Analyzing Tension and Drama in Beethoven’s First-Movement Sonata Forms

by

Mark C. Richards

A thesis submitted in conformity with the requirements

for the degree of Doctor of Philosophy

Graduate Department of Music

University of Toronto

© Copyright by Mark C. Richards (2011)

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Abstract

“Analyzing Tension and Drama in Beethoven’s First-Movement Sonata Forms”

Mark Christopher Richards Doctor of Philosophy (2011)

Graduate Department of Music University of Toronto

Dramatic, in the sense of “highly intense,” is a quality we often associate with the music

of Beethoven, but no theory has attempted to define drama in any systematic manner. This study

therefore explores the idea by constructing a theory that distinguishes between dramatic and non-

dramatic passages. At the core of the theory is the notion that drama is the result of several types

of tension occurring simultaneously. Dramatic passages have a “High” tension level, whereas

non-dramatic ones have a “Low” level. Individual tension types are divided into two categories:

rhetorical and syntactical. Rhetorical tension types include such features as a loud dynamic, a

fast rhythm, and a thick texture, which need no musical context to be expressed. By contrast,

syntactical tension types include such features as chromaticism, metric irregularity, and phrase

expansion, which always require a comparison of events to be expressed. Only tension types

from the same category may combine to form drama.

Because this study examines the relationships between drama and sonata form, the

analysis of form is a key issue that receives a separate chapter and additional thought throughout.

The methodology combines aspects of William E. Caplin’s theory of formal functions and James

Hepokoski and Warren Darcy’s Sonata Theory, and is applied to all of Beethoven’s first-

movement sonata forms, a total of eighty-seven movements. Each formal unit is analyzed as one

of six dramatic “archetypes” that describe a basic outline of High and/or Low tension levels.

These archetypes constitute the dramatic structure of the piece.

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Percentage frequencies of the archetypes were calculated for each formal unit in the

movements as a whole, and as grouped by the categories of key, mode, genre, and style period.

The greatest distinctions in dramatic structure occur among the three style periods of early,

middle, and late, the early works showing a sectional approach with contrasting tension between

phrases and the middle to late works gradually becoming more continuous, maintaining the same

tension levels between units. A concluding analysis of Beethoven’s String Trio, op. 3,

demonstrates the theory’s ability to enrich the interpretation of an individual work.

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Acknowledgements There are many people I would like to thank for their invaluable assistance in the writing

of this dissertation. From my very first ideas to the final draft, my advisor, Prof. Ryan

McClelland, was a constant source of helpful guidance as he provided thoughtful and intelligent

responses to my work and always knew how to increase the effectiveness of my arguments. In

his written feedback, his wonderful thoroughness and attention to detail, no matter how small,

were an enormous asset, especially in verifying the copious numerical data on which I based so

many of my observations.

I am also indebted to the members of my committee, Profs. Robin Elliott and Mary Ann

Parker, for taking the time to read through the drafts and provide essential and insightful

comments that helped to strengthen the conceptual framework of the theory and enhance the

clarity of the text. Moreover, I am very grateful for their constant enthusiasm and positive

support in researching this little explored area of music theory.

Many thanks to Prof. Mark Sallmen for reading the final draft and taking part in my

doctoral defense. His keen skills as a theorist caught some analytical errors at important points.

A debt of gratitude is also owed to Prof. Scott Burnham, whose extremely gracious

remarks for the defense, both written and verbal, were most encouraging and especially helped

me to understand how I might further pursue the ideas presented in this dissertation.

I would like to thank my parents, whose encouragement in all of my musical endeavours

have inspired me to pursue my love of music to its fullest.

Finally, my beloved wife Natasha deserves enormous thanks for her continual willingness

to help me sort through the many conceptual roadblocks I met while writing this dissertation, and

for her infinite patience and tireless support throughout my entire graduate education.

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Table of Contents Introduction......................................................................................................................... 1

I. What is Drama?: Defining Types of Tension........................................................ 2 II. Background

i) Caplin: Formal Functions.......................................................................... 6 ii) Hepokoski and Darcy: Sonata Theory...................................................... 9 iii) Other Important Sources.......................................................................... 12

III. The Theory of Dramatic Structure...................................................................... 13 IV. Limitations and Aims of the Study..................................................................... 15

Part 1: The Analysis of Dramatic Structure Chapter 1: The Analysis of Musical Form........................................................................ 18

I. Determining the Type of Sonata Form.................................................................. 18 II. Large-Scale Analysis: Breaking the Form Down into Sections and Zones......... 20 III. Small-Scale Analysis: Breaking the Large Sections Down into Themes, Theme-like Units and Other Smaller Structures

i) Thematic Areas of Sonata Form (P and S)................................................ 22 a) Sentence........................................................................................ 25

b) Period............................................................................................ 29 c) Caplin’s Hybrid Themes............................................................... 30 d) Other Hybrid Themes.................................................................... 33

e) Cadence Types............................................................................... 34 f) Framing Functions: Introductions and Post-Cadential Functions.. 40 g) Other Small-Scale Functions: Retransition, Transition, and Expansion................................................................................ 42

ii) Non-Thematic Areas of Sonata Form a) Theme-Like Units......................................................................... 45 b) Slow Introductions........................................................................ 46 c) Transitions..................................................................................... 47 d) Developments............................................................................... 49 e) Codas............................................................................................ 50

Chapter 2: The Analysis of Musical Tension and Drama............................................... 52

I. Rhetorical and Syntactical Tension........................................................................ 52 i) Rhetorical Tension Types

a) Dynamic Tension........................................................................... 54 b) Rhythmic Tension.......................................................................... 58 c) Melodic Tension............................................................................ 61 d) Harmonic Tension......................................................................... 63 e) Textural Tension........................................................................... 64 f) Thickness Tension......................................................................... 65 g) Timbral Tension............................................................................ 67

ii) Syntactical Tension Types a) Tonal Tension................................................................................ 71 b) Metric Tension............................................................................... 73

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c) Expansional Tension..................................................................... 76 d) Accelerative Tension..................................................................... 79 e) Closural Tension........................................................................... 81 f) Implicational Tension.................................................................... 83

II. How Tension Types Combine to Create Drama................................................... 84 i) Rhetorical Drama....................................................................................... 84 ii) Syntactical Drama..................................................................................... 92 iii) Units of Dramatic Structure..................................................................... 97 Part 2: Dramatic Structures in Beethoven’s First-Movement Type 3 Sonata Forms Introduction to Chapter 3

I. Archetypes of Dramatic Structure.......................................................................... 109 II. Patterns in Dramatic Structure.............................................................................. 114

Chapter 3: The Exposition.................................................................................................. 118 I. The Primary-Theme Zone (P)................................................................................. 118 II. The Transition Zone (TR)..................................................................................... 133 III. The Secondary-Theme Zone (S).......................................................................... 150 IV. The Closing Section (CL).................................................................................... 173

Chapter 4: The Development.............................................................................................. 190 I. Zone 1 (D1)............................................................................................................. 191 II. Zone 2 (D2)........................................................................................................... 196

III. Zone 3 (D3).......................................................................................................... 201 i) Single-Module D3-Zones........................................................................... 204 ii) Two-Module D3-Zones............................................................................. 209

iii) Three- and Four-Module D3-Zones......................................................... 217 IV. Zone 4 (D4).......................................................................................................... 218

Chapter 5: The Recapitulation........................................................................................... 229

I. The Primary-Theme Zone (P)................................................................................ 235 II. The Transition Zone (TR)..................................................................................... 243 III. The Secondary-Theme Zone (S)......................................................................... 250 IV. The Closing Section (CL)................................................................................... 252

Chapter 6: The Coda and Slow Introduction................................................................... 260

I. The Coda............................................................................................................... 261 i) Beethoven’s Codas: General Features....................................................... 271

ii) Zones 1 and 2 (Z1 and Z2)........................................................................ 273 iii) Zone 3 (Z3).............................................................................................. 275

II. The Slow Introduction......................................................................................... 282 i) Beethoven’s Slow Introductions: General Features.................................. 284 ii) Zone 1 (I1)................................................................................................ 285 iii) Zone 2 (I2)............................................................................................... 287 iv) Zone 3 (I3)............................................................................................... 292

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Chapter 7: Epilogue I. Summary and Conclusions..................................................................................... 297

II. Dramatic Structure in Beethoven’s String Trio in E-Flat Major, op. 3................ 308 Bibliography......................................................................................................................... 326 Appendix A – Beethoven’s Eighty-Seven Published Works with First Movements in

Type 3 Sonata Form, and Their Date of Composition, Style Period, and Key........ 334 Appendix B – Dramatic Analysis of All Eighty-Seven of Beethoven’s First-Movement

Type 3 Sonata Forms................................................................................................ 336

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List of Tables Introduction Table 1 – Types of Tension................................................................................................... 14 Chapter 1 Table 1.1 – Formal Functions for the Analysis of Themes................................................... 24 Table 1.2 – Caplin’s Hybrid Themes.................................................................................... 33 Table 1.3 – Other Hybrid Themes......................................................................................... 34 Chapter 2 Table 2.1 – Rhetorical Tension Types and Their Definitions............................................... 54 Table 2.2 – Syntactical Tension Types and Their Definitions.............................................. 54 Table 2.3 – Timbral Tension Threshold Pitches for Instruments of Beethoven’s Era.......... 70 Table 2.4 – Dramatic Structure in P and TR of Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony Exposition... 108 Introduction to Chapter 3 Table 3.1 – The Six Archetypes of Dramatic Structure........................................................ 113 Chapter 3 Table 3.2 – Archetypes in P1.0.............................................................................................. 119 Table 3.3 – Archetypes in P1................................................................................................ 121 Table 3.4 – High Endings to TR by TR Type........................................................................ 134 Table 3.5 – High Endings to Modulating TRs by Style Period............................................ 136 Table 3.6 – High Endings to TR Part 1 in Two-Part TRs by Style Period........................... 148 Table 3.7 – High Endings to TR Part 2 in Two-Part TRs by Style Period........................... 148 Table 3.8 – High Endings to S-Themes in the Early Period................................................. 157 Table 3.9 – High Endings to S-Themes in the Middle Period.............................................. 158 Table 3.10 – High Endings to S-Themes in the Late Period................................................. 158 Table 3.11 – Archetypes in Single-Codetta CLs by Style Period......................................... 175 Table 3.12 – Tension Between End of S and Start of Single-Codetta CL by Style Period.. 180 Table 3.13 – High Endings to CL by Style Period............................................................... 184 Table 3.14 – High Endings to P, TR, S, and CL by Style Period......................................... 184 Table 3.15 – Tension Between RT1 and First Module of an Expositional Repeat by Style

Period........................................................................................................................ 187 Table 3.16 – Tension Between RT2 and First Module of Development by Style Period..... 187 Table 3.17 – Tension Between Last Module of Exposition Proper (S or CL) and First

Module of Development by Style Period.................................................................. 187 Chapter 4 Table 4.1 – L Archetype in D1 by Style Period.................................................................... 196 Table 4.2 – Low-Low Connections into D1 by Style Period................................................ 196 Table 4.3 – Tension Between Single-Module D2-zones and Following Zone by Style

Period....................................................................................................................... 199 Table 4.4 – Comparison of Tension Between Modules Within Two-Module D2-Zones

and Between Two-Module D2-Zones and Following Zone by Style Period............ 200

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Table 4.5 – High Endings to D3 by Style Period.................................................................. 204 Table 4.6 - Percentages of D3-Zones with One to Four Modules by Style Period............... 204 Table 4.7 – Archetypes in Single-Module D3-Zones by Style Period.................................. 205 Table 4.8 – Tension Between Single-Module D3-Zones and Surrounding Modules by

Style Period............................................................................................................... 208 Table 4.9 – Three- and Four-Module D3-Zones Ending with a High Dramatic Unit by

Style Period............................................................................................................... 218 Table 4.10 – Frequencies of D4 and TRSod by Style Period.................................................. 220 Table 4.11 – Archetypes in D4.1 by Style Period (Single-Module and First Module of

Two-Module Zones)................................................................................................. 221 Table 4.12 – Tension Between End of D3 (or D2) and Beginning of D4 by Style Period.... 221 Table 4.13 – High Endings to D4 by Style Period................................................................ 223 Table 4.14 – Tension Between End of Development and Beginning of Recapitulation by

Style Period............................................................................................................... 223 Table 4.15 – Frequencies of Dramatic “Strategies” (Types of Drama Present) in High

Units at the End of Development Sections by Style Period..................................... 224 Chapter 5 Table 5.1 – Comparison of Archetype Frequencies in P1.0.................................................. 237 Table 5.2 – Comparison of Archetype Frequencies in P1.................................................... 237 Table 5.3 – Frequency of Dramatic Returns at Recapitulations (Compared to Low Starts

to Exposition) by Style Period.................................................................................. 240 Table 5.4 – Comparison of Archetypes at End of P-Zone Between Exposition and

Recapitulation in Works that Omit Post-Cadential-P or P2 in Recapitulation.......... 241 Table 5.5 – Comparison of Archetypes at End of P-Zone Between Exposition and

Recapitulation in Works that Retain Post-Cadential-P or P2 in Recapitulation........ 243 Table 5.6 – Frequencies of Recapitulated TRs that Begin With Correspondence or

Referential Measures by TR Type............................................................................ 247 Table 5.7 – S-Zone Alterations in Beethoven’s Recapitulations.......................................... 251 Table 5.8 – Frequency of Retained Modules and Archetypes in Recapitulation’s CL........ 253 Table 5.9 – Comparison of High Endings to CL in Exposition and Recapitulation by

Style Period............................................................................................................... 253 Table 5.10 – Archetypes of CL Module from Exposition that is Omitted in

Recapitulation, and Its Replacement Archetype in Coda......................................... 254 Table 5.11 – Frequencies of RT2 in the Recapitulation (of Works with a Coda) by Style

Period........................................................................................................................ 257 Chapter 6 Table 6.1 – Frequency of a Coda by Style Period................................................................ 272 Table 6.2 – Number of Modules in Coda by Style Period.................................................... 272 Table 6.3 – Tension Between Modules into Z1 by Style Period........................................... 274 Table 6.4 – Frequency of Z2 by Style Period........................................................................ 274 Table 6.5 – Initial Tension Levels in Z3 by Style Period...................................................... 276 Table 6.6 – Tension Between End of Recapitulation Proper and Coda Beginning with Z3

by Style Period.......................................................................................................... 276 Table 6.7 – Number of Modules in Z3 by Style Period........................................................ 277

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Table 6.8 – Tension at End of Z3 and End of Movement by Style Period........................... 277 Table 6.9 – Low Movement Ends in the Major and Minor Mode by Style Period.............. 282 Table 6.10 – Comparison of High Starts to I1 and to First Module of I by Style Period..... 286 Table 6.11 – Archetypes in Last Module of I2..................................................................... 289 Table 6.12 – Frequency of I3 by Style Period...................................................................... 293 Table 6.13 – Frequency of Slow Introductions that End High by Style Period................... 294 Table 6.14 – Tension Between Modules from Slow Introduction into First P Module by

Style Period............................................................................................................... 294

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List of Examples Unless otherwise noted, all references are to first movements and, from chapter 2 onward, to works by Beethoven. Chapter 1 Example 1.1 – A Sentence Within a Period Theme; Mozart, Piano Sonata in A Major,

K. 331, mm. 1-8........................................................................................................ 26 Example 1.2 – Three Types of Sentence

a) Monofold Sentence; Mozart, Piano Sonata in E-Flat Major, K. 282, mm. 1-4.... 28 b) Trifold Sentence; Haydn, String Quartet in C Major, op. 50, no. 2, mm. 1-9...... 28 c) Quadrifold Sentence; Beethoven, Piano Sonata in E-flat Major, op. 7, mm. 273-280......................................................................................................... 28

Example 1.3 – Large-Scale Basic Ideas a) Structured as a Sentence and Supported by a Dominant Prolongation; Beethoven, Piano Sonata in D Minor, op. 31, no. 2, “Tempest”, mm. 41-49...... 31 b) Larger than Four Measures; Beethoven, Piano Sonata in D Major, op. 28, “Pastoral”, mm. 1-39............................................................................................ 32

Example 1.4 – Cadential Function as Determined by the Start of a Melodic Event (Along with Harmony and Location) a) Cadence Beginning Before (and with Embellishment of) the Initial Tonic Harmony; Mozart, Piano Sonata in B-flat Major, K. 333, mm. 1-10................... 37 b) Cadence Beginning After the Initial Tonic Harmony; Haydn, Piano Sonata in A Major, Hob. XVI: 12, II, mm. 1-10................................................................... 37 c) Cadence Beginning After the Predominant Harmony; Beethoven, Piano Sonata in A Major, op. 2, no. 2, IV, mm. 5-8................................................................... 38

Example 1.5 – A Separated PAC; Beethoven, Piano Sonata in C Minor, op. 111, mm. 34-35................................................................................................................. 40

Example 1.6 – A Transition Function; Beethoven, Piano Sonata in E-flat Major, op. 7, mm. 181-190............................................................................................................. 43

Example 1.7 – Expansion Functions a) Beethoven, Cello Sonata in F Major, op. 5, no. 1, mm. 132-137......................... 44 b) Beethoven, String Trio, op. 3, mm. 63-83............................................................ 45

Chapter 2 Example 2.1 – Different Types of Elision a) Left Elision by a Loud Dynamic, Piano Sonata in B-Flat Major, op. 22,

mm. 58-63............................................................................................................. 57 b) Left Elision by a Soft Dynamic, Violin Sonata in A Minor, op. 23, mm. 50-55.. 57 c) Left Elision with a Crescendo Preparing a Loud Dynamic, Cello Sonata in D Major, op. 102, no. 1, mm. 8-14........................................................................ 57 d) Right Elision by a Loud Dynamic, Piano Sonata in E-Flat Major, op. 7, mm. 29-35............................................................................................................. 58

Example 2.2 – Bass Pedal Points and Harmonic Acceleration; Piano Sonata in C Minor, op. 13, “Pathétique”, mm. 11-19.............................................................................. 81

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Example 2.3 – Passages Containing One Type of Rhetorical Tension a) Dynamic Tension (Horn Sonata in F Major, op. 17, mm. 1-4); not Dramatic..... 85 b) Rhythmic Tension (Violin Sonata in E-flat Major, op. 12, no. 3, mm. 13-16); not Dramatic......................................................................................................... 85 c) Melodic Tension (Piano Sonata in F Minor, op. 2, no. 1, mm. 1-2); not Dramatic............................................................................................................... 86

Example 2.4 – Rhetorical Tension and Drama a) Not Dramatic; Only Rhythmic Tension (Piano Sonata in G Major, op. 31, no. 1, mm. 1-3)..................................................................................................... 86 b) Dramatic; Rhythmic and Dynamic Tension (mm. 194-196)............................... 86

Example 2.5 – Dramatic Combinations of Dynamic Tension and Other Rhetorical Types a) Dynamic and Thickness Tension (Piano Sonata in C Minor, op. 10, no. 1, mm. 1-4)............................................................................................................... 87 b) Dynamic and Timbral Tension (Piano Sonata in E-Flat Major, op. 31, no. 3, mm. 39-46)........................................................................................................... 88

Example 2.6 – Dramatic Combinations of Dynamic Tension and Multiple Other Rhetorical Types (Piano Sonata in E-flat Major, op. 7, mm. 355-359)................... 88

Example 2.7 – Combinations of Rhetorical Tension Types without Dynamic Tension a) Rhythmic and Melodic Tension; not Dramatic (Piano Sonata in A Major, op. 2, no. 2, IV, mm. 1-2)..................................................................................... 89 b) Rhythmic and Timbral Tension; not Dramatic (Piano Sonata in A-flat Major, op. 110, mm. 12-13)............................................................................................. 89

Example 2.8 – Rhythmic, Melodic, and Timbral Tension; Dramatic (Piano Sonata in C Minor, op. 13, “Pathétique”, mm. 11-14)............................................................. 89

Example 2.9 – Rhetorical Drama from Parallelism (String Trio in E-Flat Major, op. 3, mm. 1-6).................................................................................................................... 91

Example 2.10 – Accelerative Tension Only; not Dramatic (Piano Sonata in G Major, op. 14, no. 2, mm. 1-8).............................................................................................. 92

Example 2.11 – Tonal Tension Only; not Dramatic (Piano Sonata in C Major, op. 53, “Waldstein”, mm. 1-8).............................................................................................. 93

Example 2.12 – Non-Dramatic Combinations of Syntactical Tension Types a) Tonal and Accelerative Tension (Piano Sonata in E-flat Major, op. 7, mm. 221-229)........................................................................................................ 93 b) Expansional and Implicational Tension (op. 7, mm. 213-219)............................ 94

Example 2.13 – Dramatic Combinations of Syntactical Tension a) Tonal, Expansional, and Implicational Tension (op. 7, mm. 81-93).................... 96

b) Tonal, Metric, Expansional, and Accelerative Tension (Eroica Symphony, mm. 3-11).............................................................................................................. 96

Example 2.14 – Two Tension Types in Each Category; not Dramatic (String Quartet in C Minor, op. 18, no. 4, mm. 33-41).......................................................................... 97

Example 2.15 – P and TR of the Fifth Symphony, mm. 1-62.............................................. 99 Introduction to Chapter 3 Example 3.1 – Dramatic Structure in the Piano Sonata in C Minor, op. 10, no. 1,

mm. 1-22................................................................................................................... 114

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Chapter 3 Example 3.2 – LH Archetype in P1 of First Symphony, mm. 13-33.................................... 124 Example 3.3 – LHL Archetype in P1 of the Piano Sonata in F-Sharp Major, op. 78,

mm. 4-12................................................................................................................... 127 Example 3.4 – Accompaniments to S That Begin Before S-Zone

a) Piano Sonata in F Minor, op. 2, no. 1, mm. 18-22................................................ 138 b) Piano Sonata in D Minor, op. 31, no. 2, “Tempest”, mm. 39-42.......................... 139

Example 3.5 – A “Flush-Juxtaposed” TR and S in the Eroica Symphony, mm. 37-46........ 139 Example 3.6 – The Two Styles of Classical Instrumental Music

a) Symphony Style –Violin Sonata in A Minor, op. 47, “Kreutzer”, mm. 18-27..... 142 b) Sonata Style – String Quartet in A Major, op. 18, no. 5, mm. 1-15..................... 143

Example 3.7 – Continuous, Non-Dramatic Cadence in Piano Sonata in F Minor, op. 57, “Appassionata”, mm. 35-51...................................................................................... 145

Example 3.8 – Postponement of Promised Drama in the String Quartet in F Major, op. 59, no. 1 a) End of S-Zone in Exposition, mm. 85-93............................................................. 155 b) Coda, mm. 332-351.............................................................................................. 156

Example 3.9 – High Ending to an S-Theme, First Strategy, in Piano Sonata in B-Flat Major, op. 22, mm. 22-30......................................................................................... 161

Example 3.10 – High Ending to S-Theme, Second Strategy, in Piano Sonata in E Major, op. 14, no. 1, mm. 22-46........................................................................................... 163

Example 3.11 - High Ending to S-Theme, Fourth Strategy, in Piano Sonata in C Minor, op. 13, “Pathétique”, mm. 101-113........................................................................... 167

Example 3.12 – Standing on the Dominant with High Ending, Compensating for S Start in “Wrong” Key, String Trio in C Minor, op. 9, no. 3, mm. 17-41.......................... 171

Example 3.13 – Transition Function that Mitigates Differing Tension Levels Between S-Themes, Piano Sonata in D Major, op. 28, “Pastoral”, mm. 71-91....................... 174

Example 3.14 – Continuity Between Codetta and Development Section a) By Tension Level and Motive, Piano Sonata in E Minor, op. 90, mm. 71-84..... 177 b) By Tension Level and Closing Exposition without a Triad or Unison, String Quartet in A Minor, op. 132, mm. 73-78.............................................................. 178

Example 3.15 – Excited Effect Followed by a Tutti Effect to Close the Exposition, Piano Sonata in C Major, op. 2, no. 3, mm. 85-90............................................................. 184

Chapter 4 Example 4.1 – Prominent B-Naturals at or Near Start of Development in E-Flat-Major

Movements a) Piano Trio, op. 1, no. 1, mm. 104b-112................................................................ 193 b) Piano Sonata, op. 7, mm. 135-141........................................................................ 193 c) Eroica Symphony, op. 55, mm. 154-166 (piano reduction)................................. 194 d) String Quartet, op. 127, mm. 65-76...................................................................... 194

Example 4.2 – Functions of D2-Zones a) As a Pre-Core; String Trio in C Minor, op. 9, no. 3, mm. 74-82.......................... 197 b) As a Small-Scale Core; Piano Sonata in G Major, op. 49, no. 2, mm. 53-60....... 197

Example 4.3 – An LH Archetype in a Single-Module D3-Zone; Violin Sonata in A Major, op. 12, no. 2, mm. 88-110......................................................................................... 206

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Example 4.4 – Drama in an LH Archetype in the First Module of a Two-Module D3-

Zone from the Early Period; Piano Sonata in E-Flat Major, op. 7, mm. 137-165.... 211 Example 4.5 – An LH Archetype in the First Module of a Two-Module D3 from the

Middle Period; String Quartet in E Minor, op. 59, no. 2, mm. 89-107..................... 213 Example 4.6 – Drama in an LH Archetype in the First Module of a Two-Module D3-

Zone from the Late Period; from Piano Sonata in E Minor, op. 90, mm. 82-111.... 215 Example 4.7 – A High-High Connection Between D3 and D4 from Piano Sonata in

C Minor, op. 111, mm. 76-87................................................................................... 222 Chapter 5 Example 5.1 – A Dramatic Return in the Piano Sonata in E-Flat Major, op. 7

a) Start of Exposition, mm. 1-6................................................................................ 239 b) Start of Recapitulation, mm. 189-194.................................................................. 239

Example 5.2 – Comparison of a Modulating TR with its Recapitulation; Piano Sonata in E-Flat Major, op. 81a a) Exposition, mm. 29-36......................................................................................... 246 b) Recapitulation, mm. 122-128............................................................................... 246

Example 5.3 – Comparison of a Non-Modulating TR with its Recapitulation; Septet, op. 20 a) Exposition, mm. 39-52......................................................................................... 248 b) Recapitulation, mm. 172-187............................................................................... 249

Example 5.4 – Transposed Opening of S-Zone in Recapitulation; Piano Trio in D Major, op. 70, no. 1, “Ghost”, mm. 215-226........................................................................ 252

Example 5.5 – Comparison of Tension at End of CL in the Sextet, op. 71 a) Exposition, mm. 98-111 (CL1 and CL2)............................................................... 255 b) Recapitulation, mm. 264-278 (CL1 and first module of coda, Z1)....................... 256

Chapter 6 Example 6.1 – String Trio in D Major, op. 9, no. 2

a) End of Exposition; mm. 103-110.......................................................................... 264 b) Codetta-Based Material that is Part of the Recapitulation (not the Coda); mm. 300-end......................................................................................................... 265

Example 6.2 – Piano Sonata in A-Flat Major, op. 110 a) End of Exposition; mm. 34-38.............................................................................. 266 b) New Codetta-Based Material that Begins Coda; mm. 93-105............................. 266

Example 6.3 – Piano Sonata in E-Flat Major, op. 7 a) End of Exposition; mm. 127-136.......................................................................... 268 b) New Material Elided with End of Recapitulation to Begin Coda; mm. 307-318.. 268

Example 6.4 – Piano Trio in E-Flat Major, op. 1, no. 1 a) End of Exposition; mm. 94-104............................................................................ 269 b) New Material not Elided with Recapitulation to Begin Coda; mm. 244-252...... 269

Example 6.5 – Piano Sonata in G Minor, op. 49, no. 1 a) End of Exposition; mm. 28-33............................................................................. 270 b) Codetta-Based Material Not Elided with Recapitulation to Begin Coda; mm. 96-106........................................................................................................... 270

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Example 6.6 – Tension Types at End of a Movement that Ends with High Tension; Piano

Trio in C Minor, op. 1, no. 3, mm. 351-360............................................................. 281 Example 6.7 – Zone 3 (I3) of a Slow Introduction as a Small-Scale Transition; Violin

Sonata in A Minor, op. 47, “Kreutzer”, mm. 9-18................................................... 283 Example 6.8 – Differing Types of Tonal Tension in Final I2 Modules

a) Diatonic and Mixtural Tonal Tension; Septet, op. 20, mm. 1-8........................... 291 b) Distant Tonal Tension; “Pathétique” Sonata, op. 13, mm. 5-9............................ 292

Chapter 7: Epilogue Example 7.1 – Dramatic Structure in Beethoven’s String Trio in E-Flat Major, op. 3........ 317

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List of Figures Chapter 1 Figure 1.1 – Three Types of Continuation with Cadence.................................................... 29 Figure 1.2 – A Sixteen-Measure Period............................................................................... 30 Introduction to Chapter 3 Figure 3.1 – All Possible Modules in Beethoven’s First-Movement Type 3 Sonata Forms

(for the Purposes of This Study)............................................................................... 117

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List of Appendices Appendix A – Beethoven’s Eighty-Seven Published Works with First Movements in

Type 3 Sonata Form, and Their Date of Composition, Style Period, and Key........ 334 Appendix B – Dramatic Analysis of All Eighty-Seven of Beethoven’s First-Movement

Type 3 Sonata Forms................................................................................................ 336

1

Introduction

Dramatic—in the sense of highly intense—is a term that seems inextricably bound to

virtually every description of classical sonata form from recent decades. In part, scholars are

motivated to use this and other similar terms like “intensity” and “tension” by some of the most

essential features of the form, especially in relation to first movements, features that Charles

Rosen collectively refers to as “sonata style”:

The method of articulating and dramatizing a variety of old forms that we call sonata style gave rise in turn to a new set of forms, equally various. If we order these forms according to the expressive intensity of the structures—that is, the importance of the tonic-dominant polarization, the degree to which this is heightened, the way the resolution is achieved—then we will find that they fall broadly into four types, which correspond fairly well to whichever movement of the sonata as a whole employs them most frequently: first, second, minuet, or finale. First-movement forms are the most dramatically structured.1

But what are the specific musical devices occurring within these sonata forms that may be

considered dramatic? While a wide variety of theoretical sources has discussed many aspects of

classical music in these dramatic terms, none has sought to determine precisely what

mechanisms contribute to the sense of drama in these works. In this study, I therefore attempt a

systematic analysis of drama in sonata form using the first movements of Beethoven as a model,

since these pieces often possess an intensity that, intuitively, could only be called dramatic.

The study of drama in Beethoven fits into a larger body of recent music-theoretical work

on the classical repertoire that deals with surface-level details of the music and their impact on its

form or expressive/rhetorical implications. Prominent among these is James Hepokoski and

Warren Darcy’s Elements of Sonata Theory, a comprehensive investigation of classical sonata

form that is constantly informed by rhetorical features such as dynamics, texture, rhythm, and

1 Charles Rosen, Sonata Forms, rev. ed. (New York: W. W. Norton, 1988), 98. Considering the close relationship between Rosen’s work and that of Tovey, it is not surprising to find a similar—and similarly frequent—use of the term “dramatic” throughout the latter’s work in connection with sonata form or “sonata style”. To cite one instance of many, see Donald Francis Tovey, “Some Aspects of Beethoven’s Art Forms,” in The Main Stream of Music and Other Essays (New York: Oxford University Press, 1949), 275, who opines, “a composer whose music is dramatic, as all true sonata style is, . . .”

2

melodic content.2 Their work is especially pertinent to the present study for its numerous

discussions of the relationships between these rhetorical features and specific locations in sonata

form. Robert Hatten’s two books take as their basis Leonard Ratner’s idea of musical “topics”,

each of which is defined by such details as surface rhythms and harmonies, metre, texture, and

melodic style. Going a step further, Hatten maps “expressive oppositions” onto these topics to

derive emotional meaning from the music, which, on the largest scale, creates what he calls

“expressive genres”.3 Along the same lines is Kofi Agawu’s Playing with Signs, which combines

Ratner’s topics with Schenkerian analysis in order to explore the interactions between classical

music’s “rhetoric” and “syntax” (or “expression” and “structure”) and determine ways the two

may overlap to create regions of compositional “play”.4 Finally, there is Austin T. Patty’s recent

Music Theory Spectrum article on “pacing scenarios”, which, although concerned with repertoire

of the late-nineteenth century, examines how factors such as dynamics, textural thickness,

melodic direction, and rhythmic and harmonic accelerations or decelerations contribute to our

understanding of musical climaxes.5 But because none of these works has suggested any

definitions for drama in music, it is necessary to establish some first principles on which to build

a theory of dramatic structure.

I. What is Drama?: Defining Types of Tension Excluding definitions involving staged or enacted narrative of any kind, the term

“dramatic” when applied to music is simply another way of saying that an event is highly

2 James Hepokoski and Warren Darcy, Elements of Sonata Theory: Norms, Types, and Deformations in the Late-Eighteenth-Century Sonata (New York: Oxford University Press, 2006). 3 Robert Hatten, Musical Meaning in Beethoven: Markedness, Correlation, and Interpretation (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1994); Robert Hatten, Interpreting Musical Gestures, Topics, and Tropes: Mozart, Beethoven, and Schubert (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 2004). 4 V. Kofi Agawu, Playing with Signs: A Semiotic Interpretation of Classic Music (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1991). 5 Austin T. Patty, “Pacing Scenarios: How Harmonic Rhythm and Melodic Pacing Influence Our Experience of Musical Climax,” Music Theory Spectrum 31 (2009): 325-67.

3

intense, or in other words, has a high degree of tension. But then, what is tension, and what

determines a “high” degree of it? For our purposes here, I would propose that, fundamentally,

tension may be defined as any event that requires a high or relatively high level of musical

energy, whether that energy is compacted into a single gesture or distributed over a more gradual

process. This definition explains why seeming opposites such as phrase expansion (which

increases the length of structural units) and fragmentation (which progressively decreases the

length of structural units) may both be understood as forms of musical tension: in the former,

energy is required to stretch the phrase out longer than is syntactically necessary; in the latter,

energy is required to accelerate the rate of progress in the phrase. With this definition, then,

precisely what factors may be considered types of musical tension? To answer this question, I

refer to a study of melodic highpoints by Zohar Eitan, who distinguishes among emphasis,

intensity, and tension:

In this study the notion of emphasis is used in a very general sense, denoting “anything that is relatively attention-getting in a time-pattern” (Jones 1987: 622). Intensity is used here within a conceptual background such as the intensification-abatement model (Hopkins 1990, chapter 2; Berry 1976), postulating that some musical parameters have two opposing directions of change: one intensifying, namely, promoting activity and elevating tension, the other abating, namely, lessening activity and lowering tension. The related concept of musical tension refers here to an unstable, “open,” state, strongly implying continuation and resolution.6

Of these terms, I consider the latter two to constitute two types of tension, what I will

respectively call rhetorical tension and syntactical tension. (Eitan’s choice of similar terms for

the two concepts, as well as his admission that they are indeed related, supports this idea.)

Rhetorical tension types (Eitan’s “intensity”) may be expressed along a spectrum of tensional

values, and encompass the following parameters (the range of tensional values, from low to high,

is shown in parentheses): dynamics (soft to loud), rhythm (slow to fast), melodic interval (large

leap down to large leap up), harmonic interval (perfect consonance to harsh dissonance), type of

6 Zohar Eitan, Highpoints: A Study of Melodic Peaks (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1997), 6.

4

texture (homophonic to polyphonic), thickness of texture (one voice to many voices), and timbre

(mellow/dark to harsh/bright). Such parameters essentially agree with Leonard Meyer’s notion of

“statistical parameters”, that is, those aspects of music that may be quantified (hence the term

“statistical”), but most importantly, are not essential to the music’s formal structure;7

consequently, the form of the music remains the same regardless of whether the parameters

occur in a state of high or low tension. However, I prefer to describe these parameters as

rhetorical tension types because of the prevalence of the term “rhetorical” in theoretical writings

when referring to parameters that do not affect the form of a piece.8

Syntactical tension is based on Eitan’s definition of “tension” above: that which creates

instability in the music, and therefore implies further motion towards a more stable state. Such

tension “implies further motion” by exploiting the rules of musical syntax and thus has a direct

impact on the formal structure of the music. Types of syntactical tension include instabilities that

occur in tonality, metre, phrase rhythm, closure, as well as prolongations of dominant harmony

(which imply future motion to a tonic) and accelerations in surface rhythm, harmonic rhythm

and/or the length of structural units (all of which produce a forward-driving motion).9 A simple

example would be a half cadence: since a self-contained piece of tonal music cannot close with a

half cadence, it implies that more music lies ahead in order to arrive at the syntactically required

7 Leonard B. Meyer, Style and Music: Theory, History, and Ideology (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1989), 14-16. Whereas Meyer considers rhythm to be a “syntactic” (i.e., form-defining) parameter, I place it in the rhetorical (Meyer’s “statistical”) category because I do not believe that note-to-note rhythms contribute to form, but rather may accelerate or decelerate and hence create a spectrum of tensional values like other rhetorical tension types. 8 Agawu, Playing with Signs, 67, distinguishes between “syntactic” and “rhetorical” components of cadences. Following Agawu’s lead is William E. Caplin, “The Classical Cadence: Conceptions and Misconceptions,” Journal of the American Musicological Society 57 (2004): 51-117, who likewise distinguishes between “syntax” and “rhetoric” in cadences. Hepokoski and Darcy, Elements of Sonata Theory, 23, differentiate between the “tonal form” and “rhetorical form” of a sonata. In addition, Eitan, Highpoints, 7, distinguishes between “grammatical” (i.e., syntactical) and “rhetorical” emphasis. 9 Cf. Meyer, Style and Music, 14, who considers the “syntactic” parameters of most musics of the world to be melody, rhythm, and harmony. While my notion of syntactical tension certainly involves aspects of melody and harmony, I rather define it by the more specific categories I discuss here (tonality, meter, etc.).

5

authentic cadence, after which the piece may then end. Besides the effects that syntactical

tension has on structure, one other feature that distinguishes it from rhetorical tension is its

inability to be expressed with a single intensified event. Whereas rhetorical tension may occur

with a sforzando marking over a single note, for example, syntactical tension requires a

comparison of juxtaposed events in order to be expressed. Thus the former tends to be an

absolute type of tension and the latter a relative type.

One important distinction to make at this point is that between tension and emphasis.

According to the definition I give here, tension always requires a high (or relatively high) degree

of musical energy, whereas emphasis, adopting Eitan’s definition, involves those features that

grasp one’s attention, or more simply, are made prominent. But as a refinement of the latter

definition, I would propose that emphasis, as a rule, cannot be sustained over long stretches of

music. For example, if a piece begins with a forte gesture, it will create both emphasis and

tension, because loud gestures garner attention but also require a high energy level. However, if a

loud dynamic is sustained without change, the emphatic effect wears off, even though rhetorical

tension remains high. Consequently, emphasis tends to be concentrated in short gestures that

involve high contrast, but not necessarily high energy (such as a sudden drop to piano after an

extended fortissimo passage). It is for this reason that such effects as agogic accents, staccato

articulations, melodic highpoints (rather than the absolute pitches of a melody), and contrasts in

general create emphasis but do not create tension.

Noting the occurrence of rhetorical and syntactical tension in a piece of music is only part

of the process of analyzing dramatic content. In order to extract an overarching dramatic

structure for a particular section or piece, such tensions must be compared with their location in

the form. Moreover, since sonata form is the formal type under investigation here, a review of

6

the pertinent literature on classical form and its interactions with the various tension types I have

outlined above is now in order. Two recent books on classical form in particular will be of

central importance to the present study: those of William E. Caplin, and James Hepokoski and

Warren Darcy.

II. Background i) Caplin: Formal Functions

Caplin’s book on classical form provides a detailed account of his theory of “formal

functions”, which revives the Formenlehre tradition of Arnold Schoenberg and his student Erwin

Ratz.10 The theory provides an ideal foundation on which to map tension types, not only because

it establishes a rigorous and highly detailed method for the analysis of form in these works, but

also because it explains much of how the syntax of this music operates, especially at the little-

discussed levels of structure below that of a complete phrase. For example, contrary to many

sources on form, the smallest unit of structure in Caplin’s view is not the motive but the basic

idea, which combines a few motives into a single gesture usually spanning two measures. This

basic idea can either be joined with other ideas to form complete themes (or theme-like units) or

fragmented into smaller units for the purpose of development. Various types of themes then

obtain from the particular arrangement of the ideas within a phrase.

Caplin’s theme type of the sentence occupies a privileged position in this study because,

inherently, it contains an accelerative type of tension. Structurally, it is defined by the three

formal functions of presentation, continuation, and cadence. The presentation initiates the theme

with a basic idea that may or may not be repeated, but most commonly, a presentation has two

10 William E. Caplin, Classical Form: A Theory of Formal Functions for the Instrumental Music of Haydn, Mozart, and Beethoven (New York: Oxford University Press, 1998).

7

basic ideas and is four measures in length.11 The continuation then provides an intensification

through at least one of three types of acceleration: fragmentation (in which the size of the units,

as established in the presentation, becomes smaller, and perhaps increasingly so), a faster

harmonic rhythm, or an increase in surface rhythmic activity.12 These devices all serve to drive

the theme towards the final function, the cadence, which is often fused with the continuation into

a four-measure span.

Caplin also discusses a number of other issues regarding form that are especially

pertinent to this study. The techniques of cadential extension, through such means as imperfect,

evaded, abandoned, or repeated cadences, avoid closure in a phrase and therefore create

syntactical tension. Also in this category is Janet Schmalfeldt’s concept of the “one more time

technique,” in which a phrase promises an authentic cadence, but does not reach the final tonic

chord (resulting in an evaded cadence), then sounds that end “one more time” and completes it

with an authentic cadence.13 Caplin’s idea of a compound theme, in which one theme is nested

within another, is particularly valuable since it demonstrates that simple (eight-measure)

sentences may form the antecedent and consequent of a larger period theme, and thus a period,

which is often described as a more reposeful structure in opposition with the forward-driving

sentence, may in fact be composed of sentences and possess the very same accelerative type of

syntactical tension.

In contrast to the compound period, Caplin’s compound sentence does not involve such

nesting of theme types, but rather is distinguished by the number of measures contained in the

11 While Caplin, Classical Form, 35, defines the presentation as containing two basic ideas, I view it more broadly as a function that may contain any number of basic ideas, even only one. For more discussion on this point, see my chapter 1, “Sentence”. 12 Caplin, Classical Form, 41, also lists harmonic sequence as a defining feature of a continuation, but as explained in my chapter 1, “Sentence”, I do not regard it as such. 13 Janet Schmalfeldt, “Cadential Processes: The Evaded Cadence and the ‘One More Time’ Technique,” The Journal of Musicological Research 12 (1992): 1-52.

8

theme. Normatively, the compound sentence is like a simple sentence, but with the proportions

doubled to form a sixteen-measure structure. Caplin does not discuss the nesting of one sentence

within another because his proportions of both the sentence and the basic idea make this

impossible: if a basic idea must always be either two measures (in the simple sentence) or four

(in the compound sentence), then a full eight-measure sentence cannot constitute a basic idea. If

one disregards the issue of length, however, then one finds that the nesting of sentences occurs

incredibly frequently in classical music. One common type involves sentences with a

continuation that is itself structured as a sentence— the well-known opening theme of

Beethoven’s Piano Sonata, op. 2, no. 1, provides a typical example.14

A particularly enlarged version of the sentence, on the other hand, is a common feature of

development sections. Caplin describes this kind of structure with Ratz’s idea of the “core of the

development”: “The phrase-structural technique most characteristic of a development involves

the establishment of a relatively large model, which is repeated sequentially one or more times.

Subsequent fragmentation leads to a half cadence (or dominant arrival) of either the home key or

a development key.”15 Clearly, this whole process of the core is tantamount to sentence structure,

but Caplin refrains from mentioning the resemblance, presumably because the putative

presentation generally does not prolong tonic harmony, which is one of his stipulations for that

function. Yet, there are sentences in which a tonic prolongation does not strictly occur within the

bounds of the presentation, as for example in the first theme of Beethoven’s Piano Sonata in G

Major, op. 14, no. 2, mm. 1-8, and his First Symphony, mm. 13-33.16 And conversely, there are

14 Such a structure is one of four types of continuation listed by Matthew BaileyShea, “Beyond the Beethoven Model: Sentence Types and Limits,” Current Musicology 77 (2004): 5-33. 15 Caplin, Classical Form, 141. “Dominant arrival” is Caplin’s term for a non-cadential ending on V. For more on this point, see my chapter 1, “Cadence Types”. 16 Caplin, Classical Form, 40. Of the sonata, Caplin notes that a tonic prolongation begun in the presentation is completed within the continuation, but minimizes its significance, simply calling it an exceptional case.

9

development sections that contain a tonic prolongation within a presentation, as for example in

the first movement of Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony, mm. 129-138, where the return of the

movement’s opening material in F minor completes the prolongation with the first chord of the

continuation (just as the opening theme did). Thus, while it can be beneficial to distinguish

between a sentence as theme and a sentence as phrase structure, from a dramatic point of view,

there is analytical value in recognizing both as part of a larger family of sentence structures.

ii) Hepokoski and Darcy: Sonata Theory

James Hepokoski and Warren Darcy’s recent book Elements of Sonata Theory is one of

the largest and most thorough accounts of sonata form to date. One may therefore find

discussions of nearly any subject pertaining to the form as a whole and its various parts, large or

small. Their view of the sentence, for example, is somewhat broader than that of Caplin, since

they contend that not all presentations prolong tonic harmony, and therefore argue that it is not a

required feature of the function.17 Such a view would expand the sentence paradigm to include

presentations based on other harmonies, as for instance a dominant prolongation, which

sometimes occurs at the beginning of Beethoven’s second theme groups.

Although Hepokoski and Darcy employ most of Caplin’s terminology for theme types

(such as period, sentence, and “hybrid” themes), their view of sonata form relies primarily on

units of structure that they term “modules”: “. . . ’module’ is intended to be a flexible term

covering any of a number of small building-blocks within a work, ranging from each of Caplin’s

two smaller ideas, to any slightly larger unit without strong inner contrasts, to, at times, a

consistent ‘phrase’ itself.”18 Depending on its location in the form, each module is assigned a

one- to three-letter abbreviation, most of which I adopt in this study, and the all-important 17 Hepokoski and Darcy, Elements of Sonata Theory, 84n14. 18 Hepokoski and Darcy, Elements of Sonata Theory, 69n10.

10

perfect authentic cadences (PACs), which provide the strongest type of closure, are enumerated

with superscript numerals. Thus, a first theme, or primary theme (P) as they call it, usually

begins with a module labelled P1. If there is an introduction to the theme, a P1.0 label is affixed.19

If after P1 there is then a PAC and another theme in the tonic, that theme is labelled P2. But if one

wishes to distinguish between modules that are not separated by PACs, numbers after a decimal

point may be used, as in P1.1, P1.2, and so on. While this latter notation may apply, for instance, to

the antecedent and consequent phrases of a period, it becomes especially useful in sections where

modules may flow into one another without cadential articulation, as in developments, codas,

and slow introductions.

Hepokoski and Darcy’s discussions of the various sections within a sonata movement are

strongly informed by features of the musical surface that, in the present theory, constitute

rhetorical tension types. They distinguish, for example, between P-themes that open with a

“strong-launch option,” which includes gestures that are forte, chordal, in dotted rhythm, and so

on, and those with a “weak-launch option,” which includes gestures that are piano and lyrical, or

engage in a crescendo effect. Moreover, each type of opening has an impact on the surrounding

sections of the movement: strong launches tend to occur in “large-scale, public, or ambitious

works that lack a slow introduction,” while weak launches tend to follow slow introductions and

be followed by a transition (TR) that is either a forte affirmation or a restatement of P.20 Their

view of TR does not depend on the appearance of a concluding V chord before the second theme,

as occurs in most sonata forms, but rather on TR’s location within the exposition and its texture,

19 Hepokoski and Darcy, Elements of Sonata Theory, 72, also suggest only the superscript zero, as in P0, but for all intents and purposes, I prefer the P1.0 label in order to emphasize the module’s connection to the upcoming P1 module. 20 Hepokoski and Darcy, Elements of Sonata Theory, 66.

11

which they describe, significantly, as an “energy-gain.”21 The TR drives toward one of the

central features of Hepokoski and Darcy’s theory: the medial caesura (MC), which is the literal

break in texture that occurs directly before the secondary-theme zone (S) and classifies the

exposition type as “two-part”. (Without an MC, an exposition is of their “continuous” type.)

They observe that the beginning of S-themes are most often at a piano dynamic, but that a forte

opening to S can be the result of such events as a piano TR or a spilling over of energy from TR

into S.

Rhetorical features also inform Hepokoski and Darcy’s discussion of “typical pathways”

in development sections, which they divide into four optional zones.22 The first is a link between

the retransition (RT) at the end of the exposition into the development proper. The second is an

“entry or preparation zone,” often at a piano dynamic in anticipation of the third zone, the

“central action or set of actions.” Finally, the fourth zone is an “exit or retransition” leading to a

prolonged dominant chord in preparation for the recapitulation. But it is the central action that is,

as the name suggests, the real heart of the development and may involve up to three (or

occasionally more) subsections. Listing a wide range of events that may occur there, the authors

cite “surging restlessness, moves to minor, Sturm und Drang outbursts, quieter, reactive

moments, special-effect episodes; and so on.” Moreover, their suggestion that the central action

“(as sometimes in Beethoven) can be a dramatic panorama of separate actions or dramatic

interactions” encourages thought on precisely how a development may function in dramatic

terms and construct such dramatic passages through the use of various types of tension.

21 Hepokoski and Darcy, Elements of Sonata Theory, 93. 22 Hepokoski and Darcy, Elements of Sonata Theory, 229-30.

12

iii) Other Important Sources

Several other sources will be of considerable value to this study. William Rothstein’s

concept of phrase expansion, as developed in his book Phrase Rhythm in Tonal Music,23 forms

an important type of syntactical tension found in many parts of sonata form. William Horne has

pointed out a “wearing away” of the medial caesura in Beethoven’s works up to the Eroica

Symphony, a trend that, as will be seen, becomes an increasingly pronounced part of the

composer’s style over time.24 Scott Burnham examines some of the most famous passages from

the first movements of the Eroica and Fifth Symphonies—two movements that epitomize the

dramatic qualities of Beethoven’s “heroic style”—and often describes their effectiveness in

terms that correspond with the various types of tension I give here.25 Research by Harald Krebs

on metric dissonance in the music of Schumann applies equally well to similar passages in

Beethoven that therefore create a type of syntactical tension.26 Fred Lerdahl and Ray

Jackendoff’s influential work deals much with rhythm, and helps to clarify the tension types that

belong to each of the two phrases involved in an elision.27 Robert Hatten’s work on musical

meaning in Beethoven and musical gesture provides insight into the inner workings of the

tension involved in rising melodic lines.28 Other important sources include James Webster’s New

23 William Rothstein, Phrase Rhythm in Tonal Music (New York: Schirmer Books, 1989). 24 William Horne, “The Hidden Trellis: Where Does the Second Group Begin in the First Movement of Beethoven’s Eroica Symphony?,” Beethoven Forum 13 (2006): 95-147. 25 Scott Burnham, Beethoven Hero (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1995). 26 Harald Krebs, Fantasy Pieces: Metrical Dissonance in the Music of Robert Schumann (New York: Oxford University Press, 1999). 27 Fred Lerdahl and Ray Jackendoff, A Generative Theory of Tonal Music (Cambridge, Mass.: MIT Press, 1983). 28 Hatten, Musical Meaning in Beethoven and Interpreting Musical Gestures, Topics, and Tropes.

13

Grove article on sonata form,29 William Kinderman’s book on Beethoven,30 and several of

Donald Francis Tovey’s writings.31

Still other scholarly works will be pertinent due to their focus on factors that affect the

tension types. Because harmonic rhythm, for instance, can accelerate and therefore contribute

syntactical tension, determining the rate of harmonic change in a passage will be an integral part

of the present study. Hence, Joseph P. Swain’s exploration of harmonic rhythm will prove useful,

especially in situations where harmonic changes occur at different rates at different levels of

structure.32 Clive Brown’s work on determining tempo in Beethoven’s music aids in judging

whether relatively fast rhythmic values can be considered intense in movements without

metronome marks.33 And finally, some typical patterns in Beethoven’s use of dynamics, another

important tension type, have been proposed by Miriam Sheer.34

III. The Theory of Dramatic Structure

Having identified many of the factors that create tension in Beethoven’s music, it is

necessary to classify them into one of the two categories, rhetorical or syntactical. Once they are

classified, it becomes much easier to analyze tension in a systematic way, as one can then assess

whether or not drama, or high tension, results from the combined effect of the tension types in

either the rhetorical or syntactical categories. Linking this result with the location in the form

29 James Webster, “Sonata Form,” The New Grove Dictionary of Music and Musicians, 2nd ed., edited by Stanley Sadie and John Tyrell (London: Macmillan, 2001), 23:687-701. 30 William Kinderman, Beethoven, 2nd ed. (New York: Oxford University Press, 2009). 31 Donald Francis Tovey, A Companion to Beethoven’s Pianoforte Sonatas (London: Associated Board of the Royal Schools of Music, 1931); Essays in Musical Analysis, 7 vols. (London: Oxford University Press, 1955. First published 1935); The Forms of Music (New York: Meridian Books, 1959. Originally published 1944 as Musical Articles from the Encyclopaedia Brittanica by Oxford University Press). 32 Joseph Peter Swain, Harmonic Rhythm: Analysis and Interpretation (New York: Oxford University Press, 2002). 33 Clive Brown, “Historical Performance, Metronome Marks and Tempo in Beethoven's Symphonies,” Early Music 19 (1991): 247-58. 34 Miriam Sheer, “Comparison of Dynamic Practices in Selected Piano Sonatas by Clementi and Beethoven,” Beethoven Forum 5 (1996): 85-101; and “Patterns of Dynamic Organization in Beethoven’s Eroica Symphony,” The Journal of Musicology 10 (1992): 483-504.

14

produces what I call the dramatic structure of the piece. For the time being, I would only like to

introduce the precise tension types within each category and defer until chapter 2 a more detailed

discussion of each type and how their combination creates drama.

Table 1 lists all possible types of tension in both categories. There are seven different

types of rhetorical tension, each of which is intense when at a high level in its spectrum of

values. In short, dynamic tension becomes intense with a dynamic level of forte or louder;

rhythmic tension with relatively fast rhythmic values; melodic tension with ascents of a perfect

fifth or more in the melody; harmonic tension with a simultaneous dissonance; textural tension

with a polyphonic texture; thickness tension with a relatively large number of simultaneous

voices; and timbral tension with the harsh tone colours of either extreme registers or loud

trumpets, trombones, or timpani. As I mentioned earlier, these types of tension are not essential

to the music’s formal structure. In other words, the conventions by which we determine the

“rules” of classical form are not primarily based on these parameters. Moreover, rhetorical types

tend to be of an immediate nature, not requiring any comparison of events to be perceived.

Table 1 – Types of Tension

Rhetorical Types Syntactical Types Dynamic Tonal Rhythmic Metric Melodic Expansional Harmonic Accelerative Textural Closural Thickness Implicational Timbral

The six syntactical tension types, on the other hand, involve parameters that are essential

to the music’s form; that is, they strongly affect the course of events in the music and therefore

require a comparative context. Tonal tension involves chromaticism and harmonic/tonal

ambiguity, both of which are disturbances in the pitch structure that demand resolution,

15

respectively, to diatonicism or a clear chord function/key. In a similar way, metric tension

involves irregularities in the metric structure, such as hemiola, syncopation, and

metric/hypermetric ambiguity that demand motion to a regular, and therefore stable, metre.

Expansional tension occurs with any sort of phrase expansion. Accelerative tension is caused by

fragmentation, or an increase in harmonic rhythm or surface rhythm. Closural tension involves

any device that weakens the sense of closure at the end of a phrase: cadential evasion or

abandonment, melodic openness through an imperfect authentic cadence, or repetition of a

closural unit (whether or not it is harmonically closed). Finally, implicational tension occurs with

a prolonged dominant harmony, which increases the implication that its respective tonic chord

will arrive.35

IV. Limitations and Aims of the Study

The present study of dramatic structure is constrained by a number of limitations. First,

although I demonstrate how various devices create tension in Beethoven’s music, I do not seek to

explain precisely why this is so. As a result, my definition of tension rests only on the particular

mechanisms in the music that work to produce it, rather than the psychological effect they have

on the listener.

Second, I do not seek to describe absolutely every occurrence of tension in music, but

only those that are salient. As a result, in a given passage, there may be an event that, in a purely

technical sense, constitutes a type of tension, but that I do not recognize because it lacks salience

and therefore analytical value. For example, the seventh of a V7 chord is strictly a type of

35 I prefer the term “implication” to “expectation” for some of the same reasons given by Leonard B. Meyer in Explaining Music: Essays and Explorations (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1973), 114-15n1. First, the former term better describes implied events that we may not be consciously aware of. Moreover, it does not refer to the listener and therefore describes processes in more objective terms. Naturally, the concept of implication is an integral part of expansional and closural tensions, but the category of “implicational tension” is designed to describe passages where a future tonic harmony is implied by a prolonged dominant harmony.

16

rhetorical tension, since it contains the dissonant harmonic interval of the minor seventh. But if

the dissonance is not made prominent (for instance, without a dynamic accent, agogic accent, or

is not differentiated in any way from the surrounding music), which occurs very frequently, I

will not consider it a significant contributor to musical tension and therefore will not include it in

my analysis. Since a discussion of all the factors that produce salience is beyond the scope of this

study, such judgements must necessarily remain with a degree of subjectivity. Moreover, by

adopting this approach, my hope is that the results will be of greater value than either a more or

less detailed approach: to be more in-depth would produce an overabundance of data, while to be

less in-depth would risk being too broad to be of much use.

Third, the study will have a tendency to favour more foreground, short-range

relationships since those of a more middleground or background level tend to be less perceptible

and, therefore, debatable. Nevertheless, a portion of the study will include some of the long-

range relationships between passages in terms of their dramatic content, for example between the

start of the exposition and the return of the same music at the start of the recapitulation.

Finally, the nature of this study is more qualitative than quantitative. In other words, I do

not seek to measure how much tension is expressed in total at any given point, but rather to

identify precisely what types of tension occur in certain locations in sonata form. One important

exception concerns rhetorical tension types, since the amount of tension a type expresses is

crucial to deciding whether it can be considered intense at a particular moment.

As a whole, this study is intended to reveal which areas of sonata form Beethoven tended

to “dramatize” with a high level of tension, which tension types he used to do so, and the patterns

that may emerge from such an analysis. One other overarching aim of the study will be to

determine whether such patterns are consistent with the categories of key, mode, genre, or style

17

period. After all, Beethoven is known to have felt expressive differences with different keys.36

Moreover, as Robert Hatten points out, the minor mode consistently conveyed a “tragic”

character in the classical style, whereas the major mode was more broadly “nontragic”.37

Furthermore, intuitively, there would seem to be significant differences, for example, between

the genres of symphony and string quartet, owing to the largely public and private function of

each, respectively, at the time. Finally, identifying stark differences among works in the three

style periods of early, middle, and late has long been a part of Beethoven scholarship and will be

an important part of this study. I include the four above categories because the distinctions in

Beethoven’s musical attitude seen within each may have translated into significant differences in

his treatment of dramatic structure.

Overall, this study is divided into two large parts. Part 1 contains two chapters, the first of

which explains my method of analysis for the sonata forms involved. The second chapter

discusses each tension type individually then demonstrates how various types may be combined

to create a high tension level, or more simply, drama. Part 2 deals with the results of my analyses

and contains an introduction describing the application of the complete theory in actual practice,

then a separate chapter devoted to each large section of Beethoven’s first-movement sonata

forms: exposition, development, recapitulation, and coda and slow introduction (both in one

chapter). An epilogue then summarizes the most prominent findings and applies the theory of

dramatic structure to the entire first movement of Beethoven’s String Trio in E-Flat Major, op. 3,

in order to illustrate how such an analysis can enhance our interpretation of a single movement.

36 Rita Steblin, A History of Key Characteristics in the Eighteenth and Early Nineteenth Centuries, 2nd ed., (Rochester: University of Rochester Press, 2002), 140-41 and 165-66, cites several sources indicating Beethoven’s belief in key characteristics, and although many are from the dubious Anton Schindler, Steblin rightfully remarks (on p. 140) that “although Schindler may not be the most reliable source, it is unlikely that he completely fabricated the account here of Beethoven’s defence of key characteristics. Besides, several other pieces of evidence confirm Beethoven as a believer in key meanings.” 37 Hatten, Musical Meaning in Beethoven, 36.

18

Part 1: The Analysis of Dramatic Structure

Chapter 1: The Analysis of Musical Form In order for an analysis of dramatic structure to have any sort of meaning, it must be

linked with the details of the musical form. Without this crucial relationship, it would be

impossible to establish patterns in the dramatic structure between similar sections of different

pieces. The parts of the form that contain these patterns may be large or small, but above all

one’s interpretation of them must remain consistent from one piece to the next. It is therefore

imperative that the methodology for analyzing form be both detailed and precise, and it is for this

reason that I present here a lengthy description of my analytical procedure for the musical form

of the works studied, drawing primarily on two recent works: James Hepokoski and Warren

Darcy’s book on Sonata Theory, which proves an invaluable resource for the understanding of

sonata form from the perspective of relatively large sections of music (generally on the level of

the theme and larger); and William E. Caplin’s seminal book on classical form, which lays the

groundwork for my analysis on the level of theme and smaller. By combining these two theories,

it is my belief that more insight can be gained from dramatic analysis since, as I mentioned,

patterns between pieces may be on both the large and small levels.

I. Determining the Type of Sonata Form The analysis of dramatic structure begins with an analysis of musical form, and although

the methodology presented here may be applied to any type of form, I deal exclusively with

sonata form in this study. Furthermore, although I apply this analytical method strictly to the

music of Beethoven, it may be applied equally well to music by other composers who wrote in

19

the classical style. Essentially, my approach to analyzing a sonata form involves a two-stage

process, the first being a large-scale, “top-down” analysis, guided largely by Hepokoski and

Darcy’s Sonata Theory, that divides the large sections of slow introduction, exposition,

development, recapitulation, and coda into their next largest components: the zones of each

section, such as the primary-theme zone, secondary-theme zone, various zones within the

development, and so on. The second stage involves a small-scale, “bottom-up” analysis, based

largely on Caplin’s work, which determines the type of phrase structure present (e.g., sentence,

period, etc.) by its internal components. In this way, one can take note of both small- and large-

scale patterns that may emerge when the dramatic content is mapped onto the musical form.

The first step in the large-scale analysis is to identify the particular type of sonata form

that one is dealing with. Hepokoski and Darcy have proposed five broad categories of sonata

form that are identified only by a type number and generally proceed from the simplest to the

most complex.1 Type 1, “sonata form without a development,” is most common in overtures and

slow movements. In the Type 2 “binary” sonata, there is a return to the tonic key in its second

half that begins with material from somewhat after the start of the exposition. Although it is

relatively infrequent in late-eighteenth and early-nineteenth century music, it tends to occur

mostly in finales. Type 3, the familiar “standard” form with exposition, development, and

recapitulation, is found mainly in first movements. Type 4, the sonata-rondo and its variants, is

another common occurrence in finales. Finally Type 5, first-movement concerto form, is a hybrid

between Type 3 and the older ritornello form found in baroque concertos. All of the movements

analyzed in this study were chosen from first movements in order that Beethoven’s idiosyncratic

1 For brief descriptions of the five sonata types, see James Hepokoski and Warren Darcy, Elements of Sonata Theory: Norms, Types, and Deformations in the Late-Eighteenth-Century Sonata (New York: Oxford University Press, 2006), vi and 344-45.

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use of the Type 3 form, which was “obligatory” for a fast-tempo first movement in the classical

period,2 may be studied in some detail.

II. Large-Scale Analysis: Breaking the Form Down into Sections and Zones For all Type 3 sonatas, the next step in the large-scale analysis is to break down the three

to five largest components of the form: exposition, development, recapitulation, and any optional

slow introduction and coda. Each of these large sections may be further broken down into

themes, theme-like units, and other small units. Essentially, I adopt the labelling system of

Hepokoski and Darcy for this purpose, but with a number of important differences. Most

significantly, while Hepokoski and Darcy’s system of analysis for expositions and

recapitulations is highly developed and readily applied to actual pieces, they offer no similar

detailed system for the other areas of the form, namely introductions, developments, and codas.

To be sure, they do recognize and discuss customary features of these areas, but not in such a

way that allows one to apply labels like those in their analyses of expositions. For this reason, I

have extrapolated their method into these far less studied areas by using the following labels:

I = Slow Introduction D = Development Z = Coda

For the exposition and recapitulation, I adopt Hepokoski and Darcy’s terminology and

shorthand labels of P for primary-theme zone (i.e., first theme group), TR for transition, and S

for secondary-theme zone (i.e., second theme group), but I diverge on a few other points. First, I

do not consider the “medial caesura” (MC) to be the only factor for the presence of S, for there

are cases in which an MC cannot be found yet one may still perceive an S to be present, as for 2 Hepokoski and Darcy, Elements of Sonata Theory, 321.

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example in the first movement of Beethoven’s Sixth Symphony.3 Nevertheless, it is important to

note that none of Beethoven’s first-movement sonata forms have what Hepokoski and Darcy call

a “continuous” exposition, in which there is no discernible beginning to S; rather, they all have a

beginning to S and thus fall into the “two-part” category.4 Second, I do not prioritize the first

perfect authentic cadence (PAC) in S as the “essential expositional closure” (EEC), which for

Hepokoski and Darcy marks the end of S and after which begins a separate “closing zone” (C).

Rather, my understanding of the form in this respect agrees with that of Caplin, who considers S

(the “subordinate theme group” in his terminology) to consist of one or more successive themes,

the last of which is usually followed by a set of codettas that together form a closing section,

what I will label CL. Because these codettas are “post-cadential” in function, or more broadly

they project the sense of “after-the-end,” they are in fact an extension of S and stretch the S-zone

right to the end of the exposition, even if we may still distinguish them within their own part of

the form.5 In this way, themes in Caplin’s sense cannot be considered “closing” rather than

“subordinate” since closing function rests only with the group of codettas.6 Moreover, the EEC

3 Hepokoski and Darcy agree that there is an S-theme in this example, but are unable to locate a satisfactory MC, stating that “it seems clear that S begins (initially over the dominant) at m. 67. But where is the preceding MC? Is it the I:IAC-effect (!) in m. 53, with the intervening measures serving as an expanded caesura-fill—one that initiates (but does not yet complete) the modulation to V? Are there other options?” Thus, in my attitude towards the MC and S, I am sympathetic to that of Caplin, who remarks of the same symphony’s finale that “even though the transition failed to bring its own cadential closure or any textural caesura [the two components of a medial caesura], it is not difficult to hear the beginning of this subordinate theme, as signaled by the harmony and, especially in this case, by the grouping structure [i.e., a sentence theme].” See William E. Caplin, “What are Formal Functions?,” in Musical Form, Forms & Formenlehre: Three Methodological Reflections, ed. Pieter Bergé (Leuven: Leuven University Press, 2009), 35. 4 Hepokoski and Darcy, Elements of Sonata Theory, 23 and 117, argue that there is no S at all in continuous expositions, but since these expositions still lead to the authors’ EEC, which for them occurs at the end of all S-zones in two-part expositions, it seems reasonable to equate their idea of continuous exposition with Caplin’s “transition lacking a concluding function” or “transition/subordinate theme fusion”, depending on the musical details. See the latter’s Classical Form: A Theory of Formal Functions for the Instrumental Music of Haydn, Mozart, and Beethoven (New York: Oxford University Press, 1998), 201-3. 5 A similar argument is proposed by William Horne, “The Hidden Trellis: Where Does the Second Group Begin in the First Movement of Beethoven’s Eroica Symphony?,” Beethoven Forum 13 (2006): 118n23. 6 William E. Caplin recently defended this concept against the criticism of James Hepokoski, remarking that “when considering what prior theorists have labeled as a closing theme, I find no consistent criteria used to make that identification, other than the analytically trivial one that it appears last in the exposition. . . . I have been led to this

22

concept regards all the expositional material that follows it to be formally “inessential”. But the

fact that all of the material from the start of S to the end of the exposition nearly always recurs

transposed to the tonic in the recapitulation demonstrates that it is all part of the same “large-

scale dissonance” created by this same segment in the exposition. The EEC therefore downplays

the importance of subsequent expositional material in what Charles Rosen calls “sonata style.”7

Finally, application of the EEC sometimes creates S-zones that are uncomfortably short in

comparison with the following C-zone. While Hepokoski and Darcy address this issue, their

explanation states only that the proportion of S to the preceding P and TR “is a matter of feel and

balance not to be captured by a simple rule,” which would leave the concept unable to be applied

consistently in such cases.8

At this point in the analysis, an entire Type 3 sonata-form movement will be broken

down into the following components (optional ones are shown in parentheses):

(Slow Introduction) Exposition Development Recapitulation (Coda) (I) || P – TR – S (– CL) || D || P – TR – S (– CL) || (Z) III. Small-Scale Analysis: Breaking the Large Sections Down into Themes, Theme-like Units and Other Smaller Structures i) Thematic Areas of Sonata Form (P and S) Having defined the large sections and theme zones within the form, the second stage of

the analysis involves breaking these sections down into their component themes and similar

viewpoint by carefully considering how such a thematic category could be meaningfully developed and analytically employed, and I have concluded—for the time being at least—that it is entirely dispensable, that the concept of subordinate theme adequately covers the formal situations presented in the later portion of a sonata exposition.” See William E. Caplin, “Response to the Comments,” in Musical Form, Forms & Formenlehre, 59. 7 Charles Rosen, Sonata Forms, rev. ed. (New York: W. W. Norton, 1988), 229 and 287. 8 Hepokoski and Darcy, Elements of Sonata Theory, 163-66.

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units. Within an exposition, P and S are composed of one or more themes. In this sense, a theme

may be defined as a structure that, in its simplest form, is eight measures in length, centres

around a single key, and usually closes with a cadence.9 With the delineation of these themes, I

create an overlap between the two stages of analysis. First, I employ Hepokoski and Darcy’s

labeling system of adding superscript numbers to P and S to denote the ordinal position of a

theme in a zone (e.g., S1, S2, etc.). Although this number always advances by one after the final

PAC of a theme, there are cases in which it will advance in the absence of a PAC because

closure has been brought about by other means, for example cadential chords that are not in root

position. (This is especially common in non-thematic areas such as transitions and developments,

where cadences are not at all required).10 Second, I label these same themes as a sentence,

period, “hybrid” theme, or other type of theme, drawn largely from Caplin’s work. Far from

being mutually exclusive, these two approaches to the analysis of themes are largely

complementary and each contributes in a different way to the analysis of dramatic structure later

on. On the one hand, Hepokoski and Darcy’s method—the “top-down” view of the form—shows

clearly and concisely where the theme resides in comparison with the rest of the theme zone.

This information is particularly useful for indicating how dramatic structures relate to one

9 These three characteristics of a theme derive directly from Arnold Schoenberg, who states that “a complete musical idea or theme is customarily articulated as a period or sentence. . . . There are many different types which are similar in two respects: they centre around a tonic, and they have a definite ending. In the simplest cases these structures consist of an even number of measures, usually eight or a multiple of eight.” Schoenberg later clarifies that by “ending,” he means “cadence,” regardless of the theme type: “The end of the sentence calls for the same treatment as the consequent of a period. A sentence may close on I, V, or III, with a suitable cadence.” See Arnold Schoenberg, Fundamentals of Musical Composition, ed. Gerald Strang (New York: St. Martin’s Press, 1967), 20-21 and 59. This definition of a theme is perpetuated, if implicity, by Erwin Ratz, Einführung in die musikalische Formenlehre, 3rd ed. (Vienna: Universal Edition, 1973), see especially 21-22; and by Caplin, Classical Form, see especially p. 3. Both of these writers base their work on the theme types of the sentence and period as defined by Schoenberg. 10 This practice differs from Hepokoski and Darcy, who allow for only two exceptions to the superscript numbering system. The first is the “trimodular block,” (TM) which is a span of music that includes apparent double medial caesuras. In such cases, the authors identify TM1, TM2, and TM3 within “a single cadential span.” The second involves introductory modules, which the authors identify as “zero-modules” (e.g., P0, S0) and which advance in number (e.g., to P1 or S1) without a PAC. See Elements of Sonata Theory, 72.

24

another as a sequence of events unfolding in time, for example if a certain type of dramatic

structure always occurs as an S1 theme. On the other hand, Caplin’s method—the “bottom-up”

view of the form—immediately signals what type of internal phrase structure a theme possesses,

which is useful in determining whether or not relationships exist between specific “formal

functions” (e.g., the continuation of a sentence) and dramatic structure.

Once one has determined the extent of the themes in P and S, it is then necessary to break

them down further into their constituent formal functions, for these become the building blocks

for the analysis of dramatic content. In all, I employ thirteen such functions, ten of which derive

from Caplin, and three of which are my own new additions (see Table 1.1). Every theme begins

with a basic idea, a unit with exclusively initiating function that varies in length but most often

occupies two measures. The particular combination of functions that follows then determines the

type of theme, each of which I describe below.

Table 1.1 – Formal Functions for the Analysis of Themes

From Caplin New Additions Basic Idea Large-Scale Basic Idea

Contrasting Idea Small-Scale Transition Expansion

Presentation Continuation Cadence Antecedent Consequent

Introduction (Thematic) Codetta Standing on the Dominant

Smallest Functions

Sentence

Period

Framing Functions

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a) Sentence

The sentence is the most important structure to this study not only because of its inherent

accelerative tension, but also because it is by far the most common phrase-structural device in

Beethoven and almost certainly in the classical period as a whole.11 In Caplin’s view, it is strictly

a type of theme that consists of a basic idea and its repetition (which together form a

presentation), followed by a continuation that contains a cadence to end the theme.12 In analysis,

however, I have found this definition to be overly restrictive, as it leaves many phrase structures

that are very similar to this model unable to be called sentences. Consequently, I provide a

broader definition of the sentence, which includes a presentation of any number of basic ideas, a

continuation and an optional cadence. Furthermore, there are a few other aspects of my definition

that differ from that of Caplin. First, I do not consider a prolongation of tonic harmony to be

necessary for the presence of a presentation or (by extension) a basic idea. Some themes begin

with dominant rather than tonic harmony, as for instance the first theme of the S-zone in the

Eroica Symphony at m. 45.13 Moreover, a basic idea need not be two measures long. Essential,

however, is Caplin’s notion that a theme must consist of a normative length of eight measures,

which eliminates the confusion that may arise when one type of theme appears to be nested

11 I expand on the ideas in this subsection in “Viennese Classicism and the Sentential Idea: Broadening the Sentence Paradigm,” forthcoming in Theory and Practice 36 (2011). Other scholars have drawn attention to the importance of accelerating phrase structures (i.e., sentences) in Beethoven’s music in particular. Alfred Brendel, “Form and Psychology in Beethoven’s Piano Sonatas,” in Musical Thoughts & Afterthoughts (London: Robson, 1976), 39, claims that phrase acceleration (or what he calls “the technique of foreshortening”) “is the driving force of [Beethoven’s] sonata forms and a basic principle of his musical thought” (his italics). (Brendel’s idea of foreshortening does, however, differ in some respects from accelerations in sentences. For example, in “The Process of Foreshortening in the First Movement of Beethoven’s Sonata Op. 2, No. 1,” found in the same collection of essays, he views the technique as applying not just to individual phrases but to large sections of the movement, as he claims (on p. 161): “Broadly speaking, the movement consists of two foreshortening series; the first extends from the beginning to the development, the second from the development to the end.”) See also Roger Kamien, “Phrase, Period, Theme,” in The Cambridge Companion to Beethoven, ed. Glenn Stanley (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2000), 66, who points out Beethoven’s particular attraction to the fragmentation type of acceleration: “Beethoven often creates momentum in [sentence] themes by this kind of progressive contraction or acceleration of motivic units, a process also referred to as motivic foreshortening.” 12 Caplin, Classical Form, 9-12. For a more extended discussion of the sentence, see his chapter 3 (pp. 35-48). 13 That this measure constitutes the start of the S-zone is convincingly argued in Horne, “The Hidden Trellis.”

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within another. Caplin gives the opening of Mozart’s Piano Sonata in A Major, K. 331,14 as an

example (shown here as Example 1.1) in which the antecedent and consequent of a period both

Example 1.1 – A Sentence Within a Period Theme; Mozart, Piano Sonata in A Major, K. 331, mm. 1-8

appear to be constructed of four-measure sentences. Are they both true themes? The answer is

no, since each sentence “does not contain sufficient musical content to make up a full eight-

measure theme.”15 The smaller sentences are therefore not truly themes, whereas the larger eight-

measure period is (even though it forms part of an even larger rounded binary theme). To make

this distinction clear in analysis, I add the term “theme” to structures that are true themes, and

exclude it from those that are not. Once again, this procedure differs from Caplin, who considers

a genuine sentence only to be what I would term a sentence theme. Thus in the Mozart example I

consider the antecedent and consequent to consist of sentences but not sentence themes, whereas

14 Unless otherwise specified or implied by the context, all references to works are to the first movement. 15 Caplin, Classical Form, 51.

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Caplin would consider them to be only “sentence-like” or “sentential.”16 Under my definition

then, a sentence may assume virtually any formal function, not just that of theme. A basic idea,

for example, may be constructed as a sentence, complete with its own smaller-scale basic idea(s)

and continuation.

Because my definition of the sentence includes a presentation with any number of basic

ideas, there are a number of different types of sentence that may occur, each of which may be

found in Beethoven and in classical-style works in general (hence my usage of examples outside

of Beethoven). A monofold sentence contains a single basic idea, a bifold sentence two (although

I revert to the neutral term “sentence” when discussing this type in order to retain a connection

with all previous literature on the sentence, which is concerned only with this type), a trifold

sentence three, a quadrifold sentence four, and a multifold sentence any number beyond four.

Examples of the first four types are given in Example 1.2. My view of the continuation is similar

to that of Caplin, but differs in two important respects. Caplin’s continuation is defined by at

least one of four features: 1) fragmentation (in which the melodic units become shorter compared

to the basic idea), 2) harmonic acceleration (an increase in the harmonic rhythm), 3) rhythmic

acceleration (an increase in the surface rhythm), and 4) harmonic sequence.17 However, since

sequences are not confined to continuations alone but may be found in practically any other

formal function, I do not consider them to be a defining feature of a continuation. As a result, the

continuation is a function based entirely on some form of acceleration, and cannot begin a theme

as Caplin claims because its accelerative quality can only be perceived in relation to a previous

basic idea.18 Secondly, my view of the continuation does not necessarily include a cadence as it

16 Caplin, Classical Form, 51. 17 Caplin, Classical Form, 41. 18 In this connection, see Steven Vande Moortele, Two-Dimensional Sonata Form (Leuven: Leuven University Press, 2009), 70-71, who views a sequence at the opening of a structure as the initiating units (i.e., presentation) of a

28

Example 1.2 – Three Types of Sentence a) Monofold Sentence; Mozart, Piano Sonata in E-Flat Major, K. 282, mm. 1-4

b) Trifold Sentence; Haydn, String Quartet in C Major, op. 50, no. 2, mm. 1-9

c) Quadrifold Sentence; Beethoven, Piano Sonata in E-flat Major, op. 7, mm. 273-280

large sentence in Liszt’s Die Ideale. Although Liszt postdates the classical era, it seems unlikely that the same formal pattern would be heard differently according to the historical period in which a composition was written.

29

does for Caplin.19 Because I consider the cadence to be an optional component of the sentence, it

may be partially or fully fused with the continuation (as Caplin argues), or it may be a separate

structural unit (i.e., contains no acceleration), or it may be absent altogether. In all of these cases,

the result is a sentence by my definition. Figure 1.1 shows each of these situations schematically.

Figure 1.1 – Three Types of Continuation with Cadence a) Continuation, Cadence b) Continuation/Cadence c) Continuation (Cadence) (separate functions) (fused functions) (partially-fused functions) cont cad cont cont

cad cad b) Period The period consists of an antecedent followed by a consequent, but whereas Caplin

considers each of these components to consist strictly of a basic idea plus a differing contrasting

idea, many periods are in fact constructed of two smaller sentences (as in the Mozart sonata of

Example 1.1). This latter type of structure has important consequences for the analysis of

dramatic content, since a sentence always creates tension by acceleration. Two other features that

Caplin requires for the period are: 1) a weaker cadence at the end of the antecedent compared to

the consequent, and 2) a repeat of the antecedent’s basic idea at the start of the consequent.20 In

some large-scale structures, however, (as in the P-themes of Beethoven’s Fifth and Sixth

Symphonies), although the putative consequent phrase ends on a tonic chord in response to a half

cadence in the antecedent, it does so with a weaker kind of close than a cadence, as through a

pedal point (what I term a closural function, described more fully in the subsection “Cadences”

19 Caplin, Classical Form, 40. 20 Caplin, Classical Form, 49.

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below). Thus, the idea of a period having to close with a cadence must sometimes be considered

flexibly.

The period and sentence theme types may appear in a larger form that Caplin calls

“compound”, with a normative length of sixteen measures. In analysis I do not specifically refer

to these larger period and sentence structures as compound, but rather I prefer to denote their

larger size through the use of all upper-case letters in their labels in order to simplify annotations.

Figure 1.2 schematically shows a sixteen-measure period composed of two eight-measure

sentence themes (the number of measures for each function is shown in parentheses).

Figure 1.2 – A Sixteen-Measure Period

ANTECEDENT (8) CONSEQUENT (8) Bi (2) Bi (2) Cont (4) Bi (2) Bi (2) Cont (4)

Bi = Basic idea; Cont = Continuation c) Caplin’s Hybrid Themes As Caplin points out, themes other than the sentence and period may be formed through

different combinations of functions, structures he therefore designates hybrid themes. Some of

these hybrid themes contain a four-measure function he calls a “compound basic idea” (Cbi),

which, like an antecedent, consists of a basic idea plus a contrasting idea, but has no cadence.21

Since a Cbi always has this structure, Caplin analyzes all basic ideas that go beyond the

normative two-measure length as “Bi + Ci”. This construction, however, is not always present in

larger basic ideas, nor are they always four measures long. Both small and large basic ideas may,

for example, consist of a sentence containing a presentation (Bi + Bi) plus continuation, which 21 For a discussion of Caplin’s hybrid themes and the compound basic idea, see his Classical Form, 59-63.

31

would have a more significant effect on the analysis of drama than the more neutral “Bi + Ci”.

Thus, I refer to basic ideas longer than two measures as large-scale basic ideas (BIs), as shown

in Example 1.3.22 While Caplin’s “Cbi” may at times correspond to my large-scale “BI”, the two

Example 1.3 – Large-Scale Basic Ideas a) Structured as a Sentence and Supported by a Dominant Prolongation; Beethoven, Piano Sonata in D Minor, op. 31, no. 2, “Tempest”, mm. 41-49

22 Caplin has recently argued that the large basic ideas shown in Example 1.3a (what he terms compound basic ideas) is composed of a two-measure basic idea (mm. 42-43 and their pickups) and a subsequent two-measure contrasting idea (mm. 44-45 and their pickups). This interpretation, however, ignores the acceleration of the second half of the idea in mm. 44-45 through fragmentation (note the increased rate of the low bass note E) and increased rhythmic activity (more eighth notes in the right hand). For these reasons, I rather view the large basic idea as a sentence. See William E. Caplin, “Beethoven’s Tempest Exposition: A Springboard for Form-Functional Considerations,” in Beethoven’s Tempest Sonata: Perspectives of Analysis and Performance, ed. Pieter Bergé, Jeroen D’hoe and William E. Caplin (Walpole, MA: Peeters, 2009), 99 (Ex. 4.4).

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b) Larger than Four Measures; Beethoven, Piano Sonata in D Major, op. 28, “Pastoral”, mm. 1-39

are not interchangeable concepts—the former consists only of a “Bi + Ci”, whereas the latter

may consist of any conceivable structure, as long as it does indeed break down into smaller

formal functions.23 Returning to the notion of hybrid themes, I present Caplin’s four such

23 Otherwise, what results is a smaller basic idea that has merely been notated with more measures. Caplin, Classical Form, 35, describes this phenomenon with the formula R=2N, where each “real” measure (R) is equal to two notated measures (N). On p. 256, Caplin defines a real measure as “a unit of musical time corresponding to a listener’s perception of a ‘full measure’ of music.” In some fast movements, especially scherzos, a single real measure is equal to two notated measures. Conversely, in some slow movements, it is equal to half a notated measure. Thus, the concept is closely linked to tempo and the notation of rhythmic values, but because it has not

33

structures in Table 1.2. (Note that Caplin’s “Cbi” in Hybrids 3 and 4 has been replaced here with

the broader concept “BI”).

Table 1.2 – Caplin’s Hybrid Themes

Theme Components Abbreviation Hybrid 1 Antecedent + Continuation Ant + Cont Hybrid 2 Antecedent + Cadence Ant + Cad Hybrid 3 Large-Scale Basic Idea + Continuation BI + Cont Hybrid 4 Large-Scale Basic Idea + Consequent BI + Cons d) Other Hybrid Themes Over the course of analyzing Beethoven movements for this study, two other hybrid

theme types have been found to exist. While they are admittedly rare, at least in this cross-

section of Beethoven’s works, they are nevertheless important in order to be as comprehensive as

possible in the analysis of form; they are listed in Table 1.3. Caplin does mention a “presentation

+ consequent” as a possible theme type but, presumably due to its infrequency, does not assign it

a hybrid number like the others.24 Nonetheless, I call this theme type a hybrid 5 and, like the

sentence, I consider its presentation to contain any number of basic ideas. Similarly, a hybrid 6,

which I define as a presentation with any number of basic ideas plus a cadence, may appear to be

equivalent to Caplin’s “compound basic idea + continuation” (a hybrid sentence), but because it

lacks the crucial forward-driving motion of a continuation, it cannot be considered as such and

must instead be viewed as a less energetic structure (at least in its latter half). Finally, due to their

variable number of basic ideas, in analysis, both of these hybrid structures may be identified as a

monofold, bifold, trifold, quadrifold, or multifold type (e.g., a “Monofold hybrid 5 theme”).

been established with any hard and fast rules, relies largely on one’s judgement and experience with the classical style. 24 Caplin, Classical Form, 63.

34

Table 1.3 – Other Hybrid Themes

Theme Components Abbreviation Hybrid 5 Presentation + Consequent Pres + Cont Hybrid 6 Presentation + Cadence Pres + Cad e) Cadence Types Because cadences are the primary means of articulating closure in music of the classical

period, it is essential that they be defined with precision and consistency.25 Caplin has recently

reiterated and expanded upon the fundamental concepts governing cadences in the classical

style.26 His two main tenets are essential to this study: 1) all authentic cadences must have both

its V chord and final I chord in root position (half cadences have only the root position V chord),

and 2) all cadences must follow a separate initiating unit of structure. As a consequence of the

first tenet, any V chord that is inverted, or approached or left through an inversion of V (or V7)

cannot function as a cadence’s ultimate chord (in half cadences) or penultimate chord (in

authentic cadences). Moreover, a V chord that includes a dissonant seventh cannot be considered

the end of a half cadence. The second tenet requires an “initiating unit” of structure that occurs

before, but remains separate from, the cadence; in other words, there will always be at the very

least one basic idea preceding a cadence. A basic idea must therefore be viewed strictly as an

initiating unit that cannot itself form a cadence to other larger groups. This is an especially

important distinction to make in themes that seem to begin with a cadence.27

25 I give a more detailed discussion of the ideas in this subsection in “Endings to Classical Themes: The Role of Melody and Texture in Cadences, Closural Function, and the Separated Cadence,” forthcoming in Intersections: Canadian Journal of Music (2011). 26 William E. Caplin, “The Classical Cadence: Conceptions and Misconceptions,” Journal of the American Musicological Society 57 (2004): 51-117. 27 Caplin’s example in this regard is the opening of the Trio in the third movement of Mozart’s “Jupiter” Symphony, which begins with a V7-I progression that sounds like a cadence but cannot be because there is no previous initiating unit. Caplin therefore makes a distinction between “cadential content” (chords typically used in a cadence) and “cadential function” (cadential chords used in a unit after an initiating one). See “The Classical Cadence,” 83-85.

35

It is important to point out that the term “cadence” in this study does not only refer to the

final chord of the cadence—the cadential arrival—but to the entire cadential progression at the

end of a phrase—the cadential function. A cadential progression, or cadential content, in its

fullest form involves four chords: an initial tonic (most often in first inversion), a predominant, a

dominant, and a final tonic chord.28 The initial tonic chord may be embellished by a

neighbouring form of V7, usually Vł, but sometimes appearing as VŁ or, I would add, as any

form of a V chord, or even by IV (iv in the minor mode).29 In Caplin’s view, a cadential function

begins strictly with the start of the cadential progression, no matter where it may be located in

the latter part of a phrase. However, I attribute greater importance to the melodic events in a

phrase. In my view, a cadence involves not only a cadential progression and a phrase ending, but

also the start of a melodic unit, which, together with the harmony, signals that a cadential arrival

is imminent.30 Obviously, there are many cases in which these two parameters enter at different

times. If a cadential progression enters before the start of a melodic event, the cadential function

begins only with the onset of the melodic event rather than with the harmony alone. Similarly, a

new melodic event often signals a cadential function that begins with a dominant harmony that

embellishes the initial tonic chord, as mentioned above. Example 1.4 illustrates three situations

in which the melody establishes a cadential function at different positions than if it were based

28 For full descriptions of cadential arrival, cadential function, and cadential content, see Caplin, “The Classical Cadence,” 77 and 82 for a description of cadential content. 29 Only Vł chords are mentioned in Caplin, Classical Form, 111. For the VŁ and IV as possible embellishments, see William E. Caplin, “The ‘Expanded Cadential Progression’: A Category for the Analysis of Classical Form,” The Journal of Musicological Research 7 (1987): 241 and 227, respectively. 30 My preference of hearing a cadential function as beginning only with the start of a melodic unit is somewhat akin to Hepokoski and Darcy’s understanding of the transition zone (TR) of a sonata as beginning only with the start of a phrase: “our strong tendency is to regard P [the primary-theme zone] as ending with a cadence (authentic or half) and TR as beginning a new phrase . . . This means that many TRs begin as a P-restatement or as a consequent to P’s antecedent: they begin with some sort of reiteration of the opening of P (sometimes referred to by other writers as the counterstatement) but then turn mid-phrase into more typical transitional behavior. In these instances we consider TR, as a structural concept, to have been launched at the thematic opening of the phrase.” See their Elements of Sonata Theory, 95.

36

solely on harmony and location. In 1.4a, at m. 9, the melodic change along with the supporting

harmony and location at the end of the phrase denotes a change in function, and the initial Vŀ

chord, with its strong pull towards the tonic, embellishes the initial tonic chord of the cadential

progression. The textural change from a single voice in m. 8 to three parts in m. 9 also projects

the sense of a new function suddenly entering. In 1.4b, the E in the right hand on the last beat of

m. 7 halts the motion of the preceding triplets, signalling an end to the continuation, and the

following appoggiatura on D-sharp begins a differing sixteenth-note rhythm that signals the

onset of the cadence despite the initial I6 chord of the cadential progression appearing with the

previous E. Finally, in 1.4c, the predominant chord of the cadential progression in m. 6 occurs

within the basic idea, and therefore cannot be considered part of a cadential function since basic

ideas have an initiating function. Rather, the cadence does not begin until the melodic change in

m. 7, which in this case coincides with the function of a contrasting idea. I would argue that the

more melodic view of cadential function I propose here is supported by the fact that formal

functions are made audible largely by means of melody, which is a highly prominent aspect of

the classical style that has been underappreciated in recent theoretical literature.31

31 James Hepokoski has recently argued that melody plays a much larger role in the perception of classical form than Caplin admits: “What is one to make of any system that declares that ‘thematic [i.e., melodic] content,’ a central topical feature of the dramatized classical style by any account and one of the foremost attributes that all listeners directly experience, ‘plays [only] a minimal role’ when compared with ever-recurring strings of beginning-middle-end functionalities? The dramatic textural contrasts and intertextually shared thematic/topical signs that such content regularly provides as vivid, expressive hallmarks of the style are thus demoted to a status ‘essentially independent of formal functionality,’ with ‘no necessary connection to formal function.’ Even while granting the wiggle-room offered here by the qualifier ‘necessary,’ this seems an astonishing subordination of common sense to a dubious a priori postulate.” See James Hepokoski, “Comments on William E. Caplin’s Essay ‘What are Formal Functions?’,” in Musical Form, Forms, & Formenlehre, 42-43.

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Example 1.4 – Cadential Function as Determined by the Start of a Melodic Event (Along with Harmony and Location) a) Cadence Beginning Before (and with Embellishment of) the Initial Tonic Harmony; Mozart, Piano Sonata in B-flat Major, K. 333, mm. 1-10

b) Cadence Beginning After the Initial Tonic Harmony; Haydn, Piano Sonata in A Major, Hob. XVI: 12, II, mm. 1-10

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c) Cadence Beginning After the Predominant Harmony; Beethoven, Piano Sonata in A Major, op. 2, no. 2, IV, mm. 5-8

The three types of cadence that may provide closure to themes are the perfect authentic

cadence (PAC), half cadence (HC), and more rarely the imperfect authentic cadence (IAC).32

Caplin identifies three other types of cadences that delay the onset of an expected PAC,

especially in S-themes: deceptive, evaded, and abandoned. A deceptive cadence may be created

by a final bass note other than the most familiar sixth scale-degree, which usually supports a vi

(or bVI) chord; for example, the raised fourth (as in viio7 of V) and even the third scale-degree

(as in a final I6 chord). Note that, in all cases, the replacement harmony will contain the tonic

scale degree and thus remains “deceptive” in that it retains some similarity with the implied tonic

chord. In an evaded cadence, a passage fails to reach an implied final tonic chord because a new

event begins where the chord is expected.33 This is a different situation from an elision, where a

32 While Caplin, Classical Form, 97, argues that S-themes (his “subordinate themes”) all end with PACs, I do not make such a claim. While most S-themes do end with PACs, there are nonetheless a significant number of them that do not. For examples of concluding HCs to S-themes in Beethoven’s first movements, see op. 18, no. 4, m. 49; op. 28, m. 77; op. 30, no. 2, m. 46; and even op. 55 (the Eroica Symphony), m. 99, which ends a theme with a dominant arrival. Exceptions that Caplin admits (p. 270n10) all end with IACs. If an S-theme ends with a HC, which is far more common than the IAC, Caplin views it as an “internal half cadence” that leads to a resumption of continuation or cadential function, or to a new basic idea that begins a second part of a “two-part theme.” (For Caplin’s discussion of the internal half cadence, see pp. 115-17.) In my view, if there is a new theme after such a HC, I understand it as a separate theme (unless there is a return to the previous theme’s melodic material, in which case I would consider it a part of the preceding theme). See, for example, Beethoven’s Piano Sonata in D Major, op. 28, m. 77, where a HC in F-sharp minor marks the end of S1 and proceeds to a transitional passage leading to S2. The sharp contrast in melodic material between S1 and S2 also strengthens the sense of differentiation between the two themes. 33 Caplin, Classical Form, 101.

39

single event acts as both the end of one group and the start of the next. By contrast, in evaded

cadences, there is no sense of an ending when the next event begins, and thus the actual moment

of cadential arrival is absent. Caplin’s third type of cadential delay is the abandoned cadence, in

which the cadential dominant chord is, or becomes, inverted or is absent altogether.34 In each

type of cadential avoidance, the theme continues on and usually secures a PAC at some later

point.

Despite this broad range of cadence types, an examination of the classical repertoire

reveals that they are not the only means of providing closure to entire themes. In this light, I

propose a new type of cadential function I call the separated cadence and a new type of ending I

call a closural function. The separated cadence is not an entirely new cadential type, but rather a

new way of understanding how either a PAC or IAC may be deployed by having the melody and

bass move to their respective goal tones at different points in time. As a result, the cadential

arrival is not a single moment, but is dispersed over two or more beats. The notion of the

separated cadence is especially useful in explaining passages in which there is some cadential

ambiguity caused by a delayed motion in the bass. Indeed, in a number of instances, as in

Example 1.5, Beethoven continues to sound the dominant note in the bass beneath an otherwise

normative PAC. Finally, closural function, which provides a similar-sounding substitute for

cadential function, may end a theme in a number of ways. One particularly common closural

function is a dominant arrival, a final dominant chord that is not cadential because it is inverted,

contains a dissonant seventh, or is approached through non-cadential harmony such as a

dominant pedal.35 Closural function may also be attained by a tonic arrival, a new term I

34 Caplin, Classical Form, 106-7. 35 Caplin, Classical Form, 79, applies this term only to structures that are not themes, hence his introduction of it in the context of the transition, a non-thematic area of sonata form.

40

Example 1.5 – A Separated PAC; Beethoven, Piano Sonata in C Minor, op. 111, mm. 34-35

introduce here to describe an ending with a similarly non-cadential tonic chord (due to inversion

or a lack of cadential progression leading up to it). But perhaps the most common type of

closural function is that produced by a cadence-like progression of chords that, because they are

either inverted or occur over a pedal point, cannot be considered truly cadential. In each type of

closural function, the ending mimics the effect of a cadence in some way, but lacks true cadential

function for one of the harmonic reasons listed above.36

f) Framing Functions: Introductions and Post-Cadential Functions In addition to the formal functions that make up the inner content of themes, there are

two other types that serve as framing functions that surround a theme.37 The first of these is an

introduction, which usually constitutes a brief span of one to four measures before the start of a

theme. This introductory framing function, which Caplin aptly terms a thematic introduction, is

36 Similarly, James Webster, Haydn’s ”Farewell” Symphony and the Idea of Classical Style: Through-Composition and Cyclical Integration in His Instrumental Music (New York: Cambridge University Press, 1991), 146, cites “avoidance of root-position V-I cadences” as a device that weakens the sense of closure in a piece. Thus, implicitly, he argues that closure still occurs in such situations despite its weakened condition. 37 The following discussion of framing functions draws on Caplin, Classical Form, 15-16.

41

to be distinguished from the larger slow introduction, which usually comprises its own set of

themes or theme-like units.38

The second type of framing function is the post-cadential function, which is subdivided

into two groups: codetta and standing on the dominant. As the name suggests, these functions

normally follow the final cadence of a theme, but may occur after a closural function or simply

after the final function of a structural unit. They are usually brief units of one to four measures

and serve to prolong the final harmony of the preceding cadence, tonic harmony in a codetta, and

dominant harmony in a standing on the dominant. A prolonged dominant harmony sometimes

appears without having first had a half cadence. In such situations, I only regard the prolongation

as a standing on the dominant if there is a perceptible ending to the phrase, which may include a

cadence or closural function, but may also be articulated simply by the grouping structure of the

phrase. Necessarily, such decisions remain somewhat subjective and with the judgement of the

analyst.

It should also be noted that while these post-cadential functions are defined primarily by

their harmonic content, their phrase-structural organization, which has tended to be ignored in

previous analyses, is no less important. Codettas, standing on the dominants, and even some

longer thematic introductions are very often organized as a sentence, and therefore carry more

dramatic weight than those that are not.

38 In the Tempest Sonata, although Beethoven combines aspects of both types of introduction in the opening two measures, it ultimately (retrospectively, perhaps) has the function of a thematic introduction, a view shared by both Janet Schmalfeldt, “Form as the Process of Becoming: The Beethoven-Hegelian Tradition and the ‘Tempest’ Sonata,” Beethoven Forum 4 (1995): 61, and Caplin, “Beethoven’s Tempest Exposition,” 90.

42

g) Other Small-Scale Functions: Retransition, Transition, and Expansion The retransition is a relatively short passage that may occur as the last module of the

exposition and whose function is to divert the music away from the key of the S-zone and either

into the home tonic key for a repeat of the exposition or possibly another key for the start of the

development section (if the exposition is not repeated). Although the retransition is identified

exclusively by this tonal diversion, which is usually situated at or near its end, it is imperative for

the purposes of the present study to find a means of locating an exact starting point for its

beginning. Doing so provides a consistent method by which tension may be measured in the

complete module. Fortunately, Hepokoski and Darcy discuss the retransition in some detail, and

identify two ways in which it may begin: “When a retransition occurs at the end of the

exposition, it may follow the final closing module [i.e., codetta] as an easily separable idea, often

P-based, or it may begin as a closing module (or its repetition) and dissolve into retransitional

activity.” Crucially, however, they indicate a precise method of analyzing either type of

beginning: “When a new module veers away from authentic-cadential implication and toward a

new dominant setup for the return of the tonic, the beginning of that module is considered the

start of RT, regardless of the material on which it is based. As with TR, one should not consider

RT as beginning in the middle of a phrase or self-standing concluding module.”39 Thus, whether

a final codetta dissolves into a tonal diversion or whether the diversion is an independent

module, the analytical outcome is the same: RT begins with the start of the entire module that

contains the diversion and is not confined only to the diversion itself.

Two other small-scale functions that appear in classical works but have not been

discussed in the theoretical literature are the (small-scale) transition and expansion. A transition

39 Hepokoski and Darcy, Elements of Sonata Theory, 193.

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has “after-the-end” function in that it generally occurs after a cadence then moves to another key

area, much like its larger counterpart in sonata expositions (TR) often does (see Example 1.6).

Example 1.6 – A Transition Function; Beethoven, Piano Sonata in E-flat Major, op. 7, mm. 181-190

This type of function is essentially equivalent to William Rothstein’s “cadence-altering

expansion”, in which a phrase reaches a cadence then adds an expansion that closes on a

different final harmony, thus altering our perception of the cadential chord.40 In an expansion

function, further action is withheld in a phrase through the use of material that does not express

any of the more goal-driven functions such as contrasting idea, continuation, or cadence. This

type of function produces a sort of form-functional stasis within a module, a quality that

distinguishes the expansion as a formal function from Rothstein’s broader notion of phrase

expansion: whereas the latter is created by additional measures of music that add to its surface

hypermetre (or large-scale metre), the former is created by a succession of formal functions,

40 William Rothstein, Phrase Rhythm in Tonal Music (New York: Schrimer Books, 1989), 94-97.

44

which are not defined by hypermetre.41 Thus, the two types of expansion rest on very different

definitions, even if they may sometimes coincide. While there are too many ways that an

expansion function may occur in a phrase to list here, the two situations shown in Example 1.7

will suffice to give the general idea of how the function operates.

Example 1.7 – Expansion Functions a) Beethoven, Cello Sonata in F Major, op. 5, no. 1, mm. 132-137

41 See Rothstein, Phrase Rhythm, especially chapter 3.

45

b) Beethoven, String Trio, op. 3, mm. 63-83

ii) Non-Thematic Areas of Sonata Form a) Theme-Like Units

As with the thematic areas of P and S, non-thematic areas, namely slow introductions,

transitions, developments, and codas, may be divided into one or more parts, but unlike P and S,

cadences are not obligatory in these other areas, and are therefore found less frequently. Thus

one cannot rely solely or even mainly on cadences to distinguish between different units within

the section. Frequently, these non-thematic sections are divided into theme-like units, which, as

46

Caplin notes, resemble one of the theme types mentioned above but are not required to close

with a cadence.42 Moreover, because they occur exclusively in more tonally unstable areas of a

form, they tend not to centre around a single key and thus differ again from themes. Although

theme-like units may indeed close with a cadence, they may also be separated from surrounding

units by beginning with a new basic idea, especially following a continuation. In such situations,

the new basic idea is made audible because the accelerative process of the continuation comes to

an end—in other words, there is a deceleration in the harmony, rhythm, or size of the melodic

units, but no cadential function.43

b) Slow Introductions

Slow introductions are a relatively common feature in the classical symphonic repertoire,

but appear far less often in other genres. In the scholarly literature, while slow introductions have

long been a topic of interest, their component phrases and inner phrase structure—issues central

to the present theory—have been little discussed. Recently, however, Hepokoski and Darcy have

identified four optional “zones” in slow introductions: 1) an annunciatory call to attention, 2)

quieter material, 3) sequences, and 4) a dominant preparation. Caplin, moreover, has noted that

slow introductions often assume a bipartite or tripartite form as articulated by the number of

cadences, and that some may contain four or more “distinct parts.”44 Besides these general

outlines, however, slow introductions have not been examined with regards to their form-

functional content. As it turns out, the core of a slow introduction—that is, the content between

42 Caplin, Classical Form, 257. 43 Caplin has also recently recognized this phenomenon, noting that, while fragmentation (or the shortening of melodic units) “is highly expressive of medial functionality,” or more simply, commonly denotes the “middle” of a form-functional group, “an opposite process—for which there is no standard term—can have important form-functional consequences as well.” Significantly, he states that “I am referring here to situations where larger-sized units are re-established following fragmentation. In some of those cases, the resumption of a larger unit can help to signal formal initiation” (my italics). See Caplin, “What are Formal Functions?,” 35. 44 Caplin, Classical Form, 205.

47

any introductory “call to attention” and the final standing on the dominant—is composed of a

number of themes or theme-like units, usually one or two but sometimes more. Whereas all slow

introductions contain at least one theme or theme-like unit, the other two zones are optional.

Thus, from a form-functional perspective, a slow introduction may have up to three zones:

Introduction (Thematic) Themes or Theme-Like Units Standing on the Dominant

These zones form the basis of the main structural divisions within a slow introduction,

and recalling that my notation for a slow introduction in analysis is the letter “I”, each zone is

represented by its own symbol: I1, I2, and I3, respectively. Since not all three zones are always

present, there may be some slow introductions that begin with I2, for example, or that possess I1

and I2, but lack I3. In this way, comparisons are facilitated because each symbol is always

associated with the same particular zone. In slow introductions where the second zone contains

more than one theme or theme-like unit, the symbol’s number is subdivided using decimal points

as in I2.1, I2.2, etc., adapting Hepokoski and Darcy’s notational method of subdividing individual

phrases.

c) Transitions It has long been observed that a transition is not necessarily a passage that modulates to

the new key for the start of S. More recently, however, a number of scholars have observed that

transitions generally provide an increase in energy over P.45 In Hepokoski and Darcy’s Sonata

45 Three sources are particularly noteworthy in this respect. Charles Rosen, Sonata Forms, 238, remarks that, in an exposition, “the first section [i.e., P + TR] always has an increasingly animated texture; this is as essential to the style as the modulation itself, and, indeed, helps to give the modulation its dramatic meaning.” Caplin, Classical Form, 125, notes that “the transition . . . imparts greater rhythmic continuity and momentum to the movement,” and that “the frequent use of structural elision with the end of the main theme and a sudden change from piano to forte

48

Theory, this energetic transition (TR) leads to a “medial caesura” (MC), a break in texture that

occurs directly before the start of S. Although Hepokoski and Darcy consider the MC necessary

for the presence of S, I consider it to be a strong indication of an S-theme immediately following

it, but not a syntactically necessary feature. Many of Beethoven’s later S-zones in particular may

be differentiated from TR without a MC, but instead by being preceded by a V chord, occurring

with a clear change in texture, being structured as a type of theme, and beginning with

characteristic melodic material. Nevertheless, two other observations Hepokoski and Darcy make

with regard to the MC will be an important part of this study. First, when the MC is bridged over

by one or more voices that continue to sound through the gap (in such cases, marked by a thinner

texture), the resulting “caesura-fill” is neither a part of TR nor S.46 This distinction will be useful

in comparing how the end of TR interacts with the start of S, and whether the former usually

ends with the typical “energy-gain” that Hepokoski and Darcy suggest. Furthermore, I will adopt

these authors’ recommendation that the beginning of TR itself ought to be the start of a phrase

wherever possible (just as the retransition should, as mentioned earlier).47

It is important to distinguish whether a transition unfolds over one or two parts. If there is

only one part, the transition may be either non-modulating or modulating.48 In both cases, the

transition usually ends with a half cadence or dominant arrival that is prolonged by a standing on

the dominant. If a transition comprises two parts, then it usually combines a non-modulating part

with a modulating part, in that order, complete with independent standing on the dominants for

each part. In these cases, there is often the sense that a potential space that has been prepared for also helps create the impression of high energy at the beginning of the transition.” Finally, Hepokoski and Darcy, Elements of Sonata Theory, 94, state that in first movements “TR suggests the post-P expectation of a normative, rhetorical energy-gain, a passage of rhythmic verve and increased harmonic action. . . . In orchestral Allegro compositions, the onset of TR (especially following a relatively soft P-theme) is frequently marked with a strong tutti entrance: the tutti affirmation or forte affirmation of the theme” (their italics). 46 Hepokoski and Darcy, Elements of Sonata Theory, 40. 47 Hepokoski and Darcy, Elements of Sonata Theory, 95. 48 The notion of modulating, non-modulating, and two-part transitions is from Caplin, Classical Form, 125.

49

the start of S is being rejected as such—what Hepokoski and Darcy refer to as “MC declined.”49

In Beethoven, this rejection often takes the form of a sudden entrance of the submediant key,

particularly if the work is in C minor, as for example in his Piano Trio, op. 1, no. 3, String Trio

op. 9, no. 3, and String Quartet, op. 18, no. 4. For the analysis of two-part transitions, I denote

each of the parts with distinct superscript numerals, i.e., as TR1 and TR2, respectively. Note that

this practice differs from the thematic areas of P and S, where a cadential or closural function is

generally required to proceed from one numeral to the next. Moreover, if either part of TR ends

with a standing on the dominant, I denote it as TRSod1 or TRSod2 according to the respective TR

part that it follows.

d) Developments Developments are notorious for defying broad analytical patterns largely because of the

myriad ways they may be constructed. No doubt this is one of the reasons why much of the

literature of the past half-century or so that discusses the structure of developments in any detail

focusses on the harmonic pathways the section may take, virtually eschewing its melodic

makeup altogether.50 More recently, however, theorists such as Caplin and Hepokoski and Darcy

have begun to consider both melodic and harmonic aspects of the section together.

Caplin’s view of development sections refines Erwin Ratz’s notion of the “core,” the

central portion of a development that is essentially a single large-scale sentence (though Caplin

49 See Hepokoski and Darcy, Elements of Sonata Theory, 45-47, and for a lengthier discussion, James Hepokoski and Warren Darcy, “The Medial Caesura and Its Role in the Eighteenth-Century Sonata Exposition,” Music Theory Spectrum 19 (1997): 138-45. One caveat to my adoption of the “MC declined” is that, because my conception of form is based on syntactical features in the music, I would not regard a situation as an MC declined if only rhetorical features are involved. This is, however, the idea behind the authors’ “Situation 3” of MC declined, in which “the music following the proposed MC accepts the generically expected new key but decisively reinvigorates obvious TR-texture (or pointedly avoids all features of normative S-rhetoric).” See “Medial Caesura,” 143. 50 See, for example, Leonard G. Ratner, Classic Music: Expression, Form, and Style (New York: Schirmer Books, 1980), 225-29, who does mention melodic material but focusses on the harmonic aspects of the section; Rosen, Sonata Forms, 262-83; and Rothstein, Phrase Rhythm, 112-13.

50

does not refer to it as such). The core comprises a large initial unit (i.e., a large basic idea) that is

repeated through sequence then broken down through fragmentation, usually leading to a half

cadence or dominant arrival then a standing on the dominant. Hepokoski and Darcy, on the other

hand, contend that developments typically divide into a maximum of four zones: 1) a link from

the exposition leading into the development proper, 2) an entry or prepartory zone, 3) a central

action zone, and 4) a retransitional zone usually featuring a dominant prolongation.51 But by

combining these two views, it seems that the pre-core consists of Zone 2, and the core of Zones 3

and/or 4. (Because Zone 1 represents a retransition from the exposition, I instead shift the zone

forward to coincide with any thematic introduction to the development that may be present.

These zones are described in more detail in chapter 4.) Zone 2 would contain prepartory themes

or theme-like units; Zone 3 would be the large-scale sentence; and Zone 4 the final standing on

the dominant. However, because Zone 3s may not be structured as a sentence (but may still be

large in scale), I group other structural types (any number of them) into this same category. In

my analyses, each theme and theme-like unit is identified with its own superscript numeral, as in

D3.1, D3.2, and so on.

e) Codas Because defining where a coda begins can be a complicated affair, a full discussion of the

matter is best deferred until chapter 6, which focusses specifically on the sections of coda and

slow introduction. Suffice it to say here that I identify three optional zones for a coda, Z1, Z2, and

Z3, the first two of which describe different types of introductions into the coda and the third of

which comprises the central portion of the coda. By this definition, every coda has a central

portion, or what I call a coda proper, regardless of whether its formal function is a theme, theme- 51 For these four zones and their descriptions (as cited above), see Hepokoski and Darcy, Elements of Sonata Theory, 229-30.

51

like unit, or even merely a codetta. Codas of substantial length, as famously in the Eroica

Symphony, are thus the result of an enlarged coda proper, by means of internal phrase expansion,

the addition of multiple modules, or both.

With the methodology I present in this chapter, one may divide a sonata form into its

component sections, zones, modules (themes and similar units), and on the smallest level, its

individual formal functions. This highly detailed approach allows one to compare dramatic

structure at precisely the same location in the form across many different pieces and thus to

uncover patterns in the ways that Beethoven tends to dramatize sonata form. But because the

idea of “dramatic structure” has heretofore been unexplored, we must first lay the foundation for

its analysis by defining what the various types of tension are and how their combination may

become “dramatic”, all of which will be the subject of the following chapter.

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Chapter 2: The Analysis of Musical Tension and Drama The intensely dramatic character of some passages of music is produced by the presence

of various types of tension. In all, I identify thirteen tension types—seven in the rhetorical

category and six in the syntactical. (A review of each category is given below.) Although this

may seem an unwieldy number of types to consider, the advantage of this approach is that a

passage may be defined as dramatic based only on the particular tension types present. The exact

combinations of types that produce drama, as well as a sample analysis of dramatic structure,

will be examined in the next section. The purpose of the present section is to define precisely

what constitutes tension for each type and to describe the grounds on which I base these types, at

least for the music of Beethoven (and in many cases, for the classical style in general).

I. Rhetorical and Syntactical Tension Having considered the form of the music, the next step in the analysis of drama is to

identify all occurrences of musical tension in the selected passage. As outlined earlier, I divide

tension into the two broad categories of rhetorical and syntactical, which are based on Zohar

Eitan’s notions of “intensity” and “tension”, respectively. Rhetorical tension is produced by

parameters that are not governed by syntactical rules for the style at hand. In this way, the ability

of these parameters to create tension is not dependent upon the implication that another event

will follow to “resolve” the tension. Rather, they are an immediate form of tension generated by

being in a highly energetic state along a spectrum of possible states and thus, as Eitan states, they

“have two opposing directions of change: one intensifying, namely promoting activity and

elevating tension, the other abating, namely, lessening activity and lowering tension.”1

Obviously, not all values will produce tension, for while all the rhetorical types contain at least

1 Zohar Eitan, Highpoints: A Study of Melodic Peaks (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1997), 6.

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some energy as long as the music continues, it may not be enough to constitute what we perceive

as tension. But each type does posses a range of “prominent values”, all of which create tension

and will be discussed below with each individual tension type. Table 2.1 presents the seven

possible rhetorical types within the classical style. The only caveat to mention here is that these

ranges are approximate in nature and are intended as a means of assessing, in a fairly non-

controversial way, whether or not tension is created by a certain type at a certain point in the

music. Such a methodology prevents this music-analytical study from becoming overly burdened

with details of music perception, which lies well beyond its scope.

In order for a musical feature to constitute syntactical tension, on the other hand, it must

fulfill two criteria. First, it must correspond to Eitan’s notion of “tension” as “an unstable, ‘open’

state, strongly implying continuation and resolution.”2 In this way, syntactical tension exists only

through a comparison of at least two juxtaposed musical events and is therefore a relative form

of tension. Secondly, each syntactical type must generate tension by exploiting the rules of

musical syntax in the given style and thereby create the need for more music to follow. In tonal

music, for example, a dominant harmony implies resolution to its tonic harmony. Moreover, a

dominant harmony can only be construed as such in relation to a preceding or following

harmony, thereby fulfilling the two criteria for syntactical tension. Table 2.2 lists the six types of

syntactical tension available in the classical style. The reasons for the definition of each type will

be explained in the following section.

2 Eitan, Highpoints, 6.

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Table 2.1 – Rhetorical Tension Types and Their Definitions Tension Type Defined By Dynamic f or louder Rhythmic M.M. 400 or faster Melodic upward-leaping 5th (or larger) or protracted stepwise interval Harmonic dissonant intervals Textural polyphonic texture Thickness more than 50% of possible voices Timbral harsh/bright timbres (extreme registers, trumpets, trombones) Table 2.2 – Syntactical Tension Types and Their Definitions Tension Type Defined By Tonal chromaticism, tonal ambiguity Metric hemiola, syncopation, metric ambiguity Expansional phrase expansion Accelerative fragmentation, increase in surface rhythm or harmonic rhythm Closural phrase ending without a PAC, undermining of cadence Implicational prolonged dominant harmony i) Rhetorical Tension Types a) Dynamic Tension Despite being the most obvious type of rhetorical tension, dynamics, or indeed virtually

all parameters that can create rhetorical tension, have been little discussed in the literature.

Likely this neglect is because these parameters only contribute to musical form in a secondary

way in this style. (On the other hand, form by way of tonal structure, especially by Schenkerian

analysis, has been a central concern of music theory on classical style music in recent decades.)

Beethoven’s range of dynamic markings consists of the eight gradated levels from ppp to

fff, but he generally avoided both the outer extreme and intermediate levels, leaving his core set

to consist of only four markings: pp, p, f, ff. I consider only those dynamics at the level of f or

higher to create rhetorical tension since these markings, to varying degrees, all indicate “loud”

sounds. A mf dynamic level lacks the necessary power to truly create tension, as the term mezzo

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forte (“half loud”) implies. With the exception of the accent markings > and ^, I consider all of

Beethoven’s accents to create tension, since he almost always used the sforzando (sf, sfz) (along

with the occasional forzato [fz] or, especially in early works, rinforzando [rf, rfz]), which

performance treatises of the day indicate was a sharper accent than the former markings.

Moreover, in the twelfth number of Fidelio, Beethoven indicates that the scene is “to be played

very softly, and the sf and f must not be too strongly expressed,”3 implying that sf markings were

indeed usually “strongly expressed”, i.e., at a level of forte or higher, in his music.

For gradual changes in dynamics, Beethoven most often used cresc. and dim., though in

his early compositions, the marking decresc. appears instead of the latter, which became the term

he used later on.4 With these gradual dynamic changes, tension occurs only if the change

incorporates at least a forte level. If not, it is viewed as a dynamic “swell” that naturally produces

emphasis and affects the expressive character of the passage but does not create tension. (Recall

the distinction between tension and emphasis in the Introduction, “What is Drama?: Defining

Types of Tension.”) Sometimes, however, it is not clear whether a crescendo reaches a forte

level, either because no goal dynamic is given (as in cresc. - decresc. markings) or because a

crescendo ends with a subito piano, which substitutes for a louder goal dynamic. Does one

ascribe tension in such cases? And if so, where exactly? Due to the highly individual nature of

each piece, instances such as these cannot be decided by an all-encompassing rule.

Consequently, the ultimate decision as to if and where tension arises (through a forte dynamic or

louder) must remain with the judgement of the analyst.

3 The two preceding observations are reported in Matthias Thiemel, “Accent,” in The New Grove Dictionary of Music and Musicians, 2nd ed., ed. Stanley Sadie (London: Macmillan, 2001), 1:48. 4 Miriam Sheer, “Comparison of Dynamic Practices in Selected Piano Sonatas by Clementi and Beethoven,” Beethoven Forum 5 (1996): 87.

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One other important issue surrounding dynamics and rhetorical tension concerns elisions

between modules. When there is a change to or from a loud dynamic at the point of elision

between two modules, to which module may one ascribe dynamic tension? One essential

distinction to make in such situations is between what Fred Lerdahl and Ray Jackendoff have

termed left elision and right elision.5 In a left elision, it is the leftmost module on the page (i.e.,

the earlier of the two) that has its final event omitted, or elided, in favour of the first event of the

second module. While the two events generally have the same chord (and hence the possibility

for elision), their dynamic levels are often opposites. Perhaps the most common scenario

involves a sudden forte or fortissimo where there is a left elision, as shown in m. 62 of Example

2.1a. Here, the first module approaches its ending pianissimo and thus implies that it will end

with such a dynamic. When the second module enters fortissimo, the impression is that the

expected soft ending to the first module has been usurped by the loud beginning of the second

module. Thus, in analyzing the tension of the two modules, dynamic tension would be assigned

to the beginning of the second module, but not the end of the first. Generally speaking, when

there is a dynamic change associated with an elision, there will be two different tension levels

assigned to the end of the first module and the beginning of the second. This rule holds true even

if, in a left elision, a soft dynamic is heard in place of an expected loud dynamic, as shown in m.

54 of Example 2.1b. In this case, the end of the first module, where there is an implied forte, has

dynamic tension whereas the start of the second, where there is a literal piano, does not.

5 Fred Lerdahl and Ray Jackendoff, A Generative Theory of Tonal Music (Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 1983), 58.

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Example 2.1 – Different Types of Elision a) Left Elision by a Loud Dynamic, Piano Sonata in B-Flat Major, op. 22, mm. 58-63

b) Left Elision by a Soft Dynamic, Violin Sonata in A Minor, op. 23, mm. 50-55

c) Left Elision with a Crescendo Preparing a Loud Dynamic, Cello Sonata in D Major, op. 102, no. 1, mm. 8-14

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d) Right Elision by a Loud Dynamic, Piano Sonata in E-Flat Major, op. 7, mm. 29-35

One of the most common situations in left elisions in Beethoven involves a crescendo

preparing a forte mark at the start of a new module, as shown in Example 2.1c. In such cases,

dynamic tension exists at both the end of the first module and the start of the second, and the

elision does not involve any difference in the dynamic level of each module. In fact, apart from a

crescendo, other signs of an increasing intensity are often present at or near the end of the first

module, such as a thickening of the texture or, as in the piano left hand of this example, a change

to a more rapid rhythm (sixteenth notes) and a deeper bass register.

In a right elision, it is the first event of the rightmost module on the page (i.e., the later

one) that is omitted. But like left elisions, different dynamic levels are assigned to the two

modules when analyzing tension. Example 2.1d demonstrates a situation in which a piano start to

the second module in m. 35 is elided due to the forte end of the previous module. Notice, though,

how quickly the piano level is attained after the elision—in terms of dynamics, the elision lasts

only for a single quarter note. Brief “overhangs” of loud dynamics such as this are a good

indication that two separate dynamic levels are required in a right elision.

b) Rhythmic Tension Another fairly obvious type of rhetorical tension, rhythm has been noted several times in

relatively recent literature as a contributor to an “intense,” “dramatic,” or similarly described

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sound, especially in sonata-form transitions, where it is typically faster than in surrounding

passages. But at what speed does rhythm become a generator of tension? Perhaps the best way to

answer this question is to begin with a rhythmic device that is used for the specific task of

creating tension: the tremolo. In classical movements of an Allegro tempo or faster (hereafter

simply a “fast” tempo or movement), tremolos are generally written using the fastest note values

in the movement (barring possibly faster note values in the odd flourish or ornamental figure). It

would seem, then, that for fast movements, tension-producing values are most often the fastest

rhythmic values. In simple duple or quadruple metres, these fastest values tend to be a fourfold

division of the tactus, or governing beat, regardless of the rhythmic value that tactus may

assume.

Beethoven’s metronome marks, which in 1817 he applied to many of his works and a few

others thereafter, can now lead the way to a precise speed at which the fastest values may be

considered intense. For fast first movements, when sixteenth notes are the fastest value, the

quarter note (which is generally the tactus in such cases) does not drop below a metronome mark

of 100 (found in the Second Symphony). This finding suggests that 100 is a minimum speed for

a fast tactus in Beethoven, and thus the fastest value would have a minimum speed of four times

this tactus speed, or 400. This theoretical metronome mark is then the slowest speed at which a

rhythm may produce tension. In the opening theme of the Eroica Symphony, for instance, which

is in 3/4 time, if Beethoven’s metronome mark of 60 to the bar is followed, the pulsating eighth

notes of the accompaniment (of which there are six per bar) would clock in at a speed of 6 x 60 =

M.M. 360, and therefore would not constitute rhetorical tension by rhythm. On the other hand,

the tremolo sixteenths in the climactic fortissimo outburst at m. 37 of the same movement would

be twice the speed of the eighths, M.M. 720, far greater than the minimum speed of 400, and

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thus would produce tension. This method provides a consistent means of assessing whether or

not tension is generated by a rhythmic value in a particular movement. (Those without

metronome marks are discussed below.) The same procedure would also hold for any triplet

rhythm: in the Septet, op. 20, for example, which is an Allegro con brio in 2/2 time and which

Beethoven marked as M.M. 96 to the half note, the triplet eighths in mm. 76ff would be at a

speed of 6 x 96 = M.M. 576, well above the minimum speed for tension. The regular eighth

notes of the movement proper (it includes a slow introduction), however, would move at a rate of

4 x 96 = M.M. 384, and thus would not generate tension. Of course, such moderately-paced

rhythms contribute a sense of energy to the movement (as absolutely any rhythm does), but it is

not enough to constitute musical tension. This highly mathematical approach is necessary since

composers’ notation of rhythm is not consistent with respect to tempo and metre—in other

words, a sixteenth note is not necessarily the same speed even when the tempo indication and

metre are the same; hence my reliance on metronome marks.

It is fortunate that Beethoven left metronome marks for all the movements of a good

number of his works: the nine symphonies; the Septet op. 20; all the string quartets of opp. 18,

59, 74, and 95; the “Hammerklavier” Piano Sonata, op. 106; the cantata Meeresstille und

glückliche Fahrt, op. 112; and the Opferlied, op. 121b.6 There are enough movements in this

sampling for us to obtain a sense of what Beethoven typically meant by his tempo indications.

This becomes very important for works in which he did not specify metronome marks. In such

cases, it is usually possible to infer a speed that is in line with his other ones and that is based on

the three factors that, as Clive Brown noted, were considered by late-eighteenth-century theorists

6 Rudolf Kolisch, “Tempo and Character in Beethoven’s Music,” The Musical Quarterly 29 (1943): 173-74.

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to be “the primary factors which affected the tempo of a given piece. These were, in the first

place, the metre, the tempo term and the note values employed.”7

While intense rhythms in Beethoven usually occur as continuous streams of a single note

value (e.g., a sixteenth), this is not always the case. Intensity is still expressed when at least two

note values at the minimum M.M. 400 are sounded adjacently, as in dotted rhythms, Lombard

rhythms, galloping rhythms (à la Rossini’s William Tell overture), and, in fast triple or

compound meters, long-short or short-long rhythms. However, in order for the tension these

rhythms generate to be considered a salient feature (recalling that some occurrences of tension

are not considered due to their lack of salience), it should occur in at least two successive beats

to gain importance as a kind of motive.

c) Melodic Tension A fundamental aspect of musical understanding is the perception that all melodic

intervals apart from the unison are heard as moving either up or down. When a pitch “moves

up,” there is an increase in its physical frequency and a corresponding increase in its level of

energy. Likewise, when it “moves down,” there is a decrease in energy because its frequency

decreases. For this reason, some theorists in recent years have likened a melody’s motion

through an imagined musical space to that of a person through physical space. Steve Larson, for

example, postulates three “forces” that act upon a melody as it moves through musical space:

gravity, magnetism, and inertia. The first of these, which Larson defines as “the tendency of an

unstable note to descend” (his italics) is the most relevant to the present study, since it implies

7 Clive Brown, “Historical Performance, Metronome Marks and Tempo in Beethoven's Symphonies,” Early Music 19 (1991): 252.

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that an increase in energy is required to move a pitch upward in musical space.8 Similarly,

Robert Hatten, in his theory of musical gesture, argues that “the dynamic environment in which

we experience our bodies and their gestures has its virtual counterpart in music.” This “virtual

counterpart” consists of a “gravitational field” established by metre, which “conditions our

embodied sense of up versus down, the relative weighting of events, and the relative amount of

energy needed to overcome ‘gravitational’ constraints (as in an ascending melody).”9 So if

ascending melodies increase in energy, at what interval do they produce tension? In Eitan’s

investigation of melodic peaks, he defines “relatively large pitch intervals” as those exceeding a

tritone, and grounds the idea in a number of studies in music perception confirming that “most

intervals larger than a tritone are followed by a change of registral direction.”10 Thus, I will adopt

the same approach here and consider any rising interval of a perfect fifth or larger to possess

sufficient energy to create tension in the goal pitch. It seems, however, that when a rising

melodic line is filled in with stepwise motion, a sense of intensity can be reached with an interval

as small as a minor third (or even a major second in a rising chromatic line) if it is made

prominent by being stretched out over time and is more than a mere instant. But since no

consistent rule can be prescribed to determine a minimum length for this time, this distinction

requires one’s judgement. One other caveat for melodic tension in general is that the interval

must be part of a single melodic gesture and not span two structural units that are perceived as

being disconnected. Furthermore, in order to simplify matters and not become overwhelmed with

detail, the only intervals that I will consider will be those that are made prominent due to longer 8 Steve Larson, “Musical Forces and Melodic Patterns,” Theory and Practice 22-23 (1997): 57 (as quoted from an earlier paper of Larson). 9 Robert Hatten, Interpreting Musical Gestures, Topics, and Tropes: Mozart, Beethoven, and Schubert, (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 2004), 115. See also Hatten’s first book, Musical Meaning in Beethoven: Markedness, Correlation, and Interpretation, (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1994), 56-57, in which he notes that “one of the most basic oppositions in music is that between up and down,” and correlates upward intervals with “reaching,” which is an action that requires an increase in energy to overcome the downward pull of gravity. 10 Eitan, Highpoints, 11 (see esp. n28).

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note values or the interval being stretched out in time with intervening notes, as in stepwise

progressions and combinations of leaps in the same direction (e.g., arpeggios). And, as with all

other tension types, the tension caused by melodic intervals will largely be a local phenomenon,

and melodic rises across relatively broad spans will not be considered.

d) Harmonic Tension In classical music, and more broadly in tonal music of the common practice period,

tension in harmonic intervals is created by the dissonant intervals, namely the major and minor

second and seventh, the perfect fourth, and the tritone. Hence, harmonic tension can be caused

not only by dissonances in a single voice such as passing notes, neighbour notes, and the like, but

by dissonances that have been subsumed into standard chords such as diminished sevenths and

augmented sixths (and even dominant sevenths, if made sufficiently prominent). However, such

intervals and chords may occur so frequently and so rapidly that it would be fruitless to consider

each instance to create tension. Rather, tension-creating intervals must be restricted to those

dissonances that are made prominent by a relatively long duration or by being placed on a strong

metric beat. In this way, dissonances that pass by fleetingly in the course of rapid scale passages

or ornamentation are not considered to be intense, and this corresponds with intuition. After all,

when a prominent dissonance is separated from all other rhetorical tension types (especially

dynamics), it still stands out from the texture and intensifies the passage.

It may seem that dissonance is a type of syntactical tension since, in accordance with my

definition adapted from Eitan, it undeniably expresses “an unstable, ‘open’ state, strongly

implying continuation and resolution.” A crucial difference, however, is that unlike all

syntactical types, dissonance is not a type of tension that, as I said before, “exists only through a

comparison of at least two juxtaposed musical events.” A dissonant interval is always dissonant

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regardless of what precedes or follows it. Moreover, harmonic intervals exist on a spectrum of

values ranging from very consonant to very dissonant. Harmonic tension therefore falls into the

rhetorical category.

e) Textural Tension In the classical style, homophonic textures are the norm—that is, textures in which the

melody (usually in the highest voice) dominates and is usually supported by a bass and inner

accompanying voices. When two or more melodic lines that are of roughly equal importance

occur simultaneously, each additional melodic line infuses the texture with an increased

animation, or energy, and therefore produces a kind of tension. This is one reason why fugal

expositions are such an effective means of beginning a piece or section: the textural tension

gradually rises with each entry of the fugue subject. In order for melodic lines to be “of roughly

equal importance,” however, they must not only be rhythmically independent, but also

characteristic enough to compete for the listener’s attention. Thus, in the typical homophonic

texture, the bass line would not be considered a separate melody (and therefore would not create

textural tension) because it is less characteristic than the melody. Similarly, in cases where there

is imitation between melody and bass—a common feature of the classical style—both lines

would naturally be separate melody lines, but because they do not occur simultaneously, they

would not create textural tension. Because this type of tension is reserved for only those passages

that exhibit a true polyphony, it is a relatively rare type to encounter.

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f) Thickness Tension Thickness tension concerns the number of voices (independent or not) sounded

simultaneously at a given moment in a movement. However, rather than being defined by a

single number of voices that remains constant from piece to piece, tension created by textural

thickness relies on a proportion of the total number of voices sounded in a movement. If this

were not true, then intuitions about thickness would be contradicted, as orchestral music could,

for example, always be considered intense due to the sheer number of voices involved. Clearly,

this is not the case, and a proportional view must be adopted. But at what proportion does the

thickness become intense?

About half of the total number of voices heard in a given movement provides a fairly

accurate threshold for tension by thickness, and accords well with intuition. Note that this is not

half of the total possible number of voices, but only of a tutti sound for a piece in a certain style

and genre. In this way, a thick texture is based on context: it is intense when a majority of the

voices generally used in such a piece are sounded. Accordingly, this type of tension requires a

familiarity with the style and genre of the piece being performed. For example, in a classical

piece for solo piano, the maximum number of voices that are played simultaneously is usually

eight (one four-note chord per hand), and the tension threshold would then be half of this, or four

voices. This would seem to make sense, since I would argue that textures of five or more voices

produce an intense sound in the context of such a piece. In a classical piano trio (violin, cello,

piano), since triple- and quadruple-stops are seldom used compared with far more frequent

double-stops, the sound world of the trio usually involves at most twelve voices: two each in the

violin and cello and eight in the piano. I would suggest that half of this, six, agrees with

intuition—a normative texture of four voices in the piano plus one each in the two strings

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produces a logical threshold value beyond which tension arises. In larger ensembles, it can be

difficult to assess whether a particular thickness produces tension when it is close to the 50%

threshold, and thus there are some “grey areas” that must remain subjective. It should be

mentioned, however, that in orchestral movements, the precise number of string players, which

can vary widely from one performance to another, does not make any difference because the

sound of each written string part emerges from the orchestra not as a collection of individual

parts, but as a single unified whole.

One exception to this majority-of-voices rule for thickness tension concerns unison

textures. In orchestral music, the point is a moot one, since a texture will sound intense with a

majority of the voices, regardless of whether they are playing in unison. But in smaller

ensembles, a problem arises. For, on instruments that can sound more than one voice

simultaneously (strings and piano), it can be difficult or impossible to achieve thickness tension

in unison textures by the usual majority of voices because all available pitches are an octave

apart. On stringed instruments, for instance, a majority of voices would always have to include

double-stops in octaves, which is not a normative part of classical works outside of concertos.

On the piano, moreover, attaining more than the tension threshold of four voices in a unison

texture is a physical impossibility for a solo player. And yet, despite these limitations, unison

textures in smaller ensembles often give the impression of being intense when all the players

participate, notwithstanding other features such as dynamics. To articulate this idea as a rule,

unison textures may be considered intense when all instruments participate and the number of

voices is at least the tension threshold established above. Thus, for stringed instruments,

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thickness tension will result if they play only one voice in unison with the others, and for the

piano, four voices are required (octaves in each hand).11

g) Timbral Tension

Another fundamental concept of music is that brighter, harsher sounds—that is, those that

are more energetic in timbre—are more intense. These timbres are usually produced in an

instrument’s extreme upper (or sometimes lower) register, or, on most percussion and brass

instruments, with any pitch or attack that is performed at a dynamic of forte or louder. For

intense timbres that rely solely on register, finding a precise threshold pitch is impossible to

establish with any reliability not only because there are differences in individual instruments and

performances, but also because of the very subtle change in timbre from one pitch to the next

higher one. In an attempt to avoid these problems, I have attempted to define threshold pitches

that lie well within what most would likely consider the extreme high or low ranges of each

instrument as it was in Beethoven’s era. I stress that these thresholds are only an approximate

guide for each instrument and may be expanded, especially when a passage approaches a

11 With analyst’s judgement, this rule may sometimes be bent in cases where the absence of one voice does not seem to affect the perception of a tutti texture, as for example in Beethoven’s String Quartet in G Major, op. 18, no. 2, mm. 90-91, in which a forte unison played four measures earlier is repeated without the first violin part. In the earlier unison, that violin part simply doubled the second violin and viola, and hence its absence in the later unison would hardly be noticed. Another type of exception occurs when two voices in unison on the piano are widely spaced and therefore suggest a full tutti texture. This technique is frequently seen when the voices are rhythmically active and a literal four-voiced unison would be impractical or even impossible. See, for example, the piano part in the opening five measures of Beethoven’s “Ghost” Trio, op. 70, no. 1, in which there is space between the two voices for two more octaves in unison with the two voices present, but because of the initial downward sweep in sixteenth notes and the following rapid leaps of a sixth and even a seventh, a four-voiced unison would be impractical. In mm. 4-5, Beethoven adds a third voice in the piano unison, which again has room for an additional octave in the left hand (something which is realized in the analogous spot in the recapitulation, mm. 170-171). In all of these cases, the unison textures strongly suggest a tutti texture of a larger ensemble and thus ought to be considered as thickness tension even though they do not strictly adhere to the rule.

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threshold from a closely neighbouring pitch. Table 2.3 displays the tension threshold pitches for

all of Beethoven’s commonly-used instruments.12

In the woodwinds, although tension ranges are given for each instrument, it is interesting

to note that the intense timbres of the flute are the only ones found with any regularity in

Beethoven. The piccolo and contrabassoon, which are usually used in their intense ranges, are of

course rare additions to the group, and the others tend to remain in their non-intense ranges

throughout a work. In the brass, the horn and trumpet are both unvalved “natural” instruments

that require crooks to obtain different harmonic series. Because the horn possesses a generally

softer timbre, I suggest that it is only with the high twelfth harmonic (written G5) of the highest

two horns, the A and Bb alto, that the sound becomes intense. With the trumpet, the twelfth

harmonic on any crook is generally an intense timbre. And on trumpets and trombones, a f

dynamic or louder gives a particularly intense sound on any pitch. Indeed these latter two

instruments are usually found at such a dynamic in Beethoven, whereas the horn appears with a

far greater variety of dynamic levels, no doubt due to its unique ability as a brass instrument to

produce very soft tones. For percussion instruments, any pitch or attack at f or higher will sound

intense, except of course for the triangle, which does not sound intense at any level, but rather

adds colour to orchestral sound.

During Beethoven’s lifetime, the piano was in a process of evolution. Most notably, its

range was substantially increased, which allowed it a greater dramatic capacity in Beethoven’s

compositions, as Lewis Lockwood explains:

[In Beethoven’s early years,] the typical range spanned sixty-three notes (five octaves plus a whole step) from the F two octaves and a fifth below middle C to the G two octaves and a fifth above. But the range soon expanded, and during Beethoven’s lifetime it extended down to the lower C three octaves below middle C and to the F four octaves and a fourth above. This increase coincides with Beethoven’s

12 All pitches are given with reference to middle C as C4. Thus, the lowest B of the contrabassoon would be B 0 and the highest C of the piccolo would be C8.

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compositional use of range as a dramatic factor in many of his works, especially from the middle period, and not only piano solo works [my italics].13

Taking into account this evolutionary process, the resulting variety of pianos Beethoven owned

over the years, and the subtle gradation of sound in all pianos, I have proposed the conservative

tension threshold of C5 and above for the upper register, and C2 and below for the lower

register.

Like the piano, the stringed instruments are known for having a homogeneity of timbre

throughout their ranges and thus tension thresholds must be just as conservative to ensure that

most everyone can agree on such values.14 For the low register, I have selected only the lowest

major third on the cello and bass, leaving the violin and viola without tension values in their low

ranges since they lack the sort of booming resonance of the lower instruments. On the other

hand, I have assigned high-range thresholds for all the strings. But although these are only rough

guidelines intended to give one a general sense of intense ranges for these instruments, I remain

faithful to them in analysis for the sake of consistency and explain any divergences from them.

13 Lewis Lockwood, Beethoven: The Music and the Life (New York: W. W. Norton, 2003), 288. 14 Samuel Adler, The Study of Orchestration, 2nd ed. (New York: W. W. Norton, 1989), 9, remarks that “the tone color of the string group is fairly homogeneous from top to bottom, variations in the different registers being much more subtle than in the winds or brasses.” This comment, however, may be traced, nearly verbatim, back to Walter Piston, whose orchestration manual is still a valuable reference today. See Orchestration (New York: W. W. Norton, 1955), 3.

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Table 2.3 – Timbral Tension Threshold Pitches for Instruments of Beethoven’s Era Instrument Tension Threshold Winds Piccolo G7 and above Flute G6 and above Oboe F4 and below; E6 and above Clarinet written C5 and above Bassoon G4 and above Contrabassoon Bb1 and below Brass Horn 12th harmonic on A, Bb alto horn (high horn) Trumpet 12th harmonic, or any pitch f or louder Trombone any pitch f or louder Percussion Timpani any pitch f or louder Triangle none Cymbals f or louder Bass Drum f or louder Piano C2 and below, C5 and above Strings Violin C6 and above Viola C5 and above Violoncello E2 and below; G4 and above Contrabass E1 and below; G3 and above

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ii) Syntactical Tension Types a) Tonal Tension Fundamental to the understanding of tonal music is the notion that a passage is in a single

key at any given point. Thus, any pitch material that disrupts this sense of key produces tension,

either through the entrance of a chromatic chord or non-tonic scale, or through an ambiguity in

key. A distinction must be made, however, between disruptions that occur in the thematic

sections (P and S) or codas, and those that occur in other sections. Within thematic sections and

codas, there is an expectation for the music to remain in a single key, since these are tonally

stable areas of the form, P being in the tonic, S in the new key (and in the tonic in the

recapitulation), and a coda in the tonic again.15 Thus, a tonal disruption in these areas

maintains tonal tension for the entire length of the disruption, even if it spans more than a

measure or two. Outside of P and S, there is no such expectation and therefore disruptions last

for only a few moments after the new chord, key, or scale enters. A new key in such situations

necessarily can only be established with a series of all or largely diatonic chords, the length of

which cannot be set down as a rule, but I would suggest is approximately two measures. A

shorter length may occur, however, with the attainment of a cadence in the new key. In such

cases, the phrase with the cadence would have tonal tension to its end (assuming a diatonic

length of less than two measures), but the following phrase, starting afresh in the new key, would

15 This feature of codas has been recognized by a number of theorists. Recently, Caplin, Classical Form, 181, states that “because a movement’s structural close is fulfilled by the recapitulation, the primary function of a coda is to express the temporal quality of ‘after-the-end.’ A coda is thus analogous to a closing section—made up of codettas—that follows a perfect authentic cadence ending a theme.” Furthermore, because Caplin considers post-cadential functions to prolong the final harmony of a cadence (in the case of codettas, the final tonic harmony of an authentic cadence), the implication is that the tonic key is a functional requirement of codas. Likewise, Hepokoski and Darcy observe that “in the later-eighteenth and early-nineteenth centuries the coda normally accomplished the standard functions of grounding further the secured territory of the tonic and ending the movement with an appropriate rhetorical flourish.” Thus, tonal diversions that occur in a coda are heard to carry tonal tension until a return to the tonic key. This is likely what Leonard G. Ratner, Classic Music: Expression, Form, and Style (New York: Schrimer Books, 1980), 231, means when he argues that optional harmonic digressions at the start of a coda “create a harmonic ‘whiplash’ that prepares the final tonic with increased force, a supreme effect of periodicity.”

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lack it at its outset. Once the new key has been established, it is taken as a stable tonal area (and

thus the tension dissipates) rather than one that is withholding a return to the old key (as it would

in P and S). In the context of this study then, tonal tension is limited to fairly local levels and is

not ascribed to large sections in differing keys, though tonal tension will inevitably arise on a

chord-to-chord basis at some point between two such sections.16

When tonal tension is caused by a chromatic chord, it is useful to distinguish which of

three categories of chromaticism it falls into, as defined by its relationship to the tonic key:

diatonic, mixtural, or distant. Diatonic chromaticism refers to chords from one of the five

closely-related keys, i.e., those whose tonic chords lie within the major or minor scale at hand. In

the major mode, these include the keys of ii, iii, IV, V, and vi; and in minor, III, iv, v, VI, and

VII. Mixtural chromaticism refers to the familiar concept of modal mixture, in which a passage

in a major mode incorporates chords from its tonic minor, or more rarely, vice versa. And distant

chromaticism includes chords from more remote keys that are neither diatonic nor the tonic

minor or major (e.g., bVII in major, bII in either major or minor).

It may seem that the minor mode itself is a form of tonal tension in the classical style,

since, as Robert Hatten notes, “minor has a narrower range of meaning than major, in that minor

rather consistently conveys the tragic, whereas major is not simply the opposite (comic), but

must be characterized more generally as nontragic—encompassing more widely ranging modes

of expression such as the heroic, the pastoral, and the genuinely comic, or buffa.”17 This

observation, however, refers specifically to the expressive character of pieces in the minor mode,

and not to a tensional state. Syntactical tension types require “a comparison of at least two

16 While larger-scale disruptions certainly do exist (as in the S-zone of a sonata form, which is always in a non-tonic key), their perceptibility is debatable and therefore cannot form a part of this theory, which relies mainly on foreground events. (See “Limitations and Aims of the Study” in the Introduction in connection with this point.) 17 Hatten, Musical Meaning in Beethoven, 36.

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juxtaposed musical events,” which clearly does not occur when a piece opens in the minor mode,

for example. Is it a type of rhetorical tension, then? Once again, the answer is no, since the minor

mode does not “have two opposing directions of change: one intensifying, . . . the other abating.”

In other words, it is not possible for a passage to be “more minor” than another passage, yet this

is precisely what defines a rhetorical type. Consider also Hepokoski and Darcy’s description of

the minor mode in classical works in expressive terms “as a sign of a troubled condition seeking

transformation (emancipation) into the parallel major mode.”18 Thus, while the minor mode itself

cannot produce tension, its “tragic” and “troubled” expressive state often provides a suitable

vehicle for other tension types, especially in those minor works that are frequently dubbed

“dramatic”, such as Beethoven’s Appassionata or Pathétique piano sonatas.

b) Metric Tension Metric tension functions in much the same way as tonal tension, in that it occurs in

passages that challenge, destroy, or fail to establish a single metre. And as with tonal tension,

metric tension is limited to very local levels, generally including only note-to-note and measure-

to-measure events. There are three ways in which metric tension may be produced on the small-

scale level of the notated metre. Two of these correspond to Harald Krebs’ definitions of his two

types of “metrical dissonance”: grouping dissonance and displacement dissonance.19 Krebs

defines metre as consisting of three “layers”: the pulse layer (the fastest-moving notes that are

pervasive in the music), micropulses (notes faster than the pulse layer, but present only as

“coloristic embellishments”), and an interpretive layer (notes that move more slowly than the

pulse layer and interact with the pulse layer to produce a metre). A grouping dissonance is

18 Hepokoski and Darcy, Elements of Sonata Theory, 306. 19 Harald Krebs, Fantasy Pieces: Metrical Dissonance in the Music of Robert Schumann (New York: Oxford University Press, 1999), 31-33.

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essentially a cross-rhythm and is defined as the presence of more than one interpretive layer,

usually only a “metrical layer” (a layer that is consonant with the established metre) and an

“antimetrical layer” (a layer with a different grouping from the established metre). A

displacement dissonance involves at least two interpretive layers that are the same length, but are

not aligned with one another. As Krebs notes, unlike syncopation, which is only one type of

displacement dissonance, the displaced layer may be created by regular accents in any parameter,

not just rhythmic duration. For the present theory, it is important that both grouping and

displacement dissonances be continued for more than a single beat in order to create the

impression of a prominent conflicting layer and therefore generate tension. The third means of

producing metric tension is through an ambiguous metre, meaning that a single stable metre

cannot be determined from the music (i.e., there is no consistent “metrical layer”).

Interpretive layers may be in conflict not only simultaneously but successively as well.

Krebs refers to these two situations as “direct” and “indirect” metrical dissonance, respectively,

and remarks that, in indirect dissonance, “the listener inwardly continues the first layer as the

second begins, so that there arises a brief but clearly perceptible conflict between the mentally

retained first layer and the actually sounding second layer.”20 Notice that Krebs describes such a

conflict as “brief.” Thus, in thematic areas of sonata form, metric and tonal disruptions differ in

that (indirect) metric ones cause a quick reorientation to the new metre presented (hence tension

does not last long here, roughly only two measures21), whereas tonal ones may be perceived as

tension until a return to the local tonic key (hence tension may last much longer). In non-

20 Krebs, Fantasy Pieces, 45. 21 Danuta Mirka, Metric Manipulations in Haydn and Mozart: Chamber Music for Strings, 1787-1791 (New York: Oxford University Press, 2009), 32-33, posits that a metrical level is only established when there are “two attacks on the musical surface” and a projected “hypothetical third attack” materializes. Thus, metre on the level of the measure (i.e., the notated metre) would be established with the start of the third measure, after two complete measures have been heard.

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thematic areas, however, metric and tonal tension are very similar in that one quickly reorients to

a new metre or key presented by a disruption.

One other type of metrical dissonance that Krebs addresses is what he terms “subliminal

dissonance,” in which “all musical features — accents, groupings, etc. — establish only one

interpretive layer, while the context and the metrical notation imply at least one conflicting

layer.”22 Thus, for Krebs, subliminal dissonance is much like indirect dissonance but generally

lasts for longer periods, in essence a long and indirect grouping or displacement dissonance. But

although Krebs contends that “in many cases [of subliminal dissonance], the performer can

subtly stress a heavily contradicted and otherwise unarticulated primary metrical layer” and

therefore “create a perceptibly dissonant effect,” such a dissonant effect, if it exists at all, is not

prominent enough to constitute tension in the present theory.23 Rather, I would agree with Krebs

that subliminal dissonance necessarily involves indirect dissonance, before and/or after such a

dissonant passage, where it is juxtaposed with a passage in the actual metre of the piece. In such

cases, then, tension would be produced only at the junctures between the two passages, where

there is indirect dissonance.24

Metric tension may also arise from anomalies in the larger-scale metric phenomenon of

hypermetre (i.e., repeated metric units—hypermeasures—that are more than a notated measure in

22 All references to Krebs’ subliminal dissonance in this paragraph are from Fantasy Pieces, 46. 23 Recall in “Limitations and Aims of the Study” my stipulation that only prominent tension devices would contribute to drama in the present theory. But perhaps more importantly, subliminal dissonance does not play a major role in Beethoven’s music as it does in that of Schumann, the subject of Krebs’ book. 24 Krebs, Fantasy Pieces, 47, writes that “some writers have suggested that there is in fact nothing that the performer can do to actualize subliminal metrical conflicts—that they are merely notational curiosities, symbolic rather than real. Composers who so tortuously notated such conflicts, however, surely did not mean them to be a secret between themselves and the performer, but rather wished performers to communicate them. The performer must encourage listeners to join him or her in sensing a subliminal metrical dissonance instead of simply giving themselves over to the new and different state of consonance that the musical surface suggests.” I would argue, however, that the effectiveness of subliminal dissonances derives from the shock of returning to the notated metre long after the music has already sounded metrically “consonant” (to use Krebs’ term). The effect is somewhat akin to an enharmonic modulation. In both cases, the composer has managed to fool the listener into thinking that a heard sound was not what one was led to believe.

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length). However, because the focus of this study is on surface-level events, I restrict this type of

metric tension in two ways. First, the hypermeasures cannot be longer than two real measures.

Beyond this length, the perceptibility of hypermetre is questionable, a good indication being the

lack of agreement among scholars on the issue.25 Second, the most perceptible shifts in

hypermetre are those that are, to use David Temperley’s terms, “sudden” as opposed to

“gradual,” a sudden shift being one in which “the musical cues favoring one hearing or the other.

. . . abruptly ‘flip’ or ‘switch’ from one duple phase to the other.” A gradual shift, on the other

hand, “is one involving a smoother, more incremental realignment of the musical evidence,

sometimes over quite a lengthy span of music.”26 Thus, only those that may be deemed sudden

hypermetric shifts would constitute metric tension in this study.

c) Expansional Tension Another important type of tension is that created by phrase expansion, a collection of

various processes that serve to lengthen a phrase. Although it may seem that when a phrase is

expanded, its forward motion slows down and it therefore decreases in tension, this is not the

case. Any phrase that has been expanded contains an underlying “basic phrase”, a shorter, 25 William Rothstein, Phrase Rhythm in Tonal Music (New York: Schirmer Books, 1989), 10, does not appear to set a limit on the perceptible length of a hypermeasure. He does, however, propose hypermeasures of sixteen notated measures for the “Blue Danube” Waltz of Johann Strauss, Jr., which I would argue correspond to hypermeasures of four real measures (in a heard 12/8 time). See also Richard L. Cohn, “The Dramatization of Hypermetric Conflicts in the Scherzo of Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony,” 19th-Century Music 15/3 (1992): 197, who states that “although more sympathetic to hypermeter than [Joel] Lester, I share his reluctance to hear hypermetric regularity beyond the boundaries provided by strong cadences, and his view that such regularities are most likely to appear in the context of continuous processes whose surface motion is relatively consistent. In the Scherzo [of Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony], these conditions vary greatly from section to section, so that the spans that I hear as hypermetric may be as small as the eight-measure call-to-attention that opens the movement, or as large as the forty-eight-measure fugato that immediately follows it.” Others, however, are more restrictive. See, for example, Fred Lerdahl and Ray Jackendoff, A Generative Theory of Tonal Music (Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 1983), 21-25, who are skeptical of the perceptibility of hypermetre above the two-measure level. Likewise, David Temperley, “Hypermetrical Transitions,” Music Theory Spectrum 30/2 (2008): 306, cautiously notes that “one might in some cases posit levels of hypermeter above the two-measure level” (my italics). And Christopher F. Hasty, Meter as Rhythm (New York: Oxford University Press, 1997), 183, states that “relatively short durations . . . of up to about two or three seconds” are the most conducive to forming repeated metric units.” Though this is no absolute limit, it is significant that for Beethoven’s Allegro movements, this generally corresponds to about two measures of music. 26 Temperley, “Hypermetrical Transitions,” 306.

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unaltered version of the expanded phrase that, if not literally presented, is inferred from the

musical context.27 In a phrase expansion, this basic phrase is stretched out longer than expected,

delaying motion to the remainder of the basic phrase. Tension is produced by the need for this

delay to return to the basic phrase, as Rothstein explains:

The experience of an expansion is one of departure and return. The listener departs, often quite unexpectedly, from a fixed point of reference, and returns to it after a detour . . . Return to more familiar patterns of tones and rhythms brings resolution and reassurance, and often has the effect of a welcome anticlimax.28

Strikingly, expanded portions of a phrase do not destroy the feeling for the metric length of the

basic phrase.29 If a basic phrase is four measures long, this length will still be perceptible amid

any phrase expansions that may be added to it. Thus, phrase expansions are primarily a metric

phenomenon—to be more precise, they are a hypermetric phenomenon since they generally add

units that are at least a measure in length (rather than a metric beat). From a dramatic

perspective, expansional tension would therefore also include fermatas (even though they are not

strictly a type of phrase expansion30), since they too add length to a phrase without destroying

the underlying metric structure.

Crucial to Rothstein’s and in turn my own understanding of phrase expansions is the

notion that “the original and transformed versions of the phrase must be heard as different

representations of the same thing [his italics]. That ‘thing,’ in Schenkerian terms, is the structural

27 Rothstein, Phrase Rhythm, 64-66. 28 Rothstein, Phrase Rhythm, 65. 29 This insight derives from Heinrich Christoph Koch, whose work provided a model for many of the ideas in Rothstein’s Phrase Rhythm. See Koch, Introductory Essay on Composition: The Mechanical Rules of Melody, Sections 3 and 4, trans. and ed. Nancy Kovaleff Baker (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1983), 42, who highlights with italics that, in the case of a five-measure phrase created by the repetition of one measure of a four-measure phrase, “such a five-measure phrase arising through the repetition of a measure retains the value of a four-measure phrase under all circumstances relating to the connection of several melodic sections. It is considered as a four-measure unit with regard to the rhythmic relations of phrases.” Koch seems to limit this rhythmic phenomenon to the particular technique of phrase expansion he mentions above, whereas Rothstein, Phrase Rhythm, 64, gives it greater analytical power by allowing it to be applied to virtually all types of phrase expansion. 30 As Rothstein, Phrase Rhythm, 64, states, “the process of phrase expansion usually involves adding not only greater length to a basic phrase but more notes as well. (Otherwise expansion would mean nothing more than playing the basic phrase, or some part of it, more slowly.)”

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skeleton common to both phrases (including a rhythmic pacing of events that is closely similar in

some corresponding parts of the two phrases).”31 In other words, all phrase expansions must be

heard as elaborations of notes and chords in the basic phrase whether or not the basic phrase is

literally present in the music.

Expansions may occur in the midst of a phrase, before its beginning, or after its end. Mid-

phrase expansions produce tension due to the feeling of “departure and return” mentioned above.

But how is tension produced before the phrase has begun, or after it has ended? While Rothstein

refers to the latter two types of expansion as “small prefixes” and “small suffixes,” respectively,

I instead adopt Caplin’s equivalent terms of introduction for small prefix and post-cadential

function (i.e., codetta or standing on the dominant) for small suffix, in keeping with the method

of formal analysis introduced earlier. Introductions produce tension through the sense of

anticipation they create for the upcoming module. Caplin cites Wallace Berry’s term

“progressive dynamic” in this respect as “an increasing buildup of energy and anticipation,” and

further adds that “from a rhythmic point of view, this dynamic growth is usually described as an

‘anacrusis,’ an upbeat, whose corresponding ‘thesis,’ a downbeat, is the structural beginning of

the theme.”32 Of the two post-cadential functions of codettas and standing on the dominants,

although both are phrase expansions in that they prolong the final chord of a previous cadence,

expansional tension occurs only with standing on the dominants because it is only with a

prolonged non-tonic harmony that the need for resolution, crucial for syntactical tension of any

kind, is made sufficiently prominent. In codettas, quite the opposite is true: although the phrase is

expanded, the prolongation of tonic harmony actually establishes an area of repose that

contradicts syntactical tension’s need for resolution.

31 Rothstein, Phrase Rhythm, 64. 32 Caplin, Classical Form, 15.

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d) Accelerative Tension At least since Arnold Schoenberg, many theorists have noted the tendency of phrases in

the classical repertoire to accelerate in some way. Essentially, an acceleration may take place in

the melodic-motivic, harmonic, or rhythmic parameters of a phrase. (Indeed, in terms of formal

function, I view all such accelerations as continuations and it is important to note that, because of

the emphasis on foreground events in the present theory, tension-producing accelerations will be

confined to those that occur within a single phrase or portion thereof.) That acceleration

produces tension has not only been expressed by several authors over the past few decades,33 but

is such a fundamental syntactical feature of all music that it would seem to need little

explanation: an increase in the rate of motion in melodic-motivic, harmonic, or rhythmic material

produces tension because it gives the feeling that the music is “leading somewhere.” In other

words, we expect more music to follow to bring the acceleration to an end. Perhaps the

phenomenon is related to the fact that an acceleration in one’s heart rate creates tension in that

individual (whether it is positive or negative). And yet, this fundamental notion has recently been

disputed by Austin T. Patty, who on the one hand recognizes that “the assumption that

acceleration to a fast pace heightens tension and that deceleration to a slow pace lessens tension

makes a good deal of sense if we isolate rhythmic effects and keep other musical parameters,

such as dynamic level and melodic register, constant.”34 Patty then contends that “the assumption

that acceleration produces tension and deceleration produces relaxation encounters serious

33 See, for example, Wallace Berry, Structural Functions in Music (Englewood Cliffs, NJ: Prentice-Hall, 1976), 9, who describes “progressive or recessive shortening or lengthening (acceleration deceleration),” as “expressing intensification and release.” Likewise, Leonard B. Meyer, Style and Music: Theory, History, and Ideology (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1989), 209, states that, among other processes, “faster rates of motion . . . heighten excitement and intensity.” Finally, Joseph P. Swain, Harmonic Rhythm (New York: Oxford University Press, 2002), 98, remarks that “motion creates musical tension, and the faster the motion (the more changes per unit of time) the greater the tension.” Moreover, he refers to the idea as “a virtual tautology.” 34 Austin T. Patty, “Pacing Scenarios: How Harmonic Rhythm and Melodic Pacing Influence Our Experience of Musical Climax,” Music Theory Spectrum 31 (2009): 325-26.

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difficulties, however, when we . . . hear how accelerations and decelerations interact with

changes in other musical parameters within real-life musical examples.” Patty further claims that,

in the measures preceding the most prominent climax of the “Liebestod” from Wagner’s Tristan

und Isolde (m. 63), “deceleration does not cause tension to decrease, but to increase.”35 Such a

radical claim, however, cannot be supported by the evidence since it is actually a handful of

other rhetorical and syntactical parameters (tension types) that creates the tension, and not the

harmonic deceleration to which Patty refers.36

At times, it can be difficult to determine whether a passage contains an acceleration in

harmony because in tonal music harmony is hierarchical in nature; that is, it most often occurs on

more than one perceptual level at the same time. Thus, changing harmonies over a bass pedal

point would create one level of harmonic rhythm while the pedal itself would create another,

since it signals the prolongation of a single harmony. But less clear situations can arise in which

a passage with two levels of harmonic rhythm joins with another that contains only one level, as

for example in the opening theme of Beethoven’s Pathétique Sonata, op. 13 (see Example 2.2).

Throughout mm. 11-14, there are two levels of harmonic rhythm: a pedal point in the bass

sustaining the tonic note, and faster-moving harmonies (mainly in quarter notes) sounding

overtop. When the music reaches m. 15, there is only one level of harmonic rhythm in half notes.

35 Patty, “Pacing Scenarios,” 326. 36 Patty recognizes some of the other rhetorical parameters and their stake in the tension of the passage, which in total include all seven types of rhetorical tension as I define it: a crescendo, fast rhythmic values, rising melody, dissonant interval (at the climax itself), slightly polyphonic texture, tutti scoring, and extreme registers in many instruments (especially violin I) plus the swelling of the brass immediately before the climax. The passage also includes at least three types of syntactical tension: accelerational (due to fragmentation from one-measure units in mm. 44-46 to half-measure units in m. 47 to the climax at m. 61), closural (since the V7 of m. 60 does not lead to a closing I chord but to an unexpected IV6), and implicational (from the dominant pedal). (Closural and implicational tension are explained in the following subsections of this chapter.) However, he believes that the deceleration contributes tension on account of its interaction with the intensifying parameters, and later proposes the term “struggle” to describe the combination of deceleration and intensification (see “Pacing Scenarios,” 330). While I would agree that deceleration combined with intensification does indeed produce the sense of “struggle” Patty describes, such a view conflates the expressive character of a passage with the tension types it possesses. I maintain a strict separation of the two elements since I believe that the tension of each individual parameter is not influenced by the presence of other parameters.

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Does this change to half-note harmonies represent an increase or decrease in harmonic rhythm?

In such instances, it is useful to invoke Joseph P. Swain’s observation that “throughout the so-

called common practice period, when musical languages assigned specific syntactic roles or

functions to different triads within the context of a key, music theorists, analysts, and critics have

pointed to the bass voice of a texture as the one that has the most effect on harmonic articulation

and movement.”37 Consequently, the bass pedal in the Pathétique example takes precedence as

the more prominent level of harmonic rhythm, meaning that the harmonic change is perceived as

moving from a single four-measure stretch to half-note values in m. 15, resulting in a harmonic

acceleration.

Example 2.2 – Bass Pedal Points and Harmonic Acceleration; Piano Sonata in C Minor, op. 13, “Pathétique”, mm. 11-19

e) Closural Tension One of the most familiar concepts in all of tonal music is that of the perfect authentic

cadence (PAC) as the strongest means of closure for a phrase. Hence the PAC has real authority,

at least in the classical style, for if a PAC occurs and is not followed by a repetition of material 37 Swain, Harmonic Rhythm, 29.

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from the same phrase (which would reopen the phrase and “undo” the effect of the PAC), then

that phrase remains unequivocally closed.38 It then follows that any passage that implies an

impending cadence but either does not close with a PAC, or does but retraces part of the same

phrase, generates tension due to the need for the music to continue on in order to reach a final

PAC for that phrase. The specific devices that create this type of tension are those that were

mentioned in chapter 1 in the subsection “Cadence Types” as methods of avoiding a cadence:39

deceptive, evaded, abandoned, and separated cadences; repetition of a portion of the phrase

containing the cadence; and the closural function, which substitutes a non-cadential (and

therefore weaker) kind of close for a cadence by means of a dominant arrival, tonic arrival, or a

cadence-like progression. It is important to note that the tension generated by a non-PAC closure

or an “undone” PAC remains until either a PAC is reached within that phrase or the music moves

on to a new phrase, signalled by sharply contrasting material. In both cases, the tension derives

from a thwarted attempt at a PAC, a process that increases the listener’s expectancy for closure

with a PAC.

38 This same idea underlies one of Hepokoski and Darcy’s chief methods for deferring their “essential expositional closure” (EEC, the PAC that ends their S-zone) to a later cadence: “one could not consider S to be completed if either it or its cadential material is immediately restated. . . . By repeating the melody or a portion thereof, the composer reopens the PAC and shifts the EEC forward to the next PAC.” See Elements of Sonata Theory, 151. 39 Caplin, Classical Form, 101, recognizes the tension-generating effect of such cadential avoidances, observing that “extensions and expansions of the cadence do not make that function any less effective. On the contrary, the moment of cadential arrival is often highly intensified by being withheld considerably longer than might be expected” (my italics). See also Janet Schmalfeldt, “Cadential Processess: The Evaded Cadence and the ‘One More Time’ Technique,” The Journal of Musicological Research 1-2 (1992): 6, who discusses the drama involved in what she has termed the “one more time technique” in evaded cadences, and states its primary features to be “its capacity to withhold resolution precisely where the cadence reaches its highest degree of tension, its potential for creating surprise through thwarted expectation, and for disrupting the rhetoric of closure, with the result that what is repeated becomes imperative, and thus emphatically dramatic.”

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f) Implicational Tension A fundamental principle underlying tonality is that chords of dominant function (V and

viio in all inversions and with sevenths or other added notes) imply resolution to their respective

tonic chord. In the classical style, dominant chords are very often incorporated into progressions

at the same harmonic rhythm as the preceding chord or chords, so no special attention is drawn

to them. If the harmonic rhythm slows upon reaching a dominant chord, however, then the

implied resolution to tonic harmony (or a substitute thereof) is withheld from the listener, and

this creates tension.40 Slowing the harmonic rhythm down may involve a literal lengthening of

the dominant chord itself, a series of chords that serve to prolong it, or a dominant pedal. By this

definition, all form-functional standing on the dominants constitute implicational tension, and

this only makes sense—the prolonged dominant harmony governing such passages is so

prominent that it is the focal point of such passages.41 But implicational tension is not restricted

to standing on the dominants; it may occur in other formal functions as well. All that is required

is a prolongation of a literally-present or implied dominant chord (as for example if the dominant

note occurs unharmonized). Thus, a post-cadential standing on the dominant by definition always

creates two types of syntactical tension: implicational and expansional. Although both types

depend on the existence of dominant harmony underlying such passages, they nevertheless

remain conceptually distinct since implicational tension is based strictly on the powerful

implication of the dominant function, whereas expansional tension in such cases is a created by

40 By the term prolonging, I refer to fairly surface-level prolongations as defined by Caplin under “Prolongational Progressions” in Classical Form, 15. 41 The term “standing on the dominant” is actually Caplin’s translation of “Stehen auf der Dominante” from Erwin Ratz, Einführung in die musikalische Formenlehre, 3rd ed. (Vienna: Universal Edition, 1973), 25—see Classical Form, 268n18. Such passages have been noted by other scholars, most recently by Hepokoski and Darcy as a “dominant-lock,” which is essentially equivalent to Caplin’s term (though the former authors disagree with Caplin that the passage is post-cadential in function). See Elements of Sonata Theory, 24, 24n2, 28n6, 31n11, 39n14. Donald Francis Tovey referred to a standing on the dominant as the familiar term “dominant preparation”; see A Companion to the Beethoven Pianoforte Sonatas (London: The Associated Board of the Royal Schools of Music, 1931), 7.

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the prolongation of the dominant chord, which stretches out the final measure of the underlying

basic phrase.

II. How Tension Types Combine to Create Drama At the beginning of this study, I proceeded from the premise that, in Beethoven’s music,

drama, in the sense of “highly intense,” is defined by the presence of musical tension. And in the

first part of this chapter, I clarified what sorts of situations constitute tension, in both categories

of rhetorical (immediate and capable of a spectrum of values) and syntactical (relative and

resolution-driven). In the second part of this chapter, I will demonstrate how drama is produced

by the combination of tension types, then provide an example of how I apply the theory to

Beethoven’s music.

In order for drama to exist as a span of “highly intense” music, it follows that the overall

level of tension in either the rhetorical and/or syntactical category must be at a high level. But

what exactly constitutes a high level of tension? I would contend that the combination of three

tension types from the same category produces a dramatic effect, the sole exception being

dynamic tension, which, due to its strength and prominence as a tension type, requires only one

other rhetorical type to create drama. But since this idea requires further clarification, I now turn

to a number of examples from Beethoven that illustrate its effect, first in the rhetorical then in the

syntactical category.

i) Rhetorical Drama One way of achieving drama is through the simultaneous combination of different

rhetorical tension types that are all within their range of prominent values that I established in the

previous section—this is what I call rhetorical drama. The idea of combining types is essential

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to the concept of drama since no single type of rhetorical tension is strong enough on its own to

create a dramatic effect. Example 2.3 provides passages from Beethoven that contain only one

type of rhetorical tension. In the first example, there is only dynamic tension (due to the forte

mark); in the second, rhythmic (due to the sixteenth notes); and in the third, melodic tension (due

Example 2.3 – Passages Containing One Type of Rhetorical Tension a) Dynamic Tension (Horn Sonata in F Major, op. 17, mm. 1-4); not Dramatic

b) Rhythmic Tension (Violin Sonata in E-flat Major, op. 12, no. 3, mm. 13-16); not Dramatic

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c) Melodic Tension (Piano Sonata in F Minor, op. 2, no. 1, mm. 1-2); not Dramatic

to the rising arpeggio of the right hand). I think readers would agree that none of these passages

are so intense that they could be called dramatic in the sense I give here. But the same is not true

when multiple tension types occur together. Some combinations yield a dramatic result, and as

mentioned above, dynamic tension is a particularly strong type, for if it is combined with at least

one other rhetorical type, the result is unequivocally dramatic. Example 2.4 demonstrates this

effect with two passages containing the same musical material. In 2.4a, as far as rhetorical types

are concerned, there is solely the rhythmic tension caused by the run of sixteenth notes (safely

assuming the quarter note to be well above the minimum speed of M.M. 100 [= 400/4] for

intense sixteenths in this case),

Example 2.4 – Rhetorical Tension and Drama a) Not Dramatic; Only Rhythmic Tension (Piano Sonata in G Major, op. 31, no. 1, mm. 1-3)

b) Dramatic; Rhythmic and Dynamic Tension (mm. 194-196)

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especially since Beethoven marks the dynamic as piano. As with the examples in 2.3, this

passage, which opens the exposition, would not by any standard be considered dramatic. In 2.4b,

however, when this same passage returns at the start of the recapitulation, Beethoven elevates its

intensity to a dramatic level due to the increase in dynamic level to fortissimo and the timbral

tension from the low bass note G1 at the start of the passage. Indeed, combinations of dynamic

tension and any other rhetorical tension type will produce drama, as Examples 2.5a and b

illustrate with the addition of thickness and timbral tension, respectively. Dynamic and rhythmic

tension are a typical combination in Beethoven’s dramatic passages and they very often occur in

conjunction with one or more other types of rhetorical tension. (Textural tension, however, is

uncommon due to the rarity of polyphonic textures in the classical style in general.) Example 2.6,

for instance, gives a passage in which the closing measures of a movement contain five types of

rhetorical tension: dynamic, rhythmic, melodic, thickness, and timbral tension (in the

penultimate right hand chord only).

Example 2.5 – Dramatic Combinations of Dynamic Tension and Other Rhetorical Types a) Dynamic and Thickness Tension (Piano Sonata in C Minor, op. 10, no. 1, mm. 1-4)

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b) Dynamic and Timbral Tension (Piano Sonata in E-Flat Major, op. 31, no. 3, mm. 39-46)

Example 2.6 – Dramatic Combinations of Dynamic Tension and Multiple Other Rhetorical Types (Piano Sonata in E-flat Major, op. 7, mm. 355-359)

When dynamic tension is not involved, the situation is much different. Consider Example

2.7a, which expresses only two types of rhetorical tension: rhythmic, through the rapid opening

arpeggio, and melodic, through the rise in pitch of the same arpeggio. Although both types add

tension (or a heightened level of energy) to the music, it is not sufficient to deem the passage

dramatic. Similarly, in Example 2.7b, there is rhythmic tension through the thirty-second notes,

and timbral tension through the extreme registers (high then low), but again, the heightened

energy provided by these two types falls short of being dramatic.42 (Raising the dynamic level to

forte, on the other hand, would certainly qualify them as dramatic.) And so, because the

rhetorical tension types apart from dynamics are somewhat weaker, drama will only result if a

42 The rise in the melodic groups in m. 13 of this example would seem to add melodic tension to the passage, which, together with the other two tension types, would create drama. Recall, however, that in my discussion of melodic interval tension, I maintain that “the interval must be part of a single melodic gesture.” Hence, because each quarter-note group is simply repeated an octave higher on the next quarter-note beat, the result is a set of self-contained melodic groups rather than a single unbroken melodic line, and the passage cannot be called dramatic.

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passage combines at least three of these other types at the same time. A good example occurs in

the first theme of the Pathétique Sonata, which we saw earlier (see Example 2.8). The dynamic

here is piano, and thus does not add tension to the first four measures. There are, however, three

other types of rhetorical tension in these same measures. First, while there is

Example 2.7 – Combinations of Rhetorical Tension Types without Dynamic Tension a) Rhythmic and Melodic Tension; not Dramatic (Piano Sonata in A Major, op. 2, no. 2, IV, mm. 1-2)

b) Rhythmic and Timbral Tension; not Dramatic (Piano Sonata in A-flat Major, op. 110, mm. 12-13)

Example 2.8 – Rhythmic, Melodic, and Timbral Tension; Dramatic (Piano Sonata in C Minor, op. 13, “Pathétique”, mm. 11-14)

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no metronome mark for this work, the cut time signature and lack of sixteenth notes anywhere in

the Allegro portions of the movement indicate that the half note is the tactus and that the tremolo

eighth notes in the bass must therefore be played well above the minimum M.M. 400 (100 to the

half note) if Beethoven’s rapid tempo marking of “Allegro di molto e con brio” is to be followed.

Hence rhythmic tension certainly exists here. Second, the presence of the low C2 in the bass adds

constant timbral tension. And third, the continually rising line of the right hand’s top notes adds

melodic tension that begins with the melody’s G4 (forming a fifth from the initial C4) and

continues until its peak at C6. Together, these three tension types create a dramatic effect

(beginning in m. 12) that could not be realized by any of the types on its own. This is one of the

major advantages of such an approach to drama: determining what makes a particular passage

sound dramatic is attributed to a number of tension types that can be readily identified in the

music; thus the subjective element is minimized.

One other point to mention with regard to rhetorical drama is that, when a rhetorically

dramatic portion of a phrase is in some way repeated, the parallelism can cause the repetition to

be interpreted as being dramatic, even if there are not enough tension types present. This is

especially true when there is musically very little distinction between the dramatic portion and

the non-dramatic portion. In the String Trio in E-Flat Major, op. 3, for instance (shown in

Example 2.9), mm. 1-2 are rhetorically dramatic due to dynamic tension (the forte) and thickness

tension (more than three voices in a string trio texture). Measures 5-6 are clearly a repetition of

the opening two measures, the V-I harmony of the former answering the I-V harmony of the

latter, but in strict terms, after the triple-stop in the violin, the music drops to a non-dramatic

level because the thickness tension disappears, leaving only a single rhetorical type, dynamic

tension. Such an analysis, however, seems counter-intuitive considering the strong parallelism of

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the two groups. After all, the four-voice texture of m. 1 is barely distinguishable from the three-

voice texture of m. 5. Hence I prefer to deem the second of the two groups dramatic until it

comes to a halt in m. 6 and recognize the parallelism of the groups rather than to mechanically

apply a set of inflexible “rules”.43

Example 2.9 – Rhetorical Drama from Parallelism (String Trio in E-Flat Major, op. 3, mm. 1-6)

43 In an arrangement Beethoven made of this work for cello and piano (op. 64), the thickness tension, and consequently the drama as well, in the first measure actually ceases after the first thick chord because the piano is reduced from five voices (dramatic) to only three (non-dramatic) and the cello has only one (non-dramatic) throughout the measure. Hence, in this case, the repetition in mm. 5-6, where the tension types play out in the same fashion, would be heard with the same quick drop from dramatic to non-dramatic, which, interestingly, differs from its interpretation in the original string trio. See Ludwig van Beethoven, Sonata for Violoncello and Piano, opus 64 (after the String Trio in E Flat Major opus 3), ed. Erich Wilke (New York: Schott, 1984).

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ii) Syntactical Drama Combinations of three syntactical tension types produce what I call syntactical drama,

which therefore, like rhetorical tension, can never be achieved by any single type. Otherwise,

every sentence structure, for example, which by definition contains accelerative tension, would

be dramatic, which simply is not the case. Example 2.10, for instance, shows a sentence theme

that contains only accelerative tension and clearly is not dramatic. Even tonal tension, which one

might expect to be a stronger form of syntactical tension than the others, cannot produce drama

single-handedly, as Example 2.11 illustrates. In terms of strength, syntactical types are roughly

equivalent to the rhetorical types besides dynamics, since no two types together can produce a

dramatic effect. See Examples 2.12a and b, which show passages containing, respectively,

accelerative and tonal tension, and expansional and implicational tension.44 This does not mean

Example 2.10 – Accelerative Tension Only; not Dramatic (Piano Sonata in G Major, op. 14, no. 2, mm. 1-8)

44 Although it may seem that there is tonal tension in Example 2.12b due to the minor mode, there actually is none (at least in on the surface level) because the passage is in E-flat minor, and there is no expectation for a transition to remain in any particular key (hence no tonal disturbance).

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Example 2.11 – Tonal Tension Only; not Dramatic (Piano Sonata in C Major, op. 53, “Waldstein”, mm. 1-8)

Example 2.12 – Non-Dramatic Combinations of Syntactical Tension Types a) Tonal and Accelerative Tension (Piano Sonata in E-flat Major, op. 7, mm. 221-229)

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b) Expansional and Implicational Tension (op. 7, mm. 213-219)

that the syntactical tension in these passages does not drive the music forward—all syntactical

types do. Drama, however, is defined as “highly intense,” and thus passages that contain only

two syntactical types do not contain a sufficient amount of tension to create drama. Three

syntactical types together, on the other hand, do produce a dramatic effect so long as the types

are heard at the same time. Example 2.13a shows a passage that contains no rhetorical tension at

all but is nonetheless dramatic due to the syntactical types of tonal tension (through the C major

key in a B-flat major theme),45 expansional tension (the whole C major passage is part of an

expanded consequent phrase to a period theme), and implicational tension (through the dominant

pedal). Likewise, Example 2.13b, which depicts the famous C from the opening of the Eroica

Symphony, contains almost no rhetorical tension (only some dynamic tension in m. 10) but does

express drama in mm. 7-9 through the following syntactical types: tonal tension (the ambiguity

of key), metric tension (the syncopated violin I line), expansional tension (these measures are an

expansion of what would have been an eight-measure theme), and accelerative tension (the

increase in harmonic rhythm through these measures). Notice that the drama remains even when

there are only three syntactical types left after the violin line is no longer syncopated, but that it

is finally dispelled with the sounding of the home dominant seventh in m. 10 and a return to a

45 Tovey, A Companion to Beethoven’s Pianoforte Sonatas, 36, appropriately calls the C major key here “an intrusive key violently opposed to the present B .”

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more normative four-measure conclusion to the phrase (i.e., the phrase expansion ends in m. 11).

Especially noteworthy in these two examples is the observation that drama may arise without the

use of a loud dynamic. All that is required is a high level of energy caused by the simultaneous

combination of tension types. However, because of the fundamental difference in the way that

the rhetorical and syntactical categories operate, drama may only emerge from the combinations

of tension types in the same category. To demonstrate this effect, I refer to Example 2.14, which

shows a passage containing, on the one hand, two types of rhetorical tension: textural, due to the

polyphonic texture, and timbral, due to the high register of the violin. On the other hand, there

are also two types of syntactical tension present: metric, due to the syncopated second violin line

in mm. 38-39, and accelerative, due to the fragmentation of the initial two-measure basic idea

(mm. 34-35) into one-measure then half-measure units (as clarified by the first violin’s melody).

If drama were the product of any three tension types regardless of their category, then mm. 38-40

ought to give a dramatic effect. Certainly these tension types provide the music with a degree of

energy, but not one that could be considered dramatic in the sense of “highly intense.” Thus, it

becomes crucial to separate the rhetorical and syntactical categories to distinguish dramatic

passages from non-dramatic ones. Before one can describe how a passage is structured

dramatically, however, it is necessary to define some basic units of dramatic structure during

which the level of tension remains consistent—this will be the topic of the next subsection.

Example 2.13 – Dramatic Combinations of Syntactical Tension

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a) Tonal, Expansional, and Implicational Tension (op. 7, mm. 81-93)

b) Tonal, Metric, Expansional, and Accelerative Tension (Eroica Symphony, mm. 3-11)

Example 2.14 – Two Tension Types in Each Category; not Dramatic (String Quartet in C Minor, op. 18, no. 4, mm. 33-41)

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iii) Units of Dramatic Structure When a span of music is dramatic, the overall tension in either the rhetorical or

syntactical category (or both) is at a high level. As long as the music remains dramatic, I

therefore call such a span a High unit of dramatic structure. When there is no drama, the overall

tension is at a low level, and I call this a Low unit.

In order to demonstrate how spans of music may be structured according to the two

fundamental dramatic units, I provide here an analysis of a well-known passage from a

movement that is without question rife with “highly intense” dramatic effects: the first sixty-two

measures of Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony. As far as sonata form is concerned, these measures

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constitute P and TR (the first theme and transition) of the exposition, with P structured as a

period theme, and both the antecedent and consequent phrases themselves structured as smaller

sentence themes. TR is likewise composed as a sentence, albeit with three basic ideas and is

therefore what I term a trifold sentence. Example 2.15 shows the component parts of both P and

TR, and below them the level of tension (Low or High) along with the present tension types in

parentheses. (If both rhetorical and syntactical types are present, the former are given first and

the latter follow a semicolon.)

The opening five measures of the movement are among the most famous in all of

Western music, a position it probably owes as much to its memorable four-note motive as it does

to its highly dramatic nature. In rhetorical terms, the fortissimo creates dynamic tension, the

rapid eighth notes (each at M.M. 108 x 4 = 432, above the minimum M.M. 400) create bursts of

rhythmic tension, and the low register of the cellos creates timbral tension.46 Thus, the

continuous dynamic and rhythmic or timbral tension create a High unit. But notice that this High

unit may also be seen as a consequence of the three syntactical tension types present: tonal and

metric tension, due to an ambiguity in both realms, and expansional, since these measures serve

as an introduction (P1.0, signaled by the unison texture) to the first theme proper (P1) beginning in

m. 6, and thus create tension through their “before-the-beginning” status as a kind of extended

upbeat.47 Whether one interprets the drama as stemming from the rhetorical or syntactical

46 Scott Burnham, Beethoven Hero (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1995), 33, likewise notes Beethoven’s “choice of a middle to low register” in his creation of a dramatic effect. While I agree that the clarinets here create “more pungent (twelfth-heavy) overtones and the effect of breath” because (as he states in 177n10) “these notes fall just below the instrument’s break,” their timbre cannot be compared to the intensity of other threshold pitches I listed in Table 2.3. Thus, they do not contribute timbral tension here even though, in terms of expressive character, they add “the effect of breath.” 47 The tonal ambiguity of this opening has long been recognized in music literature, Burnham, Beethoven Hero, 32, citing E. T. A. Hoffmann’s famous review of the symphony as an early (if not the first) instance. It is interesting, however, that although Hoffmann states of these measures that “not even the key is yet certain,” he promptly adds that “the listener assumes E major.” In my own view, no such assumption could be made judging from the music per se, and thus perhaps Hoffmann is projecting an expectation that the piece will be in the major mode because

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Example 2.15 – P and TR of the Fifth Symphony, mm. 1-62

there is no tonic note present for C minor but there is for E major. See E. T. A. Hoffmann, “Review of Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony,” in E. T. A. Hoffmann’s Musical Writings: Kreisleriana, The Poet and the Composer, Music Criticism, ed. David Charlton and trans. Martyn Clarke (New York: Cambridge University Press, 1989), 239. More recently, Michael Baker, “A Curious Type of ‘Tonal Pun’ in Bach’s Suites for Unaccompanied Cello,” Indiana Theory Review 27 (2009): 9, has pointed out that “the cadence in the relative key of E major at the end of the exposition primes the listener to hear the return to the opening G and E within this new harmonic context as 3 and 1 of E major. This results in a tonal pun—the reinterpretation of a previously heard musical event within a new harmonic context.” Thus, the issue of tonal ambiguity in the opening measures is revisited when the exposition heads into its second statement.

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101

102

103

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category is moot, since either way these measures constitute a High unit. In other words, from

the standpoint of the present theory, Beethoven’s introduction remains at the same level of

tension throughout and therefore merits the High unit assigned here. Although any additional

tension types beyond the minimum number for drama do not alter the basic dramatic unit, they

do create a more dramatic effect than the minimum number would and no doubt contribute to the

unusually gripping quality of these opening measures.48

At the start of the P-theme proper in m. 6, the syntactical tension types disappear (the

introduction ends, resolving the expansional tension, and the tonal and metric tensions are

resolved with the establishment of C minor and a duple meter with the opening of the theme

proper), and of the rhetorical types, there is only rhythmic tension (due to the eighth notes) and

melodic tension (due to the rising melodic line divided among the upper strings), leaving the

overall tension at a Low level. With m. 15, accelerative tension begins due to a fragmentation

process that lasts until the end of the phrase in m. 21. Although this type on its own is not enough

to create drama, the rhetorical tension increases in m. 18 (with the addition of a rising dynamic,

and an intense thickness and timbre [trumpets and timpani]) and becomes High (dramatic) in m.

19 due to the forte mark. Syntactically, the augmented sixth chord in m. 20 creates tonal tension

and helps to boost the total tension level even higher for a more powerfully dramatic effect

before resolving onto the dominant chord in the next measure for the half cadence (which itself

creates closural tension). Despite the loss of tonal tension in m. 21, however, the tension remains

High, even when the first violin refuses to release its high G, because that G is attained through a 48 In connection with this point, Burnham, Beethoven Hero, 32, indicates that “we can understand this opening as an extreme case of a more or less common rhetorical exhortation, examples of which are not lacking in classical-style music—one thinks of the opening of Mozart’s ‘Prague’ Symphony, or Haydn’s ‘London’ Symphony, or even the Eroica. But whereas such exhortations generally form terse rhythmic totalities (usually with dotted rhythms) that often assert both a meter and a tonality, Beethoven’s does neither.” Thus, it is the lack of a clear key and metre that boosts the intensity of this introduction beyond that of its most prominent predecessors. Indeed, Burnham likens the powerful effect of this introduction to “that most unsettling of all utterances, the imperious command to do one knows not what.”

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leap of a perfect fifth and thus constitutes melodic tension. Together with that note’s forte

dynamic, the drama is able to remain High right into the next phrase.49 Thus, this entire

antecedent phrase has a dramatic structure of Low-High.

After another High introduction in m. 22 (due to dynamics, thickness, and, in part,

rhythm), the second phrase begins like the first with a Low unit from mm. 25-33. (Note that all

the rhetorical types but rhythmic tension are below their prominent values here and that there are

no syntactical types at all.) But as the phrase progresses, both rhetorical and syntactical drama

emerge to give a High unit beginning at m. 38. Rhetorically, the music expresses dynamic

tension through the implied forte (sforzandos after a crescendo), rhythmic tension through the

constant eighth notes, melodic tension through the rising melody, harmonic tension through the

suspensions, and thickness tension through the thicker orchestral texture. And in terms of

syntactical types, there is accelerative tension through fragmentation (the continuation function),

expansional tension through the lengthening of the inner portion of the phrase, as well as some

tonal tension through the allusions to F minor.50 Like the antecedent, the dramatic structure of

this consequent phrase is therefore Low-High, but it is achieved using both rhetorical and

syntactical drama, giving it considerable impact as it heads into the transition (TR).

This High level of tension is maintained when TR begins at m. 44, despite six out of the

existing nine tension types dropping out either on or immediately following the downbeat of that

measure: the rhetorical types of melodic (rising melody), harmonic (suspensions), and timbral

49 As Burnham, Beethoven Hero, 35, similarly points out in this measure, “the sustained G, like a cable taut with high voltage, carries the tension over into the next phrase.” 50 Burnham’s description of these same features in this passage corresponds to my view of them as tension types (though he does not mention the rise in dynamic level): “At the point where such a balancing cadence might have taken place [m. 38] . . . the music begins an intensification of all parameters: increased rhythmic activity [rhythmic tension], addition of winds on the downbeats [thickness tension], rising sequence [melodic tension], accelerated rhythmic activity [accelerative tension], and dissonance over a pedal tone [harmonic tension].” He also implies the tonal tension in the passage by referring to “the most involved harmonic progression yet: (from bar 37) i-vii7-V7/iv-iv-V7/iv-iv-vii7-i.” See Beethoven Hero, 36.

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tension (trumpets and timpani are only on the first beat of m. 44), and the syntactical types of

expansional and accelerative tension. Thus, the remaining types of dynamic, rhythmic, and

thickness tension are enough to carry the drama forth beyond this initial downbeat. In mm. 52-

58, the tension is still maintained at a High level, but is further enhanced by a sudden increase in

both dynamic tension (fortissimo) and the addition of harmonic tension (due to the dissonance

contained in the diminished seventh chord), timbral tension (the addition of trumpets and

timpani) and tonal tension (due to the ambiguity in key). Although the final tutti chords in mm.

56-58 resolve the tonal tension and suddenly halt the rhythmic tension, the overall tension again

remains at a dramatic High level due to the retention of the fortissimo, thick texture, and bright

timbre (especially from the trumpets), while accelerative tension gives TR forward drive as it

reaches the medial caesura. The famous horn call of mm. 59-62, which is an unusually tuneful

instance of caesura-fill, begins with a High unit due to the rhythmic tension of the eighth notes

and the still-present fortissimo dynamic.51 With its first downbeat at m. 60, however, the

rhythmic tension falls away, leaving the music now at a Low level of tension that is reinforced

with a decrescendo in m. 62 (leading to piano) before entering the secondary-theme zone (S) in

m. 63 (not shown).

At this point, it may seem that the dramatic structure of P and TR is merely a reflection of

the varying degrees of Beethoven’s dynamic marks. While, in this passage, nearly every loud

dynamic mark (forte or fortissimo) is involved in a dramatic event, dynamics alone cannot tell

the whole story for two reasons. First, not all drama incorporates dynamics. Recall that drama

may arise from combinations of rhetorical tension types other than dynamics, or from syntactical

types, which do not include dynamics. What is important to note in the Fifth Symphony example

51 Hepokoski and Darcy, Elements of Sonata Theory, 139, argue in favour of this interpretation: “following the emphatic hornsignal articulation of the MC in mm. 59-62 (which deformationally combines features of MC and caesura-fill), a dolce S sets forth in m. 63.”

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is Beethoven’s consistent coordination of loud dynamics with at least one other type of rhetorical

tension, for this is how the drama is created. Secondly, recall that not all loud dynamics

constitute drama. If there are no other rhetorical types to boost the overall tension to a High

level, it remains at a Low level even though dynamic tension is present (as with the latter portion

of the horn call in the last example). One must not, therefore, be lulled into applying High units

to all loud dynamics in a passage.

In Table 2.4, I have given a summary of the dramatic structure, dividing P and TR into

the thematic units they contain and separating from them any framing units such as thematic

introductions, codettas, and standing on the dominants. One may ask why the basic unit of

measurement I have chosen for dramatic structures is the thematic unit, which encompasses both

themes and theme-like units. Since the purpose of this study is to compare dramatic structures

among Beethoven’s first-movement sonata forms, it must first be decided what units of the form

will be compared with each other. Obviously, an entire movement is too large—every movement

is so uniquely composed that it is unlikely that any two will have the same dramatic structure.

The same could be said of the large sections of the form: exposition, development, and

recapitulation. On the other hand, examining the relatively small units that make up themes

(basic ideas, continuations, etc.) would result in far too many similarities among movements to

be of much use. An appropriate middle-ground between these two extremes would seem to be

the thematic unit—essentially, passages that close with a cadence or substitute thereof (e.g., the

closing function I discussed in the previous chapter). The framing functions are considered

separately in this study because they are not part of the thematic unit proper. As Caplin states,

their function is one of either “before-the-beginning” or “after-the-end,”52 and hence they must

be detached from the main portion of the theme or theme-like unit. Thematic units are ideal for 52 Caplin, Classical Form, 15.

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dramatic analysis because they usually incorporate a small number of formal functions and one is

therefore likely to find a manageable number of archetypal patterns of dramatic structure that

recur. Moreover, there are patterns that exist between the thematic units of adjacent sections, for

example from the end of TR to the start of S. It is these sorts of relationships that are the primary

focus of this study, and unearthing the patterns that lurk within them will be the topic of the next

chapter.

Table 2.4 – Dramatic Structure in P and TR of Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony Exposition Unit of Form Phrase Structure

P1.0

Intro. P1 Period Theme Antecedent (Intro.) Consequent Bi Bi Cont (Cad) Intro. Bi Bi Cont (Close)

TR1 Trifold Sentence 3 Bis Cont CF

Dramatic Structure

High Low - - - - - - - - - High High - Low - - - - - - - High High - - - - - Low

Bi = Basic Idea; Cont = Continuation; Cad = Cadence

Intro. = Thematic Introduction; CF = Caesura-Fill (in the Medial Caesura)

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Part 2: Dramatic Structures in Beethoven’s First-Movement Type 3 Sonata Forms

Introduction to Chapter 3

I. Archetypes of Dramatic Structure

Having established a method of analyzing dramatic structure with respect to form, I now

turn to the dramatic analysis of Beethoven’s first-movement sonata forms, and only those of the

“standard” type, or Type 3, to use Hepokoski and Darcy’s term. As I indicated at the end of the

preceding chapter, I will group the units of dramatic structure according to their respective

themes, theme-like units, and other surrounding formal functions such as thematic introductions,

codettas, and standing on the dominants, all of which I refer to as the “modules” of a

movement’s form. In this way, several model types, or archetypes, of dramatic structure emerge,

each of which can be used to describe dramatically similar passages in Beethoven’s sonata

forms. After a brief definition of these archetypes, the primary goal of this second part of the

study will be to determine which archetypes tend to appear in each part of the form and whether

their usage may be related to works in a certain key, mode, genre, or style period.

Beethoven did not compose first-movement Type 3 sonata forms in all twelve major and

twelve minor keys but, like the other classical composers, tended to avoid keys with sharp or flat

tonics, with the exceptions of E-flat major and B-flat major, which were in common use at the

time. In these works, Beethoven wrote only in sixteen keys, ten of them major (C, D, E-flat, E, F,

F-sharp, G, A-flat, A, and B-flat), and six minor (C, D, E, F, G, A). The major keys of F-sharp

and A-flat, however, are only represented by a single movement, and in the case of E major, and

D, E, and G minor, only two movements. Because I consider three to be the minimum number of

movements that can constitute a pattern in dramatic structure (to reduce the likelihood of

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coincidence), these keys are not numerous enough to be considered separate categories. The

movements in these keys, however, do contribute to the other categories of mode, genre, and

style period, and to the overall frequency of the various archetypes. The same may be said of the

genres of string quintet (of which there are two unique movements1) and piano four hands (only

one movement), neither of which I consider in separate genre categories in this study.

As concerns style periods, a few explanatory words are warranted since there has been

disagreement as to how Beethoven’s works ought to be divided among them and even whether

the concept is a valid one. The “three periods” of early, middle, and late, which first became

popular with Wilhelm von Lenz’s Beethoven et ses trois styles of 1852, have generally been

agreed upon as to their approximate range of dates.2 The early period includes Beethoven’s first

compositions up to and including those composed in 1802. The middle period is defined by the

advent of “heroic” works from 1803 onward such as the Eroica Symphony, and runs to 1812,

just before Beethoven’s output dramatically decreased in 1813. This latter event marks the

beginning of the late period, which includes the rest of Beethoven’s career until his death in

1827. What this system lacks in nuance, it makes up for in practicality, for, as Kerman, Tyson,

and Burnham point out, “in spite of all it obviously does accommodate the bluntest style

distinctions to be observed in Beethoven’s output, and . . . the breaks between the periods

correspond with the major turning-points in Beethoven’s biography,”3 that is, the crisis over

1 The String Quintet, op. 104 is an arrangement of the Piano Trio, op. 1, no. 3, and thus is not a unique work. Similarly, the Cello Sonata, op. 64, which is an arrangement of the String Trio, op. 3, is not included in this study. 2 Joseph Kerman, Alan Tyson, and Scott Burnham, “Beethoven,” in The New Grove Dictionary of Music and Musicians, 2nd ed., ed. Stanley Sadie (New York: Macmillan, 2001), 3:95; Wilhelm von Lenz, Beethoven et ses trois styles (New York: Da Capo Press, 1980 [a reprint of the 1909 edition published in Paris by Gustave Legouix. Originally published 1852]). See also, Alfred Brendel, “Beethoven’s New Style,” in Music Sounded Out: Essays, Lectures, Interviews, Afterthoughts (London: Robson, 1990), 60, who likewise views the end of 1812 as “the end of an era in instrumental music, during which the transition from early to middle-period Beethoven . . . had proceeded smoothly and, as it were, of its own accord.” The years 1813-1814, in which Beethoven’s productivity was quite low, “mark a pause” that seems, to Brendel, to denote the start of the late period. 3 Kerman, Tyson, and Burnham, “Beethoven,” 95.

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encroaching deafness at the start of the middle period and the lengthy court battle for custody of

his nephew Karl at the start of the late period. Moreover, while all recent biographies of

Beethoven add a fourth period up to 1792 for the composer’s younger years in Bonn, such an

addition would have no impact on the present study since the works under scrutiny here all carry

an opus number, meaning, at the earliest, they were from about 1793, when Beethoven first came

to Vienna. For these reasons, the three periods, as defined above, serve as a worthwhile means of

chronologically dividing up Beethoven’s works for my purposes here.

The archetypes of dramatic structure can be described in terms of the two dramatic units

of Low (L, non-dramatic) and High (H, dramatic). Obviously, the more complex the dramatic

structure, the more units that will appear, and thus there would seem to be a long list of potential

archetypes. But if one recognizes some basic similarities between certain structures, then it

becomes possible to group structures together into a limited number of archetypes. In order to

uncover these similarities, I propose three guidelines for analyzing an archetype from a series of

dramatic units:

Guideline 1 The dramatic units that occur at both the beginning and end of a module (unit of

form) are always included in the dramatic archetype because the tension level is

always prominent there.4

Guideline 2 Within the same formal unit, a single L or H will persist unless there is a change

to its opposite. For example, in a sentence theme, if the presentation and

continuation remain at a Low level of tension, a single label of L for both suffices

because it applies to contiguous parts of the same theme. However, tension that

4 This follows from basic psychology in that, given a series of events, people tend to most remember those at the beginning and end.

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continues unchanged into an entirely new module, as from P into TR, instead

requires two distinct labels because, in this study, I consider individual themes,

theme-like units, and any framing functions they may have, to all be separate

modules.

Guideline 3 Whenever an LH or HL group is repeated within the same formal unit, it creates a

redundancy in the dramatic structure and is therefore omitted from the archetype,

which represents the most fundamental form of the dramatic structure. If the

surface structure is LHLH or HLHL, the redundancy encompasses the final unit,

but because the outer units must remain present, it is the central L and H units that

are omitted, leaving the archetype of LH or HL, respectively. In many cases, such

redundancies occur in conjunction with a repeated formal function as well, as

with the basic idea of a sentence or even the consequent of a period (which is,

after all, a sort of repetition of the antecedent).5

With these three guidelines, there are a total of six archetypes that can appear; they are given in

Table 3.1 along with the abbreviations that I will use for each. The archetypes are most clearly

seen in relatively short formal units (up to about eight measures) where there are, at most, three

different dramatic units (of L or H). But in more complex structures, the above guidelines

provide a way of viewing such structures as more elaborate versions of the simpler underlying

5 This is not to say that any dramatic units were ignored in the process of my analyses, but only that further statements of LH or HL groups did not create a different underlying archetype. In such repeated groups, I noted where the tension occurred in relation to the form and would include this information in the study only if it was part of a significant trend (I discuss significance shortly).

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Table 3.1 – The Six Archetypes of Dramatic Structure

Archetype Abbreviation Low L

Low-High LH Low-High-Low LHL

High H High-Low HL

High-Low-High HLH

archetypes. A brief analysis will demonstrate how these guidelines are applied. Example 3.1

shows the opening sentence theme of P from the Piano Sonata in C Minor, op. 10, no. 1. On the

surface, the dramatic structure would be that shown in the analysis:

Basic Idea Basic Idea Continuation Cadence H L H L L L H

m. 1 3 5 7 9 14 This structure, however, can be viewed as an expression of a more fundamental archetype.

According to Guideline 1, the archetype will both begin and end with H. Next, with Guideline 3,

the dramatic content of the second basic idea, being a repetition of the first, would be considered

a redundancy in the archetype and therefore omitted, leaving a dramatic structure of HLLLH.

And lastly, with Guideline 2, the three Ls that extend from the end of the first basic idea through

the continuation and into the cadence would be viewed as a single L unit, rendering the

underlying structure as HLH, one of the six archetypes. While different P-themes will

necessarily express surface dramatic structures differently, I would argue that the similarities

among identical archetypes are strong enough to warrant collecting them into a single category.

Through this method of grouping, it becomes possible to compare modules at the same location

in the form regardless of their length and to recognize patterns that exist in the dramatic structure

of Beethoven’s sonata forms.

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Example 3.1 – Dramatic Structure in the Piano Sonata in C Minor, op. 10, no. 1, mm. 1-22

II. Patterns in Dramatic Structure Of Beethoven’s works, I considered only those that Beethoven himself had published

(i.e., that have an opus number). Within these works, there are a total of eighty-seven first

movements that are in Type 3 sonata form.6 In order to obtain results that were both

comprehensive and precise, I analyzed the archetypes in all parts of these movements, dividing

the forms into their respective themes, theme-like units, and other formal functions—all the

possible modules that were found to occur are shown in Figure 3.1. I then calculated the

6 See Appendix A for a complete list of all eighty-seven movements along with their corresponding genre, composition date, style period, and key, and Appendix B for the dramatic analyses of all these movements.

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percentage of works in which each archetype appeared in each module of the form, when that

particular module occurred. Otherwise, if the calculation was based on the frequency of that

division across all movements, patterns within little-used divisions would easily be overlooked.

Within each module, there were very few cases in which an archetype occurred a majority of the

time (that is, in more than 50% of all movements), a fact that speaks to the great variety in

dramatic structure that Beethoven sought in his sonata forms taken as a whole. It was useful,

however, to determine the archetype with the highest frequency in each module even if it did not

occur more than 50% of the time, as it was an indication of Beethoven’s most preferred

archetype in relation to others. In order to constitute a significant pattern, such preferred

archetypes had to occur in at least three movements, which reduces the probability of

coincidence with only two movements. I examined these preferred archetypes in detail to

determine precisely which tension types tend to occur in which formal functions.

For the categories of key, mode, genre, and style period, those patterns that I considered

significant occurred in at least three movements and in a majority of movements that contained

the module in question (i.e., more than 50% of them). In the case of the piano sonata and string

quartet, the number of works was relatively large and so, in order to search for patterns within

subsets of these works, I cross-searched genre and style period together (e.g., early piano

sonatas) and genre and mode (e.g., major string quartets). Moreover, due to the prominence of

the very beginning and very end of each division, I determined the frequency of Low- and High-

tension units (L and H) in only those places. Finally, because modules do not exist in isolation,

and the way the tension proceeds from one into the next is an important component in the

construction of dramatic music such as Beethoven’s, I calculated the frequency of the four

different combinations that may result from the juxtaposition of the dramatic units at the end of

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one module and the beginning of the next (i.e., L-L, L-H, H-L, and H-H). Needless to say, not all

of the data collected was significant—in fact, most of it was not. Thus, in the next chapter, in

addition to the archetype frequencies in each part of the form, I present a summary of the

significant results from these calculations with regard to sonata expositions. In the following

three chapters, I examine in turn the development, recapitulation, and outer sections of slow

introduction and coda.

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Figure 3.1 – All Possible Modules in Beethoven’s First-Movement Type 3 Sonata Forms (for the Purposes of This Study) Slow Introduction (I) I1 I2.1 I2.2 I2.3 I2.4 I3 Exposition P1.0 P1 Ct/Sod P2 TR1 TRSod1 TR2 TRSod2 CF S1 Tr/Sod S2 S3 Sod S4 CL1 CL2 CL3 RT1 RT2 Primary-Theme Zone (P) Transition (TR) Secondary-Theme Zone (S) Closing Section (CL) Development (D) D1 D2.1 D2.2 D3.1 D3.2 D3.3 D3.4 D4.1 D4.2 Recapitulation P1.0 P1 Ct/Sod P2 TR1 TRSod1 TR2 TRSod2 CF S1 Tr/Sod S2 S3 Sod S4 CL1 CL2 CL3 RT1 RT2 Primary-Theme Zone (P) Transition (TR) Secondary-Theme Zone (S) Closing Section (CL) Coda (Z) Z1 Z2 Z3.1 Z3.2 Z3.3 Z3.4 Z3.5 Ct = Codetta; Sod = Standing on the dominant; Tr = Small-scale transition function (found only between themes, not to be confused with the transition section, TR); CF = Caesura-fill (in the medial caesura); RT = Retransition

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Chapter 3: The Exposition As the section of sonata form that involves the most complex arrangement of modules,

the exposition is a rich site for the study of dramatic structure, each of its four main zones—P,

TR, S, and CL—having idiosyncratic ways of dealing with tension and drama. However, as one

proceeds through the chapter, it becomes increasingly clear that, while some of the differences in

dramatic structure are the result of the movement’s key, mode, or genre, by far the most frequent

differences are seen among the three style periods of early, middle, and late. As it turns out, these

stylistic changes are deeply rooted in Beethoven’s intermingling of what Michael Broyles calls

“the two styles of classicism”: “sonata style” and “symphony style”, both of which will be

described in some detail below.1 As will be seen, this strong connection between dramatic

structure and style, or more specifically style change, is the single most important factor

affecting dramatic structure in all sections of Beethoven’s first-movement sonata forms.

I. The Primary-Theme Zone (P) Within a movement proper (i.e., after a slow introduction), the first module we may hear

is a thematic introduction to the first theme, or P1.0. The frequencies of each archetype in this

module are given in Table 3.2 (most preferred or majority values are always shaded in grey and

actual number of movements shown in parentheses).2 Since P1.0 is almost always a short module,

there is little room for the development of drama beyond a single L or H; hence, these are the

module’s significant archetypes, and they occur in equal ratios of 30% (6 of 20).3 Sorting the

1 Michael Broyles, Beethoven: The Emergence and Evolution of Beethoven’s Heroic Style (New York: Excelsior, 1987), chapter 1 et passim. 2 Due to rounding, percentages do not always add up to 100% (although they do in this case). 3 Works with an L archetype in P1.0 (works are always listed by order of opus number within the order of genres given in Appendix A: piano sonata, string quartet, string trio, piano trio, string quintet, violin sonata, cello sonata, symphony, four-hand piano sonata, and chamber work with winds or brass): op. 2, no. 2; op. 31, no. 1; op. 110; op. 18, no. 3; op. 92; op. 17. Works with an H archetype in P1.0: op. 31, no. 2; op. 111; op. 59, no. 2; op. 74; op. 55; op. 67.

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works by the various categories within key, mode, genre, and style period also produces some

significant results. Considering only a Low (L) start to P1.0, the categories of major mode, piano

sonata, and early period become significant at 62% (8 of 13), 63% (5 of 8), and 70% (7 of 10),

respectively.4 These same categories recur as significant when considering only a Low end to

P1.0 at 77% (10 of 13), 63% (5 of 8), and 70% (7 of 10), respectively, indicating that there is a

tendency in the piano sonatas, early period, and major mode to use non-dramatic units here—any

drama that does occur tends not to last for all of P1.0.5

On the other hand, within the fully dramatic H archetype in P1.0, the categories of minor

mode, and middle period come to the fore at 57% (4 of 7) and 67% (4 of 6), respectively. If only

a High start to P1.0 is considered, then E-flat major becomes significant as well at 75% (3 of 4).

And if only its end is considered, symphonies and C minor emerge at 75% (3 of 4) and 100% (3

of 3).6 Thus, in this early stage of sonata form, dichotomies in dramatic structure are suggested

Table 3.2 – Archetypes in P1.0

Archetype % Frequency L 30 (6)

LH 15 (3) LHL 5 (1)

H 30 (6) HL 20 (4)

HLH --

4 For archetypes that are significant in multiple categories, many works appear in more than one category because of inevitable overlap between categories. Major-mode works: Op. 2, no. 2; op. 7; op. 22; op. 31, no. 1; op. 110; op. 18, no. 3; op. 92; op. 17. Piano sonatas: Op. 2, no. 2; op. 7; op. 22; op. 31, no. 1; op. 110. Early works: Op. 2, no. 2; op. 7; op. 22; op. 31, no. 1; op. 18, no. 3; op. 9, no. 3; op. 17. 5 Major-mode works: Op. 2, no. 2; op. 7; op. 31, no. 1; op. 81a; op. 110; op. 18, no. 3; op. 12, no. 1; op. 92; op. 17; op. 87. Piano sonatas: Op. 2, no. 2; op. 7; op. 31, no. 1; op. 81a; op. 110. Early works: Op. 2, no. 2; op. 7; op. 22; op. 31, no. 1; op. 18, no. 3; op. 9, no. 3; op. 17. 6 Minor-mode works with an H archetype in P1.0: Op. 31, no. 2; op. 111; op. 59, no. 2; op. 67. Middle-period works: Op. 59, no. 2; op. 74; op. 55; op. 60; op. 67. E-flat-major works with a High start to P1.0: Op. 81a; op. 74; op. 55. Symphonies with a High end to P1.0: Op. 55; op. 67; op. 125. C-minor works: Op. 111; op. 9, no. 3; op. 67.

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between the major and minor mode, the genres of piano sonata and symphony, and the

style periods of early and middle. Moreover, since a thematic introduction is often used to set the

tone of the music to come, the numbers for minor, symphony, and middle period indicate that

Beethoven considered these categories to be more dramatic than others.

But how do the tension types tend to play out in these H units? First of all, I would note

that, being an introduction, P1.0 always contains the syntactically-formed expansional tension.

But beyond this type, syntactical tension is generally scarce in this module and thus syntactical

drama is not typically found. This is largely what makes the opening to the Fifth Symphony so

powerful in its effect—not only does it use rhetorical drama, but syntactical as well, combining

the immediate intensity of the former with the unsettling quality of the latter.7 Four of the five

other movements with a High P1.0 achieve drama strictly through rhetorical tension, usually with

a combination of dynamic tension and thickness tension to create the typically orchestral “tutti

effect,” as in the opening two chords of the Eroica Symphony. But in the case of the famous

rolled-chord opening of the Tempest Sonata, op. 31, no. 2, Beethoven employs syntactical

tension to dramatic effect. Here, the drama is created by tonal and metric tension (through

ambiguities in key and metre) combined with expansional tension from the opening’s status as an

introduction (recalling that three syntactical types are always necessary for syntactical drama),

and is enhanced on the rhetorical side by thickness tension (the six-voice chord) and timbral

tension (the low register). Even so, the tutti effect remains the most common form of drama in

P1.0 and appears in the string quartet (op. 59, no. 2 and op. 74) as well as the symphony (op. 55),

demonstrating Beethoven’s preference for a symphonic type of drama in such cases, regardless

of the genre.

7 See n48 of chapter 2 in this connection.

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The opening module of the P-zone proper, P1, being one of the formal pillars of a sonata

exposition along with at least one module for TR and S, is found in all eighty-seven movements.

All six archetypes occur within P1, as shown in Table 3.3, but L and LH are most preferred at

28% (24 of 87) and 30% (28 of 87), respectively.8

Table 3.3 – Archetypes in P1

Archetype % Frequency L 28 (24)

LH 32 (28) LHL 16 (14)

H 2 (2) HL 13 (11)

HLH 9 (8)

Within the L archetype, two keys have a majority of Low P1 structures: F major at 56%

(5 of 9) and A major at 57% (4 of 7), trends that are surely bound up with Beethoven’s thoughts

on composing in those keys in general.9 It can, for instance, be no coincidence that two of his F-

major works bear titles related to nature—the “Spring” Sonata, op. 24, and the “Pastoral”

Symphony. And since Lewis Lockwood remarks that “there is a strong religious element in

Beethoven’s feeling for nature. . . . That he loved the countryside and relished taking excursions

into the woods and fields is clear from biographical evidence of all kinds,”10 the Low P-themes

of F-major works may be seen as a reflection of the feelings of pious serenity that Beethoven felt

when close to nature. In the A major works, Low P1 structures are either of a contented, intimate

quality, as in the Violin Sonata, op. 30, no. 1, and the Piano Sonata, op. 101 (which Robert

8 Works with an L archetype in P1: op. 2, nos. 2 and 3; op. 10, no. 2; op. 14, nos. 1 and 2; op. 49, no. 1; op. 101; op. 109; op. 18, nos. 2, 5, and 6; op. 59, no. 2; op. 127; op. 135; op. 9, nos. 2 and 3; op. 12, no. 1; op. 24; op. 30, no. 1; op. 96; op. 5, nos. 1 and 2; op. 17; op. 87. Works with an LH archetype in P1: op. 7; op. 10, no. 3; op. 22; op. 28; op. 31, nos. 1 and 2; op. 18, nos. 1 and 4; op. 59, nos. 1 and 3; op. 9, no. 1; op. 1, nos. 2 and 3; op. 97; op. 12, nos. 2 and 3; op. 23; op. 30, no. 2; op. 69; op. 21; op. 36; op. 55; op. 60; op. 67; op. 68; op. 92; op. 16; op. 20. 9 F-major works: op. 10, no. 2; op. 135; op. 24; op. 5, no. 1; op. 17. A-major works: op. 2, no. 2; op. 101; op. 18, no. 5; op. 30, no. 1. 10 Lewis Lockwood, Beethoven: The Music and Life (New York: W. W. Norton: 2003), 225.

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Hatten has further interpreted as an instance of the pastoral expressive genre),11 or they are rustic

and dance-like but decidedly non-dramatic, as in the Piano Sonata, op. 2, no. 2, and the String

Quartet, op. 18, no. 5.12

In the LH archetype, the only category to have a majority is the symphony at 78% (7 of

9), which includes the first seven symphonies. Examining the tension types within the High units

of each of these P1 modules, we find that the tutti effect of dynamic and thickness tension is

almost always present (in the Second Symphony, there is dynamic and rhythmic tension), along

with at least one other rhetorical tension type, usually timbral due to the presence of loud brass

and timpani. Example 3.2 illustrates a typical setup with P1 of the First Symphony. At m. 31, the

fortissimo gives dynamic tension, the use of the full orchestra gives thickness tension, and the

sounding of fortissimo trumpets and timpani gives timbral tension, which is not present in every

tutti effect, but certainly enhances its dramatic impact. Moreover, note that the drama here takes

place over the cadential portion of the continuation or “Continuation (Cadence)”, as I mark in the

analysis. Thus there is accelerative tension, a syntactical type that not only increases the drama

already provided by the tutti effect, but also signifies that Beethoven is dramatizing an element

of the form that inherently possesses tension: the sentence continuation. Indeed, the drama in all

seven LH P1 modules in the symphonies contains a continuation at some level of structure.

Moreover, that the drama occurs in a cadential function in all but the Seventh Symphony

indicates a certain teleology in dramatizing only the very end of P1 and not simply its latter half

(which would generally begin with the continuation) or indeed none of it at all. But from an even

broader perspective, it must also be observed that, in order to obtain a continuation and the

11 Robert Hatten, Musical Meaning in Beethoven: Markedness, Correlation, and Interpretation (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1994), 91-111. 12 In this latter respect, even the Seventh Symphony’s P1, is quite similar, but is structured as LH rather than L, almost certainly on account of its genre as a symphony rather than its A major key. (The LH structure in symphonies is discussed below.)

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natural acceleration it contains, Beethoven makes exclusive use of sentence structure in these

themes, either in monofold or bifold form, the former in Symphonies 3, 4, and 6, the latter in 1,

2, 5, and 7. (In this last case, it occurs as the B section of a rounded binary rather than as an

entire sentence theme, as in the other works.) Thus, as will be seen in many other parts of these

sonata forms, archetypes that dramatize the end of a structure through LH or LHL are closely

tied to sentence structure.

While not the most common archetype in P1, a majority of LHL archetypes may be found

in the piano sonatas of the middle period, where it reaches a frequency of 80% (4 of 5).13 In all

four of these works, the drama results from a combination of rhetorical tension types that at the

very least includes dynamic and rhythmic tension (see Example 3.3). Syntactical tension also

plays a role as, in all but one of these works (op. 81a), the drama unfolds within a continuation

and hence involves accelerative tension, once again demonstrating the importance of the

sentence, or in the case of op. 78, the very similar “hybrid sentence” (hybrid 3), in which there is

a large-scale basic idea (composed of a basic idea and contrasting idea) plus a continuation. Near

the ends of these P1-themes, however, Beethoven eliminates dynamic tension by inserting a

piano mark, decreasing the overall tension to a non-dramatic Low level. This tactic effectively

“pulls the rug out” from under our feet and gives us the impression that the music must continue

further to reach a more satisfying dramatized ending. Thus, even though the LHL archetype is

not identical to that of LH, the manner in which Beethoven employs both demonstrates a high

teleology for these types of P1.

13 Op. 53, op. 57, op. 78, op. 81a.

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Example 3.2 – LH Archetype in P1 of First Symphony, mm. 13-33

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126

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Example 3.3 – LHL Archetype in P1 of the Piano Sonata in F-Sharp Major, op. 78, mm. 4-12

It will be noticed that the two most preferred archetypes for P1, L and LH, both begin

with a Low dramatic unit (L). In fact, taken together, all archetypes that begin with L (L, LH,

and LHL) make up the vast majority of all Beethoven’s P1 modules at 76% (66 of 87).14

Furthermore, in terms of formal functions, it is significant that, in almost every one of his LH

arcehtypes, P1 is structured as a monofold or, more often, a bifold sentence, and the presentation

function always bears an L unit. In most instances, the ideas in a presentation are not long

enough to accommodate a small-scale sentence and hence to include accelerative tension through

a continuation. Thus presentations that begin P are usually devoid of accelerative tension and

indeed of any syntactical tension, and it seems that Beethoven’s modus operandi in LH P1

modules was to augment the accelerative tension inherent in sentence structures by adding

rhetorical drama to the continuation. But in order to make this approach most effective, a Low- 14 This type of opening is essentially what Hepokoski and Darcy call the “weak-launch option” for P, which begins “piano, either with an unassuming lyrical melody . . . or with the onset of some sort of bustling crescendo effect.” See Elements of Sonata Form: Norms, Types, and Deformations in the Late-Eighteenth-Century Sonata (New York: Oxford University Press, 2006), 66.

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tension presentation is required as a “launching pad” from which the tension may increase and

become dramatic. The sentence is therefore an ideal form for Beethoven’s P1 modules and, by

the same token, is likely why other forms that are not inherently tension-inducing, such as the

period, rarely occur in this area of his sonata forms. Thus, Beethoven’s teleological impulse

seems largely responsible for the most typical structures in P1, and is surely why we find L as the

most common beginning unit in the subcategories of key, mode, genre, and the early and middle

periods.

When it comes to the late period, there is the startling statistic that 54% (7 of 13) of P1

modules begin with H units, the only category to have such a majority.15 (By contrast, the early

and middle periods have large majorities of L starts to P1, at 85% [44 of 52] and 73% [16 of 22],

respectively.) Why might this lone category occupy such a position? Many writers have noted

that Beethoven’s late period is characterized by unusual procedures that stand in especially stark

contrast to the most celebrated works from his middle period. In this vein, Maynard Solomon

aptly observes:

The exhaustion of the vaunted “heroic style” and its descent into self-parody in Wellington’s Victory and other propagandist pièces d’occasion written in connection with the victory over Napoleon and the subsequent convening of the Congress of Vienna made it imperative that Beethoven locate a hitherto unimagined musical problématique. It was a time of many endings—historical, philosophical, biographical, stylistic—a period of flux in which old habits of mind needed to be reconsidered and the most deeply held beliefs subjected to scrutiny.16

Thus, Beethoven’s late period involved the elimination or at least the subsiding of many old

compositional habits he had accrued over the course of his career, one of which was his

teleological impulse in P-themes. In so doing, he was able to carry out a “search for germinating

influences and modes of expression that could aid him in the symbolization of new spheres of

psychic and social experience, inaccessible to the dramatic and overtly dialectical procedures of

15 Op. 90; op. 106; op. 111; op. 130; op. 102, nos. 1 and 2; op. 125. 16 Maynard Solomon, Late Beethoven: Music, Thought, Imagination (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2003), 2.

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sonata form and obbligato style.”17 As a result of this “search for the new,” not only does the LH

archetype completely disappear from P1 (a stunning statistic in itself!), but an opposite impulse

actually begins to emerge and we see H beginnings rise to a majority. Concerning tension types,

while these H beginnings all contain rhetorical drama via dynamic tension and at least one other

type, there is no combination of rhetorical or syntactical types that dominates this category,

perhaps because the overall archetype is variably H, HL, or HLH (all three are present in late-

period P1 modules). Hence, the symphonic type of drama that dominated P-themes in the

previous two periods became far less attractive to Beethoven in the late period. As we shall see,

this turn away from symphonic tendencies turns out to be an important aspect of Beethoven’s

stylistic evolution.

At the opposite side of P1, we find that its ending typically contains an L unit in the late

period, with a frequency of 69% (9 of 13) overall.18 Moreover, when the entire P-zone is taken as

a whole and includes any codetta or standing on the dominant after P1 as well as any P2 module,

we still find that L endings are the majority at 69% (9 of 13).19 Furthermore, most of the

subcategories I investigate within key, mode, genre, and style period likewise contain majorities

of L endings to P1. Significant exceptions occur in A minor (75%, 3 of 4), B-flat major (71%, 5

of 7), C minor (63%, 5 of 8), the minor mode (52%, 11 of 21), the symphony (100%, 9 of 9), and

the middle period (59%, 13 of 22).20 The last four from this list are familiar majorities from High

P1.0 modules, and thus a dramatic P1.0 tends to signal that the P1 that follows will contain a

dramatic ending. 17 Maynard Solomon, Beethoven, 2nd ed. (New York: Schirmer Books, 1998), 386-87. 18 Op. 90; op. 101; op. 109; op. 110; op. 111; op. 127; op. 132; op. 135; op. 102, no. 2. 19 Op. 90; op. 101; op. 109; op. 110; op. 111; op. 132; op. 135; op. 102, no. 2; op. 125. 20 A-minor works: op. 23; op. 47; op. 102, no. 1. B-flat-major works: op. 22, op. 106, op. 130, op. 97, op. 60. C-minor works: op. 10, no. 1; op. 18, no. 4; op. 1, no. 3; op. 30, no. 2; op. 67. Minor-mode works: op. 10, no. 1; op. 31, no. 2; op. 18, no. 4; op. 95; op. 1, no. 3; op., 23; op. 30, no. 2; op. 47; op. 102, no. 1; op. 67; op. 125. Symphonies: op. 21, op. 36; op. 55, op. 60, op. 67, op. 68, op. 92, op. 93, op. 125. Middle-period works: op. 79; op. 59, nos. 1 and 3; op. 95; op. 97; op. 47; op. 69; op. 55; op. 60; op. 67; op. 68; op. 92; op. 93.

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In the keys of A minor and B-flat major, there is uniform use of a sentence or hybrid

sentence as the basis of the P1 theme, and in all but one case (the Kreutzer Sonata, op. 47), the

accelerative tension of a continuation pushes right to the end of the cadence, the High ending

providing a rhetorically dramatic “capping off” to the theme. It seems, then, that A minor and B-

flat major were, for Beethoven, two keys that usually demanded a highly teleological P1. But

while there is always rhetorical (and only sometimes syntactical) drama in these cases, no

consistent pattern emerges as to the specific combination of rhetorical tension types.

The key of C minor, however, tells a different story. Of the five works in this key that

have a dramatic ending to P1, Beethoven achieves that drama through the same tension types in

four of them: the Piano Sonata, op. 10, no. 1, the String Quartet, op. 18, no. 4, the Violin Sonata,

op. 30, no. 2, and the Fifth Symphony (the lone exception being the Piano Trio, op. 1, no. 3). In

these works, rhetorical tension again takes centre stage, for it is with the tutti effect of dynamic

and thickness tension that Beethoven creates the drama. But immediately, we are drawn to the

question of why such a relationship between tension types and key exists in this case, especially

when it did not for A minor or B-flat major. It has long been known that most, if not all, of

Beethoven’s C-minor works bear a similar expressive stamp referred to as his “C-minor mood,”

described by William Kinderman as “the tempestuous, strife-ridden character reflected in pieces

such as the string trio op. 9, no. 3, the Pathétique Sonata, the Fifth Symphony, and the very last

sonata, op. 111.”21 This tempestuous character can be ascribed to the use of similar

compositional techniques—harmonic, textural, dynamic, and so forth—which, for Beethoven,

were inextricably linked to the stormy, tragic character he strongly associated with this key.22 It

21 William Kinderman, Beethoven, 2nd ed. (New York: Oxford University Press, 2009), 41. 22 This consistently dramatic approach to several sections of Beethoven’s C-minor movements seems to have been what Joseph Kerman, The Beethoven Quartets (New York: W. W. Norton, 1966), 70, recognized and even condemned in many C-minor works: “the ‘C-minor mood’ in early Beethoven, the mood of the Sonate Pathétique, is

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now becomes apparent that the tutti effect at the end of P1 was just one of the many techniques

he employed to achieve this “tempestuous, strife-ridden” character.23

The influence of C minor on Beethoven’s dramatic structures can plainly be seen when P1

modules in that key are compared with those in minor-mode works in general. In the minor

mode, while it is significant that drama appears at the end of P1 52% (11 of 21) of the time, no

clear pattern dictates the combination of tension types that create the drama. Little more than half

of the works at 55% (6 of 11) employ a tutti effect, a far cry from the 80% (4 of 5) of works that

do so in C minor.24 In short, there appears to be a variety of approaches to achieving the drama

here, both in the combinations of tension types, and in the overall type of drama (rhetorical

and/or syntactical). It cannot even be said that almost all of them contain accelerative tension as

is the case in LH and LHL majorities. I would point out, however, that all but one work employs

expansional tension, signalling that the minor mode seems to demand some sort of mid-phrase

expansion that not only delays the onset of the cadence, but also allows more room for the drama

to unfold as the theme approaches its end. Consider, for example, how dramatically effective the

consequent phrase of the Fifth Symphony’s P1 is, which expands the phrase beyond the expected

one that has dated most decisively and dishearteningly over the years . . . In this familiar emotional posture, Beethoven seems to be an unknowing prisoner of some conventional image of passion, rather than his own passion’s master.” Conversely, Donald Francis Tovey, Beethoven (New York: Oxford University Press, 1944), 9, outright denied the existence of key characteristics, claiming that “the character of keys in themselves is . . . a psychological vagary about which no two persons need trouble to agree.” Instead, Tovey adamantly endorsed the expressive consequences of key relationships in Beethoven. It is not difficult to understand Tovey’s dismissal of key characteristics, as they are not categorically confirmed with every piece in that key. On the other hand, key relationships, being essentially intervallic relationships, remain unchanged in every piece in which they occur. Nevertheless, the strong connections among Beethoven’s works in C minor seem to me irrefutable. 23 Michael C. Tusa, “Beethoven’s ‘C-Minor Mood’: Some Thoughts on the Structural Implications of Key Choice,” Beethoven Forum 2 (1993): 10, indicates a similar pattern in the sonata transitions of Beethoven’s C-minor works, “a quasi-symphonic gesture akin to hammer blows that shows up in op. 9, no. 3. . . , op. 18, no. 4, . . . , and op. 30, no. 2 . . . .” More importantly, he draws attention to features that correspond to my rhetorical tension types when he says that “these passages represent the first climax within their respective movements, a structural point underscored both by dynamics [dynamic tension] and by a chordal texture [thickness tension].” 24 Minor-mode works with tutti effects at the end of P1: op. 10, no. 1; op. 18, no. 4; op. 30, no. 2; op. 47; op. 67; op. 125. C-minor works: op. 10, no. 1; op. 18, no. 4; op. 30, no. 2; op. 67.

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sixteen-measure response, allowing the violin I melody to rise up and complete a full octave on a

climactic C that ends the theme (as shown in Example 2.13 at the end of the previous chapter).

For the last two categories that have High endings to P1—the symphony and the middle

period—the tutti effect is the most common means of achieving the drama, which is something

of a trend for these works, since the same was true for fully dramatic (H) introductions (P1.0).

Moreover, in almost all of these works, the rhetorical drama is combined with the accelerative

tension of a sentence structure, which enhances their already teleological nature.

Of the post-cadential modules that follow P1 (codettas or standing on the dominants),

very little can be said as only eleven of the eighty-seven movements contain them.25 The L

archetype is by far the most preferred with 45% , or 5 of 11 works, containing the module.26

These five works create majorities of L in the categories of the major mode (56%, 5 of 9) and

early period (63%, 5 of 8), both of which were part of the trend that saw Low tension between

P1.0 and P1 (along with the piano sonata) and hence appear to be pieces that, at least in the P-

zone, generally contain less drama than others. The reason for this trend may be related to the

nature of this module when combined with Low tension. In other words, a codetta or standing on

the dominant here serves to draw out the final chord of P1 beyond the expected end (the cadential

arrival) and, when combined with a Low dramatic unit, creates a relaxation in the flow of the

movement. By this reasoning, we can understand why such Low units are not found in more

teleological movements such as those in the minor mode, the symphony, and the middle period.

A second P-theme, P2, is a rarity in Beethoven, with a meagre six of the eighty-seven

movements possessing the module.27 When it does occur, the most preferred archetype is HL at

25 Op. 7; op. 10, no. 1; op. 31, no. 3; op. 18, nos. 3 and 6; op. 130; op. 1, nos. 1 and 2; op. 30, no. 1; op. 60; op. 125. 26 Op. 7; op. 31, no. 3; op. 18, nos. 3 and 6; op. 1, no. 1. 27 Op. 18, no. 2; op. 59, nos. 1 and 3; op. 127; op. 3; op. 17.

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50% (3 of 6),28 but even more broadly, in 67% (4 of 6) of cases, it begins High after a Low-

starting P1-theme,29 seemingly as a means of giving more dramatic weight to the P-zone as a

whole. Nevertheless, like the P1 codetta or standing on the dominant, I would argue that it is

because the presence of a P2 slows down the motion of a movement that it appears only in the

major mode and avoids the more intense drive of minor-mode works.

II. The Transition Zone (TR)

In chapter 1, I mentioned that it is important to distinguish whether TR contains one or

two parts, and if only one part, whether it is non-modulating, ending on the home-key V chord,

or modulating, ending on the new-key V chord. These distinctions become particularly important

with regard to dramatic structure, as Beethoven tended to treat each situation differently. Thus, I

will consider the non-modulating, modulating, and two-part TR separately. As it turns out, the

frequency of individual archetypes is not the most useful way of analyzing TRs for their drama,

since their formal structure is not always the same: some end with a standing on the dominant

while others do not. Moreover, because the greatest number of works is in the early period, and

because the early period displays dramatic structures in TRs that are not seen in the other periods

(as discussed below), frequencies of archetypes tend to be skewed toward early works. I will,

however, investigate significant frequencies in genre, key, and mode towards the end of this

subsection.

Much more germane to the dramatic structure of TRs is the tension at their very end,

regardless of their formal structure, since, as I also noted in chapter 1, Hepokoski and Darcy

have recently defined TR not only by its location following the P-zone, but by its characteristic

“energy-gain” in leading to the medial caesura (MC), which prepares for the secondary-theme 28 Op. 18, no. 2; op. 59, nos. 1 and 3. 29 Op. 18, no. 2; op. 59, nos. 1 and 3; op. 127.

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zone (S). Thus, one would hypothesize that many TRs end with High tension, and indeed

Hepokoski and Darcy list some of the ways in which the energy-gain may be achieved, each of

which constitutes a form of tension from the perspective of the present theory: “a more rapid

surface rhythm [rhythmic tension], an accelerated harmonic rhythm [accelerative tension], a

higher dynamic level [dynamic tension], a more active accompaniment pattern [again, rhythmic

tension], chromaticism [tonal tension], and so on.”30 While at least one of these tension types is

usually present in Beethoven’s TRs, his most common ending to the zone is a dramatic one that

either employs the tutti effect of dynamic and thickness tension, or combines dynamic tension

with rhythmic tension, what I call an “excited effect” for the way it imitates the loud and rapid-

fire speech of an excited person. But just how often is the end of TR dramatic in Beethoven? Is

there always a dramatic energy-gain? The answer to these questions depends on the type of TR

one is dealing with: non-modulating, modulating, or two-part. Table 3.4 displays the frequency

of dramatic (High) endings in each of these TR types.

Table 3.4 – High Endings to TR by TR Type

% Non-modulating TR

ends High % Modulating TR

ends High % Two-part TR

ends High 100 (10/10) 73 (44/60) 65 (11/17)

Despite the fact that only ten of the eighty-seven movements contain a non-modulating

TR,31 it is astonishing to find that fully 100% of them end dramatically. The reason for this

relationship was likely a matter of influence. First of all, these ten works date from the early

period (all in 1800 or before), at a time when Beethoven was still coming to grips with the facets

of the classical style he was in the process of inheriting. But the fact that the non-modulating TR 30 James Hepokoski and Warren Darcy, “The Medial Caesura and Its Role in the Eighteenth-Century Sonata Exposition,” Music Theory Spectrum 19 (1997): 122. 31 Op. 2, no. 3; op. 49, no. 2; op. 18, no. 5; op. 9, no. 3; op. 5, no. 1; op. 21; op. 6; op. 17; op. 20; op. 71.

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appears in these movements at all is noteworthy, since it had become a largely outmoded

technique by this time. I say “largely” because there was one composer who maintained this

method of writing TRs: Mozart. As Robert S. Winter indicates, the non-modulating TR (or what

he terms the “bifocal close”) was “used less frequently during the 1760s and 70s by composers

other than Mozart.”32 Moreover, even when other composers had culled the technique from their

repertoire, from 1786 to the end of his life, Mozart continued to employ it in three overtures and

more than a dozen sonata-form movements.33 In these works, the end of TR is indeed dramatic,

most typically through a tutti effect of dynamic and thickness tension and/or an excited effect of

dynamic and rhythmic tension (even if, in works such as the Piano Sonata in C Major, K. 545,

dynamic signs are only implicit). In nine of Beethoven’s ten movements, the drama is achieved

in these same ways; the lone exception being a logical one: in the String Quartet in A Major, op.

18, no. 5, which has been cited for its indebtedness to Mozart’s String Quartet K. 464 in the same

key,34 we find the same dynamic tension (forte) and timbral tension (high register in violin I) that

furnish the non-modulating TR in Mozart’s quartet. But whereas Mozart’s drama is always

rhetorical and only adds syntactical drama to the mix in some of his orchestral works such as the

overtures to Le Nozze di Figaro, Don Giovanni, and the Piano Concertos in D Major

(“Coronation”), K. 537, and B-Flat Major, K. 595, Beethoven goes a step further in that, with the

exception of the Piano Sonata for Four Hands, op. 6, he always adds syntactical drama to the

rhetorical drama in these TR endings (which are in these cases TRSod1) through the combination

of expansional and implicational tension (both by virtue of the standing on the dominant) with

32 Robert S. Winter, “The Bifocal Close and the Evolution of the Viennese Classical Style,” Journal of the American Musicological Society 42 (1989): 319. 33 Winter, “Bifocal Close,” 323. 34 See especially Kerman, The Beethoven Quartets, 57-64, who notes similarities between the last three movements of both quartets, but unfortunately says nothing of the first. Winter, “Bifocal Close,” 331, on the other hand, marks the striking fact that both first movements contain bifocal closes (non-modulating TRs).

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the forward-driving accelerative tension (from structuring the standing on the dominant as a

sentence), thus lending extra boost to the dramatic effect. Given the high esteem in which the

young Beethoven held Mozart, it seems an inescapable conclusion that Beethoven’s dramatic

ends to his non-modulating TRs were the direct influence of Mozart.

Beethoven’s modulating TRs present a very different story. They are by far the most

common type, being found in sixty of the eighty-seven total movements, and are distributed

across his entire career.35 But now, dramatic endings are not always present, and an important

pattern emerges when these High-ending TRs are grouped by style period, as in Table 3.5.36

Table 3.5 – High Endings to Modulating TRs by Style Period

Style Period % Modulating TR ends High

Early 88 (28/32) Middle 65 (13/20)

Late 38 (3/8) Clearly, dramatic endings to modulating TRs steadily decline from a majority in the early period

eventually to a minority in the late period. The impetus behind this drastic change in musical

thought is best explained by referring to some of the changes in style that occurred over the

course of Beethoven’s career.

In almost every case, regardless of style period, Beethoven dramatizes the end of a

modulating TR rhetorically, usually with a tutti effect or excited effect (much like non-

modulating TRs), and often adds syntactical drama by an accelerating standing on the dominant 35 Op. 2, nos. 1 and 2; op. 7; op. 10, nos. 1, 2, and 3; op. 14, nos. 1 and 2; op. 22; op. 28; op. 31, no. 2; op. 49, no. 1; op. 53; op. 57; op. 78; op. 79; op. 81a; op. 101; op. 109; op. 110; op. 111; op. 18, nos. 1, 2, 3, and 6; op. 59, nos. 1, 2, and 3; op 74; op. 95; op. 127; op. 130; op. 3; op. 9, nos. 1 and 2; op. 1, nos. 1 and 2; op. 70, no. 1; op. 97; op. 29; op. 12, nos. 2 and 3; op. 23; op. 30, nos. 1, 2, and 3; op. 47; op. 96; op. 5, no. 2; op. 69; op. 102, no. 1; op. 36; op. 60; op. 67; op. 68; op. 92; op. 93; op. 125; op. 16; op. 81b. 36 High endings to modulating TRs, by style period. Early: Op. 2, no. 1; op. 10, nos. 1, 2, and 3; op. 14, nos. 1 and 2; op. 22; op. 28; op. 31, no. 2; op. 18, nos. 1, 2, 3, and 6; op. 3; op. 9, nos. 1 and 2; op. 1, nos. 1 and 2; op. 29; op. 12, no. 2; op. 23; op. 30, nos. 1, 2, and 3; op. 5, no. 2; op. 36; op. 16; op. 81b. Middle: Op. 53; op. 81a; op. 59, nos. 1, 2, and 3; op. 74; op. 70, no. 1; op. 97; op. 47; op. 69; op. 60; op. 67; op. 93. Late: Op. 109; op. 110; op. 111.

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(which gives accelerative, expansional, and implicational tension), thus enhancing the effect.

And in the early works, given that almost all of these High-ending TRs lead to the textural gap of

a medial caesura and on to a contrastingly Low start to S, there is an unmistakable sense of

separation that arises between the end of TR and the start of S, both in terms of drama and

texture.37 But as time progressed, there was an increasing continuity between the end of TR and

the start of S. This trend is only hinted at in the early period by a couple of works that obscure

the medial caesura by beginning an accompaniment figure to S a measure before entering that

zone: the Piano Sonata in F Minor, op. 2, no. 1, and the Tempest Sonata, op. 31, no. 2 (see

Example 3.4).38 In the watershed work that defines the beginning of the middle period, the

Eroica Symphony, the medial caesura is whittled down to being “flush-juxtaposed” with S

(which begins at m. 45) rather than creating a literal break in texture (see Example 3.5).39 And in

light of the greater continuity begun to be seen in the early works, this lack of a textural break led

William Horne to comment that, for the works up to and including the Eroica,

a critical window on the evolution of Beethoven’s style, at least for his first-movement sonata forms, may be opened by recognizing his very deliberate wearing away of the prominence of the first cadential pillar of the exposition . . .40

Extending this view into other middle-period works, we find a larger trend in which the medial

caesura is either omitted completely (as in the Eroica) or somewhat obscured through the 37 Even when the caesura is bridged over by one voice (or sometimes more) in what Hepokoski and Darcy call “caesura-fill” and drops the tension level to Low before the start of S, the perception of a tensional divide between TR and S remains perceptible because, as these authors point out, and as mentioned in my chapter 1, “caesura-fill is part of neither TR nor S: it represents the sonic articulation of the gap separating the two zones.” See Elements of Sonata Theory, 40. 38 In the case of the Tempest, the sense of continuity is strong enough for James Hepokoski to view the exposition as one of his “continuous” types, in which there is no S-zone at all, but only a transition that becomes a series of Fortspinnung modules leading to the important structural cadence he calls the EEC. See “Approaching the First Movement of Beethoven’s Tempest Sonata Through Sonata Theory,” in Beethoven’s Tempest Sonata: Perspectives of Analysis and Performance, ed. Pieter Bergé et al. (Leuven: Peeters, 2009), 194. Likewise, Charles Rosen, Beethoven’s Piano Sonatas: A Short Companion (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2002), 169, contends that in the Tempest, “there is no clear separation between first and second groups.” 39 “Flush-juxtaposed” is Hepokoski and Darcy’s term for this type of situation. See Elements of Sonata Theory, 47. 40 William Horne, “The Hidden Trellis: Where Does the Second Group Begin in the First Movement of Beethoven’s Eroica Symphony?,” Beethoven Forum 13 (2006): 146. The “first cadential pillar” is Horne’s description of his substitute term for the medial caesura, the “strong dominant complex”.

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addition of more than the usual single voice in the caesura-fill (in the manner of the early works

shown in Examples 3.4a and b). Moreover, in the middle period, even though the majority of

modulating TRs still end High, and always do so with rhetorical drama, an increased proportion

of them end Low (always with a piano dynamic), as shown by the drop in High endings from

88% in the early period to 65% in the middle. Thus, the sense of separation of TR from S

diminishes since the two zones now meet with the same level of tension.41 In the late period, this

tendency becomes even more prevalent, as most modulating TRs (63%, 5 of 8) lead into S from

a Low tension level and without a textural break. Even more strikingly, of the thirteen pieces

ascribed to this period, a standing on the dominant, which in the classical style is one of the most

common ways of preparing for S and a typical site of syntactical drama (as we have seen), now

appears in only one work.42

Example 3.4 – Accompaniments to S That Begin Before S-Zone a) Piano Sonata in F Minor, op. 2, no. 1, mm. 18-22

41 Caesura-fill does not alter the tension at the end of TR or the start of S, being a part of neither zone. Its dramatic structure almost always consists of either an L (58% [23 of 40]) or HL (25% [10 of 40]) archetype, regardless of style period, even though 65% (26 of 40) of caesura-fills occur in the early period (the middle period containing 30% [12 of 40] of them, and the late period a mere 5% [2 of 40]). In any case, caesura-fill almost always ends Low (88% overall [35 of 40]), not only to prepare for the usual Low start to S, but to provide a dramatic unit that closely resembles the silence that the filled-in gap represents. 42 This lone standing on the dominant occurs in the Ninth Symphony, mm. 64-73, and it is an odd one at that, forcibly transforming the prolonged dominant harmony from V of D minor to V of the new key, B-flat major. A prolonged dominant harmony before the S-zone is also found in two other late works, op. 106 and op. 102, no. 2, but because in each case it appears in the midst of the phrase and not as a post-cadential function, it is not a form-functional standing on the dominant. Moreover, that these dominants do not appear after a cadence in a sense negates the function they would normally have of preparing for an upcoming phrase, since we have not yet heard the end of the present phrase.

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b) Piano Sonata in D Minor, op. 31, no. 2, “Tempest”, mm. 39-42

Example 3.5 – A “Flush-Juxtaposed” TR and S in the Eroica Symphony, mm. 37-46

The increasing trend toward a Low tension level at the end of Beethoven’s modulating

TRs fits into a larger pattern of stylistic changes proposed by Michael Broyles. In his book,

Beethoven: The Emergence and Evolution of Beethoven’s Heroic Style, Broyles argues that the

stylistic changes that led to Beethoven’s late works were part of the same impulse that had led to

his middle-period works. The main thrust of Broyles’ argument relies on the recognition of two

opposing styles of instrumental composition that were in use at the time: “symphony style” and

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“sonata style”. These two styles, which may roughly be thought of as an extroverted and an

introverted style, respectively, are differentiated primarily in two respects: melody and drive.

According to Broyles, who bases his definition on late-eighteenth-century writings of Augustus

Friedrich Kollmann and Heinrich Christoph Koch, the melody of each may be described as

follows:

the symphony style emphasizes supra-period activity; gestures tend toward the larger units, creating a sense of melodic sweep through the binding or overlapping of cadences. . . . In the sonata style, however, elaboration, nuance, and detail play a much greater role, and cadences are heard more as actual divisions between which the manipulation of motivic figures is centered. Rhythmic subtlety and variety as well as flexibility, all of which impart to the motion a more expressive and hence rhetorical tone, are more at home in the sonata.43

Hence, in symphony style, as the music approaches a cadence, melodic motion is highly

continuous, minimizing the number of internal resting points and tending to maintain that motion

up to and often even through the cadence by way of elision. Broyles further explains that

symphony style also included a driving component in the buildup towards a cadence:

The grandeur and power associated with the symphony style was, as Koch noted, in large measure due to cadential manipulation. For this aspect of the style to have maximum impact, however, it was necessary that the phrase drive hard to a cadential point, and whether the cadence materialized or not, that it be clear where the implied point of arrival was to be.44

Implicit in Broyles’ requirement that “the phrase drive hard to a cadential point” is a highly

intense, or dramatic, form of tension accompanying a cadential progression, the terms “grandeur

and power” strongly suggesting thickness tension and dynamic tension, or, more broadly,

rhetorical drama. (These two tension types are, after all, common enough in Beethoven’s

symphonies to be deemed a tutti effect, as we have seen.) Thus, one of the hallmarks of

symphony style is a rhetorically dramatic cadence, even one that avoids a cadential arrival at its

end, as Broyles points out. He further notes that symphonic melodies tend to participate in

43 Broyles, Beethoven, 15. 44 Broyles, Beethoven, 15.

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cadential momentum because they are “relatively simple,” being based on trochaic (strong-weak)

and uncomplicated rhythms that “clarify the meter,” and on chordal arpeggiation.45

In sonata style on the other hand (which, from Broyles’ description, seems to be

synonymous with the galant style), there are types of melody that are typical. The first, which

suggests virtuosic improvisation, “is characterized by highly elaborated, detailed regular motion,

with intricate rhythms consisting of very small divisions within the measure.” The second, which

suggests recitative, “is characterized by irregular rhythms, often jagged intervals, and sudden

dynamic changes.” The overall effect of these first two types of melody is one of dividing up the

phrase into a series of individuated gestures through “rhythmic subtlety and variety,” that is, with

fine gradations in rhythm and a diversity of motivic material. Consequently, these melody types

inhibit the continuity typical of symphony style. Finally, the third type of melody, which

suggests song, includes lyrical aria-like melodies, since “a vocal line, whether highly elaborated

or not, was considered less suited to the rushing, energetic character of the symphony style.”46

Sonata style also differs from symphony style in its approach to cadences. In sonata style,

cadences are both more frequent and more “easily” attained (occurring without the “hard drive”

of rhetorical drama), and therefore prevent a continual buildup of tension and momentum.

Hence, in defining the two styles of instrumental composition, melody and drama went hand in

hand.

A brief example of each style will clarify how their respective features are put into

practice in an actual piece of music. An excellent representation of symphony style is the P-

theme of Beethoven’s Kreutzer Sonata, op. 47, given in Example 3.6a. To begin with, notice the

continuity of the melody in the violin part as it proceeds from the start of the theme to the

45 Broyles, Beethoven, 23. 46 Broyles, Beethoven, 15-17.

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cadence at the fermata without as much as a beat’s rest. Moreover, the motivic material of the

melody remains highly concentrated, focussing largely on the motive of the second measure.

This melody is also rhythmically quite simple, being constructed mainly of quarter notes, which

help to clarify the duple metre of the movement, and is based entirely on chordal arpeggiations.

Then there is the dramatic aspect of the theme, which is suggested with the crescendo of m. 23,

and comes into full bloom with the thick texture and sforzandos of the last two chords, giving

thickness tension and dynamic tension and producing a rhetorically dramatic effect. In all these

ways, this opening theme stands at one extreme of the spectrum as a passage thoroughly

ensconced in symphony style.

Example 3.6 – The Two Styles of Classical Instrumental Music a) Symphony Style – Violin Sonata in A Minor, op. 47, “Kreutzer”, mm. 18-27

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b) Sonata Style – String Quartet in A Major, op. 18, no. 5, mm. 1-15

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On the other side of the spectrum, a passage like the opening theme of Beethoven’s

String Quartet in A Major, op. 18, no. 5, shown in Example 3.6b, provides a good foil to the

Kreutzer as an instance of pure sonata style. The first four measures introduce a melody in the

first violin with dainty turn-figure ornaments that suggest the virtuosity of sonata style. In mm.

5-11, the melody presents new figures that include longer slurred notes, entering a more lyrical

vein that continues to express the style. Measures 11-15 give the concluding portion of the theme

with yet a different melodic figure in the first violin, one that, in its use of rapid sixteenth notes,

again suggests virtuosic performance. Overall then, the melody of the entire fifteen-measure

theme is segmented into three distinct parts, inhibiting the kind of melodic continuity that is

typical of symphony style. Moreover, the closing five measures of the theme are completely

devoid of rhetorical drama and thus lack the “grandeur and power” that also defines symphony

style. For all these reasons, this theme is an particularly clear example of sonata style in

Beethoven’s music.

This association between rhetorically dramatic phrase endings and symphony style was

one that Beethoven largely retained throughout his early period. But with the middle period, this

began to change. Referring to an incomplete cadence in the S-zone of the Appassionata Sonata,

given in Example 3.7, Broyles notes that, although the avoidance of melodic closure “resembles

the symphonic practice,” “the demand for closure is greatly reduced because the drive to the

cadence is much less pronounced.”47 In other words, the lack of rhetorical drama accompanying

the cadential progression (apart from a briefly dramatic Neapolitan sixth chord in m. 42) fails to

create any of the drive that is typical of symphony style. But also note that the melody remains

47 Broyles, Beethoven, 102.

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Example 3.7 – Continuous, Non-Dramatic Cadence in Piano Sonata in F Minor, op. 57, “Appassionata”, mm. 35-51

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continuous even when the cadential harmonies disappear, its mysterious trills and sinuous

downward path adding breadth to the phrase without an intense forward drive, and leading,

without interruption, into the next theme. Beethoven has therefore separated out the melodic and

rhetorically dramatic aspects of symphony style and used only the former to create a sense of

continuity without the typical drive of the latter.

It is this non-driving continuity that begins to appear in Beethoven’s middle-period works

and becomes even more prominent in his late works. In this regard, Beethoven’s Low endings to

modulating TRs begin to make more sense. If the continuous approach is applied to the tension

between TR and S, then either TR has to be deprived of its usual energy-gain at its end, leaving S

to begin at its usual Low tension level, or S would have to be invigorated with a High level at its

start to match the usual energy-gaining end of TR. As it turns out, Beethoven much preferred the

former scenario over the latter (though an instance of the latter becomes important in the two-

part TR, as discussed below) and thus we see a decline in the hard drive of symphony style and,

in turn, a substantial drop in the frequency of energy-gaining TRs. And yet at the same time,

Beethoven gradually enhanced the continuous aspect of symphony style between TR and S in

two important ways, most prominently by the “wearing away” of the medial caesura hinted at in

the early works, which eventually led to the end of TR usually being elided with the start of S.

Second, by relying less and less on a standing on the dominant at the end of a modulating TR

(TRSod1), especially in the late period, Beethoven resolutely cast aside one of the clearest means

of creating a formal articulation, further smoothing out the connection between the two zones.

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Two-part TRs may be found in seventeen of the eighty-seven movements,48 somewhat

more than the ten examples of the non-modulating type, but still a distant second to the sixty of

the modulating type. Unlike the non-modulating type, which was confined to the early period,

the two-part type spans all three periods, demonstrating that Beethoven considered it a viable and

indeed modern solution to TR throughout his life, the last instance occurring in his final

published work, the String Quartet in F Major, op. 135. Dramatic structure in the two-part TR is

best approached by examining the tension in the two parts individually and, like the other TR

types, across the three style periods. Especially noteworthy is the frequency of High endings to

each of the two parts, given in Table 3.6. (The middle period cannot be counted because it only

contains two movements with two-part TRs.)

In Part 1, a majority of endings are High in the early and late periods. In these dramatic

endings, there is almost always rhetorical drama by dynamic tension and either thickness tension

(for a tutti effect) or rhythmic tension (for an excited effect). Moreover, syntactical drama most

often heightens the intensity by means of a standing on the dominant (TRSod1), which includes

expansional and implicational tension, along with at least one other type (in most cases,

accelerative tension). Consequently, in terms of dramatic structure, these Part 1s closely

resemble non-modulating TRs, a relationship that is hardly coincidental since, also like non-

modulating TRs, the first module of Part 1 (TR1) usually ends with either a half cadence or

dominant arrival in the tonic key. Thus, these modules lead the listener to expect the start of an

S-theme immediately afterward, an expectation that is thwarted when what follows precludes S

status, usually because it is in the wrong key. This sense of deception is central to the

understanding of a two-part TR and forms what Hepokoski and Darcy have termed a “medial

48 Op. 13; op. 31, nos. 1 and 3; op. 90; op. 106; op. 18, no. 4; op. 132; op. 135; op. 1, no. 3; op. 70, no. 2; op. 4; op. 12, no. 1; op. 24; op. 102, no. 2; op. 55; op. 11; op. 87.

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caesura declined.”49 Thus, Part 1 of Beethoven’s two-part TRs generally mimics the non-

modulating type in both its harmonic goal and its dramatic structure.

Table 3.6 – High Endings to TR Part 1 in Two-Part TRs by Style Period

Style Period % TR Part 1 ends High Early 80 (8/10) Late 80 (4/5)

Part 2 of a two-part TR is usually dramatically shaped much like the first, as shown by

the frequencies of its High endings, given in Table 3.7. The majority of High ends in the late

period is at first surprising, given their infrequency in the modulating TR. Recall, however, that

when Low endings occurred in the latter, they almost always led to a Low-starting S-zone, hence

promoting continuity between zones. The two late works that end Part 2 Low (the String

Quartets, op. 132 and op. 135) do indeed move into a Low-starting S, resulting in the non-driving

type of continuity typical of these works. But in one of the works with a High-ending Part 2 (the

Piano Sonata, op. 90), the following S-zone (at m. 55, elided with the end of TR) instead begins

at a High tension level. In this regard, the majority of High endings to Part 2 in the late period is

less important than the fact that the majority of late two-part TRs have the same level of tension

between TR and S, and therefore maintain the trend toward a greater continuity at this juncture in

Beethoven’s sonata forms.

Table 3.7 – High Endings to TR Part 2 in Two-Part TRs by Style Period

Style Period % TR Part 2 ends High Early 70 (7/10) Late 60 (3/5)

49 Hepokoski and Darcy, Elements of Sonata Theory, 45-47. For more analyses containing the medial caesura declined, see Hepokoski and Darcy, “The Medial Caesura,” 138-45.

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As for archetypes in the various modules of TR, analysis reveals that Beethoven’s most

preferred archetype in every module of TR was Low-High (LH). But as mentioned at the start of

this subsection, this finding is the result of having a disproportionate number of such works in

the early period, thus skewing the overall frequencies. Even so, one might rightfully ask why

Beethoven preferred LH in the early works much more than he did in the other two periods. Most

likely, this preference is another reflection of his gradually changing attitude towards this part of

sonata form. In the early period, the prominence of LH archetypes in all TR modules creates a

highly sectionalized approach to the form, differentiating modules by changing the tension from

High at the end of one to Low at the start of the next. This procedure is in keeping with the

classical style in general, as the frequent changes in texture between modules are typically

accompanied by changes in tension as well (most notably in dynamic level). In the middle and

late periods, LH is still preferred in the first module of TR (regardless of whether it has one or

two parts) in both periods at 32% (7 of 22) and 46% (6 of 13), respectively. Thus, the “energy-

gain” was still an important part of the initial stage of TR even in these later periods. But as we

have seen, the trend towards greater continuity between TR and S led to an increase in Low

endings for TR. Thus, whereas 87% (45 of 52) of the last module of early TRs end with a High

unit, this proportion steadily decreases with time, becoming 64% (14 of 22) in the middle period,

and 46% (6 of 13) in the late period.

In all style periods, TR (of any type) was found to have a Low beginning a majority of

the time—one of the few consistent dramatic trends across Beethoven’s entire career. One

notable exception, however, is the genre of the symphony, 78% (7 of 9) of which begin with a

High unit by means of a tutti effect, a technique that was of course not unique to Beethoven as it

was standard in classical symphonies in general. (Indeed, one has only to look as far back as

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Haydn’s “London” Symphonies to see numerous examples.) Such High beginnings, however, are

usually in response to a Low-starting P1 module (always with a piano dynamic), in accordance

with Hepokoski and Darcy’s claim for symphonic practice of the period: “In orchestral Allegro

compositions, the onset of TR (especially following a relatively soft P-theme) is frequently

marked with a strong tutti entrance: the tutti affirmation or forte affirmation of the theme” (their

italics).50

III. The Secondary-Theme Zone (S)

With the S-zone, we come to the most important section of any sonata form, for it is here

that material in a new key challenges the authority of the governing tonic and becomes the very

crux of the form. No doubt, it is for this reason that the S-zone (call it what you will: “second

theme”, “second subject”, “subordinate theme”, and so on) has been a topic of perennial interest

in scholarship dealing with sonata form. Most importantly, many of the features that scholars

have pointed out concerning the S-zone imply or outwardly acknowledge a sense of intensity or

drama. One of the best-known ideas stems from Charles Rosen, who refers to the S-zone as a

“large-scale dissonance” that is pitted against the tonic key established by the P-zone and

therefore demands resolution by being restated in the tonic in the recapitulation.51 William E.

Caplin, following the lead of Arnold Schoenberg and Erwin Ratz, describes the S-zone as

“loosely organized in relation to a tight-knit main theme,” the term “loose” referring to a host of

compositional techniques that serve to establish a formal function in a manner that is less

efficient than those that he considers “tight-knit”, of which the most relevant to the present

theory are “harmonic-tonal instability (modulation, chromaticism),” which expresses tonal

50 Hepokoski and Darcy, Elements of Sonata Theory, 94. 51 Charles Rosen, Sonata Forms, rev. ed. (New York: W. W. Norton, 1988), 229.

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tension, and “phrase-structural extension and expansion,” which express expansional tension.52

And even more recently, Hepokoski and Darcy have discussed two of their most important

concepts regarding S-zones, the medial caesura (MC) and the essential expositional closure

(EEC), specifically in terms of intensity. As mentioned earlier, the typical “energy-gain” leading

to the MC was one of the ways that the preparation for the S-zone and its new key was

dramatized in sonata form, especially in late-eighteenth-century works, as was especially evident

in early Beethoven. And within the S-zone itself, there is the EEC, which the authors generally

consider to be “the first satisfactory perfect authentic cadence that proceeds onward to differing

material.”53 While they underscore the importance of viewing the EEC only as a “generic

requirement” that “need not be—and often is not—the strongest cadence in the exposition,” they

do note that “in Beethoven, where strenuous striving within the S-zone is common, the strategy

can suggest that accomplishing the requirement of the EEC can be a monumental or nearly

impossible task,” implying the presence of drama within the zone.54 And yet, for all the attention

on the S-zone, it is surprising that more discussion has not centred on its fundamentally dramatic

nature, and specifically how and where the features that create tension on a local level tend to

occur within it—that will be the primary focus of this subsection.

In studying the tension in the S-zones of all eighty-seven movements, perhaps the most

apparent pattern is that eighty-two of them (94%!) begin at a Low level, in almost every one of

these cases, the Low unit being facilitated by a dynamic level of piano.55 As Hepokoski and

Darcy indicate, although a piano start to S is the most frequent option (what they call a “first-

level default”) in late-eighteenth- and early-nineteenth-century style, “an energetic forte” is not

52 William E. Caplin, Classical Form: A Theory of Formal Functions for the Instrumental Music of Haydn, Mozart, and Beethoven (New York: Oxford University Press, 1998), 97, 255. 53 Hepokoski and Darcy, Elements of Sonata Theory, 120. 54 Hepokoski and Darcy, Elements of Sonata Theory, 139. 55 The only S-zones that begin High are op. 81a; op. 90; op. 109; op. 111; op. 74.

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unusual, and in fact forms a “second-level default” (as in TR, I understand their term “energetic”

to indicate rhythmic tension and hence, along with the dynamic tension of the forte, to be

dramatic).56 Thus, Beethoven’s Low starts to S in all but five movements are all the more

astonishing and suggest a strong personal preference within the overall classical repertoire. As a

result of this preference, archetypes that begin with a High unit (H, HL, and HLH) at the start of

S are virtually non-existent in Beethoven. Assessing the significance of the archetypes that do

occur requires some careful thought, however, because the number of S-themes in the S-zone as

a whole is variable, ranging from a single theme to as many as three (and even four in the Eroica

Symphony alone), and therefore the last S-theme, which appears to be dramatically significant in

Beethoven, is not always the same S-theme in the zone, that is, S1, S2, S3, or S4. In order to avoid

skewing the statistics then, I will only consider archetype frequencies within S-zones containing

the same number of S-themes. (Being in a category of its own, I will compare the Eroica to the

other S-zone types to find a “best fit” model.) Moreover, because S-themes most often exhibit

some degree of phrase expansion and therefore have more opportunity for rises and falls in

tension than P-themes, many of the archetypes I present for S-themes here are reductions in the

manner outlined at the beginning of this chapter. This does not mean that I ignored much of the

inner portion of such themes, but rather that each archetype is in a sense an abstraction that

allows themes that share a basic dramatic outline to be grouped together.

S-zones comprising only one theme are found in forty-four movements,57 almost exactly

half of the total eighty-seven. While all but the H archetype may occur, the most preferred are

56 Hepokoski and Darcy, Elements of Sonata Theory, 132. Examples of first movements in which S begins with a dramatic forte in Haydn include Piano Sonatas Hob. XVI: 41 and 52, String Quartets op. 33, no. 1; op. 50, no. 1; op. 74, no. 1; and Symphonies No. 98, 99, and 102. In Mozart, such movements include Piano Sonatas K. 279 and 280, Symphony No. 9, and String Quartets K. 169 and 465. 57 Op. 2, no. 1; op. 10, no. 1; op. 14, no. 1; op. 31, nos. 1 and 2; op. 49, no. 1; op. 78; op. 79; op. 81a; op. 90; op. 101; op. 106; op. 109; op. 110; op. 111; op. 18, nos. 3 and 6; op. 59, nos. 1, 2, and 3; op. 74; op. 95; op. 127; op.

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LH at 43% (19 of 44) and LHL at 45% (20 of 44), the remaining archetypes occurring in a scant

number of movements.58 Indeed, in the early period, LH and LHL are the only two archetypes to

appear, the former being much more common than the latter at 61% (11 of 18) and 39% (7 of

18), respectively. Within LH and LHL archetypes of single-themed S-zones of all style periods,

drama is introduced only late in the theme, most typically, as the cadence approaches. What this

suggests is that Beethoven often treated the one and only cadence in the new key in these

situations as an event deserving of a dramatic preparation and most often a dramatic finish.

In the middle period, it is perhaps unexpected to find that LH in single-themed S-zones

drops substantially to a frequency of only 27% (4 of 15) and that the LHL archetype rises to a

majority of 60% (9 of 15), indicating that the end of S is, most of the time, not dramatized.59

How could this be so, especially when we tend to think of Beethoven’s middle-period works as

perhaps the most teleological of his entire oeuvre? In the LH archetype, drama always occurs at

the end of the theme, even if there have been dramatic stretches in the inner portions of that

theme. In the middle-period works, drama is most often built up in the same way as that of LH,

that is, as the theme approaches its end with a cadential function. The drama, which is almost

always a rhetorical excited effect, combined with the supporting cadential progression lead us to

expect a dramatic ending to the theme. But Beethoven usually thwarts this expectation with a

drop to a Low level of tension through a sudden piano dynamic and, if any syntactical drama

exists, through a halt in accelerative tension. The promised dramatic ending, however, always

appears sometime after this Low-ending theme. In the simplest cases, the listener is not made to 132; op. 3; op. 9, no. 1; op. 70, nos. 1 and 2; op. 97; op. 4; op. 23; op. 24; op. 30, no. 1; op. 96; op. 5, no. 1; op. 102, nos. 1 and 2; op. 36; op. 67; op. 68; op. 93; op. 125; op. 6; op. 81b. 58 LH: op. 10, no. 1; op. 14, no. 1; op. 31, nos. 1 and 2; op. 78; op. 18, nos. 3 and 6; op. 59, no. 2; op. 127; op. 132; op. 23; op. 5, no. 1; op. 102, no. 2; op. 36; op. 67; op. 68; op. 125; op. 6; op. 81b. LHL: op. 2, no. 1; op. 49, no. 1; op. 79; op. 101; op. 106; op. 110; op. 59, nos. 1 and 3; op. 95; op. 3; op. 9, no. 1; op. 70, nos. 1 and 2; op. 97; op. 4; op. 24; op. 30, no. 1; op. 96; op. 102, no. 1; op. 93. 59 LH: op. 78, op. 59, no. 2; op. 67, op. 68. LHL: op. 79; op. 81a; op. 59, no. 1; op. 95; op. 70, nos. 1 and 2; op. 97; op. 96; op. 93.

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wait long as a codetta follows S that sounds a dramatic tonic chord or chords, as in the Eighth

Symphony, mm. 92-99. But more typically, the dramatic resolution to a tonic chord is not

regained in the exposition at all, but is postponed until after the recapitulation, in the coda, and

sometimes at the very end of the movement. A fine example of this technique may be seen in the

String Quartet in F Major, op. 59, no. 1 (see Example 3.8a). In this case, S ends with a cadential

function (mm. 89-93) that begins with rhetorical drama by dynamic, thickness, and timbral

tension, thus implying that the impending close will be a dramatic one. But at m. 91, all of these

tensions are removed and the music draws to a non-dramatic cadence, thwarting that expectation.

The same cadence plays out at the end of S in the recapitulation (see Example 3.8b), but

immediately afterward moves into a coda and yields the promised dramatic arrival on the tonic at

m. 348 by the same dynamic, thickness, and timbral tensions that were expected to end S (and

even on the same P-material). This sort of compensatory function of codas is commonly noted by

music scholars, and op. 59, no. 1 in particular has been cited in this regard on more than one

occasion.60 Even though the non-dramatic tonic chord in the exposition and the dramatic tonic

chord in the coda are not of the same key, there is still a sense that a dramatic arrival on such a

chord makes good on the promise left unfulfilled in the exposition. That such a promise demands

to be fulfilled here is due to the S-zone’s function of securing a perfect authentic cadence. Thus,

if an S-theme approaches a cadence dramatically, then recoils and sounds the cadence at a non-

dramatic level, then the conclusive power of that cadence is to some degree weakened.61 This

recoiling effect heightens the impact of the drama once it arrives at a later point and confirms

60 See Joseph Kerman, “Notes on Beethoven’s Codas,” in Beethoven Studies, ed. Alan Tyson (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1982), 150; and Rosen, Sonata Forms, 351. While the former notes that “the hollow texture of the first theme required filling out,” the latter focuses on harmony, observing that the “only passing allusions to the tonic triad” are fixed in the coda “with a decisive tonic drone bass.” 61 A more specific version of this tactic, in which only the final tonic chord is marked suddenly piano, forms the basis for Hepokoski and Darcy’s notion of the “attenuated PAC,” a method of “deferring” their S-ending EEC to a later cadence in S. See Elements of Sonata Theory, 170.

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rather than denies our belief that the middle-period works are indeed more teleological, at least in

this respect. Moreover, it explains why Beethoven used LH far less frequently in the middle

period and why, in contrast to the other periods, we instead find the LHL archetype as a majority.

By looking at S-zones with more than one theme, Beethoven’s highly teleological

treatment of S becomes even more apparent. First of all, 100% of such S-zones begin with a Low

unit and thus are never dramatic right from the start, as was possible with single-themed zones.

The ends of these S-zones are also suggestive, as Table 3.8 demonstrates that, in the early period,

Example 3.8 – Postponement of Promised Drama in the String Quartet in F Major, op. 59, no. 1 a) End of S-Zone in Exposition, mm. 85-93

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b) Coda, mm. 332-351

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a majority of final S-themes end with a High (dramatic) unit regardless of the total number of

themes, which is usually two (more than the one of most middle and late works), but ranges from

one to three. Thus, there is most often a teleological effect within the S-zone as a whole, which

usually begins Low and ends High regardless of the number of themes in S.

Table 3.8 – High Endings to S-Themes in the Early Period

# of S-Themes % S1 end H % S2 end H % S3 end H 1 (of 18) 61 (11) -- -- 2 (of 27) 36 (11) 54 (15) -- 3 (of 7) 17 (1) 67 (4) 83 (5)

In the middle period, S-zones generally contain either one or two themes, and with the

former, as we have seen, High endings are usually withheld from single-themed S-zones (i.e.,

they are a minority), in order to restore the promised dramatic arrival later in the movement,

thereby creating an even greater teleology than in early works. When S contains two themes,

however, the frequency of High endings for the last S-theme increases substantially, indicating

that in such S-zones, Beethoven felt that the end of the zone had been postponed long enough to

merit a dramatic ending (see Table 3.9). The only middle-period work to exceed two themes is

the Eroica Symphony, which, in accordance with its groundbreakingly massive size, comprises

no less than four S-themes (the only movement of all eighty-seven to do so). But even here, there

is a grand teleological effect at work across the four themes since, in contrast to the first three (at

mm. 45, 57, and 83, respectively), which all are of the LH archetype, the last theme (m. 109), an

HLH archetype, begins High to provide a sense of dramatic arrival for the entire S-zone.62

62 As pointed out by Miriam Sheer, “Patterns of Dynamic Organization in Beethoven’s Eroica Symphony,” The Journal of Musicology 10 (1992): 485-87, not only does this final S-theme (what she labels “IK(1P)”on p. 487) begin with the longest fortissimo section of the exposition to give it the sense of its “highest peak,” but it is also part of a strategy for dynamics within the whole movement, as “Beethoven placed much shorter ff spans both before and after a major ff span in order not to weaken its effect.” Thus, dynamically and dramatically (given the consistent

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Hence, in terms of dramatic structures in middle-period S-zones, the Eroica comes closest to

those with two themes, with their typical High end to the zone, but goes one further in having

every one of its four themes end dramatically (unlike most other middle-period S-zones with

multiple themes, where the first theme usually ends Low).

In the late period, the number of multiple-themed S-zones dwindles to just two of

thirteen, making it impossible to draw out significant patterns in the archetypes (as at least three

are required). The reason for this emphasis on the single-themed S in the late works may well be

that, in most movements, these S-themes were often such large structures that Beethoven felt

subsequent themes unnecessary. From Table 3.10, not only does it become clear that a minority

of movements end the S-zone High, but also that neither of the two multiple-themed S-zones end

High, indicating that the high teleology of S, which was such a staple of Beethoven’s style in the

first two periods, was no longer a priority. No doubt, this decline is the result of his “search for

the new” in the late period, which in most cases included a greater intimacy of feeling that would

easily be destroyed with a dramatic end to S. Such a claim is borne out by the fact that such non-

dramatic endings to S are usually not compensated for later as they are in the middle-period

works. Rather, they are content simply to be non-dramatic.

Table 3.9 – High Endings to S-Themes in the Middle Period

# of S-Themes % S1 end H % S2 end H 1 (of 15) 33 (5) -- 2 (of 6) 50 (3) 83 (5)

Table 3.10 – High Endings to S-Themes in the Late Period

# of S-Themes % S1 end H % S2 end H 1 (of 11) 45 (5) -- 2 (of 2) 0 (0) 0 (0)

pairing of loud dynamics with drama in this movement), Beethoven carefully prepares this final S-theme of the exposition.

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Given the frequency of High endings to S-themes, we might ask which archetypes are

most frequent and which tension types and formal functions are involved in their final dramatic

portion. Since the position of a High-ending S-theme within an S-zone (i.e., as S1, S2, etc.) seems

to make no significant difference to the sorts of tension types and formal functions involved, I

will discuss these aspects in relation to S-themes generally, regardless of their position. By far

the most common archetype to occur in such S-themes is LH (82%, 55 of 67), which

demonstrates once again (as was found in P1 and most TR modules) its importance in the

creation of drama in Beethoven’s phrases in general. There are some scattered instances of H

(9%, 6 of 67) and HLH (9%, 6 of 67) as well, but they pale in comparison to the outright

dominance of LH. Despite the fact that all three of these archetypes—LH, H, and HLH—end

with a High unit, the manner in which they express the drama is not always the same. In total,

Beethoven made use of four different strategies based on the categories of tension: 1) rhetorical

drama alone, 2) syntactical drama alone, 3) rhetorical and syntactical drama simultaneously, and

4) syntactical drama resolving in the presence of rhetorical drama. All four are in their own way

fascinating since, as a group, they reveal some very fundamental features of Beethoven’s

approach to closing S-themes.

The first strategy, in which the drama emerges from rhetorical drama alone, is the most

common of the four, occurring in 57% (38 of 67) of High-ending S-themes.63 In nearly all cases,

the rhetorical drama is caused by dynamic and rhythmic tension, which together create the

63 First strategy in High ends to S1: Op. 2, no. 3; op. 10, nos. 2 and 3; op. 22; op. 53; op. 78; op. 111; op. 18, nos. 3 and 6; op. 59, no. 2; op. 74; op. 127; op. 132; op. 1, no. 2; op. 47; op. 5, no. 2; op. 102, no. 2; op. 68; op. 6; op. 16; op. 81b. First strategy in High ends to S2: Op. 2, no. 2; op. 2, no. 3; op. 22; op. 31, no. 3; op. 49, no. 2; op. 18, no. 4; op. 9, no. 2; op. 12, nos. 1 and 2; op. 30, no. 2; op. 21; op. 92; op. 16. First strategy in LH archetypes in S3: Op. 18, no. 1; op. 12, no. 1; op. 21; op. 11. (None in S4.)

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“excited effect” I referred to earlier.64 In the symphonies that utilize this strategy (Nos. 1, 6, and

7), the power of the ensemble provides a more natural way of creating drama and hence we

always find the “tutti effect” of thickness and dynamic tension, with rhythmic tension being

included less often. While it is rhetorical tension that causes these passages to sound dramatic,

there may be syntactical tension along for the ride, but inevitably it falls short of drama because

there are always less than the requisite three syntactical types present. Mostly, these syntactical

types comprise expansional tension (which is practically a sine qua non of at least one theme in

S)65 often in combination with closural tension caused by some type of avoided closure to the

theme. Thus, these themes frequently suggest, then avoid, closure or they return to part of the

theme’s material after a close, either of which spurs the music to continue on in order to achieve

proper cadential closure. But because first-strategy themes end without syntactical drama, which,

due to its contextual nature, would create an intense need for resolution, the immediately rousing

effect of the rhetorical drama instead gives the impression of a celebration (in the major mode) or

calamity (in the minor mode) as the expected cadence nears, especially because every instance

involves a loud dynamic (see Example 3.9). In other words, there is a distinct sense of stability

and satisfaction in the drama that ends these themes. Likely for this reason, all but seven of the

thirty-eight themes of this type occur in major-mode movements. In the minor mode, the restless

quality typical of such movements seems to make this strategy a less attractive option even

when, as is usually the case, the S-zone is major.66

64 Heightened rhythmic activity near the end of a classical exposition has been noted as a common tactic by both Charles Rosen, The Classical Style: Haydn, Mozart, Beethoven, exp. ed. (New York: W. W. Norton, 1997), 99 (he reiterates this in Sonata Forms, 238), and Hepokoski and Darcy, Elements of Sonata Theory, 181. 65 As Caplin, Classical Form, 97, states, “subordinate themes are, with rare exceptions, more loosely organized than their preceding main themes.” Internal phrase expansion is one of the devices associated with this “loose” type of formal structure. 66 To provide some support for this claim, I would point out that minor-mode movements are underrepresented in this strategy at 18% (7 of 38), compared to 24% of the total eighty-seven movements. Conversely, major-mode movements are overrepresented at 82% (31 of 38), compared to 76% of the total.

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Example 3.9 – High Ending to an S-Theme, First Strategy, in Piano Sonata in B-Flat Major, op. 22, mm. 22-30

In terms of formal structure, while periods and hybrid themes may be found to occur,

most first-strategy S-themes are sentences of some sort, as was the case with P-themes in

general. But unlike the latter, sentences in such S-themes tend to be much more expanded on

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account of their “looser” quality. This greater length induces the latter functions of a sentence—

the continuation and cadence—to become separate rather than fused functions,67 and

consequently, most of these S-themes end with cadential functions that lack any accelerative

tension. This absence of one type of syntactical tension makes it fairly easy to avoid syntactical

drama in these cases and instead allow the rhetorical drama that characterizes the first strategy to

shine through unhindered.

The second strategy, in which the drama emerges from syntactical tension alone, is

exceedingly rare in Beethoven, occurring in only one of the fifty-five S-themes with an LH

archetype: the Piano Sonata in E Major, op. 14, no. 1. In the lone S-theme of this movement,

given in Example 3.10, the dramatic effect is created by the combination of expansional,

closural, and accelerative tension. The first two of these are the result of an imperfect authentic

cadence in m. 42 that demands a subsequent perfect authentic cadence. The accelerative tension

is caused by the presence of a sentence continuation that persists to the very end of the theme,

which is an unusual practice for S-themes.68 Thus, unlike themes of the first strategy, the formal

functions found here entail a cadential function that is fused with an entire continuation (shown

as “Continuation/Cadence” in the analysis), signifying a more “tight-knit” S-theme than usual

and consequently, a more modestly-sized work, especially since this theme is the only one in the

entire S-zone. Doubtless, the extreme scarcity of this strategy speaks to Beethoven’s

overwhelming preference for rhetorical over syntactical drama in S-themes. Moreover, it can be

no coincidence that the only instance of the strategy occurs in a sonata that is one of the smallest

and has a general lightness of character throughout.

67 Also noted by Caplin, Classical Form, 100. 68 This continuation contains contrasting material from the previous basic idea and is based on a faster harmonic rhythm of two chords per measure compared to the much broader chord changes in the basic ideas of mm. 31-34 and 35-38.

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Example 3.10 – High Ending to S-Theme, Second Strategy, in Piano Sonata in E Major, op. 14, no. 1, mm. 22-46

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The third strategy, which combines both rhetorical and syntactical drama, occurs in only

eight movements, but among them are some of the most important in Beethoven’s output: the

Piano Sonatas of op. 31, no. 1 in G major and no. 2 in D minor, “Tempest”, and op. 57 in F

minor “Appassionata”, the Violin Sonatas of op. 23 and op. 47, “Kreutzer”, both in A minor,

Symphonies No. 1 and 9 (in D minor), and the Clarinet Trio of op. 11.69 As is clear from this list,

five of these movements are in the minor mode, but more significantly, three of the actual themes

are, unusually for S, in the minor mode as well (the Tempest, op. 23, and the Kreutzer) and two

of them, although beginning in major, collapse into the minor for the remainder of the theme (op.

31, no. 1 and the Appassionata). Why this emphasis on the minor mode in S? In its combination

of both rhetorical and syntactical drama, this strategy has the rousing effect of rhetorical drama

yet at the same time maintains the intense instability and forward drive of syntactical drama all

the way to the end of the theme. The resulting expressive state suggests an inability or perhaps

unwillingness of the S-theme to attain a major-mode “celebration” at the end of the theme (as

occurs with the purely rhetorical drama of the first strategy).70 And because these themes close

out the entire zone in all but three works (op. 23, op. 21, and op. 11), S is usually left with an

urgent sense of restlessness that meshes well with the expressive state of the minor mode. But it

is not simply that these works deal largely with the minor mode: four of these minor-mode works

in particular—the Tempest, Appassionata, Kreutzer, and Ninth Symphony—are some of the most

tragic that Beethoven ever wrote, and thus suggest a close connection between the highly tragic

69 Third strategy in High ends to S1: Op. 31, nos. 1 and 2; op. 23; op. 21; op. 125. Third strategy in High ends to S2: Op. 57; op. 47; op. 11. (None in S3 or S4.) 70 As noted by Hepokoski and Darcy, Elements of Sonata Theory, 306, the minor mode is “generally interpretable within the sonata tradition as a sign of a troubled condition seeking transformation (emancipation) into the parallel major mode.” This is what they refer to as the “extra burden” of minor-mode sonatas.

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and third-strategy S-themes.71 The Ninth Symphony, however, is somewhat different since its

single S-theme begins and ends in the key of B-flat major in the exposition, and there is a

celebratory codetta in that key immediately following the theme’s cadence (m. 150). But in the

recapitulation, S begins in D major then, like some of the other themes of this strategy, collapses

into D minor, where the music remains for the rest of the movement. Moreover, given the

unusually dramatic nature of the movement’s P-theme, the immense and largely minor-mode

development section, and the coda’s haunting, chromatically-descending bass ostinato, the

movement may still be classified as one of Beethoven’s most tragic.

In terms of formal structure, no single theme type predominates, as there are three

sentences (the Tempest, Ninth Symphony, and op. 11),72 three periods (op. 31, no. 1, the

Kreutzer, and the First Symphony), and two hybrids (op. 23 [a hybrid 1] and the Appassionata [a

hybrid 4]). But what is common to most of these movements is the fact that the S-theme is

usually greatly enlarged, attaining a size well beyond the standard eight-measure models—only

the Appassionata with its eleven-measure theme (in mm. 51-61) and op. 11 with its fourteen-

measure theme (in mm. 63-76) do not meet this criterion. The six other movements all include

much internal phrase expansion, in part aided by replaying the latter portion of the theme to

71 Robert Hatten, Musical Meaning in Beethoven, 85, identifies what he calls the “tragic expressive genre” in works “that maintain the darker affect of the minor key” in part “reflected in [Beethoven’s] use of the minor dominant as the second key area of the exposition,” and cites the first movement of the Tempest as an example. 72 For an excellent analysis of the Ninth Symphony’s single S-theme as a sentence, see William E. Caplin, “Structural Expansion in Beethoven’s Symphonic Forms,” in Beethoven’s Compositional Process, ed. William Kinderman (Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press in association with the American Beethoven Society and the Ira F. Brilliant Center for Beethoven Studies, San Jose University, 1991), 44-52. With the Tempest, on the other hand, there has been much disagreement as to the structure of the S-zone, as evidenced by a number of essays in Beethoven’s Tempest Sonata, ed. Pieter Bergé et al.: William E. Caplin, “Beethoven’s Tempest Exposition: A Springboard for Form-Functional Considerations,” 97-116, argues for two sentence themes on account of the PAC that occurs at m. 63; James Hepokoski, “Approaching the First Movement of Beethoven’s Tempest Sonata Through Sonata Theory,” 194, advocates a “continuous exposition,” in which there is no S-theme (due to a lack of a medial caesura), but only a transition that becomes a series of Fortspinnung modules that lead to the EEC; and finally, William Rothstein, “Riding the Storm Clouds: Tempo, Rhythm, and Meter in Beethoven’s Tempest Sonata,” 242-43, understands what I call the S-theme (mm. 41-87) as a sentence with a cadence that is evaded then repeated and expanded. Thus, in viewing the S-zone as a single expanded sentence theme, I essentially agree with Rothstein’s interpretation.

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produce closural and expansional tension. To these tension types, accelerative tension is added

by means of a continuation to give syntactical drama. The rhetorical drama usually involves an

excited effect but, as expected of a symphony, the Ninth utilizes a tutti effect instead. Due to the

large size of most of the themes, these tension types tend to occur in formal structures that are

“nested,” or contain multiple levels of formal functions, usually a continuation nested within a

separate cadential function.

The fourth and final strategy is far more widespread than the second or third strategies,

occurring at a frequency of 30% (20 of 67), but is still a distant second to the first.73 In this

strategy, the drama at the end of an S-theme always begins with syntactical drama. While

rhetorical drama may be involved as well, the crucial aspect is the resolution of enough

syntactical tension that the drama then becomes purely rhetorical. Thus, not only does the

strategy resolve the highly intense instability of the syntactical drama, but it also creates a span,

short or long, that celebrates this resolution with the rousing power of rhetorical drama.

Expressively, the resulting effect depends on which syntactical tension types are resolved with

the shift to the purely rhetorical drama. Thirteen of the twenty themes resolve accelerative

tension from a sentence continuation, giving the sense that an important goal has been reached

and setting the rhetorically dramatic portion in relief. However, in all but one of the themes,

there is a resolution of tonal tension, each of its three types—diatonic, mixtural, or distant—

correlating with a particular type of theme. In themes with diatonic tonal tension, one or more

diatonic chords are enhanced with their own dominant. Since this type of chromaticism does not

require much space to unfold, it follows that the fourth-strategy themes that use it are quite short

73 Fourth strategy in High ends to S1: Op. 2, no. 2; op. 10, no. 1; op. 1, no. 3; op. 12, no. 2; op. 5, no. 1; op. 36; op. 55; op. 60; op. 67. Fourth strategy in High ends to S2: Op. 10, nos. 2 and 3; op. 13; op. 53; op. 18, no. 1; op. 1, no. 1; op. 12, no. 3; op. 55; op. 60. Fourth strategy in High ends to S3: Op. 7. Fourth strategy in High ends to S4: Op. 55.

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as S-themes go, ranging from twelve to eighteen measures, the Pathétique Sonata, op. 13,

providing a prime example (as shown in Example 3.11).

Themes that use mixtural tonal tension always insert the tonic minor mode into a passage

in the major mode, but because of the tragic nature of the minor mode, resolving this type of

tension seems to require the continuous buildup of momentum typical of the symphonic style,

even if the minor mode reference is concentrated into a single chord (especially a diminished

Example 3.11 - High Ending to S-Theme, Fourth Strategy, in Piano Sonata in C Minor, op. 13, “Pathétique”, mm. 101-113

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seventh, which immediately expresses tragedy). Thus, the technique may be found in four of

Beethoven’s symphonies (Nos. 2-5, most famously in the Fifth) and a few other pieces that

display many aspects of the symphonic style, especially in the S-zone: the Piano Sonatas of op.

7; op. 10, no. 1; and op. 53 “Waldstein”; the Piano Trio, op. 1, no. 3; and the Violin Sonatas of

op. 12, nos. 2 and 3. Moreover, in all but one work (op. 1, no. 3), the technique occurs at the very

end of S, no doubt because the feeling of “triumph over tragedy” it engenders makes for a

particularly satisfying ending to the zone.

Finally, in fourth-strategy themes that employ distant tonal tension, there is an intrusion

of a key that is relatively remote from the local tonic, being two or more fifths away in the cycle

of fifths. Four works employ this particular brand of the fourth strategy: the Piano Sonatas of op.

2, no. 2, and op. 10, no. 3; the Cello Sonata, op. 5, no. 1; and the Eroica Symphony. Because the

classical style was essentially a diatonic one and sudden chromatic shifts were not typical of its

syntax (as they were in later nineteenth-century music), distant tonal relationships needed to be

mitigated by preparing and/or leaving the chromaticism with a series of logical harmonic steps,

or by solidly anchoring the harmony in the local tonic before and/or after the chromaticism.

Either of these situations inevitably requires some time to play out. Consequently, themes of this

kind tend toward the expansive, and, because all instances of them are in the major mode (both

in the theme and the movement overall), the rhetorically dramatic return to the tonic takes on the

feeling of a jubilant homecoming after a far-reaching voyage.

In all fourth-strategy themes, the syntactical drama includes not only tonal tension, but

usually expansional and accelerative tension as well. Hence, it is no surprise to find that they are

most often structured as a type of expanded sentence. Even those that are a period (op. 10, no. 2,

mm. 38-55, and op. 5, no. 1, mm. 73-143) or hybrid theme (hybrid 1 occurs in the Second

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Symphony, mm. 73-112) encompass a sentence continuation on a smaller level of structure,

giving the typical acceleration. As with the other strategies, the rhetorical drama is usually

brought about by an excited effect, a tutti effect (in symphonies), or both simultaneously. And

like the other strategies, the majority of fourth-strategy themes dramatize a cadential function

that is separate from any preceding continuation, and in resolving the accelerative tension, many

of them make the shift from syntactical to purely rhetorical drama just as the continuation moves

into the cadential function, setting the rhetorical drama into high relief.

Two other types of modules that may occur in an S-zone are a standing on the dominant

and what I have termed a (small-scale) transition function. Both types of modules generally

appear after the cadence of an S-theme and therefore take on “after-the-end” function. Although

these modules reveal important aspects of drama in Beethoven’s sonata forms, they are a

relatively rare phenomenon, appearing in a total of seven works: op. 2, no. 3; op. 10, no. 2; op.

28; op. 18, no. 4; op. 9, no. 3; op. 30, no. 2; and op. 55. Likely purposes of these modules and

their respective dramatic structure generally fall into two categories: either the module

compensates for some sort of deficiency earlier in the exposition, or it serves to mitigate the

different tension levels between the end of one S-theme and the start of the next.

One type of deficiency within the first category is an S-zone that begins in the “wrong”

key or mode after a preparatory standing on the dominant, as occurs in the Piano Sonata in C

Major, op. 2, no. 3, and the String Trio in C Minor, op. 9, no. 3. In these cases, a second standing

on the dominant compensates by preparing for a theme that starts in the “correct” key, the major

dominant in op. 2, no. 3, and the mediant in op. 9, no. 3. In the latter work, S1 begins in the

“wrong” key of the submediant, A-flat major, and S2 fixes the problem by being set in the

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“correct” key of the mediant (see Example 3.12).74 But in order for S2 to be heard in this way, it

must be prepared by a passage that sounds like the end of TR, thus giving the sense that the

music is attempting to atone for a problematic start to S.75 And since a standing on the dominant

is the most common way to prepare for the onset of an S-zone (especially one in the new key, at

the end of a modulating TR), Beethoven provides such a module before S2, complete with the

ending High dramatic unit typical of early-period works such as this, caused by the syntactical

types of expansional, implicational, and accelerative tension.

Another type of deficiency that may cause a later standing on the dominant within S

involves a non-standard end to TR, either when TR prepares S with a “wrong-key” V chord or

lacks a standing on the dominant altogether. The former tactic occurs famously in the Piano

Sonata in F Major, op. 10, no. 2, where S is prepared by V of the mediant, A minor, and the latter

in the String Quartet in C Minor, op. 18, no. 4, and Violin Sonata in C Minor, op. 30, no. 2,

where S is preceded only by a V chord of the new key rather than the more form-defining

standing on the dominant. Again, for this technique to be convincing as a corrective procedure,

the standing on the dominant that appears within S ought to sound like it is the end of a

modulating TR (since S is already in the new key). Thus, the tension ending these S-modules is

always High and may be the result of either rhetorical tension (op. 18, no. 4, and op. 30, no. 2) or

syntactical tension (op. 10, no. 2).

74 This work even problematizes the end of TR (shown in Example 3.12) in that it transforms the prolonged home-key V chord at the last moment into V6

5 of the submediant, and later corrects it with the second standing on the dominant that remains firmly on V of the mediant. 75 This procedure forms one type of Hepokoski and Darcy’s concept of the “trimodular block” (TMB): “the invariable impression is that of apparent double medial caesuras [MCs], and, concomitantly, the effect of two separate launches of new themes . . . following those MCs.” The three “blocks” associated with this concept are “the first new theme after the first caesura [TM1]; its dissolution and the setting up of the second caesura [TM2]; and the onset of a differing S-theme [TM3].” See Elements of Sonata Theory, 171. In my analyses, however, I regard the MC as only one of several possible criteria that denote the start of an S-zone and include the presence of tonic harmony of the new key, preparation of S by a V chord, a change in texture at S, and characteristic melodic material.

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Example 3.12 – Standing on the Dominant with High Ending, Compensating for S Start in “Wrong” Key, String Trio in C Minor, op. 9, no. 3, mm. 17-41

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The second category of standing on the dominants or small-scale transitions within S

function to smooth out the stark contrast in tension between two S-themes, and can be seen in

two works: the Piano Sonata in D major, “Pastoral”, op. 28, and the Eroica Symphony, op. 55. In

op. 28, shown in Example 3.13, S1 ends with a High unit (from the rhetorical types of dynamic,

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melodic, and thickness tension) that elides into a Low-beginning transition function. S2, on the

other hand, begins Low, and hence the fourteen-measure transition gives the listener a chance to

become accustomed to the Low level before plunging into the next theme.76 Of course, the

transition serves a harmonic purpose as well, since S1 ends on V of F-sharp minor and,

considering the calm expression of the movement thus far (being a “pastoral” sonata), requires

some mediation before moving into S2, which begins with a pickup on V of A major. In the

Eroica, a standing on the dominant between S3 and S4 carries out the opposite tensional effect in

mm. 99-108. S3 ends Low at m. 99 and S4 begins High at m. 109. The ten-measure standing on

the dominant introduces a crescendo and a gradual thickening of the texture that together become

rhetorically dramatic at the moment that S4 enters. The buildup towards this drama is further

enhanced by expansional tension (from the post-cadential status of the module) and implicational

tension (from the prolonged dominant), both of which resolve at S4 and increase that theme’s

importance as an arrival point in the S-zone as a whole. (Recall that this theme is the only one in

S that begins with a High unit and therefore, in keeping with the trend of ending S-zones High,

provides a fitting end to the S-zone overall.)

IV. The Closing Section (CL) Once the S-zone proper comes to an end, there may be a closing section (CL) comprising

anywhere from one to three codettas, or there may be no such section at all, but in general, there

tend to be more codettas in early works, of which 42% (22 of 52) contain two or three codettas,

76 Whether the crescendo at m. 87 reaches a forte dynamic and therefore contributes rhetorical tension is a moot point, since there are no other prominent rhetorical types present with which to combine and create drama.

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Example 3.13 – Transition Function that Mitigates Differing Tension Levels Between S-Themes, Piano Sonata in D Major, op. 28, “Pastoral”, mm. 71-91

compared to 14% (3 of 22) in middle works and 15% (2 of 13) in late works.77 Because of this

variety in number, it becomes important to distinguish among dramatic structures for CLs with

one, two, and three codettas. Hence, like S-themes, I will consider each codetta separately, and,

in order to prevent the opus-heavy early period from distorting results, I will consider them with

regard to the style period in which they are situated.

77 Works with two codettas, by style period. Early: Op. 2, no. 3; op. 7; op. 10, no. 3; op. 13; op. 14, no. 1; op. 22; op. 49, no. 2; op. 18, no. 5; op. 3; op. 9, no. 3; op. 1, no. 3; op. 23; op. 30, no. 3; op. 5, nos. 1 and 2; op. 36; op. 6; op. 16; op. 17; op. 20; op. 71; op. 81b. Middle: Op. 81a; op. 59, no. 3; op. 92. Late: Op. 106; op. 102, no. 1.

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The archetypes for CLs with a single codetta are broken down by style period in Table

3.11. The overall paucity of the LHL and HLH archetypes may be explained by the fact that

codettas are generally less than eight measures and do not usually encompass enough musical

space to accommodate structures of three dramatic units. Therefore structures of only one or two

units are more likely to appear. Focussing on these smaller structures, then, we find that the

archetypes that form a majority or are most preferred (if less than 50%) are LH in the early

period, L and H in the middle, and HL in the late period. Hence, the majority of codettas went

from having drama only at their end via LH in the early period to having drama only at their

beginning via HL in the late period, turning the dramatic structure, as it were, completely on its

head. The middle period is less decisive, having only preferred archetypes rather than majorities

and, furthermore, having those preferred types in near-equal proportions between the opposites

of L and H, thus seeming to represent a transitional halfway point between the early and late

periods.

Table 3.11 – Archetypes in Single-Codetta CLs by Style Period

Style Period % L % LH % LHL % H % HL % HLH Early (25) 24 (6) 52 (13) 16 (4) 8 (2) -- --

Middle (17) 29 (5) 18 (3) 6 (1) 35 (6) 12 (2) -- Late (9) 22 (2) -- 11 (1) 11 (1) 56 (5) --

These striking statistics are further evidence of the stylistic changes that take place across

the three periods. In the early period, the majority of the LH codetta, which occurs in thirteen

works,78 is an indication of Beethoven’s strong allegiance to a late-eighteenth-century sensibility,

since the end of codettas are not only “nearly always sounded forte or fortissimo,” as Hepokoski

and Darcy point out, but are also usually accompanied by at least one other rhetorical tension

78 Op. 10, no. 2; op. 14, no. 2; op. 28, op. 18, nos. 1, 3, 4, and 6; op. 9, no. 1; op. 4; op. 29; op. 21; op. 11; op. 87.

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type such as thickness or timbral tension, rendering them dramatic.79 In the middle period, the

five Low codettas participate in the more teleological dramatic structures described earlier in

which a dramatic arrival is implied in the last S but is withheld, even through the codetta, and is

then supplied much later, in the coda.80 By contrast, the six High codettas occur after a

particularly long S-theme that ends with a High unit, the codetta representing an extension of the

celebration or (in the minor mode) calamity achieved after an arduous journey to the end of S.81

Both of these middle-period techniques for writing codettas are therefore part of the highly

teleological structures that characterize many of those works that we tend to think of as “heroic”.

In the late period, the majority of the HL archetype, which occurs in five works,82 is not part of

any strategy for high teleology—on the contrary, the archetype takes the steam out of a dramatic

arrival achieved at the start of the codetta. Combine this anti-teleological approach with the fact

that none of the works provide a definitive, non-elided ending to the exposition and the result is

the non-driving continuity that became a prominent feature of the late works in particular.

Moreover, Beethoven sometimes enhances this continuity either by maintaining a motive from

the end of the codetta straight into the development, as in op. 90 (see Example 3.14a) and op.

125, or by failing to resolve a dominant harmony to a tonic triad (since the exposition usually

ends with a clear tonic triad or tonic unison before moving into the development), as in op. 132,

which sounds a dominant seventh on F in place of the expected F-major triad along with an

obstinate cello that retains its note when the others rest (see Example 3.14b). This greater

continuity was also seen between TR and S, especially in the middle and late periods, and its 79 Hepokoski and Darcy, Elements of Sonata Theory, 184. Because these authors base their definition of a module largely on melodic and textural changes rather than form-functional changes, which are dictated by harmonic and phrase-structural considerations, their “codetta-module” generally corresponds to the latter portion (the High unit) of what I have called a codetta in Beethoven. Most importantly, however, we agree that the very end of a codetta is usually dramatic in late-eighteenth-century style. 80 Op. 53; op. 57; op. 59, no. 1; op. 95; op. 70, no. 1. 81 Op. 79; op. 59, no. 2; op. 47; op. 55; op. 60; op. 67. 82 Op. 90; op. 127; op. 132; op. 102, no. 2; op. 125.

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appearance here demonstrates that it is part of a larger trend to undermine important points of

articulation in the form in favour of a more continuous musical discourse.

In all of the above majority/preferred archetypes of single-codetta CLs, the drama is

always brought about by rhetorical tension regardless of whether the archetype is the LH of the

early period, H of the middle, or HL of the late period. But the similarities run even deeper, as

the precise tension types that appear in the dramatic portions of these codettas are, in almost

every case, a tutti effect or an excited effect. Thus, not only did Beethoven usually dramatize a

single-codetta CL with the immediacy of rhetorical drama, he also usually selected two of the

most powerful combinations of rhetorical types possible. Moreover, when the codetta ends with

a High unit, it most often involves the syntactical accelerative tension as well, heightening the

drama as it moves towards the final gesture of the exposition. Five of these High-ending codettas

Example 3.14 – Continuity Between Codetta and Development Section a) By Tension Level and Motive, Piano Sonata in E Minor, op. 90, mm. 71-84

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b) By Tension Level and Closing Exposition without a Triad or Unison, String Quartet in A Minor, op. 132, mm. 73-78

even include metric tension,83 which thus far has proven to be quite rare, but probably appears

more frequently in codettas for two reasons. First, although a codetta may appear after practically

any authentic cadence, at least one usually occurs after the S-zone proper in order to provide an

area of tonal stability after a theme that, in most cases, has encountered much phrase expansion

and tonal diversion en route to its cadence. Hence, if syntactical tension is going to appear at all

in a codetta, it is logical that it usually be a type that does not disturb this sense of stability the

codetta expresses. In this light, metric tension is an appropriate choice since it does not have any

harmonic requirements in the way that tonal, closural, and implicational tensions do. This notion

of stability is also supported by the fact that in these cases, the metric dissonance is restricted to

syncopation, and therefore expresses a relatively weak type compared to the more jarring effect

that a stronger type, like hemiola, would create. Secondly, the rarity of metric tension in other

83 Op. 14, no. 2; op. 28; op. 21; op. 60; op. 11.

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parts of the exposition lends it a freshness that is especially effective as a means of

differentiating the closing section from the S-themes that precede it.

Another notable feature of single-codetta CLs is the relationship between the tension at

the end of S and that at the start of the codetta. Table 3.12 highlights the two most common

situations, High-Low (H-L) and High-High (H-H). In the early period, the majority of H-L,

found in fifteen works,84 indicates that the start of a single-codetta CL was usually both a point

of repose in the dramatic structure, and a point of clear articulation in the form, separating the

end of S from the start of the codetta through a large contrast in tension. In the middle period, H-

L drops to a small minority and the H-H pattern, found in seven works,85 instead becomes most

preferred. That most of these works are symphonies indicates that Beethoven’s middle-period

symphonies, at least in this respect, tended to extend the features of late-eighteenth-century

symphony style (with its emphasis on attaining cadences with rhetorical drama) well beyond the

point of cadence and across the entire codetta (as shown by the preference for the H archetype).

In the late period, H-L disappears altogether, and H-H becomes a majority, occurring in five

works,86 once again inverting the normal practice of the early period in favour of a heightened

continuity. And even if this continuity cannot be said to be a “non-driving” one, as it was

between TR and S (which would seem to be more typical of the late style), the drama is usually

dissipated before the codetta ends (indicated by the majority of the HL archetype in the late

period in Table 3.11) rather than being prolonged throughout the codetta as was generally the

case in the middle period (shown by the preference for the H archetype).

84 Op. 2, no. 2; op. 10, nos. 1 and 2; op. 31, nos. 1, 2, and 3; op. 18, nos. 1, 3, 4, and 6; op. 9, no. 2; op. 1, no. 1; op. 12, no. 3; op. 21; op. 11. 85 Op. 59, no. 2; op. 74; op. 47; op. 55; op. 60; op. 67; op. 68. 86 Op. 111; op. 127; op. 132; op. 102, no. 2; op. 125.

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Table 3.12 – Tension Between End of S and Start of Single-Codetta CL by Style Period

Style Period % L-L % L-H % H-L % H-H Early (25) 32 (8) 8 (2) 60 (15) --

Middle (17) 35 (6) 6 (1) 18 (3) 41 (7) Late (9) 33 (3) 11 (1) -- 56 (5)

Moving on to CLs with two codettas, we find most occurrences within the early period,

which contains eighteen such CLs, compared with only one in the middle and two in the late

periods.87 While this is an interesting finding in itself, the possible reasons for it will not be of

concern here since it is strictly an issue of form rather than drama and form together. I mention it

here because there can be no significant patterns within the later two periods (since a minimum

of three works are required) and consequently, the patterns I will discuss are largely reflections

of early-period tendencies, even though I will sometimes refer to the middle and late works as

supporting evidence.

In the first codetta (CL1) of these two-codetta CLs, there are no majority archetypes

overall, but rather two that are virtually tied for most preferred: L, at 33% (7 of 21), and LH, at

38% (8 of 21). Combining these with the two LHL that occur (the other archetype with a Low

start), we find that most CL1s (of two codettas) begin Low, at a total frequency of 81% (17 of

21).88 Moreover, with these Low-starting CL1s, any drama that is reached within this module or

in the next module tends to be maintained right to the end of the CL-zone, as occurs in 65% (11

of 17) of them, thus emphatically punctuating the end of the exposition.89

87 Early works: op. 2, no. 3; op. 13; op. 14, no. 1; op. 49, no. 2; op. 18, no. 5; op. 3; op. 9, no. 3; op. 1, no. 3; op. 23; op. 30, no. 3; op. 5, nos. 1 and 2; op. 36; op. 16; op. 17; op. 20; op. 71; op. 81b. Middle work: op. 92. Late works: op. 106; op. 102, no. 1. 88 Works with L archetype: Op. 3; op. 1, no. 3; op. 5, no. 1; op. 16; op. 17; op. 20; op. 71. Works with the LH archetype: Op. 2, no. 3; op. 13; op. 49, no. 2; op. 106; op. 23; op. 30, no. 3; op. 5, no. 2; op. 36. Works with the LHL archetype: Op. 18, no. 5; op. 9, no. 3. 89 Op. 2, no. 3; op. 13; op. 49, no. 2; op. 106; op. 1, no. 3; op. 5, nos. 1 and 2; op. 36; op. 16; op. 17; op. 20.

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Regarding CL1s with the L archetype in particular, a majority is seen in chamber works

with horn or woodwinds at 80% (4 of 5): op. 16, op. 17, op. 20, op. 71. But even besides

belonging to the same genre, these works have a number of other remarkable similarities: all four

are from the early period, three (op. 16, 20, and 71) are in the key of E-flat major, and three (op.

17, 20, and 71) contain the less common non-modulating TR. And stylistically, all four of the

works reside mainly within the borders of sonata style, especially in their preference for

melodies that break up the momentum of the phrase through numerous starts and stops and a

relatively high degree of ornamentation and lyricism. Thus, the majority of the L archetype

found in these works was part of a larger tendency for Beethoven, in his early period, to write in

sonata style in these genres, likely because he considered the horn and winds to be fundamentally

lyrical instruments, and, because he maintained a fairly strict separation of sonata and symphony

styles in his early works, the natural home for this lyrical type of melody was sonata style.

On the other hand, for the LH archetype in CL1, majorities occur in the piano sonata

(80%, 4 of 5) in op. 2, no. 3; op. 13; op. 49, no. 2; and op. 106.90 In contrast to the horn and wind

works mentioned above, most of these CL1 codettas are highly representative of the symphony

style in that 1) the melody is very continuous, containing few or no rests or relatively long

rhythmic halts that break up the momentum of the codetta, and 2) the latter portion of the codetta

is made dramatic by rhetorical tension, through either an excited effect (op. 13 and op. 106) or a

tutti effect (op. 2, no. 3).91 Furthermore, while it was by no means obligatory for a composer to

90 Although op. 49, no. 2 lacks any dynamic markings, basic markings of piano and forte can be inferred from contextual cues because, in his other works of the early period, Beethoven generally sets lyrical (sonata-style) passages at a soft dynamic and more symphonic ones at a loud dynamic. Moreover, these stylistic distinctions are particularly clear in this movement, making the assignment of basic dynamics fairly reliable. The dynamics I assign to this movement are as follows (superscript numerals indicate quarter-note beats in the measure): m. 1 = forte, m. 22 = piano, m. 5 = forte, m. 62 = piano, m. 15 = forte, m. 203 = piano, m. 36 = forte, m. 54 = piano, m. 56 = forte, m. 57 = piano, m. 67 = forte, m. 682 = piano, m. 71 = forte, 722 = piano, m. 75 = forte, m. 873 = piano, m. 103 = forte. 91 Op. 49, no. 2 is the sole exception in which rhetorical drama is absent from the end of the first codetta. Instead, it makes use of syntactical drama by avoiding a cadential arrival at m. 46 (closural tension), returning to an earlier part

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consistently apply either symphony or sonata style throughout an entire movement,92 the works

cited in this category adopt symphony style for much of the movement. In all these works,

Beethoven even augments the powerful sense of drive in this style by following the first codetta

(CL1) with a second (CL2) that expresses the H archetype, thus extending the drama achieved at

the end of CL1 across the entirely of CL2. As might be expected, this same “spilling over” effect

of the drama is also evident in the two symphonies that contain two codettas, but whereas the

Second Symphony has the LH archetype moving into an H archetype from CL1 to CL2, the

Seventh goes a step further by having both codettas as H (and thus, the “spilling over” is from

the end of S into CL). In any case, it seems that the prevalent dramatic structure of LH then H for

the two codettas was guided primarily by the symphony style of much of the movement. But

more broadly, that H occurs as an overall majority in CL2 at 52% (11 of 21) indicates that the H

archetype itself was an important aspect of expositional closure for Beethoven,93 especially as we

also find the archetype most preferred in CL2 and CL3 of CL-zones with three codettas at 50%

each (3 of 6).94

There is little to say of CL-zones with three codettas simply because they are so scarce,

occurring in only six works: op. 7; op. 10, no. 3; op. 22; op. 81a; op. 59, no. 3; and op. 6.

Moreover, that there are only two works from the middle period (op. 81a and op. 59, no. 3), and

absolutely none in the late period, precludes the formation of any significant generalizations

across the style periods. The dramatic situation in CL of these works depends on the style in

of the codetta at m. 47 (expansional tension), and accelerating the harmonic rhythm at m. 48 (accelerative tension). No doubt, the lack of rhetorical drama is related to the lesser technical demands of the work as an “easy sonata” (“leichte Sonate”). 92 See Broyles, Beethoven, 28, on this point, where he indicates that “not only were the two styles mixed in the same genre but frequently in the same piece and in the same movement. . . . It would be more accurate to think of them as theoretical extremes or ideals which interpenetrate and blend in a number of combinations and in a number of different ways.” 93 Two-codetta CL-zones with H archetype in CL2: Op. 2, no. 3; op. 13; op. 49, no. 2; op. 106; op. 5, no. 2; op. 36; op. 92; op. 16; op. 17; op. 20; op. 81b. 94 Three-codetta CL-zones with H archetype. In CL2: Op. 22; op. 59, no. 3; op. 6. In CL3: Op. 7; op. 59, no. 3; op. 6.

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which Beethoven wrote each movement. Four of the movements (op. 7; op. 22; op. 59, no. 3; and

op. 6) mostly display the characteristics of symphony style, especially in the P-zone. (S-zones, as

Broyles points out, tended toward sonata style, at least at their opening, due to the melodic

lyricism so often found there.95) In the CL-zone of these works, symphonic drive permeates both

the second and third codettas through a relatively continuous melody that is supported by

rhetorical drama—in fact, in all four movements, both of these codettas have an archetype that

ends High (either an H or LH archetype). Thus, symphony style continues to be a strong

influence in the dramatic structure of CL.

A final word about CL ought to address the dramatic situation at the very end of the zone

since it often forms the end of the exposition as a whole. Table 3.13 shows the frequency of High

(dramatic) endings to CL, regardless of the number of codettas it contains, broken down by style

period. The pattern here is clear: High endings to CL are a majority in the early period, and their

frequency continually drops with each subsequent period, becoming a minority in the late period.

Within these majority-High endings, the drama is almost always rhetorical, consisting of an

excited effect or a tutti effect (and sometimes both simultaneously). One particularly frequent

arrangement is to drive toward the end of the last codetta with the rushing character of an excited

effect, then to “cap off” the codetta, and exposition, with a final tutti effect, either on two tonic

chords or a V-I progression, the latter of which occurs in op. 2, no. 3, illustrated in Example

3.15.

For the sake of comparison, Table 3.14 juxtaposes the frequency of High endings to each

of the four major sections of the exposition: P, TR, S, and CL. Clearly, the P-zone is unlike the

95 Broyles, Beethoven, 16-17.

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Example 3.15 – Excited Effect Followed by a Tutti Effect to Close the Exposition, Piano Sonata in C Major, op. 2, no. 3, mm. 85-90

Table 3.13 – High Endings to CL by Style Period

Style Period % CL ends High Early 68 (32/47)

Middle 55 (11/20) Late 18 (2/11)

Table 3.14 – High Endings to P, TR, S, and CL by Style Period

Style Period % P ends High

% TR ends High

% S ends High

% CL ends High

Early 37 (19/52) 87 (45/52) 60 (31/52) 68 (32/47) Middle 50 (11/22) 64 (14/22) 50 (11/22) 55 (11/20)

Late 31 (4/13) 46 (6/13) 38 (5/13) 18 (2/11)

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others as there are no majorities of High endings in any of the style periods, a finding almost

certainly linked to the tonal stability of that zone in the form. In other words, because P generally

establishes the home tonic key and provides a sound tonal base on which to build the rest of the

exposition (and the rest of the movement), a Low unit at its end aptly reflects the stability of this

base through a calm, non-dramatic expression. The end of TR, S, and CL, however, together

present an altogether different trend. High endings to these zones are always at a majority in the

early period, then drop in frequency in the middle period, and drop even further in the late

period. The majority of High endings in the early period may be attributed to the teleology most

often found within each zone of those works. Because this approach highlights the end of each

individual zone as an important goal, it lends a decidedly sectionalized feel to the sonata form

overall. In the middle period, this goal tends to shift to later in the movement and the zones start

to become far less sectional as one often blends or elides into the next. Hence, the frequency of

High endings within each zone of the exposition tends to decrease from the early period. And in

the late period, Beethoven often abandons teleological premises for a movement in favour of a

search for new modes of expression. Thus, continuity between zones becomes a clear priority

and High endings become even less frequent than in the middle period.

The last possible module within an exposition is the retransition (RT), which serves as a

relatively brief modulating link into a repeat of the exposition and/or into the development

section—those of the former type I call RT1, and those of the latter RT2.96 With these labels, an

RT module that remains unchanged for both purposes is counted in both types; after all, the two

modules are separated in time even if they contain the same music. This approach allows us to

96 In op. 130, RT1 leads back to an anomalous slow introduction that is worked into the movement proper. Although Hatten, Musical Meaning in Beethoven, 142, views this slow introduction as the P-theme proper, I view it as a slow introduction because it does not return at the start of the recapitulation, which instead begins with the Allegro material that initially followed this slow introduction.

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compare whether the two types of RT modules differ in their dramatic structure. Since RT has a

linking function, we may gain the most useful results by comparing the tension levels between

the end of RT and the start of the next module. As shown in Tables 3.15 and 3.16, the most

common arrangement is a Low-Low connection between RT and the following module

regardless of whether it leads to the expositional repeat or the development. Indeed, this situation

is either a majority or most preferred in the early and middle periods, the late being unable to

form any significant results due to the lack of three movements in any category. Nonetheless,

even with the small numbers in the late period, Low-Low connections are never any less frequent

than any other type of connection, demonstrating their importance at that time as well. Rather

than bearing any sort of relationship with the non-driving continuity I have mentioned, all these

Low-Low connections are most likely the result of a conceptual “filling-in” of the silence that

would have otherwise occurred between the last event of the exposition and the first event of the

development. In this way, RT is something like caesura-fill within the medial caesura (which

usually ended Low to connect smoothly with the usual Low start to S). If this is the case, then we

ought to consider how the tension ending the exposition proper—that is, without the addition of

any RT modules—joins with that beginning the development. As Table 3.17 indicates, this

juncture is set with contrasting tension levels in a majority of early movements, but gradually

shifts to a majority of having the same tension levels in the late, with the middle period acting as

a transition between the two by showing no preference for either arrangement. Furthermore, the

same tension levels of the late period are exclusively Low-Low connections. Hence, the same

progression from sectionalization toward continuity that emerged between some zones of the

exposition resurfaces again here, and even to the extent that the continuity of the late period is

exclusively of the non-driving type. At this point in the form, however, the finding is all the more

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significant, as it marks the dividing line not just between two zones but indeed between two large

sections.

Table 3.15 – Tension Between RT1 and First Module of Expositional Repeat by Style Period

Tension Between Modules

% in Early (of 22)

% in Middle (of 14)

% in Late (of 3)

Low-Low 68 (15) 36 (5) 33 (1) Low-High 9 (2) 29 (4) 33 (1) High-Low 23 (5) 7 (1) -- High-High -- 29 (4) 33 (1)

Table 3.16 – Tension Between RT2 and First Module of Development by Style Period

Tension Between Modules

% in Early (of 22)

% in Middle (of 17)

% in Late (of 6)

Low-Low 45 (10) 59 (10) 33 (2) Low-High 32 (7) 6 (1) 17 (1) High-Low 14 (3) 12 (2) 33 (2) High-High 9 (2) 24 (4) 17 (1)

Table 3.17 – Tension Between Last Module of Exposition Proper (S or CL) and First Module of Development by Style Period

Tension Between Modules

% in Early (of 52)

% in Middle (of 22)

% in Late (of 13)

Low-Low 21 (11) 32 (7) 62 (8) Low-High 17 (9) 18 (4) 23 (3) High-Low 40 (21) 32 (7) 15 (2) High-High 21 (11) 18 (4) --

Changes to opposite 58 (30) 50 (11) 38 (5) Stays the same 42 (22) 50 (11) 62 (8)

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In summarizing dramatic structure in Beethoven’s expositions, it is important to note that

there were no areas of the form in which a single archetype was a majority when all eighty-seven

movements were taken as a whole; rather, patterns emerged in movements of the same key,

mode, genre, and style period. But of these categories, by far the most significant was style

period. Indeed, profound differences were found among the style periods in all four zones of the

exposition (P, TR, S, and CL), and these differences suggested some fundamental changes in

Beethoven’s conception of sonata form over time. In general, the early period was marked by

stark contrasts in the tension between modules, especially at the end of TR and at the end of S,

both of which usually had a High unit moving into a Low unit. This contrast in tension levels led

to a clear articulation of form at these locations and in turn resulted in a highly sectional type of

exposition, at least from a dramatic point of view. In the middle period, Beethoven moved

toward more teleological structures, again most apparently at the ends of TR and S, where he

began to use Low endings more frequently, thus decreasing the sense of division at these points

and creating a “non-driving” type of continuity. This impulse intensified in the late period as

generally lower proportions of movements had High endings to TR and S. Overall then, dramatic

structure reveals that continuity became a progressively integral part of Beethoven’s stylistic

development, particularly through the manipulation of aspects of the classical symphony style.

On the one hand, he often reduced the “hard driving” aspect of the style, hence the increase in

Low phrase endings. On the other hand, he most often augmented its continuous aspect not only

by maintaining the same tension level between phrases, but also by altering some of the

movements’ formal features. Chief among these was the “wearing away” of the medial caesura,

which generally went from being clearly articulated in the early period to being largely absent in

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late works either through a TR that was “flush-juxtaposed” or even elided with the following S-

zone.

As might be expected, these trends were not restricted to the expositions of Beethoven’s

sonata forms. In fact, as we shall see, the trend toward continuity plays a more pervasive, if not

more important, role in the second large section of the sonata, the development.

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Chapter 4: The Development Because the vast majority of literature on sonata form focusses its attention on

expositions, relatively little has been said about the other parts of the form. In the case of

development sections, there is also the added deterrent that they do not always divide into the

same broad sections, as expositions do, since there are no consistent syntactical rules that govern

how a development is to be structured, especially in terms of key and motivic material.1

Nevertheless, as outlined in chapter 1, I construct an analytical framework by combining

Hepokoski and Darcy’s four potential development “zones” with Caplin’s “pre-core/core

technique”. As a result of this fusion of ideas, I slightly redraw some of the boundaries of the

four zones in order that they may coincide with changes in formal function. Zone 1 (D1) is form-

functionally a thematic introduction or even a slow introduction (as it was a predilection of

Beethoven’s to restate material from a slow introduction at the start of the movement here); zone

2 (D2) is a relatively short, tight-knit theme or theme-like unit (which, together with zone 1 forms

Caplin’s “pre-core”); zone 3 (D3) is Hepokoski and Darcy’s “central action zone” and Caplin’s

“core”; and zone 4 (D4) is a standing on the dominant (the traditionally-named “retransition”). In

the ensuing sections of this chapter, I will examine these zones’ most typical patterns in dramatic

structure and how they relate to the sorts of trends that I outlined for Beethoven’s expositions.

But like the secondary-theme zone, because the dramatic structure of each zone varies with the

number of modules it contains (except D1, which always has a single introductory module), I will

consider zones with different numbers of modules in separate groups.

1 James Hepokoski and Warren Darcy, Elements of Sonata Theory: Norms, Types, and Deformations in the Late-Eighteenth-Century Sonata (New York: Oxford University Press, 2006), 205-20, advocate viewing development sections as “rotational”, meaning that motivic material follows the order of modules in the exposition. The idea, however, is not as predictive as it seems since most developments begin with P-theme material (as Hepokoski and Darcy recognize) and hence any other expositional material that follows creates a rotational layout or at least what the authors call a “half-rotational” layout of P-TR. I argue this same point in my review of Elements of Sonata Theory, forthcoming in Gamut: The Online Journal of the Music Theory Society of the Mid-Atlantic (2011).

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Regarding tension and drama, developments tend not to reveal patterns relating to mode,

and very few exist for works in a certain key or genre. No doubt, the scarcity of patterns in mode

and key is linked to the fact that developments are restless in these two domains and hence the

home key and mode become such an abstraction that any effect from them becomes unlikely.

Also considering that there are few patterns related to genre in developments, these facts together

demonstrate that the development was for Beethoven a part of the form that was generally not

amenable to the immediate features of the piece at hand—i.e., its key, mode, and genre.

However, like so many parts of the form, it certainly was amenable to the changes in

Beethoven’s style that took place over long spans of time. Thus, it is this aspect of tension and

drama that will be the primary focus of this chapter, mainly from the vantage point of the

increasingly continuous approach to sonata form that became a prominent feature of his works

from the middle period onward.

I. Zone 1 (D1) Nearly half (48%, 42 of 87) of the movements in this study contain an introductory D1-

zone, which is identified by a single module that is relatively short (generally less than eight

measures). Beethoven’s most common way of beginning this module is at a Low level of

tension, which occurs in 62% (26 of 42) of the movements overall, and in at least 50% of

movements when grouped by the categories of key, mode, genre, or style period (and the

category contains at least three pieces). There are, however, two exceptions: E-flat major and C

minor, both of which have a majority of High beginnings to D1 at 63% (5 of 8) and 60% (3 of

5), respectively.2 It is interesting that there should be any discrepancy among movements in

different keys at the start of the development section, since the home key of a movement is not

2 E-flat-major movements: op. 7; op. 81a; op. 74; op. 127; op. 20. C-minor movements: op. 10, no. 1; op. 13; op. 67.

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usually sounded there and hence cannot be linked to dramatic structure, at least on a foreground

level. Why, then, are there majorities of High beginnings to D1 in E-flat major and C minor?

Mark Anson-Cartwright has pointed out similarities in the harmonic construction of

developments in E-flat-major movements by Haydn, Mozart, and Beethoven, most prominently

an enharmonic relationship between the pitches B-natural and C-flat, the former always being

harmonized with a dominant of the submediant, C minor.3 While Anson-Cartwright notes that

this relationship is usually expressed in or just before the retransition of the development (what I

call D4), Beethoven’s personal preference was to place a prominent B-natural at or near the start

of the whole development, as he does in an astounding thirteen (87%) of the fifteen movements

in E-flat major I consider in this study, four of which are shown in Example 4.1 in order to give

some idea of how this pitch usually appears.4 Moreover, the dramatic High starts to D1 that occur

in five of the E-flat-major movements all include this B-natural as a tonicization of C minor.

Thus, these dramatic starts to D1 are, at least on a local level, more connected to the key of C

minor than to E-flat major. In the case of the three C-minor movements with a dramatic start to

D1, none are actually in C minor in this module (in op. 10, no. 1 and op. 67, it is in F minor and

in op. 13, G minor then E minor), but all echo a dramatic opening to the entire movement that

was indeed in C minor. The key of C minor therefore seems to have carried significant dramatic

weight to Beethoven, especially when it came to beginning the large sections of his sonata forms.

3 Mark Anson-Cartwright, “Features of E -Major Works of the Classical Period,” Music Theory Spectrum 22 (2000): 180-81. Surprisingly, the large-scale harmonic pathways of these development sections are not unique to E-flat-major works, but are forms of more typical procedures that allow for a prominent III harmony. Compare Anson-Cartwright’s Examples 1a, b, and c, respectively, with Figures iii-a, vii-a, and vii-b in Edward Laufer, “Voice-Leading Procedures in Development Sections,” Studies in Music from the University of Western Ontario 13 (1991): 72, who identifies the twelve most common tonal structures for classical development sections. The difference, of course, is that the procedures that allow for a prominent III are more common in E-flat major than in other keys. 4 Op. 7; op. 31, no. 3; op. 81a; op. 74; op. 127; op. 3; op. 1, no. 1; op. 12, no. 3; op. 55; op. 16; op. 17; op. 20; op. 71.

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Example 4.1 – Prominent B-Naturals at or Near Start of Development in E-Flat-Major Movements a) Piano Trio, op. 1, no. 1, mm. 104b-112

b) Piano Sonata, op. 7, mm. 135-141

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c) Eroica Symphony, op. 55, mm. 154-166 (piano reduction)

d) String Quartet, op. 127, mm. 65-76

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Concerning dramatic archetypes in D1, there is none that forms a majority in the eighty-

seven movements as a whole. The L and H archetypes are the most preferred at 31% (13 of 42)

and 24% (10 of 42) respectively, as they were in the introductory P1.0, because the generally

short length of the module prevents any more elaborate archetype from occurring.5 When D1 is

considered by style period, however, we find a steady increase in the L archetype (see Table 4.1),

which reaches a majority in the late period. This common lack of drama in D1 in the late period

is usually coupled with a Low unit both before and after D1 as well to create the same non-

driving continuity that is characteristic of many junctures in late-period expositions. It was only

gradually that Beethoven began to favour such Low-Low connections into D1, as demonstrated

in Table 4.2 by the steady increase in the technique over the three style periods.6 And since D1,

when it appears, is always the first module of the entire development section, a Low-Low

connection can participate in blurring the boundary between the exposition and development, as

sometimes occurs in the late works when the technique is combined with others such as elision

and/or a lack of resolution onto a tonic triad or unison. (Recall the similar discussion in chapter 3

regarding single-codetta closing sections in the late period and especially Examples 3.14a and b.)

All this is to say that for Beethoven the sonata was evolving into a more continuous form than it

generally was in his early works, and the manipulation of tension levels was just one of the ways

that he achieved that transformation.

5 Works with the L archetype in D1: Op. 2, no. 2; op. 10, no. 2; op. 57; op. 90; op. 111; op. 18, no. 3; op. 130; op. 132; op. 1, no. 3; op. 55; op. 68; op. 125; op. 81b. Works with the H archetype: Op. 7; op. 31, nos. 1 and 2; op. 81a; op. 18, no. 1; op. 74; op. 5, no. 2; op. 60; op. 67; op. 20. 6 Works with Low-Low connections into D1, by style period. Early: Op. 2, nos. 1 and 2; op. 10, no. 3; op. 14, no. 1; op. 28; op. 18, no. 2; op. 1, no. 1. Middle: Op. 57; op. 78; op. 55; op. 68; op. 92. Late: Op. 90; op. 130; op. 132; op. 125.

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Table 4.1 – L Archetype in D1 by Style Period

Style Period % Frequency Early 20 (5/25)

Middle 30 (3/10) Late 71 (5/7)

Table 4.2 – Low-Low Connections into D1 by Style Period

Style Period % Frequency Early 28 (7/25)

Middle 50 (5/10) Late 57 (4/7)

II. Zone 2 (D2) Together with any D3 that is present, D2 forms what could be called the development

proper, since the nature of the preceding D1 is entirely introductory and D4, being a standing on

the dominant, projects the sense of “after-the-end” in the manner of a post-cadential function. D2

may have either one or two modules, but what distinguishes it most readily from an ensuing D3 is

the length of its modules. As mentioned earlier, the modules of D2 are relatively tight-knit, and

tight-knit modules are usually around eight measures, following the standard models of such

common theme types as the sentence and period. And because tight-knit modules by definition

contain fewer syntactical tension types than looser ones, there is a built-in difference between

D2- and D3-zones in both their formal structure and their dramatic structure. For this reason, it is

crucial to distinguish between the two zones in analysis. D2 does not, however, function merely

as a prelude for the more expansive and weighty D3, for in works of modest proportions or

technical demand, the central portion of a development section may consist only of a D2 without

a subsequent D3, as in Beethoven’s two “easy” piano sonatas of op. 49, the only two movements

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Example 4.2 – Functions of D2-Zones a) As a Pre-Core; String Trio in C Minor, op. 9, no. 3, mm. 74-82

b) As a Small-Scale Core; Piano Sonata in G Major, op. 49, no. 2, mm. 53-60

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of the eighty-seven to have developments so structured.7 Example 4.2 illustrates the two

functions of D2-zones, as a pre-core to a more substantial core (D3), and as a small-scale core in

the context of a modestly-sized sonata.

Like all zones of the development section, D2 is by no means obligatory and in fact is the

least likely of the four zones to appear, occurring in only 37% (32 of 87) of the movements.

However, this statistic is somewhat misleading, for dividing the movements by style period

reveals that D2, like D1, occurs in nearly half of the movements in the early and middle periods

(42% and 45%, respectively) but completely disappears from all thirteen movements of the late

period. When D2 is absent, the development proper comprises only D3, which is form-

functionally looser than the tight-knit D2 as it always incorporates modules that are longer than

the eight-measure standard of the latter. Thus, the elimination of D2 signifies an increased

emphasis on expanded phrases in development sections of the late period, an idea that meshes

well with Beethoven’s increased focus on expansiveness, which in the late period played as

important a role in his development sections as it did in expositions, as will be seen in the next

section. For the present section, however, it must be kept in mind that, at least for first

movements, D2 zones are exclusively a feature of the early and middle periods.

When D2 contains just one module, no dramatic archetype is favoured as a majority, but

L and LH are preferred at 23% (5 of 22) and 32% (7 of 22), respectively, reflecting the fact that

most development sections begin with a transposition of P1, where the same two archetypes are

preferred at nearly the same frequencies as in P1 (28% and 32%, respectively).8 More important,

however, is the way in which the tension at the end of single-module D2-zones connects with that

7 Hence in this subsection I cannot refer to the tension between D2 and D3 for all works, but only between D2 and “the following zone,” which may be either D3 (the “core”) or D4 (the “retransition”). 8 Works with the L archetype in a single-module D2: Op. 57; op. 1, no. 3; op. 29; op. 5, no. 1; op. 11. Works with the LH archetype: Op. 31, no. 3; op. 18, nos. 4 and 6; op. 74; op. 9, no. 2; op. 36; op. 71.

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at the start of the following zone since substantial differences emerge between the early and

middle periods. As Table 4.3 shows, the majority of single-module D2-zones (72%, 13 of 18) in

the early period change the level of tension in moving into the next zone (either from Low to

High or High to Low), whereas in the middle period, the majority (80%, 4 of 5) actually do the

opposite and maintain the same level of tension into the next zone.9 This about-face in the

construction of D2 is even emphasized by the fact that the situation that is the most common in

the early period (High-Low) dwindles down to 0% in the middle period.

Table 4.3 – Tension Between Single-Module D2-zones and Following Zone by Style Period

Tension Between Modules

% in Early (of 17)

% in Middle (of 5)

Low-Low 18 (3) 40 (2) Low-High 29 (5) 20 (1) High-Low 47 (8) 0 (0) High-High 6 (1) 40 (2)

Changes to opposite 76 (13) 20 (1) Stays the same 24 (4) 80 (4)

Clearly, some stylistic change is at work here, and I would argue that it has to do with

Beethoven’s evolving conception of sonata form in which the series of relatively distinct, or

“sectionalized”, zones that regularly characterize much of the early movements gradually

becomes a more continuous series of less clearly differentiated zones through the middle period

and into the late period. This helps to explain why there is a shift in the use of tension from D2

into the following zone but also why Beethoven eliminated D2 from these sonata forms

altogether in the late period—by that time, a D2-zone, which is at the very least distinguished

from the following D3 by its shorter length, had become antithetical to his much more continuous

9 Early works that change the tension level from the end of a single-module D2 into the next zone: Op. 31, no. 3; op. 18, nos. 2, 4, and 6; op. 9, no. 2; op. 1, no. 3; op. 23; op. 30, no. 1; op. 5, no. 1; op. 11; op. 16; op. 17; op. 71. Middle works that keep the tension level the same: Op. 79; op. 59, no. 1; op. 74; op. 70, no. 2.

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conception of sonata form. This does not mean that developments of the late period are

necessarily shorter than earlier ones, for Beethoven often added length to the D3-zone through

more extended motivic repetition.10 Thus, while a great length characterizes some late

movements, such as the Ninth Symphony and the Hammerklavier sonata, there are others that

tend toward the concise such as the Piano Sonata in E Major, op. 109 and the Cello Sonata in D

Major, op. 102, no. 2. The continuous approach to the form is much more evident in the

boundaries between the zones than between the modules within the zones, as can be seen in D2-

zones with two modules, where there is a marked difference in Beethoven’s treatment of the

tension between the modules within the zone and between D2 and the following zone. As shown

in Table 4.4, the majority of two-module D2-zones have a contrasting level of tension between

their component modules in both the early and middle periods, but between D2 and the following

zone, most early movements retain a contrasting tension level while most middle-period

movements keep the level of tension the same.11

Table 4.4 – Comparison of Tension Between Modules Within Two-Module D2-Zones and Between Two-Module D2-Zones and Following Zone by Style Period

Tension Between Modules

Between D2 Modules Between D2 and Following Zone % in Early

(of 5) % in Middle

(of 5) % in Early

(of 5) % in Middle

(of 5) Low-Low 40 (2) 40 (2) 20 (1) 40 (2) Low-High 0 (0) 20 (1) 40 (2) 20 (1) High-Low 60 (3) 40 (2) 20 (1) 20 (1) High-High -- -- 20 (1) 20 (1)

Changes to opposite 60 (3) 60 (3) 60 (3) 40 (2) Stays the same 40 (2) 40 (2) 40 (2) 60 (3)

10 Michael Broyles, Beethoven: The Emergence and Evolution of Beethoven’s Heroic Style (New York: Excelsior, 1987), 223, points out that, in many of Beethoven’s late works, “motivic emphasis becomes more extreme [compared to previous works], as motives expand and contract following their own internal dynamics almost oblivious to the bar line.” 11 Works that change the tension level between modules of a two-module D2, by style period. Early: Op. 14, no. 2; op. 22; op. 18, no. 3. Middle: Op. 70, no. 1; op. 97; op. 69. Early works that change the tension level between D2 and following zone: Op. 14, no. 2; op. 22; op. 18, no. 5. Middle works that keep the tension level the same: Op. 70, no. 1; op. 97; op. 55.

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III. Zone 3 (D3) D3 constitutes the “core” of the development, not only because it usually occupies a

central position in that section—indeed, 74% (63 of 85) of them are preceded by a D1- and/or D2-

zone and therefore begin somewhere in the middle of the section—but also because it is the most

substantial zone of the development and thus, when present, plays a more fundamental role than

any of the three other zones.12

As outlined in chapter 1, I adopt a broader definition of the core than the Ratz/Caplin

model, which essentially states that a core must be structured as a large-scale sentence. In my

view, a core may be structured in any number of ways,13 but it is distinguished by the use of

phrase expansion to augment the size of modules beyond the standard of eight measures and thus

express a relatively “loose” form-functional structure.14 After such a loose structure, there may

be a return to more tight-knit material, but this material would still be considered a part of D3,

not D2, since D3 has already been demarcated by the initial expanded phrase and cannot revert to

a previous zone.15 While both Caplin and Hepokoski and Darcy identify a D3-zone primarily by

rhetorical Sturm und Drang effects (such as a loud dynamic, intensely active rhythm, thick

12 The central positioning of D3 in the development (after D1 and/or D2) is a majority trend in all three periods: 80% in the early (40 of 50), 73% in the middle (16 of 22), and 54% in the late (7 of 13). The only twenty-two works (in any period) in which D3 occurs first in the development are op. 53; op. 101; op. 109; op. 110; op. 59, no. 3; op. 95; op. 135; op. 3; op. 1, no. 2; op. 4; op. 12, nos. 2 and 3; op. 30, nos. 2 and 3; op. 47; op. 96; op. 102, nos. 1 and 2; op. 21; op. 93; op. 6; op. 87. 13 These include the various types of “core substitute” identified by William E. Caplin such as “pseudo-core”, “transition-like unit”, and “subordinate themelike unit”, all of which lack the large-scale sentence structure. See Classical Form: A Theory of Formal Functions for the Instrumental Music of Haydn, Mozart, and Beethoven (New York: Oxford University Press), 155-57. 14 In some instances, a slightly expanded phrase leads to another phrase containing a noticeably higher degree of expansion. In retrospect, this more-expanded phrase, and not the previous phrase, sounds like the beginning of D3. Hard and fast “rules” cannot be devised for such situations since they are a matter of judgement, but in general one should be wary of phrases in the development that stretch beyond the length of a previous phrase and thus may in fact mark the start of D3. See for example the development of Beethoven’s String Quartet in D Major, op. 18, no. 3, in which two phrases (mm. 110-122 and 123-134) are slightly expanded (thirteen and twelve measures, respectively) but the latter is followed by a seventeen-measure phrase that, at least to my ear, signals the D3-zone. 15 See, for example, the String Quartet in C Minor, op. 18, no. 4, in a relatively tight-knit unit in mm. 78-90 (essentially a transposition of P1) defines D2, then a much expanded module at m. 90 marks the start of D3, but returns to a more tight-knit module (now a transposition of S1) in mm. 112-119 and 120-128.

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textures, and the like),16 I myself am drawn to the idea of large-scale phrases as the main

indicator of the zone because so many lack this rhetorical character and because it is consistent

with my reliance on syntactical elements such as harmony and phrase structure to determine

formal structure in every other part of sonata form. After all, D3 does not necessarily begin with

or even incorporate the Sturm und Drang effects of a loud dynamic and intensely active rhythm

(and perhaps thicker textures). If this were true (considering the minimum Strum und Drang

effect to be a module with a loud dynamic and an intense rhythm), then only 38% (33 of 87) of

the movements in this study would have a D3-zone,17 which seems anti-intuitive given the

importance of this zone as the development section’s “core” or “central action zone”. Defining

the beginning of D3 instead by its relative phrase length results in eighty-five (98%) of the

eighty-seven movements having such a zone. (As mentioned earlier, only the two piano sonatas

of op. 49 lack this longer zone.) One other point to clarify with regards to D3 is that it may

contain more than one module, as both Caplin and Hepokoski and Darcy recognize.18 But in the

movements of this study, there are never any more than four such modules in D3, even in the

largest movements, though the modules themselves may be quite extensive.

The sentence is the most common formal structure for modules of D3, regardless of the

number of modules it contains, a fact that will therefore apply to each of the subsections below

on the various types of D3-zones. Moreover, with the large size of D3 modules, sentences may

16 Caplin, Classical Form, 142 and 155 (under “pseudo-core”); Hepokoski and Darcy, Elements of Sonata Theory, 230. 17 Movements with a D3 that incorporates at least one module with a minimal Sturm und Drang effect of a loud dynamic and fast rhythm: Op. 2, nos. 1, 2, and 3; op. 10, no. 3; op. 13; op. 14, nos. 1 and 2; op. 22; op. 28; op. 31, nos. 1, 2, and 3; op. 53; op. 57; op. 78; op. 90; op. 18, no. 4; op. 74; op. 70, no. 1; op. 30, no. 2; op. 47; op. 5, nos. 1 and 2; op. 69; op. 21; op. 36; op. 67; op. 92; op. 93; op. 125; op. 11; op. 16; op. 17. 18 Caplin, Classical Form, 141 (“themelike unit” is his equivalent term for module here); Hepokoski and Darcy, Elements of Sonata Theory, 230. Although what the latter authors call an “event”, “part”, or “subsection” here may not always coincide with a complete module, their assertion that the zone “may be expanded at considerable length, and it may unfold in one, two, three, or more ‘events’ or ‘parts’ (subsections)” seems to allow for multiple modules easily enough.

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acquire enormous lengths due to a vastly-proportioned basic idea, continuation, or both. (No

pattern appears to govern when each part may be expanded.) The same applies to the other

structures one may encounter in D3: the hybrid 3 (large-scale basic idea + continuation), hybrid 4

(large-scale basic idea + consequent), and the hybrid 6 (basic idea[s] + cadence). In a hybrid 6, if

the basic idea is small, a vast length for the module is sometimes attained by repeating the basic

idea more times than one would generally see in the thematic zones of P and S.19 In any case, the

proportions of at least one of the functions in a D3 module will always be larger than the typical

P- or S-theme.

Throughout the following section, it will be seen that the most common dramatic

archetype in almost every module of the D3-zone is LH. Why this should be so likely relates to

the widely-held assertion that the development section is intended to intensify excursions away

from the tonic key in order to set its return in the recapitulation in relief. And considering that D3

is usually the largest zone of the development, and that the classical style is driven primarily by

the buildup to and attainment of harmonic goals, it follows that the core of the section would in

most instances be structured dramatically by the LH archetype. And even more broadly, most

D3-zones end with a High unit no matter what the number of modules they contain or even the

style period of the work, as Table 4.5 illustrates. (While categories with fewer than three pieces

cannot be considered significant per se and hence are not shaded, they nevertheless contribute to

the percentage of all D3-zones in that period and hence are included here for

comprehensiveness.) Moreover, LH seems to be an archetype that is a fundamental part of

development sections in general.

19 Op. 12, no. 1 provides a good example in its D3 (mm. 106-126), where a two-measure basic idea that alternates between violin and piano is stated nine times before moving into the cadential function with viio7 of the home V (of D).

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Table 4.5 – High Endings to D3 by Style Period Style Period % of

1-Module D3s

% of 2-Module

D3s

% of 3-Module

D3s

% of 4-Module

D3s

% of All D3s

Early 90 (18/20) 81 (22/27) 100 (3/3) -- 86 (43/50) Middle 50 (1/2) 72 (8/11) 60 (3/5) 75 (3/4) 68 (15/22)

Late 50 (2/4) 60 (3/5) 100 (1/1) 100 (3/3) 69 (9/13) i) Single-Module D3-Zones Table 4.6 shows the percentages of D3-zones with anywhere from one to four modules

across the three style periods. As the table demonstrates, D3-zones containing only one module

are relatively common in both the early and late periods, but are exceedingly rare in the middle

period, with only two instances in twenty-two movements (not enough for significant patterns).

This drastic difference in the middle period is surely linked to Beethoven’s stylistic change at the

time toward a greater expansiveness in his music, which he achieved in part by increasing the

number of modules in some zones of the sonata. Hence, the following discussion will relate only

to the movements of the early and late periods.

Table 4.6 - Percentages of D3-Zones with One to Four Modules by Style Period Style Period % with

1-Module D3 % with

2-Module D3 % with

3-Module D3 % with

4-Module D3 % with Any D3

Early 40 (20/50) 54 (27/50) 6 (3/50) -- 96 (50/52) Middle 9 (2/22) 50 (11/22) 23 (5/22) 18 (4/22) 100 (22/22)

Late 31 (4/13) 38 (5/13) 8 (1/13) 23 (3/13) 100 (13/13) An analysis of the archetypes in single-module D3-zones (given in Table 4.7) reveals LH

to be a majority in the early period at 60% (12 of 20),20 and within these LH archetypes,

Beethoven usually brings the drama about in much the same way. Example 4.3 provides a typical

20 Op. 2, no. 1; op. 28; op. 31, no. 3; op. 18, no. 5; op. 9, no. 1; op. 1, no. 1; op. 12, nos. 1 and 2; op. 24; op. 30, no. 3; op. 20; op. 81b.

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setup. In this case, the development section begins directly with the large-scale D3, without the

introductory material of a D1 or the tight-knit material of a D2. This D3 essentially starts out as a

transposition into C major of the opening A-major P1, which is structured as a bifold sentence.

But before long, it expands on P1 by adding further fragmentation onto the end of the (repeated)

continuation, stretching the module beyond its original sixteen measures. Hence, there is both

accelerative tension (due to the continuation) and expansional tension (due to the phrase

expansion). Moreover, the moves through A minor, F major, D minor, and A minor contribute

tonal tension, and the final half cadence adds closural tension to the mix. Together, these four

syntactical tension types produce a High-tension unit through syntactical drama. And

rhetorically, the end of this D3 is also dramatic due to the “excited effect” of dynamic tension

(through the loud dynamics from m. 100) together with rhythmic tension (through the sixteenth

notes in mm. 108-109). Sounding syntactical and rhetorical drama together creates an especially

forceful musical effect and is likely the reason why several scholars have felt that the end of the

large-scale D3 in classical works often constitutes the climax of the development or even of the

overall form.21

Table 4.7 – Archetypes in Single-Module D3-Zones by Style Period

Style Period

% L % LH % LHL % H % HL % HLH

Early (20) -- 60 (12) 5 (1) 15 (3) 5 (1) 15 (3) Middle (2) -- -- -- -- 50 (1) 50 (1)

Late (4) 50 (2) 50 (2) -- -- -- -- 21 See, for example, William Kinderman, Beethoven, 2nd ed. (New York: Oxford University Press, 2009), 37, who describes the half cadence at the end of D3 in m. 81 of Beethoven’s op. 2, no. 1 as “powerful,” “climactic,” and a “structural downbeat,” in part due to the syncopation (i.e., metric tension), “rhythmic compression [accelerative tension] and modulation [tonal tension]” that precede it. See also L. Poundie Burstein, “Beethoven’s Tempest Sonata: A Schenkerian Approach,” in Beethoven’s Tempest Sonata: Perspectives of Analysis and Performance, ed. Pieter Bergé et al. (Walpole, MA: Peeters, 2009), 70, who, in discussing the first movement of the Tempest, remarks that the core of the development section (i.e., D3), which ends with both syntactical and rhetorical drama, “ensues in bars 99ff., climaxing in bars 119-121 with a G implicitly resolving to A.”

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Example 4.3 – An LH Archetype in a Single-Module D3-Zone; Violin Sonata in A Major, op. 12, no. 2, mm. 88-110

The tension types found in the above example are a common configuration in single-

module D3-zones and it is not difficult to see why. Because D3 is defined primarily by phrase

expansion, it will always incorporate expansional tension, and due to the usual nature of D3 as a

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tonally restless sentence structure that closes with a half cadence (or dominant arrival), tonal

tension, accelerative tension, and closural tension regularly appear. This blend of three

syntactical tension types will then create syntactical drama. On the rhetorical side, Beethoven

always has dynamic tension in these single-module D3s with the LH archetype, but in eight of

the twelve early movements, combines it with rhythmic tension to give the excited effect that

was seen in the example.22

In the late period, the four movements with a single-module D3 are divided evenly

between the archetypes of L and LH (see again Table 4.7). Considering the ease with which

syntactical drama can emerge in D3 modules, it is remarkable that there are any movements at all

that avoid it with an archetype of L, as in the Piano Sonatas of opp. 109 and 110.23 In both of

these pieces, not only does Beethoven avoid rhetorical drama in D3 (a relatively easy feat when

the dynamic is soft, as it is in these pieces), but he also distinctly avoids syntactical drama by

doing away with any type of sentence structure (the most typical phrase structure of this zone),

which would have given accelerative tension and resulted in syntactical drama, in both cases

through its combination with expansional and tonal tension.

A closer look at the LH archetypes shows syntactical drama to be a feature in only one of

the two. Thus, whereas syntactical drama is a feature of eleven of the twelve early movements

considered above, it is found in only one of the four late movements.24 While these late-period

single-module D3s naturally still include expansional and tonal tension, Beethoven refrains from

22 Op. 2, no. 1; op. 28; op. 31, no. 3; op. 9, no. 1; op. 12, no. 2; op. 24; op. 30, no. 3; op. 20. 23 In op. 110, the lack of syntactical drama in D3 is certainly related to the extreme simplicity of its structure, which consists essentially of one long sequence on its initial two-measure unit. Of this simplicity, Charles Rosen, The Classical Style: Haydn, Mozart, Beethoven, exp. ed. (New York: W. W. Norton, 1997), 489, points out that “I do not know of another development section written after the 1770s in which the underlying structure is of such exaggerated simplicity, and even from that decade I can think of nothing as ostentatiously minimal as the melodic line.” 24 Early movements with syntactical drama in a single-module D3: Op. 2, no. 1; op. 28; op. 31, no. 3; op. 18, no. 5; op. 9, no. 1; op. 1, no. 1; op. 12, no. 1; op. 12, no. 2; op. 24; op. 20; op. 81b. Late movement: Op. 111.

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adding the accelerative tension of a sentence continuation or the closural tension of a concluding

half cadence (as was usually the case in the early period), no doubt because the resulting drama

would be ill-suited to the non-driving (or non-dramatic) quality that was an important part of his

style during that period.

Style change is also evident in the tension surrounding single-module D3-zones (see

Table 4.8). Of the early movements, a majority 55% (11 of 20) have the contrast in tension of

High-Low or Low-High between the end of the module preceding D3 and the start of D3 itself,

whereas of the late movements, 100% (4 of 4) lead into D3 with the same level of tension, either

Low-Low or High-High.25 And likewise, exiting D3 and moving into the next module, we find

65% (13 of 20) of early movements with contrasting levels of tension and the same 100% of late

movements with the same level of tension.26 These majorities on both sides of these D3s are

another indication that the early movements tended to be much more sectional in nature than the

late works, which generally gained a greater continuity than the early- and middle-period works.

Table 4.8 – Tension Between Single-Module D3-Zones and Surrounding Modules by Style Period

Tension Between Modules

Moving into D3 Moving out of D3 % Early (of 20)

% Middle (of 2)

% Late (of 4)

% Early (of 20)

% Middle (of 2)

% Late (of 4)

Low-Low 15 (3) -- 100 (4) 10 (2) 50 (1) 50 (2) Low-High 15 (3) 100 (2) -- -- -- High-Low 50 (10) -- -- 65 (13) -- -- High-High 20 (4) -- -- 25 (5) 50 (1) 50 (2)

Changes to opposite 65 (13) 100 (2) -- 65 (13) -- -- Stays the same 35 (7) -- 100 (4) 35 (7) 100 (2) 100 (4)

25 Early movements with contrasting tension into D3: Op. 2, no. 1; op. 18, no. 5; op. 9, no. 1; op. 12, no. 1; op. 24; op. 30, no. 3; op. 5, no. 1; op. 11; op. 17; op. 20; op. 71. Late movements with same tension: Op. 109; op. 110; op. 111; op. 130. 26 Early movements with contrasting tension out of D3: Op. 2, no. 1; op. 31, no. 3; op. 18, no. 5; op. 9, no. 1; op. 1, no. 1; op. 12, nos. 1 and 2; op. 24; op. 5, no. 1; op. 6; op. 17; op. 20; op.81b. Late movements with same tension: Op. 109; op. 110; op. 111; op. 130.

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ii) Two-Module D3-Zones Across all eighty-seven movements in this study, the most common number of modules

in the D3-zone is two (refer back to Table 4.6), and that this finding applies to virtually any

division of the movements by key, mode, genre, or style period indicates that it was a

fundamental part of Beethoven’s conception of sonata form. He likely found this an ideal

number because it is a way of giving the form substantial breadth, something he was interested in

doing even in many of his early works.

When D3 contains two modules, the dramatic archetype of its first module (D3.1) is LH a

majority of the time at 58% (25 of 43), once again indicating one of the fundamental

consistencies of Beethoven’s conception of the form. LH is even a majority when the movements

are divided by style period: 52% (14 of 27) in the early period, 73% (8 of 11) in the middle

period, and 60% (3 of 5) in the late period.27 By contrast, absolutely none of these first modules

contain the L archetype, which is not to say that it is impossible in developments since, as

mentioned earlier, the single-module D3-zones of opp. 109 (mm. 17-36) and 110 (mm. 40-55) are

structured as such.

Within the majority LH archetypes for D3.1, the final High unit (there is sometimes more

than one) includes syntactical drama in all but one case (op. 18, no. 6) and most often involves

rhetorical drama as well; the number and selection of individual tension types vary with each

style period. In the early period, Beethoven did not always feel it necessary to combine the

syntactical drama with rhetorical drama since the latter is absent in four of these fourteen High

units (op. 10, no. 1, op. 18, no. 4, op. 23, and op. 87). In such cases, the overall dramatic effect

lacks the immediate intensity of rhetorical drama— superficially, it is relatively calm—but it

27 Early works: Op. 7; op. 10, nos. 1 and 2; op. 31, no. 1; op. 18, nos. 4 and 6; op. 9, no. 3; op. 1, no. 2; op. 29; op. 23; op. 30, nos. 1 and 2; op. 16; op. 87. Middle works: Op. 53; op. 81a; op. 59, no. 2; op. 70, nos. 1 and 2; op. 96; op. 67; op. 93. Late works: Op. 90; op. 101; op. 132.

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carries the intense need for resolution that is created by syntactical drama. The mean for the

number of tension types in these High units of the early period is approximately six, most often

split into three syntactical and three rhetorical types, the syntactical types usually comprising

tonal and expansional tension (as is expected of development sections) and either closural

tension (if the module closes without a perfect authentic cadence) or implicational tension (if it

ends with a standing on the dominant), and the rhetorical types usually comprising dynamic,

timbral, and rhythmic and/or thickness tension. Example 4.4 shows a fairly typical case from the

early Piano Sonata in E-Flat Major, op. 7, in which syntactical drama of an LH archetype in D3.1

results from metric tension (due to the constant syncopations, which seem to shift the downbeat

onto the third eighth note of each measure), expansional tension (due to the expansion of the

phrase beyond a relatively tight-knit length), and closural tension (due to the half cadence).

Rhetorical drama is created by dynamic tension (the fortissimo), thickness tension (five voices on

the piano), and timbral tension (the high melodic register). The combination of both syntactical

and rhetorical drama creates a more dramatic effect than having only one type of drama, but even

so, an even more dramatic effect is possible, as the middle-period works tend to show.

In the middle-period LH archetypes for D3.1, the mean for the number of tension types in

the last High unit climbs to seven-and-a-half, or roughly eight. Most commonly, there are at least

four syntactical tension types present, usually tonal, expansional, closural, and now accelerative

tension due to Beethoven’s more frequent use of a continuation function (from a large sentence)

right to the end of the module; in the early works, most modules possess a continuation, but it is

not always drawn out to the module’s end. Moreover, middle-period works more often include at

least four rather than three rhetorical tension types, in almost all cases, dynamic and timbral

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Example 4.4 – Drama in an LH Archetype in the First Module of a Two-Module D3-Zone from the Early Period; Piano Sonata in E-Flat Major, op. 7, mm. 137-165

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tension mixed with rhythmic, thickness and/or melodic tension. Example 4.5 illustrates with the

latter portion of an unusually long D3.1 from the String Quartet in E Minor, op. 59, no. 2. As with

all D3-zones, there is, on the one hand, expansional tension (from mm. 90-106 due to the

unresolved dominant into m. 91), but the lack of a settled tonality in mm. 101-107 also creates

tonal tension, and the prolonged dominant seventh in mm. 103-106 gives rise to implicational

tension. More subtly, the arpeggiation of this dominant seventh in the bass prevents proper

cadential closure (which must occur without arpeggiating the crucial V chord) and results in

closural tension.28 On the other hand, the rhetorical types present are dynamic (due to the forte

and fortissimo), melodic (due to the gradual rise of the melody from B up to C an octave higher),

thickness (five voices in a string quartet), and timbral tension (due to the extreme register of both

the first violin and cello). Passages such as this from D3-zones of the middle period create a

greater dramatic impact than those of the early period by sounding more tension types

simultaneously and by combining rhetorical and syntactical drama together in all but one

movement (op. 96). And certainly, these additional tension types lend great teleological weight

to the phrase structure, a quality for which many of the middle-period works are known.

In the late period, the smaller number of works that have LH in D3.1 (3 of 5) makes it

difficult to generalize, but it is significant that, while all three make use of syntactical drama, the

proportion of works that combine syntactical drama with rhetorical drama drops to 33%, now

occurring in only a single work (op. 132). This decline in rhetorical drama is surely related to the

late works’ transformation of symphonic style from a style dependent on long phrases that create

drive through rhetorical drama to a style that retains the long phrases but largely eliminates this

drama to create the non-driving continuity seen in other parts of Beethoven’s sonata forms. A

fine instance of this situation occurs in D3.1 from the Piano Sonata in E Minor, op. 90, given in 28 See “Cadence Types” in chapter 1 in connection with this point.

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Example 4.5 – An LH Archetype in the First Module of a Two-Module D3 from the Middle Period; String Quartet in E Minor, op. 59, no. 2, mm. 89-107

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Example 4.6. The drama at the end of this LH archetype is purely syntactical, drawing on the

tension types of tonal (due to the ambiguity of key through the contrary-motion chromatic

scales), expansional (due to the status of mm. 101-108 as an expansion of the G harmony that

occurs at m. 100), accelerative (due to fragmentation that has been in effect since m. 92), and

closural (no proper closure to the module). Concerning rhetorical types, although there is some

rhetorical drama in the middle of the module (mm. 92, 96, 98-100), the end of the module

contains none, as there is only harmonic tension formed by the dissonance between melody and

bass in mm. 107-108, which is carried into m. 109 when the bass re-enters on a dissonant F.

Most significant here is the absence of dynamic tension (a forte or fortissimo), rendering the

music only syntactically dramatic at the end of this D3.1.

In the second module of two-module D3-zones (D3.2), LH is the majority in the early

period (70%, 19 of 27) and late period (60%, 3 of 5), but in the middle period is only second-

most preferred (27%, 3 of 11) to the all-dramatic H (36%, 4 of 11), which I will discuss in

greater detail later in this section.29 Like D3.1, syntactical drama plays a larger role than rhetorical

in D3.2 overall and in fact is present in every one of the LH archetypes in this location. Moreover,

this syntactical drama is usually produced by the same tension types found in D3.1, that is, some

combination of tonal, expansional, accelerative, and closural tension. However, Beethoven treats

rhetorical drama in these modules differently in each of the three style periods, and the tendency

is for its frequency to increase as time progresses, as it occurs at 37% (7 of 19) in the early

period, 67% (2 of 3) in the middle period, and 100% (3 of 3) in the late period.30 This last

29 Works with LH in second module of a two-module D3-zone, by style period. Early: Op. 2, no. 2; op. 7; op. 10, nos. 1 and 2; op. 13; op. 14, no. 1; op. 18, nos. 4 and 6; op. 1, nos. 2 and 3; op. 4; op. 29; op. 12, no. 3; op. 23; op. 30, no. 2; op. 5, no. 2; op. 21; op. 16; op. 87. Middle: Op. 70, no. 2; op. 96; op. 69. Late: Op. 90; op. 132; op. 102, no. 1. Middle works with the H archetype: Op. 53; op. 74; op. 70, no. 1; op. 93. 30 Works with rhetorical drama in LH archetype of second module of a two-module D3-zone, by style period. Early: Op. 14, no. 1; op. 18, no. 6; op. 1, no. 3; op. 29; op. 23; op. 30, no. 2; op. 16. Middle: Op. 70, no. 2; op. 69. Late: Op. 90; op. 132; op. 102, no. 1.

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Example 4.6 – Drama in an LH Archetype in the First Module of a Two-Module D3-Zone from the Late Period; from Piano Sonata in E Minor, op. 90, mm. 82-111

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statistic is not what we might expect of the late period, given the preponderance of non-dramatic

music found there. But recall that the non-driving character in many modules of the late works

was part of a larger trend toward continuity in general. Thus, we ought to ask how these High

dramatic units that end the D3-zone proceed into the next zone: does the tension level change or

does it remain the same? In seventeen of the nineteen early movements with LH, the tension

changes from High to Low leading into the next zone, but in all three of the late movements, the

tension remains at a High level.31 What we are witnessing, then, is another expression of the

move from sectionalization between zones in the early period via contrasting levels of tension

toward continuity between zones in the late period via the same levels of tension. This

maintained level of tension is High rather than Low because a High-ending to D3 seemed to be a

basic element of sonata form for Beethoven, as evidenced by the fact that such endings are a

majority in the eighty-seven movements and in virtually all groupings of them (i.e., by key,

mode, genre, or style period).32 Moreover, because rhetorical tension types do not resolve, as

syntactical types do (especially at the beginning of a new module or zone), they provide an ideal

way of maintaining a High level of tension into a subsequent zone; hence the rise in importance

of rhetorical drama in LH archetypes ending two-module D3-zones in the late period.

As mentioned above, in the middle period, the most preferred archetype in D3.2 of two-

module D3-zones is the all-dramatic H at 36% (4 of 11), not LH, which is a close second at 27%

(3 of 11). The larger proportion of H over LH stems from the particularly strong teleology that

characterizes many middle-period works, a quality that results from an extended use of both the

31 Early LH archetypes forming High-Low connection between D3 and following zone: Op. 2, no. 2; op. 7; op. 10, nos. 1 and 2; op. 13; op. 14, no. 1; op. 18, nos. 4 and 6; op. 1, nos. 2 and 3; op. 4; op. 29; op. 12, no. 3; op. 30, no. 2; op. 5, no. 2; op. 16; op. 87. Late LH archetypes forming High-High connection between D3 and following zone: Op. 90; op. 132; op. 102, no. 1. 32 Only the late piano sonatas (opp. 90, 101, 106, 109, 110, and 111) lack a majority, but even so, High endings to D3 are not insignificant, as they occur in a 50/50 split with Low endings.

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drama and continuity of symphony style. For example, all four of these H archetypes maintain a

High ending to the previous module by keeping the rhetorical tension High, usually through the

retention of dynamic and rhythmic tension (an excited effect). Considering the fact that in most

cases Beethoven ended D3 with a High unit, it seems that this more symphonic H archetype is

perhaps best understood as a more highly-charged version of the LH archetype, which was

overall far more common in this second module. After all, this intensification of the module

through rhetorical tension accords with the greater use of rhetorical types in general in D3, as

noted in those with a single module.

iii) Three- and Four-Module D3-Zones D3-zones with three or four modules are considerably less common overall than those

with only one or two. Those with three modules number three in the early period, five in the

middle, and one in the late period, and those with four modules number zero in the early, four in

the middle, and three in the late period.33 Clearly, most of these occur in the middle period,

where movements often achieve a greater expansiveness than the early works through both the

lengthening of individual modules and the inclusion of more modules within a zone. By contrast,

when late works tend toward the expansive, they usually do so through the expansion rather than

the addition of modules, and hence they generally contain fewer modules, even if those modules

are greatly expanded. The scarcity of D3-zones with three or four modules renders generalization

difficult since not all style periods contain at least three instances (the minimum number for

significant results in this study) and since, even when a style period contains at least three

instances, there are not many patterns that rise to the minimum number for significance,

33 Works with three-module D3-zones, early period: Op. 3; op. 9, no. 2; op. 36. Middle period: Op. 57; op. 59, no. 3; op. 97; op. 60; op. 68. Late period: Op. 135. Works with four-module D3-zones, middle period: Op. 59, no. 1; op. 47; op. 55; op. 92. Late period: Op. 106; op. 127; op. 125.

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especially concerning the dramatic archetypes. The most important pattern instead involves the

end of the zone as a whole, where, like the other types of D3-zones, significant majorities (in the

possible style periods) end with a High unit (see Table 4.9). These cases usually involve

syntactical drama due to expansional, accelerative, and closural tension, and rhetorical drama in

the form of an excited effect of dynamic and rhythmic tension.34

Table 4.9 – Three- and Four-Module D3-Zones Ending with a High Dramatic Unit by Style Period

Style Period % 3-Module D3 Ending H

% 4-Module D3 Ending H

Early 100 (3/3) -- Middle 60 (3/5) 75 (3/4)

Late 100 (1/1) 100 (3/3) IV. Zone 4 (D4) D4, the fourth and final possible zone of the development section, corresponds with the

traditional notion of the retransition, which is generally signalled by a prolonged dominant

harmony that prepares for and leads directly into the recapitulation. In order for a prolonged

dominant to properly constitute a D4-zone, that dominant must be a form-functional standing on

the dominant that is separate from the preceding phrase.35 Thus, the zone excludes prolonged

dominants that occur before the end of a phrase, which belong to D3 instead of D4 (as, for

instance, in the Violin Sonata in A Minor, op. 23, mm. 160-163). Moreover, if this dominant is

not of the home key, the prolongation may (but is not obliged to) lead first into another passage

that mediates between the two keys—what I referred to as a small-scale transition function in

34 Three-module D3-zones ending High, early period: Op. 3; op. 9, no. 2; op. 36. Middle period: Op. 57; op. 59, no. 3; op . 97. Four-module D3-zones ending High, middle period: Op. 59, no. 1; op. 47; op. 92. Late period: Op. 106; op. 127; op. 125. 35 Cf. chapter 1, “Framing Functions” for a similar discussion of standing on the dominants in general.

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chapter 1.36 In works in E-flat major, however, Beethoven played with alternatives to the more

typical dominant harmony in two different ways: either by preparing for the recapitulation with a

prolongation of a predominant harmony of the home key, or by sounding a short transition

function that does not begin with the home dominant, but leads to it unexpectedly at its end.37

At this point in the form—heading into the recapitulation—Beethoven’s trend toward a

more continuous discourse takes on even more significance, and it resurfaces here in a number of

ways. First, there is a decrease over time in the frequency of the entire D4-zone, which moves

from a majority in both the early and middle periods to a minority in the late period, a trend that

is mirrored in standing on the dominants at the end of the transition in the exposition (TRSod), as

shown in Table 4.10. Because a standing on the dominant serves to build expectation for what

follows it, and because what follows it in these cases is an entirely new zone and not merely a

new module within the same zone, it plays an important role in clarifying the form. Thus, its

decline in both the development and the transition goes hand in hand with the idea of increasing

continuity and the blurring of formal boundaries that it entails. D4-zones, however, did not

decline as much as TRSods, and are found at consistently higher frequencies in each period than

TRSod, likely due to the greater importance the former has in articulating an entire large section

of the sonata (the recapitulation) rather than a zone within the same section (the S-zone within

the exposition).

36 See, for example, op. 28, mm. 219-256, which sound the first module of D4 on the dominant of B minor, vi of the home key of D major. A second module of D4 (a transition function) therefore intervenes in mm. 257-268, which leads to the home dominant at its end. 37 The works that use a predominant prolongation cover all the style periods and clearly make use of the technique to prepare for a P-zone that begins unusually with a predominant chord: op. 31, no. 3; op. 81a; and op. 127, though in the latter work, the prolongation is a part of the last module of D3 rather than a separate module in D4. Those that use a transition function are op. 7 and op. 12, no. 3.

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Table 4.10 – Frequencies of D4 and TRSod by Style Period

Style Period % Frequency of D4

% Frequency of TRSod

Early 90 (47/52) 69 (36/52) Middle 86 (19/22) 55 (12/22)

Late 46 (6/13) 23 (3/13) Secondly, the trend toward continuity is reflected in Beethoven’s choice of dramatic

archetypes for the first module of D4 (D4.1) in either single-module or two-module D4s. As Table

4.11 demonstrates, the two archetypes that come to the fore are LH and H, of which he gradually

began to favour H more as time passed.38 This rise in the H archetype across the three periods

may seem curious given the tendency for the middle-period works to withdraw tension as they

approach the end of a module (as in LHL, which was found, for example, in some P-themes and

S-themes) and also given the non-driving quality of many late works. But a look at the tension

moving into D4, shown in Table 4.12, proves that the clear trend is for the tension to be evened

out between D4 and the previous module.39 Why, though, should High-High be the favoured

arrangement, rather than Low-Low, especially if tension tends to be Low at the end of many

modules in middle and late works, as noted? Recall that D3 (the development core) was one of

the few places in Beethoven’s sonata forms (thus far) that usually ended with the same level of

tension—High—regardless of the style period or number of modules included. Thus, the High

unit that begins an increasing proportion of D4s produces a continuous level of tension across

zonal boundaries.

38 Early works with LH archetype in D4.1: Op. 2, nos. 1 and 3; op. 49, no. 1; op. 18, nos. 1, 2, and 4; op. 9, nos. 1 and 3; op. 1, nos. 1, 2, and 3; op. 12, nos. 1 and 2; op. 24; op. 30, no. 2; op. 5, nos. 1 and 2; op. 6; op. 11; op. 16; op. 20; op. 71; op. 87. Middle works with LH archetype in D4.1: Op. 57, op. 79; op. 81a; op. 59, no. 1; op. 74; op. 95; op. 97; op. 47; op. 55; op. 60. Late works with H archetype in D4.1: Op. 111; op. 125. 39 Early works with High-Low connections between D3 (or D2) and D4: Op. 2, nos. 1, 2, and 3; op. 7; op. 13; op. 14, no. 1; op. 31, no. 3; op. 18, nos. 1, 4, 5, and 6; op. 9, nos. 1 and 3; op. 1, nos. 1, 2, and 3; op. 4; op. 29; op. 12, nos. 1, 2, and 3; op. 24; op. 30, no. 2; op. 5, nos. 1 and 2; op. 6; op. 16; op. 17; op. 20; op. 81b; op. 87. Middle works with High-High connections: Op. 53; op. 78; op. 59, nos. 2 and 3; op. 70, no. 1; op. 92; op. 93. Late works with High-High connections: Op. 90; op. 111; op. 132; op. 125.

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Table 4.11 – Archetypes in D4.1 by Style Period (Single-Module and First Module of Two-Module Zones)

Style Period

% L % LH % LHL % H % HL % HLH

Early (47) 23 (11) 49 (23) 6 (3) 13 (6) 9 (4) -- Middle (19) -- 53 (10) 5 (1) 21 (4) 21 (4) --

Late (6) -- 17 (1) 17 (1) 33 (2) 17 (1) 17 (1) Table 4.12 – Tension Between End of D3 (or D2) and Beginning of D4 by Style Period

Tension Between Modules

% in Early (of 47)

% in Middle (of 19)

% in Late (of 6)

Low-Low 13 (6) 26 (5) 33 (2) Low-High 4 (2) 5 (1) -- High-Low 66 (31) 32 (6) -- High-High 17 (8) 37 (7) 67 (4)

Changes to opposite 70 (33) 37 (7) -- Stays the same 30 (14) 63 (12) 100 (6)

In each case of High-High tension moving into D4, the drama between the modules is

maintained by means of rhetorical tension types since, in the classical style, syntactical types

tend to resolve either at the end of a module or with the onset of a new module. See, for instance,

Example 4.7, in which the penultimate measure of D3 in m. 85 sounds the syntactical types of

tonal (due to the viio7/V), metric (due to the bass syncopation), and expansional tension (due to

the expansion of the predominant harmony here). But once its final V chord arrives in m. 86, the

tonal, metric, and expansional tensions resolve, and even though closural tension is added (due to

the half cadence), one type alone cannot create syntactical drama. On the other hand, there is

rhetorical drama by dynamic, rhythmic, thickness, and timbral tension. When D4 begins with the

elision at m. 86, all that is present syntactically is expansional tension (since D4 is a post-

cadential function) and implicational tension (due to the dominant pedal), which are not enough

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to constitute drama. But rhetorically, the three types of dynamic, rhythmic, and timbral tension

all remain, and therefore continue the dramatic High level from the end of D3 into D4.

Example 4.7 – A High-High Connection Between D3 and D4 from Piano Sonata in C Minor, op. 111, mm. 76-87

The third manner in which a continuity of tension levels plays out in the latter part of the

development section is at the juncture between the last module of the development and the first

module of the recapitulation. In this case, all three style periods display the trend for continuity,

though given the predominance of High tension at the end of developments, even in those that

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end with D4 rather than D3 (as indicated by Table 4.13),40 it is perhaps best to focus on

connections of High-High between the development and recapitulation. As shown in Table 4.14,

the frequency of High-High connections increases with each style period, becoming a majority in

the late, while the most preferred connection of the early period—the section-inducing High-

Low—fades with each period, becoming least preferred (along with Low-High) in the late.41

Table 4.13 – High Endings to D4 by Style Period

Style Period % D4 Ends High Early 62 (29/47)

Middle 74 (14/19) Late 83 (5/6)

Table 4.14 – Tension Between End of Development and Beginning of Recapitulation by Style Period

Tension Between Modules

% in Early (of 52)

% in Middle (of 22)

% in Late (of 13)

Low-Low 19 (10) 23 (5) 15 (2) Low-High 17 (9) 5 (1) 8 (1) High-Low 35 (18) 23 (5) 8 (1) High-High 29 (15) 50 (11) 69 (9)

Following the particular tension types involved in the High-High connections provides

more insight on how this crucial part of the form changed in Beethoven’s works over time. To

begin with, for the High tension unit at the end of the development (not the one starting the

40 Works with High end to D4, by style period. Early: Op. 2, no. 3; op. 10, no. 3; op. 14, no. 2; op. 22; op. 31, no. 1; op. 49, no. 1; op. 18, nos. 1, 2, 3, 4, and 5; op. 9, nos. 1 and 3; op. 1, nos. 1, 2, and 3; op. 12, nos. 1 and 2; op. 24; op. 30, no. 2; op. 5, nos. 1 and 2; op. 6; op. 11; op. 16; op. 17; op. 20; op. 71; op. 81b. Middle: Op. 53; op. 79; op. 81a; op. 59, no. 1; op. 74; op. 95; op. 70, no. 1; op. 97; op. 47; op. 55; op. 60; op. 67; op. 92; op. 93. Late: Op. 90; op. 109; op. 111; op. 102, no. 2; op. 125. 41 Connections between development and recapitulation. High-Low in early period: Op. 2, no. 3; op. 10, nos. 2 and 3; op. 14, no. 2; op. 22; op. 49, no. 1; op. 18, nos. 3, 4, and 5; op. 9, nos. 1 and 2; op. 1, no. 2; op. 12, no. 2; op. 24; op. 30, no. 2; op. 5, no. 2; op. 16; op. 71. High-High in early period (since these are discussed below): Op. 31, no. 1; op. 18, nos. 1 and 2; op. 9, no. 3; op. 1, nos. 1 and 3; op. 12, no. 1; op. 23; op. 30, no. 3; op. 5, no. 1; op. 6; op. 11; op. 20; op. 81b. High-High in middle period: Op. 79; op. 81a; op. 74; op. 95; op. 70, nos. 1 and 2; op. 47; op. 60; op. 67; op. 92; op. 93. High-High in late period: Op. 90; op. 106; op. 109; op. 111; op. 130; op. 135; op. 102, nos. 1 and 2; op. 125.

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recapitulation), it will help to invoke here the four dramatic “strategies” that Beethoven

employed in S-zones that ended with High tension: 1) syntactical drama alone (SD), 2) rhetorical

drama alone (RD), 3) syntactical and rhetorical drama together (SD+RD), and 4) syntactical

drama resolving in the presence of rhetorical drama (SD RD). Of these four strategies, only the

first three occur at the ends of developments, and the reason is a simple one: with the fourth

strategy, SD RD, the resulting expression is either a “celebration” if the mode is major, or

“calamity” if minor. Thus, there is a strong sense of arrival with this strategy, something that is

entirely in keeping with the finality of the PAC that ends S-zones, but that would literally steal

the thunder of the recapitulation’s entrance if the strategy were to appear within the final stretch

of the development. As for the other three strategies, the clear trend shown by Table 4.15 is that

the third strategy, SD+RD, which is a majority in each of the three periods, occurs more

frequently as time progresses and becomes nearly exclusive in the late period.42 Why these

majorities of SD+RD, and why the increase?

Table 4.15 – Frequencies of Dramatic “Strategies” (Types of Drama Present) in High Units at the End of Development Sections by Style Period

Strategy % in Early (of 15)

% in Middle (of 11)

% in Late (of 9)

1 (SD) 27 (4) 9 (1) -- 2 (RD) 20 (3) 27 (3) 11 (1)

3 (SD+RD) 53 (8) 64 (7) 89 (8) Drama occurring at the end of development sections comes as no surprise since, as we

have seen, most final modules of D3 and D4 (the two most common zones at the end of

developments) conclude with High tension. Nor is syntactical drama any surprise since this High

42 Works with third strategy in High unit at end of development section, by style period. Early: Op. 18, no. 1; op. 1, no. 1; op. 30, no. 3; op. 5, no. 1; op. 6; op. 11; op. 17; op. 20. Middle: Op. 79; op. 81a; op. 74; op. 70, nos. 1 and 2; op. 67; op. 93. Late: Op. 90; op. 106; op. 109; op. 111; op. 135; op. 102, nos. 1 and 2; op. 125.

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tension is most often due to the syntactical types of expansional, tonal, and accelerative tension,

which arise because D3s are usually structured as a large-scale modulating sentence. And

because D4-zones are almost always post-cadential standing on the dominants and are themselves

often structured as a sentence, the syntactical types of expansional, implicational, and

accelerative tension frequently occur there. Hence, what we are really seeing in Table 4.14 is an

increase in the use of rhetorical drama in a part of the form that usually incorporates syntactical

drama. The question, then, is why the increase in rhetorical drama?

In Beethoven’s style and the classical style in general, instabilities in a phrase—in other

words, syntactical tension types—tend to resolve when the phrase comes to an end. And this

holds true for almost all the syntactical types: tonal, metric, expansional, accelerative, and

implicational. Only closural tension appears most often with the final chord of a phrase, when

the ending is not a PAC. Thus, because phrase endings in classical music tend to bring stability

and resolve syntactical tension, it is not typical of the style to maintain syntactical types from one

phrase into the next. Rhetorical types, on the other hand, are not governed by rules of resolution

the way syntactical types are. They may simply come and go as the composer pleases to give

expressive shape to the syntactical foundation beneath. For this reason, rhetorical types may be

easily sustained over any number of phrases or junctures between phrases. And hence, of the

recapitulations involved in High-High connections from the end of the development, we find that

absolutely none involve syntactical drama, but rather are dramatic due to rhetorical tension, most

syntactical types resolving at the moment of recapitulation.43 All this is to say that the increase in

rhetorical drama at the end of developments is a way of heightening the continuity of the form

even at this critical juncture, where it would seem that clear articulation in tension would be most

43 Some pieces do, however, retain some syntactical types into the recapitulation, such as the Eighth Symphony, which retains the dominant note in the bass into the recapitulation (m. 190), forming a six-four chord that (at least momentarily) maintains the previous implicational tension.

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desirable. (Recall from Table 4.14 that clear articulation in tension actually is the norm in the

early works, where High-Low connections are most preferred, and that the High-High

connections only become preferred in the middle period.) Moreover, the resolution of all

syntactical tension in the presence of rhetorical drama at the onset of the recapitulation infuses

that moment with a wonderfully satisfying sense of arrival, one that some scholars have noted is

made particularly impactful in Beethoven’s music.44

Besides these patterns determined by style period, the only other pattern to arise concerns

single-module D4-zones: whereas the H archetype constitutes only 49% (23 of 47) of all such

zones, it forms a decided majority of 80% (4 of 5) in symphonies.45 Because the symphonies are

the greatest purveyors of symphony style in Beethoven, they are the works most faithful to the

driving force created by rhetorical drama, especially, as we have seen, in locations where

syntactical drama tends to be present as well, such as thematic introductions to the first-theme

zone (P1.0), and ends of transitions, second-theme zones, and development sections. 44 See William S. Newman, The Sonata in the Classic Era, 3rd ed. (New York: W. W. Norton, 1983), 149-50, who claims that a “secondary peak” in sonata form often occurs “in the retransition to the home key at the start of the recapitulation,” and further adds that “Beethoven seems to be especially conscious of these crucial moments” (the primary peak being “at the shift to the dark or subdominant side of the tonal orbit in the coda”). On p. 157, Newman also contends that “the retransition to the recapitulation was seen often to be climactic. The actual moment of return to the home key itself provides a main opportunity for the release of tension in the sonata form.” He then cites Beethoven’s Waldstein Sonata, op. 53, as “a powerful example.” This view is moreover sustained by James Webster, “Sonata Form,” in The New Grove Dictionary of Music and Musicians, 2nd ed., ed. Stanley Sadie (New York: Macmillan, 2001), 23:693, who states that the tension caused by modulations and the various standard techniques of development found in a development section “in a psychological sense . . . is the climax of the movement.” But he also makes the distinction that “at the same time, [this climax] prepares the structural climax, the simultaneous return which begins the recapitulation.” See also Leonard B. Meyer, Style and Music (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1989), 306, who suggests that “the increasing importance of statistical form [i.e., of form based on what are essentially rhetorical rather than syntactical parameters], coupled with the considerable growth in the size (length) of movements, leads to important changes in the structure of sonata-form movements, and more specifically in changes to the placement of the statistical climax—that is, the place at which the secondary [i.e., rhetorical] parameters reach their greatest degree of intensity: highest (and lowest) pitches, most frequent rate of attack, high acoustic tension (discord), loudest dynamic, most forceful sonorities, and densest textures. . . . For Beethoven—and this is one respect in which his music often seems Romantic—statistical climax is more emphatic and more focal [than in Haydn and Mozart], and it tends to occur just before the recapitulation (as in the first movement of the Eighth Symphony) or in what is sometimes referred to as a second development (as in the coda of the first movement of the Third Symphony.” Finally, see also Edward T. Cone, Musical Form and Musical Performance (New York: W. W. Norton, 1968), 31, who claims that “the entrance of the recapitulation in the first movement of the Eroica will always sound like a huge structural downbeat, regardless of performance!” 45 Op. 67, op. 92, op. 93, op. 125.

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As mentioned earlier, that Beethoven’s development sections were not much influenced

by the key, mode, and genre of the movement is demonstrated by the very few patterns in those

categories. In the case of key, this scarcity speaks to the unsettled quality of developments in that

respect. (Why should the key of the movement have much influence if it is literally not present

much in the section?) The case of genre is unexpected since one might have expected that the

more intimate or extroverted quality of various genres (such as the string quartet and symphony,

respectively) would have had a stronger impact than it did on the dramatic shape of the

development. However, quite the opposite was found, as Beethoven seemed to take a more

egalitarian approach to the development across the different genres. That developments lack any

significant distinction between the major and minor mode is perhaps more surprising, as it may

seem that the “tragic” expression of many minor-mode movements would colour the

development and increase the levels of tension typically found in its four zones. But on the other

hand, it is not difficult to bring to mind examples of major-mode movements in which the

development is laden with rhetorically dramatic effects that one would expect of stormy minor-

mode movements, examples such as the “Harp” Quartet, op. 74, mm. 93-109, where a

combination of dynamic and rhythmic tension (an excited effect) lasts for the entire first module

of the central D3-zone. Thus, there is no reason why major-mode movements must remain “well-

behaved,” refraining from lengthy outbursts of High tension in developments. Conversely,

minor-mode movements do not always remain highly intense in both the exposition and

development, as demonstrated by the Piano Sonata in C Minor, op. 10, no. 1, whose two D3

modules are for the most part rather subdued, only reaching a High tension level at the end of

each, and a rhetorically dramatic level only at the very end of the entire zone (mm. 151-158).

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Thus, as is gradually becoming clear, comparing Beethoven’s sonata forms by their style

period produces the most significant differences among the eighty-seven movements. However,

as we shall see in the following chapter, the categories of key, mode, and genre will regain the

moderate importance they had in the exposition as the sonata heads into its third large section—

the recapitulation.

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Chapter 5: The Recapitulation As with the other sections of sonata form, a study of dramatic structure in Beethoven’s

recapitulations begins with an account of the formal structure, but while the beginning of a

recapitulation would seem to be one of the more obvious points in the form to locate, the matter

continues to be debated even today. James Webster offers what is perhaps the most widely-

accepted view of a recapitulation as a “double return”, namely that it “almost always enters

unambiguously with the ‘simultaneous return’ of the opening theme in the tonic.” But with the

words “almost always,” Webster allows for certain exceptional cases: “When two or more

themes occur in the first group (not the transition), the return to the tonic may coincide with the

second of these; the opening theme then appears earlier in a foreign key (Beethoven, Sonata

op.10 no.2), immediately afterwards in the tonic (Beethoven, String Quartet op.59 no.1), or as a

coda following the second group (Haydn, String Quartet op.50 no.3).”1 Thus, his approach to

recapitulations is a flexible one that is intended to group variants of the “double return” idea

together into the same category.2

Recently, however, Hepokoski and Darcy have argued against the double return,

proposing instead that the deciding factor is the thematic return of the P1-module’s opening (i.e.,

1 James Webster, “Sonata Form,” in The New Grove Dictionary of Music and Musicians, 2nd ed., ed. Stanley Sadie (New York: Macmillan, 2001), 23:693. It is important to note that Webster’s use of the term “theme” here does not necessarily coincide with the form-functional idea of a theme as a structure that generally ends with a cadence (such as a sentence or period). Rather, it seems to mean only distinctive melodic material that is distinguished by motivic changes. Thus, Webster’s “opening theme” of op. 59, no. 1 is a form-functional theme whereas that of op. 10, no. 2 is not as it is a sentence presentation that is followed by a continuation with contrasting material. 2 The notion of a tonal return can have different meanings. From a Schenkerian point of view, the tonal return occurs with the return of the tonic Stufe after the interruption on V, whereas outside of Schenkerian analysis, it seems to mean the return of a significant thematic idea from the exposition in its original tonic-key context. Even so, Schenker recognizes irregularities at the starts of recapitulations (including op. 10, no. 2). See Heinrich Schenker, Free Composition, trans. and ed. Ernst Oster (New York: Longman, 1979), 137-38; first published as Der Freie Satz in 1935. In any case, as far as I know, scholars always locate the start of a recapitulation with a significant thematic idea from the exposition. Thus, a tonal return (in a non-Schenkerian sense) must always be accompanied so, whereas a thematic return need not be. The divergence in authors’ views of recapitulations (discussed below) therefore depends on their prioritization of either the thematic or the tonal element when the two are separated.

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its melodic content) to begin what they call the “recapitulatory rotation”.3 This rotation then

cycles through the exposition’s melodic material in the order that it was presented there. This

distinction furnishes the basis for one of their more striking claims:

If we confront what we at first presume is a recapitulation that begins significantly after the P1-module (and especially after the first TR-module), thereby producing a space that seems to omit the early portions of the rotation, we should not label that space as a recapitulation at all. In most cases one is examining a variant of or intermixture with the Type 2 sonata, for which the term recapitulation is misleading, and within which the initial part of the operative rotation has been occurring within the developmental space. A ‘recapitulation’ cannot begin with a TR1.2 or S-module. To assume that one can leads to such erroneous concepts as ‘partial,’ ‘incomplete,’ or ‘reversed’ (‘mirror’) recapitulations, which are definitional contradictions to be avoided.4

To Hepokoski and Darcy, then, movements that move from the development into material that

initially occurred after P1 cannot be called a recapitulation since, in their view, such cases

involve a single rotation that begins with the start of the development (a feature of their Type 2

sonata). Thus, while pieces such as op. 10, no. 2 fit more comfortably into their notion of

recapitulation, others such as op. 59, no. 1, in which the opening modules of P are reordered

upon returning (P2 returns before P1), are viewed as beginning the recapitulation only with the

first module of P1, regardless of it being preceded by other P-material that is in the tonic key.5

For other scholars, it is the tonal return of the tonic key (when attached to some important

idea from the exposition) that is the deciding factor in locating a recapitulation. Charles Rosen,

for example, asserts that “in continuing to use the term recapitulation we must not assume that

3 James Hepokoski and Warren Darcy, Elements of Sonata Theory: Norms, Types, and Deformations in the Late-Eighteenth-Century Sonata (New York: Oxford University Press, 2006), 231. This viewpoint is shared by Leonard G. Ratner, Classic Music: Expression, Form, and Style (New York: Schrimer Books, 1980), 229, who claims that “the restatement of melodic material becomes essential,” whereas “a strong return to the tonic at the beginning of the recapitulation . . . is not essential to the harmonic unity of the form, since the end of part II provides the confirmation” (both italics are his). 4 Hepokoski and Darcy, Elements of Sonata Theory, 232. 5 In the case of op. 59, no. 1, Hepokoski and Darcy locate the recapitulation at m. 254. See Elements of Sonata Theory, 218. However, because P2 constitutes a full theme of the P-zone and returns in the tonic key after a lengthy development section, I mark the recapitulation from the start of P2 at m. 242 (as discussed further below). Nevertheless, the highly unusual nature of this arrangement would seem to leave room for debate. See, for instance, Michael Steinberg, “The Middle Quartets,” in The Beethoven Quartet Companion, ed. Robert Winter and Robert Martin (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1994), 179, who asks the question, “has Beethoven decided to begin the recapitulation with the counterpart of the exposition’s measure 19 [P2]?”, but, provocatively, gives no definitive answer.

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the eighteenth-century composer was required to begin at the head with the first theme, or that he

had to go over the whole exposition. Indeed, it was possible to begin anywhere in the first

group.”6 Consequently, he considers the moment of recapitulation to include situations in which

the opening P-module, having been begun at the start of the development, is continued in the

tonic key after the development comes to an end, whereas Hepokoski and Darcy would call this a

Type 2 sonata (the development and continuation of P forming a single rotation).7

Attempting to make one’s way through this thicket of conflicting views is no easy matter,

but my own inclinations of what constitutes a recapitulation lie somewhere between the first two

views only.8 In other words, I consider thematic return to be more important than tonal return,

but do not insist on having the very opening of P begin the recapitulation. Thus, in op. 59, no. 1,

the recapitulation would, in my opinion, begin with the second P-theme rather than the first,

which appears directly afterward. The third view seems to me untenable in that a tonal return that

begins without any thematic return of P (rather with S or in the midst of TR) cannot be called a

true recapitulation but rather the “tonal resolution” of Hepokoski and Darcy’s Type 2 sonata,

6 Charles Rosen, Sonata Forms, rev. ed. (New York: W. W. Norton, 1988), 284. 7 This prioritization of the tonal return is also shared by William E. Caplin, Classical Form: A Theory of Formal Functions for the Instrumental Music of Haydn, Mozart, and Beethoven (New York: Oxford University Press), 173, who likewise refers to “recapitulations” that “delete the opening material of the main theme or even the entire theme” in what would be Hepokoski and Darcy’s Type 2 sonata. Caplin is, however, somewhat flexible with the idea of tonal return in that he questions the accuracy of the term “recapitulation” in such situations (p. 173) and, in cases of thematic returns in the subdominant, likewise adds that “the question of whether a true recapitulation is at hand is also raised by this tonal procedure.” 8 Even writings from the late-eighteenth century, while shorter on details, seem not to agree on the definition of this part of the form. (Although the term “recapitulation” had not yet been introduced, the following authors are clear enough that one may infer the analogous terms.) Augustus Frederic Christopher Kollmann, Essay on Musical Composition, According to the Nature of That Science and the Principles of the Greatest Musical Authors (London: Kollmann, 1799. Reprint, New York: Da Capo Press, 1973), 5, seems to prioritize the tonal return when he states that “the fourth subsection contains the return to the [home] key,” the fourth subsection being one of two subsections contained within the second of two long sections. In other words, what Kollmann is describing is a tonal return that may or may not include a thematic return (and so may encompass both Type 2 and Type 3 sonatas). On the other hand, Heinrich Christoph Koch, Introductory Essay on Composition: The Mechanical Rules of Melody, Sections 3 and 4, trans. Nancy Kovaleff Baker (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1983), 201, describes the similar “last period” of the “second section” in the “first allegro” of symphonies with a flexible double return idea, as he maintains that it “is devoted above all to the main key,” and “most frequently again begins with the [opening] theme in this key, but occasionally may also start with another main melodic idea.”

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since a clear statement of the opening P-material is generally found at the start of the

development section, even though it is usually in a non-tonic key.9 And even if, in such cases,

the opening of P returns in the tonic key at the end of the movement after S, I would understand

that return to be part of a coda, as several scholars contend.10

As for the other two views, on the one hand, Hepokoski and Darcy’s more easily allows

for non-tonic beginnings to recapitulations in Beethoven such as op. 10, no. 2, or the Piano Trio

in E-Flat Major, op. 70, no. 2, which begins the recapitulation briefly off-tonic (m. 130) before

righting itself. Yet on the other hand, a flexible notion of “double return” with its fairly equal

status allotted to thematic and tonal elements, allows one to acknowledge the onset of a

recapitulation despite slight shufflings of the melodic material, an idea that is highly attractive in

the face of odd pieces like op. 59, no. 1, where Beethoven seems to be deliberately toying with

the norms of sonata recapitulations rather than beginning a straightforward recapitulation after a

development that happens to end with a P-theme in the tonic.

The one movement of the eighty-seven in which even a highly flexible notion of double

return seems inadequate is the famously unusual first movement of Beethoven’s String Quartet

in A Minor, op. 132, over which much ink has been spilled. In short, the problem is that,

although the material of the exposition returns where we expect a recapitulation, it occurs in the

wrong keys. In the exposition, the A-minor P-zone and F-major S-zone are, in the latter half of

the piece, “recapitulated” in E minor and C major, respectively. Thereafter, an abbreviated

9 This is the main feature that underpins Hepokoski and Darcy’s notion of the Type 2 sonata. See Elements of Sonata Theory, 353. The same feature was pointed out earlier by William S. Newman, The Sonata in the Classic Era, 3rd ed. (New York: W. W. Norton, 1983), 145-46, who refers to the return of the tonic key as a “return” rather than a “recapitulation” (he uses the latter term in cases where there is a clear thematic return to P1). Furthermore, on p. 146, he notes an additional feature of such structures in that “this incomplete return is most likely to occur in sonatas in which a clear contrasting idea has marked the arrival at the related key in the first ‘half’.” 10 The issue is most thoroughly treated in Hepokoski and Darcy, Elements of Sonata Theory, 382-86; but see also Caplin, Classical Form, 173-74; and Jan LaRue, Guidelines for Style Analysis (New York: W. W. Norton, 1970), 189, although LaRue advocates an “incomplete recapitulation” (with a coda) in such situations rather than simply a tonal return.

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version of each zone is stated once more, but in the respective right keys of A minor and A

major. Thus, both a thematic return and tonal return are present, but each occurs in isolation from

the other. The question is, does the recapitulation begin with the E-minor P-material or with the

later A-minor P-material? Most recent scholarship on the issue agrees that neither answer is

completely satisfactory in itself, and either that it is fruitless to propose a “correct” solution to

the problem, or that there are in fact two recapitulations, each of which is necessary for complete

resolution.11 Moreover, many argue that that is precisely the point: the movement is so fraught

with ambiguity that the ambiguity itself becomes a part of the meaning of the movement.12

Certainly, this is true, but at the same time, I would contend that the movement’s form is perhaps

not as ambiguous as it seems.

That the entire expositional layout reappears in non-tonic keys is without doubt a highly

unusual feature, but given that P- and S-zones can appear entirely in “wrong” keys (though not

generally in the same piece), we might accept the first thematic return in E minor as a weakly

articulated point of recapitulation.13 What follows in the right keys may then be viewed as a

coda, especially since one of the primary functions of codas is to compensate for anything that is

11 For the “fruitless” argument, see V. Kofi Agawu, Playing With Signs: A Semiotic Interpretation of Classic Music (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1991), 118-20; and Frank Samarotto, “The Divided Tonic in the First Movement of Beethoven’s Op. 132,” in Keys to the Drama: Nine Perspectives on Sonata Forms, ed. Gordon Sly (Burlington, VT: Ashgate, 2009), 2. For the “two recapitulations” argument, see Joseph Kerman, The Beethoven Quartets (New York: W. W. Norton, 1966), 247-50 (though Kerman admits that the use of the term “E-minor recapitulation” to describe the first “recapitulation” “is to stretch terminology hard”); Michael Steinberg, “The Late Quartets,” in The Beethoven Quartet Companion, 267-68; Hepokoski and Darcy, Elements of Sonata Theory, 280; and William Kinderman, Beethoven, 2nd ed. (New York: Oxford University Press, 2009), 203. 12 This is the position taken by Robin Wallace, “Background and Expression in the First Movement of Beethoven’s Op. 132,” The Journal of Musicology 7 (1989): 9. 13 Cf. Donald Francis Tovey, Essays in Musical Analysis, vol. 1 (New York: Oxford University Press, 1935), 14, who likewise recognizes that exceptions may occur in recapitulations: “the restatement of the second group will not be in the complementary key, but, with rare exceptions, in the home tonic” (my italics). The finale of Beethoven’s Piano Sonata in E-Flat Major, op. 31, no. 3 provides an excellent example of an S-zone that is not recapitulated in the tonic. Instead of the home E-flat major, it is set entirely in G-flat major, only heading back towards E-flat minor in a subsequent codetta and the tonic major in a coda.

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left unresolved in the recapitulation.14 Op. 132, however, goes further than other works in these

two respects in that both P and S first appear in non-tonic keys and that the “coda” is unusually

faithful to the exposition’s order of material, surely to compensate for the anomalous keys of the

“recapitulation’s” P and S. With this interpretation, I am in no way attempting to eliminate the

ambiguity of the movement, but only to demonstrate that its form lies closer to a normative plan

of exposition-development-recapitulation-coda than to the virtually unique plan of exposition-

development-recapitulation-recapitulation, and hence the two layouts ought not to be considered

equally viable possibilities for the movement’s form. For these reasons, I view op. 132 as

beginning a recapitulation with the E-minor P at m. 121, and a coda with the A-minor P at m.

195.15

For all the debate over recapitulations, it is surprising that very little has been said

regarding the use of terminology within them. After all, a recapitulation is necessarily different

from an exposition, even if minimally so, and thus a few terms, which I borrow from Hepokoski

and Darcy, are in order to facilitate comparison of the two sections. With the start of a

recapitulation, any measures that match those of the exposition on a one-to-one basis, perhaps

with minor changes, are called correspondence measures. However, measures that are

significantly altered, yet retain the one-to-one mapping are referential measures. After any

14 See Manfred Hermann Schmid, “Streichquartett a-Moll, op. 132,” in Beethoven: Interpretationen seiner Werke, vol. 2, ed. Albrecht Rietmüller, Carl Dahlhaus, and Alexander L. Ringer (Laaber: Laaber, 1994), 329, who proposes a similar solution, but with the recapitulation beginning at m. 103, ostensibly due to the motivic correspondence of the material there with the opening slow introduction. However, because the material is treated entirely differently and is now in the tempo of the movement proper, I instead hear mm. 103-118 as part of the development. Notice also that these measures prolong V of E minor somewhat like the dominant preparation at the end of a development section. 15 A similar psychology underlies James Hepokoski’s reading of a “nonresolving recapitulation” in Beethoven’s Egmont Overture in F minor, in which the S-zone in the recapitulation occurs in the key of D-flat major rather than the tonic F (major or minor). Thus, there is absolutely no tonal resolution of the S-zone to the tonic within recapitulatory boundaries. Rather, that resolution is postponed until the coda, which, Hepokoski argues, ought to be regarded as occurring outside the recapitulation: “In resolving what was not resolved earlier, such a coda might serve principally to show us what the preceding sonata form did not accomplish, thus underscoring the primacy of the more essential recapitulatory nonresolution.” See “Back and Forth from ‘Egmont’: Beethoven, Mozart, and the Nonresolving Recapitulation,” 19th-Century Music 25 (2001-2002): 134.

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divergences from the exposition, the point at which the recapitulation becomes largely a

transposed version of the exposition is the crux, with any changes made before the crux

(including referential measures) being precrux alterations, and any made after it postcrux

alterations.16

Having established the details of my method of formal analysis for recapitulations, I turn

now to the dramatic content within them. But naturally, because of the high degree of similarity

between the recapitulation and exposition, this chapter will largely focus on the differences

between the two sections in dramatic structure.

I. The Primary-Theme Zone (P) Needless to say, not every module of the exposition is returned to in the recapitulation

since the material is so well-known by this time in the piece that a full restatement of each

module is unnecessary. Nevertheless, in the recapitulation’s P-zone, Beethoven almost always

returns to the same module that began the exposition, even if it turns out to be highly

recomposed, as in the two phrases of the P-theme in the Tempest sonata. The only exceptions to

this “rule of return” are the Eroica and Seventh Symphonies, and the Piano Sonata in C Minor,

op. 111. In the first two of these works, the exposition’s P1.0 module, which is by definition a

thematic introduction (in the former, the famous pair of tutti chords, in the latter, mostly a

repeated dominant note in a dotted rhythm), changes its function when it returns, becoming the

last portion of the development section rather than the first portion of the recapitulation.17 In op.

111, the music of the exposition’s P1.0 module has the function of evolving into the P-theme

16 These terms from Hepokoski and Darcy, Elements of Sonata Theory, 239-42. 17 In the Eroica, the chords change in harmony as well, from tonic chords in the exposition to dominant chords just before the recapitulation. Nevertheless, the similarity remains quite strong.

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through two primordial fragments, an effect that would certainly grow tired by the recapitulation,

especially considering that it is sounded twice by the expositional repeat.18

As concerns dramatic structure, one profitable way to understand the recapitulation is to

compare the percentage frequencies of archetypes in each module with the analogous module in

the exposition in order to obtain a sense of how the dramatic structure changes, if at all. Even if

some modules of the P-zone are omitted in the recapitulation, restatements that are identical to

those of the exposition (barring slight melodic ornamentation) are relatively rare in Beethoven,

occurring in only 18% (16 of 87) of movements.19 But this does not necessarily mean that

unaltered dramatic structures are just as rare, for not all musical changes result in changes to

dramatic structure. In fact, changes to the archetype of this “first P-module” in the recapitulation,

whether a P1.0 or P1 module, occur less than half the time, at an overall frequency of only 38%

(33 of 87).20 Even so, we might investigate how the archetypes differ when indeed they do

change.

Tables 5.1 and 5.2 juxtapose the overall frequencies of archetypes for the first two

possible modules of an exposition and recapitulation: P1.0 and P1. The trend here is clear:

archetypes with a Low start become less frequent in the recapitulation while those with a High

start become more frequent or (as with HLH in P1.0) remain at the same frequency, with H

becoming much more preferred in P1.0 than it is in the exposition. Since P1.0 and many P1s are the 18 I would point out, however, that Beethoven seems to have retained something of the “theme-before-the-theme” idea by stating the first two measures of the P-theme’s melody at the end of the development section (mm. 90-91), just before it re-enters in the recapitulation. By contrast, Rosen, Sonata Forms, 99, considers this melodic anticipation to actually begin the recapitulation rather than precede it. In my view, the continuation of the dominant pedal (only implied in m. 91) precludes this interpretation even if the moment of recapitulation is uncertain before the fortissimo entrance of P in m. 92. 19 Op. 13; op. 14, no. 2; op. 22; op. 31, no. 3; op. 49, no. 1; op. 79; op. 81a; op. 90; op. 18, nos. 4 and 5; op. 3; op. 12, nos. 1 and 2; op. 30, no. 1; op. 36; op. 81b. 20 In the anomalous case of op. 59, no. 1, I compare the P1 module that begins the recapitulation with the P2 module of the exposition due to the reversed order of the P-themes in the former (as discussed above). Op. 2, no. 1; op. 7; op. 10, no. 3; op. 14, no. 1; op. 31, nos. 1 and 2; op. 78; op. 109; op. 111; op. 18, nos. 1, 2, and 6; op. 59, nos. 1 and 2; op. 95; op. 135; op. 9, no. 3; op. 1, no. 3; op. 29; op. 23; op. 30, no. 3; op. 96; op. 5, nos. 1 and 2; op. 21; op. 55; op. 92; op. 93; op. 125; op. 6; op. 11; op. 17; op. 20.

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first modules heard in the recapitulation, this trend invites us to ask how often a recapitulation

begins with a High unit when the exposition began with a Low unit. After all, as some writers

have pointed out, a “dramatic return” at the recapitulation is not an uncommon feature in

Beethoven, and Kerman, Tyson, and Burnham go so far as to call it “a characteristic Beethoven

fingerprint.”21

Table 5.1 – Comparison of Archetype Frequencies in P1.0

Archetype Exposition % (of 20)

Recapitulation % (of 18)

L 30 (6) 17 (3) LH 15 (3) 6 (1)

LHL 5 (1) 0 (0) H 30 (6) 44 (8)

HL 20 (4) 33 (6) HLH 0 (0) 0 (0)

Table 5.2 – Comparison of Archetype Frequencies in P1

Archetype Exposition % (of 87)

Recapitulation % (of 87)

L 28 (24) 18 (16) LH 32 (28) 26 (23)

LHL 16 (14) 14 (12) H 2 (2) 5 (4)

HL 13 (11) 21 (18) HLH 9 (8) 16 (14)

To answer this question, we need to consider not only those pieces in which the recapitulation

begins with P1.0, but also those in which it begins directly with the first theme proper, P1, as well

as the three pieces mentioned above in which P1.0 is omitted in the recapitulation, thus leaving P1

as the first module. I will therefore consider a dramatic return to occur when the recapitulation 21 Joseph Kerman, Alan Tyson, and Scott Burnham, “Beethoven,” in The New Grove Dictionary of Music and Musicians, 2nd ed., ed. Stanley Sadie (New York: Macmillan, 2001), 3:95. See also Hepokoski and Darcy, Elements of Sonata Theory, 231, who are somewhat less emphatic about the idea, admitting that it occurs only “in some compositions” of Beethoven.

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begins High with a P-module that began Low in the exposition, regardless of whether that

original module was actually first in the exposition. (After all, the impact of a dramatic return

derives from the module being the very first only in the recapitulation.) Of the eighty-seven

movements as a whole, we find that the total frequency of a dramatic return to the first P-module

is only 21% (18 of 87) and never reaches majority status in any key, mode, genre, or style

period.22 Thus, even though the technique is undoubtedly a “Beethoven fingerprint”, it remains a

far less common feature than simply retaining the same tension level that began the exposition,

which occurs in the other 79% of movements (69 of 87). This is not to say, however, that the

dramatic return is of no consequence to Beethoven’s compositional style, for the above

percentages show that whenever he changes the dramatic unit at the start of the recapitulation, it

is never from High to Low but only from Low to High for the purpose of a dramatic return.

When a dramatic return occurs, the change in the level of tension is always brought about

by rhetorical rather than syntactical tension, no doubt because, as I mentioned in the previous

chapter, it is much easier to sound rhetorical tension at the beginnings of phrases. To be sure,

there are cases where syntactical tension is present at the moment of recapitulation, as famously

in the dominant pedal that is sustained into the recapitulation of the Appassionata. But by and

large these instances are rare, and as a rule there are never enough types for syntactical drama.

(Although such moments undoubtedly create tension, because drama requires more than a single

type of tension, they remain at a Low, non-dramatic level.) To create their dramatic High level of

tension, each of these instances involves the rhetorical dynamic tension and adds at least one

other type, most commonly thickness and/or rhythmic tension, resulting in a tutti effect, an

excited effect, or a combination of both, as in Example 5.1. In this case and indeed most others,

22 Works with dramatic returns: Op. 7; op. 14, no. 1; op. 31, no. 1; op. 109; op. 18, nos. 1 and 2; op. 135; op. 9, no. 3; op. 1, no. 3; op. 23; op. 30, no. 3; op. 5, no. 1; op. 21; op. 60; op. 92; op. 125; op. 17; op. 20.

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the formal function and musical material at the start of the first P-module are not altered in ways

that affect its pitch content. Thus, these opening measures are almost always correspondence

measures rather than referential measures, and consequently the sense of return is quite clear.23

Moreover, this is where the effect derives its power: recognizing the start of the recapitulation

not merely as a repetition of material (which could in theory occur at any part in a form) but a

true return allows the listener to experience the kind of “psychological journey or growth

process” that characterizes the “symphonic ideal” of many of Beethoven’s works.24

Example 5.1 – A Dramatic Return in the Piano Sonata in E-Flat Major, op. 7 a) Start of Exposition, mm. 1-6

b) Start of Recapitulation, mm. 189-194

Despite the relatively low percentage of dramatic returns, we might gain a more accurate

picture of Beethoven’s recapitulations by comparing the sheer percentage of High starts there to

those of the exposition. For, with the addition of movements that have a dramatic return at the

recapitulation, most recapitulations (54%, 47 of 87) end up with a High start regardless of how

23 Of course, there are exceptions in each period of Beethoven’s career, for example the early String Quartet in G Major, op. 18, no. 2 (the recapitulation is anticipated with tonic harmony at m. 145, four measures before the true recapitulation begins), the middle-period String Quartet in F Major, op. 59, no. 1, and the late String Quartet in A Minor, op. 132 (the latter two are discussed above). 24 Kerman, Tyson, and Burnham, “Beethoven,” 100.

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the exposition began.25 On the other hand, we can expect expositions to begin Low most of the

time since High starts are a clear minority there (33%, 29 of 87).26 One surprising exception to

this discrepancy is in the middle period, where the occurrence of dramatic returns in relation to

all movements that begin the exposition Low are proportionally lower than in the other two

periods, as shown in Table 5.3. Since these statistics are a measure of how often Beethoven made

use of the technique from all possible opportunities, they demonstrate that when he began a

middle-period exposition Low, more often than in other periods, he tended to retain that Low

tension at the start of the recapitulation and withhold a dramatic arrival point until later. Well-

known examples include the Waldstein and Appassionata Sonatas, and, most of all, the Eroica

Symphony.27 Thus, as we have seen at other points in the form, the middle works tend to

maintain a stronger teleological drive than those of the other two periods.

Table 5.3 – Frequency of Dramatic Returns at Recapitulations (Compared to Low Starts to Exposition) by Style Period

Style Period % Frequency Early 32 (13/41)

Middle 18 (2/11) Late 50 (3/6)

Like the exposition, after a P1 theme the next possible module one may hear in the

recapitulation is a post-cadential function (either a codetta prolonging I or a standing on the

dominant prolonging V) or a P2 theme (the two never appear together). Compared to the

25 Op. 7; op. 10, no. 1; op. 14, no. 1; op. 31, nos. 1 and 2; op. 49, no. 2; op. 79; op. 81a; op. 90; op. 106; op. 109; op. 111; op. 18, nos. 1 and 2; op. 59, nos. 1 and 2; op. 74; op. 95; op. 130; op. 132; op. 135; op. 3; op. 9, no. 3; op. 1, nos. 1 and 3; op. 70, nos. 1 and 2; op. 4; op. 12, no. 1; op. 23; op. 30, no. 3; op. 47; op. 5, no. 1; op. 102, nos. 1 and 2; op. 21; op. 60; op. 67; op. 92; op. 93; op. 125; op. 6; op. 11; op. 17; op. 20; op. 81b; op. 87. 26 Op. 10, no. 1; op. 31, no. 2; op. 49, no. 2; op. 79; op. 81a; op. 90; op. 106; op. 111; op. 59, no. 2; op. 74; op. 95; op. 130; op. 132; op. 3; op. 1, no. 1; op. 70, nos. 1 and 2; op. 4; op. 12, no. 1; op. 47; op. 102, nos. 1 and 2; op. 55; op. 67; op. 93; op. 6; op. 11; op. 81b; op. 87. 27 In a sense, the String Quartet, op. 59, no. 1 withholds a dramatic arrival for the original P1 as well, but because in the recapitulation this module is heard after the original P2, the effect is not entirely the same.

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exposition, the incidence of both these modules in the recapitulation is drastically reduced, the

post-cadential module dropping from eleven appearances in the exposition to five in the

recapitulation, and the P2 module dropping from six to only three. Certainly, the reduction in the

use of these modules relates to the general trend toward compression in a recapitulation,

especially in the P-zone, where, after the all-important P1, extra modules become dispensable.

But how does the omission of these modules affect the tension in the P-zone? Because a post-

cadential-P or P2 module is always last in a P-zone, it is perhaps best to ask how the tension at

the end of the P-zone changes in the recapitulation. Table 5.4 compares the archetypes in the last

P module in both the exposition and recapitulation in the nine works that omit the extra P

modules in the recapitulation. Of the P-zones in the exposition, 78% (7 of 9) end with Low

tension, a clear majority, while in the recapitulation, High endings to the P-zone in these works

now become the majority at 56% (5 of 9). Why this change?

Table 5.4 – Comparison of Archetypes at End of P-Zone Between Exposition and Recapitulation in Works that Omit Post-Cadential-P or P2 in Recapitulation

Op.

Exposition Recapitulation Archetype in

Last P Module

Archetype in Last P Module

Omitted Module

7 L LHL P-Cta 10/1 H HLH P-Cta 18/3 L L P-Cta 18/6 L LH P-Sod 60 LH HL P-Cta 125 LHL H P-Sod 18/2 HL HLH P2

3 L HL P2 17 L LH P2

% Low Endings 78 (7/9) 44 (4/9) % High Endings 22 (2/9) 56 (5/9)

P-Cta = Codetta to P; P-Sod = Standing on the dominant to P

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In most cases, omitting the extra P module allows a High end to P1 to become the end of

the entire P-zone, which then leads into the transition (TR) with a dramatic effect. At this point

in a form (the end of the P-zone), and indeed for most of the recapitulation, the music is

generally in the tonic key. Because of this broad tonal stasis, any additional dramatic effects are

particularly welcome in the recapitulation, especially before entering the S-zone, where there is

less opportunity for new effects because of the need to be largely faithful to the exposition and

provide the sense of a tonal resolution. It must be said, however, that this dramatization of the

move from P into TR is not characteristic of all eighty-seven movements. Rather, it seems to be

one of the benefits of module omission in the P-zone aside from the usual compression of

material, particularly because the previous P1 module tends not to alter its dramatic archetype

even though it may well include what Rosen has termed a “secondary development,” which

tends to move through keys on the flat side of the tonic, especially the subdominant.28

Quite a different story emerges when we examine extra P modules that are actually

retained in the recapitulation, which occurs in five of eleven movements for the post-cadential-P

and three of six for P2. In each case, the module in question stands as the last in the P-zone, and

as Table 5.5 shows, six of the seven final P modules end with Low tension, two works even

altering the module to obtain a Low ending (op. 130 and op. 1, no. 2). This strong tendency

toward a non-dramatic ending to P at first seems puzzling since the patterns garnered so far in

the recapitulation involve an increase in tension, not a decrease. But recalling that these modules

occur in only seven of the eighty-seven movements, their mere presence in the recapitulation is

highly unusual. In the exposition, the presence of extra P modules was usually a means of

relaxing the forward motion of the movement since they tend to broaden the journey towards the

next zone (TR) and towards important cadential goals such as a PAC within the S-zone. 28 Rosen, Sonata Forms, 289.

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Supporting this view is the near exclusive use of Low endings to these modules and the

disappearance of any standing on the dominants, which rather have the effect of heightening

expectation and intensifying the music.29

Table 5.5 – Comparison of Archetypes at End of P-Zone Between Exposition and Recapitulation in Works that Retain Post-Cadential-P or P2 in Recapitulation

Op.

Exposition Recapitulation Archetype in

Last P Module

Archetype in Last P Module

Module

31/3 L L PCt 130 HLH HL PCt 1/1 L L PCt 1/2 HL L PCt 30/1 HL HL PCt 59/3 HL HL P2 127 H H P2

% Low Endings 71 (5) 86 (6) % High Endings 29 (2) 14 (1)

II. The Transition Zone (TR) TR is usually the site of the most substantial changes in the recapitulation, and it is not

difficult to see why. As we saw in chapter 3, the most common TR type in the exposition is

modulating, which moves to the new key before the entrance of S. Thus, in the recapitulation,

changes are required in order to lead TR to a tonic-key ending and properly prepare for S. But

does this necessarily mean that the archetypes change as well? No, and in fact the changes that

do occur in the archetypes produce some unexpected relationships.

Recall that in expositions, significant differences were observed between TRs of the three

different types: non-modulating, modulating, and two-part. In the recapitulation, because no 29 Once again, the reordered recapitulation of op. 59, no. 1 must be treated separately. Since the last module of P is now the original P1 module, which retains its archetype of LH (though by different tension types), the entire zone ends with High tension whereas it ended Low in the exposition through P2’s archetype of HL. In the shift to a dramatic entry into TR, Beethoven therefore treats this case like most of those with omitted P modules, perhaps because the original P2 module is in a sense “omitted”, at least from its original spot in P-zone.

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modulation is necessary for S, there is no need to distinguish among different TR types since

almost all of them end on a home-key V to prepare for the (usually) tonic S. And yet, we may

still ask if and how the archetypes change according to the TR type heard in the exposition.

Beginning with the non-modulating type, it is found that 71% (5 of 7) of archetypes in TR1

modules are altered in the recapitulation.30 While TR1 occurs in the exposition in ten works,

three of them (op. 9, no. 3, op. 21, and op. 71) omit the module because the move to the home-

key V takes place entirely within the P1 module. In any case, nearly all works (8 of 9) that

prolonged the home V with a standing on the dominant (TRSod1) in the exposition retain this

module in the recapitulation,31 and in all eight of these cases, the entrance of this module in the

recapitulation marks the location of the crux, where the music largely becomes a transposed

version of the exposition, complete with the same archetype.32

When modulating TRs are recapitulated, on the other hand, it is surprising that only 28%

(16 of 57) alter the dramatic archetype in TR1 and a mere 11% (4 of 36) do so in TRSod1.33 Why

would Beethoven not alter the archetype more frequently in these TRs, especially in light of their

need to be altered in order to now prepare for the tonic? We must remember that the archetypes

depend heavily on the dramatic structure at the beginning and end of modules, hence we ought to

ask what Beethoven does with these portions of modulating TRs in the recapitulation. As it turns

30 Op. 2, no. 3; op. 49, no. 2; op. 18, no. 5; op. 6; op. 20. 31 Op. 2, no. 3; op. 49, no. 2; op. 18, no. 5; op. 5, no. 1; op. 21; op. 17; op. 20; op. 71. 32 Of non-modulating TRs, however, Hepokoski and Darcy, Elements of Sonata Theory, 240, astutely remark that there will always be a second (albeit different kind of) crux when the S-zone begins: “the music that directly follows the MC—namely, S (originally heard in V)—will have to be wrenched down a fifth from the level of the exposition, in order that it might now appear in the tonic key. In other words, crux-points at the original pitch level normally require an additional tonal shift immediately after the MC. This produces another kind of crux—a transposed one—directly at the S point, even though the rhetorical correspondence measures had begun several bars earlier.” 33 Works with archetype change in recapitulated modulating TR1: Op. 7; op. 31, no. 2; op. 78; op. 18, nos. 1 and 6; op. 95; op. 130; op. 9, no. 1; op. 70, no. 1; op. 97; op. 23; op. 30, no. 3; op. 96; op. 102, no. 1; op. 36; op. 92. Works with archetype change in recapitulated modulating TRSod1: Op. 18, nos. 2 and 6; op. 1, no. 2; op. 70, no. 1.

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out, most of them (61%, 35 of 57) begin with correspondence or referential measures,34 meaning

that in the recapitulation, TR begins with music that is exactly or virtually the same as music

from the exposition (though not necessarily from the start of TR since, as mentioned earlier,

several recapitulations assign P with the task of moving to the home-key V and therefore omit

TR1). Moreover, the fact that a majority of these TRs (77%, 44 of 57) place the crux either at the

end of TR1 or the start of TRSod1 signifies that the end of TR is most often the same as that of the

exposition.35 Consequently, the dramatic archetype is also most often the same as well, despite

the musical changes that Beethoven makes. Although this may seem to be a pedestrian way of

handling the recapitulated TR, he always leads into the crux with such smoothness that one

hardly notices, if at all, when this crucial moment occurs. Thus, even though musical changes are

an absolute necessity in the modulating TR, Beethoven strove to minimize both the structural

and dramatic effect of these changes and hence elegantly make the music appear to follow much

the same path yet, paradoxically, arrive at a different place (see Example 5.2). A similar

argument may be made for two-part TRs, which generally retain both the beginning and end of

the entire TR-zone, either by condensing the content of the expositional TR’s two parts into a

single part (as in 8 of 17) or, as with most in the late period, maintaining its two-part structure (as

in the other 9 of 17).36 In either case, the recapitulated TR1 has the same archetype as in the

34 Op. 2, nos. 1 and 2; op. 10, no. 1; op. 14, no. 2; op. 22; op. 28; op. 49, no. 1; op. 53; op. 57; op. 78; op. 79; op. 81a; op. 109; op. 110; op. 111; op. 18, no. 1; op. 59, nos. 1 and 3; op. 74; op. 127; op. 3; op. 9, no. 2; op. 29; op. 30, nos. 1 and 2; op. 47; op. 96; op. 5, no. 2; op. 69; op. 60; op. 67; op. 68; op. 92; op. 93; op. 81b. 35 Works with crux at various locations in recapitulated modulating TR. At end of TR1: Op. 2, no. 2; op. 10, no. 1; op. 14, no. 2; op. 28; op. 31, no. 2; op. 78; op. 79; op. 81a; op. 110; op. 111; op. 95; op. 130; op. 3; op. 9, no. 2; op. 1, no. 1; op. 30, no. 1; op. 67; op. 68; op. 92; op. 93. At start of TRSod1: Op. 7; op. 14, no. 1; op. 22; op. 53; op. 57; op. 18, nos. 1, 3, and 6; op. 59, nos. 1 and 2; op. 74; op. 9, no. 1; op. 97; op. 29; op. 12, no. 3; op. 30, no. 3; op. 47; op. 96; op. 5, no. 2; op. 69; op. 36; op. 60; op. 16; op. 81b. 36 Works that compress recapitulated two-part TRs into a single part: Op. 13; op. 31, nos. 1 and 3; op. 18, no. 4; op. 1, no. 3; op. 12, no. 1; op. 11; op. 87. Works that retain both parts of a recapitulated two-part TR: Op. 90; op. 106; op. 132; op. 135; op. 70, no. 2; op. 4; op. 24; op. 102, no. 2; op. 55.

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Example 5.2 – Comparison of a Modulating TR with its Recapitulation; Piano Sonata in E-Flat Major, op. 81a a) Exposition, mm. 29-36

b) Recapitulation, mm. 122-128

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exposition 59% (10 of 17) of the time, in most cases because the module begins with

correspondence measures.37 Moreover, condensed or not, the tension at the end of the whole

zone is usually the same as in the exposition, as 59% (10 of 17) of these TRs place the crux at the

end of TR1 or the start of TRSod1 or TR2.38 As a result, the TR-zone most often ends, as in the

exposition, with a High level of tension, regardless of the type of TR.

A vast difference is seen, however, in both the dramatic and musical structure at the start

of non-modulating TRs. As Table 5.6 illustrates, in contrast to modulating and two-part TRs,

non-modulating TR1s in the recapitulation begin with correspondence or referential measures in

only one case (11%, 1 of 9).39 Thus, contrary to what one might expect, Beethoven avoided the

straightforward solution of restating the TR verbatim when he had the opportunity—in a

recapitulated non-modulating TR—in favour of a substantial recomposition, either as TR1 or

even as the latter portion of P when he omits TR1 (as he does in the First Symphony). This

heavily altered TR1 (or end of P) creates variety merely for its own sake and instills the piece

with a “breath of fresh air,” as it were, before moving on to the largely transposed restatements

of S and CL (see Example 5.3).

Table 5.6 – Frequencies of Recapitulated TRs that Begin With Correspondence or Referential Measures by TR Type

TR Type % Frequency Non-Modulating 11 (1/9)

Modulating 61 (35/57) Two-Part 65 (11/17)

37 Recapitulated two-part TRs with same archetype: Op. 90; op. 106; op. 18, no. 4; op. 132; op. 135; op. 1, no. 3; op. 70, no. 2; op. 4; op. 12, no. 1; op. 55. Beginning with correspondence measures: Op. 13; op. 31, no. 3; op. 90; op. 106; op. 18, no. 4; op. 135; op. 12, no. 1; op. 24; op. 11; op. 87. 38 Works with crux at various locations in recapitulated two-part TR. At end of TR1: Op. 13; op. 31, no. 1; op. 132; op. 70, no. 2. At start of TRSod1: Op. 1, no. 3; op. 4; op. 12, no. 1; op. 24; op. 87. At start of TR2: Op. 90. 39 This lone work is the First Symphony (op. 21), but even here, TR1 is omitted and the zone begins directly with TRSod1. Note that the total number of non-modulating TRs in the recapitulation is only nine rather than the exposition’s ten because op. 9, no. 3 omits its TR altogether.

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Example 5.3 – Comparison of a Non-Modulating TR with its Recapitulation; Septet, op. 20 a) Exposition, mm. 39-52

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b) Recapitulation, mm. 172-187

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III. The Secondary-Theme Zone (S)

Upon reaching the recapitulation’s S, Beethoven always sounds the same modules from

the start of the zone to the finish, neither omitting any from the exposition nor adding any to the

recapitulation. Likewise, he usually keeps the music within these modules parallel with the

exposition, but with regard to the first module, S1, in seventeen of the eighty-seven movements

(20%) he makes prominent changes to the pitch content that fall into two broad types: 1)

transpositions of the opening material to the wrong key, after which there is a correction leading

to the tonic key (in effect, a second crux), and 2) postcrux alterations, generally in the form of

new interpolations and the addition or deletion of measures.40 Table 5.7 categorizes all seventeen

instances of the S-zone alterations.41 Within these seventeen movements, however, or even

within any of the eighty-seven, it is surprising that he alters absolutely none of the dramatic

archetypes within S1; and practically the same holds true for all other modules of S—only in the

Cello Sonata in G Minor, op. 5, no. 2, does he alter an archetype in the S-zone at all.42 This does

not mean that structurally-altered modules create the archetype with precisely the same tension

types. The technique of the transposed opening, for example, of which Beethoven was quite

fond, certainly adds tonal tension since the music there lies outside the tonic key, which is

expected at the recapitulated S (see Example 5.4); likewise, lengthening the S1 module creates or

adds to any existing expansional tension. But the fact that the structural changes are almost never

40 Hepokoski and Darcy, Elements of Sonata Theory, 240, discuss the idea of a “double-crux effect” in such situations. 41 Michael Spitzer, “The Significance of Recapitulation in the ‘Waldstein’ Sonata,” Beethoven Forum 10 (1996): 115, points out that the “wrong-key” opening of the S-zone in Beethoven’s Waldstein Sonata differs from some in the late works (op. 110, op. 130, and the finale of op. 131) in that it integrates the correction to the tonic within the same portion of the phrase, whereas in the late-period examples, the correction is given with a repetition of the phrase’s opening. Spitzer views this difference as evidence that “the middle period was still in a process of development” (p. 117) that led to the late period. 42 In this case, it is S2 that he alters from LHL in the exposition to LH in the recapitulation, providing the zone with a dramatic finish. Given that this is the only movement with an archetype change in S, the reasons for the change are difficult to speculate.

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great enough to cause changes to the archetype reveals Beethoven’s strong allegiance to the idea

of a recapitulation of S as a resolution of S, that is, as a portion of sonata form that essentially

ought to remain faithful to the exposition. This belief differs drastically from that of Haydn, for

instance, who had no qualms about heavily recomposing a recapitulation’s S-zone. We have,

however, already seen evidence of Beethoven’s narrower take on S-zones in their near

unanimous Low starts, in contrast with Haydn and Mozart, who seem to have begun S with a

High unit more often. Hence, there is a strong consistency in the way Beethoven recapitulated

his S-zones, not only in terms of their form but their drama as well.

Table 5.7 – S-Zone Alterations in Beethoven’s Recapitulations

Op. Transposed Opening Postcrux Alterations 10/1 x 10/2 x (end of S1) 13 x

31/1 x 49/1 x (end of S1) 53 x 110 x 111 x (middle of S1) 95 x 130 x 132 x* 70/1 x

4 x (shortened at end of S1) 23 x 67 x (lengthened near start of S1) 71 x (lengthened near end of S2) 81b x (lengthened near end of S1)

* As discussed above, the String Quartet in A Minor, op. 132, is a unique case

that applies the idea of wrong-key transposition to the entire recapitulation.

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Example 5.4 – Transposed Opening of S-Zone in Recapitulation; Piano Trio in D Major, op. 70, no. 1, “Ghost”, mm. 215-226

IV. The Closing Section (CL) Beethoven’s treatment of CL is very similar to that of the S-zone in that, in almost every

case, he retains the modules it contained in the exposition, and thus CL appears to have been for

him a section of sonata form with practically the same requirements for resolution as the S-zone.

When he retains the module in CL, he also tends to retain its archetype, as Table 5.8 shows, and

thus CL possesses similar patterns in dramatic structure as in the exposition, notably the

continual drop in the frequency of High endings to the entire zone, as shown in Table 5.9.

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Table 5.8 – Frequency of Retained Modules and Archetypes in Recapitulation’s CL

CL1 CL2 CL3 % Retained Module 92 (72/78) 89 (24/27) 67 (4/6)

% Retained Archetype 90 (65/72) 96 (23/24) 100 (4/4) Table 5.9 – Comparison of High Endings to CL in Exposition and Recapitulation by Style Period

Style Period Exposition Recapitulation % CL ends High % CL ends High

Early 68 (32/47) 80 (32/40) Middle 55 (11/20) 45 (9/20)

Late 18 (2/11) 27 (3/11) There are a few instances in which Beethoven breaks CL off before it has been

completely recapitulated, and the frequency with which this occurs increases the later the module

is within CL.43 When he omits CL modules, the music always leads directly to a coda, and we

ought to ask whether this entrance of the coda changes the level of tension that existed at the start

of the omitted CL module.44 Table 5.10 compares the archetypes of the omitted module with that

of its replacement at the start of the coda. Clearly, Beethoven almost always retains the tension

level at the start of the omitted module, even if the musical material of the coda module is

different. But there are three exceptions in which the tension level at its start changes from Low

in the exposition to High in the recapitulation: the String Quintets, opp. 4 and 29, and the Sextet,

op. 71. Of all those works that omit CL modules, these three are the only ones that are set in a

genre of a larger size—five or six players, as opposed to the one or three of the others. It would

therefore seem that, when CL modules are omitted at all (which is not often), in those works with

43 But also note that, despite the lower rate of recapitulation of these later modules, there simply are not many instances of such modules to begin with. Thus, the percentage of all modules within CL that are recapitulated is still very high at 89% (99 of 111). 44 In op. 49, no. 1, and op. 1, no. 3, the material of the CL1 module is not omitted but reassigned to the coda due to significant musical changes. (This idea of reassignment is described in more detail below.) Nevertheless, I include them here to take note of how these changes affect the dramatic structure of the material.

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larger ensembles, the onset of the coda is surprising not only in its early location, but also in its

dramatic tension level (see Example 5.5).

Table 5.10 – Archetypes of CL Module from Exposition that is Omitted in Recapitulation, and Its Replacement Archetype in Coda

Op. Exp. CL1

Coda

Exp. CL2

Coda

Exp. CL3

Coda

14/2 LH LHL -- -- -- -- 49/1 L L -- -- -- -- 1/1 L LH -- -- -- -- 1/3 L LHL LH LH -- -- 4 LH HL -- -- -- -- 29 LH HLH -- -- -- -- 71 -- -- L HLH -- -- 2/3 -- -- H HL -- -- 90 -- -- L L -- -- 7 -- -- -- -- H HL 6 -- -- -- -- H H

The final module to discuss in the recapitulation is, like the exposition, the retransition

(RT). In the exposition, RT invariably serves to divert the music away from the new key that was

established there, paving the way for either a smooth return to the tonic key with a repeat of the

exposition or another key with the start of the development section. In the recapitulation,

however, the formal purpose of RT is not necessarily one of diversion, as it may lead to a repeat

of the development and recapitulation or into a coda—similar to the exposition, I call the former

RT1 and the latter RT2. Due to this change in function, the recapitulation’s RT ought to be

regarded independently from the exposition’s, even if it is based on the same music in most

cases.

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Example 5.5 – Comparison of Tension at End of CL in the Sextet, op. 71 a) Exposition, mm. 98-111 (CL1 and CL2)

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b) Recapitulation, mm. 264-278 (CL1 and first module of coda, Z1)

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As for RT1, because only four works possess the module, almost no patterns occur the

requisite three times for significance. Nevertheless, it is significant that 75% (3 of 4) of them

have an L archetype and thus, as in the exposition, seem to represent a close approximation, or

“filling-in”, of the silence that often results between the end of the recapitulation and the start of

the development.45 The same premise underlies RT2, where the L archetype is also a majority at

52% (12 of 23), and in the early and middle periods, where there are enough of the modules to

form significant findings, L is either most preferred, as in the early period at 38% (5 of 13), or a

majority, as in the middle period at 67% (6 of 9).46 The fact that the late period lacks a

significant number of RT2 modules with only one occurrence is, however, in itself significant

(see Table 5.11). For when we also consider that it is only in the late period that a majority of

codas begin as an extension of the recapitulation’s final module rather than as a separate module

(as will be explained more fully in the following chapter), it becomes clear that the virtual

elimination of RT2 was part of Beethoven’s effort to synthesize sonata form into a more

continuous musical process. But because a complete understanding of the tension involved in

moving into this type of coda requires a more thorough explanation of what exactly constitutes a

coda, I defer such a discussion to the following chapter.

Table 5.11 – Frequencies of RT2 in the Recapitulation (of Works with a Coda) by Style Period

Style Period % Frequency Early 32 (13/41)

Middle 40 (9/22) Late 8 (1/13)

45 Op. 59, no. 2; op. 70, no. 1; op. 23. 46 L archetypes in RT2, by style period. Early: Op. 28; op. 31, no. 1; op. 12, no. 2; op. 23; op. 24. Middle: Op. 53; op. 81a; op. 59, no. 2; op. 70, no. 2; op. 69; op. 68. (The lone RT2 in the late period, mentioned below, is also an L archetype and occurs in op. 130).

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As we have seen, much of the music in Beethoven’s recapitulations remains as it was in

the exposition. In most movements, the P-zone is notably altered, but from then on, the

recapitulation is largely faithful to the exposition, especially if TR is of the modulating or two-

part type.47 In the P-zone, a comparison of archetypes with the exposition revealed that the most

significant change is an intensification of the recapitulation’s very first module to create a

“dramatic return”. And although this may well be a characteristically Beethovenian technique, as

some have noted, it is certainly not one that finds its way into the majority of Beethoven’s first

movements, since its frequency sits at only 21%—79% actually begin with the same level of

tension.48 TR, as expected, was found to be laden with changes to both structure and drama, but

exactly how these changes took place seemed to contradict the intuitions one would have about

recapitulated versions of the various TR types. For it was in the non-modulating type, which

technically requires no change at all, that alterations in structure and drama were nearly

ubiquitous, whereas the modulating and two-part types, which require at least some change due

to their original modulation away from the tonic key, most often began and ended with

practically the same music as in the exposition. Thus, Beethoven skillfully wove the crucial

moment of the crux into the flow of TR rather than placing it more obviously at the beginning of

a phrase. In the S-zone, although we encountered the not infrequent structural changes of the

transposed opening, and postcrux additions and deletions, strikingly, Beethoven made almost no

changes to any of the archetypes, indicating his strong belief in the recapitulated S as a strict

47 Perhaps this is what is meant by Donald Francis Tovey, “Sonata Forms,” in The Forms of Music (New York: Meridian, 1956), 217, who says of recapitulations that “Beethoven combined the forms of Haydn and Mozart, writing on a scale large enough to contain Mozart’s regular recapitulations together with Haydn’s free perorations.” Even if, as Tovey notes earlier on the same page, a “peroration” in Haydn, which is “full of new developments,” generally occurs after the first theme and not within it as in Beethoven, the idea of writing a recapitulation with a mind for both freedom and regularity is clear. 48 The question of how this frequency compares with Haydn and Mozart would of course yield important results, but is beyond the scope of this study. My intuition is that these composers very rarely engaged in the technique, thus allowing Beethoven’s use of it to appear to be relatively prominent despite its low frequency within his own works. See also chapter 7 for a discussion of potential comparisons among the three composers.

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resolution rather than a loose recapturing or complete reinterpretation of S, as occurs in Haydn.

His treatment of CL was much the same as S in this respect, for even when he omitted or

reassigned a CL module, he generally kept the tension level at its beginning the same as it was in

the exposition, thus leading very smoothly into the last section of the movement—the coda.

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Chapter 6: The Coda and Slow Introduction With an exposition, development, and recapitulation, a Type 3 sonata fulfills all that is

strictly required of the form. For this reason, I investigate the coda and slow introduction, both of

which Hepokoski and Darcy refer to as “parageneric spaces”, in a single chapter, beginning with

the next possible section after a recapitulation—the coda.1 As with the other sections of sonata

form examined thus far, because dramatic structure hangs so crucially on the constituent modules

of the section, a few words are necessary to clarify my methodology in analyzing the form in

these parageneric spaces, the more so because the issue has been given very little attention in the

literature.

In this chapter, I will discuss some of the general features of both Beethoven’s codas and

slow introductions individually before discussing their dramatic structure in order to give the

reader a sense of the frequency of these non-essential parts of the form, especially across the

three periods, and how I approach some difficult analytical situations. The dramatic structures

will largely be interpreted from the standpoint of three main ideas. First, there is the position of

the modules within each of the section’s zones (the most significant patterns occurring among

those modules that are first or last) and their tension connection from the previous module.

Second, there is the pervading style of the movement. In the early period, the most distinctive

patterns are seen in movements that are in symphony style, especially with its typical High-

tension drive at the ends of phrases. However, as Michael Broyles has pointed out, in the latter

two periods, the differences between symphony and sonata style begin to break down as

Beethoven combines aspects of both and adds features from French Revolutionary composers

1 James Hepokoski and Warren Darcy, Elements of Sonata Theory: Norms, Types, and Deformations in the Late-Eighteenth-Century Sonata (New York: Oxford University Press, 2006), chapter 13.

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such as Cherubini and Mehul.2 While Broyles does not attribute a name to this middle-/late-

period style (which he convincingly argues is a single style), the “new style” is a name that

seems well-suited both to Broyles’ concept and to Beethoven’s famous admission of wishing to

strike out on a “new path” (or “new way”) some time near the end of the early period.3 Finally

(related to the previous point), there is the greater continuity that overtook so many aspects of

Beethoven’s conception of sonata form in the latter two periods.

I. The Coda Locating the start of a coda in sonata form is not always a straightforward matter.

Although Roger Bullivant and James Webster aptly note that a coda refers to “anything

occurring after the end of the recapitulation,” they add the important caveat that a coda does not

refer “to an expansion within the recapitulation before its original codetta or closing is reached.”4

When the second half of a sonata form (development + recapitulation) is repeated, as is common

in classical works before Beethoven, a coda can simply consist of any material that follows the

last repeat sign. This is, in fact, the only type of coda that was recognized by theorists of the

2 Michael Broyles, Beethoven: The Emergence and Evolution of Beethoven’s Heroic Style (New York: Excelsior, 1987), 111-26, but see especially p. 119, where Broyles asserts that “Ries reports of Beethoven’s fascination with the operas of Cherubini and Mehul, and according to Potter Beethoven stated flatly in 1817 that he considered Cherubini the greatest of living composers.” 3 Broyles, Beethoven, 5, in a diagram tracing Beethoven’s changes in style, shows the middle period (“second style”) and late works connected by a single line of development he calls “the new synthesis”, which becomes more prominent as time progresses. For Broyles, then, (as for myself) middle- and late-period works do not differ in overall style, but only in the degree of expression of that style. Beethoven’s reference to a “new path” is cited by Carl Czerny (a pupil of Beethoven) as occurring “about 1800” in O. G. Sonneck, ed., Beethoven: Impressions by His Contemporaries (New York: Schirmer, 1926), 31. According to Philip G. Downs, “Beethoven’s ‘New Way’ and the Eroica,” Musical Quarterly 56 (1970): 585, the date of Beethoven’s remark lies somewhere between the beginning of 1801 and April of 1802. While this date range is somewhat before my dating of the start of the middle period, I would argue that the remark and its fulfillment were not simultaneous (despite some of the stylistic differences seen in the op. 31 piano sonatas, particularly the Tempest and the piano variations of opp. 34 and 35). Hence, I locate the start of the middle period with the compositions following the Heiligenstadt Testament (written in October 1802), beginning with the Eroica Symphony, which Beethoven had completed by the end of 1803. 4 Roger Bullivant and James Webster, “Coda,” in The New Grove Dictionary of Music and Musicians, 2nd ed., ed. Stanley Sadie (New York: Macmillan, 2001), 6:82.

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eighteenth century such as Heinrich Christoph Koch.5 But codas of this type are relatively rare in

Beethoven, one instance occurring in the Cello Sonata in G Minor, op. 5, no. 2. Furthermore,

even if a repeat sign is included, there may be a substantial amount of material that was not heard

in the exposition that enters before the expected end of the recapitulation. In such pieces, where

exactly does the recapitulation end? The question is further compounded by cases in which the

last modules of the recapitulation are restored at the very end of the movement, and thus the

whole “coda” can sound like an interpolation within the recapitulation. Admittedly, this is a

thorny issue that authors who have written about codas have tended to avoid.6 And even those

who address it do not necessarily agree in their points of view.7

For Hepokoski and Darcy, “the coda begins once the recapitulation has reached the point

at which the exposition’s closing materials, normally including a final cadence, have been

revisited in full.” Consequently, they do not interpret any new material that enters before the

expected end of the recapitulation as a coda, but only “coda-rhetoric interpolation”.8 It should be

noted, however, that such “interpolations” usually occur within the codettas of the recapitulation,

and that, as Caplin observes, “if the recapitulation is followed by a coda, the final codettas of the

5 Heinrich Christoph Koch, Musikalisches Lexikon (Hildesheim: G. Olms, 1964 [originally published 1802]), 346, states that “if, for example, in an Allegro that is composed of two reprises, after the repetition of the second part or the second reprise yet another short closing period exists, it is called the coda.” (Wenn z. B. in einem Allegro, welches aus zwei Reprisen bestehet, nach der Wiederholung des zweiten Theils oder der zweiten Reprise, noch eine besondere kurze Schlußperiode vorhanden ist, so wird die Coda genannt.) 6 Two well-known writings on codas that avoid this issue are Joseph Kerman, “Notes on Beethoven’s Codas,” in Beethoven Studies 3, ed. Alan Tyson (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1982), 141-59, who instead discusses the various functions a coda may assume; and Charles Rosen, Sonata Forms, rev. ed. (New York: W. W. Norton, 1988), 297-352, who focusses mainly on distinctions between the two types of codas that occur in movements that repeat the second half (i.e., outside the repeat or within it). 7 For Heinrich Schenker, the coda is driven entirely by the tonal structure of the movement, and thus the issue of melodic material becomes unimportant: “The middleground and background also determine the definitive close of a composition. With the arrival of 1 the work is at an end. Whatever follows this can only be a reinforcement of the close—a coda—no matter what its extent or purpose may be.” See Free Composition, trans. and ed. Ernst Oster (New York: Longman, 1979), 129; first published as Der Freie Satz in 1935. Esther Cavett-Dunsby, “Mozart’s Codas,” Music Analysis 7 (1988): 32 and 34, refers to Schenker’s type of coda as a “structural coda” and the type of coda that follows a repeat sign as a “formal coda”, hence clarifying that the two conceptions describe different phenomena. 8 Hepokoski and Darcy, Elements of Sonata Theory, 281-82.

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closing section are sometimes altered or eliminated.”9 These codettas are therefore not as

necessary a component of recapitulations as the S-zone, which, at least in Beethoven, always

remains intact even if somewhat altered. For this reason, I would argue that a recapitulation can

end without cycling through all of its codettas. The recapitulation then ends only with the

addition of new material at some point in the closing section (CL), and by “new material,” I

mean only material that was not present at that point in the exposition, not necessarily that the

material is entirely new to the movement. Indeed, this new material may even derive from the

foregoing module of S, CL, or the retransition (RT). The placement of the new material then

affects the location of the coda. Either the coda begins 1) without a clear beginning, as an

extension of a module that is in progress;10 or 2) with a clear beginning, possibly elided with the

previous module. I discuss each situation in detail below. Either way, the new material must lead

to what I call a coda proper (described below) in order to be considered a true coda; otherwise, it

is merely an expansion of the recapitulation.

In the case of new material that appears without a clear beginning, a further distinction

between recapitulation and coda is the degree of difference between the new material and the

material that began the ongoing module (usually a codetta). In the String Trio in D Major, op. 9,

no. 2, m. 306 (Example 6.1), new material begins as three rescored repetitions of the previous

two measures then breaks off into portions of a motive from P1 (m. 4, not shown). Despite this

motivic change, the entire passage from m. 304 to the end is bound together by the prolonged

dominant chord that begins in m. 304 (even if that dominant disappears from the musical surface

in mm. 312-315). Thus, the new material is best considered an expansion of the codetta rather

9 William E. Caplin, Classical Form: A Theory of Formal Functions for the Instrumental Music of Haydn, Mozart, and Beethoven (New York: Oxford University Press, 1998), 171. 10 This type of coda is also recognized by Caplin, Classical Form, 181, who states that the coda in such cases “is not perceived as a structural beginning.”

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than a coda. On the other hand, in the Piano Sonata in A-Flat Major, op. 110, m. 97 (Example

6.2), although the new material clearly grows out of the preceding two measures of codetta (a

feature that defines a zone I call “Z1”, as labelled in the analysis), it leads into a module at m.

105 that is unequivocally coda material (what I have labelled “Z3”, which is the coda proper).

Because the codetta-based material at m. 97 acts as a preparation for the more substantial coda

module at m. 105, I consider m. 97 to be an introductory zone of the coda rather than an

expanded codetta. This distinction therefore rests crucially on what follows an extension of

codetta material: if the extension ends the entire movement (as it does in Example 6.1), it is a

phrase expansion within the recapitulation; if, however, the extension leads to another module

that can be deemed a coda proper, it then becomes an introductory part of the coda.

Example 6.1 – String Trio in D Major, op. 9, no. 2 a) End of Exposition; mm. 103-110

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b) Codetta-Based Material that is Part of the Recapitulation (not the Coda); mm. 300-end

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Example 6.2 – Piano Sonata in A-Flat Major, op. 110 a) End of Exposition; mm. 34-38

b) New Codetta-Based Material that Begins Coda; mm. 93-105

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When new material elides with the end of the previous module, a coda will result if the

material is contrasting enough to provide the sense of a clear beginning, as for instance in the

Piano Sonata in E-Flat Major, op. 7 (Example 6.3). When the new material is not elided but

appears before the last module heard in the exposition, the distinction between recapitulation and

coda depends on the degree of difference between the new material and that of the expected

module at that point. Most of the time the changes are so substantial that there is no doubt that

the material constitutes a coda (see Example 6.4). However, in the Piano Sonata in G Minor, op.

49, no. 1 (Example 6.5), the material that enters at m. 98 is very similar to the original codetta of

the exposition and therefore casts doubt on the module’s function: is it an altered codetta or a

coda? To my ear, the changes in the melody’s register, the accompaniment pattern, dynamic

shape (now with sforzandos), and addition of a melodic imitation in the right hand, combine to

give the passage a feeling of “new from old” rather than “variation of old,” and thus I regard the

passage as a coda rather than a codetta. But there are no hard and fast rules that can be laid down

to distinguish between the two situations—the decision necessarily remains with a degree of

subjectivity. However, immediate repetitions of material from the previous module tend to sound

like expansions (and therefore not like codas) unless they substantially diverge from the original

module.11

11 See, for instance, Beethoven’s String Quintet in C Major, op. 29, m. 253, where the end of S2 is immediately repeated but quickly diverted two measures later into the motive from the expected codetta (which is in turn P-based). Thus, the idea of the repetition as an expansion of S2 is contradicted by the appearance of the later codetta material, making an analysis particularly difficult. However, that the repetition was not part of the exposition, combined with the eventual high degree of difference between this diverted module and the S2 theme, at least in my opinion, tips the scale in favour of a coda at m. 253.

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Example 6.3 – Piano Sonata in E-Flat Major, op. 7 a) End of Exposition; mm. 127-136

b) New Material Elided with End of Recapitulation to Begin Coda; mm. 307-318

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Example 6.4 – Piano Trio in E-Flat Major, op. 1, no. 1 a) End of Exposition; mm. 94-104

b) New Material not Elided with Recapitulation to Begin Coda; mm. 244-252

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Example 6.5 – Piano Sonata in G Minor, op. 49, no. 1 a) End of Exposition; mm. 28-33

b) Codetta-Based Material Not Elided with Recapitulation to Begin Coda; mm. 96-106

I represent coda modules in general by the letter “Z” and divide the entire section into

three zones—Z1, Z2, and Z3—the first two of which are optional. Outside of the thematic areas of

P and S, I use a superscript “1” to represent introductory zones of some kind in order to coincide

with Hepokoski and Darcy’s descriptions of first zones in developments and slow introductions

(non-thematic areas).12 But in codas, there are two ways a zone can be introductory: as we saw in

12 Hepokoski and Darcy, Elements of Sonata Theory, 229 and 297.

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op. 110 (Example 6.2), there may be new material that has no perceptible beginning because it is

drawn directly from the previous module. This is Z1. Conversely, there may be new material that

has a perceptible beginning (whether elided or not) and is relatively brief, usually one to four

measures in length (as in Example 6.4), but still serves as an introduction to further material.

This is Z2. Z3 is the coda proper, and may feature entire themes, theme-like units, or even just

codettas (as in Example 6.5), each of which is differentiated in analysis by decimal points after

the superscript number as in Z3.1, Z3.2, etc. It is important to note that Z3 is the only zone that can

stand alone; that is, if a coda has only one module, it will always be a Z3 module. Z1 and Z2, on

the other hand, by definition always lead to Z3 and are therefore introductory in character. While

this may seem an overly complex approach to codas (one that provides somewhat more detail

than current approaches), it allows those zones that are structurally equivalent to be grouped

together and compared with those that are structured in different ways. Significantly, strong

differences in dramatic structure emerge from these distinctions.

i) Beethoven’s Codas: General Features Of the movements in this study, 87% (76 of 87) possess a coda as defined above, which

comes as no surprise given Beethoven’s expansion of this part of sonata form in relation to

Haydn and Mozart, as is often pointed out.13 But we might well ask how many modules

Beethoven’s codas can attain, and how often they occur, since dramatic structure is closely tied

to formal structure. As Table 6.1 indicates, a coda is present in most pieces in the early period,

but becomes absolutely imperative in the latter two periods. Moreover, as shown in Table 6.2, in

the early period, the number of coda modules (which includes the generally less substantial

zones of Z1 and Z2) tends toward the smaller numbers of one, two, or three, all of which are 13 Movements without a coda: Op. 2, nos. 1 and 2; op. 10, nos. 1 and 2; op. 22; op. 49, no. 2; op. 18, nos. 2 and 6; op. 9, no. 2; op. 12, no. 1; op. 17.

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roughly equal in frequency. In the middle period, codas tend toward a greater number of

modules, as one would expect, most often four. But surprisingly, in the late period, codas tend

back toward the smaller numbers, usually two or three (but almost never the single module that

was common in the early period). In this respect, the late period stands somewhere between the

early and middle periods since codas are never again the brief Mozartean structures they

sometimes were in Beethoven’s early period, but at the same time, they almost never reach the

immense lengths often seen in the middle period. Hence, important differences in the formal

structure of Beethoven’s codas are indeed seen among the style periods, and as we shall see, it is

the style periods that also govern the most frequent differences in their dramatic structure.

Table 6.1 – Frequency of a Coda by Style Period

Style Period % Movements with a Coda Early 79 (41/52)

Middle 100 (22/22) Late 100 (13/13)

Table 6.2 – Number of Modules in Coda by Style Period

Style Period Number of Modules in Coda 1 2 3 4 5 6

% Early (of 41) 22 (9) 29 (12) 27 (11) 20 (8) 2 (1) -- % Middle (of 22) 9 (2) 18 (4) 23 (5) 32 (7) 14 (3) 5 (1)

% Late (of 13) 8 (1) 38 (5) 31 (4) 23 (3) -- --

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ii) Zones 1 and 2 (Z1 and Z2) When the coda begins with Z1 (no clear beginning function), it starts with a dramatic

High level of tension in 60% (12 of 20) of pieces overall.14 But since Z1 always grows out of a

module in progress, a more accurate picture develops when we consider how this High tension is

approached from the preceding music. Table 6.3 displays the four different possibilities between

the modules by style period and reveals that by far the most common way of leading into Z1 was

through the same level of tension. This finding is made all the more obvious by the striking fact

that none of the Z1 modules are led into through a High-Low connection. Clearly, Beethoven

generally thought of this type of coda beginning as a smooth connection in terms of both form

and drama. But the frequency of Z1 modules across the style periods is at a majority only in the

late period at 54% (7 of 13); in the early and middle periods, it occurs at 20% (8 of 41) and 23%

(5 of 22), respectively.15 No doubt, this majority is inextricably linked to Beethoven’s

preoccupation with a more continuous approach to sonata form in this period, as is also indicated

by the smooth dramatic connection into the Z1 module. Also notice in Table 6.3 that in the late

works this continuity is usually of the non-dramatic or “non-driving” type of Low-Low (another

important feature of the period) whereas in the early period, High-High connections into Z1

occur at a majority.16 These trends likely stem from Beethoven’s decreasing reliance on the hard-

driving, dramatic phrase endings of symphony style, which these early works express, at least at

this point in the movement. The late works I indicate, on the other hand, are firmly entrenched in

Beethoven’s new style, where the hard drive of symphony style is largely absent.

14 Op. 2, no. 3; op. 106; op. 110; op. 111; op. 18, no. 1; op. 59, no. 2; op. 9, no. 1; op. 47; op. 102, no. 1; op. 55; op. 20; op. 81b. 15 Movements with Z1, by style period. Early: Op. 2, no. 3; op. 10, no. 3; op. 18, no. 1; op. 9, no. 1; op. 1, no. 3; op. 36; op. 20; op. 81b. Middle: Op. 59, nos. 1 and 2; op. 70, no. 2; op. 47; op. 55. Late: Op. 90; op. 101; op. 106; op. 110; op. 111; op. 132; op. 102, no. 1. 16 Low-Low connections into Z1, late period: op. 90; op. 101; op. 132. High-High connections into Z1, early period: Op. 2, no. 3; op. 18, no. 1; op. 9, no. 1; op. 20; op. 81b.

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Table 6.3 – Tension Between Modules into Z1 by Style Period

Tension Between Modules

% in Early (of 8)

% in Middle (of 5)

% in Late (of 7)

Low-Low 38 (3) 40 (2) 43 (3) Low-High -- 40 (2) 29 (2) High-Low -- -- -- High-High 63 (5) 20 (1) 29 (2)

Changes to opposite -- 40 (2) 29 (2) Stays the same 100 (8) 60 (3) 71 (5)

Codas that start with the Z2 module have a beginning that is clearly separate from the

preceding module and serve as an introduction to the more substantial portion of the coda that is

Z3. As Table 6.4 shows, Z2 is relatively rare, though it occurs more often in the middle period

than in the others.17 Moreover, significant trends will only be drawn from the early and middle

periods since the late period contains only two instances of the module, the highly connective Z1

module being a much more common entrance into the coda during that time.

Table 6.4 – Frequency of Z2 by Style Period

Style Period % Codas with Z2

Early 20 (8/41) Middle 27 (6/22)

Late 15 (2/13)

That Beethoven considered Z2 to be dramatically more flexible than Z1 is demonstrated

by the lack of any majority for the types of connections in tension between Z2 and the previous

module. Moreover, none of the archetypes appear as a majority overall or in any key, mode,

genre, or style period. However, in the early works, 63% (5 of 8) of Z2s begin at a Low tension

17 Codas with Z2, by style period. Early: Op. 13; op. 31, no. 1; op. 18, no. 3; op. 9, nos. 1 and 3; op. 1, no. 1; op. 23; op. 5, no. 1. Middle: Op. 57; op. 81a; op. 59, no. 2; op. 60; op. 68; op. 92. Late: Op. 130; op. 102, no. 2.

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level and 75% (6 of 8) end High; hence LH is the most preferred archetype at 50% (4 of 8).18 By

contrast, in middle works, beginnings to Z2 are split equally between Low and High, but 83% (5

of 6) end it Low; no archetype is significantly preferred.19 This disparity, I would argue, is

largely the result of the greater teleology of middle-period works: in the early period, a Z2

module tends to end High in order to dramatically introduce the coda proper (Z3), while in the

middle period, the end of Z2 tends to be non-dramatic, and in such cases, a dramatized goal (i.e.,

a High finish to a module) is withheld until later in the coda.

iii) Zone 3 (Z3) Every coda possesses a Z3 zone, or coda proper. The main difference between Z3 and the

previous coda zones is that Z3 is an independent section that neither continues a previous

module, as Z1 does, nor is a separate introduction, as is Z2. The length of Z3 is variable and may

consist of full themes and theme-like units of eight measures or more, or one or more codettas of

any length.

Beethoven makes significant distinctions in the initial tension level of first modules of Z3

(Z3.1) that begin the coda and those that follow a previous Z1 or Z2 (see Table 6.5). When Z3.1 is

not the first coda module, the strong tendency is for it to begin at a Low level of tension, which

occurs at essentially the same frequency across the three periods.20 Conversely, when Z3.1 is the

first coda module, Low starts to it steadily increase over time to a frequency of 100% in the late

18 Early movements: with Low start to Z2: Op. 13; op. 18, no. 3; op. 9, no. 1; op. 1, no. 1; op. 23; with High end to Z2: Op. 31, no. 1; op. 18, no. 3; op. 9, no. 1; op. 1, no. 1; op. 23; op. 5, no. 1; with LH archetype in Z2: Op. 18, no. 3; op. 9, no. 1; op. 1, no. 1; op. 23. 19 Middle movements with Low end to Z2: Op. 57; op. 81a; op. 59, no. 2; op. 68; op. 92. 20 Low starts to Z3.1 when it does not begin the coda, by style period. Early: Op. 2, no. 3; op. 10, no. 3; op. 13; op. 18, nos. 1 and 3; op. 9, nos. 1 and 3; op. 1, nos. 1 and 3; op. 23; op. 5, no. 1; op. 20. Middle: Op. 57; op. 81a; op. 59, no. 2; op. 70, no. 2; op. 47; op. 55; op. 68; op. 92. Late: Op. 90; op. 101; op. 106; op. 110; op. 111; op. 132; op. 102, nos. 1 and 2.

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period.21 Furthermore, the tension between the end of the recapitulation proper (i.e., without

intervening RT modules) and these same Z3.1 modules shows a similar pattern for Low-Low

connections (see Table 6.6).22 Even though all three periods display a majority of same-tension

connections here, the Low-Low type becomes more frequent over time. Given that Beethoven’s

codas are usually fairly substantial and consist of more than a few measures, especially in the

latter two periods, the fact that this pattern occurs only when Z3.1 begins the coda signifies an

increase in non-driving continuity between the two large sections of recapitulation and coda as

time progresses.

Table 6.5 – Initial Tension Levels in Z3 by Style Period

Style Period % Starts Low when not 1st coda module

% Starts Low when 1st coda module

Early 80 (12/15) 50 (13/26) Middle 80 (8/10) 67 (8/12)

Late 89 (8/9) 100 (4/4) Table 6.6 – Tension Between End of Recapitulation Proper and Coda Beginning with Z3 by Style Period

Tension Between Modules

% in Early (of 26)

% in Middle (of 12)

% in Late (of 4)

Low-Low 31 (8) 42 (5) 100 (4) Low-High 19 (5) 17 (2) -- High-Low 19 (5) 25 (3) -- High-High 31 (8) 17 (2) --

Changes to opposite 38 (10) 42 (5) -- Stays the same 62 (16) 58 (7) 100 (4)

21 Low starts to Z3.1 when it begins the coda, by style period. Early: Op. 14, nos. 1 and 2; op. 28; op. 31, nos. 2 and 3; op. 49, no. 1; op. 18, no. 5; op. 1, no. 2; op. 12, no. 2; op. 30, nos. 1, 2, and 3; op. 21. Middle: Op. 53; op. 78; op. 59, no. 3; op. 74; op. 70, no. 1; op. 96; op. 69; op. 93. Late: Op. 109; op. 127; op. 135; op. 125. 22 By the end of the recapitulation, I am referring to its end proper, meaning without a retransition module, which is therefore consistent with my method of comparing the tension between the exposition and development, as was explored at the end of chapter 3. Low-Low connections from end of recapitulation proper into Z3.1 when it begins the coda, by style period. Early: Op. 14, nos. 1 and 2; op. 31, nos. 2 and 3; op. 49, no. 1; op. 18, no. 5; op. 30, nos. 1 and 3. Middle: Op. 53; op. 78; op. 74; op. 70, no. 1; op. 69. Late: Op. 109; op. 127; op. 135; op. 125.

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Once the coda proper is underway, regardless of whether or not it begins the entire coda,

it may sound anywhere from one to five modules, though the most common number in the early

and late periods is one, whereas in the middle period, it is three (see Table 6.7). Within the

central modules of Z3 (i.e., those that are neither first nor last), dramatic structure is quite varied

and tends not to form any significant patterns, a finding that reflects the variety of formal

purposes that Beethoven’s codas could assume.23 Patterns do emerge, however, when

considering the final module of Z3-zones with any number of modules, as a majority end with a

High tension level in each style period, although it becomes less common in the late period. And,

as Table 6.8 indicates, this trend also holds true if we add the few remaining early movements

that do not end with a coda, but rather with CL or S.24

Table 6.7 – Number of Modules in Z3 by Style Period

Style Period Number of Modules in Z3 1 2 3 4 5

% Early (of 41) 34 (14) 32 (13) 22 (9) 12 (5) -- % Middle (of 22) 9 (2) 27 (6) 41 (9) 14 (3) 9 (2)

% Late (of 13) 38 (5) 31 (4) 23 (3) 8 (1) -- Table 6.8 – Tension at End of Z3 and End of Movement by Style Period

Style Period % Z3 Ends High % Movement Ends High Early 68 (28/41) 71 (37/52)

Middle 68 (15/22) 68 (15/22) Late 54 (7/13) 54 (7/13)

23 See Kerman, “Notes on Beethoven’s Codas,” who identifies in Beethoven’s codas such techniques as Mozartean “cadential phrases” (p. 142), Haydn’s method of recomposing the recapitulation in which “a regular recapitulation is cut off before the cadence theme” (p. 147), and the familiar purpose of “thematic ‘completion’” (p. 151) among others. See also Nicholas Marston, “‘The Sense of an Ending’: Goal-Directedness in Beethoven’s Music,” in The Cambridge Companion to Beethoven, ed. Glenn Stanley (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2000), 88, who indicates that “the downplaying of the double return (thematic and tonal) at the recapitulation” (his italics) in Beethoven, as with the tonic six-four harmonies that begin the recapitulation in the Eighth Symphony and the Appassionata Sonata, was a source of tension that was typically resolved in the coda. 24 Movements ending High at the end of CL: Op. 2, no. 1; op. 10, nos. 1 and 2; op. 22; op. 49, no. 2; op. 18, no. 6; op. 9, no. 2; op. 17. Movements ending High at the end of S: Op. 12, no. 1.

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Delving further into these roughly two thirds of all movements that end High reveals

some important patterns in dramatic structure.25 First, we find that the drama is rhetorical in

100% (59 of 59) of cases, syntactical drama not playing a part in any of the movements since it

involves a lack of resolution and such a tactic at the end of a movement would naturally

contradict the classical aesthetic. Individual syntactical tension types are sometimes found, but

never exceed two types in total (which would otherwise create syntactical drama) and are limited

to expansional and accelerative tension (at 17%, 10 of 59; and 36%, 21 of 59, respectively),26

surely because these are the only syntactical types that do not affect the tonality or metre, thus

driving the music forward while enabling it to remain in the home key and time signature for a

decidedly stable concluding effect. This is probably the same reason why, in all but one case (op.

12, no. 1), Beethoven chooses to conclude these High-ending movements not with a theme, but

rather with a codetta, which never veers far from the tonic chord. Concerning rhetorical types, all

fifty-nine High-ending movements conclude with a tutti effect of dynamic and thickness tension,

or more simply, a loud, thick chord. Most of these movements also incorporate timbral and/or

rhythmic tension at 76% (45 of 59) and 68% (40 of 59),27 respectively, the former through

25 Movements that end High, by style period. Early: Op. 2, nos. 1 and 3; op. 7; op. 10, nos. 1, 2, and 3; op. 13; op. 22; op. 49, no. 2; op. 18, nos. 1, 3, 4, 5, and 6; op. 3; op. 9, nos. 1, 2, and 3; op. 1, nos. 1, 2, and 3; op. 4; op. 29; op. 12, nos. 1 and 3; op. 24; op. 30, no. 2; op. 5, nos. 1 and 2; op. 21; op. 36; op. 6; op. 11; op. 16; op. 17; op. 20; op. 81b. Middle: Op. 53; op. 78; op. 81a; op. 59, nos. 1 and 3; op. 74; op. 70, no. 1; op. 97; op. 47; op. 96; op. 69; op. 55; op. 60; op. 67; op. 92. Late: Op. 101; op. 106; op. 130; op. 132; op. 102, nos. 1 and 2; op. 125. 26 Movements with expansional tension at end: Op. 2, no. 1; op. 7; op. 10, no. 1; op. 13; op. 78; op. 81a; op. 18, no. 3; op. 3; op. 9, no. 2; op. 16. Movements with accelerative tension at end: Op. 2, no. 1; op. 7; op. 10, nos. 2 and 3; op. 78; op. 18, no. 6; op. 130; op. 3; op. 9, no. 3; op. 1, nos. 2 and 3; op. 12, no. 3; op. 96; op. 5, no. 1; op. 21; op. 36; op. 55; op. 6; op. 11; op. 16; op. 81b. 27 Movements with timbral tension at end: Op. 2, no. 3; op. 7; op. 10, nos. 2 and 3; op. 13; op. 22; op. 49, no. 2; op. 53; op. 78; op. 81a; op. 101; op. 106; op. 18, nos. 3 and 4; op. 3; op. 9, nos. 2 and 3; op. 1, nos. 2 and 3; op. 70, no. 1; op. 97; op. 4; op. 29; op. 12, nos. 1 and 3; op. 24; op. 30, no. 2; op. 47; op. 96; op. 5, nos. 1 and 2; op. 69; op. 102, nos. 1 and 2; op. 21; op. 36; op. 55; op. 60; op. 67; op. 92; op. 125; op. 6; op. 11; op. 16; op. 17. Movements with rhythmic tension at or near end: Op. 2, no. 3; op. 7; op. 10, nos. 2 and 3; op. 13; op. 49, no. 2; op. 53; op. 78; op. 106; op. 18, nos. 3 and 6; op. 9, nos. 1, 2, and 3; op. 1, nos. 1, 2, and 3; op. 70, no. 1; op. 97; op. 4; op. 29; op. 12, nos. 1 and 3; op. 24; op. 30, no. 2; op. 47; op. 96; op. 5, nos. 1 and 2; op. 102, nos. 1 and 2; op. 21; op. 55; op. 60; op. 92; op. 125; op. 6; op. 11; op. 17; op. 81b.

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extreme registers and, in symphonies, loud trumpets, trombones, or timpani, the latter by a rapid

flourish at or near the end of the movement.28

Joseph Kerman seems to be referring to these loud, rhythmic flourishes in discussing

Mozart’s influence on Beethoven’s codas:

Thanks to an anecdote stemming from J. B. Cramer, Beethoven is known to have admired the coda in the Finale of Mozart’s C-minor Concerto K 491. The first-movement coda too, I believe, must have struck him very forcibly. . . . The characteristic calando effect at the end appears to have haunted him as much as Mozart’s affective cadential harmonies. . . . Beethoven adopted both the calando effect and the idea of cadential phrases in the Finale of the C-minor Sonata Op. 10 No. 1. . . . Throughout the first period, in fact, Beethoven’s standard solution for a minor-mode sonata-form coda involves a pathetic calando followed by some sort of furioso conclusion, ranging in extent from just a few notes (‘Pathétique’ Sonata, Op. 13, third movement) to a few bars (String Trio in C minor Op. 9 No. 3, first movement) or a sizable section (Cello Sonata in G minor Op. 5 No. 2, first movement).

Moreover, Kerman notes that

Later he seems to have felt more comfortable ending minor-mode movements quietly, as in the first movements of the ‘Appassionata’ Sonata Op. 57, the Quartets in E minor Op. 59 No. 2 and F minor Op. 95, and later still the C-minor Sonata Op. 111.29

A look at the movements in this study confirms that Kerman’s claim for the calando-furioso

effect, which essentially translates into a Low-tension passage (as opposed to a brief measure)

with cadential harmonies followed by a concluding High-tension passage that contains the

rushing intensity of rhythmic tension (though the Low and High passages are not necessarily

within the same module), is indeed Beethoven’s most preferred among early minor-mode

movements, as it occurs in five of eleven movements (45%), three of which are in C minor.30

28 Only op. 9, no. 2; op. 11; and op. 17 have the flourishes coincide with the very end of the movement. In all the others with High endings, the flourish is somewhat before it. 29 Kerman, “Notes on Beethoven’s Codas,” 143-45. 30 Op. 10, no. 1; op. 13; op. 9 no. 3; op. 1, no. 3; op. 5, no. 2 (the first four of these works are in C minor). Other early minor-mode movements that do not display both the calando and furioso features: Op. 2, no. 1; op. 31, no. 2; op. 49, no. 1; op. 18, no. 4; op. 23; and op. 30, no. 2. Joseph Kerman, “Beethoven’s Minority,” in Write All These Down: Essays on Music (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1994), 223, observes that “Tierces de Picardie end four of Beethoven’s early C-minor works, but none of his minor-mode works in other keys, until op. 131.” It is interesting to note that none of the three C-minor works that end with the calando-furioso effect have this characteristic. In fact, even the two other C-minor first movements that end High (op. 18, no. 4; and the Fifth Symphony) close in the minor mode. Evidently, ending in C minor was for Beethoven a situation that called for a dramatic finish.

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Example 6.6 illustrates the calando-furioso effect in the Piano Trio in C Minor, op. 1, no.

3. In mm. 351-353, the only tension types present are timbral due to the bottom C in the left hand

of the piano, and tonal tension due to the chromaticism of the E in m. 351 and II chord in m.

352. Because there is only one tension type from each category (the timbral tension is rhetorical

and the tonal tension syntactical), no dramatic effect results. The tension level is therefore Low,

which can, as noted above, be considered an expression of Kerman’s calando effect (if there are

cadential harmonies, as there are here). On the other hand, from m. 354, the number of rhetorical

types suddenly jumps to four. First, there is dynamic tension from the loud dynamics. Second,

there is thickness tension because the total number of voices (always seven) is greater than the

six that would be considered normative for a piano trio in this style (four voices in the piano and

one each in the violin and cello). Third, there is timbral tension from the same low Cs in the

piano left hand and now the right hand’s notes of C5 and above as well. And finally, there is

rhythmic tension from the flourish of sixteenth notes in every measure until the final

hammerblow chords of the last two measures. On the syntactical side, there is also metric tension

due to the syncopated sforzandos, and accelerative tension due to the compression of the initial

gesture from four beats in the first two measures down to three beats in the ensuing measures.

Measures 354-360 are therefore High in tension and create the dramatic furioso effect that

Kerman points out in such movements (especially those in C minor like this one).

As for Kerman’s remark on quiet endings, we can consider such endings to represent

Low-tension units since, in the minor mode, all soft endings in the movements studied here are

associated with Low tension. A glance at Table 6.9 shows that, while Low endings to minor-

mode movements are a majority only in the middle period, where they are roughly three times as

likely to occur in minor than in major, in the late period, the frequencies between the modes are

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almost the same (especially considering the small sample size for minor-mode works) and do not

reach majority status.31 Thus, the Low-tension ending is not a typical feature among all of

Beethoven’s works after the early period, as Kerman suggests, but rather only of the middle

period, at least in the context of first movements.

Example 6.6 – Tension Types at End of a Movement that Ends with High Tension; Piano Trio in C Minor, op. 1, no. 3, mm. 351-360

31 Movements that end Low (those in the minor mode shown in bold), by style period. Early: Op. 2, no. 2; op. 14, nos. 1 and 2; op. 28; op. 31, nos. 1, 2, and 3; op. 49, no. 1; op. 18, no. 2; op. 12, no. 2; op. 23; op. 30, nos. 1 and 3; op. 71; op. 87. Middle: Op. 57; op. 79; op. 59, no. 2; op. 95; op. 70, no. 2; op. 68; op. 93. Late: Op. 90; op. 109; op. 110; op. 111; op. 127; op. 135.

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Table 6.9 – Low Movement Ends in the Major and Minor Mode by Style Period

Style Period % Major Movements End Low

% Minor Movements End Low

Early 23 (12/52) 27 (3/11) Middle 18 (4/22) 60 (3/5)

Late 31 (4/13) 40 (2/5) II. The Slow Introduction In chapter 1, I mentioned that I divide slow introductions (represented by the letter “I”)

into three distinct zones that have largely the same order of functions as those in the development

and coda, two other non-thematic areas of sonata form. The first zone, I1, is a thematic

introduction and is equivalent to the development’s D1 and to the coda’s two zones of Z1 and Z2.

The second zone, I2, contains one or more themes or theme-like units, like the development

proper’s zones of D2 and D3, and the coda proper, Z3. The last zone, I3, has no analog in the coda

since it is, like the development’s D4 zone, a concluding standing on the dominant or a small-

scale transition that alters the ending harmony of the preceding I2, as in op. 81a and op. 47 (see

Example 6.7).

I2 may contain from one to four modules, each of which is represented in analysis by I2.1,

I2.2, and so on. However, due to the status of slow introductions as preparatory sections, these

modules are not nearly as stable as those found in P and S in the movement proper, and are

instead often fantasia-like and subjected to modulation and sometimes enormous phrase

expansions. Nevertheless, the primary components that dictate the division of the form are the

cadences. In the monumental slow introduction to the Seventh Symphony, op. 92, for example,

the initial phrase winds its way through a harmonic sequence from the tonic of A major down

through D major and C major back to V of A, thus sounding something like an antecedent of a

large period theme. When this phrase begins again in m. 15, though now tutti with robust

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Example 6.7 – Zone 3 (I3) of a Slow Introduction as a Small-Scale Transition; Violin Sonata in A Minor, op. 47, “Kreutzer”, mm. 9-18

rising scales as accompaniment, we might expect a modified consequent phrase to be underway.

But this phrase is interrupted, without a cadence, by what Carl Dahlhaus calls a “woodwind

episode” in C major before resuming the putative consequent phrase with the rising scales;32 the

same episode then returns after this resumption, now in F major. Are these episodes to be

regarded as modules unto themselves, or merely expansions of the ongoing module? Although,

on the surface, each episode seems to create a beginning by virtue of its new melodic material,

the harmony of each, which is the most important factor in determining the ends of modules, tells

a different story, as there are no cadences to speak of until the end of the F-major episode, which

32 Carl Dahlhaus, Ludwig van Beethoven: Approaches to His Music, trans. Mary Whittall (New York: Oxford University Press, 1991), 107.

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moves to V of A for a concluding half cadence.33 Thus, the entire passage from the start of the

“consequent” phrase to the final half cadence is one gigantic single module rather than a series of

smaller ones.

i) Beethoven’s Slow Introductions: General Features

The number of slow introductions in the eighty-seven movements of this study is twenty-

three, or 26% of the total. By style period, there are proportionally more slow introductions in

the middle and late periods (36%, 8 of 22; and 38%, 5 of 13; respectively) than the early period

(19%, 10 of 52),34 largely because Beethoven’s works acquired a more serious tone in the latter

two periods, an idea that corresponds well with the enhanced seriousness that a slow introduction

generally provides.35 While it may seem that slow introductions would be more commonly found

among movements in the minor mode due to its darker, “tragic” character, overall the proportion

of such introductions in each mode is approximately the same, at 26% (17 of 66) in major and

29% (6 of 21) in minor. By genre, slow introductions are the most frequent in Beethoven’s

symphonies, not surprisingly, at 44% (4 of 9), but also in the cello sonatas at 60% (3 of 5) and

chamber works with winds at 43% (3 of 7).36 In the cello sonatas, the high frequency is certainly

compensation for the lack of a proper slow movement in the sonata as a whole, especially since

33 Dahlhaus, Ludwig van Beethoven, 107-8, likewise argues that it would be incorrect to interpret the woodwind episodes as themes within a movement-like slow introduction for harmonic reasons: first, the episodes are not in the tonic key; second, their harmony “makes a curiously ‘unfounded’ impression, as if the tonic triad was a 6-4 chord;” and third, “the episode is linked to the chromatic progressions by the fact that the bass-line of the episode can be said to ‘grow into’ the chromaticism.” 34 Movements with a slow introduction, by style period (those in the minor mode, as discussed below, shown in bold). Early: Op. 13; op. 9, no. 1; op. 1, no. 2; op. 5, nos. 1 and 2; op. 21; op. 36; op. 16; op. 20; op. 71. Middle: Op. 78; op. 81a; op. 59, no. 3; op. 74; op. 70, no. 2; op. 47; op. 60; op. 92. Late: Op. 111; op. 127; op. 130; op. 132; op. 102, no. 1. 35 Cf. Hepokoski and Darcy, Elements of Sonata Theory, 295, who remark that a “sizable introduction” such as a slow introduction “more overtly thematizes the claim of the formality of the occasion and the seriousness of the composition” than having no such introduction. 36 Symphonies: Op. 21, op. 36, op. 60, op. 92. Cello Sonatas: Op. 5, nos. 1 and 2; op. 102, no. 1. Chamber works with winds: Op. 16 (Quintet for Piano and Winds), op. 20 (Septet), op. 71 (Sextet for Winds).

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all three of the slow introductions are relatively long.37 In the chamber works with winds, the

introductions occur only in those with a larger ensemble of five to seven instruments that begin

to approach a symphonic sound.

ii) Zone 1 (I1) The first zone of a slow introduction, I1, consists of a single module that acts as a

thematic introduction to the more substantial modules of the second zone. As Hepokoski and

Darcy point out, the beginning of a slow introduction in a late-eighteenth-century sonata form

was often “a heraldic or annunciatory call to attention, . . . an initial forte impulse launching the

entire work in a grand or ‘important’ style.”38 And indeed, in Beethoven’s early period, in which

the late-eighteenth-century style is most evident, five of the six I1s begin with a High tension

level: the String Trio, op. 9, no. 1; the First and Second Symphonies, opp. 21 and 36; the Septet,

op. 20; and the Sextet, op. 71. But when we turn to the I1 modules of the middle and late periods,

a number of questions arise. First of all, whereas I1 exists in 60% (6 of 10) of the early slow

introductions, the frequency drops to only 13% (1 of 8) in the middle and 20% (1 of 5) in the late

period.39 Neither of these two later I1 modules begins High, as do the majority of the early I1s,

and, as Table 6.10 shows, this large discrepancy between early and middle or late works holds

whether the first module of the slow introduction is I1 or I2.40 (I3 never begins the section, but

always follows I2.) How may we explain these changes? If we consider the musical features of

the High-starting slow introductions, we find that their High tension always includes the

37 Only the Cello Sonata in D Major, op. 102, no. 2, has a true slow movement. Significantly, it also lacks a slow introduction. 38 Hepokoski and Darcy, Elements of Sonata Theory, 297. 39 Movements with I1, by style period. Early: Op. 9, no. 1; op. 5, no. 1; op. 21; op. 36; op. 20; op. 71. Middle: Op. 60. Late: Op. 102, no. 1. 40 High starts to the slow introduction, by style period (those that are I1 shown in bold). Early: Op. 13; op. 9, no. 1; op. 1, no. 2; op. 5, no. 2; op. 21; op. 36; op. 20; op. 71. Middle: Op. 59, no. 3; op. 47; op. 92. Late: Op. 111; op. 127.

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orchestrally-based tutti effect of dynamic and thickness tension. Furthermore, each of these

introductions leads to a P-theme that is strongly in symphony style (indeed two of them are in

symphonies), consisting of rhythmically simple melodies that build to a dramatic finish and elide

with TR, creating its typically intense forward drive.

Table 6.10 – Comparison of High Starts to I1 and to First Module of I by Style Period

Style Period % I1 Start High % 1st I Start High Early 83 (5/6) 80 (8/10)

Middle 0 (0/1) 38 (3/8) Late 0 (0/1) 40 (2/5)

On the other hand, the Low starts to the introduction that are a majority in both the

middle and late periods almost all avoid the symphony style and instead draw largely on the

refined intricacies of sonata style, with its focus on vocal melody and ornamentation. (The lone

exception here is the introduction to the Fourth Symphony, op. 60, which is a measure of mere

accompanimental introduction of pedal point in the low horns.) Likewise, in nearly every case,

the P-themes that follow are quite vocal in character. In short, a slow introduction that begins at a

Low tension level generally leads to a P-theme that is more intimate in character and lacks the

hard-driving intensity of symphony style. And because the central portions of slow introductions

often consist of “quieter material, often a brief, lyrical melody,” as Hepokoski and Darcy

observe,41 we may conclude that Beethoven did away with the “initial forte impulse” so common

in late-eighteenth-century introductions in order to begin directly with quieter, lyrical material,

thus setting the stage for a more intimate sonata form. Such a change in expressive content is,

after all, in line with the larger stylistic changes seen in Beethoven’s middle and late periods,

namely the weaving together of facets from both symphony and sonata style and even combining

41 Hepokoski and Darcy, Elements of Sonata Theory, 297.

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them with aspects of French Revolutionary music to form a new style that often has less dramatic

drive.42

iii) Zone 2 (I2) The second zone of I (I2), being the core of the section, is found in all slow introductions

and contains from one to four modules. The tension at the start of this zone shows a marked

difference between those I2s that begin the movement and those that do not due to the presence

of a preceding I1 module. In the former type, I2 begins with High tension most of the time at 57%

(8 of 15) but in the latter, it never does (0 of 8),43 likely because a dramatic effect near the start

of a slow introduction is most effective as the “annunciatory call to attention” in the very first

module of the piece; notably, 75% (6 of 8) of these I2s are prepared by an I1 that contains some

drama.

When we consider only those I2 modules that begin a movement, we find that, like

beginnings to slow introductions overall, the difference between Low and High starts relates to

the predominant style of the movement, those with Low starts (most in the middle and late

periods) leaning more towards the intimacy of sonata style or aspects of it in the new style, and

those with High starts (most in the early period) towards the extroversion of symphony style.

And again, the drama in almost every one of the High starts is a tutti effect and usually predicts a

symphony-style P-theme (op. 59, no. 3 and op. 127 are exceptions). But one further distinction

between High and Low starts in I2 is that the High starts are always part of a sentence structure

(usually bifold), whereas the Low starts almost never are, being instead based on a period

42 Broyles, Beethoven, especially pp. 4-5, 223, and 268. 43 Movements with I2s that begin High and are not preceded by an I1: Op. 13; op. 111; op. 59, no. 3; op. 127; op. 1, no. 2; op. 47; op. 5, no. 2; op. 92. Movements with I2s that begin Low and are preceded by an I1 (those with drama in I1, as discussed below, shown in bold): Op. 9, no. 1; op. 5, no. 1; op. 102, no. 1; op. 21; op. 36; op. 60; op. 20; op. 71.

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structure or an imitative texture that does not break down into constituent formal functions.44

Thus, when a movement begins with a dramatic start to I2, it is associated with the inherently

intense, forward-driving sentence. This contrasts with the beginning of the P-zone, where

sentences, like most structures, tend to start Low even when they begin the entire movement.

This discrepancy is no doubt linked to the differing functions of these two sections of the form:

whereas the slow introduction assumes “before-the-beginning” function in preparing for P, and

therefore is most effective in heightening our sense of anticipation through dramatic effects, the

P-zone has true beginning function, providing the foundation for the rest of the movement,

generally by securing the tonality and metre. Hence, a Low level of tension is entirely apt to give

the sense of a solid starting point and allow the piece to “earn” its way to a dramatic tension level

later on.

The most important finding concerning archetypes in I2 is that modules that end the zone

(and may perhaps be the only module there) strongly tend toward the LH archetype with a

majority of 61% (14 of 23) and tend toward an even higher majority of High endings in general

at 78% (18 of 23), as Table 6.11 indicates.45 The main idea here is clear: the dramatic (High)

endings point up the goal of I2, whether it is a dominant chord to begin I3 or the beginning of the

P-zone. Because this trend is consistent across the style periods, it marks one of the few places

that the tension level remains fairly constant in all of Beethoven’s first-movement Type 3 sonata

forms. Moreover, an analysis of the eighteen modules that end I2 High into their constituent

formal functions and tension types reveals some notable patterns. Most striking is the fact that

every one of these modules has syntactical drama, whereas only about half (56%, 10 of 18) have

44 Only op. 74 exhibits a sentence structure at its opening and starts Low. Movements that begin I with a period structure: Op. 81a, op. 130, op. 16. Movements that begin I with an imitative texture: Op. 132; op. 70, no. 2. 45 Movements with High end to last module of I2 (those with the LH archetype shown in bold): Op. 13; op. 81a; op. 111; op. 59, no. 3; op. 74; op. 132; op. 9, no. 1; op. 1, no. 2; op. 70, no. 2; op. 47; op. 5, nos. 1 and 2; op. 36; op. 60; op. 92; op. 16; op. 20; op. 71.

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rhetorical drama as well.46 While it is no surprise to find syntactical tension, since part of the

purpose of a slow introduction is to stress the need for resolution and slingshot the sonata form

proper into action, it is surprising that this tension is almost always at a dramatic level (op. 59,

no. 3 and op. 74 are the only two exceptions of the eighteen), namely through the three

syntactical types of tonal tension (due to chromaticism), accelerative tension (due to a sentence

structure), and closural tension (due to an ending on a dominant chord)—another indication of

the consistency in Beethoven’s thoughts on this point in the form. The closural tension found in

these last I2 modules is the least one would expect to find, since most slow introductions lead to a

prolonged dominant chord of some kind. Accelerative tension, on the other hand, which is

present in 94% (17 of 18) of the modules, results from ending with the forward-driving

continuation function. Because this is certainly no generic default (as the closing dominant is), its

presence here again demonstrates Beethoven’s heavy reliance on the sentence in the creation of

drama in these first movements.47

Table 6.11 – Archetypes in Last Module of I2

Archetype

% Frequency in Last I2

(of 23) L 13 (3)

LH 61 (14) LHL 4 (1)

H -- HL 4 (1)

HLH 17 (4)

46 Movements with rhetorical drama at end of I2: Op. 13; op. 111; op. 74; op. 132; op. 9, no. 1; op. 1, no. 2; op. 36; op. 92; op. 16; op. 20. 47 Only op. 59, no. 3 lacks accelerative tension at the end of I2, perhaps to allow the music to float ambiguously on the diminished seventh chord in mm. 22-28, before finally resolving to a dominant seventh in m. 29, just before the entrance of the sonata-form proper.

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Although tonal tension is certainly not uncommon in slow introductions, the manner in

which Beethoven deploys it in those I2s that end High is remarkably consistent: almost all of the

modules (89%, 16 of 18) have the diatonic type of tonal tension, which involves secondary

dominants only of closely-related keys, but most movements combine this type of tonal tension

with one of the other two types, mixtural and distant, and their usage is strongly influenced by

the mode of the movement.48 Movements in the major mode usually employ the mixtural type by

borrowing from the tonic minor (77%, 10 of 13),49 thus darkening the colour of the music and

creating anticipation for a return to the major. But in the minor mode the only way to have

mixtural tonal tension is to borrow from the tonic major, not such an attractive option when the

introduction is in a minor key, since the expressive content of the minor mode depends largely

on the “tragic” character of the mode itself.50 Instead, these minor movements most often make

use of the distant type (60%, 3 of 5),51 which moves through keys that stray further from the

tonic than either the diatonic or mixtural type, providing an appropriate analog for the intensity

of the mixtural type in the major mode. Example 6.8 compares these different approaches.52 In

both 6.8a and b, the use of mixtural or distant tonal tension heightens the effect of the preceding

diatonic tonal tension by shifting the music to a region further away from the home tonic key.

Hence, the mixtural and distant tonal tensions give the dominant chord at the end of each passage

a much weightier dramatic impact than would be possible with only the diatonic type. 48 Movements with (at least) the diatonic type of tonal tension at the end of I2: Op. 81a; op. 111; op. 59, no. 3; op. 74; op. 132; op. 9, no. 1; op. 1, no. 2; op. 70, no. 2; op. 47; op. 5, nos. 1 and 2; op. 36; op. 60; op. 16; op. 20; op. 71. 49 Movements with (at least) the mixtural type of tonal tension at the end of I2: Op. 81a; op. 59, no. 3; op. 74; op. 1, no. 2; op. 5, no. 1; op. 36; op. 92; op. 16; op. 20; op. 71. 50 The Kreutzer Sonata, op. 47, and the Cello Sonata, op. 102, no. 1 are different in that the whole slow introduction is in the major mode before the sonata proper is plunged into the tragedy of a minor mode (in op. 47, the tonic minor, and in op. 102, no. 1, the relative minor). While the effects of contrasts between large spans of music such as these are certainly significant, they exceed the scope of the present study. 51 Movements with (at least) the distant type of tonal tension at the end of I2: Op. 13; op. 111; op. 5, no. 2. 52 Recall from chapter 2 that, even after a chromaticism has literally disappeared, tonal tension takes approximately two measures to dissipate because of the need to firmly establish a new key by means of a cadence or a series of largely diatonic chords. Hence, in Examples 6.8a and b, the tonal tension is shown as existing beyond the actual chromaticism.

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Example 6.8 – Differing Types of Tonal Tension in Final I2 Modules a) Diatonic and Mixtural Tonal Tension; Septet, op. 20, mm. 1-8

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b) Distant Tonal Tension; “Pathétique” Sonata, op. 13, mm. 5-9

iv) Zone 3 (I3)

I3 occurs in most slow introductions (70%, 16 of 23), but as Table 6.12 shows, it occurs

as a majority in both the early and middle periods then sinks into minority territory in the late

period, where the number is so small that no significant conclusions can be drawn from that

category.53 In the early and middle periods, some features of I3 remain fairly consistent,

especially the tension levels connecting the previous module and I3, which is High-Low in 89%

(8 of 9) of early movements and 80% (4 of 5) of middle movements, indicating a highly sectional

approach to tension in this part of the form.54 Concerning archetypes, however, the early period

is much more formulaic than the middle, the former favouring the High-ending LH at a majority

53 Movements with I3, by style period. Early: Op. 13; op. 9, no. 1; op. 1, no. 2; op. 5, nos. 1 and 2; op. 36; op. 16; op. 20; op. 71. Middle: Op. 81a; op. 70, no. 2; op. 47; op. 60; op. 92. Late: op. 111; op. 102, no. 1. 54 Movements with High-Low connection into I3, by style period (those with LH archetype, discussed below, shown in bold). Early: Op. 13; op. 1, no. 2; op. 5, nos. 1 and 2; op. 36; op. 16; op. 20; op. 71. Middle: Op. 81a; op. 70, no. 2; op. 47; op. 60.

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of 89% (8 of 9) and the latter still preferring LH at 40% (2 of 5), but more heavily favouring

archetypes that end with Low tension (L, LHL, and HL) at a majority of 60% (3 of 5).55 Hence,

the end of I3 appears to be an important point of divergence between the two periods, but in order

to gain a more accurate picture of the tension at the end of a slow introduction, we ought to

include all modules that can end this section—in other words, all I3 modules and all final I2

modules. Casting this wider net is also more beneficial because it allows us to consider slow

introductions of the late period as well and compare all three style periods. What becomes most

apparent through such a comparison is the gradual streamlining of sonata form that takes place

over Beethoven’s career, a trend that is suggested in two main ways at the end of slow

introductions.

Table 6.12 – Frequency of I3 by Style Period

Style Period % Slow Introductions with I3 Early 90 (9/10)

Middle 63 (5/8) Late 40 (2/5)

First, as mentioned above, there is the very scarcity of I3s in the late period. Since

standing-on-the-dominant functions help to clarify formal articulations, their absence certainly

contributes to a sense of continuity rather than sectionalization. Recall, moreover, that these

functions were found to be relatively rare at the other expected places in sonata form—the end of

the transition and development section—and thus their paucity here adds to the broader trend in

the form overall. Second, Table 6.13 reveals that slow introductions that end High are a majority

55 Middle-period movements that have Low ending to I3 (archetype shown in parentheses): Op. 70, no. 2 (LHL); op. 60 (L); op. 92 (HL).

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in early movements and that the proportion decreases with each of the last two periods.56 But if

we explore this idea further and consider the tension level between the end of the slow

introduction as a whole (ending with I2 or I3) and the first module of the exposition, as in Table

6.14, we find that middle and late movements have a majority of connections at the same level,

reinforcing continuity, whereas almost all early movements instead have the more discontinuous

High-Low connection.57

Table 6.13 – Frequency of Slow Introductions that End High by Style Period

Style Period % Slow Introductions end High Early 80 (8/10)

Middle 50 (4/8) Late 40 (2/5)

Table 6.14 – Tension Between Modules from Slow Introduction into First P Module by Style Period

Tension Between Modules

% in Early (of 10)

% in Middle (of 8)

% in Late (of 5)

Low-Low 20 (2) 25 (2) 20 (1) Low-High -- 25 (2) 40 (2) High-Low 80 (8) 13 (1) -- High-High -- 38 (3) 40 (2)

Changes to opposite 80 (8) 38 (3) 40 (2) Stays the same 20 (8) 63 (5) 60 (3)

Finally, I would point out that, like the end of the I2-zone, when the whole slow

introduction (I) ends High, the drama is always composed of syntactical tension, rhetorical

drama being present a lesser 64% (9 of 14) of the time.58 In the early period, this syntactical

56 Movements that end the slow introduction High, by style period. Early: Op. 13; op. 1, no. 2; op. 5, nos. 1 and 2; op. 36; op. 16; op. 20; op. 71. Middle: Op. 81a; op. 59, no. 3; op. 74; op. 47. Late: Op. 111; op. 132. 57 Early movements that have a High-Low connection into first P module: Op. 13; op. 1, no. 2; op. 5, nos. 1 and 2; op. 36; op. 16; op. 20; op. 71. Movements that have same-tension connection into first P module, middle period: Op. 78 (Low-Low); op. 81a (High-High); op. 74 (High-High); op. 47 (High-High); op. 92 (Low-Low). Late period: Op. 111 (High-High); op. 127 (Low-Low); op. 132 (High-High). 58 Movements with rhetorical drama at end of I: Op. 13; op. 111; op. 132; op. 1, no. 2; op. 47; op. 36; op. 16; op. 20; op. 71.

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drama always takes place within a standing on the dominant and in all but one case (the Cello

Sonata, op. 5, no. 2) consists of the three types, expansional, accelerative, and implicational

tension. In the middle period, however, High endings to I, which occur in four works (op. 81a,

op. 59, no. 3, op. 74, and op. 47), are never part of a standing on the dominant, but some other

function in which the sense of anticipation for the exposition is considerably decreased: a small-

scale transition (op. 81a and op. 47), a closural function (op. 74), or an expansion function (op.

59, no. 3). Moreover, instead of including implicational tension by means of a standing on the

dominant, Beethoven now includes tonal tension in the drama in all four of these middle works

through modulation or ambiguity in the tonality, again lessening expectation of the upcoming

exposition. And as for late works, recall from Table 6.13 that High endings, occurring only

twice, are not common enough to form generalizations.

Like the other sections of sonata form, dramatic structure in the two “parageneric spaces”

of coda and slow introduction are governed by a number of principal patterns. For codas,

Beethoven made substantial distinctions between codas that begin as an expansion of the

preceding phrase (Z1) and those that begin with a separate entity that is either an introduction

(Z2) or the coda proper (Z3). The start of Z1 usually kept the tension the same as the ongoing

module, heightening the sense of connectivity and blurring the border between recapitulation and

coda (hence the majority of this module only in the late period). With Z2, although there were no

majorities for the types of tension connections leading into that module, the greater teleology of

middle-period works tended to end it Low, delaying a dramatized arrival point until later in the

coda. Early works, on the other hand, instead preferred the LH archetype, thus dramatizing the

arrival of Z3.

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Tension at the beginning of Z3 was strongly influenced by its position in the coda and its

style period: those that were the first module had their tension level smoothed out with that of the

bordering recapitulation, creating a more continuous flow. The end of Z3 usually ended

dramatically, regardless of the style period of the work. Moreover, this dramatic end was always

the result of a flourish of rhetorical drama, never syntactical drama, which would threaten to

spoil the strong sense of resolution the end of a movement brings in the classical style.

As for slow introductions, significant differences were seen between pieces that were

largely in symphony style and those in the new style of the middle and late periods in which the

Low-tension intimacy of sonata style was an important factor. Generally, those that began the

whole section (whether I1 or I2) High were of the surging restlessness of symphony style while

those that began it Low tended to be of the new style. Moreover, a High end to I2 was discovered

to be one of the few aspects of dramatic structure that remained very consistent throughout

Beethoven’s career. And the final zone of the slow introduction, I3, usually a standing on the

dominant, was found to be most affected by the trend toward continuity that Beethoven

developed over his later two periods, especially the last, where the zone hardly occurred at all.

With the addition of these two parageneric spaces, we have now covered the gamut of

formal options that one may encounter in Beethoven’s first-movement Type 3 sonatas. This

leaves us in a position to consider more broadly the questions about dramatic structure that I

posed at the beginning of this study regarding drama as it relates to Beethoven’s particular

manifestations of sonata form and to the four categories of key, mode, genre, and style period. It

is this task that I leave to the final chapter as a means of summing up some of the key issues

regarding dramatic structure in Beethoven’s sonata forms.

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Chapter 7: Epilogue I. Summary and Conclusions With our exploration of dramatic structure in Beethoven’s eighty-seven first-movement

sonata forms now complete, I may attempt some overarching answers to the questions I set out at

the beginning of this study, namely: Which areas of sonata form did Beethoven tend to

dramatize? What patterns emerge from comparing form and drama not only in these movements

overall, but also in the categories of key, mode, genre, and style period? With what mechanisms

did he achieve the dramatization?

Concerning the parts of sonata form that Beethoven usually dramatized, each module

tended not to be linked to any one archetype, but there were a few spots in the form that showed

a constant trend in dramatic structure throughout his career, all of which were important

landmarks in the form: the start of TR (Low), the start of S (Low), the ends of the development

core and retransition, D3 and D4 (both High), the end of the slow introduction’s core, I2 (High),

and the end of the entire movement (High). Nevertheless, the scarcity of these relationships

indicates that Beethoven’s conception of first-movement sonata form as a dramatic form

underwent significant change. And concerning key, mode, genre, and style period, these

dramatic changes were found to have little connection to the first three categories, the minor

mode being the most significant on account of its more frequent High starts to modules early on

in the movement in P and TR, where the drama seems to be affected by the literal, audible

presence of the minor tonic key with its accompanying tragic character. But on the whole, it was

found that minor-mode movements do not employ radically different dramatic structures than

major-mode ones, and the same generally applies to movements in a certain key or genre. C

minor was an exceptional key, especially in its fairly consistent use of tutti effects to create its

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drama. Thus, there was something extraordinarily symphonic about the key of C minor,

regardless of the genre of the movement, a feature that can be considered a part of the

composer’s “C-minor mood”. Indeed, genre played the least important role in dramatic structure

with the exception of the symphony, which, more frequently than other genres, tended to reach

High tension levels early in a zone with H archetypes, as in the first modules of the P-zone (P1.0),

transition (TR1), and closing section (CL1), and the last possible zone of the development, D4.

But with the symphony, we begin to speak more of a style than a genre since Beethoven’s

symphonies are the greatest exemplars of classical symphony style among the eighty-seven

movements. Indeed, one of the most unexpected and illuminating findings of this study was the

relationship between drama and style as it pertains to the differences among symphony style,

sonata style, and the new style Beethoven forged in his middle and late periods, drawing on

elements from the first two styles and French Revolutionary music.

These distinctions in style, however, were closely connected to style period, the category

that saw the most profound changes in Beethoven’s use of drama and had an effect on almost

every module of the form. Moreover, even if one understands the division of Beethoven’s works

into periods differently from the approach I have given here, there is no doubt that the most

important changes took place over large spans of time, and that those changes usually revealed

similar trends in dramatic structure throughout the entire sonata form. The most pervasive trend

was the evolution of Beethoven’s conception of the sonata from a highly sectional form in the

early period to a more continuous one through the middle and especially into the late period, a

trend that, from a dramatic perspective, was the result of a number of findings that arose

repeatedly throughout this study.

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First, the early works often dropped the tension level from High at the end of one module

to Low at the start of the next. The usual setup for these High-Low connections involved

rhetorical drama in the form of a tutti effect of dynamic and thickness tension or excited effect of

dynamic and rhythmic tension then a drop in these tension types to non-dramatic Low levels.

Given the immediate impact that the rhetorical types have, especially dynamic tension, it is

virtually impossible to miss the grand sense of articulation that these High-Low connections

provided in the form. (No doubt, this is the reason why the typical late-eighteenth-century sonata

exposition not only has a TR that ends High, but also an S that starts Low.) In the middle and late

periods, the tension connections between modules was most often the continuous High-High or

Low-Low, but of the two, Low-Low connections were generally more frequent because of

Beethoven’s stylistic changes: while in his last two periods he retained much of the melodic

continuity of symphony style, he relied far less on its “hard drive”, which essentially boiled

down to a rhetorically dramatic ending to a phrase. Thus, the middle and late pieces were often

characterized by a “non-driving continuity” that emphasized Low-Low connections between

modules, especially in the late works. In the middle works, such connections were usually part of

a highly teleological plan that reserved a dramatic arrival for later in the piece, whereas the late

works generally remained at a Low level of tension, being much more concerned with intimate

vocal melody and intricate ornamentation. But moreover, in middle works, High-High

connections occurred at roughly equal frequencies to Low-Low ones, most often to maintain the

High tension of symphonic drive; hence the frequency of the technique in the symphonies in

particular (six of the nine being from the middle period).

Second, because of the large number of High-Low connections in the early period, the

most favoured archetype within modules in general was LH. As a result, the intense goal-

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directedness that was such an integral part of the classical style generally existed on the level of

the single phrase in the early period, whereas in the middle period it began to operate across

many phrases or even across most of a movement, as was seen, for instance, with the greatly

delayed High end to S in op. 59, no. 1. This is not to say that a dramatic goal in the early works

could not be reached after a long expanse—the lone S-theme of the Cello Sonata in F Major, op.

5, no. 1, which is structured as an LH archetype, is a prime example, attaining a dramatic

cadential arrival after a startling seventy-one measures! But these types of phrases were

exceptional in the early period, and Beethoven achieved length primarily by adding more

modules to a zone, as was shown by the generally higher number of modules in S and CL. Thus,

the sectional dramatic structure in the early works was in large part the consequence of having

LH archetypes (often several of them) lined up in succession. In the middle and late periods, LH

was still a common archetype in many modules, especially in S-themes and the development

core (D3), but when it appeared, it tended to be followed by a module that began High, hence

maintaining the tension level into the next module and creating a more continuous dramatic flow.

Several other features demonstrated that this streamlining of dramatic structure was part

of a larger trend toward continuity in the form in general, one that crystallized with the late

works. The transformation of the medial caesura was perhaps the most conspicuous clue in this

respect, as Beethoven gradually moved from the distinct separation of clear caesuras in the early

period to the more continuous obscured or absent caesuras in the middle and late periods,

especially preferring the absent type in the late period, thus heightening the trend. Similarly, in

the late works, it was found that Beethoven often blurred the boundary between sections at two

important locations in the form: between the exposition and development, and between the

recapitulation and coda, the former by repeating the exposition’s final motive (as was seen in op.

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90) or by not resolving the exposition to a final triad or unison (as was seen in op. 132), and the

latter by the preference for the type of coda that began as an extension of the ongoing module

(Z1) rather than as a module with a clear beginning (Z2 or Z3). Furthermore, the formal ambiguity

that these techniques provide was likely an incentive for Beethoven to omit the expositional

repeat in most of the late works. (The lack of a second-half repeat likewise allowed for a more

ambiguous effect, but that convention had largely taken hold by Beethoven’s early works.) The

late period in particular also saw the near elimination of standing on the dominants, which, in the

classical style, are almost always used as a preparation for a new section in the form. Sections

are therefore more apt to lack a clear starting boundary when standing on the dominants are

absent, as they usually were in late works, precisely where one would have most expected to find

them: the ends of transitions, development sections, and slow introductions.

Although these more continuous approaches to sonata form may seem to be at odds with

the widely-held view of Beethoven’s late style as highly discontinuous, the two are not mutually

exclusive. The discontinuities that others point out (usually rooted in the work of Theodor

Adorno) occur largely within the same section of the form.1 Consider, for example, the opening

of the Piano Sonata in E Minor, op. 90. In the first eight measures, there are strong contrasts in

dynamics, textural thickness, and bass register (and hence fluctuations in the overall tension

level). Moreover, this opening eight-measure span is itself strongly contrasted with the graceful

1 See, for example, Rose Rosengard Subotnik, “Adorno’s Diagnosis of Beethoven’s Late Style: Early Symptom of a Fatal Condition,” Journal of the American Musicological Society 29 (1976): 266, who notes that the increased use of silence in late Beethoven (observed by Adorno) creates discontinuities that “naturally tend to emaciate the physical robustness of Beethoven’s music.” See also Michael Spitzer, Music as Philosophy: Adorno and Beethoven’s Late Style (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 2006), 125, who remarks that, in the late piano sonatas, Beethoven problematizes the sense of beginning “through discontinuities of material, entailing sharper contrasts of texture, dynamics, or theme.” And Daniel K. L. Chua, The “Galitzin” Quartets of Beethoven: Opp. 127, 132, 130 (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1995), chap. 3, regards much of the “disunity” of the late works as originating in the same processes that create these same works’ sense of unity: variation and counterpoint. Nevertheless, Chua’s claims for unity remain latent in a web of middleground motivic relationships, leaving the musical surface highly discontinuous, as others have generally viewed it.

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lyricism of the following eight measures. All of these discontinuities take place within the same

single P-theme that opens the movement. Yet within this same exposition, the juncture between

TR and S is made almost seamless through the continuity in the High tension level (rhetorically),

and the lack of a medial caesura and standing on the dominant. Thus, the continuities in drama

and form sew together important divisions in sonata form in a way that suggests that the entire

piece is a single unified utterance. And the discontinuities within the phrases, I would argue,

suggest the spontaneity of the stream of consciousness—something that was practically

impossible with the more sectional approach seen in the early works. Furthermore, it was an idea

that would have a profound effect on the romantic generations to follow, especially Wagner,

whose use of “endless melody” sought to do the very same thing—to capture emotion in a way

that more closely mirrored human thought in real time.

Other significant patterns in dramatic structure were seen in Beethoven’s use of rhetorical

drama versus syntactical drama and their constituent tension types. Syntactical drama was the

less common of the two and, because it requires more time to unfold, it tended to occur mostly in

modules that could acquire substantial length, that is, those of the S-zone, the development core

(D3), and the slow introduction’s core (I2). By contrast, shorter modules such as the introductory

units P1.0, D1, Z1 and Z2, and I1, along with the codettas of CL, tended to rely only on rhetorical

drama. But because syntactical drama derives its power from creating the need for resolution, it

was commonly seen in those parts of sonata form where the attainment of a cadence is a crucial

occurrence, such as the ends of the S-zone, the development core, and I2 of a slow introduction.

Syntactically dramatic units tended to employ different syntactical tension types depending on

the goal or function of the passage. If leading to a PAC (as at the end of S-themes), the types

were usually tonal, expansional, and accelerative tension; if leading to a HC (as at the end of I2,

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TR1, and D3), they were usually tonal, closural, and accelerative; and if a standing on the

dominant (as in TRSod1, D4, and I3), the types were usually expansional, implicational, and

accelerative tension. The appearance of accelerative tension in all three kinds of passages

indicates Beethoven’s heavy reliance on the sentence as a way of structuring a module that ends

dramatically. And certainly this reliance stems from the inherent accelerative tension the

sentence has to offer in its continuation portion, which more easily lends itself to dramatic levels

of tension than non-accelerating structures for this very reason. But more fundamentally, the

sentence was found to be an extremely important part of Beethoven’s style in general, since it

was a prominent phrase structure in virtually all parts of sonata form, throughout his entire

career.

Rhetorical drama occurred much more frequently than syntactical drama, a fact that is

surely rooted in their difference in effect. Rhetorical tension types need no particular musical

context in order to be expressed; we instinctively know that loud sounds, fast rhythms, harmonic

dissonances, and so on, are all intense phenomena. From this viewpoint, in his rhetorically

dramatic passages, we might understand Beethoven’s near ubiquitous use of dynamic tension—

the most powerful tension type of all—be it in a tutti effect, excited effect, or some other

combination, as an attempt to infuse his music with the kind of dramatic power and immediacy

that we so often feel in listening to Beethoven. If this is true, then it might also explain why

Beethoven may have chosen to dramatize loud passages in the first place, for music can have

intensity without drama, and a loud dynamic per se is not enough to create drama, as I have

defined it here. Thus, one of the most fundamental aspects of Beethoven’s use of drama is that

loud dynamics were strongly associated with dramatic intensity and hence usually called for the

addition of at least one other rhetorical tension type.

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But this then raises other questions, perhaps most importantly, do Beethoven’s dramatic

structures differ from those of other composers, especially those to whom he is most often

compared, Haydn and Mozart? And if so, how? One important clue rests in these two

composers’ use of symphony style and sonata style. As Michael Broyles points out,

Mozart’s instrumental style is essentially symphonic, although there is a great deal of interpenetration between the two styles in both his symphonies and his sonatas. The cantabile theme in the secondary area is of course common in his symphonies, even though some theorists considered it inconsistent with the symphonic style, and many of his sonatas can legitimately be called symphonies for keyboard. . . . Haydn’s works by contrast present a picture of a composer fully bent on maintaining the stylistic dualism. . . . His symphonies are among the purest manifestations of the symphony style, even to the extent of frequently avoiding the corrupting cantabile theme. . . . In the 1790’s a significant change in the relationship between the two styles begins to take place, however. The symphony style becomes more and more pervasive in Haydn’s instrumental music, affecting virtually all of his instrumental genres.2

If Beethoven treated sonata and symphony styles in much the same manner as Haydn and Mozart

(a bold, but not unreasonable assumption), then we would expect two main similarities in

dramatic structure to emerge. First, Beethoven’s passages in symphony style would largely

resemble Haydn’s symphonies and Mozart’s works in general, and second, Beethoven’s passages

in sonata style would largely resemble Haydn’s piano sonatas. In Haydn’s works before 1790,

however, we would expect to find differences along the lines of genre, since style and genre were

virtually interchangeable for Haydn during that time. But with the dominance of symphony style

from 1790 on, it would seem that genre would become far less important as an indicator of style.

Whether or not these tendencies would be true, the results would nonetheless be

enlightening, since any differences in dramatic structure could lead to insights into differences

among these composers’ personal styles and changes within them. In considering these issues,

some difficult analytical decisions would have to be faced, for even in their first movements,

Haydn and Mozart make use of more than the “standard” Type 3 sonata and the “two-part” type

of exposition. As is well known, Haydn often turned to a type of sonata form in which what

2 Michael Broyles, Beethoven: The Emergence and Evolution of Beethoven’s Heroic Style (New York: Excelsior, 1987), 28-31.

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begins as a transition appears to end with a cadential portion of a second theme.3 And both

composers made considerable use of the Type 2 sonata, in which the development leads not to a

recapitulation of P, but to some later point of the exposition, usually somewhere in TR. If we

were to compare Beethoven’s dramatic practices with those of Haydn and Mozart, could we

consider all P-themes, for instance, to be equivalent in these two types of sonata forms? They

would seem to be similar enough in function to invite comparison, but then again, if the rest of

the form unfolds differently, should they be considered different entities? What about

development sections in Type 2 versus those in Type 3? The former always begin with P-

material, whereas the latter may or may not—can the two be compared? Such questions could

even be asked of Beethoven’s own output, for he does avail himself of all five of Hepokoski and

Darcy’s sonata types (Type 1 being the sonata without development, Type 4 the sonata-rondo,

and Type 5 concerto sonata form). Indeed, one of the most thought-provoking questions that

reaches beyond the limits of this study is if and how Beethoven’s dramatic sensibility was

significantly altered by the type of sonata form he was writing.

Besides looking backward to Haydn and Mozart, we might also cast our gaze in the

forward direction and ask whether similar kinds of dramatic structures may be found in the

music of composers after Beethoven. For Schubert, Schumann, and Brahms, Beethoven was a

particularly powerful influence, and we may therefore expect many similarities to emerge. But

each had their differences as well, and while it is impossible to speculate how each composer’s

use of drama might have been affected by his own idiosyncrasies, it is at least worth mentioning 3 This type of structure has been variously named. William E. Caplin, Classical Form: A Theory of Formal Functions for the Instrumental Music of Haydn, Mozart, and Beethoven (New York: Oxford University Press, 1998), 201-3, refers to it as either “transition lacking a concluding function” or “transition/subordinate theme fusion”, depending on the situation; James Hepokoski and Warren Darcy, Elements of Sonata Form: Norms, Types, and Deformations in the Late-Eighteenth-Century Sonata (New York: Oxford University Press, 2006), 51-64, refer to it as a “continuous exposition”; and Jens Peter Larsen, “Sonata Form Problems,” in Handel, Haydn, and the Viennese Classical Style, trans. Ulrich Krämer (Ann Arbor, MI: UMI Research Press, 1988), 274-75, refers to it as a “three-part” exposition.

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a few of them here. Perhaps most relevant in the case of Schubert is the absolute dominance of

lyrical melody and even greater expansiveness—the “heavenly length”—his music often

acquires. In a sense, both qualities may be viewed as an extension of features seen in late

Beethoven, but does this mean that we would encounter similar dramatic structures, as though

the trends of the late works were taken to an even further extreme? Alternatively, Schumann

believed that it was a composer’s duty not merely to continue past traditions but to reinvent

them, and regarding sonata form in particular, he once wrote that “on the whole it seems as

though the form has run its life course, and this is to be sure in the order of things, for we should

not repeat the same things for another century but rather be mindful of seeking out the New.”4 It

is difficult to think that this emphasis on novelty would not have affected his use of dramatic

structure. Finally, with Brahms we come to a composer whose mindset was often a nostalgic one

and whose aesthetic was heavily influenced by the classical composers, especially Beethoven—

consider, for example, his reinstating of the classical expositional repeat in his first three

symphonies; or his return to classical procedures in concerto sonata form with the use of an

opening ritornello, as in his First Piano Concerto, at a time when it had become outmoded.5 Does

his use of drama, then, also mark a return to earlier practices and reflect many of the same

patterns found in Beethoven? Or did Brahms return to older forms with a new approach to

dramatic structure?

Another possible avenue for future research on dramatic structure is its intersection with

other analytical techniques of contemporary music theory. One of the most intriguing

4 As reported in and translated by John Daverio in Nineteenth-Century Music and German Romantic Ideology (New York: Schirmer Books, 1993), 21. For the original statement, see Robert Schumann, “Sonaten für das Clavier,” Neue Zeitschrift für Musik 10 (1839): 134. 5 James Hepokoski mentions both of these practices of Brahms and argues that the first of the two “was probably to be taken as a purposeful gesture harking back not only to older traditions but also to the more abstract or absolute idea of the symphony.” See “Beethoven Reception: The Symphonic Tradition,” in Music, Structure, Thought: Selected Essays (Burlington, VT: Ashgate, 2009 [essay originally published 2002]), 53.

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possibilities involves Robert Hatten’s notion of “expressive genres”, which he defines as a

“category of musical works based on their implementation of a change-of-state schema (tragic-

to-triumphant, tragic-to-transcendent) or their organization of expressive states in terms of an

overarching topical field (pastoral, tragic).”6 Considering that Hatten devised this term

specifically for the interpretation of Beethoven’s music, it seems likely that there would be

important connections between expressive genre and dramatic structure. Indeed, such

connections were already suggested in some parts of sonata form, especially in the various

dramatic “strategies” of High-ending S-themes, some of which were related to such expressive

qualities as the “highly tragic” within minor-mode movements.

In other recent work, Austin T. Patty has examined musical climaxes and proposed four

“pacing scenarios”: “surge”, “struggle”, “tumble”, and “settle”, each of which describes a

particular combination of acceleration or deceleration in harmony and/or melody with a pattern

of musical intensification or abatement.7 Because, as Patty states, intensification always precedes

a climax and abatement always follows it, dramatic structure would seem to be a natural

addition, especially since the parameters that contribute to these intensifications and abatements

largely correspond to various tension types in the present study. Thus, one may ask whether

certain archetypes of dramatic structure and even whether certain combinations of tension types

such as the tutti effect, tend to be paired with certain pacing scenarios.

Dramatic structure may also be related to Harald Krebs’ idea of metrical “maps”, in

which one charts the metrical “consonances” and “dissonances” within an entire movement.8

6 Robert Hatten, Musical Meaning in Beethoven: Markedness, Correlation, and Interpretation (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1994), 290. 7 Austin T. Patty, “Pacing Scenarios: How Harmonic Rhythm and Melodic Pacing Influence Our Experience of Musical Climax,” Music Theory Spectrum 31 (2009): 325-67. 8 Harald Krebs, Fantasy Pieces: Metrical Dissonance in the Music of Robert Schumann (New York: Oxford University Press, 1999), 85.

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After all, as Krebs points out, “the comparison of metrical maps of different works quickly

brings their metrical differences and similarities into focus,” and hence there is at least a

potential for correspondences between metrical structure and dramatic structure, especially as

Krebs notes that he “could just as well have based the book on the music of Beethoven.”9 My

intuition, however, is that such correspondences would be less prominent in sonata-form

movements than in dance-like pieces such as scherzos, where a strong rhythmic character and

metrical play are a standard part of Beethoven’s craft.10

II. Dramatic Structure in Beethoven’s String Trio in E-Flat Major, op. 3

I wish to conclude this study with an analysis of a complete movement not only to

illustrate at once how the theory of dramatic structure may be applied to all parts of a sonata

form, but also to demonstrate that the theory can be a particularly useful tool for comparisons of

musical style. I have chosen for this purpose the first movement of Beethoven’s String Trio in E-

Flat Major, op. 3, an early work that, while unfamiliar to most, reveals many oddities when

analyzed for its dramatic structure, especially in the context of its style period (see Example 7.1).

At first glance, there would appear to be nothing particularly unusual about the opening

P1 theme. After all, from a purely formal perspective, it is a perfectly square sixteen-measure

phrase. But a closer look reveals that it is of no ordinary sentence or period design, but is

constructed as a presentation (4 + 4) and a repeated cadential unit (4 + 4), creating what I call a

hybrid 6 theme—a very rare theme type indeed. Dramatically, the opening tutti effect of dynamic

and thickness tension produces a High-tension unit that quickly gives way to a Low-tension unit

9 Krebs, Fantasy Pieces, vii. 10 See, for example, Harald Krebs, “Metrical Dissonance and Metrical Revision in Beethoven’s String Quartets,” in The String Quartets of Beethoven, ed. William Kinderman (Urbana: University of Illinois Press, 2006), 31-59, which focusses mainly on several dance movements from Beethoven’s quartets.

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with the soft dynamic and thinner three-voice texture at the end of m. 2.11 While there is

accelerative tension in mm. 2-4 with the fragmentation of the initial motive (see the brackets

over these measures in Example 7.1), there are no other syntactical types present to increase the

tension to a dramatic level; hence the music remains Low. In mm. 5-8, the repetition of the

opening four-measure basic idea, which is an HL unit, brings a redundancy in the dramatic

structure with another HL unit that does not alter the underlying archetype. Throughout mm. 9-

16, there are in fact no rhetorical types at all, and syntactically, there is only the closural tension

caused by the IAC in m. 12 and the subsequent repetition of the cadence, as well as the

expansional tension this repetition creates—not enough for syntactical drama. Hence, the

passage acquires a Low-tension unit. Thus, the overall archetype for this P-theme is HL, a most

unusual choice given that 85% (44 of 52) of early movements began P1 with Low tension, and

that it is only in the late works that there is a majority of High-starting P1-themes (54%, 7 of 13).

Instead of moving straight from P1 into TR, the P-zone adds a second P-theme (P2) in

mm. 17-27 that is unusual in a number of ways. First, P2 was a rare phenomenon, occurring in

only six of the eighty-seven movements’ expositions. Second, its structure is an odd one—once

again not a common sentence or period but rather what I call a hybrid 5 theme (presentation +

consequent). Moreover, when P2 was added at all, we found that it most often began High as a

means of invigorating the piece after a Low-starting P1. In op. 3, however, the P2 does just the

opposite and begins Low after a High-starting P1, thus providing an even greater length of repose

after the High start to P1. This Low start results despite the presence of a couple of tension types:

11 Measures 5-6 (and other similar repetitions of this material in the movement) are also dramatic despite lacking the thickness tension of mm. 1-2. See the discussion of this passage in chapter 2, Example 2.9.

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rhetorically, thickness tension (from the four total voices in mm. 16-20) and syntactically,

accelerative tension due to the increase in harmonic rhythm at m. 26).12

TR in this case is of the most common type—modulating—and due to the repetition of

P1’s opening, it begins with a High unit, which is unusual considering that Low starts to TR were

the majority in all style periods. It is, however, completely in line with the other string trios (op.

9) in this respect, all three of which begin TR (of any type) High (see Appendix B), thus

demonstrating a rare connection between dramatic structure and a genre outside of the

symphony, which had many such connections due largely to its strong associations with

symphony style. In op. 3, TR becomes more typical as it progresses, since it signals an “energy-

gain” with a dramatic High unit containing an excited effect (dynamic and rhythmic tension) as

well as the syntactical types of expansional and implicational tension, all of which were present

at the end of most modulating TRs of the early period.13 Even the caesura-fill is like most others

in that it ends at a Low level with the last-minute addition of a decrescendo in m. 40, paving the

way for a dramatically smooth entrance to the S-zone. Furthermore, the tension between the end

of TR and the start of S is High-Low, which, in the early period, was the most common

connection at this juncture, one that contributed to the sectional approach to sonata form

generally seen in these works.

S is composed of a single theme, as were about half of all S-zones, but unusually for

early works, attains a massive size that extends through mm. 41-88. The theme begins with Low

tension, as did 94% of Beethoven’s S-zones—indeed, there is not a single tension type present at

12 In a strictly theoretical sense, there is also dynamic tension from the sforzandos of mm. 17 and 19, but I do not regard these as prominent enough to be truly intense gestures. 13 Formally, this TR is somewhat unusual in that it moves directly from a presentation, which has beginning function, to a standing on the dominant, which has after-the-end function. Despite the lack of a half cadence at m. 35, I nonetheless hear a standing on the dominant at this point because the preceding presentation has come to a perceptible end—in other words, there is no sense of an elision at m. 35. For more on this sort of situation, see the discussion in chapter 1, “Framing Functions”.

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this point.14 Formally, the theme is an orthodox choice for S-zones, especially in Beethoven’s

early works: a large period with an expanded consequent phrase. And as is often the case with

such structures, the antecedent phrase is entirely Low in tension (an L unit), the only tension

types being some accelerative tension (since each four-measure basic idea and, on a larger level,

the entire antecedent phrase are constructed as a sentence—see the brackets in Example 7.1),

tonal tension (with the modulation to F major in mm. 51-52), and closural tension (with the

concluding half cadence).15

The consequent phrase begins in m. 53 with the melody shifted down to the cello part,

similarly with Low tension. However, at m. 63, although the accelerative tension of the

antecedent is retained (through the continuation function), the music departs from the antecedent,

creating expansional tension with a phrase expansion that lasts until the cadential function at m.

66. While we expect a PAC at m. 67, the cadence is instead evaded and a repetition of the

continuation function ensues, introducing expansional and closural tension, both of which seek

resolution through attainment of the promised PAC. The two types thus remain until the end of

the theme at m. 88.16 At m. 69, Beethoven stretches the phrase out still further with a lengthy

expansion that ends with the new cadential function at m. 82. Along the way, however,

Beethoven mixes in the syntactical types of tonal tension (with the moves through C minor and

G minor in mm. 69-77), accelerative tension (due to the expansion’s structure as a sentence), and

even some metric tension (due to the accented syncopations in mm. 77-80). Syntactically, then,

14 Of course, from a broader viewpoint, there is tonal tension caused by the new key, but since the present theory deals only with small-scale, measure-to-measure relationships, such tension does not come into play here. See “Limitations and Aims of the Study” in the Introduction for further discussion of this point. 15 Although the cadence to the antecedent is a PAC, that it is in the local V key creates the impression rather of an enhanced HC and therefore creates closural tension. Caplin, Classical Form, 57, refers to this situation in antecedent phrases as a “reinterpreted half cadence” (i.e., a cadence that is reinterpreted as a half cadence, not a half cadence that is reinterpreted). 16 No doubt, this is why the technique is a common one in S-themes, where the new-key PAC is a major formal landmark that, at least in Beethoven, is often approached with High tension.

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the music is unquestionably dramatic. Furthermore, the thickness tension in mm. 75-81

combined with dynamic tension, when it appears in m. 81, adds rhetorical drama as well,

creating an LH unit in the process and giving considerable dramatic weight to a theme that began

so innocently, even coyly, at the start of the S-zone.

The new cadential function at m. 82 immediately sheds the additional tension types that

had accumulated over the phrase expansion, and thus begins with Low tension. But the repeated

turns to V7/ii (in B-flat major) in mm. 82, 84, and 86 provide brief glimmers of High tension as

they are combined with the still-present expansional and closural tension, resulting in a dramatic

unit of LHL that is stated three times.17 With the end of the theme in mm. 87-88, however, the

tonal tension disappears and, despite the rhetorical rhythmic tension that bursts out in the violin

through the sixteenth notes in mm. 85-87, there are not enough tension types in either category to

produce a dramatic effect; hence the theme ends Low when the long-awaited PAC finally arrives

in m. 88. In total, then, the dramatic units of this long and tortuous S-theme would, on the

surface, be L-LH(LHL)(LHL)(LHL), where the hyphen represents the separation between

antecedent and consequent, and the parentheses the repetitions of the final cadential function.

But on a more fundamental level, the archetype underlying these many twists and turns would be

LHL, according to the guidelines I described in the introduction to chapter 3. Although single-

themed S-zones of the early period were limited to the archetypes of LH and LHL, given the

unusual nature of the movement thus far, it seems only fitting that its S should be the less

common of the two, LHL, which stood at 39% (7 of 18) compared to LH’s 61% (11 of 18).

17 This cadential function per se has expansional and closural tension as a result of the repetitions of the function, which keeps the phrase open. But because these tension types are already present (even though on a larger level), they do not count as new tension types when they appear in the cadential function. One could say that the two tension types become more intense, but such considerations lie beyond the scope of this theory.

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The final portion of the exposition in mm. 88-100 is a closing section (CL) composed of

two codettas: the first (CL1) is two measures long and sounded four times successively (in a

varied form the last two times), and the second (CL2, at m. 96) is five measures long but sounded

once. With the only rhetorical tension type being some dynamic tension (from the sforzandos)

and the only syntactical types being metric tension (from the syncopations) and some tonal

tension (from the brief suggestions of the subdominant through the A s), CL1 remains entirely at

a Low tension level. CL2, however, begins immediately with a forte unison that therefore brings

a dramatic High tension level through dynamic and thickness tension before quickly fading to

pianissimo and a Low level.18 The archetypes for these codettas are thus L and HL, respectively,

which in part is a normative setup for two-codetta CLs, since most two-codetta CL-zones began

Low and since L was a preferred archetype for CL1 at 33% (7 of 21). For CL2, however, the

majority of archetypes were H and, more importantly, the CL-zone as a whole strongly tended to

end High in early works (68%, 32 of 47). The Low-tension ending to CL here is therefore

unusual and in fact was only to became a norm in the late period, when High endings were found

to be a substantial minority (18%, 2 of 11).

Things continue to be out of the ordinary in the development section in terms of both

form and drama. Formally, the section begins directly with the “core” D3-zone (whereas three

quarters of movements had prior D-zones) and this zone unfolds in three modules rather than the

most common two. Dramatically, the connections between zones are evened out, occurring with

the same tension levels rather than the more frequent contrasting levels. At the beginning of D3.1

18 The unison texture at m. 96 is not immediately apparent due to the elision from the previous codetta, which resolves the dissonant seventh in the violin to D before joining in the unison. Nonetheless, I would argue that this D hides its more fundamental tone of B at that point. After all, the violin’s D is not the melody, only an accompanying voice (the melody being in the cello part). At the same time, I hear the forte dynamic at m. 96 as belonging to the second codetta rather than the first because it enters suddenly with m. 96 and is extended into the second codetta. Thus, different parameters can be elided in different ways between modules.

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(m. 101), the lack of tension types besides tonal tension (from the sudden shift into G minor)

creates a smooth connection of Low-Low between the exposition and development. Central

modules of three-module D3s did not form strong patterns due to the small number of pieces

containing such zones overall and in each period. Instead, the focus was on the end of the entire

D3-zone. In this case, where the zone ends with the cadence of D3.3 at m. 155, the High tension

caused by the excited effect (in itself a common feature at the end of D3) is sustained into the

retransition, D4, creating another smooth zonal connection, this time High-High. Moreover, even

though a D4-zone is present, as it was in 90% of early works, its last module (D4.2) ends with

Low rather than the High tension that was seen in 62% of early pieces. Notice how High tension

is avoided at the end of the zone in mm. 172-177: although, syntactically, there is expansional

tension (from the post-cadential function of the zone) and implicational tension (from the

prolonged dominant harmony), there is no accelerative tension, as is the case in most other early

D4s. In fact, not only does the phrase structure fail to accelerate, it actually slows down in its

final two measures (mm. 176-177), slowing the harmonic rhythm from two chords per measure

to one. And rhetorically, there is a decrescendo that drops the dynamic down to a hushed

pianissimo. Admittedly, this Low tension level sets up a stark contrast with the start of the

recapitulation, which replays the opening’s rhetorically High level, which may seem to be

normative for early works with their abundance of connections with contrasting tension (creating

a more sectionalized form). But recall that even in the early period, most connections into the

recapitulation instead featured continuous connections of High-High or Low-Low, even though,

individually, High-Low ones were the most preferred.

The recapitulation is an unusually literal one, with P1, S, and CL all following precisely

the same course as in the exposition, measure-for-measure, with no major changes, a fact that is

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especially uncommon in P1, which remained unchanged in only 18% of all movements. TR1 does

begin with a reinterpretation of its first four measures, with the melody now in the cello and new

accompaniments given to the violin and viola, yielding a High-tension unit due to the rhetorical

excited effect of dynamic and rhythmic tension. But even with these changes, the opening

measures of TR1 remain close enough to the exposition to be considered referential measures,

which last until the crux, about halfway through the module at m. 198 (a typical placement for

TRs that were modulating in the exposition). Moreover, the overall archetype remains unchanged

as HL. With so few changes in this recapitulation, the entire section thus remains nearly as

eccentric as it did in the exposition (apart from the fact that most recapitulations started High, as

this one does).

The music persists in being unusual into the coda, which, beginning directly with the

coda proper Z3 (in much the same way that the development began directly with D3), resides in a

smaller class of early works that contain three modules in the coda proper—most had only one.

Moreover, the dynamic and thickness tension at its outset create a High-tension unit that sharply

divides it from the Low end to the recapitulation. This Low-High connection runs against the

trend for smooth connections in all periods, and notably is the least frequent type in the early

works (along with High-Low connections) at only 19%. (Low-Low and High-High were the

most frequent at 31% each.) Finally, while no patterns governed the central portion of Z3, and

thus nothing significant can be said about the tension there, the end of the movement is one of

the few places that conforms to most others overall, as it ends High with the rhetorical drama of

a tutti effect, and lacks syntactical tension of any kind.

What we gain from this in-depth analysis is a picture of op. 3 as a piece that is

dramatically quite unlike most of Beethoven’s other early first-movement sonata forms. At

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almost every turn, it contradicts the most prominent trends found in those works and, sometimes,

in all works. In some respects, the dramatic structure is closer to works of the late period than the

early—is that of any consequence? If not, perhaps its unusual qualities are more easily related to

earlier works by other composers. After all, op. 3 is known to have been modeled on Mozart’s

String Trio (Divertimento) in E-Flat Major, K. 563.19 Or maybe what we are dealing with is a

piece that Beethoven composed well before his other early works and with a consistently

different dramatic sensibility, especially since the exact date of composition for the work is not

known. These questions all signify the very close relationship between drama and style, and

moreover suggest that dramatic structure itself may be thought of as an aspect of style. For it is

in the context of style change that the present theory appears to be most relevant, and as I hope to

have shown, dramatic structure is just one of the ways that we may seek to measure that change.

19 William Drabkin, “Beethoven’s Understanding of ‘Sonata Form’: The Evidence of the Sketchbooks,” in Beethoven’s Compositional Process, ed. William Kinderman (Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press in association with the American Beethoven Society and the Ira F. Brilliant Center for Beethoven Studies, San Jose University, 1991), 18n3.

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Example 7.1 – Dramatic Structure in Beethoven’s String Trio in E-Flat Major, op. 3

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334

Appendix A – Beethoven’s Eighty-Seven Published Works with First Movements in Type 3 Sonata Form, and Their Date of Composition, Style Period, and Key

Piano Sonatas Op. Date of Composition Period Key2/1 1793-5 Early F- 2/2 1794-5 Early A+ 2/3 1794-5 Early C+ 7 1796-7 Early Eb+ 10/1 ?1795-7 Early C- 10/2 1796-7 Early F+ 10/3 1797-8 Early D+ 13 1797-8 Early C- 14/1 1798 Early E+ 14/2 ?1799 Early G+ 22 1800 Early Bb+ 28 1801 Early D+ 31/1 1802 Early G+ 31/2 1802 Early D- 31/3 1802 Early Eb+ 49/1 ?1797 Early G- 49/2 1795-6 Early G+ 53 1803-4 Middle C+ 57 1804-5 Middle F- 78 1809 Middle F#+ 79 1809 Middle G+ 81a 1809-10 Middle Eb+ 90 1814 Late E- 101 1816 Late A+ 106 1817-18 Late Bb+ 109 1820 Late E+ 110 1821-2 Late Ab+ 111 1821-2 Late C-

String Quartets Op. Date of Composition Period Key18/1 1798-1800 Early F+ 18/2 1798-1800 Early G+ 18/3 1798-1800 Early D+ 18/4 1798-1800 Early C- 18/5 1798-1800 Early A+ 18/6 1798-1800 Early Bb+ 59/1 1806 Middle F+ 59/2 1806 Middle E- 59/3 1806 Middle C+ 74 1809 Middle Eb+ 95 1810-11 Middle F- 127 1824-5 Late Eb+ 130 1825-6 Late Bb+ 132 1825 Late A- 135 1826 Late F+

String Trios Op. Date of Composition Period Key3 Before 1794 Early Eb+ 9/1 1797-8 Early G+ 9/2 1797-8 Early D+ 9/3 1797-8 Early C- Piano Trios Op. Date of Composition Period Key1/1 1794-5 Early Eb+ 1/2 1794-5 Early G+ 1/3 1794-5 Early C- 70/1 1808 Middle D+ 70/2 1808 Middle Eb+ 97 1810-11 Middle Bb+ String Quintets Op. Date of Composition Period Key4 1795 Early Eb+ 29 1801 Early C+ Violin Sonatas Op. Date of Composition Period Key12/1 1797-8 Early D+ 12/2 1797-8 Early A+ 12/3 1797-8 Early Eb+ 23 1800 Early A- 24 1800-01 Early F+ 30/1 1801-2 Early A+ 30/2 1801-2 Early C- 30/3 1801-2 Early G+ 47 1802-3 Middle A- 96 1812 Middle G+ Cello Sonatas Op. Date of Composition Period Key5/1 1796 Early F+ 5/2 1796 Early G- 69 1807-8 Middle A+ 102/1 1815 Late A- 102/2 1815 Late D+

335

Symphonies Op. Date of Composition Period Key21 1799-1800 Early C+ 36 1801-2 Early D+ 55 1803 Middle Eb+ 60 1806 Middle Bb+ 67 1807-8 Middle C- 68 1808 Middle F+ 92 1811-12 Middle A+ 93 1812 Middle F+ 125 1822-4 Late D- Piano Four Hands Op. Date of Composition Period Key6 1796-7 Early D+ Chamber Works with Winds and/or Brass Op. Date of Composition Period Key11 1797(?-1798) Early Bb+ 16 1796 Early Eb+ 17 1800 Early F+ 20 1799 Early Eb+ 71 ?1796 Early Eb+ 81b ?1795 Early Eb+ 87 ?1795 Early C+

336

Appendix B – Dramatic Analysis of All Eighty-Seven of Beethoven’s First-Movement Type 3 Sonata Forms

Expositions (Dynamics estimated for op. 49/2; see p. 181n96) Ct = codetta; Sod = standing on the dominant; CF = caesura-fill; Tr = small-scale transition

Op. P1.0 P1 Ct/Sod P2 TR1 TRSod1 TR2 TRSod2 CF S1 Tr/Sod S2 S3 Sod S4 CL1 CL2 CL3 RT1 RT2 2/1 LHL LH H LHL LHL 2/2 L L HL L LHL LH H L L 2/3 L H H LH HL LH LH H 7 LHL LH L HLH L L L LHL HLH L LH H 10/1 HLH H L LH LH L 10/2 L LH LH LH LH LH 10/3 LH LH LH LH LH L L L L 13 LHL LHL LH LH L LHL LH LH H H H 14/1 L LH H LH H LHL L L 14/2 L L LH L LHL L LH 22 LH LH HL LH L LH HLH L H LH 28 LH LH L LHL L LHL LH L L 31/1 L LH LH H LH LH LH LHL L L 31/2 H LH HLH L LH LHL L L 31/3 LHL L L LH L LH L LHL LHL 49/1 L L L LHL L 49/2 HL L H L H LH H 53 LHL LHL LH HL LH H L L L 57 LHL HL LHL L LHL H L 78 LHL L LH LHL L L 79 H LHL LHL H L LH 81a HL LHL LH HL L L L L L 90 HL LH HLH HL HL 101 L L LHL L 106 HLH HLH H HLH HL LHL LH H HL H 109 L LH HL 110 L LHL LH LHL L L 111 H HL H HLH H LH 18/1 LH LHL LH L LHL LH LH LH 18/2 L HL L H LHL LHL 18/3 L LHL L LH LH L LH LH LH LH 18/4 LH H LH L L LHL LH LH LH LH 18/5 L L LH L LHL LHL L L L 18/6 L L L LH LH LH 59/1 LH HL LH H HL LHL L L 59/2 H L LH HLH HL LH H H H 59/3 LH HL L LH LHL LH H H L L 74 H LHL LH HLH HLH HL 95 HLH HL LHL L 127 L H L LH HL 130 HLH HLH H HL L LHL L L 132 HL LHL LH LHL L LH HL 135 L LH L L LHL LHL

337

Expositions (cont.)

Op. P1.0 P1 Ct/Sod P2 TR1 TRSod1 TR2 TRSod2 CF S1 Tr/Sod S2 S3 Sod S4 CL1 CL2 CL3 RT1 RT2 3 HL L HL H HL LHL L HL 9/1 LH HLH LH LHL LH 9/2 L HLH HLH LHL LHL LH LHL 9/3 LH L HLH H LHL LH L LHL LHL 1/1 HL L LH H L LHL LH L 1/2 LH HL LH LH LH LHL H 1/3 LH LH H HL LH L LH HL L LH 70/1 HL H H LHL L 70/2 HL H L LHL LH H 97 LH HL LH L LHL LH LH L 4 HL LH LHL L LHL LH L 29 LHL LHL LH L LHL LHL LH L L 12/1 HL L LH LH LH H L LH HLH 12/2 LH LH L LH LH L L 12/3 LH LH LHL L LH L H H 23 LH HL LH L LH LH LHL LH LHL 24 L L LH HLH HLH H LHL H L L 30/1 L HL H HL LHL L L 30/2 LH HLH L L LH LH 30/3 LHL L LH L HL LH L L LH 47 HLH LH H HL LH H H HL HL 96 L LH L L LHL LH HLH 5/1 L LH LH LH L LH LHL LHL 5/2 L H H L LH LHL LH H 69 LH HL H HL L HL L L 102/1 HLH HL LHL H HL L 102/2 HL LH HL HL LH LH HL LH LH 21 LH H H LH LH H LH HL HL 36 LH H H H LH LH H HL HL 55 H LH LH HLH H LH LH L LH HLH H L L 60 LH LH H LH L LH LH H H H 67 H LH H HL LH H 68 LH L LH HL L L 92 L LH HL LHL LH H H HL 93 HLH H L LHL LH H H 125 LH H LHL H HL LH HL 6 HL LH LH H H H 11 HL L LH L L LH LH LH 16 LH LHL H HL LH LH L H 17 L L L LH H LHL LHL L H 20 LH HLH LH LHL LHL L H 71 LHL LH LH L LHL L L L 81b HLH LHL LH LH HL H 87 HL L LH LH LH L LHL HL LHL LH

338

Developments

Op. D1 D2.1 D2.2 D3.1 D3.2 D3.3 D3.4 D4.1 D4.2 2/1 LH LH LH L 2/2 HLH HL LH LHL 2/3 LH HL H LH 7 H LH LH L 10/1 HL LH LH L 10/2 L LH LH 10/3 LH HLH H 13 HL LHL LH LHL 14/1 LH HL LH L 14/2 LH L HL L HL LH 22 LH H L H L H 28 LHL LH HL L 31/1 H LH H H LH 31/2 H HLH HL L 31/3 LH LH L 49/1 HL L LHL LH 49/2 HL L 53 LH H HL LH 57 L L H LH LH LH HL 78 LHL HLH HL 79 H HLH HL LH 81a H LH HL LH 90 L LH LH HLH 101 LH L 106 LHL LH HL L HLH 109 L LH 110 L 111 L LH H 18/1 H HLH HLH LH 18/2 LH LHL HLH LHL LH 18/3 L LH LH H H 18/4 LH LH LH LH 18/5 LHL LH LH L LH 18/6 LH LH LH L L 59/1 LHL LH LH LHL LH LH HLH 59/2 HLH LH HLH HL 59/3 LH L LH HL 74 H LH H H LH 95 HL LH 127 HL LH H HL LH 130 L LH 132 L LH LH HL HL 135 LH LHL LH

Op. D1 D2.1 D2.2 D3.1 D3.2 D3.3 D3.4 D4.1 D4.2 3 LH LHL HLH H LHL 9/1 LH LH LH LH 9/2 LH LH LH LH 9/3 HL LH L LH 1/1 LH LH LH LH 1/2 LH LH LH LH 1/3 L L HL LH LH 70/1 L HL LH H H 70/2 HL LH LH 97 LH L LHL LH LH LH 4 LHL LH L L 29 L LH LH LHL 12/1 LH LH LH 12/2 LH LH 12/3 H LH L 23 H LH LH 24 HLH LH LH 30/1 HLH LH LHL 30/2 LH LH LH 30/3 LH 47 LH H L HLH LH LH 96 LH LH LHL 5/1 L H LH LH 5/2 H H LH LH 69 LH L H LH 102/1 HLH LH 102/2 HL LHL LHL H 21 HLH LH H HL 36 LH H H LH HL LHL 55 L L LH HLH LHL LH L LH LH 60 H L LH LH HLH L LH 67 H LH LHL H 68 L LHL LHL LHL 92 LH H L LH H H 93 LH H H 125 L LH H HL LH H 6 HLH LH 11 L HL LH 16 H LH LH LH 17 HL H L LH 20 H LH LH 71 LH LHL LH LH 81b L LH L LH 87 LH LH LH LHL

339

Recapitulations

Op. P1.0 P1 Ct/Sod P2 TR1 TRSod1 TR2 TRSod2 CF S1 Tr/Sod S2 S3 Sod S4 CL1 CL2 CL3 RT1 RT2 2/1 LH LH L LHL LH 2/2 L LH HL L LHL LH H L 2/3 L LH H LH HL LH LH 7 H LHL LH L L L LHL HLH L LH 10/1 HLH L LH LH LH 10/2 L LH LH LH LH 10/3 LHL LH H LH LH LH LH L 13 LHL LH L LHL LH LH H H 14/1 HL LH H LH H LHL LHL 14/2 L L LH L LHL L 22 LH LH HL LH L LH HLH L H LH 28 LH LH L LHL L LHL LH L 31/1 H LHL HLH LH LH LHL L 31/2 HL LH LH L LH LHL 31/3 LHL L LH L LH L LHL 49/1 L L L LHL 49/2 HL H H L H L H 53 LHL LHL LH HL LH H L L 57 LHL HL LHL L LHL H L 78 LH LHL LH LHL 79 H LHL LHL HL LH LHL 81a HL LHL LH HL L L L L 90 HL LH HLH HL HL 101 L LHL L 106 HLH HLH H HLH HL LHL LH H 109 H LH HL 110 L L LH LHL L 111 HLH H HLH H 18/1 HLH LH LH L LHL LH LH LH 18/2 HLH L LH LHL LHL 18/3 L L LH LH L LH LH LH 18/4 LH H L L LHL LH LH LH 18/5 L LHL LH L LHL LHL L H 18/6 LH HLH LH LH LH 59/1 HLH LH LH H HL LHL L 59/2 HL L LH HLH HL LH H L L 59/3 LH HL L LH LHL LH H H 74 H LHL LH HLH HLH HL 95 H L LHL L 127 L H L LH HL 130 HLH HL LH HL L LHL L 132 HL LHL LH LHL L LH HL 135 HL LH L L LHL LHL

340

Recapitulations (cont.)

Op. P1.0 P1 Ct/Sod P2 TR1 TRSod1 TR2 TRSod2 CF S1 Tr/Sod S2 S3 Sod S4 CL1 CL2 CL3 RT1 RT2 3 HL HL H HL LHL L HL 9/1 LH H LH LHL LH 9/2 L HLH HLH LHL LHL LH LH 9/3 H HLH LHL LH L LHL LHL 1/1 HL L LH H L LHL LH 1/2 LH L LH H LH LHL LH 1/3 HL LH LH L LH HL 70/1 HL HLH HL LHL L L 70/2 HL H L LHL L 97 LH LHL LH L LHL LH LH 4 HL LH LHL L LHL 29 L LHL LH L LHL LHL 12/1 HL L LH H L LH HLH 12/2 LH LH L LH LH L 12/3 LH LH L L LH L H 23 HL LHL LH L LH LH LHL L L 24 L LH LH HLH HLH H LHL H L 30/1 L HL H HL LHL 30/2 LH HLH L L LH LH 30/3 HL LH LH L HL LH L 47 HLH LH H HL LH H H 96 LH HL L L LHL LH 5/1 HL LH LH LH L LH LH 5/2 LH H H L LH LH LH H 69 LH HL H HL L HL L 102/1 HLH LHL LHL H HL 102/2 HL HL LH LH LH HLH 21 HLH H L LH LH H LH 36 LH LH H H LH LH H HL 55 LHL LH H LH LH L LH HLH H L 60 HL H LH L LH LH H H 67 H LH H HL LH H 68 LH L LH HL L 92 HL LH LHL LH H H H 93 HL H L LHL LH H 125 H HL LH HL 6 H HLH LH H H 11 HLH LHL L LH LH LH 16 LH H HL LH LH L H 17 H LH LH H LHL LHL L H 20 HLH LH LH LHL LHL L H 71 LHL LH L LHL L 81b HLH LHL LH LH HL H 87 HL L LHL LH L LHL HL LHL LH

341

Codas

Op. Z1 Z2 Z3.1 Z3.2 Z3.3 Z3.4 Z3.5 2/1 2/2 2/3 HL LH 7 HL LHL LH 10/1 10/2 10/3 LH LH 13 LHL LH 14/1 L 14/2 LHL 22 28 L 31/1 H H LHL 31/2 L 31/3 LHL LHL LHL 49/1 L L 49/2 53 LH LH LH LH 57 LHL LH LH L 78 LH 79 H L 81a HL LHL LHL L LH 90 L L 101 LHL LHL LH 106 HLH LH HLH 109 L LHL 110 HL LHL LHL 111 HL LHL 18/1 H LHL LH 18/2 18/3 LH LH 18/4 H LH 18/5 LH 18/6 59/1 LH HLH LH 59/2 H HL LHL LH HL 59/3 LH 74 L LH HLH 95 H H HL 127 LHL 130 L HL LHL LH 132 LH LH L LH 135 LHL LH L

Op. Z1 Z2 Z3.1 Z3.2 Z3.3 Z3.4 Z3.5 3 HL LH 9/1 H LH LH H 9/2 9/3 HL L L LH 1/1 LH LH L LH 1/2 LH LHL H 1/3 LHL LH 70/1 LH H 70/2 LH LH HL 97 HLH H 4 HL L LH LH 29 HLH HL LH 12/1 12/2 LH L 12/3 HLH 23 LH LH HL 24 HLH LH LH 30/1 LHL 30/2 LHL LH HLH H 30/3 LHL 47 H LH L LH 96 LHL LH 5/1 H LH HLH H H 5/2 HL LH LHL H 69 LH HL LH 102/1 H LH 102/2 H LH 21 LH H 36 LH H H H 55 HL L LH LHL LH LH 60 H H LH LH 67 HLH H H H LH 68 L LH LHL LHL 92 L LH H H 93 LH HLH H HL 125 LH LHL LH H 6 H 11 HL LH 16 HL LHL L LH 17 20 H LHL LH 71 HLH L HL 81b H HL H 87 HL L

342

Slow Introductions

Op. I1 I2.1 I2.2 I2.3 I2.4 I3 2/1 2/2 2/3 7 10/1 10/2 10/3 13 HLH LH LH 14/1 14/2 22 28 31/1 31/2 31/3 49/1 49/2 53 57 78 L 79 81a LH LH 90 101 106 109 110 111 HLH LH 18/1 18/2 18/3 18/4 18/5 18/6 59/1 59/2 59/3 HLH 74 LH LH 95 127 HL 130 LHL L 132 LH 135

Op. I1 I2.1 I2.2 I2.3 I2.4 I3 3 9/1 HL L LH HL 9/2 9/3 1/1 1/2 HLH LH LH 1/3 70/1 70/2 LH LHL 97 4 29 12/1 12/2 12/3 23 24 30/1 30/2 30/3 47 HLH LH 96 5/1 LHL LH LH 5/2 HL LHL LH LH LH 69 102/1 L L L LHL 102/2 21 HLH LHL 36 H LHL LH LH LH 55 60 L LH LH L 67 68 92 HLH HLH HL 93 125 6 11 16 LHL LH LH 17 20 HL LH LH 71 H LH LH 81b 87