♫ So, the third movement of op. 10 no. 3 is for the most part a conventional form, but with a special character so as to appropriately follow the tragic slow movement and fit the piece as a whole. The fourth movement continues this pattern. The movement is a rondo, with an entirely traditional rondo form ABACABA coda – but its character is most unlike any of the other early period rondos. These rondos tend to be grazioso in character – sometimes they even have the word “grazioso” in their tempo marking. Op 2 no. 2, from the last lecture, is a perfect example. ♫ On the rare occasions when these rondos are not grazioso in character, they are virtuosic instead, such as in the finale of op. 2 no. 3. ♫ Op. 10 no. 3’s last movement fits neither of these molds. Instead of courtliness or brilliance, we get ambivalence and mystery. By mysterious, I don’t mean eerie – this is not a dark movement. Instead, it is a bit of a riddle, or a koan. Not until the opening movement of the sonata op. 101 did Beethoven write something with so many questions and so few answers. Again, there are many ways to follow tragedy in music – you will never hear me argue against the pure, uncomplicated joy of the finale of K488 – but the slightly hesitant quality of this finale, unusual as it is, is both moving and right because of the context. So let’s hear it! This is the opening, the “A” section of the rondo. ♫ So, in case you didn’t notice, that final cadence, ♫ is not only the final cadence, but in fact the ONLY CADENCE in the entire opening. The A section has to come to an end before we have a tonic chord, a firm establishment of the key of D Major. Yes, the first movement of 101 is more extreme: there, the cadence on the tonic doesn’t arrive until nearly the end of the recapitulation! ♫ But that’s practically the late period – 1816, by which point Beethoven had broken all kinds of rules. This is 1798, nearly 20 years earlier. And so, the harmonic and emotional ambivalence of this music are really quite remarkable. Just listen to the opening: a three note question, pointed upward. ♫ It seems to be nominally in G Major, ♫ but context makes us suspect that can’t be – the previous movement, and the entire sonata, are in D Major. No, these three G Major-ish notes are not a statement, but a question. Does it have an answer? It does not. In lieu of an answer, Beethoven repeats the question. ♫ And then still not an answer, but just a much longer, more elaborate question. ♫ leading to a fermata. This harkens back to the 1st movement, which already had a number of moments where the music came to a halt on a fermata, waiting for a resolution. Like the very first phrase of the piece. ♫ So this fermata, ♫ is a reference to the first movement, but it is also establishing a pattern for the last movement: when the questions are not punctuated by silence, they are extended by fermatas. Both these techniques – following a question with a silence, or extending its last note – these are techniques for heightening the sense of uncertainty. And Beethoven employs both techniques, as we shall see, over and over again in this movement. So, after that first fermata, what do we get? More questions. Three rising ones, this time. ♫ Finally, it seems, the reply, the resolution will come, only to be foiled by a deceptive cadence. ♫ And this – this withheld cadence – brings forth some real frustration in Beethoven, as we get a screamed version of the three-note question, ♫ and finally – finally! – an answer. ♫ Really, this is all highly unusual. But I want to be clear that none of this is done in the name of high drama – the high drama in this piece really is restricted to the slow movement. This is, taking a very large view, a return to the emotional world – and the key, of course – of the opening movement. But having gone through the cataclysm that was the slow movement, nothing is quite as certain anymore. The basic tone is still upbeat, but the music is now asking itself – and its listener – questions at every corner.
