The First Monument

There is a tendency among scholars of the work of Ludwig van Beethoven to single out two "monuments" in the canon of piano sonatas, each with a "nickname:" the Opus 57 in F minor ("Appassionata") and the Opus 106 in B-flat major ("Hammerklavier"). In last night's stage of András Schiff's traversal of this canon at Davies Symphony Hall in San Francisco, Opus 57 was the second of the five sonatas performed. One of the reasons for this higher "population count" was that two of the sonatas, Opera 54 and 78, consisted of only two movements; but the three movements of Opus 57 made up for most of the duration of the first half of the evening. Performing it before the intermission, rather than at the end of the evening, took away some of that "monumental" status, making it easier to listen to in its historical context, rather as a "grand finale."

That context can be seen as a span of work running from 1803 to 1805 in which two highly intense approaches to composition, Opera 53 ("Waldstein") and 57 surround the far more modest (and seldom heard) Opus 54 in F major. Nevertheless, the entire span is a period of fascinating experimentation, whether it is a matter of exploring the limits of the sounds a piano was capable of producing or rethinking what constitutes the structural framework of a sonata. Like most of the nicknames, "Appassionata" was not chosen by Beethoven; and the greatest risk in performing it is to succumb to that nickname and let passion run wild. (William Shakespeare's carp in Act III of Hamlet about out heroding Herod comes to mind.) True, the sonata may be viewed as experimenting with the juxtaposition of extremes in both dynamics and tempo; but that sense of extremity emerges from the juxtaposition itself without being forced by the performer. Thus, Schiff brought his usual approach of a controlled and disciplined execution to this work and revealed that the music itself could speak for itself with far more passion than any reading by an overly-emotive pianist. This was particularly the case in the final movement, which guns up to an allegro ma non troppo as it segues out of the second movement and drives forward full-tilt through a relatively conventional sonata structure, only to climax in a coda that ups the ante to a presto, visiting the thematic material one more time in what is now a whirlwind of notes. Fortunately, Schiff understands that the notes matter more than the whirlwind; and his clarity made for as stunning an execution of this work as I have ever heard.

It is easy to see Opus 57 in terms of continuing the energetic impulses of Opus 53, but it is important not to dismiss Opus 54 from the context. This is easy to do since, as I have observed, the work is seldom performed and may seem puzzling with a first movement marked "In tempo d'un Menuetto" that defies offering even the slightest family resemblance to a minuet. Nevertheless, within this movement we are already hearing the seeds of those experiments with the juxtaposition of extremes; they are just not called to our attention by any nickname. This movement is then coupled with an allegretto that also bumps up with a più allegro in its final page. Thus, if we dispense with the "emotional interference" of nicknames, Opus 54 emerges as sort of a drawing board on which Beethoven took stock of where he had been in Opus 53 and started working out where he next wanted to go. This probably would have been clearer to the listener had these three sonatas been performed as a set in a single evening, but that would have upset the relatively neat way in which Schiff has scheduled the entire canon.

The second half of last night's program, on the other hand, did encompass the entirety of another interesting span in Beethoven's creative development, the years 1809 and 1810. For one thing he seems to have recovered his light touch as he began to put some distance from the writing of the "Heiligenstadt Testament." Thus, in spite of its six sharps, the two movements of Opus 78 are quite affable, if not downright playful. Similarly, the sun shines bright on Opus 79 as it romps through its opening presto alla tedesca, lolls about in its andante, and dashes off to its final vivace. In this case the pace is not driven by cranking up the metronome but by augmenting a relatively straightforward 2/4 meter with three-against-four rhythms. If last week I had been concerned that Schiff was dragging out the clock time with performances that were too deliberative, these two sonatas breezed by so casually that one needed Schiff's clarity to be reminded of their very presence.

This period in Beethoven's life (and the concert) concluded with the E-flat major Opus 81a. (For those curious about such things, Opus 81b is a sextet for string quartet and two horns!) In this case Beethoven is responsible for assigning programmatic names. The sonata as a whole is called "Les Adieux" (the farewells); and each movement has a German title: "Das Lebewohl" (the farewell), "Abwesenheit" (absence), and "Wiedersehen" (reunion). This is not as light as Opera 78 and 79, and the adagio opening takes a somewhat soul-searching approach to the prospect of departure. Nevertheless, the final movement, marked Vivacissimamente, is a burst of positive energy. Those who tend to overdramatize Beethoven's life might wish to read this as a reflection on his own contemplation of withdrawing from the world in the face on oncoming deafness and then deciding to return, but this would be fictional distortion at its worst. Opera 78 and 79 were hardly the work of a man thinking about rejecting the world; and Opus 81a may just be as it appears on the surface, an experiment in structuring musical form around a non-musical program, rather in the spirit of his sixth ("Pastoral") symphony (Opus 68), which he had composed in 1808.

For his encore Schiff left the world of Johann Sebastian Bach and turned instead to the final movement of Robert Schumann's C major fantasia, Opus 17. He seems to have made this selection because the movement makes a reference of homage to material from Beethoven's "An die ferne Geliebte." Since this is a much later work (Opus 98, published in 1816), that homage was not quite in the spirit of the time frame of this recital; but the Schumann fantasia is a wonderful work taken strictly on its own merits. Schiff once again knew exactly how to let this music speak for itself with all of its clarity and intensity. Meanwhile, the Beethoven canon takes a break and does not continue until 1814 with Opus 90; so it is not unreasonable for us to wait until the end of March for Schiff to return and complete the cycle!