BEETHOVEN: THE LATE PIANO SONATAS 　　 　　It was the celebrated nineteenth-century virtuoso Franz Liszt who introduced these late sonatas to an ever-growing concert-going public. Liszt was also the first artist to present recitals of a more serious nature, frequently devoting an evening to the piano sonatas of the master. As Court Kapellmeister in Weimar, Liszt programmed Beethoven’s Nine Symphonies and later transcribed these for piano solo. His devotion to Beethoven was legendary— not surprising that two of Liszt’s most treasured possessions were Beethoven’s death mask and his Broadwood piano. 　　 　　It is often forgotten that Franz Liszt was also a serious Beethoven scholar. 　　Not confined by the musical conventions of his day and certainly not limited by an academic approach to Beethoven, Liszt was an original thinker. There is an interesting exchange of letters between Liszt and Otto von Lenz discussing the three established periods of Beethoven’s works. Liszt’s response is well worth reading, and his point of view, quite valid. 　　 　　“If it fell to me to categorize the different periods of the great master’s thought, as revealed in the Sonatas, Symphonies, and Quartets, I should not, in all honesty, come to a halt with the now fairly generally adopted division into three styles, which you have followed—but, I should frankly ponder the big question: namely, how far does the traditional or accepted form necessarily determine the manner in which the thought is organized? The solution to this question as it emerges from the works of Beethoven, himself, would lead me to divide those works not into three styles or periods-—but quite logically into two categories: the first, that in which the traditional and agreed form contains and governs the master’s thought; the second, that in which the thought stretches, breaks, recreates, and shapes form and style in accordance with its needs and inspirations. Proceeding thus, we doubtless come straight to those unceasing problems of authority and liberty.” -Franz Liszt 　　 　　Studying the composer’s craft in these late sonatas, Liszt witnessed the liberation of the structure from the restrictions of its classical origins and also observed Beethoven’s expansion of expression as the bridge to Romanticism. Liszt knelt in front of the master and listened and learned! 　　 　　 ************* 　　 　　Each of Beethoven’s late sonatas examines formal issues and provides original solutions. The first movement of the Op. 109 wrestles with the dichotomy of expansion and economy. The last movement’s variations provide contrast as well as an inevitability of statement, perfectly paced and shaped. The final movement of Op. 110 further stretches formal boundaries with its six-part structure and the well-placed fugal episodes that build to the exciting climax of the entire work. In Beethoven’s final piano sonata, Op. 111, boundaries expand even further, challenging the interpretive talents of the performer to make a poignant and spiritual statement. 　　 　　SONATA No. 30 in E Major, Op. 109 (1820) 　　Following the expansiveness and monumental proportions of the Sonata No. 29 in Bb major, Op. 106 (the Hammerklavier) completed in 1819, Beethoven reacted by writing a very short, compact and poignant statement for the opening movement of Op. 109. Boundaries are disguised and formal seams well hidden. Contrast is magnified between the first and second themes— simplicity versus dramatic intensity— diatonic versus diminished sevenths amid lots of improvisation. The development section is concise but driven, and the return of the first theme emerges. The brief movement ends as it began with a sweet but profound simplicity. 　　 　　Immediately we are thrown into another world with the second-movement Scherzo. Its directness contrasts the gentle qualities of the first movement statement— an energetic diversion before the final variation movement. 　　 　　The last movement’s theme and variations provide the dramatic focus of the entire sonata. The simple statement of the theme, sounding like a beautiful hymn from heaven, reflects back to the opening mood of the sonata. Beethoven shows what a master he is at his craft, perfectly pacing these contrasting variations. After presenting the theme, he begins with a vocal aria and then follows with a variation that seems to foretell the pointillism of Webern. Contrasts are bold and dramatic leading up to a wonderful fugue that reintroduces the chorale theme. After the simple statement of its first four measures, Beethoven gradually adds rhythmic variants to the melody. Enhanced by the cumulative effect of additional notes, scales and trills, it builds to a virtuosic climax before returning to its simple but poignant original statement. The movement comes full circle to end as it began—the perfect form—leaving behind a wealth of feelings for us to ponder. 　　 　　As a performer, I am always aware that Beethoven, unlike Liszt or Prokofiev, never writes with the piano in mind. In fact his writing always seems to go beyond what the instrument can do, and that provides the real challenge for the pianist. Yet it is virtuosic, exploiting the technical possibilities of the instrument. I am reminded of the story about the violinist who once complained to Beethoven in a rehearsal, “Maestro, it’s just not possible to do that”— to which Beethoven replied, “When I write music, I do not think of your poor little instrument.” Ditto for the piano! 　　 　　SONATA No. 31 in Ab Major, Op. 110 (1821) 　　We are struck by the humanity and warmth of feeling of the opening movement of the Sonata, Op. 110. This is a gentler, more vulnerable Beethoven. His marking, con amabilitá, accurately describes the sentiment, and everything unfolds graciously according to form. He ventures harmonically into some unexpected terrain in the return section of the movement, always expanding and stretching the parameters, but these wonderfully audacious surprises only contribute to the inner beauty and harmony of this magical movement. 　　 　　A gruff Scherzo with contrasting dynamics and rhythmic syncopations follows; it is direct and to the point and provides a wonderful foil for the heaviness of soul that will be revealed in the final movement. 　　 　　Once again the dramatic and expressive focus is on the final movement, and here is where Beethoven stretches the form as far as it can go. Unusual in its organization— 　　Introduction-Recitative/ Arioso dolente/ Fugue/ Second Arioso/ Second Fugue/ Conclusion— this movement is a tragic lament— a statement from a damaged heart, yet full of pathos and capable of expressing the human condition. 　　 　　An introduction in Bb minor, quite operatic in character, sets the stage for the entry of the Arioso dolente. The constant accompanying sixteenth notes reinforce the lament, and pain and anguish are conveyed. From this first mournful Arioso a simple fugue subject, constructed in ascending fourths, emerges like a phoenix rising from the ashes, gradually gaining in strength and power to climax on the dominant seventh chord of Ab. However Beethoven does not return to the tonic; instead he arrives at G minor and prepares us for the second arioso described as ermattet (exhausted). The touching lament continues but concludes not in the minor mode where it began, but with a glorious succession of major chords that build in intensity in preparation for the second fugue. The second fugue is an inversion of the first, and Beethoven indicates poi a poi di nuovo vivente (gaining new life). Beethoven is a master of counterpoint and this dramatic movement ends with a dazzling display of virtuosity— a bold affirmation of life and its endless possibilities. 　　 　　SONATA No. 32 in C Minor, Op. 111 (1822) 　　With the Op. 111, Beethoven bids a final farewell to the piano sonata. The sonata is now reduced to two movements but what substantial movements they are! Contrasts are extreme—turbulence followed by peaceful serenity— minor giving way to major— earthly pleasures versus heavenly gifts. Naked and exposed, the soul is unveiled and accepts its spiritual destiny. 　　 　　Marked maestoso, the opening one-page introduction sets the stage for the drama that follows. It is a bold statement painted with brilliant colors; a brief calm arrives before the storm erupts and the exposition begins. The pianism and virtuosity are breathtaking— such drive and energy! Beethoven reveals what he can do with just a three-note motive. With the movement’s last measures, the final chapter is prepared. 　　 　　Once again, Beethoven chooses the theme and variations as the vehicle for his final statement. Instead of juxtaposing contrasting material as in Op. 109, Beethoven employs a cumulative effect along with his stream of consciousness narrative. One variation seems to grow naturally out of what preceded it. Perhaps Beethoven is already preparing us for his masterwork set of variations, the Diabelli. 　　 　　What is so striking about this movement is how far Beethoven ventures, not only in terms of the piano writing but also with the musical language and its spiritual message. It’s as if he takes us right to the precipice of the unknown and keeps us suspended there. To achieve the ecstasy he is seeking, the performer must trust completely to accompany him on his journey. 　　 　　Beethoven chooses C major and not C minor as the movement’s tonality, and a purity of expression is conveyed with the major mode, summing up of how he arrived at this level of knowledge and acceptance. He allows us to glimpse the top of the mountain, and after the final C major chord has been heard, leaves us with nothing more to be said. 　　 　　Such a marvelous testimony and blessing for all to receive! 　　 Notes by Barbara Nissman