opening section, we get this

[music].

That A major octave [music]

arrives like a thunderclap. The presence of A major in this movement isn’t particularly

surprising – it is the mediant of F major, after all.

[music]

But Beethoven marks it fortissimo

– the first fortissimo in the movement – and then adds a strong forte piano

accent to it. The “forte piano” means that after the accent,

we drop immediately down to piano.

[music]

The message is: we are not to miss it. I am convinced that this

is less about what the moment means in the context of the movement, and more about what

it means in the context of the work at large: It may be in the wrong movement, but this

is the sonata’s first real affirmation of its home key, A major.

Bit by bit, the piece is coming into focus.

The other thing that is coming into focus here is the contrapuntal essence of the work.

There were certainly hints of it in the first movement.

[music]

But it really kicks up a gear in this movement.

While it isn't actually fugal, at any given moment, there are at least

two fully-fledged voices interacting, and sometimes battling.

[music]

Given that counterpoint is going to become absolutely

central in the coming movement, this represents an important development.

Just as the length and scope of the movements is steadily increasing, so

too is the emphasis on the interaction of the voices. However moving and inventive the

first movement is, it’s as if the piece finds its essence only gradually.

2nd Mvt.: March!

Exploring Beethoven’s Piano Sonatas

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