“Aus Gott floß alles rein und lauter aus.”
—Beethoven’s Tagebuch, no. 63a
I
t has been claimed that in his late works Beethoven created passages, and some-times whole movements, in which the sense of an acting self at the core of the conception is replaced by the expression of an ideal state or transcendental, utopian vision. Critics have usually concentrated in this context on movements expressing a utopian transcendence that follows music depicting the struggling self. Examples from the late period include the last movement of the Ninth Symphony, the twofold se-quence of Adagio and transcendental Allegro fugue at the end of the Sonata op. 110, and the two-movement design of the final Sonata, op. 111.Beethoven’s op. 127 expresses that kind of floating, tensionless, utopian state already in its first movement. I argue that in this quartet, Beethoven undercut the directional, dynamic qualities of a sonata-form Allegro, which is such a suitable form for telling a unique, teleological story, and he instead sought to convey what we might deem “mythic time.” This movement can indeed be read as a myth, spiraling around the fundamental question of a cosmos, deity, or fate governing an enduring human essence that can only partially, at most, mold its own life, but that is part of an ongo-ing, cyclic Weltgeschehen. In this context, I suggest that our understanding of Beethoven’s late works in general may be enriched by taking into account the idea of myth and mythology.
temporality and mythology in op. 127/i 169
“Myth” is a much-discussed category in recent literary theory, especially since the writings of Claude Lévi-Strauss,1 which brought about tremendous inflation and fre-quent degradation of the term myth. Nevertheless, it seems to me that in the present case there are compelling reasons, historical and ideological, to invoke the term.2
At the outset of the nineteenth century, myth resonated deeply with many Ger-man-speaking intellectuals. In 1800, Friedrich Schlegel proclaimed a “New Mythol-ogy,”3 intensifying a trend that had begun several decades earlier with Johann Gott-fried Herder and Karl Philipp Moritz. In 1767, Herder had been one of the first to discover the heuristic possibilities of mythology, which, because of its sensuous con-creteness, opened perspectives and enabled discoveries that could not be attained by rationalistic methods. Moritz, in his Götterlehre of 1791, stressed the poetic struc-ture of myths, whereas Schlegel saw myths as a rich fund of ideas and subjects for artistic use and as a special aesthetic category that promoted a mediation between Enlightenment reason and prelogical forms of thought. As Schlegel’s ideas were quickly taken up by writers and thinkers, foremost among them Friedrich W.
Schelling,4 the idea of “myth” became a popular and compelling topic at the begin-ning of the nineteenth century.5
That Beethoven, too, was caught up by that fascination is revealed in many ways, but perhaps most clearly by entries in his Tagebuch,6 or diary (see Figure 7.1). In this document, written during the years 1812–18, and thus spanning the period of tran-sition between his middle and late styles, we find ample evidence of Beethoven’s pre-occupation with not only Greek and Roman mythic literature, but also with texts by Johann G. Herder, a key German figure in mythopoetic writings, and with publica-tions on the then recently fashionable Indian and Brahman myths. (Myths from primi-tive cultures, exhausprimi-tively examined by Lévi-Strauss and Clifford Geertz, were hardly known at the time.) Beyond this documented awareness of ancient Indian or Greek myth, we can surmise that Beethoven may also have known about Schlegel’s aesthetic vision of the importance of mythology, as the conversation books record several dis-cussions about Schlegel, who was then living in Vienna.7
Before delving further into the subject of myth and mythology, however, let us first examine the music of op. 127. Regarded from the perspective of the sonata-form procedure and aesthetics, several features of the first movement of this quartet are especially unusual and have drawn comment from scholars:
* The movement opens with a two-part idea that contains a strong contrast: a six-mea-sure majestic chordal Maestoso (2/4) is followed by a more subjective and flowing Allegro (3/4). The rising forte impetus of the Maestoso contrasts with the falling pi-ano Allegro lines.
* The function of this composite idea seems deliberately ambiguous. It represents ei-ther a combination of slow introduction and first theme,8 or a compound theme. The Maestoso returns twice (the second time shortened), in two different keys.
* The second theme (beginning in m. 41) offers little contrast to the first. Its key is the mediant minor (that is, G minor in relation to E major), creating a very unusual
Figure 7.1. Beethoven’s readings in mythology. Derived from Maynard Solomon, ed., Beethovens Tagebuch (cf. note 6). Numbers refer to this edition.
annotated copy today in DSB, Autograph 40.3
P. 95 for no. 74 P. 387 for no. 169 P. 373 for no. 170
Johann Heinrich Voss (trans.), Homers Ilias (Hamburg, 1793); Beethoven used the reprint Vienna, 1814.
Vol. 2, p. 424, for no. 26
Vol. 2, p. 357 (not p. 356, as he himself notates), for no. 49
Gottlob Benedict von Schirach (trans.), Biographien des Plutarch, 10 vols.
Vol. 3 (Berlin and Leipzig, 1777), Philopoemen, p.
484: par. 11, lines 2–3, for no. 96
Vol. 5 (Berlin and Leipzig, 1778), Sertorius, p. 193:
par. 6, line 3, for no. 150 Plato, Republic
Cf. no. 87
Roman
Ovid, Epistulae ex Ponto
Book 4, letter 10, line 5, for no. 125 Ovid, Tristia
Book 5, letter 1, line 59, for no. 136 Pliny, Epistulae
Book 3, letter 9, lines 3–4, for no. 113 Book 3, letter 21, line 6, for no. 114
german mythopoetic writings
Johann Gottfried Herder, Blumen aus
morgenländischen Dichtern gesammelt; in Zerstreute Blätter, vierte Sammlung (Gotha, 1792)
P. 11 for no. 5 P. 27 for no. 6 Pp. 98–101 for no. 57 P. 102 for no. 58 P. 103 for no. 55 and no. 56
Johann Gottfried Herder, Vermischte Stücke aus verschiedenen morgenländischen Dichtern, in Sämmtliche Werke: Zur schönen Literatur und Kunst, vol. 9, ed. Johann von Müller (Tübingen, 1807)
P. 196 for no. 59
writings on indian, brahman, and egyptian myths
Johann Friedrich Kleuker and Johann Georg Fick, Abhandlungen über die Geschichte und Alterthümer, die Künste, Wissenschaften und Literatur Asiens, 3 vols. (Riga, 1795-97); trans.
of Sir William Jones and others, Dissertations and Miscellaneous Pieces Relating to the History and Antiquities, the Arts, Sciences, and Literature, of Asia (London, 1792)
Vol. 3, pp. 412–15, for no. 62 Vol. 3, p. 415, for no. 65
Vol. 1, p. 355, for no. 94d; trans. of Sir William Jones, “On the Chronology of the Hindus,”
Asiatick Researches, 2 (1790), p. 115 Johann Friedrich Kleuker, Das brahmanische
Religionssystem im Zusammenhange dargestellt (Riga, 1797); Supplement to Kleuker/Fick
Pp. 34–35 for no. 61a P. 37 for no. 61b Possibly pp. 35 and 174ff. influenced Beethoven’s
formulations in no. 63a
P. 212 for no. 94c; transl. of Paulinus a Sancto Bartholomaeo, Viaggio alle Indie Orientali (Rome, 1796); trans. by William Johnston as A Voyage to the East Indies (London, 1800), p. 265n P. 214 for no. 95
Georg Forster, Robertson’s historische Untersuchung über die Kenntnisse der Alten von Indien (Berlin, 1792); trans. of William Robertson, An Historical Disquisition Concerning the Knowledge Which the Ancients Had of India (Dublin, 1791)
P. 307 for no. 64a and b; conflation (with omission) from two passages from the Bhagavad-Gita
P. 337 for no. 93b Bhagavad-Gita
Chap. 3, line 7, for no. 64a, and chap. 2, lines 47–
50 (part of l. 49 omitted), for no. 64b: probably copied from Forster/Robertson
Possible inspiration for no. 63a
ancient greek and roman mythology and literature Greek
Johann Heinrich Voss (trans.), Homers Odüssee (Hamburg, 1781); Beethoven’s
temporality and mythology in op. 127/i 171 tonal relationship),9 and its motives and phrase structure are highly akin to the Alle-gro section of the first theme.
* There is no dramatic emphasis at the moment of recapitulation. On the contrary, Bee-thoven blurred the precise location and harmonization of the recapitulation’s begin-ning. This procedure is not singular in Beethoven’s works, but it is done here in a particularly conspicuous way; the most powerful fortissimo reappearance of the Maestoso is pushed back into the development (perhaps that moment should be called the beginning of the recapitulation?) and appears in the submediant major (m. 135), whereas the contrasting Allegro theme begins smoothly on the second degree (m. 167).
* Throughout the movement, the composer avoids the dominant, the key ingredient of tonal contrast and structuring.
How do these features affect the movement’s musical architecture? In choosing a barely contrasted second theme, and by deemphasizing the entry of the recapitu-lation, Beethoven smoothed out the typical tension and dynamism of a sonata-form movement. The avoidance of the dominant has a similar effect; indeed, it is possible to see this idea as underlying both of the features just mentioned. At least one writer has gone so far as to suggest that the avoidance of the dominant represents the fun-damental challenge Beethoven sought to conquer in this movement.10 Those who subscribe to the idea that a musical analysis begins with the question “To what com-positional question does this piece give an answer?” would probably find this a rea-sonable proposition.
Yet I doubt that Beethoven was seized solely by the idea of solving such a compo-sitional riddle. Instead, I would argue, his choices had to do with a desired artistic effect. He weakened some of the most striking characteristics of sonata-form dynam-ics in order to create a movement that was as undynamic and undirectional as pos-sible, and in so doing he created a piece of music that displays a temporal structure remarkably different from his middle-period works.
⣌
If we accept the notion that the dynamics of sonata form are strongly compromised in this movement, we must ask what holds the movement together and whether other formal traits operate in it. One of the key features we would expect in a late work by Beethoven is motivic integration. Characteristically, there are several motives that appear for the first time in the opening six measures of the piece and that determine the motivic material of the movement and even the entire quartet.11
The Allegro theme, to be played “teneramente,” “sempre piano e dolce,” is, if not in character, then in construction, closely related to the Maestoso theme. Struc-turally, the basic rising line (E to C) of the Maestoso is opposed by a falling one (C to E) in the Allegro. The first four-measure phrase only reaches B (m. 10; cf. m. 5), the second, G (m. 14; cf. m. 3). The varied repetition in mm. 15–18 does not fur-ther the goal, but in the fourth and final section, the uppermost line encompasses
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the entire range from C down to E (mm. 19–22), raised an octave. Similar observa-tions have led Daniel Chua to the conclusion that the Allegro part of the theme (mm.
7–22) is a palindrome of the Maestoso.12 Chua’s argument is reinforced by the fact that at the beginning of the Allegro, the first violin constitutes the mirror (retrograde inversion) of the last pitches in the uppermost voice in the Maestoso (see Example 7.1), flowing from the sustained pitch C2. Other ways of seeing the motivic connec-tion include deriving the motive of the first violin in m. 7 from the bass line in mm.
5–6, or, as Cooke suggests, from the pitches F–B–G in the first violin in mm. 4–5.13 The beginning of the Allegro theme is inconceivable without the foregoing Maestoso measures, since it emerges out of the subdominant harmony reached by the Maestoso. Characteristically, the Maestoso and the Allegro music are insepara-bly glued together. From m. 6 to m. 7, the moment of their encounter, every voice sustains its pitch, the second violin and the viola are tied over the bar line, the har-mony and dynamic level are maintained, and even the Allegro’s legato articulation is anticipated in the last measure of the Maestoso. The effect is a special one that also touched Beethoven’s contemporaries, as an entry by his nephew Karl in a conversa-tion book reveals: “The transiconversa-tion to the theme (at the beginning) really pleased [Beethoven’s] brother.”14
The notion that motives govern not only the thematic substance on a local level but also determine a movement’s formal architecture is typical of Beethoven’s late style. The most far-reaching large-scale unfolding of motives seems to concern the keys in which the opening Maestoso reappear later in the piece.
As David Epstein has shown, the semitone motive B–B–C that appears for the first time in mm. 5–6 in the Maestoso, links the phrases in mm. 10f., 14f., and 18f.
(Examples 7.2a and b) and recurs various times in the following measures (cf. mm.
28 and 30–31, first violin; mm. 29–30 and 31–32, cello). This motive also governs the long-range linear progression from the second theme to the C-major Maestoso and determines the important key centers G minor–G major–C major (Example 7.2c).
It is furthermore the background line of the upper voice, guiding the harmonic pro-gression from m. 125 up to the tonicization of C major in m. 135 (Example 7.2d).15 However, Epstein does not point out that the same progression, transposed up a fourth (E–E–F), governs the harmonic progression C minor (m. 103 within the de-velopment) –C major–F minor (m. 167, beginning of the recapitulation; see Example 7.3). This specific transposition can be seen as a reflection of the opening harmonic gesture of the very first Maestoso: I–IV.
On a local level, this progression is spread across mm. 108–10 (see Example 7.4a
& b b b w w w w w w
Example 7.1. Mirroring upper line in op. 127/I, mm. 5–7.
temporality and mythology in op. 127/i 173
in the second violin), where a C-major chord is introduced in passing by way of the E . In the immediate context, this event creates a degree of harshness (see the cross-relation with the first violin) that foreshadows the sudden outburst of the C-major Maestoso at mm. 133–47, which likewise originates in C minor (m. 113) and leads to F minor (mm. 150–53 and mm. 166f.). Characteristically, the motive (E–E–F) is not neglected later in the movement but is retained locally in the recapitulation at two conspicuous places. First, as shown in Example 7.4b, it appears in the “cadential
& bbb
Example 7.2a–d: Op. 127/I: The connecting device B–B–C.
(From David Epstein, Beyond Orpheus, 216–17).
Example 7.3. Op. 127/I: The connecting devices B–B–C and E–E–F on a structural level.
a.
b.
c.
d.
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theme” that ends the first theme, as a result of the transposition of the added modu-lation toward the subdominant (see E–E–F in m. 194, first violin; mm. 195–96, cello and first violin). Second, it appears in the varied recapitulation of the second theme, in which the transposed and untransposed versions of the half-tone motive occur simultaneously (mm. 211–13 and mm. 219–21; see Example 7.4c). Hence, this mo-tive determines the keys of the second theme and the two returning Maestosi and, transposed by a fourth, shapes the harmonic course of the development section.
Furthermore, the motive’s impact is felt in the later movements.
The first Maestoso prefigures the keys of the later Maestosi in another way, as well.
The successive appearances of the Maestoso in E, G major (mm. 75–80), and C major (mm. 135–38) are foreshadowed in the sustained pitches E1–G1–C2 in the upper voice of the first Maestoso.16 Indeed, Daniel Chua sees the movement’s structure encapsu-lated in the initial contrasting Maestoso-Allegro:17 in the same way that the first Maestoso expands powerfully from E1 to C2, then sustains that C2 as a bridge to the
Example 7.4. The transposed connecting device (E–E–F) on a local level.
a. Op. 127/I, mm. 107–13.
temporality and mythology in op. 127/i 175
ensuing Allegro with its descent from C2 back to E1, the movement’s overall archi-tecture rests on the unfolding of the Maestoso on a grand level (that is, recurring on G and on C), the prolongation of the C-major chord (mm. 135–66 as an expansion of m. 6), and a stepwise descent from C to E beginning with the recapitulation. Chua does not mention, however, that the stepwise local preparation of the C2 at the be-ginning of the recapitulation in the foregoing mm. 147–66 (E2–F2–G2–A2–B2–C3) recalls the stepwise ascent in the first Maestoso measures, split between the first vio-lin and the cello (E1–F–G1–A–B1–C2).18 The interrelation of the two passages is un-derlined by the fact that in both cases the ascent proceeds stepwise and stretches the interval of a sixth (major in the Maestoso, minor in the development), with every new pitch filling just one musical entity (a measure in the Maestoso, a four-measure group in the Allegro). Also pointing to their interrelation is the peak C that is reached in both cases before the beginning of the Allegro theme (m. 6 and m. 166, respectively), during which the dynamic level is reduced.
Beethoven has therefore established a network of connections on different lev-els in the opening Maestoso measures. At least two different processes of motivic
“unfolding” are at work, guaranteeing a logical building of the movement on a level
&
c. Op. 127/I, mm. 211–14 and mm. 219–22.
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beyond that of the thematic foreground. These processes are not congruent with the sonata form; instead, they undermine it. Both networks involve the appearance of the Maestoso, which powerfully articulates the form, whereby neither the return at the beginning of the development in G major, nor the one within the development in C major, can be explained solely by principles of sonata form: G major is “the point of furthest remove,”19 which is usually not the point at which the development is begun, and C major prepares the second scale degree in E major instead of the tonic.
Daniel Chua observes that Beethoven’s motivic network is so powerful that it “stretches sonata form ‘out of shape,’”20 and he calls this a sign of “madness.” Nicholas Marston, among others, has rightly expressed surprise at Chua’s point of view, because networks such as these, paramount in Beethoven’s late work, are traditionally regarded as a manifestation of order.21 Thus the question remains as to why Beethoven chose this specific kind of motivic network and unfolding in op. 127, and what kind of expres-sive goal he wished to convey thereby.
In approaching this issue, it is useful to note that the subsurface motivic connec-tions function as a web of crisscrossing threads. These connecconnec-tions are not confined to directional procedures tying the piece together; they also allow for manifold fore-ground possibilities for structuring time.22
⣌
When I hear or play this music, I find it striking that, apart from the three Maestosi, it conveys a unique quality of relaxed and lyric floating, of flowing in a seemingly time-less space. Several compositional means combine to create this impression. In the Allegro, by virtue of the sequence in the first violin and—above all—the rhythm in the cello, the triple meter is clear almost from the very beginning, yet at the same time, the 3/4 meter is far from being as well articulated as it would be in, say, a dance movement. It conveys neither the feeling of a dialectical sonata-allegro nor that of a folk-like song movement, something its high degree of periodicity might seem to imply.23 Instead, the theme is a contrapuntal complex, somewhat similar to a Fuxian species exercise. The over-the-bar ties of the middle voices lend a certain lightness, or what we might call “lyric flow,” to the theme, a quality that also characterizes many later passages. This flow is supported by harmonic means, as well. There are few strong V–I articulations, almost all leaps are filled in with stepwise motion (see, e.g., mm.
9–10, mm. 13–14, mm. 17–18, and mm. 21–22), and the stepping tenths of the outer voices support the flowing, smooth impression.
If we examine the Allegro theme as a whole, we soon realize that the music does not display the directionality so often characteristic of sonata movements. The theme is not formed as a “Satz,” with its inherent directional potential.24 Instead, the four-measure unit is repeated three times in slightly varied form, creating sixteen mea-sures composed of two corresponding eight-measure groups, each in turn formed by two corresponding four-measure units. Checks and balances are at work here. Every one of these four-measure units moves from IV to I. It is as if the Allegro theme were