Beethoven: Complete Pianoforte Sonatas Vol. VII

There are composers whose works are known through numbers prefaced by one or more letters, indicating – and rightfully immortalizing – the sometimes-heroic musicologists who classified them. Thus we know Mozart’s works by their KV (Köchel’s Verzeichnis), Domenico Scarlatti’s Sonatas by their “K.” (Kirkpatrick) or “L.” (Longo), Schubert’s by their “D.” (Deutsch) and so on. Other catalogues bear no such homage: BWV for Bach’s Werke Verzeichnis, BuxWV for Buxtehude’s, HWV for Händel’s and so on. And the possible criteria for the work’s numbering are, well, numerous. For instance, Bach’s BWV is organized by genres, with the Cantatas coming first, followed by other sacred works, etc. Similarly, Haydn’s catalogue, which again pays homage to Hoboken, is organized by genres (indicated by the Roman numerals) and then by individual works – so, Haydn’s Piano Sonatas are found under Hob. XVI.
The composers mentioned above had, of course, some of their works published during their lifetime – in a greater or lesser proportion, depending on various circumstances: the composer’s lifespan, his popularity, his greater or lesser propensity to publication, the conditions of the market etc. Published works normally were assigned an opus number. In the Renaissance and Baroque era, it was common for a composer to group a series, sometimes a large one, of like works into a single opus number. This is the case, for instance, with Corelli’s Sonatas. Normally, groupings would comprise works by multiples of three: six or twelve preferably – works by the dozen, one would say.
Thus, in order to make “the dozen”, at times a composer would insert an earlier work within a new series, or compose purposefully a new piece to complete the series. This, furthermore, meant that a high number of works remained either unpublished or were left aside for a while. So, if one seeks to get an impression of a composer’s real artistic itinerary, relying on just the opus numbers is utterly inadequate. What opus numbers normally do, however, is to transmit an idea of what, among the published works, came first, and what came later. It is normally safe to assume that one’s opus I came before opus II, and so on. “Normally”, not always. For instance, several composers – even in the Romantic or modern era – waited for their “real hit” to be published as op. 1, and preferred to begin, more unassumingly, by an op. 2, later to be followed by op. 1. Or, at times, seized by nostalgia of youth, or by need of money, they would revive earlier, and perhaps already forgotten juvenilia, and issue them after many other chronologically preceding works.
By looking at the opus numbers of the Beethoven Piano Sonatas recorded in this Da Vinci Classics album, one would be forgotten for thinking that the two Sonatas op. 49 are the latest of the series. (And their position in the CD would confirm this surmise). Alas, this supposition would prove utterly wrong, since both are the first to have been written among those recorded here. Their composition time would place them between the three Sonatas op. 2 and op. 7, the latter also recorded here.
Why and for whom were these Sonatas created is still a matter of speculation for musicologists. However, some traits of these two works give clues and hints about their creation and destination. They are very short (in the performance recorded here, op. 49 no. 1 lasts approximately seven minutes, i.e. roughly the same as just the last movement of op. 7, and less than the second movement of the same Sonata; op. 49 no. 2 is even shorter, not even 6’30’’ from beginning to end). They are in just two movements: this does not perforce imply unpretentiousness or easiness or simplicity, since neither op. 90 nor op. 111 – likewise in two movements – can be thought of as unpretentious or easy or simple. However, when looked closely, these two Sonatas do display several such characters, both on the technical and on the musical plane. Indeed, they have come to be known as Leichte Sonaten, “easy Sonatas”, and are commonly offered to piano pupils as their first approach to a Beethoven Sonata.
It is therefore very likely that Beethoven composed them around 1796-7, in his early Vienna years, and conceived them as both teaching instruments, and gifts or homages, to one or more of his gifted pupils. An interesting surmise is that at least one of them is the one referred to in an anecdote reported by a descendant of Carl Amenda, a friend of Beethoven, who was in Vienna at the time. There was another friend of Amenda, by the name of Gottfried Heinrich Mylich, who had a sister, who “played the piano very prettily”. Beethoven presented her with “a sonata in manuscript, with the inscription: ‘to the sister of my good friend Mylich’. The manuscript was rolled up and tied with a little silk ribbon”. The gentleness of Beethoven’s gesture and the elegance of the presentation may well correspond to the style of these two short Sonatas. In spite of the (comparatively) little demands they pose on the performer, and of the lightness characterizing most of their music (but the first movement of op. 49 no. 1 is far from lighthearted!), they are small masterpieces. It is perhaps more difficult to write a “simple” masterpiece than a complex one, since the risk of banality, childishness, or triviality is always present. Beethoven successfully eludes these risks and creates two unforgettable small gems.
But this all does not explain why these Sonatas are published as op. 49. The answer is easily found. For a certain time, one of Beethoven’s two brothers, Carl, acted as Beethoven’s “agent”. Flipping through Beethoven’s manuscripts, he found these two Sonatas, and, correctly and sagaciously, he understood that they could mean gold. Indeed, the marked was hungrier for “easy” pieces which hundreds of amateur pianists could tackle, than for works of extreme complexity which only a few could master. And this was effectively the case: since the time of their publication, these Sonatas have always enjoyed wide popularity. Indeed, we should also add that Beethoven himself was evidently happy with these works, since he re-employed the main theme of op. 49 no. 2’s second movement both in the Settimino and in the Trio derived in turn from it.
Actually, it was comparatively uncommon for Beethoven to transcribe or adapt entire works or materials from his Piano Sonatas for other instrumental media. This is somewhat curious: it is commonplace for piano teachers to instruct their pupils to imagine an “orchestration” of Beethoven’s Sonatas, since their writing is frequently suggestive of orchestral colours. But, paradoxically, Beethoven almost never attempted to make these colours explicit. Only in one case did he transcribe a whole Piano Sonata for another instrumental destination, and this case is also represented in this Da Vinci Classics recording. To be sure, many other musicians tried their hand at this kind of transcription, but this was done without Beethoven’s authorization, permission, or approval. In 1802, Beethoven wrote the following statement, published on the Wiener Zeitung: “The making of transcription is on the whole something against which a composer can only struggle in vain nowadays (in our prolific age of transcription)”. And, in the same year, he privately wrote to his publisher Breitkopf & Härtel: “The unnatural mania which possesses people to transfer even pianoforte compositions to stringed instruments, which are so utterly different from one another, should really be curbed. It is my firm belief that only Mozart was able to translate his own works from the pianoforte to other instruments, together with Haydn. And without wishing to add myself to this illustrious company, I believe that this is also true of my piano sonatas. The need to omit or alter entire passages presents an additional difficulty and a great stumbling block that can only be overcome by the composer himself or by someone with equal skill and inventiveness. I have adapted only one of my sonatas for a quartet of stringed instruments as I was persistently requested to do so, and I am convinced that I would be at a loss to find anyone who could pull this off as well”.
This Sonata was perhaps intended as one in a group of three – as was commonly done – since op. 14’s publication was initially advertised as containing three Sonatas; possibly the Pathétique, op. 13, had been originally intended as one of the three, but was then published singly due to its pronounced personality. This was also the case with other Sonatas which received the adjective “Grande” by Beethoven himself at the time of their publication; two of them are recorded here, i.e. op. 7 and op. 22. Their “grandiosity” is due, superficially, to their being in four, rather than in three movements: if two-movement Sonatas (like op. 49) were exceptional, so were also four-movement works in this genre, prior to Beethoven’s popularization of this structure. Both op. 7 and op. 22 are also grandiose under other aspects. Op. 7, in particular, is the first absolute masterpiece written by Beethoven in the genre of the Piano Sonatas; it is the second longest work in this genre ever penned by him (second only to op. 106) and is a magnificent construction with brilliancy, inspiration, tenderness, vivacity, virtuosity, and emotional power.
All Sonatas in this CD, furthermore, present us with a view on Beethoven which is in open contrast with the lion-maned, furious composer of the caricatures. They are all full of humour, lightness, hope, joy, and tell us how Beethoven’s personality would naturally have been had his life not been marked so deeply by sorrow and pain. To immerse oneself in the world of a cheerful young Beethoven is a very rewarding experience: and even though his most dramatic works are cathartic and have given to many people, in history, reasons for hope, meeting the joyful and boisterous young Ludwig is an opportunity not to be missed.
Chiara Bertoglio © 2024