Ludwig
van Beethoven (1770–1827)
Violin Sonata No. 1 in D major op. 12/1
Violin Sonata No. 3 in E flat major op. 12/3
Violin Sonata No. 2 in A major op. 12/2
Violin Sonata No. 5 in F major ‘Frühlingssonate’ op. 24
All but one of Beethoven’s ten numbered violin sonatas –
strictly, sonatas ‘for piano and violin’ – were written between 1797 and 1803,
when the ‘Kreutzer’ op. 47 was composed, the sole exception being the final G
major Sonata op. 96, composed in 1812. The four sonatas heard in this programme
originate from a shorter period still, 1797 to 1801, only the ‘Spring’ Sonata
op. 24 postdating the composer’s First Symphony. In the conventional typology,
then, these are all ‘early’ works, though that need not lessen their stature.
Voice,
temperament and ambition
The three op. 12 sonatas, dedicated as a set to Antonio
Salieri, were not in fact Beethoven’s first works for violin and piano. He had
already written a fragmentary work in A major at the beginning of the 1790s,
though what we have amounts to about four minutes’ worth at most. More
importantly, we have a subsequent set of variations on Mozart’s ‘Se vuol
ballare’ from Le nozze di Figaro, a
Rondo in G major and Six German Dances. The sonatas, however, were works on a
different scale, clearly with roots in earlier music, above all that of Mozart,
and yet equally clearly works of the younger composer. Denis Matthews
summarized this first, op.12 set: ‘Unlike the continuo sonatas of the Baroque
period, with Bach as a notable exception, the sharing of interest was now a
first essential, though Beethoven’s textures were already more robust and less
delicately poised than Mozart’s, and the scent of battle never far away’. There
is doubtless a role played here by the swift pace of technological development,
especially with respect to the piano, Beethoven stretching his Stein
instruments to the limit and perhaps beyond; more decisive still, however,
would be Beethoven’s personal voice, temperament and ambition.
Allegro con brio is an assuredly Beethovenian marking,
assigned to the first movement of the First Sonata in D major. ‘Brio’ there is
certainly to be heard from the outset. Unison D major arpeggios in both parts
are emphatically insisted upon, briefly continued in ‘accompaniment’ role by
the piano, primacy soon alternating or co-existing between parts. We may notice
even at this early stage a formal dynamism particular to Beethoven; within the
bounds of the forms he had inherited, there is nevertheless a sense, if not so
strong in every case, of continuous development, most notable of all in
transitions. Boundaries between first and second subjects – if a relatively
old-fashioned formulation may be permitted – are by no means always clearcut
and Beethoven’s contrapuntal combination of themes complicates the matter
further. ‘Learned, learned, always learned, no naturalness, no melody’, claimed
the Allgemeine musikalische Zeitung;
for all that we may disagree, it was probably such practice, also disdained by
many critics and audiences in late Mozart, which elicited such a response.
Moreover, for all the talk one sometimes hears of Schubert’s different,
tripartite path, provocatively diverging from Beethoven’s binary dialectics,
the evidence here suggests otherwise; for neither composer is form a formula.
So-called subsidiary themes will often, as here, receive developmental
treatment in the ‘development’ section proper, relatively brief though that may
be in this instance.
The second movement, in A major, is a set of variations.
Again Mozart seems to be the starting point, but few would confuse the two
composers, a common if far from identical lyricism notwithstanding. The move to
the tonic minor in the third variation, while also common practice in the
variation forms of Mozart, Haydn and other Classical composers, has a vehemence
that is characteristically Beethoven’s. Likewise the sforzandi in the compound
duple time Finale, which might otherwise be heard with post-Mozartian ‘hunting’
ears. Likewise also the tonal distancing of the episode that opens in F major;
it parallels, far from coincidentally, a similar move in the first movement.
For there is a delight in surprising the listener here, a delight which owes
more than a little to Haydn, but which again never quite sounds ‘like’ that of
Beethoven’s teacher.
The E flat major Sonata, the third of the op. 12 set, also
opens with the fundamental building block of a tonic arpeggio. Extrovert
ebullience in the piano part – this is a splendid key for pianistic display –
meets not with violin accompaniment but with an instrument which, again to
quote Matthews, ‘reinforces the opening phrases’. So involved does the game of
catch-up become in this delightfully playful movement, both instruments urging
each other on to new deeds, that one quite loses sight or care of which has
‘priority’, sure enough evidence that the question is not the right one to ask.
Syncopations, a Beethoven trademark, add further to a sense of dislocation that
is not disconcerting but delightful and a sense of slight tipsiness,
instrumental hiccoughs and all, is far from unwelcome. We trip up, too, sent
down blind tonal alleys, only to be told abruptly, yet in good humour, that the
joke is on us: a Haydnesque practice put to new ends. The slow movement is the
first Adagio in Beethoven’s series, con
molto espressione. As that might suggest, this C major movement is very
much the emotional core of the work, its aria style certainly suggestive of
Mozart, but far from interchangeable. Interestingly the tonal relationship of
the movement to the whole is the same as that of the E flat major Piano Sonata
op. 7. The closing Rondo is closer to Haydn in character, perhaps even with a
hint of the ‘Hungarian’ side of that composer’s music. High spirits are
generally though not entirely unalloyed, yet they never pall.
In between these two works comes the A major Sonata. Its
first movement is of different character – more affable, wittier – its compound
duple metre perhaps more often found in a finale. The piano finds itself a
little more often in an ‘accompanying’ role, though there is still a great deal
of friendly give-and-take. Perhaps Mozart’s A major Violin Sonata K. 526, its
opening movement also in compound duple time, offers something of a model, but
here, perhaps surprisingly, it is Beethoven’s mood that is lighter. That should
not, however, be taken to imply any lack of purpose; the derivation of so much
material from an opening two-note tag binds together the movement at least as
closely as any other heard this evening. A songful, almost Schubertian slow
movement ensues in the tonic minor, its tender longing in context quite
disarming. Chromaticism tends to be melodic rather than harmonic, yet offers
just the right degree of pathos. The Finale marks something of a return to the good-natured
opening, Allegro piacevole denoting pleasure rather than fire. It too is in
rondo form, a fine equilibrium struck between the variation of its episodes and
the welcome return of the principal theme, though Beethoven’s move to the close
also benefits from an element of modulatory surprise. While it is difficult for
us to imagine to what negative contemporary observations concerning ‘forced
modulations’ and ‘hostile entanglements’ in these three sonatas might have
referred, perhaps it was to those very aspects which delight us and which
distinguish Beethoven from his models.
Nature
and beyond
Beethoven wrote two sonatas in 1800 and 1801, op. 23 in A
minor and the ever-popular – it is tempting to reach for the clichéd
‘evergreen’ – ‘Spring’ Sonata in F major op. 24. Both works were dedicated to
the composer’s Viennese patron, the banker and art collector Count Moritz von
Fries (also the dedicatee of the C major String Quintet and the Seventh
Symphony). For all the virtues of the op. 12 set, these two sonatas signal an
advance in technical and emotional means, a greater ease with the form and thus
the prospect of expanding its possibilities. In short, they offer more than
occasional intimations of the composer’s ‘middle period’. Although it would be
perverse to quarrel with the nickname of the ‘Spring’ Sonata, there are
certainly sterner moments to this vernal work. Yes, the opening lyricism is
touching in a fashion that can hardly but recall Mozart, yet the transition to
the second group – note that once again we are thinking of transition – and
much of the development have the listener sit up and notice; the landscape does
not always gently undulate and, generally, sunny climes are not without their
clouds. That said, it is difficult not to hear intimations of the ‘Pastoral’
Symphony’s birdsong in the B flat major Adagio alongside a continuation, even
sublimation of the serenity of much of the first movement. Communion with nature,
and perhaps with something beyond, seems unarguably to be the point here.
Melodic elaboration, sometimes on one instrument, sometimes on the other,
sometimes simultaneous, offers an ethereal and yet ‘pastoral’ sense of
heightened magic, without disruption to the movement’s flow. This rather
enhances that general progress, approaching, perhaps even attaining the
sublimity we associate with ‘middle period’ Beethoven. Again, the Sixth
Symphony in particular comes to mind.
We nearly did not have the Scherzo at all, or at least not
as it now stands. Beethoven’s initial conception of it was as a minuet, prior
not only to its speeding up but also to the introduction of its madcap
syncopations. Its brevity is striking; so is the sense of violin and piano
sparking ideas off and inciting one another. Moreover, the composer considered
omitting it, perhaps unsure as to whether the form required the full complement
of four movements. Its welcome injection of kinetic energy, of a febrile
intensity we more readily associate with late Beethoven, even with Bartók and
Webern, would be sorely missed. At any rate, it fits perfectly between the slow
movement and the post-Mozartian Rondo with which the Sonata concludes. The
sheer generosity of melodic profusion has much in common with Beethoven’s greatest
predecessor in the form and stands as a contrast to Beethoven’s more typical
practice. A darker side offers ample dramatic contrast – the minor mode is more
prevalent than this Sonata’s reputation might suggest – but not so as to detract
from what, qualifications aside, remains one of Beethoven’s sunniest
collaborative creations.
