PDF

Piano Sonata in E Major, Op.
109
Piano Sonata in E Major, Op. 109
Beethoven’s Last Pia no Sonatas
A n Edition w ith Elucidation, Volume 1
By Heinrich Schenker
Translated, Edited, and Annotated by John Rothgeb
1
1
Oxford University Press is a department of the University of
Oxford. It furthers the University’s objective of excellence in research,
scholarship, and education by publishing worldwide.
Oxford New York
Auckland Cape Town Dar es Salaam Hong Kong Karachi
Kuala Lumpur Madrid Melbourne Mexico City Nairobi
New Delhi Shanghai Taipei Toronto
With offices in
Argentina Austria Brazil Chile Czech Republic France Greece
Guatemala Hungary Italy Japan Poland Portugal Singapore
South Korea Switzerland Thailand Turkey Ukraine Vietnam
Oxford is a registered trademark of Oxford University Press

in the UK and certain other countries.
Published in the United States of America by

Oxford University Press
198 Madison Avenue, New York, NY 10016
© Oxford University Press 2015
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in

a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior
permission in writing of Oxford University Press, or as expressly permitted by law,
by license, or under terms agreed with the appropriate reproduction rights organization.
Inquiries concerning reproduction outside the scope of the above should be sent to the
Rights Department, Oxford University Press, at the address above.
You must not circulate this work in any other form

and you must impose this same condition on any acquirer.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Schenker, Heinrich, 1868–1935, author.
[Letzten fünf Sonaten von Beethoven. English]
Beethoven's last piano sonatas : an edition with elucidation / by Heinrich Schenker ; translated, edited, and annotated by
John Rothgeb.
pages cm
Includes bibliographical references and index.
Translation of: Schenker, Heinrich. Die letzen fünf Sonaten von Beethoven: Kritische Ausgabe mit Einführung und
Erläuterung. Wien: Universal Edition, 1913–1921. 4 vols.
ISBN 978–0–19–991420–3 (volume 1 : alk. paper) — ISBN 978–0–19–991422–7 (volume 2 : alk. paper) —
ISBN 978–0–19–991424–1 (volume 3 : alk. paper) — ISBN 978–0–19–991426–5 (volume 4 : alk. paper) 1. Beethoven,
Ludwig van, 1770–1827. Sonatas, no. 30, op. 109, piano, E major. 2. Beethoven, Ludwig van, 1770–1827. Sonatas, no. 31,
op. 110, piano, Aflat major. 3. Beethoven, Ludwig van,
1770–1827. Sonatas, no. 32, op. 111, piano, C minor. 4. Beethoven, Ludwig van, 1770–1827. Sonatas,
no. 28, op. 101, piano, A major. I. Rothgeb, John, editor, translator. II. Title.
ML410.B42S27713 2015
786.2′183092—dc23
2015001173
Music engraving by Woytek Rynczak, W. R. Music Service
9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
Printed in the United States of America
on acid-free paper
Contents
Editor’s Preface vii
About the Companion Website xi
Foreword 1
Preliminary Remarks 3
Commentary
First Movement 13
Second Movement 43
Third Movement 55
Editions consulted, and Facsimiles 81

Bibliogr aphy of Cited Wor ks by Heinr ich Schenk er 83
Bibliogr aphy of Cited Wor ks by Other Authors 85
Index 87
v
Editor’s Preface
With the four books in this set, the translation into English of Heinrich
Schenker’s major works is complete. Publication of the original German of the works
translated here occurred in the following order: 109 (1913),1 110 (1914), 111 (1915), 101
(1921). A second German edition, abridged, edited, and annotated by Oswald Jonas,
was published in Vienna by Universal Edition in 1970–1971.2 Jonas provided in his
annotations many insights and supplements regarding both source appraisal and the
music itself that are cited or quoted in the present edition as space permits.
These commentary editions make available to English readers for the first
time some of Schenker’s best musical thinking. Among the features that may
have escaped the notice of many Anglophone musicians thus far, for example, is
Schenker’s fine sensitivity to the delicacies of Klaviersatz (piano writing or texture)
in the first movement of Op. 109, which fuels his withering critique of an earlier
editor’s “improvement” of Beethoven’s text. Another is Schenker’s revelation of the
spectacular link between the modulation and the second theme in the first move-
ment of Op. 111.
The unprecedented compression of sonata form in the first movement of Op. 101
has often been noted, but from Schenker’s commentary we learn with precision about
1
The Op. 109 edition was reprinted in 1922, with numerous corrections to the score. Schenker had marked a
copy of the first impression with hundreds of minor revisions to the text as well, but these were not incorpo-
rated into the reprint.
2
In addition to a large number of references to Schenker’s earlier publications, Jonas deleted most of Schenker’s
critiques of editions now long out of use as well as the Literature sections and the irrelevant political out-
bursts. The present edition is unabridged.
vii
viii Editor’s Preface
Beethoven’s radically new way of integrating the form’s constituent parts—especially

the second theme—into this optimally compact structure. Beethoven’s composing
of a far more expansive sonata-form piece in the last movement of Op. 101 shows yet
another innovation, again with respect to the second theme.
Schenker’s detailed suggestions as to tempo, dynamics, rubato, fingering, and
pedaling—in short, much that is requisite for a finely nuanced performance—round
out the discussion of each formal section. These features need no further editorial
introduction.
A few words may, however, be in order regarding the relation of these editions to
the rest of Schenker’s output. The books were preceded by Harmonielehre (1906) and
Kontrapunkt I (1910), both of them components of the grand plan Neue musikalische
Theorien und Phantasien3 devoted to an investigation of the tonal system and its lan-
guage as they could be observed in and inferred from the masterworks. But these trea-
tises had been intermixed with still other publications whose purpose was exclusively
the elucidation of works of art. These two thrusts—theory and application—were cul-
tivated simultaneously during the first and second decades of the twentieth century.4
Harmonielehre had been concerned most importantly and originally with Schenker’s
wholly new vision of the Stufe, or scale degree, which at the time he regarded as “far loft-
ier and far more abstract than the conventional one. . . . The scale-step [= scale degree] is
a higher and more abstract unit” that “may even comprise several harmonies. . . .”5 This
insight alone led Schenker to a far more sophisticated understanding of some complex
music than earlier harmonic theories could have done, as witnessed by his interpreta-
tions of passages from Wagner’s Tristan und Isolde (Harmony, p. 149/193f., 151/195f.)
and especially Var. XV of Beethoven’s Diabelli Variations (Harmony, p. 160f./206).6
Yet it would still be more than a decade before Schenker would discern the primary
instrument of the scale degree’s concrete realization.
By 1913, the date of 109, Schenker had not progressed very far beyond the new
(but still incomplete) perception of the scale degree. His representation of harmony
in the sonata still relied on the Roman numeral—which was perfectly correct and
appropriate as far as it went—, but for the most part he still read more scale degrees
than he needed to.
3
Harmonielehre, the first volume of the series, already bore this as its superior title. Authorship there was
attributed only to a Künstler (artist).
4
Indeed, works devoted to elucidation took the lead. The scrupulously edited and annotated sonatas (and one
rondo) from the Kenner und Liebhaber collection by C. P. E. Bach (1902) and Ein Beitrag zur Ornamentik
(1904) both belong to this category.
5
Harmony, §78. The formulation “may comprise several harmonies” suggests that Schenker’s vision of the
scale degree is not yet completely clear (see below).
6
Page-number citations are given first for English translations and then for German originals, the two sepa-
rated by a virgule, ‘/’.
Editor’s Preface ix
A small and simple example will illustrate this. The Coda in the first movement
of Op. 109 begins in bar 65 (upbeat) with the triad of IV; Schenker read this and the
next three quarters as “IV—I—V—I.” Later, as he was revising the text for the 1922
reprint (see note 1), he crossed out the second Roman numeral. He did so in appre-
ciation of the meaning of the tones G ♯ and B of bar 66 as passing tones.
The year 1922 also saw the appearance, hard on the heels of the publication of
101, of the second book of Kontrapunkt, with its richly suggestive “Bridges to Free
Composition.” 7 As early as Harmonielehre Schenker had formulated this analogy
between free composition and strict counterpoint: “That which, in free composi-
tion, would correspond to the tones consonant with the cantus firmus is the scale
degree; the entities that would correspond to the passing dissonance, however, are
the intermediate chords being unfolded in free voice leading.”8 It may well have
been as Schenker was working years later on Kontrapunkt II and was contemplat-
ing the phenomena of the “Bridges” (the combined species) that the insight came
to him: the “free” voice leading of free composition was not, after all, so completely
free; it constituted instead an elaboration, by diminution, of formations regulated
by the principles set forth in the “Bridges”; moreover, in free composition, the single
dissonant passing tone of strict counterpoint was generalized to stepwise progres-
sions through the triadic spaces of scale degrees. Any such progression he would
henceforth designate by the term Zug (linear progression),9 and this policy would
take effect already in another work in progress, namely 101.
This concept, which becomes central to musical elucidation in the issues of Der
Tonwille and all subsequent works, makes its first appearance in the discussion of the
scherzo movement in 101. Schenker’s first observation about the tonal structure of
the movement is that “the voice leading in bars 1–4 is based on a fourth-progression
[Quartzug] F—C of the bass.” From that point on through the remainder of 101,
Schenker’s concentration on these progressions decisively influenced the text.
The precision of Schenker’s understanding of the tonal system and the nature of com-
position had thus made a great leap forward between 1915 and 1921. The analytic yield in
the period immediately following this breakthrough, however, was mixed. Many years
later, looking back on his oeuvre, Schenker found the following concession obligatory:
Since the task of revealing the world of the background in music fell to me, I was
not spared the difficulty of finding symbols for it. This required many years.
7
Counterpoint II, p. 175ff./169ff.
8
Harmony, p. 159/204, although rendered more freely there.
9
In 101 and his analysis of the first movement of Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony (Tonwille I), Schenker occasion-
ally used the term Knotenpunkt as interchangeable with Zug. As early as Counterpoint II, p. 58/59, however,
he defined the former term in an entirely different (and more useful) way.
x Editor’s Preface
Furthermore, the engravers did not always demonstrate the necessary degree
of understanding. For these reasons the illustrations in Der Tonwille and in
the Jahrbücher do not always represent the definitive form.10
If this caveat applies to the two named serial publications, how much more must it hold
of the last of the commentary editions, which show its author struggling, as it were, to
“tame” his new discovery. Let the reader be advised, then, not to take the voice-leading
graphs offered in the second through fourth movements of Op. 101 (as well as the accom-
panying commentary) as representing “the definitive form.” But even though they may
lack the precision Schenker was to achieve in his later works, the graphic representations
he provides will still prove useful in apprehending the musical content.
A note on footnotes: In the rest of the book they are by Schenker, except for those
enclosed in square brackets, which are by this editor.
Work on this English edition has proceeded at a leisurely pace for roughly ten
years. Several colleagues have contributed in one way or another to completion of
the project. Dr. Hellmut Federhofer deserves hearty thanks for sound advice on not
only this but other projects as well. Hedi Siegel, my muse for translation and herself
a marvelous practitioner of the art, has my warmest thanks not only for her assis-
tance with bibliographic matters, but—more important—her unfailing support in
moments of editorial despair.
Dr. William Drabkin graciously and helpfully responded to a query from me
regarding manuscript materials, for which he has my thanks.
Irene Schreier Scott deserves heartfelt thanks for supplying a number of refer-
ences to The Art of Performance.
Professor Wayne Petty performed the invaluable service of photographing the 1913
and 1922 scores of Op. 109 in the Oster Collection in the New York Public Library of
the Performing Arts for me. He did this on his own initiative; his understanding of what
I would need in producing this English edition was better than my own.
Finally, my consultant in Germany, Heribert Esser, can scarcely be thanked
warmly enough for his generosity and expertise. His participation in the project
lasted more than two years, during which time we exchanged hundreds of e-mail
messages as he corrected my renderings of treacherous passages in the Literature
sections. His patience and devotion to the task were truly inexhaustible.
John Rothgeb
Caulfield, Missouri
October 5, 2013
10
Free Composition, p. xxiiin/6n. Jahrbücher (“Yearbooks”) was the term by which Schenker usually referred
to the three volumes of Das Meisterwerk in der Musik.
About the Companion Website
www.oup.com/us/beethovenslastpianosonatas
Oxford has created a website to accompany Beethoven’s Last Piano Sonatas, which
presents, for each of the four sonatas, Schenker’s critique of Literature concerning
the work from the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries.
xi
Piano Sonata in E Major, Op. 109
Foreword
With pleasure I fulfill a long-cherished wish of my own as well as of numer-

ous friends now to adjoin to my preceding corpus of works, which aim toward pre-
sentation of the true musical content of masterworks, the “last five piano sonatas”
by Beethoven. The level of the assignment, as well as the particular difficulty of pro-
curing source materials (autographs, copies, original editions, etc.), and not last the
necessity of coming to terms with the extensive literature, turn the work into the
program of several years. Since, however, the current situation of musical art is so
lamentable that one cannot quickly enough deliver contributions to its improve-
ment, I have decided to publish each part of the work immediately on completion.
I hope to complete the whole work in four years. I have taken the liberty of disre-
garding the order of opus numbers, presenting the sonatas in the following succes-
sion: Op. 109, 110, 111, 101, 106.
Let it here be noted as well that in all sonatas the fingering is mine, except for the
original fingering by the composer, which is identified as such. All other markings
are the composer’s. Where necessary, however, markings added by me will be distin-
guished by enclosure in brackets.
May this work as well enjoy the success accorded my earlier ones!
Heinrich Schenker
Vienna, September 1913
1
Preliminary Remarks
The editor has used as basis for the text of the present edition Beethoven’s
own Autograph.1 It should be remarked immediately that the text, according to this
source, provides surprisingly different versions and notations than we have thus far
been accustomed to. In this sense the edition represents almost an exhumation of
the long-lost masterwork, but in any case a reaffirmation of the authority of the
severely misunderstood Autograph.
Nevertheless, the editor was not spared examination, for the purpose of a most
complete and accurate depiction of the intentions of the master, of other sources as
well. In particular, notes have been consulted that Nottebohm took on the basis of a
copy revised by Beethoven himself (hereafter designated Revised Copy) and entered
into his own score.2 Further sources included—besides the Original Edition, the
Gesamtausgabe, and the “Urtext”—several other editions of importance, viz., those
of d’Albert, Bülow, Klindworth, Reinecke, Riemann, etc.3
In the commentaries the editor strove, as similarly in his editions of the Chromatic
Fantasy by J. S. Bach4 and the keyboard sonatas by C. P. E. Bach,5 to provide infor-
mation above all about the composition itself. The particular fate of the sonata at
hand, however, which had to tolerate not merely mistakes and misprints, but severe
1
[In the collection of the Library of Congress. See p. 81, Editions.]
2
[In the Deutsche Staatsbibliothek, Berlin.]
3
[See p. 81, Editions.]
4
[For bibliographic details of Schenker’s works and for citation forms to be used henceforth, see p. 83,
Bibliography of Cited Works by Schenker.]
5
[Thirteen sonatas and one rondo selected from the Sonaten, freien Fantasien und Rondos für Kenner und
Liebhaber in Ph. Em. Bach: Klavierewerke.]
3
4 Piano Sonata in E Major, Op. 109
distortions based on faulty understanding, compelled him to deal in the commen-

taries also with the rationale behind Beethoven’s having formulated and notated
the text in just this way and in no other. The editor requests most close attention to
these discussions, as they touch not only on compositional reasons, which urgently
need clarification for the benefit of the content, but moreover clearly establish how
difficult, indeed how impossible, it has been made for a genius to communicate his
deeper compositional intentions to contemporaries and to posterity. How meticu-
lous Beethoven’s approach to the expression of his conceptions; how he ranted in
letters to publishers and the like about the mistakes inflicted on his editions at the
hands of others; how he ridiculed arrogant and completely incompetent criticism.
And yet, neither material nor expression was received and understood in the way in
which he offered it, which, however, by no means prevented the world, in equal mea-
sure incapable and ungrateful, from behaving as though it had long since assimilated
the work and was thus entitled to “progress” beyond it to allegedly greater things.
Included with the commentaries are performance instructions as well; but the
latter here are not, as in the editor’s monograph Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony, col-
lected in a separate section, but rather are presented in a case-by-case fashion.
Here as there, however, a department for “Literature” is opened up (or rather,
retained [in the Companion Website]), in which the state of musical thinking about
the work by various authors up to the present is discussed. The editor considers pre-
cisely such an overview to be extraordinarily instructive and thus regards the cri-
tique applied here to be a duty to the work and not, as some like to insinuate, as
indulgence in the pleasure of combat!
For the present work, literature consulted from the earlier period includes the
writings of Adolph Bernhard Marx: Ludwig van Beethoven, Leben und Schaffen,6
and of Wilhelm von Lenz: Beethoven. Eine Kunststudie (in particular: Kritischer
Katalog sämtlicher Werke L. v. Beethovens). The more recent literature is repre-
sented by Prof. Willibald Nagel: Beethoven und seine Klaviersonaten (1905) and Paul
Bekker: Beethoven (1911).
Nagel’s work, by virtue of its approach to the subject, makes a favorable impres-
sion; the honorable effort to achieve objectivity can be clearly identified in it, and if
the results are by no means commensurate to the effort, allowances must—leaving
aside the innate limitations of his musical sensibilities—be made in consideration
of the disastrous influence of the present time, which stands as much as possible
in the way of such efforts just to exploit “progress”-clamor all the more fully for
6
[For bibliographic details of these and other works not by Schenker, see p. 85, “Bibliography of Cited Works
by Other Authors.”]
commercial purposes. To characterize the author’s laudable attitude, a few passages

from his Foreword may be cited here:
It is not our music-technical, but our musical education that is in a bad way: no
protestation alters in the least the truth of this statement. It is time now to
apply ourselves to the utmost and to find remedies.
That my conception of Beethoven rests not on the completely objective
understanding of his art, lies in the nature of the endeavor. But I know that
I have intruded nothing into my judgment of the piano sonatas that cannot be
corroborated by an utterance from the master himself. There is certainly no
guarantee against error, for every manner of interpretation is bound to subjec-
tive aspects.
Our time has forgotten how to see and to hear. No sooner does an
attention-getting art-work appear than the verdict on it is in. If the situation
were not so lamentable, one would have to laugh about it. The premature talk
about new phenomena of our artistic life, the mad rush of our era from enjoy-
ment to zealotry and the resulting exacerbation to the limit of insecurity of
aesthetic judgment—all of this blemishes in the extreme the proper under-
standing even of our classical art. This art requires serious, thorough study
and will not tolerate the sloganeering approach with which new musical works
are often presented today, at a time when music has ceased for so many to be
music—that is, an independent art—and instead has become painting, phi-
losophy, and who knows what else.
How such study of classical art must happen will be shown, insofar as my
powers allow, by my book. That it is an attempt, which certainly will be found
to admit of improvement in many respects, I do not deny. But the work of
presenting the inner coherence of Beethoven’s piano sonatas without continu-
ally resorting to empty philosophical words and cheap belletristic digressions
had at some point to be undertaken; it had to be pointed out that the art that
Beethoven gave us is no mere luxury, that the master is an important figure
in our cultural life—an intellectual force of which everybody who would be
considered educated must have at least a basic knowledge. Even here, however,
one might object and say that the requirement imposed has long since been
fulfilled. It has not.7
The work of Bekker, on the other hand, is most emphatically abjured by this edi-
tor. As has already been demonstrated here and will be further demonstrated in
7
[Willibald Nagel, Beethoven und seine Klaviersonaten (Langensalza: Hermann Beyer, 1905), p. VIf.]
the ensuing editions of the remaining sonatas, that work is entirely lacking in
objectivity, which alone could have justified the author in his assignment. Lack
of objectivity will never be compensated by the ruse of externally separating the
story of Beethoven’s life from the criticism of his works. If Bekker’s book wanted
to set itself apart from other Beethoven books only in this respect—the par-
ticularity of this trait, incidentally, has already been preempted by Lenz!—, the
impertinence of such an empty show may be deemed unworthy of the master. The
book has found many readers, but truly, it deserves the readers who are respon-
sible for its reputation; of these credulous individuals, however, none will be able
to confer on the author that genuine reputation which remains the reward only
of an objectivity that is exhaustive in its treatment of the composition down to its
ultimate foundations.
Bekker too, incidentally, is aware of the obligation to true objectivity. Thus he
has written at one point: “The serious critic, however, must glimpse the danger in
the dissemination of such books, which is far greater than in mass-production of
bad belletristic. For through inferior biographies, all of those tendencies toward
superficiality of artistic consideration, toward that cultivation of half-knowledge
and of empty aesthetic twaddle which infects our practical musical life under the
guise of scientific instruction, will only be visited on the public at large.” One
could immediately assent to this view of Bekker’s if only his own works paid
it heed.
In their totality, the results of my investigations will now finally place the follow-
ing passages, for example, from letters by Beethoven in a new light:
To Capellmeister Hofmeister in Leipzig. Vienna, 15th (or roughly that) of

January, 1801
“. . . As far as the Leipzig O. (?) is concerned, just let them be read; they will
certainly make nobody immortal by their nonsense, just as they will deprive
nobody of immortality for whom Apollo has decreed it.”8
To Breitkopf & Härtel in Leipzig. Vienna, 9th October, 1811
“. . . Have the oratorio, like everything else, critiqued by whomever you wish.
I am sorry to have written you even a word about the wretched critic; who cares
about such critics when you see how the most wretched bunglers are lauded to
the skies by just such wretched critics, and how they in general deal most harshly
with art-works (and also have to because of their incompetence), for which they
do not find the fitting standard as quickly as the cobbler his last—. . . .”
8
[Alfred Christlieb Kalischer, Beethovens sämtliche Briefe, vol. 1 (Berlin and Leipzig: Schuster and Loeffler,
1906), p. 61f.]
“And now go and criticize as long as you like, I wish you much gratification,
even if it feels a little like a mosquito bite, it’s over at once, after all, and as soon
as the prick is past, it makes a very nice amusement[;]‌cri- cri- cri- cri- cri- ti- ti-
ti- ti- cize- cize- cize—not until the end of time, that you cannot.”9
Up till now it has been customary to see in this and similar utterances of the mas-
ter’s only the expression of a bad temper, of a robust mental state, often even an
injustice. But since all of this was viewed as only a human condition, his attitude was
condescendingly, and “gladly,” forgiven. Thus the usual standard for the mere aver-
age of humanity was applied to the master in order to take pleasure in denigrating
him in those few areas where it was thought possible to attain his level.
But henceforth, I think, people will finally have to get used to the insight that for
a genius like Beethoven, nourishment flows from the same root not only to those
creative powers which constitute his particular and fruitful manifestation in art,
but also to the purely human in him. The quality of genius is nothing less than
indivisible, and just as the tones of a Beethoven are true—true in themselves and in
life—, his words and deeds are always equally true, to the extent that they are cor-
rectly understood. But the life of a genius, his thoughts and deeds, are unfortunately
not less difficult to understand than his artistic creations! If people had thus far bet-
ter understood Beethoven’s works, they would undoubtedly have read his life better
as well. But it is a mistake to believe that one must, vice versa, understand the tones
above all from the life. No! the tones are first of all to be grasped only of themselves;
and if we can do this, then we can, on the other hand, also better understand the
life of the creator.
How forcefully, and with all of its vigor nevertheless so clearly and dispassion-
ately, Beethoven illuminates in the foregoing letter the gap that he sees between
his creations and their “critics”! But who, after perusal of my work, would still dare
to claim that he had overestimated the size of this gap? Would it not be calumny,
malice, under these circumstances still to parade one’s own inadequacy against the
brilliant artist and to denigrate him as a liar just so that one’s unproductive vanity
can exist even ahead of the genius in the few seconds of life that are granted the
housefly?! But just recently an incompetent critic, faced with the decision to approve
either Beethoven’s truth or the damage inflicted on it by a lesser master, had the gall
to represent Beethoven’s truth as “the truth of an average nature,” merely because
he was unable honorably to refute the proof of damage as marshaled by the editor.
The belated rehabilitation in the lines from Beethoven’s letter will now cast a glar-
ing sidelight on the following passage from a letter to this editor from Professor
9
[Ibid., vol. 2 (1907), p. 39.]
Rudorff:10 “To the remarks that you cite from Brahms’s letter to me, I add something
further. After the Chopin project was finished, we met personally with Joachim,
and discussed one thing and another. He so rightly ridiculed Bülow’s foolishness in
his Beethoven edition. . . .”
Here too one may justly speak not merely of some idle ridicule by master
Brahms; for so many earlier works by this editor have demonstrated step by step
no less surely than the present one the most ghastly misunderstandings on Bülow’s
part—misunderstandings of which, one may safely assume, a Brahms too must have
been aware. Admittedly, the world has no taste for reappraisal; for when a Bülow
falls, thousands and millions smaller fall as well. But it was not for the sake of
the vanity and the pleasure of the small and smallest that Art came to mankind;
it came to the greatest, and remained at all times only among them; it will more-
over continue to live among the greatest, and trample over all of those who, without
humility before its wonders, without humility before the genius that alone brings
salvation to mankind, trapped only by vanity, darkness, gluttony, ignorance, and
other similar vices, appropriate it by force—not to enjoy it, but only to boast about
their possession!
Now a word about freedom of tempo in the performance of Beethoven’s sonatas.
The demand for a relentless strictness of the beat—which, of course, is mostly
imposed only by those whose sense of the difficult questions of content uncon-
sciously falters—has validity only to the extent that in works to be performed by
several persons at the same time, obviously a stricter observation of tempo is more
necessary from the very beginning than in solo pieces. But that is taken care of
ahead of time by the stylistic sensitivity of a truly gifted tonal craftsman, who will
avoid writing a symphony, for example, in the same manner as a piano sonata. To
the extent that the demand for a strict beat would attempt to restrict the solo player
as well, particularly in the performance of the masterworks, however, let the follow-
ing train of thought serve as a rejection of this demand and as defense of free tempo:
When it is said that tempo is tempo and everything understood under the con-
cept of tempo presupposes equality of the time units, the desire is obviously to redis-
cover in the performance of a work of art the law of the clock, of the metronome.
But if we look more closely, we find a contradiction between the law of the clock and
the temporal nature of an art-work.
It is true that the clock divides our time into minutes and hours, and accom-
panies us in this manner through our whole life, but it is not able to partake of
10
[Letter of December 17, 1909. Oswald Jonas memorial collection, Collection 067. University of California,
Riverside Libraries, Special Collections & Archives, University of California, Riverside. The letter from
Brahms to Rudorff is cited by Schenker in Chromatic Fantasy, p. 21/18.]
our sorrows and joys. How the hour does drag on for one who suffers physically or
psychically—but the clock registers only one hour, precisely the hour as such! How
the hours of happiness fly past—again the clock shows only hours, hours as such,
without content! How foolish it would be, then, to abjure, just for the sake of the
clock, measurement of the content of our lives according to the rich hours, and to
regard all hours as equal because the clock registers them as equal! Rightly, there-
fore, the human being’s spiritual experience, as result of more less definite causes,
stands vastly more in the foreground of consciousness than the temporal division
of the clock per se.
Precisely as in the case of the outward events of life, however, the clock loses
power over experiences in the art-work as well. Likewise in the re-creation of an
art-work, the task is to re-create, with the effect intrinsic to them, the tonal pat-
terns that the composer experienced independently of the clock. But it goes with-
out saying that accordingly, in the process of re-creation too, the effect must again
only remain oblivious of the clock. Thus what Beethoven must according to demon-
strable facts have sensed as broadening must also be represented in performance as
broadened; what he conceived as accelerated, the performer must likewise lend an
effect of acceleration. But never does the performer have the right to apply to broad-
enings and accelerations actually experienced as such by Beethoven the soulless law
of the clock, to which, indeed, things deeply experienced by the human soul are
alien. I therefore affirm once again: those minutes which even seemed to Beethoven,
by virtue of one or another tonal pattern, to be longer, must in our performance
actually be lengthened if his perception is concordantly to be given expression!
Finally I address the pleasant task of thanking the House of Wittgenstein
(Vienna) for so kindly facilitating my study of the Autograph in its possession. I fur-
ther owe special thanks to Prof. Dr. Eusebius Mandycewski (Vienna), who not only
pointed me in the direction of the manuscript, but also was so kind as to provide
access to the aforementioned notes of Nottebohm.
Commentary
First Movement
V ivace
The first movement is composed in sonata form.

The first theme,1 despite its brevity of only eight bars (with quarter-note upbeat),
exhibits antecedent and consequent, and, in the latter, a modulation to the key
of the fifth (B major) as well—an occurrence not infrequently encountered in
Beethoven (compare Op. 2, No. 1, first movement; Op. 101, first movement; cello
sonatas Op. 102, etc.).
The second theme, in B major, again comprises only eight bars (bars 9–15) and
includes, like the first theme, antecedent and consequent. The last bar of the conse-
quent, bar 15, digresses into a kind of cadenza, which, with its free expansion, pro-
vides the content with a substitute for what otherwise serves within sonata form as
definitive of a third (closing) theme.
Now follows the middle section of the movement, the Development (bars
16–48)—with quarter-note upbeat already in bar 15!—, which, as befits the brevity
of the First Part,2 is likewise kept short.
In bar 49 (upbeat in bar 48!) the Reprise begins, which, as is to be expected in
Beethoven, is garnished with more or less significant modifications (in relation to
the First Part).
In bar 66 (upbeat in bar 65!) the Coda begins.
1
[See Free Composition, Fig. 90.]
2
[The exposition; Schenker uses this term, however, only in relation to fugal movements or sections (see, for
example, 110, 101). His designation erster Teil (First Part) has been retained throughout.]
13
As we see, the content of the first movement is expressed in a form that appears
as though abbreviated to the bare essentials, and thus is in many ways actually
reminiscent of the first sonata-type cultivated by C. P. E. Bach. Yet the unique
animation of the content finds its special expression in the form as well. For if the
general brevity of content here leaves room for merely two themes instead of three,
the intrinsic form of this work nevertheless differs from similar forms (such as, for
example, precisely those of C. P. E. Bach) through notable and exactly describable
singularities, such as the change of meter and tempo at the second theme (adagio
espressivo, 34), the new tonal paths3 of the development, and finally the physiognomy
of the coda—not to mention innumerable other technical points that, in turn,
entail further differences.
Bar 1ff. Beethoven’s first choice of tempo marking was simply Vivace. The indication ma
non troppo that appeared in the Original Edition and all subsequent editions is for-
eign to the Autograph and the Revised Copy.
Sempre legato appears in the Autograph (subsequently added in pencil, inciden-
tally) and in the Revised Copy not until the third bar, undoubtedly only to indicate
that the following bars as well are similarly to be played legato, just as bars 1 and 2;
it was obviously only through misunderstanding that this instruction was placed
alongside the tempo marking as early as the Original Edition.
The placement of the tonic on the upbeat is unconventional; this, however, is
exactly what then makes possible its placement on the strong beat in bar 4. (As exam-
ples of similarly unconventional phenomena, the following may be cited: Handel,
Suite in E major, Air; Haydn, Kaiserhymne; etc.)
Beethoven’s orthography as seen here in the right hand signifies nothing more
nor less than the instruction for a true legatissimo (compare my Ornamentation,
p. 25f./9, also Chromatic Fantasy, p. 63/42). The quarter notes therefore merely
indicate that sluggish and involuntary holding down of the finger that is always
completely indispensable for the effect of a legato on the keyboard instrument.
The emphasis, however, which is here nevertheless certainly to be placed on the
first tone, applies exclusively to the first sixteenth. As reasons for this, the fol-
lowing are definitive: first, the slurring of the two tones (compare the rule about
the performance of two slurred tones in C. P. E. Bach, Versuch über die wahre
Art, das Klavier zu spielen, 1, 3, §18) and second, the rhythmically less natural
relationship: instead of , which signifies a more natural relationship. But
3
[Die neuen Tonwege. Both German editions have das neue Material (the new material); the revision (followed
here) was entered by Schenker in his personal copy. Such revisions, of which there are many, are henceforth
incorporated without further comment except where explanation is needed.]
First Movement 15
this alone must by no means lead to the insertion of the diminuendo sign into
the text itself (as Bülow and Riemann do, for example). The harm caused by
such superfluous additions is uncommonly great: the sensory impression alone
can easily lead the performer astray, causing him to do more where a superfluous
sign occurs than he would justly and rationally have found necessary. Moreover,
the added marking makes the player believe that where such is lacking, a similar
execution, despite the related circumstances, is undesirable. Now it is an obvious
inference, however, that the misleading of performers to such error at the same
time signifies the end of the well-founded rule.4 And in this sense, therefore,
editors with their superfluous additions entomb the higher culture, which con-
sists merely in the performer’s compliance with so many valid rules—if not by
his own insights, then through oral instruction and explanation on the part of
his teacher. It should be possible for certain rules finally to become and remain
common property! Bülow tells less than the whole truth when he writes as fol-
lows about the notation just described: “The melodic essence is represented
neither exclusively by the rising and falling arabesques (which are always to be
expressively shaded) nor by the notes specified as quarters (which must in all
cases be held for the full value), but in the union of the two elements.” It would
have been better simply to say that Beethoven’s notation merely promotes the
legato effect.
Observe, too, how the left-hand fingering I have suggested takes its place among
the methods for achieving the legatissimo effect.
At the upbeat, beginning of the consequent phrase; at the same location, signifi- Bar 4
cantly, the cresc. marking as well.

Modulation to B major. Bar 5ff
Autograph and Revised Copy give the second quarter as shown in our text. Bar 8
Accordingly, for melodic content (as is obvious), only the sixteenth c ♯2 comes
into consideration, while the tones of the third , on the other hand, follow-
ing upon the third , with their quarter-note values, serve continuity purposes.
Unfortunately, even the Original Edition, through misunderstanding, gave the
following notation:
Fig. 1
4
[C. P. E. Bach’s rule about slurred notes (see above).]
which paved the way subsequently for a still more unnatural notation (Gesam
tausgabe, Urtext):
Fig. 2
Bar 9ff Second theme, antecedent phrase, bars 9–11, along with change of meter
and tempo!
In the Autograph, Beethoven places before bar 9—note well—only a single (!) and
not a double bar line; he moreover writes the tempo indication (later, and in pencil)
deliberately with only small (!) initial letters: adagio espressivo. From this it follows, first
of all, that Beethoven endeavored to give the inner foundations of the sonata form their
visible embodiment in an externally unfolding depiction of content as well; that is, that
he wanted the movement to be viewed even purely externally as in essence a normally
developing sonata form. If we but consider the plethora of errors to which tempo- and
meter-change at this point have led all those who are incapable of understanding the
course of a sonata treatment from the most inner necessities of the world of tones,
we must ever lament that Beethoven’s unique, exact orthography5 failed to survive
beyond the Autograph. The Original Edition already presents in its place a mislead-
ing and false one (double bar line and Adagio!), which was subsequently incorporated
into all editions without exception. Therefore, I count it as my good fortune with my
text once again to have illuminated for the first time Beethoven’s authentic formal will.
(Nottebohm appears not to have noticed this point in his consideration of the Revised
Copy, from which it follows that for him this question obviously did not exist.)
The initiation of the second theme by means of a raised I in B major is accounted
for by the scale-degree progression ♯I ♮ 7—II— ♯VII ♮ 7—I and so forth. Accordingly,
the tonic that follows the dominant appearing on the second quarter of bar 8 has
the effect of a kind of deceptive cadence: V— ♯I, but also, for that very reason, of an
all the more compelling natural annexation of the second theme to the first. Bound
to the raising of the tonic root, moreover, is the tonicization (see Harmony §142) of
the subsequent II—thus not [a “key” of] C ♯ minor.
The most exquisite aspect of this theme, however, is the infinitely increased depth
of feeling alongside deepest solemnity. How rapid the succession of dynamics: they
5
A similar way of writing—without a double bar line and initial capital letters for a tempo change—is often
used by Chopin as well; see, for example, the Nocturne in F♯ , Op. 15, No. 2. Unfortunately he too has not
been spared the damage inflicted by editorial changes rooted in misunderstanding.
First Movement 17
cast a different luminescence, a different color and shading, on almost each and
every tone! And such a mercurial slur articulation, whose capacity for expression
is not taxed even by the most varied segmentation of the tones! Without guidance
from any kind of clearly perceptible program of action, without the aid of text or
drama, how the theme does here nevertheless appear perfectly developed down
to the last detail with absolute musical means! Alas, if people had but recognized
and prized in this technique the complete sufficiency that it offered from the very
outset, mankind would truly have been spared the unfruitful and destructive error
of expecting only from “modern” music what was long ago achieved with means a
thousand times better!
It goes without saying, however, that the dynamic indications here should be
understood not as rigidly bounded and harshly juxtaposed states, but only as inter-
penetrating fluctuations.
The arpeggio at the beginning of bar 9 is to be performed in an imposing manner
(as is expressly indicated by the composer’s explicit notation of it), but also with a
crescendo, and accelerating to the apex a2 .
In bars 9 and 10 one should attend carefully to the nature of keyboard idiom,
which here mixes obbligato and continuity voices in such infinitely refined weight-
ings. The freedom with which the voices of free composition, and especially of the
keyboard idiom here in use, alternate according to character and number have been
given expression in an altogether pictorial manner by our masters even in their nota-
tion. If they suddenly needed a continuity voice, for example, they added it, without
accounting for its origin in their notation; if on the contrary a voice dropped out,
they also saw no need to indicate this omission by rests. No error has been so tell-
ing up to now as the confusion of the obbligato voices of so-called strict counter-
point with those of free composition! Therefore, I too, following the Autograph,
have omitted from the text any rests that are unnecessary for the keyboard idiom
as such. (Compare on this point, for example, the notation of Brahms in the
Rhapsodies, etc.)
In this bar the half-cadence arrives: I—IV—VĹĺĺĻ. After removal of the diminu- Bar 11
tion at the third quarter it immediately becomes clear that the harmony at the sixth
eighth already signifies a polyphonic anticipation of the scale degree due in the next
bar. In the last three eighths the left hand adds a voice that reinforces the melody in
the lower octave; it can best be given expression by on the one hand delaying c ♯ 1 and
on the other anticipating d ♯ 1 with the left hand, but certainly only in a free and most
highly circumspect (!) manner.
The sextolet in the sixth eighth of the right hand is to be played as the sum of
two triplets (2 × 3), i.e., , and not as 3 × 2, i.e., . Given that most
editors (e.g., Bülow, Klindworth) recommend playing the sextolet here as tripartite,
i.e., as 3 × 2, or—which is still worse—even gratuitously incorporate the tripartite

execution into the text; given further the often incorrect representation of the sex-
tolet in reference works (e.g., Koch-Dommer6 and Riemann7 ), let the following be
stated here toward correction of all errors.
It is completely wrong to assume the sextolet to be either invariably or more prob-
ably tripartite and to perform it as such. Rather, it is always only the cir-
cumstances that attend the given passage that must decide; for example:
a) When in doubt one must remain true to the time-honored principle of
configurations, which (leaving irregular ones out of consideration) all rest on
divisibility by the number 2 or 3—thus to that principle which one could most
fittingly call the numerical principle 2 or 3—until the composer’s volition for
good reason decrees a change. Applied to our case, precisely this point of view
leads to the correct solution. When we consider that in bars 10 and 11 the prin-
ciple of the number 2—see the eighths, sixteenths, thirty-seconds—has ruled
throughout, it is obligatory now to place the sextolet as well on the basis of the
number 2, which accordingly leads to . We are corroborated in this,
moreover, by the fact that in the following bar 12 too, the number 2 again emerges
in the sixteenths, thirty-seconds, sixty-fourths. Were we on the contrary to base
the sextolet on the number 3 by reason of the erroneous rule and accordingly
play it as , the effect of such a triplet, abruptly inserted among so many
other tonal groups based not on the number 3 but on the number 2, would have
to be felt as nothing less than awkward, jolting, in any event as insecure. The
same applies, to state it just here, also to bars 63 and 64, where the sextolets are
again to be played as binary: ! Precisely the last example shows, how-
ever, what is to be counted as an alteration of the numerical principle, because at
the cadence in bar 64 Beethoven switches expressly to the numerical principle 3
, only in order thereby to secure the sixteenth-note triplet , which
is destined to become the foundation of the new configurations in the
coming bar 65.
As example of a jolting effect obviously intended by the composer between
eighths and eighth-note triplets, on the contrary, Liszt’s Vogelpredigt may be cited,
bars 85–94.
b) Under certain circumstances motivic intentions decide the matter. For exam-
ple, at the conclusion of the Nocturne in F♯ major (Op. 15, No. 2) by Chopin, accord-
ing to the viewpoint given in a) the sextolets in the third and second bar before the
6
[Arrey von Dommer, Musik Lexicon: Auf Grundlage des Lexicons von H. Ch. Koch (Heidelberg, Germany:
Mohr, 1865).]
7
[Hugo Riemann, Hugo Riemanns Musik-Lexikon, Ninth Edition (Berlin: Hesse, 1919).]
First Movement 19
end would have to be played as bipartite if they did not bear the new thematic obli-
gation of compacting the motif of the two preceding bars now in a hemiolaic way,
which leads to tripartite organization of the sextolet:
Fig. 3
(The representation of this sextolet is therefore incorrect in the edition by

Klindworth, who is guilty of other inexcusable alterations of the original—alterations
that only expose the deepest impoverishment of his musical understanding.)
c) Sometimes the solution to the problem is determined by a significant event
in the province of form: in Chopin’s A-minor Etude Op. 25, No. 11, tripartite sex-
tolets storm uninterrupted from bar 5 to bar 64; but at the moment when the
rampage has intensified to the maximum (see bars 61–64ff.), it breaks abruptly
in bar 65 into a bipartite sextolet , so as to rage through the last part of the
journey—whipped up in bars 66–68 to new fervor—in the tripartite segmenta-
tion! And so forth.
Consequent of the second theme, bars 12–15 (see above). A group of bars severely Bar 12ff.
misunderstood by everyone and in all respects up to the present day; not to mince
words, it is the bar-group whose misunderstanding has been the principal cause of
all misconstrual of the movement. Here the solution of the difficult puzzle: bars
12–14 answer, although with features of variation, bars 9–11 in the manner of a
consequent. A comparison of the melodic lines in the bar-groups just mentioned
shows the strictly diatonic course in the first case, a, and a chromatic one in the
second, b:
Fig. 4
In both cases it is basically a matter of filling the same third-space A—F♯ (see
the upper brackets). This comparison moreover instructs most visually that in bars
12–14, in view of the paucity of the chromatic movements at all possible within the
minor third (A—G ♯ —F$—F♯), the rhythmic similarity of the motivic formations
(see the lower brackets) could be achieved in no way other than by twice inserting
anticipations into the line.
The following sketch of bars 12–14 shows the scale-degree progression:
Fig. 5
Herewith the explanation of why I assume in bar 12 as root a C 𝄪 instead of

C ♯ : if there can be no doubt that the first harmony presents a ♯ I scale degree,
one must by all means [provisionally] acknowledge as the next scale degree
(at G ♯ of the melody) the II, C ♯ , for whose sake the chromatic inflection was
employed. In the final analysis there would have been no objection to the follow-
ing harmonic plan:
Fig. 6
for, as we see, the diatonic II scale degree in combination with the III could
have pointed to a tonicized VI. Beethoven, however, did not at all have a VI in
mind in this context, to say nothing of a tonicization of that scale degree; his
plan was rather to move directly from III to I. But this made it all the more
important to him to establish the tonicization of precisely the III; and as he
had for this purpose only two lines available here, he had to marshal the chro-
matic tone E ♯ in the lower one (see the penultimate sixteenth in bar 12), which,
by the mere fact of its chromatic alteration, obviously presupposes the raising
First Movement 21
of the root C ♯ to C 𝄪 as well. In a complete realization, therefore, the passage

goes as follows:
Fig. 7
And now it will be understood if I say that by reason of its relationships,

concealed but anchored in law, the passage produces an effect of a kind that
people today recognize nowhere short of Wagner. But how completely the
older master surpasses the more recent composer in the matter: in Beethoven
an antecedent is established that sheds light on the consequent; the diatony of
the former enables the chromaticism of the latter, the scale-degree progressions
of the former define and illuminate the scale-degree progressions of the latter!
Everything in the theme was designed for clarity from the first; and it is not
Beethoven’s fault if that all too brilliant and yet simple clarity has not been seen
until today. 8
The Autograph clearly shows [in the left hand] at the last two sixteenths of
bar 13 a ligature only between the two tones A ♯ and B and not also between the
two D ♯’s.
Revelation of the true content of bars 12 and 13 now places the keyboard
figuration in the correct light as well. In a situation like the one described
above that involves the reverberation of sonorities, later composers would
8
[One of Schenker’s personal copies of the music is interleaved with blank pages for the annotation of ideas
that would come to him later. On such a blank page facing p. 28 of that score, he offers a different and alto-
gether audacious explanation of this passage, one certainly written several years later than his original text.
He writes
Re Fig. 5 and 6: (I) ♯ I here in Ł-position, the bass tone thus a diminished 5, which must descend;
could move to E as sixth-chord of the II if C ♯ had been intended, but since this scale-degree tone
too is immediately subjected to a tonicization, C ♯ —E ♯ —G ♯ , it is precisely E ♯ that follows upon F ♯ .
Between II and III, 5—5 is avoided by the simple fact that G ♯ of the Urlinie moves in contrary
motion; the tonicization, incidentally, of itself signifies a 5—6 process:
Between III and IV, 5—6 to counteract the 5—5. Thus a fourth-progression.

Schenker thus posits several elisions, and the downbeat of bar 14, rather than representing I as in Fig. 5,
stands instead for the result of a 5—6 replacement above the bass D ♯ whose purpose is to avoid parallel fifths
between III 𝄪 and IV. The latter harmony arrives in inverted position, which makes available the 7—6 suspen-
sion rather than the less desirable 9—8.]
probably have presented the sustaining of the harmonies expressly in chords

for the sake of better illumination, and one must marvel at the intrepidity with
which Beethoven eschewed such a device of illumination just in order to avoid
sacrificing purity of the keyboard setting to an inappropriate orchestral con-
ception. (Compare by Beethoven himself the Piano Sonata Op. 90, Rondo,
bars 64–70:9)
Fig. 8
Granted, Beethoven has elevated the figurations, which so fittingly serve

the purpose of synthesis, far above the normal upward and downward roll of a
chord—that is, above normal arpeggiation. With his directions for most varied
rhythmic segmentations, for vibrant dynamic shadings, and for a precisely orga-
nized pedal usage—directions that rest on the most poised and refined art of
playing—, he works to secure for the stationary harmonies the effect of sonori-
ties that seem to live and breathe. If the player but understands how to draw on
his directions in the spirit of their compositional origin, the effect is indeed as
though a breath wafted through the chords, causing them to rise and fall like
a human breast. But admittedly, it is precisely the difficulty of understanding
the reasons for the directions that may also suggest why a piano technique that
grew in equal measure out of the most profound formal exigency and intrinsic
pianistic considerations has never to this day been understood in its true nature,
but instead has been equated with lazy arpeggiations that merely fill up time.
9
This very passage has been misunderstood by Willibald Nagel, who writes in the second volume of his work
Beethoven und seine Klaviersonaten, p. 201, that “before the reappearance of the main theme, two bars are
inserted.” Truly an all-too-paltry response to the bold piano-technical stroke!
First Movement 23
How easy it was then to devalue the master’s piano writing and rank it below
that of the later piano composers! (In particular one should take care not to play
the thirty-second-note sextolet at the fourth eighth other than as [see
above regarding bar 11].)
Beethoven notates the pedal-release mark in bar 12 and also in bar 13 expressly
after the p, thus after the penultimate sixteenth. Whether in so doing he intended
in the first case a more compelling connection of the leading melodic tones A and
G ♯ or whether it is merely a case of haste in writing cannot be ascertained. It is easy
enough for us today, however, to release the pedal after the sixteenth G ♯ , but then
immediately (as I advise) to depress it again and thus once and for all to secure the
effect sought by Beethoven.
The content of bar 14 is clearly a variation of the corresponding bar 11. The rein- Bar 14
forcement in the left hand returns here as well.

Inattentive (or overly clever?) players, invoking the analogous bar 63, usually add
the tone f♯ at the second sixteenth of the left hand:
Fig. 9
Precisely this tone, however, weakens the standard-bearer of the open position,
which is specifically f♯3 of the right hand. Regarding the admissibility of such a
filler-tone, incidentally, it is not—as is generally assumed—a matter merely of the
obvious availability of a space that could be filled, but involves to a still greater
extent, and often in a marvelous way, the registral position and the overall situation.
From the third sixteenth of the second quarter Beethoven clearly notates the
sextolets with , a notation he found propitious mainly because of the
three-note constitution of the motif.
The conventional version of bar 15 exposes in an infinitely more glaring manner Bar 15
that insufficiency of musical instinct, so often pilloried by me, of editors, eminent

musicians, and performers. Just compare my text in this passage, which strictly fol-
lows the Autograph, with those of other editions—what a blatant contrast! One sees
that Beethoven by exception comprehends within bar 15 twice three quarters, thus
six quarters, so that the next bar line falls only after the tempo primo. A “mistake”?
By no means; rather, a completely conscious intention of the master’s. Just con-
sider what compelling evidence of a purely external nature—to leave aside for the
moment more important compositional evidence—is provided by the Autograph
itself: Beethoven expressly eradicates the bar line originally placed (whether in error
or by intention) internally10 just to bring the content of bar 15—by exception—up to

a total of six quarters! Connected to this, moreover, is the revision of bar numbers,
which took place as follows. In the Autograph we see in particular how Beethoven,
on the sudden impulse of a strange mood, numbers the entire work, and thus also the
first movement, bar by bar, precisely entering the numbers in pencil.11 Originally the
bar number 16 here in question appeared after three quarters, but later Beethoven
struck it from this position, as we can clearly see, to place it only after a series of six
quarters, thus after the 24 upbeat. A further external, but no less reliable, proof is
provided by the Original Edition, which, exactly like the Autograph, shows bar 15
extending to six quarters. (It may be assumed that the Revised Copy, which proba-
bly preceded the Original Edition, presented the same version of the text; and when
Nottebohm nevertheless fails to remark on this in his notes, I conclude at once that
this question did not appear important to him—compare above, regarding bar 9—,
which can be explained only by the fact that obviously he too failed to understand
the form of this sonata to the fullest.)
Now to the compositional reason:
Long before I was fortunate enough to achieve confirmation of my opinion
through the Autograph and Original Edition, and despite all editors, whose faults
have led me astray no more in bar 15 than in bar 9, I taught my students (of which
there are examples outside the student circle proper, incidentally) the compositional
reason for this unusual metric phenomenon as follows: When we consider that the
Development, like the first theme of the First Part, is to begin with a quarter-note
upbeat, we see that Beethoven had to smuggle precisely this upbeat into the 34 bar
of the adagio espressivo so that the synthetic purpose of the upbeat would not be
blatantly exposed. The 34 bar, merely flowing along innocently, was to interpose, as
though unnoticeably, the upbeat itself! The task, however, was not at all an easy
one in consideration of the difference, intrinsically so great, between 34 and 24 time,
between Adagio and Vivace. In such a case our “modern” composers take refuge sim-
ply by not subjecting themselves to the agonies of artistic synthesis. Instead they
content themselves with showing, instead of a true superiority in the command of
tonal necessities, merely the affectation of a “free” and “unconstrained” creative
imagination, which then, of course, is no less impressive to the laity than true supe-
riority: one or several changes of meter, an arbitrarily pied succession of perhaps
1  4  4 1
1 1 2 1
and similar number-tricks, and the “modern” writer is, with no loss of
reputation, out of trouble. But how creatively and honorably Beethoven set to work!
Feeling automatically entitled by virtue of the cadence in bar 15 to a free expansion,
10
[The eradicated bar line immediately preceded the meter signature.]
11
A parenthetical note to Riemann: Beethoven does not number the upbeat to the first bar; rather, the num-
ber 1 stands between the first two bar lines.
First Movement 25
he helped himself (only seemingly by accident!) to two extra quarters as product

thereof, so that by reason of the passage work built into the cadence he arrived at
five quarters. These, added to the quarter of the following upbeat, yield the full sum
of six quarters. Only in this way could he provide the existing 34 meter with fully
rounded- off metric units and, moreover, interweave the upbeat of the development
already before the start of the 24 meter. Now it will finally have to be understood if
I say that a master of Beethoven’s rank demonstrates the meaning of even a metric
change only through the process of synthesis in the noblest meaning of the word,
thus truly “composes” it. Far above all of the unrefined staggering that is fundamen-
tally so inimical to art, the master conceives as freedom only the one born exclu-
sively of the compulsion to synthesis. Such freedom, because it is anchored so very
deeply in the latter, awakens in those of superficial perception the impression only of
a lazy freedom, of a shallow game. How sad, though, that what becomes the object
of imitation is not the “composed” freedom but the misinterpreted one!
To aid understanding of the expansion described above, let the following be cited
here for the sake of comparison: for example, the expansion of a 44 bar into a 54 bar
by C. P. E. Bach in the Sonata in G Major (Universal-Edition 548, No. 9), or, in
the opposite direction, a completely brilliant contraction of a 44 bar to a 34 bar in the
Piano Concerto in A minor, likewise by C. P. E. Bach (manuscript), which irregu-
larities, however arbitrary they appear, are nevertheless subsumed under the “fer-
mata concept,” which supports still greater liberties.
All editions that appeared after the Original Edition contradict the latter as well
as the Autograph. None of the later editors has recognized the organic nature of
the conception or the brilliance of the execution, and they all (because inherently
lacking any foundation) fell into the strangest errors. Thus most of them, by rea-
son of the meter change, have placed a double bar line before 24 . Bülow went still
further, placing a bar line already after three quarters, then cavalierly changing the
sixteenths of the fourth and fifth quarters into thirty-seconds and finally insert-
ing a double bar line before the 24 indication. This he explains naïvely by the com-
ment: “That all editions here present sixteenths clearly rests on a writing error in the
original manuscript.” From this follows the most unhappy inference that a revision
would have appeared necessary to him had he stood before Beethoven’s own manu-
script. (At the same time this annotation reveals that he saw neither the Autograph
nor the Revised Copy, nor even the Original Edition!)
Riemann too retains Bülow’s modification of the sixteenths to thirty-seconds,
but adds to this moreover the presumption of placing the upbeat before the meter
change! Bülow’s alterations as well as Riemann’s show clearly that they gave thought
to the passage here in question; they thus formed ideas about it, if, as is clear, not
the right ones. Now I would not at all say that this sample of Beethovenian artistic
synthesis is by any means the most obscure, the most difficult; but one must grant
that it is clearly not so easy to understand the content of a Beethoven work of art
when so many “leading” musicians are unable to grasp it. For the mere fact that a
musician, whether performer, editor, or theorist, avoids error just on matters that
are not difficult surely counts as no particular merit. And if he fails to rise to pre-
cisely the best and most exalted achievement in an art-work, what is left to praise,
I ask, about his musical sense at all!
I hope my discussion was plausible enough. And now let all partake with
delight in this happy creative stroke of Beethoven’s, because in any case this
is still a greater satisfaction than—to know nothing of it at all. Be elevated by
Beethoven and be not ashamed to have needed help from outside. Be honest,
and do not blurt out that the matter is basically simple and self-explanatory;
speak not of “haughty philologist’s obsession,” and do not suppose that it is fun-
damentally a matter of indifference whether it goes as in the Autograph or as,
for example, in Bülow, Riemann. For I answer: the natural law of those who
are destined always to remain debtors to the genius and to be surpassed by him
is ever expressed in that while they are laid low by every problem, they spring
back—like “never-say-die” fellows—with the words: “that is perfectly easy,” but
scarcely acknowledge that they found the solution . . . with the help of somebody
else. Their nature is so meager that [their] haughtiness and envy are sated even
when they digest somebody else’s train of thought. The very digestive process,
whose essential weightiness cannot be denied, makes them blind to the fact that
it is others who prepared what they are able only to digest. It lies in the nature
of the “never-say-die” fellows always to fret over their own insignificant selves,
lest a single particle thereof should get lost, while on the other hand they are
not inclined to make more ado about the ideas of those very individuals who
have provided morsels for their delectation than serves the needs of their own
haughtiness and of a tranquil digestive process. If it weren’t for their existence,
ask those ever surpassed souls in the excess of an envious defiance of the genius,
where would the genius be, if a genius existed at all? Alas, the most impoverished
fail to grasp that in comparison to the genius, which represents the splendid,
most supremely brilliant mind, the magnificently feeling heart of humanity,
they themselves—to remain with the metaphor—could be compared only to the
digestive organs, to the stomach or the intestinal canal!
Bar 16 The beginning of the Development (upbeat already in bar 15!). The 24 time and
tempo primo reappear, and with them the motif of the first theme returns in the left
hand (modulation to C ♯ minor).12
12
[Compare the sketch in Free Composition, Fig. 89, 1.]
First Movement 27
But already at the second quarter of bar 17, with the development scarcely begun, Bar 17ff.
two completely new motifs enter simultaneously, each of them comprising eight
quarters. As the arpeggiations of the figure in the left hand occur exclusively in the
ascending direction, the quarter notes at the same time become the sole bearers of
the following theme:
Fig. 10
The figure of the right hand simultaneously delineates the second melodic line,
which I sketch here as follows:
Fig. 11
The motif of the left hand (Fig. 10) migrates into the right hand (modulation to Bar 21ff.
♯
G minor), and the second line, likewise in the right hand, immediately connects to
it at the second quarter of bar 25 (see Fig. 11):
Fig. 12
From this point on, however, the figures of the melodically leading right hand,
to mention it at once, are arpeggiated in the downward direction—thus differently
than in bar 17ff.—all the way to bar 48 (Reprise!). The reason for such a change of
direction will be discussed in detail later in reference to the second movement.
It has always been difficult for readers and players to sense the relationships here
indicated of the content of bar 21ff. to the two melodic lines presented for the first
time in bar 17ff. To a certain extent the blame for this falls to the master himself;
for as we saw, in bar 17ff. he led both new melodic lines simultaneously, and besides,
unfortunately in the same rhythm as well, since each quarter of the lower line corre-
sponds to a single tone—in this sense thus again only a single quarter—of the upper.
Just this similarity of rhythm obstructs hearing of one of the two motifs as princi-
pal. Beethoven did give the lower line the advantage of expressly notated quarters
to be held full value,13 but the master overlooked the fact that in comparison to the
lower melody the upper would nevertheless have to protrude into the foreground
because of the soprano register with its invariably stronger attraction for our ear.
Thus it happens quite naturally that in bar 21ff., thus at the very moment that the
lower line appears in the high register, neither the reader nor the player recognizes
it as a line established earlier, but rather greets it as something completely new. In
this passage, then, at least in the first instant, a certain lack of transparency to the
listener cannot be disputed, and this alone obliges one to say that in bars 17ff., where
the two melodic lines are combined for the first time, the technical misstep just
criticized of not having seen to a more incisive rhythmic differentiation returns to
exact its price from our master.
If we take into consideration that the melodic unit of the motif here in ques-
tion (see Fig. 11) consists basically of a consecution of two submotifs that are linked
with each other by the interval of a second, we understand that from bar 25 on, the
melody presented twice in succession manifests four such submotifs (see the lower
brackets in Fig. 12). Through the latter, however, the melodic aspect arrives—as
though driven upward by a screw—at a considerably higher register, and the contin-
uation shows that Beethoven in fact intended to reach the height of b3 (see bar 42),
where both the exertion demanded by such an upward spin and the absolute effect
of the achieved register as such are to unite in the proclamation of a passionately
upward-striving, enthusiastically self-expressive spirit.
Bar The screw turns further. But it no longer takes the path of simple stepwise con-
33ff.
nections of the submotif, thus not, for example:
Fig. 13
13
[Jonas comments in 1092 , p. 15, that “Beethoven in addition writes here sempre legato for the left hand, and
later for the right.”]
First Movement 29
or the like; Beethoven rather employs, for a more forceful intensification of the
effect, a more trenchant motivic treatment. Specifically, the number 2, which long
permeated every ordering (see the eight quarters of the melody and their consistent
grouping into fours) is superseded by the number 3 together with its far-reaching
ramifications. Thus from the second quarter of bar 33 to (once again) the second
quarter of bar 36, first of all a triplet of bars (3 × 2) enters upon the scene:
Fig. 14
It may be left open whether or not the metric triplet has arisen here through an elision:
Fig. 15
Meanwhile the B-major key has been reached as well, whose tonic appears upon
its root at the first quarter of bar 36.
The metric triplet just described is succeeded by one of still higher order, namely
3 × 4 quarters, which Beethoven achieves by repeating the first four quarters of the
preceding triplet group twice in succession (with modulation to E major) and then
adds still four more quarters that ascend to the sought-after ultimate pinnacle of b3:
Fig. 16
And now, once the summit has been reached, an exactly similar second triplet of
bars is formed with a new motif in order to reinforce the final victory:
Fig. 17
This plan of the composer’s must serve as foundation of performance, and in

particular the triplets of bars shown in Fig. 16 and Fig. 17 are to be expressed in
the rhythm proper to them.—Further, one must abide exactly by the composer’s
dynamic markings, with which he took care to animate most clearly the body of
the treatment (see bars 21, 25, 27, 42, and 48). The sf accents on the weak beats in
bars 33ff. must be given special attention (the motivic formations as well in bars 33,
36, and 42 have their beginnings precisely at the weak beat); but they are not, for
example, to be played as stronger increments that protrude disproportionately above
melody and dynamics, but only as light underscorings within a fundamentally con-
tinuous dynamic line.
It goes without saying that an acceleration must be associated with the intensi-
fication in bars 27ff., for with the increased psychic arousal, which is responsible
for the metric triplets and which takes the high register by storm, an acceleration
naturally goes hand in hand.
The Autograph places in bar 25 the marking p and in bar 42 cresc. already
at the first quarter; but this notation is undoubtedly the product of an over-
sight caused by haste, since the marking otherwise used by the composer always
corresponds exactly to the motivic treatment. Nevertheless, although aware
that I was faced only with an oversight, I felt obliged to retain the composer’s
moment of inattention in the text. But those who are inclined to approve my
reasoning may in the respective bars consider p and cresc. to apply only from the
second quarter on.
Unfortunately the Original Edition lacks those two bars that my text certifies
as bars 44 and 45, so that the sextolet14 at that point is canceled, and from the
second quarter of bar 42 on only two 44 bars can be counted. Apparently the proof-
reader, innocent of the spirit of synthesis, assumed the repetition to be superflu-
ous and thus a mistake on the composer’s part. But the truth is actually rather
that these two bars would have had to be added even if the composer had forgot-
ten them; because if the earlier organization of 2-, 4-, and 8-bar formations is to
return only in bar 48 with the Reprise (see the forte there as well!), how could this
organization be preëmpted by foreshortening of the sextolet before attainment of
the goal? This error of the Original Edition was then copied, for example, by the
Peters Edition.
Bülow, no less lamentably, changed e to e ♯ and c ♯ to c 𝄪 at the second quarter of
bar 47—a misguided alteration, which later other editors (e.g., Klindworth and
14
[Sextole here and at the end of the paragraph. The reference in both cases, however, is to the “triplet of higher
order” (3 × 4) shown in Fig. 17.]
First Movement 31
Reinecke) adopted. Clearly Bülow merely identified the incidental possibility,

which surely anybody could have seen, of forming the second third-pair, like the
first, with chromatic neighboring notes—without noticing that Beethoven was con-
cerned at the second pair with a completely different continuity. For as the arrows
and numbers in the following illustration suggest:
Fig. 18
the second pair—number 2 and 3—is to be related to the first third, number 1, so
that all four thirds (1–4) follow a strictly diatonic course and thus provide the most
fitting transition to the Reprise.15
Equally wrong, and easily corrected in the light of the foregoing, is Bülow’s
comment about the organization of the development from bar 33 on: “While
thus far the periods have consisted of four bars each, now a three-bar period fol-
lows, next a two-bar, then again a four-bar” (I speak instead of a sextolet as three
4 bars), “then two 2-bar periods and finally two one-bar” (here too I speak of a
4
sextolet, [in this case] as six times 24 or three times 44 ) “up to where the main motif
appears at the f dynamic. The recognition and assimilation of these syntactic
relationships is indispensible if the player wishes to achieve a lucid performance.”
Except for the small word “these” I am completely in agreement with Bülow at
this point.
Reprise—first theme
In the atmosphere of excitement that the course of the development has brought
about thus far, the reprise now begins at the second quarter of bar 48 at the eleva-
tion of b3. The presentation of the first theme bears a radically Beethovenian stamp,
which I shall now take this opportunity to explain for the first time.
15
[Jonas—in a footnote on p. 17 that compensates for his having excised this part of the text for 1092—
comments that “Beethoven prepares the G ♯ of the Reprise diatonically by e—f ♯ , as is also expressed by the
particular orthography (observe the stemming).”]
For reasons that can most accurately be described as anthropocentric, all melodic
content, even on the piano, most advantageously uses registers that are roughly cir-
cumscribed by the four human vocal ranges:
Fig. 19
The range of even the older keyboard instruments was completely sufficient to meet
such “anthropocentric” requirements, for there can be no doubt that between contra
A and f3 everything could be instrumentally expressed which, by dint of the association
of the aforementioned registers, could speak to the heart of man. The later expansion of
the compass of keyboard instruments could fundamentally alter nothing of this natu-
ral source, simple and yet deeply concealed, of all instrumental effect. In visual terms,
but conceived in a logically anthropocentric mode, the zones that lie above f3 and below
contra A remained, even after expansion of the tonal compass, infertile for melodic con-
tent. The regions above and below appeared as though non-arable, as inaccessible for any
melodic cultivation. It was left only to the fervid passion of a Beethoven to carry for the
first time the banner of his melodicism into these barren sectors and to create in them
the illusion of fertility. Not infrequently he climbs, in a stormy thrust, a highest peak to
proclaim his melody, the more violently and unnaturally, the more victoriously. There is
no comparison, however, between such fertilization of a so fundamentally infertile zone
and any importation of pianistic fiorituras into those octaves. However intensively in
more recent times Liszt, for example, may storm the heights with his ornamental figures,
the significance for art is far from the same as that of the fructification by Beethoven of
the highest peaks for eloquent melody. Here quite simply our natural feeling is decisive
with unfailing accuracy: we all join in singing the Beethovenian melody from our hearts,
even when it wanders into the highest heights, but we follow Liszt’s figures not with the
participation of feeling, but only with the curiosity of intellect.
Not infrequently Beethoven combines the technique described above with the
additional expedient of juxtaposing, to intensify the contrast, the deepest depth
with the highest height—that is, he has the left hand fall beneath all middle reg-
isters into the deepest depth! It is understandable that the performance of a pas-
sage so composed is made all the more difficult to the extent that the missing voices in
the middle registers are to be substituted by the performer’s fervor.16
16
[Carl] Reinecke writes in Die Beethovenschen Klaviersonaten (Leipzig: Verlag Reinecke, 1896), p. 89, “. . . for
the sonic effect of these sonatas [meaning the last five] is often undeniably not so beautiful as in Beethoven’s
earlier creations, because in them he frequently uses the most extreme regions of the tonal system without
First Movement 33
We now encounter such a technique at the beginning of the Reprise: the melody

high above, the counterpointing bass far below! Observe how the appoggiatura for-
mations of the bass contribute not only to the connection of the harmonies but also
to the increase of tension and ardor.17
Consequent of the first theme, which here changes its original assignment (com- Bar 52ff.
pare bars 4–8) to that of establishing all the more emphatically the principal key.
In bars 53–54 the melody of the consequent at first lies in the “tenor,” only later,
corresponding to bars 48–52, to find its continuation once again in the high register.
Autograph, Revised Copy, and Original Edition notate the bass line from the
second quarter of bar 52 to the second quarter of bar 54 exactly as the text shows it.
Unfortunately, it was again reserved for Bülow to make an alteration by adding a
grace note (B as lowest bass note):
Fig. 20
Nothing makes so clear the shortfall in musical understanding on the part of

the author of this error as precisely this addition: because he saw in the lowest voice
a tone-series traversing a complete octave from the second quarter of bar 52 to the
first quarter of bar 56, he thought he had glimpsed something that would not so
easily be granted another to notice; and in his elation at this imagined discovery
he inserted at the first quarter of bar 54 just the tone B, as though to supply the
last tooth the descending tone-series appeared to lack. It is sadly typical that arro-
gance could deprive even such a gifted musician of his judgment to the extent that
he failed even to consider the significance that accrues to the notation of the bass
(whose authenticity even he does not deny) at the second quarter of the preceding
bar, where an eighth rest appears after the eighth note c♯ . A sensitivity only slightly
more refined, together with some reflection, would have enabled him to understand
just in this eighth rest the composer’s hint, which is intended to pay owing tribute
to keyboard writing as such: here a succession precisely of two tenth-reaches was to
be avoided as unnecessary and unpianistic, all the more so as the b of the melody
(in the “tenor”) itself at the same time substitutes for that B which, in keeping with
being able to fill in the resulting gap . . .”—a comment that shows the author still lagging far behind vis à vis
the unique value of the new product.
17
[In 1092 , Jonas provides at this point (pp. 18–19) a quotation of two remarkable 1922 entries in Schenker’s
diary that document his first insights into the relationships later discussed in “On Organicism in Sonata
Form” (Masterwork II, p. 51/28).]
the falling bass line, would have had to appear an octave lower. Only in this way
could Beethoven not only ensure the singing quality of the melody but also—which
was no less important—avoid adulteration of the keyboard style with an unsuitable
orchestral texture.
Bar 57 At this point too the Autograph, exactly as above in bar 8, presents only a simple
bar line.
Bar 58ff. Second theme, antecedent. In the Autograph, adagio again with lowercase initial
letter (compare bar 9).
Oddly, the dynamic markings in bar 58 (compare bar 9) are lacking in the
Autograph, while in bar 59 they reappear, at least in part. From this it is clear that we
are dealing only with an oversight resulting from haste, and I have therefore added
the appropriate dynamic markings (although parenthesized) without comment.
Bar 60 In the left hand the upper tone-series should be brought out:
Fig. 21
The first two tones signify reinforcement, the last two, however, a continuation
with obbligato character.
Bar 61ff. Consequent of the second theme. If already in the First Part the consequent of
the second theme presented a thoroughly extraordinary variety in comparison to
the antecedent, one cannot marvel enough over the depth and power of invention
with which Beethoven here in the reprise as well imbues the consequent of the same
theme with a novel twist. In the harmonic aspect it rests on a mixture of the princi-
pal key of E major with E minor:
Fig. 22
Bar 62 At the last eighth of bar 62 the Autograph shows an inaccuracy regarding the
notation of the syncopes, for in the left hand the slurs to the next bar are missing.
All that is needed to decide this question against the Autograph with certainty is
to confirm the difference of the present situation in comparison to the analogous
one in bar 13. There in bar 13 the final sixteenth represents, as I said, an anticipation,
which, leaving aside the explicit notation by the composer, must by no means be
obscured by a syncopation. But the note in bar 62 that corresponds to precisely this
sixteenth, the last of bar 13, is not once again the last eighth of the third quarter, but
First Movement 35
the fourth sixteenth of the second quarter. In other words, the anticipation appears
here (in comparison to bar 13) a full quarter earlier. The reason is as follows. Whereas
in the First Part the melody in bars 9–11 came so naturally to lie in the two-line
octave that in bars 12–14 a presentation in the three-line octave was possible, in bar
58 on the other hand the melody lies, because the of the E-major key, so high that
in the consequent it was no longer possible to transpose it up, by analogy with bars
12–14, an additional octave. Thus, as the following illustrations show, the melody of
the antecedent and consequent moves at first along the same lines:
Fig. 23
and
Fig. 24
But since in bar 63, because of the sextolet figure, the three-line register was
finally to be brought back, Beethoven was obliged already in bar 62 to look toward
migration, already possible at this point, of the melody into that octave. Therefore,
he pointedly accelerates the completion of the part of the melody due in these bars,
just in order to devote the third quarter exclusively to the migration of the melodic
portion still remaining! Only now can it be understood why in the Autograph he
places the cresc. marking, which is in a certain sense to clarify the driving force of
the migration, exactly between the last two eighths of bar 62; why he further notates
at the last eighth an sf as a sign of seizure of the high register, and finally also notates
a pedal whose release he directs only at the third sixteenth of the following bar!
From all of this it follows that the last eighth no longer signifies an anticipation,
but manifests exclusively the nature of a syncope, for whose sake the remaining ties
necessary in the left hand must be supplied.
Last part of the consequent (compare bar 60), fittingly in the three-line register. Bar 63
From the third sixteenth of the second quarter a sextolet figure takes over here as
in the First Part. Beethoven notates it in sextolets, but without himself making
a subdivision into triplets as in the First Part. One must nevertheless continue
the duple organization here as well with . The reason Beethoven did not
write triplets here as in the First Part is that such a notation would run afoul of
the figure as it is here modified; because while there the three-tone motif supports
the subdivision from the outset, the sextolet in bar 63 and that in bar
64 consist basically of three thirds arpeggiated downward, thus of three two-note
motifs whose sum of six thirty-seconds must be forcibly subjugated only after the
fact to the preceding duple ordering under the principle of the number 2. Notated
in triplets, on the other hand, the third-duplets would have borne a completely
unnatural stamp:
Fig. 25
Thus Bülow is in error when he writes: “the thirty-second-note sextolets are to be

transformed into sixteenth-note triplets, and each of these latter are to be stressed
as a melodic scale:
Fig. 26
Otherwise the figure would easily deteriorate into a trivial gambol.” Aside from
its contradiction of the preceding duple ordering, the triplet ordering, applied to
each group of three third-pairs, is doubtless of higher rhythmic appeal than the
sixteenth-note triplets that Bülow recommends.
Bar 64 Regarding the rhythmic alteration of the last sextolet of this bar, see above, bar
11 under a). Here just the following observation: in order to present most accu-
rately the sixteenth-note triplet appearing at the last eighth, Beethoven makes
a point in the Autograph of grouping the thirty-seconds of the right hand into
pairs as well. The same notation is still found in the Original Edition (whether it
is retained also in the Revised Copy unfortunately cannot be determined from
Nottebohm’s notes); all subsequent editions, on the contrary, have unfortunately
eschewed this notation, which provides such extraordinary clarification of the
regrouping.
First Movement 37
In spite of meter and tempo change, again, like bar 15, with a compass of six Bar 65
quarters, and indeed for the same reasons as there! The first two quarters show a
completely simple stamp, but the third quarter includes, beyond the sextolet, an
increment of an extra thirty-second-note quintuplet . Beethoven supports
and justifies this increment by placing in the Autograph, in an extraordinarily accu-
rate manner, an explicit fermata marking—N.B.: exactly above the rest at the third
quarter!—; this fermata, however, has no connection to the general expansion of
bar 64. The Original Edition follows the Autograph exactly in relation to this bar
except for misunderstanding of the fermata, which it notates as follows:
Fig. 27
Possibly because he misunderstood the form, Nottebohm paid no attention to

this point as well (see above, regarding bars 9 and 15).
Later editors go wrong also in bar 65, as could only be expected in view of the sorry
misunderstanding of the similar bar 15. Thus Bülow attempts a 34 bar by gratuitous
alteration of the sixteenths of the first and third quarters to thirty-seconds, and the
eighths of the fourth and fifth quarters to sixteenths, so that the upbeat, which in
his version comes to stand directly after the meter change, appears as an isolated
quarter. This ordering, derisive of and thoroughly contradictory to Beethoven’s art
of synthesis, he nevertheless recommends petulantly with the following words: “The
alteration of the rhythmic grouping that the editor has here permitted himself is in
regard to the text itself only an apparent one. On the basis of his experiences as a
teacher he considers the new outward appearance as suitable to restrict unsound
interpretations by the player.” Can there be anything more unsound than what he
himself has proposed with his alteration?
Riemann proceeds differently; he does retain the notation in sixteenths, but
gratuitously binds each group of three sixteenth-note triplets together as a single
quarter, so that he thereby reaches a sum of three quarters only where Beethoven
has already negotiated the fourth quarter. And when he comments, “in the origi-
nal, the sixteenth-note triplets are beamed together only in pairs, so that there is
a surplus quarter,” we have a reliable proof that he has not grasped Beethoven’s
synthesis. (Gesamtausgabe, Urtext, d’Albert, Klindworth, etc. present incorrect
versions.)
Bars
66ff. Coda: upbeat in bar 65. In the Coda the motif of the first theme returns, but here
(in contrast to the First Part and the Reprise—see bar 1 and bar 49), tellingly, the
harmonic progression opens with the subdominant: IV—()—V—I.18
From this point on, moreover, a type of dialog can clearly be identified between
groups of four quarters, with only the first part, the “question” (but, note well, not
the second, the “answer”), explicitly supplied in each case with expressive dynamic
shadings.19 Measured by the standard of the events of the first and second questions,
bars 65–66 and 70–71 respectively, the third question, which begins at the second
quarter of bar 73, lacks the final fourth quarter. At the rest in bar 75 we stand before a
mysterious cavity, completely abrupt, and indeed the more unexpected the more inat-
tentively we have long allowed ourselves to be carried forward by the cresc. waves. This
image may at the same time illuminate all that is necessary here for performance.
Specifically, to secure the effect of sudden surprise for the rest in bar 75, one must
combine with the preceding cresc. a sufficiently ardent acceleration, which by asso-
ciation is to reflect our lack of observance and concern in regard to the immediate
future. Such a manner of performance can even be elevated to a rule: a forthcoming
surprise scheduled by the composer (be it through a rest, an ellipsis, or other means)
must in response also be kept in view from the outset by the player in order to secure
for it the effect of surprise. (Compare in the next movement bars 50 and 51.)
The response, bars 75ff., presents the melodic line of the question in enlargement,
since its three tones now proceed across rests at the time interval of two quarters apiece.
At the first quarter of bar 78 there appears at last the concluding tone G ♯ that we
expected back in bar 75, indeed for the purpose of introducing the final cadence that
concludes the bar-group:
Fig. 28
The motivic material of the cadence refers to the two new motifs of the develop-
ment (bracket 1 = Fig. 10 and bracket 2 = Fig. 11). Now we understand why the tone
G ♯ was omitted in bar 75: the suspense of the rest was intended expressly to prepare
the special meaning of the last tone, which we more willingly entrust with the task
of carrying the weight of the long trek to the cadence (eight bars: bars 78–85) the
more anxiously we have thus far awaited it.
18
[“IV—I—V—I” in both German editions; the first I is crossed out in the copy Schenker had edited for the 1922
impression (see the Editor’s Preface, note 1), revising the interpretation of the first beat of bar 66 as a passing-tone
harmony. This is in keeping with the reading from Free Composition of bars 1–4 referenced in note 1.]
19
[These shadings are supplied only to the second and third “questions.”]
First Movement 39
The final cadence, in consideration of how it was prepared and of its considerable
scope, should not be played with expansion and hesitation throughout; rather, the
hesitation should be delayed until just before the close—thus until exactly the point
where Beethoven himself, obviously in order to evoke it, calls for the diminuendo!
But such a performance plan certainly does not exclude a certain freedom within
the movement of the numerous quarter notes.
Now, from the standpoint of the segmentation of the bar-groups here described,
it is easy to evaluate the errors committed against the composer’s text by the
editors.
Several editions, including Bülow, Klindworth, Riemann, etc., bestow the cre-
scendo mark on the answers as well, so that question and answer indiscriminately
show the same shading. If I reject this addition, it is not because I might seek dif-
ferentiation of shading at any cost, thus even in the external sense, but for deeper
compositional reasons intrinsic to the motivic treatment: the answer, specifically, is
to have the last word here; but if, as bars 78–85 demonstrate, it also has the weight of
an expansive cadence, the latter alone provides it with everything that appeared to
be lost by omission of the shadings in bars 67–69 and 71–73.
Especially bar 85 shows in many editions an inexcusable modification. For exam-
ple, even the Gesamtausgabe adds the tone a to the chord of the right hand:
Fig. 29
The Autograph provides the following information on this point. Originally

Beethoven wrote:
Fig. 30
Later, however, he struck the upper octave B in the left hand, which he replaced
with precisely the two quarters, and, needless to say, struck also the tone a in the
right hand. In the light of this, it is difficult for me to believe that the editor of the
Gesamtausgabe could have based his version on the Autograph, for how could he
have overlooked the half note B in the left hand that originally went with the tone
a? Therefore, I assume that the editor felt obliged to lead the tone a ♯ at the second
quarter of bar 84 explicitly to a, merely because he failed to understand the nature
of keyboard style and was unaware that the same effect of a “resolution” would arise
even if the left hand provided as a substitute the tone A. It is extraordinary that
even Bülow takes issue with this a in the Gesamtausgabe with the following words:
The new Leipzig edition has:

Fig. 31
This is an unplayable “improvement.” The upper voice c♯2 has to be sustained to

prevent a break in the melodic line; the pedal cannot be used for this purpose
because of the change of harmony; the reach itself is not possible without arpeg-
giation. But there is also no necessity to resolve the preceding a ♯ , which the thumb
of the right hand released in the course of the arpeggiation, to a, since this tone
appears much more eloquently in the counterpointing upper voice of the left hand.
The last sentence of this comment in particular could lead us to believe that Bülow
was intimately familiar with the nature of keyboard writing; I have, however, provided
more than enough evidence to the contrary here and elsewhere. (Consider only bar
54, where on the contrary he attributes no such remedial power to the tone b in the
tenor!) The cited comment therefore represents merely one of those by no means rare
cases in which an author words something in such a felicitously deceptive manner as to
create the impression of understanding of an ultimate truth, while in fact they are only
felicitous words, whose opposite is demonstrated on all sides by his ideas and deeds.
Bars
86ff. The final tonic is reached. The harmonic movement is ended, but not the melodic
activity, which wants to subside in gentle, final sighs.
It is all-important here to be most clearly conscious of the bar-grouping:
Bars 86–87: bars 88–89; Bar 90: bar 91; Bars 92–93: bars 94–95: bars 96–97
The unusual appearance of the two single corresponding bars 90 and 91 is
explained by the mixture, through which precisely the tone C ♯ , which is to
First Movement 41
signal the last stirring in bar 92, is first put to a severe test of its fitness for this
rôle: considering that C still ruled in bar 89, in bars 90 and 91 the question is
contested of whether C ♯ or C—that is, whether major or minor—should pre-
vail; bar 92 decides in favor of C ♯ , and now the final play of the motif proceeds
in major. 20
The duple organization of the last pairs of bars explains why the final chord mani-
fests a syncopated form based on two bars.
That the final bar contains merely a single quarter, however, is connected to the
quarter-note upbeat of the beginning, so that the upbeat to the first bar and the last
quarter of the last bar (see, for example, Beethoven Op. 2, No. 1, first movement;
Op. 10, No. 3, first movement; Op. 14, No. 2, Andante, etc.) provide each other with
a complementary response!
As always, Beethoven supplies the totality of the last bar-groups as well with the
illuminating accompaniment of his dynamic instructions: observe in bar 86 p and
cresc.; in bar 90 p and dimin.; in bar 91 pp; in bar 92 cresc.!
That Beethoven originally notated the figure of the left hand from bar 92 on as
follows may not be without interest:
Fig. 32
He must very quickly have recognized the impossibility of this figure, however,
and he emended just as the text shows. Consideration of the second quarter in bar
97 discloses the shape of an inversion of the upbeat! The cadence of the movement21
is an imperfect one.
The first movement succeeds directly to the following Prestissimo. Beethoven
clarified his intention to conjoin the two movements by expressly notating a pedal
at the last chord of the first movement, but the release mark only at the beginning
of the Prestissimo! He further wrote after the double bar that closes the first move-
ment the explicit words: attacca il prestissimo. Subsequently, however, it occurred to
him to seek the same goal with means that he probably considered more suggestive
and reliable. Thus he strikes with pencil the double bar at the end of the first move-
ment and also the words attacca il prestissimo and writes instead at the beginning
of the Prestissimo, alongside the previously specified f♯ , three natural signs! With all
20
[Schenker’s personal copy of the score has for bars 90–91 the annotation auskomponiertes rit. (composed-out
ritardando).]
21
[Better, of the Coda.]
these means the composer announced clearly enough his wish to have the first and
second movements conjoined.
In this light, therefore, the following comment by Bülow is appropriate: “The per-
former should proceed immediately and without hesitation to the next movement.
This sonata, like Op. 101 and Op. 110, requires an uninterrupted succession of its
individual parts.”
Finally it should be noted that the text of the first movement by Beethoven’s
count and my own comprises 99 bars, while Riemann arrives at the sum of 102 bars;
the blame for this lies with his counting of the upbeat as well as his aforementioned
tamperings with bars 15 and 65.
Second Movement
Pr estissimo
Despite all compression, the second movement too can be described as a

sonata form:1
1st Theme-Group:
3 thematic a) 1— 8
components: b) 9— 24
c) antecedent: 25— 28
Modulation: consequent: 29— 32
2nd Theme: 33— 56
3rd Theme: 57— 69
Development: 70—104
Reprise: 105—177
The connection of the third theme to the second as a natural outgrowth from
it could, however, possibly support the assumption of only a four-part form
(A1─B1: A 2─B2), in which case bars 70–104 would have to count merely as
retransition.
The first thematic component a) is divided as twice four bars, with half cadence Bar 1ff.
in bar 4 and perfect authentic cadence in bar 8. Our text presents the slur mark-
ings in all bars, and in particular the manner of notation of bar 3, precisely as
does the Autograph. (Regarding unnotated rests exactly such as the one in bar
3, compare the comments above to bar 9ff. of the first movement.) By nature,
1
[Jonas comments in 1092 that “since bars 66–69 do not return in the Reprise, the question could arise as to
whether these bars do not already belong to the Development.”]
43
the brevity of the first component with its all too abrupt conclusion begs for
continuation.
The second thematic component b), as it is imperative to observe from the com-
positional perspective, derives its unified effect primarily from the invariant root
B (an organ-point); it nonetheless sectionalizes into twice eight bars, as antecedent
and consequent: bars 9–16 and bars 17–24; moreover, in the antecedent, two groups
of four bars each are juxtaposed, with this organization repeated (with a few easily
recognized traits of variation) in the consequent as well.2
Despite their simple construction, the two thematic components have introduced
a structural tension that is all the greater the more vehemently they have been, as it
were, piled on top of each other; it is as though a speaker, while formulating his ideas
in a simple and brief manner, were to blurt them out in very rapid succession for the
sake of emphasis. Borne on the crest of precisely this wave, the third component c)
too therefore still retains this construction (four bars and four more); but its conse-
quent at the same time presents the modulation.
In keeping with the layout as depicted, the player must above all give expression
to the hurtling character of the thematic components. He must not permit himself
to be tempted even by the unisono character of bars 25–28 (at the third component)
toward a possibly broader interpretation, as Beethoven calls only later (!), in bars
29–32, for a decisive broadening of tempo.
Emphasis in the right hand of bars 1–2 in particular should be placed only on the
dotted quarters, so that the ensuing eighths can be played with still greater lightness
of touch (in an illusory p!), that will then in turn enhance each subsequent pressure
point. In the left hand the duration of the tones must, for the sake of the marcato
effect, be reduced by almost half3—presupposing, of course, that manner of attack
which nevertheless simulates the durational value specified by the notation.
How noteworthy the care with which Beethoven singles out in the Autograph, by
means of legato slurs (and moreover by verbal legato instructions), bars 11–12, 15–16,
19–20, and 23–24 in contrast to the other bars of the same thematic component. He
is no less meticulous in leading the crescendo marking in bars 11–12 and in the cor-
responding bars 19–20 up to the tone g2 of the melody in each case—that is, to the
fourth or the fifth eighth—, just as with equal consistency he has the diminuendo
marking in bars 16 and 24 begin under the eighth note f 2 . These dynamic instruc-
tions too demand the strictest attentiveness on the part of the performer, which
2
[Schenker makes a mistake here. Jonas rightly points out (1092 , p. 26) that “It would surely be more correct to
designate bars 17–24 as a varied repetition of bars 9–16, and to recognize the antecedent: consequent form in
bars 9–12: 13–16 (likewise 17–20: 21–24) instead.”]
3
[See Schenker, The Art of Performance, edited by Heribert Esser and translated by Irene Schreier Scott,
New York: Oxford University Press, 2000, p. 5.]
Second Movement 45
means a holding back, if almost completely unnoticeable, at those places where the
signs and meet.4
Consequent of the third thematic component and modulation to B minor. The Bar
29ff.
latter of these two structural tasks is expressly indicated by the following: in bar
29 (!) the words un poco espressivo as well as the signs in bars 31–32.
Moreover, from the words a tempo applied in bar 33, one necessarily infers an unno-
ticeable broadening in the preceding bars 31–32.
Bülow, astonishingly, regards the third component of the first theme already as the
second theme, as the “subsidiary motif” (!), and comments on bar 25ff.: “This subsidiary
motif must not be performed with the passionate drive necessary for the primary motif.
Even without a significant moderation of tempo, however, it has to be understood as a
soothing, reminding voice. Take care, moreover, to avoid foreshortening of the upbeat
eighth-notes.” Such poor reading! So he wasn’t familiar, then, even with the law that
there can be no talk of a “subsidiary motif” before the modulation has actually occurred!
Bar
Second theme. After conclusion of the modulation with IV in B minor, the sec- 33ff.
ond theme begins with scale degree V. The constructive principle thus far observed
(four bars answered by four, or eight answered by eight), however, remains strongly
enough in force that here the tendency toward the same principle (see the four bars
33–36) makes itself felt; but the response provided by bars 37–42 finally shows for
the first time an expansion to six bars.
However meager the harmonic progression (an alternation exclusively of I and V)
has thus far been, it becomes in direct proportion more luxuriant (taking the form
of a series of descending fifths with chromatic alterations) in bars 43–49:5
Fig. 33
The motif of this bar-group is new; moreover, one should not fail to note in bar 45
the alteration in comparison to the motif versions of bars 43 and 47.
4
[See Art of Performance, p. 53ff.]
5
[This illustration, which merely follows the circle-of-fifths progression of the harmonic roots, fails to take
into consideration the linear construction of the bass and the fact that the E ♯ at the beginning of the progres-
sion, bar 43, is regained in bars 49–52 in its enharmonic guise as F ♮ (first in the treble and then in the bass); it
is then reinterpreted (though not respelled) once again as E ♯ and led to F♯ , with the result that the intervening
In bar 49 there begins the approach to the cadence, at which point yet another
new motif is won from the scale degrees VI7—II!
A varied articulation in bars 55–56 of just this new motif finally brings about
the connection to the final (closing) theme: the particular slur that has thus far
always encompassed the first three tones is henceforth restricted to merely the first
two tones, so that the two following tones appear clearly segregated from them:
Fig. 34
And by precisely that means a new seed of the closing theme is demarcated, and a
new cell dedicated to the mission of propagation.
The dynamic markings too fit the bar-groupings described above, to which they
add significant underscoring: p in bar 33 at the beginning of the second theme;
then—after the cresc. in bar 35ff. (bar 42 clearly shows moreover rinfz in the
Autograph)—again a p in bar 43 at the beginning of the new (or second) thematic
component; and finally, again after a preceding crescendo, likewise a p in bar 51 at
the beginning of the cadence motif.
To the same extent that the dynamic markings are determined by the internal
articulation of the content, the performance has the task of giving expression to
them. A body of 24 bars assembled from various constituents needs an appropriate
pattern of change in dynamic shadings, not only because of the length but also for
the sake of the assembly process itself. In particular, bar 33ff., however precipitous
the tempo, must be played with expression! In bar 39ff. the sempre più cresc. should
be accompanied by an acceleration, which, however, must be compensated by a
broadening in bar 42 at the last eighth. This broadening at the same time makes it
possible for the forte to abate, by which means the subsequent piano in bar 43 stands
out with the clarity demanded by the beginning of the new bar-group. Further, the
modification in bar 45 of the motif must be given its due, and appropriate expression
of all portamenti at the respective final eighths in bars 44, 46, and 486 must not be
neglected. With the crescendo in bars 49–50, too, one should apply an acceleration,
harmonic degrees are of a lower rank. In a few passages from the later volumes in this series that are similarly
read in a primarily “harmonic” manner in disregard of voice leading, Schenker subsequently marked in his
personal score revisions of the early interpretation. Some of these cases are reported in editorial annotations.]
6
[The portamento articulation (see Art of Performance, p. 21f.) applies to the ascending leaps in each of
these bars.]
Second Movement 47
taking care to have the thrust of the crescendo reverberate, so to speak (compare the
first movement, bars 73–75), all the way through into the next bar’s rests.7
In contrast to bars 33–34, the analogous bars 37–38 present no syncopation8 in
the upper voice, according to the Autograph. The reason is that in bars 33 and 34
the inner voice has an attack at the fourth eighth, while in bars 37 and 38 it shows
a syncope at the same point. Unfortunately, many editions (including the Original
Edition) add syncopes to the upper voice as well in bars 37–38. Several editions more-
over commit all manner of mischief in regard to the articulation of the slurs and
notation of the bass notes. Among the most inexcusable errors, however, is certainly
Bülow’s gratuitous extension of the slur in bar 55 across to the first quarter of bar 56;
here the editor proves that he has no notion of the genius of synthesis in this passage.
In the closing theme, at first a group of four bars and a group of five bars are Bar 57
juxtaposed: bars 57–60 and 61–65 respectively; but for the final cadence in bars
66–69, the bass avails itself of the first four bars of the movement. (The reason will
be revealed later.)
In performing bars 57ff. one should take care to differentiate effectively between
the quarter notes with following eighth rests in bars 57–58/61–62 and the dotted
quarters of bars 59–60/63–64. To this end it is advisable to play the former some-
what more weakly, perhaps mf, as if they were merely to lie in wait for the subse-
quent, truly forte, quarter notes; let the full force of emphasis, then, be reserved for
the latter—regardless of the undeniable fact that the marcato technique as such
requires even for the dotted quarters a withdrawal of the hand from the key before
the complete value has run its course.
Several editors, more or less shamefacedly, add octave reinforcements in the low
register in bars 68–69. Beethoven himself had originally written such reinforcements
in the Autograph, but then crossed them out from E1 on; obviously for a time he had
intended something similar, as for example in the bass in bars 59–61, where a longer
series of octaves occurs, the last of which closes off a scale passage. But soon he saw his
error and grasped the difference between the two situations, which consists most con-
spicuously in the fact that the last octave of bar 699 does not (as in bar 61) proceed to still
another octave in bar 70, and that “tremolo” and “octave reinforcement” are effects far
too different to admit of direct consecution (see the bass later in bars 82–83!).
Bar
The Development first presents imitations, in the form of stretti, of the counterpoint 70ff.
of bars 1–4 (already prepared in the preceding cadence!), and indeed for the first time
7
[See Art of Performance, p. 54.]
8
[That is, no tie.]
9
[The octave A ♯/A ♯1 that would have appeared at the end of bar 69 had the octave doublings of bars 66–68
been continued.]
in p and legato. The lower of the two imitative voices presents the motif three times in
succession (bars 70–73, 74–77, and 78–81); the connection of each successive motivic
occurrence to the preceding one is effected by the descent of only a second, and this,
taken together with the constructive principle of the descending second intrinsic to the
motif itself (if we disregard the second dotted quarter in bars 72, 76, and 80, which does
not come into consideration here), yields a threefold series of four notes each in each
stepwise descent. The imitation in the treble voice begins at the interval of a fourth and
likewise shows a threefold growth (bars 72–75, 76–79, and 80–83), except that the third
imitation in bar 80 takes place no longer at the interval of the fourth as previously (bars
72 and 76), but at that of the octave.10 This event, of importance for the further course,
requires a more detailed explanation. Because of the connection by second of the succes-
sive motivic statements, a strict replication of the preceding imitation technique, with its
imitation at the fourth in relation to the tone a of the lower voice in bar 78, would have
required d1. But as the harmony has meanwhile undergone an alteration—as early as bar
79 scale degree VI, C, enters with the effect of a deceptive cadence (E minor: V—VI)—,
the interval in which the third imitation in the upper voice had to enter was necessarily
altered accordingly. Suited to this was the interval of the octave, or, to say the same thing,
the retention of the pitch level the treble had occupied shortly before, in bar 76, since
only from this point of departure could the motif (see Fig. 35a) undergo that transforma-
tion (Fig. 35b) which, by virtue of the contrast it introduces, would at the same time best
serve the exploitation of the C harmony at a level beyond that of scale degree per se.11
Fig. 35a
Fig. 35b
Beethoven now squarely faced two possibilities: given that the distance between
the a1 and the lower voice was too great, and that proximation of the two therefore
10
[With downward displacement by an octave of the first tone, as explained below.]
11
[See the legend for Fig. 35b.]
Second Movement 49
needed to occur in the interest of true keyboard idiom, should the lower voice be
moved closer to the upper or vice versa? Beethoven decided that the upper voice would
be the first to yield. For his highest priority was to connect to the two dotted quarters
in the lower voice in the same register, so that their characteristic appearance would
not be jeopardized. Thus the upper voice in bar 80 moves an octave lower, therefore
into proximity with the lower voice. In the following bar 81, however, where a con-
tinuation in the low register was unthinkable, it is on the contrary the lower voice
that yields by moving into the high position of the upper voice, which has returned to
its appropriate register. This mutual give-and-take by the voices produced also, as end
result, the effect that bars 81–82 necessarily appear as a positional inversion12 of bars
79–80 (with the difference of a ♭ in place of a!) and simulate a newly derived two-bar
motif. When we consider that the point of departure of the rhythmic treatment was
the four-bar compass of the Development motif, we then identify in the three-bar
construction of bars 78–80 (see the lower voice) and the two-bar of bars 82–83 (both
upper and lower voices) a world of imitations virtually collapsing in on itself.
The manner of notation of the left hand (as clearly shown in the Autograph, in the
Original Edition, etc.) is reminiscent of the notation of J. S. Bach, who also, for visual
clarification of uniformity of function, liked to give homogeneous groups of tones a
uniform beaming. Most recently, Brahms has again taken up the same manner of nota-
tion (compare the Piano Concerto in D Minor, the Rhapsodies, etc.). Especially for the
representation of a tremolo, Beethoven’s notation is emphatically to be recommended.
A heroic act of synthesis beyond compare! Since the principal theme in the Reprise
Bar
has to display the same motif in the bass that has just been used, and indeed used up, 83ff.
in the imitations, Beethoven understandably took care that a counterforce appear

still within the Development. The latter had the purpose on the one hand—and
indeed in the negative sense—of preventing the used-up motif itself from leading
directly into the Reprise, and on the other hand—in the positive sense—of making
the ear freshly receptive to the motif when it does return in the Reprise. For the
purpose of such counteraction the master here chose the technique of directional
inversion, meaning that the motif was to be shown still within the Development in
the ascending direction from below to above, so that the directional turnaround in
the Reprise would produce the desired effect. We did already see something similar
in the first movement, in the Development, bars 21–48. (Still more similar is the
case in the fugue of Brahms’s Variations and Fugue on a Theme by Handel, where in
bars 33–49 an inversion technique is applied in the entrances of the theme and in
12
[In the subsequent text, the term Umkehrung (inversion) occurs frequently, meaning sometimes directional
inversion (of a given voice) and sometimes positional inversion (of a pair of voices). Appropriate adjectives
have been added as necessary for clarification.]
the episodes, for the sole purpose of having the return of the norm celebrated with
nerves all the more sharpened and receptive!)
Now to the more detailed execution of the plan.
It is the lowest voice that is assigned the directional inversion of the series of sec-
onds (compare above, the comments on bars 70–81), as the following presentation
of bars 83–96 shows:13
Fig. 36
(Seventh-leaps here stand for connections by second—compare Counterpoint I,

p. 63.)
The imitations (stretti) do not return here, it is true, but at least the rhythm of
their entrances every two bars is strictly maintained in bars 83–89.
Thus after two bars, therefore in bar 85, a second, higher, voice enters, which in
bar 87 for the first time presents the original divergence (by third-leap) from step-
wise motion in directional inversion according to plan:
Fig. 37
Such a third-leap divergence could possibly also be assumed in the lowest voice):
Fig. 38
were it not still more correct to see in the dotted quarters of bars 87–88 a well-founded
and aptly executed sonorous justification of the coming seventh-leap (see the arrow
13
[The explanation of Fig. 36 is completed only somewhat further along in the discussion. See p. 51.]
Second Movement 51
in Fig. 38). (Regarding the stems so splendidly drawn downward on the half notes,14
see the explanation provided by Fig. 36!)
Again after two bars (in bar 87) a third voice enters, and after two more bars (in
bar 89) a fourth.
The ordering of the various voices from low to high register, as well as simultaneously
the extension of the voice spacings at bar 89,15 clearly shows Beethoven’s plan, which
involved attaining a four-voice texture to be used as a foundation upon which to carry
out the subsequent progressions with voices of most extremely obbligato character:
Fig. 39
In bar 91 for the first time we find the third-leap divergence laid completely bare
in the lowest voice as well. And now, as a result, all riddles posed by the preceding
events suddenly become perfectly transparent. Only now, looking backward, do we
understand why in bars 83–86 Beethoven cast aside the ferment of the imitations
and created a veritable chaos; why, moreover, he at first engulfed those bars in a
mist (sul una corda!) and caused such oddly spookish voices to emerge in the right
hand (voices which, granted, are meant to substitute in another connection for the
earlier tremolo of the left hand); why, finally, he suppressed for so long (up to bar 91!)
the third-leap divergence in its inverted form in the lowest voice. All of this served
precisely the one purpose of keeping the artistic mission cloaked in darkness as long
as possible, and postponing full commitment to the inversion technique so as to
maintain a state of suspense!
14
[The reference is to g ♯ —a of bars 87–88, as notated in the Autograph. The slur between these notes shown in
Fig. 38 is in neither the Autograph nor Schenker’s score.]
15
[Where the former close position of the voices is replaced by open position—see Counterpoint II, p. 25/27.]
Now to the further events, which, in the full light of plans already unveiled, take
on a still greater significance.
In bars 89–92 the bass is countered by a directional inversion in the soprano,
which, however, clearly represents the original incarnation of the bass motif (see
also bar 70ff.)! In bar 93 the bass sets out—significantly, here already from the tonic
tone, E—on a new drawing of the motif, but surprises us at the third bar (bar 95),
where, instead of projecting the third-leap in the upward direction (and thus main-
taining the directional inversion), it reverts to the falling direction as established in
the original form (see Fig. 36). Thus the series of bass notes in bars 93–96 basically
represents a kind of hermaphrodite: with the first two dotted halves the motif keeps
to the path of the directional inversion, while in the two final bars it regains the
first form. Meanwhile, in this hermaphroditic form of the bass too, the soprano is
reflected through an inversion! (The bar-group 93–96 is tied off with a fermata over
the II, F.)
The positional inversion of these two lines, then, in turn produces in the subsequent
bars 97–100 the following result: in the lower line, which remains here as before the
leading voice, the first two dotted halves now move downward, in correspondence
to bar 1ff., while in bar 99 the third and fourth tones proceed (as though dragging
with them the bitter fruit of the move of bar 95) still in the path of the directional
inversion. Seemingly faced with the task of breaking the will of recalcitrant tones,
Beethoven now takes care in bars 101–102 to bring the last two tones (like the first
and the second tone) back onto the track of the model. Only after this final branding
with the original motion-type does the bass line at last recapture a consciousness,
so to speak, of the complete shape, and in fact, in bars 105ff, at the Reprise, the bass
motif gathers up its components in their original form with full force.
From bar 93 on the course involves merely an alternation of I and II. The latter
here acquires a major triad, which awakens the impression of a scale-degree pro-
gression IV—V in B minor—all the more so because, as noted, the fermata appears
exactly over the II; but the continuation, particularly bars 102–105, establishes that
we are dealing only with a plagal movement, II—I. Certainly a plan like the follow-
ing, for example,
Fig. 40
would have had the advantage of naturalness, but nevertheless, the plagal movement
II—I as such is unmistakable. Moreover, Beethoven has indeed sought to secure the
plagal effect by moving back and forth between the I and II scale degrees several
Second Movement 53
times (bars 95, 96 and 97; 99, 100 and 101), and thus, after this preparation of the
ear, he could require that the final, decisive step to the tonic moving into the Reprise
#
as well be heard only as a plagal movement II 3—I.16 That the II had to incorporate
a chromatic alteration of its third, however, was a necessity of voice leading: it was
not appropriate, especially in bar 96, to accommodate the diminished quality of the
triad (compare bars 94, 98!); it was equally impossible to use the four-three chord
of the V at this point. Since both ways of harmonizing the bass note F were impos-
sible, Beethoven took refuge in the law of the triad as the first and last law of purest
voice leading. Having secured the effect of this major triad (without fifth!) on scale
degree II in bars 96–106, he could also venture in bars 102–104 to encumber it with
a neighboring-tone configuration in bar 103! It is clear that the third, d # (instead
of d),17 would have awakened the spirit of the dominant. Thus Bülow falls far
short with his statement [p. 82, note b] that
the dominant of the dominant enters in the function of the latter. The miss-
ing middle member must somehow be added mentally by the listener. In
an earlier creative period the composer would perhaps have inserted two
more bars:
Fig. 41
It need not be belabored that this insertion, with its prosaic empti-
ness, would necessarily have undermined the appeal of the unprepared and
therefore so drastic re-entry of the passionate principal motif on the tonic.
Since the tonal language has a syntax perfectly analogous to that of verbal
language—unfortunately no scientific treatment of the former yet exists—,
one could accordingly designate the present analogy with anakoluthon (liter-
ally: non-succession—that is, to an expected consequent). On the other hand
one could also speak of an aposiopesis.
16
[It is not conceivable that Schenker would later have stood by this reading. The bass E at the beginning
of the Reprise can be heard only as a passing tone (the first) in the descending fifth-progression from F♯ to
B(= II ♯ —V) spanning bars 104–108. (The function of this E bass is analogous to that of the A bass in the
fifth bar of the movement.) Schenker at this point did not yet have the concept of Zug (linear progression),
of which Quintzug (fifth-progression) is an instance; only in 101 did he begin to reap the benefits of this
powerful idea. His description of these bars as a “plagal effect” is not supported, incidentally, by his own
Harmony, p. 224/296f., where II—I is not mentioned as a form of the plagal cadence.]
17
[Referring to bar 103, and interpreting the Ĺ chord as an inversion.]
In performance, the aforementioned motivic construction demands that one alto-

gether (in bars 93–96!) give priority of expression to the left hand and not the right.
Bar
105ff. The Reprise begins with bar 105. The second thematic component is omitted, but
is substituted by the consequent-like repetition (positional inversion) of bars 105ff.
Beethoven arrives at the third thematic component, which thus stands here in the
place of the second, by way of the scale-degree progression I—III—VI.18 In bar 126,
VI (C ♯), in bar 127, II♯3, in bar 128, ♮ II; thenceforth passing through to the dominant
in bar 132.19
In bars 124–125 I have presented Beethoven’s original notation (Autograph),
which better clarifies for the eye the ascent of the four motif entrances from the
depths to the heights than the one that all editions substituted for it. For the same
reason the text retains the original notation of the Autograph in bars 128–129
as well.
For the rest, the course of the Reprise is the same as that of the First Part, although
the deviation in bars 145ff. should be noted.
Bar
168–169. “Antiparallels,” in fifths, between the outer voices.
Bar
Once more, as though in a coda-like manner, the Closing Theme is repeated in the
170ff.
bass, with, to be sure, the very important relaxation of tension produced by the fact
that, like the subsequent tones, the first four too already appear as dotted quarters.
Thus notated, and moreover contained within the p and legato, the theme appears
as though in the last instant finally chastened of its original defiance. Precisely for
the sake of this countervailing trait, therefore, one cannot play this last theme in
the bass sufficiently legato, especially as the necessity of a legato is indicated also
by the contrast shown by the last three staccato quarters in bars 176–177. In bar
170, Beethoven, in the Autograph, significantly places the p beneath only the bass
notes; likewise the cresc. in bar 173 beneath only the bass notes, by which means he
expressly points to the melodic character of the left hand. It is unfortunate that this
notation, which I have restored in the text, did not find a place even in the Original
Edition. (In bar 171, incidentally, Beethoven explicitly writes p for the right hand
as well.) The performance of this passage is best conceived in such a way that the
performer at first holds the tempo somewhat in check so as to ally an acceleration
only with the increasing crescendo, and finally make the last three chords sound as
though “thrown off.”
18
[Bars 119–120.]
19
[The bar number given in both German editions is 130, but was corrected by Schenker in his personal copy
to 132.]
Third Movement
A nda nte molto ca nta bile ed espr essivo
In appearance the Theme consists of sixteen bars, but in actuality it consists

of thirty-two. Decisive for this are the repetitions of both bars 1–8 and bars 9–16,
which Beethoven specifies in the Theme itself only by repeat signs, but which, as is
to be seen in the variations, are in fact conceived from the outset as an intrinsically
necessary hallmark of the Theme.
In comparing the first two quarters of the melody in bars 1, 3, 5, and 7: Bar 1 ff.
Fig. 42
we note in them the invariable tendency toward the tone e1, which is expressed
in bars 1 and 3 by the interval of the third, in bar 5 by that of a fifth (originally,
according to the sketch, there too a third—see Nottebohm, Zweite Beethoveniana,
p. 4611), and finally in bar 7 again by an interval of the third (sixth = inversion of the
third). The difficulty of expressing through variations a tonal event that occurs with
such purposeful urgency no fewer than four times within eight bars, however, can
be measured only by one who has some personal experience with such an endeavor.
Apart from this danger lurking from the side of compositional technique, the Theme
is hostage to yet a second peril, which springs from the fact that the harmonies in
bars 1–8 twice make the turn to the dominant; and further, that these turns occur in
1
[The sketchbook in question is Artaria 195, in the Deutsche Staatsbibliothek, Berlin.]
55
bars 4 and 8, which have special and fundamental significance for the shaping of form.
As a result the eight bars threaten from the outset to fragment into two four-bar groups.
Beethoven, however, was aware of all these difficulties, as is clearly shown by the
means he employed to counter them: first, the application of a cresc. sign in bars 4–5,
which, to the same extent that it enables the fifth bar to follow ineluctably from the
fourth, now also compels the conceptual joining—that is to say the unification—of
all eight bars (compare Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony, p. 62/41); and second, the very
telling legato slur that leads from the inner voice of the right hand of bar 4 across to
the first tone of the arpeggio of bar 5.2
In bars 9–16 too, which represent a consequent to bars 1–8, the danger impends
on harmonic grounds of division into twice four bars; but since in bar 12, in an
apparent modulation to G minor, scale degree III (thus at least not once again the
dominant of the key) appears, the danger is lessened, so that the remedy through
crescendo used in bar 4 turns out here, in bar 12, to be unnecessary.
Bar 6 To mention a few details, let us first consider the ornament in bar 6. In the
Beethoveniana by Nottebohm from the year 1872 we read on pp. 35–36:
Later Beethoven added, precisely above the third quarter of the sixth bar, an
ornament of that quarter note in ordinary notes, so that the first part of the
Theme appears approximately thus:
Fig. 43
2
[Jonas comments that “this slur in the Autograph could be disputed; but a clear connection of the bars is
surely established by the bass” (1092 , p. 35).]
Third Movement 57
The added notes are somewhat unclearly written, so that they could also be
read thus:
Fig. 44
or thus:
Fig. 45
or perhaps other ways. In any case their placement and manner of notation
leave no doubt that they are to apply only to the third quarter and are to be
played at the arrival of the latter.
At first glance the sketch seems to authenticate the ultimate notation and its
execution. Yet Nottebohm was in error on this point. The sketch by all means
shows only the first or at least a preliminary attempt to introduce an actual turn
figure into the Theme at this point. In the end, however, Beethoven decided to
use a completely different ornament, one invented by himself and entirely new
in content, which, as the text in agreement with the Autograph (also Revised
Copy and Original Edition) shows, he wrote out in small notes. In fact it was
the completely different expressive content of this ornament that recommended
itself to him for use in place of the familiar turn ornament: what would have
been the point, here at the third quarter, of invoking the suspension charac-
ter of a true turn over a, where this tone merely provides the passing member
between the tones b and g? The new ornament, on the other hand, offered him
the advantage of an anticipation effect, which—here standing for exactly the
following:
Fig. 46
—was incomparably more suitable than the suspension effect. From this we see also
the reason Beethoven finally abandoned the sketch, and why one must, in keeping
with the anticipation sense, execute the figure in the small notes before the third quar-
ter. This interpretation must not be put to the test of the “rule” that all ornaments
written in small notes perforce take their value invariably from the subsequent main
note; already in my Ornamentation (pp. 137–8/71) I debunked this old wives’ tale
and reached the conclusion (at least in the realm of figures that, without having
been written out, still remained in use in the epoch of C. P. E. Bach) that of all
relevant phenomena (“Manieren”), only those which manifest a suspension—thus
ultimately only the suspensions themselves—may take their temporal value from
the subsequent note.
Bars
11–12 Beethoven extends the crescendo sign in bar 11 and 12 (Autograph, Revised Copy,
and Original Edition) all the way across the first quarter of bar 12; since, however,
most other editions place the decrescendo sign already at the first quarter of bar 12,
let it be expressly affirmed that, those editions to the contrary, Beethoven remains
in the right. For while bars 10 and 11 show at the first quarter suspensions that are
resolved at the second quarter—resolutions that, according to a deeply founded,
ancient rule, are to be performed as follows:
Fig. 47
—, bar 12 shows a modification to the extent that the third quarter plays a more
decisive role than in the two preceding bars. Applied to bar 12, a manner of per-
formance like that of bars 10 and 11 would thus have shown the third quarter g1
in a completely skewed manner, and therefore the diminuendo had—because
of the new and stronger significance of the third quarter—to be postponed by a
quarter note.
Bars
14–16 Now finally a word about the extraordinarily expressive articulation of bars
14–16. In the last bar of the Theme, bar 16, one should avoid adding in the left hand
a doubling of the last quarter in the lower octave, which, to mention it in advance,
was expressly reserved for the conclusion of the complete movement!
Beethoven wants the performance mezza voce, which has to do among
other things with the protracted scope of the sixteen (or thirty-two) bars (see
Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony, p. 210/226). (In the Autograph the German epi-
graph reads “Gesang mit innigster Empfindung”—[song with deepest feeling].)
Regarding the written-out arpeggios in bars 5, 13, and 14, see the comment
above on bar 9 of the first movement. In conclusion, let the player be once again
reminded to secure the unity of bars 1–8 by means of the crescendo in bars 4
and 5, for only thereby will he approach the superior and more musical wisdom
of the master!
Third Movement 59
In relation to the variations that now follow, the Autograph unequivocally pro-
vides important elucidations of Beethoven’s plan, and I am pleased to be able here
for the first time to communicate and comment on them:
At first Beethoven designates the variations expressly with numbers; but while he
clearly supplies the four pieces following the Theme with the title “Variation” and
the numerals I–IV (thus Var. I, Var. II, Var. III, Var. IV), he notably avoids similarly
designating the penultimate and final pieces with the title “Variation” at all, nor
does he provide numerals (thus not “Var. V” and “Var. VI”).
If the procedure just described shows the quest for an exact organization of the varia-
tions among themselves, the master moreover divides them so clearly into groups that
there is no basis whatever for granting the performer any right to establish a different
grouping of any sort. And indeed [Beethoven] employs for clarification of this plan some-
times the single, sometimes the double bar line at the end of the variations: Variation
I has a double bar line at the end; he conjoins, on the other hand, Variations II through
IV into a single group, from which it follows that Variations II and III are each bounded
only by a single bar line, and a double bar line reappears only at the end of Variation IV;
likewise, finally, the last two pieces (entered by Beethoven, as mentioned, without the
title “Var.” and without numbers V and VI) are again strictly conjoined into an indi-
vidual and independent group, as he applies no double bar line between them. Such
group formations in variation works rest mostly on more or less clear interconnections
among the individual variations and therefore belong essentially to the variation form, so
that they are encountered also even in the earliest variation works. (How strangely deep
and concealed, though, the interconnections in, for example, Brahms’s Variations on a
Theme by Handel!) Since, however, it would take too much space to deal with this topic
in detail within the framework of these Variations (as I shall do only in my Entwurf einer
neuen Formenlehre3), I restrict myself here to reporting only that my text corresponds
to Beethoven’s grouping. It is certainly very regrettable that even the Original Edition
gives no inkling of these plans of Beethoven’s. (How the Revised Copy might sit in this
respect unfortunately cannot be determined from the notes of Nottebohm, who, as in so
many other cases, appears not to have directed his attention to this.)
Variation I: The repetition of bars 1–8 and that of bars 9–16 are here, as in the Bar 1 ff.
Theme, specified only by repeat signs. Still more clearly than in the Theme, the first
variation shows through its shaping the unified character intended by the composer
of bars 1–8 and 9–16; thus:
1. through the extraordinarily cantabile and thus also completely indivisible

melodic line (molto espressivo), as which the first variation presents itself; then:
3
[“Sketch for a New Theory of Form.” The work was never completed; notes for it are preserved in the Oster
Memorial Collection, New York Public Library, File 83.]
2. through the bass in bar 4, which by itself would already necessarily prevent
a misunderstanding such as would still have been possible at bar 4 of the
Theme; finally:
3. through the cresc. marking again in bar 4 (and moreover, significantly, for
the first time in bar 12 as well!)—a marking whose meaning was discussed
earlier in reference to bar 4 of the Theme.
One should infer from these points, however, that a suitable shaping of the bass
line by the performer (compare Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony, p. 41/15–16) would
contribute most to the attainment of this effect of unification.
In bars 9–16 one should not be deceived by the lower register of the first quarter
in each bar; the bass movement actually proceeds as follows instead:
Fig. 48
Thus in bars 9–14 the third quarter too signifies a change of scale degree.
Now a few bar-by-bar comments
The small grace notes (Vorschläge) in bar 1 and elsewhere in this variation (see bars
3, 5, 9, 10, 11, 13, and 15) Beethoven notates in the Autograph emphatically with , a
notation I have gladly also retained here, because it seems to me to incorporate the
expressive content infinitely better than our stereotypical .
In order to specify and express, as an exception, more than we are accustomed to
associate with the accent mark at the first half note of bar 1 and also those in bars 3,
5, 9, 10, and 11, Beethoven takes the precaution of placing it under and not above the
note: here, without doubt, he wants to have us avoid a purely superficial, dry, and
cursory withdrawal of the force applied to the tone, and wants instead to have the
tone fade only gradually, and glide over gently to the next.
Bar 2 Bar 2 gives in the Autograph and the Revised Copy the notation shown in our text.
All other editors on the contrary present a sixteenth instead of the thirty-second:
Fig. 49
Beethoven’s notation can be understood as follows: bar 2 of the Theme shows the

tone b in strict motivic significance, since it combines with the preceding quarter
Third Movement 61
d # 1 to form a descending broken third d # 1—b, which answers the similarly broken
third g # 1—e1, and indeed in the same rhythm .4 But because Variation I alters
the third-leap and the rhythm (to a fifth-leap and the rhythm ), any obligation
to adhere to the original form of the Theme disappears for bar 2 of the variation as
well. Therefore, Beethoven, having extended in bar 1 the first quarter note to a half
note, also extends in bar 2 the second tone d # 2 to almost the value of a half note,
which devalues the last tone b1 to a mere anticipation, or better to an ornament, as
perhaps Chopin might have notated it:
Fig. 50
Still, it remains questionable whether even under these circumstances the last
tone b1 does not automatically take on a thematic relationship, indeed in the form
of an affinity with the tone d # 2 . In other words: whether as an answer to the fifth of
bar 1 or as a recollection of the third of bar 2 of the Theme itself, the listener will
always tend to hear the third-leap of bar 2 as thematic. Add to this the follow-
ing: even if Beethoven did write a thirty-second, our ear will always hear above all a
sixteenth, because in the absence of continued subdivision of the third quarter, thus
in absence of an eighth and sixteenth, it is not in a position to grasp uncondition-
ally and immediately what is precisely the most improbable subdivision, that of a
thirty-second. To break the natural intensification of the subdivisions exceeds the
power of any artist, and even a Beethoven had to falter here. Thus the thirty-second
note that he wrote here will always have the effect of a sixteenth—this, however,
does not relieve the editor of the obligation to follow Beethoven’s unambiguous
notation, which, as I have shown above, does not lack its own justification.
The figure at the third quarter of bar 3, which in essence originates in a turn Bar 3
between two notes (compare Ornamentation, p. 138/71), is written out by Beethoven

expressly for the sake of the different expressive content that resides in its deviation
from the latter.
In bar 7 Beethoven continues (Autograph and Revised Copy) the inner voice Bar 7
(left hand) with the third quarter C in the interval of the seventh (instead of the
second):
Fig. 51
4
[All but the last two register indications in this sentence are incorrect in both German editions.]
He was obliged to do this because of the movement of the lowest voice. If on the
contrary so many editors (Gesamtausgabe!) abruptly place a quarter rest at the third
quarter, they prove only that they are less versed than the master in the nature of
piano writing.5
Bars
9–10 In bars 9 and 10, observe in the second and third quarters of the left hand the
reinforcement of the melody in octaves. In the same bars Beethoven places (in
the Autograph) the signs between the two final tones of the third
quarter—thus differently from how almost all editions after him have presented
them—; this is by no means an effort to divert attention from the dissonant inter-
val of the major seventh ( or ), which is in itself already unpleasant enough, but
rather to induce a temporal broadening after the dotted eighths, which is most effi-
ciently expressed with that sign.
Bar 12 In bar 12 the last eighth forms an anticipation, which accordingly is to be per-
formed as such.
Bar 13ff. The concluding bars 13–16 manifest that delicate and enchanting figuration
art expressed by Beethoven in the string quartets Opp. 127, 131, 132, and 135; in
the Ninth Symphony; in the piano sonatas Opp. 106, 110, and 111—a unique
world of subordinate tones and figurations that, motivated by a thoroughly sup-
ple articulation, unfold the most profound eloquence. A true performance of
these bars consists only in the presentation of the contest between the articula-
tion and a melodic line confined to expression by precisely the weak sixteenths!
In other words: here one faces the task of setting off the dotted eighths from the
sixteenths through greater pressure, not only because of their longer duration
but also because of the slurring; nevertheless, one must bear expressly in mind
the need to consider, by means of a mode of attack not to be verbally specified
more precisely, the very sixteenths as well—which are, after all, the carriers of the
melodic line.
Bars
15–16 In bars 15 and 16 the slurring in the text follows that of the Autograph; articula-
tion, fingering, and mode of attack here take on the task of illuminating how the
breath support (the legato) in the sixteenths is too weak to reach completely across
to their goal, the eighths, toward which, however, they visibly strive. In bar 16, more-
over, the anticipation at the last eighth should be done full justice.
Bar 1ff. Variation II: The repetition of bars 1–8 and 9–16 here is no longer specified by
repeat signs, but is for the first time composed out in a modified form. As a result,
not only is the repetition assignment freed from pure inevitability and brought to
life, but the impression—though of course only the impression—even of two varia-
tions is produced.
5
[Beethoven’s notation, with its double-stemming of both a ♯1 and C ♯ , secures a portamento effect for the leaps
in both outer voices.]
Third Movement 63
The melodic line of the Theme is immediately recognizable and traceable in

the figurations of the right hand. But note well the organization of the arpeggia-
tions: they are executed partly in a hemiolaic way, with three units of two quarters
each, as in bars 1 and 2:
1 3 2
2 1 3
but partly, as in bars 3 and 4, according to the following pattern:
(One need only try to fit bars 3 and 4 to the schema of bars 1 and 2 to be convinced of
its inapplicability.)
Except for the small displacements in bars 5 and 6, however, the left hand most
strictly replicates the bass line of the Theme (even the eighth-note passing tone in
bar 4!), a fact that my fingering attempts to bring out.
In bar 5 the falling fifth of the second and third sixteenths in the right hand repro- Bar 5ff.
duces in exactly the corresponding place the falling-fifth gesture of the Theme. The
following outline of bars 5–8 may clarify the master’s figuration technique:
Fig. 52
Observe the enharmonic change in bars 7 and 8 of B ♭ instead of A♯ (E major: ♯IVЭиһ = F Bars

7–8
major: V7), which was necessary here because at the first quarter of bar 8 a passing tone
between E and G had to be negotiated; as such, what now sounds here—in the context
of an apparent V of F major—is precisely F♮ (instead of F♯), but without prejudice to the
E-major tonality.
It goes without saying that the performer must maintain in consciousness the
interconnections just depicted between variation and Theme; but he must not
thereby be misled into underscoring them especially strongly in performance just in

the effort to communicate to the listener his own recognition of them. Because if he
did this himself, he would never succeed in rendering the listener such service unless
the listener himself had already made the effort to gain this insight. Failing commen-
surate effort on the listener’s part, all endeavor by the performer would certainly be
in vain, and no assiduous highlighting of crucial tones plucked out of the figuration
would ever suffice to attain the desired goal. Let the player, then, perform his duty
only to the work alone, and remain indifferent to whether and how much the listener
knows about it. Thus the following comment by Bülow must be considered mislead-
ing: “The very accurately reproduced lineaments of the Theme in the first part of this
‘double-variation’, as Lenz rightly calls it, must with all effortless lightness of attack
be clearly perceptible to the ear. The supplementary exercise of playing these eight
3 bars as twelve 2 bars will have a salubrious influence on a sensitive performance.”
4 4
Does Bülow mean by this seriously to dictate to listeners that they are obliged to hear
the lineaments? How could he compel success in this? But if not, wasn’t it nonsense
to hold the player responsible for such success? Thus I repeat: just to hold the listener
to a standard that he cannot be forced to achieve—ultra posse nemo tenetur6 —, the
performer is never permitted to distort the rendering appropriate to the situation.
In bar 4 one must observe the cresc. marking—compare bar 4 of the Theme and
the first variation (see above)!
The fingerings in this variation in Bülow, Klindworth, Reinecke, Riemann, etc.
betray all too clearly that those editors by no means understood the meaning of the
figurations, and particularly those of the bass.
Bars
[1]‌–[8] The repetition of bars 1–8, numbered more appropriately by me as [1]–[8] than in
continuity as 9–16, brings, as I already said above, a new motif. Above the resting
bass tone B, bars [1]–[7], and with most frugal expenditure of scale degrees, four
entrances of the motif (bars [1]–[4]):
Fig. 53
occur bar by bar, each a second higher than the last. But since the motif
consists of two bars, the entrances take on at the same time the character of
stretti. The imitations from bar to bar are here by no means to be conceptu-
ally restricted to only two “obbligato” voices; that is, the player need not, at
6
[“A principle of Roman law: Nobody is held beyond his ability.” Aaron X. Fellmeth and Maurice Horwitz,
Guide to Latin in International Law (New York: Oxford University Press, 2008), p. 205.]
Third Movement 65
the third (or fourth) entrance, assume once again that voice which had the
first (or second) entrance; rather, in the spirit of a correctly understood key-
board idiom, as many voices must in fact be posited as there are entrances.—
Actually, then, bars [5]‌–[6] too repeat the motif of bars [1]–[2], but with the
difference that in bars [5]–[6] the line is atremble with neighboring notes, and
the stretto is dropped.
In comparison to the Theme, the repetition, bars [1]‌–[8], offers a free varia-
tion image in that it restricts the harmonic progression of bars 1–8 to merely
the scale-degree alternation I—V—which strictly speaking, to be sure, was
clearly identifiable already in the Theme itself (in bars 1–6) as its true harmonic
nucleus.
Bars [7]‌–[8] differ in harmonic progression from bars 7–8, and thus instead of F,
the strictly diatonic F♯ (compare Variation I) once again became possible.
The make-up of the repetition, in particular the stationary bass, makes a cre-
scendo in bar 4 superfluous by at once eliminating the danger of a bisection of bars
[1]‌–[8].
The second part of the variation, bars 9–16, returns to the figuration of bars Bar 9ff.
1–8, in particular to the model of bars 3–4. The retracing of the Theme, despite
numerous deviations, can be followed precisely both in the melody itself and in the
lowest line.
In bar 12 one must not fail to take into consideration the decresc.—which here, as Bar 12
in the Theme, notably appears only at the third quarter—and likewise the anticipa-
tion at the last sixteenth.
Left hand not c ♯2 , but clearly c 𝄪2 in the Autograph! Bar 15
The repetition of the second part, bars [9]–[16], continues the motivic construc- Bars
[9]‌–[16]
tion from bars [1]–[8].
The unisono in bar [9]‌is to be heard as follows:
Fig. 54
or:
Fig. 55
or:
Fig. 56
Thus here we find essentially an ordinary passing motion, which, however, as

Beethoven invokes it, naturally commands respect from less secure musicians, and
leads them astray. In Bülow’s edition the annotation here reads: “The underly-
ing ‘latent’ harmony is that of the B-minor sixth-chord, and correct performance
depends on apperception of this harmony.” So Bülow too arrives at the product of a
sixth-chord above d; but, because of the passing-tone character, it was by no means
permissible for him to speak of a “B-minor sixth-chord,” nor of B minor at all!
In bar [12] the sixth eighth is an anticipation and not already scale degree I.—Bars
[13]–[16] repeat in the manner of bars [5]‌–[8].—In bar [14] the chord of the first
sixteenth in the third quarter of the left hand appears (according to the Autograph)
notably without the note a—an accommodation, indeed, of the passing seventh in
the right hand!7 A detailed discussion of the particular delicacy of this voice leading
will be provided on a similar occasion in commentary on the master’s Op. 110.8
Bars
1–8 Variation III changes the meter to 24 . In this variation, as in Variation II, the rep-
etitions are composed out.
The harmonies move exclusively between tonic and dominant; compare Variation
II, bars [1]‌–[6]. The bass reproduces the decisive third-motif:
Fig. 57
Because bars 5–8 bring merely the positional inversion9 of bars 1–4 the player is
deceived into seeing in bars 1–4 of the variation already the replication of the whole
of bars 1–8 of the Theme, and in bars 5–8 again the repetition of the complete bar
group 1–8. Beware of this error, and stay ever mindful that in the third variation too,
each eight bars correspond invariably to eight bars of the Theme. The modifications
in bar 8 as compared to bar 4 are on account of the bass.
7
[Jonas comments in a footnote to 1092 , p. 43: “for avoidance of the octaves a—g ♯ ; not corrected in
Nottebohm’s copy” (i.e., the Revised Copy).]
8
[See 110, p. 90.]
9
[As distinct from contour inversion, a technique incorporated into the fugal sections and movements of
Opp. 110, 111, and 101.]
Third Movement 67
The repetition, bars [1]–[8], contents itself with an insignificant variant in the Bars
[1]‌–[8]
sixteenths and the insertion of passing tones among the eighths.
The technique of the first part is now applied to the second part of the variation, Bar 9ff.
although, strictly speaking, the conditions here have changed and are almost so con-
stituted as to resist the application. Thus in bars 9–12 at first the left hand carries the
sixteenths, until the right hand takes them over in bar 13, while the eighths occur in
the right hand in bars 9–12 and then, vice versa, in the left in bars 13–16. But the very
circumstance of bars 9–16 that the eighth notes just mentioned carry the melody
and are therefore more significantly interconnected than the counterpoints in bars
1–8 explain why I spoke above of a rather artificial application to the second part of
the technique of the first.
Bar 12 suddenly brings at the fourth eighth instead of an eighth note (as always Bar 12
before) a chord. This is a sign of the most inspired tonal feeling: Beethoven expressly
included the lower octave here just to orient the ear to the small octave, within which
the eighths will have to move in the following bar! Thus the adjoined lower octave
forms the transition from the one line to the small octave, which otherwise—because
lacking any mediation—would represent a much too severe breach from the former.
(Compare Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony, p. 60/139, and 114–115/106–107.)
Bars
The repetition of the second part, bars [9]–[16], brings a reversed ordering, which [9]‌–[16]
of itself explains the abutment of the sixteenths in bar 16 and bar [9].

In performing this variation one should above all abide by the subdivision
into merely four occurrences of eight bars each, and therefore avoid underscor-
ing on the contrary eight times four bars. In other words: consciously play the
positional inversions and transferrals of the sixteenths in each case only as com-
ponents of the same units and not as independent parts. And the tempo in per-
formance must not be overdriven; consider rather that the contrast between the
sixteenth-note motion of this variation and the next must not be too great only
for the reason that the two variations, as I mentioned above, are connected to
each other.
Regarding dynamics the following comparison should be noted: bars 1–8 show an
f with two sf peaks in bars 4 and 8; on the other hand bar [1]‌begins with p, which
through an immediately following cresc. is intensified to f in bar [4] (with the same
nuancing in bars [5]–[8]); and bar 9 begins once again with p, but here the cresc.
no longer follows immediately as in bar [1], but only after three bars; thus in bar 12
(compare Variation I!), from which point forward, then, the f does take control over
bars 13–16 (as in bars [12]–[16]). A sign in bar 16 leads back to the p of bar
[9]; the same sign is found at the same point in bar [16].
Eloquently, Beethoven sunders in the Autograph the last eighth of bar [16] from
the preceding eighths.
Bar 1 ff. Variation IV: Here the repeat signs reappear, as in the Theme. The variation more-
over returns to the original meter, which it notates, to be sure, not as 34 but as 89. This
return of the meter needs to be taken as more than purely external, for it signals
at the same time a closest possible approximation of the variation to the Theme in
respect to tempo. When, specifically, Beethoven writes Un poco meno andante, ciò
è: un poco più adagio come il tema. Etwas langsamer als das Thema,10 he expressly
wants each bar of the variation to be taken only “somewhat” more slowly than each
bar of the Theme!! It is just this which induces me, for the sake of convenience,
to speak in the following analysis of 34 rather than 89, whose individual beats then,
indeed, are to be considered eighth-note triplets.
This precaution on the master’s part has until the present day unfortunately
proven futile; for as experience in the concert halls teaches, performers take pleasure
above all in adulating the lovely sixteenth-note figure, and adulating it so intimately
that they thereby lose sight of the total entity of the eight bars, and fundamentally
play one and the same bar eight times. By all means, then, diligence and delight;
but let us not underestimate the same spiritual qualities in Beethoven either, just
because (or despite the fact that?) he combined with them a broader view, a durable
creative strength! As particular evidence of the latter we do see again the cresc. mark-
ing in bar 5 (!), which, above and beyond the ever so rich sixteenth-note motion,
aims to free the player’s inner vision from the present, as it were, in order to lead
him to victory over the future. Let the player learn, then, to forego the pleasure of
each individual bar in itself, and broaden his emotional range in such a way that it
encompasses the complete unity of bars 1–8. Incidentally, even the very species of
the figuration employed here leads to the same result, for there is hardly anything
simpler—admittedly leaving aside the matter of expression—than the motif and
the harmonic progression of this variation. Especially the harmonic progression
mirrors the simplicity of the harmonic foundation of the Theme (compare above
Variations II, III) and thus forms the most covert association between the two;
this is that “something” which turns the variation into kith and kin of the Theme.
Regarding the succession of entrances, see above, Variation II, bars [1]‌–[8]; thus let
the player here as well approach the individual entrances as though they were vari-
ous instrumental characters. Especially the last two entrances in bars 5 and 6 are to
be set off against each other, as otherwise the low register could all too easily mar
the differentiation of the two. After the final, sixth entrance, there follows directly
in bar 7 a continuation that is dominated exclusively by the final motivic segment of
the entrance. To ensure its character as a natural continuation, Beethoven places the
dim. in bar 7 not exactly at the second quarter, but, after completion of the nexus,
10
[“A little less andante, i.e., a little more adagio than the Theme. Somewhat slower than the theme.”]
Third Movement 69
expressly only at the third quarter! Exactly at the third quarter we arrive at the IV,
which undergoes an alteration of the third, C ♯ , to C ♮; concerning the composing out
of this sonority and the passing tone F ♮ (instead of F♯) for which it provides the basis,
compare above, Variation II, bars 7–8.
The following justification of the text as I have presented it gives me a welcome
opportunity for further thorough discussion of the technique of this variation,
whose text has certainly made such endless difficulties for most editors. I shall pro-
ceed in this according to the order of the bars.
Thus I have adhered accurately to the Autograph in relation to the notation of
the entrances as upper and lower voices, as I regard such a notation, especially in a
situation like the present one, as fundamentally more instructive than the one used
in the various editions.
Between the last sixteenth g of the second quarter and the following dotted quar-
ter g, according to the Autograph and the Original Edition there is to be no tie. Since
the dotted quarter could signify the entrance of the third voice, it would be only fit-
ting to omit the syncopation, which is gratuitously added by most editions. But from
the perspective of a desirable portamento here, on the other hand, a tie might perhaps
be justified. The legitimacy of the tie, then, may be considered questionable.
In bar 3 Beethoven notates the first e1 of the right hand as an eighth, where actually
a quarter value with following eighth rest would have been due (see in bar 1 the third
quarter B in the left hand, in bar 2 the second quarter B and the third quarter B1 also
in the left hand, etc.). Such a shortening of the quarter value to merely an eighth is
encountered later and even often, and it is exactly this which causes the greatest con-
fusion among the editors. As foundation of Beethoven’s notation therefore let the fol-
lowing be stated: when there is a collision with an adjacent voice, Beethoven shortens
(and indeed for purely piano-technical reasons) the quarter value to an eighth, while
he immediately returns to the quarter value (leaving aside cases of writing haste) as
soon as danger is no longer present. Thus the following are free of any danger: in bars
2 and 4, the second quarter in the left hand; in bar 6, the first quarter in the right
hand. Obstacles occur, however, in bar 3 at the first quarter (e1 in the right hand and
the same e1 as third sixteenth in the left hand), and in bar 5 at the third quarter of the
right hand. With the shortening of the quarter to an eighth, however, for the most
part Beethoven adopts the orthography of not notating eighth rests.
Bars
Beethoven ties together bars 4 and 5 in a completely distinctive and inspired man- 4–5
ner by means of a slur that encompasses the third quarter of bar 4 and the first
quarter of bar 5 in the left hand.
In bar 6 the editor’s concern must be directed to the following questions: first, Bar 6
whether the first eighth of the second quarter in the left hand should show D♯ or B1;
and second, whether, if D♯ , a syncopation should also be assumed. The first question
would more fittingly not have had to arise at all; for anybody who understands the
appeal of inverted composing out of a chord (which is not lacking even in the simplest
compositions) grasps that it is not appropriate to jump ahead prematurely at the begin-
ning of the second quarter with such a clumsily intruding B1, preempting the root of
the harmony and the very last eighth B1 of the same bar. In the following bar 7, after all,
we see in the left hand immediately within the tonic triad a similar descent to the root
E, which, as the last tone of the series,11 arrives only at the third eighth of the second
quarter. Compare Bach, Well-Tempered Clavier I, Prelude in C♯ Minor, bars 30–31:
Fig. 58
The Autograph, incidentally, specifies the tone D ♯ [at the second quarter of bar 6]
with utmost clarity.
So far as the syncopation is concerned, its presence is to be assumed simply on the basis
of the notation of the eighths, as they are reproduced from the Autograph in my text.
Clearly Beethoven’s notation here imparts to the first and second eighths of the second
quarter the meaning of a suspension together with its resolution.12 Further, it should not
be overlooked that in contrast to the analogous places at the first quarters in bars 2 and 4
respectively, which show the E as a dotted quarter, here in bar 6 for the first time the tone
E occurs un-dotted and therefore reaches D♯ earlier, so that from the outset a syncopa-
tion undoubtedly must be posited. Finally, the successive attacks of the two tones in the
low register would impair the effect of the sixth entrance.
Bar 7 At the second quarter of bar 7 (according to Autograph and Revised Copy) Theme
and counterpoint again expressly draw more closely together, which engenders an
artful transition to the normal register at the third quarter. The octave-doubling
indication in many editions at the second quarter of the right hand, which clearly is
taken over from the Original Edition, is therefore wrong.
Bar 8 In bar 8 Bülow gratuitously expands the first sixteenth in the right hand to a dot-
ted quarter. But this is impermissible; for even if the player may on his own extend
11
[B—G ♯ —E.]
12
[D ♯ is of course the chordal tone and C ♯ a passing tone; but at a slightly deeper level, the rhythm of the
second beat replicates that of the first, with the C ♯ appearing on the beat as an accented passing tone with
quarter-note value. In this sense the D ♯ at the second beat is a suspension that resolves to the passing tone, a
phenomenon unknown to strict counterpoint but not uncommon in free composition. Since suspensions in
free composition do not necessarily involve an actual tie, however, this interpretation of the D ♯ at the second
beat does not settle the textual question regarding the tie.]
Third Movement 71
the sixteenth in question beyond the written duration for the sake of the necessary
legatissimo effect,13 this purely pianistic means nevertheless must not be presented in
an edition (see above, pp. 14–15) as a true “obbligato” voice.
Bar
The second part adheres much more strictly to the Theme, and indeed with respect 9ff.
to replication of not only the melodic line but also the harmonic progression. The
unification of bars 11–13 happens here, as earlier in Variations I and III, with the aid
of a cresc., except that its expressive force, as the following depiction shows:
Fig. 59
is increased by marcato- and sf-accents to an incomparably greater level of intensity.

For precisely the punching-up of the weak beats (through marcato or sf ) causes the
two tones thereby affected (e2 and d♯2) to reverberate all the more passionately: it is as
though one could actually see their vibrant reverberation! (It goes without saying, there-
fore, that a merely superficial compliance with the dynamic markings cannot lead the
player to the goal.)—The third eighth of the third quarter represents an anticipation.
My text shows the marcato- and sf-accents in bars 11 and 12 exactly as does the
Autograph. Unfortunately, the Revised Copy and the Original Edition already
introduced confusion into this question in that they delayed the marcato signs in
bar 11 by a sixteenth, which in turn induced other editors to place the sf accents
in the same bar a sixteenth note later as well. Especially Bülow became a spokes-
man for such a deviant notation: “The ‘sforzato’ on the grammatically accented
sixteenths, as given in part and tentatively by the earlier editions but with great-
est definiteness by the Leipzig Gesamtausgabe, makes no sense, because it does
not fall on the complete harmony and in the following bar, for example, falls on
completely neutral tones, thus producing an empty and at the same time abrupt
effect.”
This, however, is to be answered as follows: the marcato as well as the sf signs
specified by Beethoven have really nothing to do with the propagation of the har-
mony; the latter rather remains the business of pianistic technique alone, and in
fact only a simple holding of the first sixteenth of each sixteenth-note pair by itself
suffices to achieve this goal. In other words: the arpeggiation of the harmonies in
the manner Beethoven specifies at this point (and also otherwise so often, as for
example in the Piano Trio Op. 70, No. 1, Largo assai, bar 65ff. etc.) buttresses the
13
[See in Art of Performance the discussion of Hand Pedal on pp. 11–12, and p. 21ff.]
harmonic sum at all times and at each point every bit as securely as the normal and
natural arpeggiation:
Fig. 60
There is no reason, then, to differentiate “neutral” tones from sixteenths on which

alone, allegedly, “the complete harmony falls.” Even the pedal usage expressly indi-
cated by Beethoven at this point has, notably, no significance for the question of
completion of the harmonies. (The pedal here is used, rather, for the sake of its own
effect!) One is then, however, all the less justified in interpreting the marcato- and
sf-accents on the chord-bearing sixteenths as though they were supposed only to
serve the completion of the harmony.
Bar 14 In bar 14 the second and third quarters in the right and left hand originally read dif-
ferently; through a strange oversight, Beethoven, in proofreading the passage, struck
the tone succession of the left hand alone; the Autograph thus presents a false picture,
since the right hand already shows the new shape, while the bass was left unaltered:
Fig. 61
My text thus shows the passage as revised.

Bar 16 In bar 16 one should imagine the first sixteenth of the right hand, a 2 , as though
sustaining up to the second sixteenth of the third quarter, b2 , indeed in such a way
as though, along with sustaining harmony (that of the dominant), now the tone a2
as its seventh were simply to sustain as well, and finally to achieve its resolution to g ♯2
only at the third quarter by means of a flourish. (On figuration as expression of the
act of sustaining, compare the first movement, bar 12.)—Beethoven here expands
the crescendo sign expressly up to the second sixteenth of the third quarter.
Finally a reminder that only here, just at the conclusion of the variation group
that comprises Variations II, III, and IV, does Beethoven place the double bar.
Allegro ma non troppo. The penultimate piece, in which at the same time the
conclusion of the set of variations begins (see above). Here too, just as in Variations
Third Movement 73
II and III, the repetitions are indeed composed out, but beyond this similarity, the
allegro ma non troppo includes an additional eight bars designated by me with [[
]‌], which must count as repetition of the repetition. Inasmuch as the enlargement
of the repetition here in a free way oversteps the strictest concept of variation, it
serves, with a still more sharply stamped effect, a higher aim of synthesis, in par-
ticular the attainment of a new dynamic state: sempre p, which alone, as will be
shown, makes possible the strict conjunction of the allegro ma non troppo with the
final piece.
Bars
Bars 1–2 exactly reproduce in alla breve the first two bars of the Theme: 1–8
Fig. 62
This two-bar motif is used in bars 1–5 in a strictly imitative manner; here, how-
ever, in recognition of the nature of keyboard idiom (compare above, Variations II
and IV), it is not at all necessary again to limit the number of obbligato voices (just
consider the number of voices in bar 4, and the way the voices move in bar 5!). As
the entrances are each two bars long, the stretto technique, which involves syncopa-
tions as well, is an automatic result (compare Variation II). In bar 5 the fifth (final)
entrance occurs in the left hand, so that here, similarly to Variations II and IV, the
danger of a bisection of bars 1–8 is absolutely excluded. Regarding bars 7 and 8,
compare Variations II and IV.
Bars
Bars [1]–[8] present the repetition. At first it appears that the previous organiza- [1]‌–[8]
tion will be retained (although, from the outset, with the difference that the origi-
nal counterpoint of the bass is subjected to eighth-note figuration); but bars [3]–[4]
already bring an inversion of bars [1]–[2], which sets them motivically on a different
track from the parallel bars of the first part. For now, in the following bars, bar 2
of the motif is cut off and spun out alone (thus without any stretto technique). The
harmonic succession here proceeds as follows:
Fig. 63
Bars
In the second part too, bars 9–16, Beethoven does adhere to a two-bar shape of the 9–16
motif, except that here the entrances no longer occur in stretto fashion (as in bars 1–4),
but in pairs of bars, in the following succession: tenor—alto—soprano—bass. (On
the merely figurative use of these terms for keyboard idiom, see Chromatic Fantasy,
p. 44/32.) The harmonic plan of bars 9–16 is as follows:
Fig. 64
In performing the motif one should take care to introduce, on each side of the
predominating accents of the syncopating notes, shadings of a simulated piano.
Only in this way will the motif acquire its distinct profile and the prevailing forte
be appropriately nuanced!
Bars
[9]‌–[16] Only the repetition, bars [9]–[16], reverts to the stretto technique, and since on
the basis of the latter the first and second bars of the motif already appear counter-
pointed against each other in bars [9]–[12], Beethoven was able to base the final bars
[13]–[16] on a continuation of the same counterpoint in the outer voices as well.
Concerning the notation of bars 1 and 2, in the Autograph Beethoven indicated
neither an sf in the left hand nor any kind of legato slur in the right, which, it must
be acknowledged, has not prevented various editors since that time from introduc-
ing on their own an abundance of such indications. Let us hear what Bülow has to
say about this:
One of the best aids in emphasizing the essential primary voices in the execu-
tion of polyphonic pieces on the piano is the systematic application of various
attack-categories, of the staccato, the legato, and the non-legato, the latter as
standing in the middle between the first two. Staccato performance of accom-
panimental figures in particular fosters transparency of the principal voices,
without obliging the player to larger expenditures of effort for their sake. The
editor believes himself not to have proceeded too subjectively in nuancing the
subordinate voice in the second bar as follows:
Fig. 65
The other possible nuancing:

Fig. 66
Third Movement 75
appears to him less tasteful, but he does grant it too the advantage over an
undifferentiated hammering or a slinking back and forth of tones.
From this it is clear that Bülow obviously had no clear notion of what a diffi-
cult riddle he has brought up with the preceding comment. Unfortunately, there
still exists no work in which the question of articulation has been treated; and,
incidentally, such a work today would have to cause the author insurmountable
difficulties, because the question leads back to the vocal origin, thus to that art
of breath allocation which died out long ago, and yet in a mysterious way pro-
vides the foundation even of instrumental articulation. Let the solution be sug-
gested here with only a few words: apart from the issue of whether, for example,
a stringed or wind instrument or the like is involved, the series of tones to be
articulated must first be compared, in terms of scope, with the tone successions
that surround it in order to determine by such comparison how much emphasis
should be placed on it solely on the basis of scope alone. At the same time one
must moreover imagine a possible sentence, as though one were faced with the
task of setting the tones of the motif with so-and-so-many words or syllables.
(Usually the happy solution will be achieved just on the strength of this imagi-
nary basis.) Now to return to our two-bar motif, the brevity of its tonal material
alone seems to me to demand categorically a non-legato, an articulation that
at the same time corresponds best to a hypothetical succession of six syllables,
of which, considering the brevity, not a single one could be omitted! One can
easily be convinced of the truth of what has just been said if one assigns the per-
formance of the same motif to a stringed instrument. In any case it would not
be without value to compare with each other the two forms of articulation sug-
gested by Bülow in order to understand that each articulation—as a result of,
one might say, a different distribution over thought-up syllables—appears at the
same time to suggest different words, and therefore yields a different expression!
Bar [3]‌left hand according to the Autograph.—Bar [4], second eighth in the right
hand B and not C ♯; proof of this is above all the explicit notation in the Autograph,
Revised Copy, and Original Edition, but no less also the dominant harmony. The
latter, indeed, is altogether the reason—compare the eighth-note counterpoint in
bar [2]—; it takes precedence over the eighth-note counterpoints in the succeeding
bars, whose 5—6 alternation would, if applied here, require a C ♯ . Therefore, Bülow’s
remark that “the new edition has:
Fig. 67
an erratum which need not be demonstrated, as the note ‘b’ is justifiable nei-
ther melodically nor harmonically” is, to use Bülow’s own word, a perfect
“erratum”!
In bar 11, at the fourth quarter of the upper voice Beethoven corrects in the
Autograph to two eighths: c #1—e1, and adds in the margin the words: “must be c e.”
It was reserved for the Original Edition, unfortunately, to give c # as a quarter. But
how amusingly Bülow’s comment runs counter to Beethoven’s intent: “The new
edition has:
Fig. 68
“The lameness of this unnecessary contrary motion to the bass is so obvious.

Had the composer actually intended this ‘e,’ he would (instead of writing the rest)
certainly have tied to the first eighth of the next bar in the sense of a suspension
before d #:”
Fig. 69
Had Bülow had any notion that under certain circumstances the suspension
can also be hidden in a rest (compare Counterpoint I, p. 287ff./371ff.)—and that is
exactly the case here—he would have been spared the above mistake.
In bar 12 Beethoven’s notation of the left hand (in the Autograph) is concerned only
with the representation of the principal motif in its successive occurrences, which, as
is his custom, he does not distort through misleading rests.14 All efforts of most edi-
tors to distribute, in defiance of piano idiom as such, the content into voices must be
purposeless.
14
[The Gesamtausgabe presents this bar as follows:]

Third Movement 77
In bar [9]‌Beethoven notates the motif (even despite the stretto that lies ahead in
bar [10]) as a lower voice. This notation, which is found (unfortunately only in part)
also in the Original Edition, is the one I have used in the text.
The cadence of bar [[16]] is clearly set (in the Autograph and likewise in the Bars [[9]‌]–[[16]]
Original Edition) in three voices in the right hand.
Tempo primo del tema. In the final piece the repetitions are composed out. Bar 1ff.
In this sense, then, the final piece too falls again into a series with variations
II and III and the allegro ma non troppo. Yet it is set apart from them through
a uniquely fresh and bold stroke, probably to be found only once in the entire
repertory, which consists therein, that the sum of all thirty-two bars comprised
by the two parts of the Theme together with their repetitions is presented as a
closed entity, whereby not only the repetitions but, notably, even the two parts
blend into one! The task at hand, after all, was to provide not only a final conclu-
sion for the variation movement itself—a purpose served not infrequently by a
fugue in other variation works by the master—but also a powerful finale for the
whole work.
If we marvel already at the boldness of the plan, we must be still more astonished
at the strength of its fulfillment, which seems to imbue the whole sum of thirty-two
bars with only a single breath. There are three types of resources that Beethoven uses
to achieve his grand purpose:
1. By starting in bar 1 with p, which he maintains for the duration of bars 1–8
(the first part of the Theme!), and then prescribing a cresc. only at the third
quarter of bar 8, which governs the following bars [1]‌–[8] (repetition of the
first part!), and by finally placing for the first time in bar 9 an f that has to
carry bars 9–16 (second part of the Theme!) and bars [9]–[16] (repetition of
the second part!), he achieves with the increasing dynamic intensification
alone what might be called the embodiment of a thirty-two-bar entity with
only a single dynamic swell. From this we now better understand why, in
the penultimate piece, the allegro ma non troppo, in violation of strict adher-
ence to the form, he proceeded to repeat one additional time the repetition
of the second part, only to introduce a p: before the mighty intensification
of the last piece could be undertaken, the abutment of the p had to be all the
more securely constructed!
2. From the quarter notes B in the right and left hands of bars 1–2 Beethoven,
along the way through eighths (in bars 3 and 4), through eighth-note trip-
lets (in bar 5), through sixteenth-note triplets, i.e., 3 × 162 (in bars 6–8) and
through thirty-second-note triplets (in bars 8–[4]‌), ultimately develops
the trill in bar [4] that prevails in the remainder of the bars! And thus,
analogously to the intensification of dynamics, that of the accompaniment

supports the impression of an entity conceived as being thoroughly in a
state of continual development.
3. Beethoven combines the two intensifications depicted under 1. and 2. with
a third, and indeed an intensification of the melodic core itself. Thus the
melody appears at first in quarters in bars 1–8, then in bars [1]‌–[8] in figu-
rated eighths; in bar [4] the figurations are already worked out in triplets,
until finally in bar 9 as a final intensification the rhythm of thirty-seconds
takes over.
Bars
11–12 In particular the following deserves comment: in bars 11–12 (a consequence of the
organ-point!) the turn toward scale degree III, G, is avoided for the first time.—The
following juxtaposition of bars 13 and 16 of the Theme and a sketch of bars 13–16
of the final variation is instructive owing to the high art in the execution of the
variation:
Fig. 70
Bars
[9]‌–[16] In bars [9]–[16] Beethoven employs the combination much favored by him of a
melody with accompanying trill in the same hand.
For harmonic reasons, which are already apparent through the nature of the
thirty-second-note figuration of the left hand, the melody itself is led in so many
deviant ways (thus for example C ♯ instead of B in bar [10], B instead of A in bar
[11], etc.).
Third Movement 79
Observe most carefully in bars [10] and [11] the difference in the thirty-second-note
figure of the left hand from that of bar [9]‌: it consists in the fact that in bars [10] and
[11] at the first and second quarters, instead of a diminished-seventh chord (see in
bar [9] E ♯ —G ♯ —B—D) the minor triad of scale degree II, F, or the triad of the
tonic E is composed out, and thus at each second quarter an alteration is required.
Performers must be aware of this difference just for the reason that, as I have unfor-
tunately often had occasion to hear in public performances, they run the risk merely
through faulty conception of copying the thirty-second-note figure of bar [9] exactly
in bars [10] and [11], whereby control is completely lost not only of the harmonies but
(which is almost more painful in performance) also of the fingers.
Regarding the execution of the trill, I note that it must begin with the princi-
pal tone B and not with the auxiliary note; this is basically indicated already by
the thirty-second notes of bars 8–[4]‌, which in a certain sense do themselves rep-
resent a trill. One should moreover make certain that, just as in bars [1]–[4], the
thirty-seconds experience no interruption, nor should the trill suffer any interrup-
tion for the sake of the melody, and even the most difficult circumstances, such as
those posed by bars [9]–[19], permit no exception! (Unfortunately, the incorrect
performance of such and similar passages has quite wrongly been demanded by
Bülow, Klindworth, etc.) And the trill in bars [9]–[19], despite all difficulty, must
not diminish the expression of the melodically leading eighths.
Observe the fingering that I apply to the execution of the trill in bar 16 in the left
hand and in bars [16]–[19] in the right hand; it rests on the precept that a change
of finger—whose necessity is a presupposition in the case of the trill!—may not be
undertaken arbitrarily here or there and one way today and a different way tomorrow,
but according to the circumstances only at a definite, and indeed usually a rhythmi-
cally decisive, point (compare for example Clementi, Gradus ad Parnassum, No. 50).
Such a place would be, in my view, bar 16 at the beginning of the second quarter, and
in bar [16] the third quarter. In the latter case one should note moreover how the
fingering of the trill had to be adjusted for the special purpose of accompanying the
eighths of the melody sometimes above, as in bar [16], and sometimes below, as in
bar [17]. I am astonished at how the other editors have failed to pick up on this and
how they apply the most uningratiating fingerings to this passage.
In bar [16] the variation has arrived at the cadence. And as in the Theme itself,
Bars
in which the fourth-suspension appeared above the tonic at the downbeat of the [16]–[19]
final bar, here too, in bar [16] of the concluding piece, the fourth-suspension
occurs again. But while in the first case (the Theme) the suspension resolved
already at the third quarter, therefore in the same bar, here the resolution is
stretched over three more beats. The dominant that continues to hover above
80 Editions consulted, and Facsimiles
the tonic with such a clear suspension effect is composed out with dissolution
into eighths, which Beethoven discontinues, however, at the first quarter in bar
[19], thus at a1, in order to lead across gently with this very tone to the first g♯1
of the forthcoming Theme! Both the Revised Copy and the Original Edition
retain this version of the text. It was left to Franz Liszt to misunderstand com-
positionally the situation and to assume that the dissolution should continue
up to the end of bar [19], in order to prepare the inner voice of the Theme.
This completely incorrect interpretation has unfortunately been accepted by
Bülow and (hesitantly) by Klindworth and Reinecke. Now it is finally refuted,
by Beethoven.
At the end, the Theme commences once again. The repetitions are dropped, and
likewise in bar 5 and 13 the lush arpeggios. As though physically more shadowy and
with peacefully illuminated spirit, the Theme takes leave of us and drifts back up
into that dreamland from which it had for a while descended to permit our partici-
pation in its metamorphoses and trials by fate. . . .
Editions consulted, and Facsimiles
Original Edition: Berlin: Schlesinger, 1821.
Gesamtausgabe: Leipzig: Breitkopf & Härtel, 1862–1888.
Other Editions
d’Albert, Eugen. Leipzig: Forberg, n.d.

Bülow, Hans von. Stuttgart: Cotta, ca. 1875.
Klindworth, Karl. Berlin: Bote & Bock, n.d.
“Peters.” Leipzig: C. F. Peters, n.d.
Reinecke, Carl. Volks-Ausgabe. Leipzig: Breitkopf & Härtel, n.d.
Riemann, Hugo. Berlin: Simrock, 1885.
“Urtext” (edited by Carl Krebs). Leipzig: Breitkopf & Härtel, 1898.
Facsimiles
Piano Sonata Op. 109. [Facsimile, with preface by Oswald Jonas]. New York: Robert
Owen Lehman Foundation, 1965.
Klaviersonate E-Dur op.109. Facsimile of the Autograph in the Library of
Congress, Washington, DC. With a commentary by Siegfried Mauser. Laaber,
Germany: Laaber-Verlag, 2011.
81
Bibliogr aphy of Cited Wor ks
by Heinr ich Schenker
Citation Form Title

Die Letzten Fünf Sonaten von Beethoven. Kritische Ausgabe mit
Einführung und Erläuterung:
109 Erläuterungs-Ausgabe der Sonate E Dur, Op. 109. Vienna: Universal Edition,
1913.
1092 2nd, abridged, ed. Edited by O. Jonas. Vienna: Universal Edition, 1971.
110 Erläuterungs-Ausgabe der Sonate As Dur, Op. 110. Vienna: Universal Edition,
1914.
111 Erläuterungs-Ausgabe der Sonate C Moll, Op. 111. Vienna: Universal Edition,
1915.
101 Erläuterungs-Ausgabe der Sonate A Dur, Op. 101. Vienna: Universal Edition,
1921.
83
84 Cited Works by Heinrich Schenker
Ninth Beethovens neunte Sinfonie. Vienna: Universal Edition, 1912. 2nd ed. as Wiener
Symphony Urtext Ausgabe. Edited by Karl Heinz Füssl and H. C. Robbins Landon.
Vienna: Universal Edition, 1969. Translated and edited by J. Rothgeb as
Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony. New Haven: Yale University Press, 1992.
Octaves and Johannes Brahms: Oktaven u. Quinten. Vienna: Universal Edition, 1933.
Fifths Translated and annotated by P. Mast, as “Brahms’s Study, Octaven u.
Quinten u. A. with Schenker’s Commentary Translated,” in The Music
Forum. Vol. 5. New York: Columbia University Press, 1979.
Chromatic J. S. Bach: Chromatische Phantasie und Fuge. Vienna: Universal Edition,
Fantasy 1909. Translated and edited by Hedi Siegel, as J. S. Bach’s Chromatic Fantasy,
and Fugue: Critical Edition with Commentary. New York: Longman, 1984.
C. P. E. Bach’s Phil. Em. Bach: Klavierwerke (selections). 3 vols. Vienna: Universal Edition,
Klavierwerke 1902. 2nd ed., 2 vols. Vienna: Universal Edition, n.d.
Tonwille Der Tonwille. Flugblätter zum Zeugnis unwandelbarer Gesetze der Tonkunst.
Vol. 8/9 (Apr./Sept., 1924). Vienna: Gutmann, 1924.
Harmony Neue musikalische Theorien und Phantasien I: Harmonielehre.
Stuttgart: Cotta, 1906. Edited by O. Jonas, translated by E. M. Borgese, as
Harmony. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1954.
Counterpoint Neue musikalische Theorien und Phantasien II: Kontrapunkt. 2 books.
Vienna: Universal-Edition, 1910, 1922. Edited by J. Rothgeb, translated by
J. Rothgeb and J. Thym as Counterpoint Book I, II. New York: Shirmer
Books, 1987. 2nd, corrected, ed. Ann Arbor, MI: Musicalia Press, 2001.
Masterwork Das Meisterwerk in der Musik. Ein Jahrbuch. 3 vols. Munich: Drei Masken
Verlag, 1925, 1926, 1930. Edited by W. Drabkin, translated by I. Bent et. al.
as The Masterwork in Music. Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press,
1994, 1996, 1997.
Free Neue musikalische Theorien und Phantasien III: Der freie Satz.
Composition Vienna: Universal Edition, 1935. 2nd, abridged, ed. Edited by O. Jonas.
Vienna: Universal Edition, 1956. Translated and edited by Ernst Oster as Free
Composition. New York: Longman, 1979.
Ornamentation Ein Beitrag zur Ornamentik. Vienna: Universal Edition, 1904. Translated
and edited by H. Siegel as “A Contribution to the Study of Ornamentation,”
in The Music Forum, vol. IV. New York: Columbia University Press, 1976.
Bibliogr aphy of Cited Wor ks
by Other Authors
Beethoven, Ludwig van. A Sketchbook from the Year 1821 (Artaria 197). Edited, with transcrip-
tion and commentary, by William Drabkin. 2 vols. Bonn, Germany: Beethoven-Haus, 2010.
——. Beethoven’s Letters. (1790–1826). From the Collection of Dr. Ludwig Nohl. Translated by
Lady [Grace] Wallace. 2 vols. New York: Hurd and Houghton, 1867.
——. Ludwig van Beethoven. Keßlerisches Skizzenbuch. Vollständiges Faksimile des Autographs.
With an afterword and an index by Sieghard Brandenburg. Munich: Verlag Emil
Katzbichler, 1976.
——. Piano Sonata in A-flat, Op. 26. Facsimile ed., with commentary by Erich Prieger. Bonn,
Germany: Friedrich Cohen, 1895.
——. Beethovens sämtliche Briefe. Edited by Alfred Kalischer. 5 vols. Berlin: Schuster and
Loeffler, 1906–08.
——. Beethovens sämtliche Briefe: Kritische Ausgabe mit Erläuterungen von Alf. Chr. Kalischer.
Second impression, revised by Theodor von Frimmel. Berlin: Schuster & Löffler, 1911.
Bekker, Paul. Beethoven. Berlin: Schuster & Löffler, 1911.
Brahms, Johannes. Briefwechsel. Vol 3: Johannes Brahms im Briefwechsel mit Karl Reinthaler,
Max Bruch, Hermann Deiters, Friedr. Heimsoeth, Karl Reinecke, Ernst Rudorff, Bernhard
und Luise Scholz. Vol. 3 of Briefwechsel. Edited by Wilhelm Altmann. 2nd ed. Berlin: Deutsche
Brahms-Gesellschaft, 1912.
Czerny, Carl. Vollständige, theoretisch-praktische Pianoforteschule von dem ersten Anfange bis zur
höchsten Ausbildung fortschreitend. 4 vols. Vienna: Diabelli, [1839–1847].
von Elterlein, Ernst. Beethoven’s Clavier-Sonaten. Leipzig: Heinrich Matthes, 1856.
85
86 Cited Works by Other Authors
von Goethe, Johann Wolfgang. Maximen und Reflexionen. Edited by Max Hecker. Vol.
21 of Schriften der Goethe-Gesellschaft. Edited by E. Schmidt and B. Suphan. Weimar,
Germany: Verlag der Goethe-Gesellschaft, 1907.
——. “Epilog zu Schillers Glocke.” In Taschenbuch für Damen auf das Jahr 1806. Edited by T.
Huber et al. Tübingen, Germany: Cotta, 1806.
——. Hermann und Dorothea. Euterpe. Mutter und Sohn. Berlin: Aufbau-Verlag, 1965.
——. Italienische Reise. Leipzig: Insel-Verlag, 1914.
——. Wilhelm Meisters Wanderjahre. Edited by Eduard von der Hellen. Vol. 20 of
Goethe’s Sämtlich Werke: Jubiläumsausgabe. Stuttgart: J. G. Cotta’sche Buchhandlung
Nachfolger, 1902.
——. Wahlverwandtschaften. Tübingen, Germany: J. G. Cotta, 1809.
Grenfell, Bernard P., and Arthur S. Hunt. The Hibeh Papyri. Part I. London: Egypt Exploration
Fund, 1906.
Kalbeck, Max. Johannes Brahms. Vol. 3, part 2. Berlin: Deutsche Brahms-Gesellschaft, 1913.
——. Johannes Brahms. Vol. 4, part 1. 2nd, improved ed. Berlin: Deutsche Brahms-Gesellschaft, 1915.
——. Johannes Brahms. Vol. 4, part 2. Berlin: Deutsche Brahms-Gesellschaft, 1914.
Kant, Immanuel. Kritik der Urtheilskraft. Vol. 7 of Immanuel Kants Werke. Gesammtausgabe in
zehn Bänden. Leipzig: Modes und Baumann, 1839.
Kretzschmar, Hermann. Führer durch den Konzertsaal. Leipzig: Breitkopf und Härtel, 1905.
——. Gesammelte Aufsätze über Musik und Anderes. Leipzig: Peters, 1911.
von Lenz, Wilhelm. Kritischer Katalog sämtlicher Werke L. v. Beethovens. Vol. 5 of Beethoven: Eine
Kunststudie. Hamburg, Germany: Hoffman & Campe, 1860.
Lessing, Gotthold Ephraim. G. E. Leßings poetische Schriften. Reuttlingen, Germany: J. G.
Fleischhauer, 1776.
Louis, Rudolf, and Ludwig Thuille. Harmonielehre. Stuttgart: Carl Grüninger, [1907].
Marx, Adolph Bernhard. Ludwig van Beethoven, Leben und Schaffen. Berlin: Janke, 1859.
——. “Recensionen: Sonate für das Pianoforte von Ludwig von [sic] Beethoven, 110tes Werk.”
Berliner allgemeine musikalische Zeitung 10 (Mar. 1824): 87–90.
Nagel, Willibald. Beethoven und seine Klaviersonaten. Langensalza, Germany: Hermann Beyer, 1905.
Nottebohm, Gustav. Beethoveniana. Leipzig: J. Rieter-Biedermann, 1872.
——. Zweite Beethoveniana: Nachgelassene Aufsätze. Leipzig: C. F. Peters, 1887.
Oulibicheff, Alexandre. Beethoven, ses critiques et ses glossateurs. Leipzig: F. A. Brockhaus, 1857.
Riemann, Hugo. Analysen von Beethovens Klaviersonaten. 3 vols. Leipzig: Hesse, 1918–19.
——. Handbuch der Musikgeschichte. 2nd ed. Leipzig: Breitkopf & Härtel, 1919.
——. Katechismus der Fugenkomposition. Leipzig: Hesse, 1890.
——. Katechismus der Kompositionslehre. Leipzig: Hesse, 1889.
Reinecke, Carl. Die Beethovenschen Klaviersonaten. Leipzig: Verlag Reinecke, 1896.
Schiller, Friedrich, ed. Musenalmanach für das Jahr 1796. Neustrelitz, Germany: Michaelis, 1896.
Schindler, Anton. Biographie von Ludwig van Beethoven. 3rd, newly revised and enlarged ed.
Münster, Germany: Aschendorff, 1860.
Schopenhauer, Arthur. Die Welt als Wille und Vorstellung. Vol. I of Arthur Schopenhauers säm-
tliche Werke. Edited by P. Deussen. Munich: Piper, 1911.
Thayer, Alexander Wheelock. Ludwig van Beethovens Leben. Translated and edited by Hermann
Dieters. 3 vols. Berlin: Ferdinand Schneider, 1866–79.
Tieck, Ludwig. Kaiser Octavianus. Ein Lustspiel in zwey Theilen. Bad Kreuznach,
Germany: Ludwig Christian Kehr, [1805].
Index
antecedent, 13, 16, 21, 34, 35, 43, 44 on performance, 17, 36–37, 64;

Autograph on segue connection of first two
and authentic text, 15, 16, 21, 23, 30, 33, 34, 35, movements, 42
36, 43, 47, 65
bar lines in, 25, 34 Chopin, Frédéric, 16, 18, 61
expression markings in, 14, 54, 55, 56, 58, 62 Clementi, Muzio, 79
inaccuracy in, 34 Coda, 13, 38–39
keyboard idiom in, 17, 40 composing out, 69
meter in, 24, 37 consequent
notation in, 49, 54, 56, 57, 60 in the first and second themes, 13, 15, 19, 33,
and plan of variations, 59 34–35, 43–44, 44n2
revision in, 47 illuminated by antecedent, 21
tempo markings in, 14 incorporating modulation, 44
unknown to Bülow, 25 simulated in the Reprise, 54
in the Theme of the Variations, 56
Bach, C. P. E., viin4, 14, 15n4, 25, 58 of the third thematic component, 45
Bach, J. S., 49 variation in, 19, 44
bar line, 16, 23, 25, 34, 59
Bekker, Paul, 45–46 d’Albert, Eugen, 3, 37
Brahms, Johannes, 8 Development, 13, 14, 24, 25, 31, 26–28, 38, 43,
Bülow, Hans von 43n1, 47, 49
on anakothulon in second movement, 53;
as editor, 8, 25, 36, 37; enharmonic change, 45, 63
on form, 45; exposition, 13n2
on hypermeter, 31;
on keyboard idiom, 40; fingering, 1, 14, 15, 62, 63, 64, 79
87
88 Index
First Part, 13, 24, 34–5, 54 transformation of, 48
first theme, 13, 26, 31, 38, 45 varied repetition of, 65, 66
motivic treatment, 29, 30, 39
Handel, Georg Frideric, 14
Haydn, Franz Josef, 14 Nagel, Wilhelm, 4–5, 22n9
hand pedal, 70–1 notation
harmony, 20 of beaming, 49
as anticipation, 17 durational value and, 44
and musical text, 70, 71–72, 75 as instruction for performance,
plagal effect in, 53 14–15, 17, 54
inverted position of, 21 and keyboard idiom, 33
prolongation of, 22, 48 and number of voices, 17
as sustaining, 72 of pedal, 23, 35, 41
and voice leading, 66 rational for, 4
and register, 35
Joachim, Josef, 8 of rests, 43
Jonas, Oswald, vii, 28n13, 31n15, 33n17, 43n1, of sextolets, 23, 35–36
44n2, 56n2, 66n7 and slurs, 43, 47
and syncopes, 34
keyboard idiom, 14, 17, 49, 65, 73, 74, 21, 22, 32, for visual clarification, 54
33, 34, 40
Klindworth, Karl, 3, 17, 19, 30, 37, 39, 64, 79, 80 Original Edition
added syncopes in, 47
leading voice, 52 contradicted by later editions, 25
Lenz, Wilhelm von, 4, 6, 64 erroneous text in, 14, 15, 16, 30, 37, 47, 54, 59,
linkage of movements, 41 60, 70, 71, 76
Liszt, Franz, 18, 32, 80 grouping of notes in, 36, 49
keyboard idiom in, 33
Marx, Adolph Bernhard, 4, 6 misunderstanding in, 37
meter, change of, 14, 16, 24, 25, 37, 66, 68 and new ornament, 57
modulation, 13, 15, 26, 27, 29, 43, 44, 45, 56 notation in, 15, 77
motif and plan of Variations, 59
and bar-grouping, 29, 45 second theme in, 16, 24
and cadence, 46 as source for text, 3, 54, 58, 69, 70, 71,
in the Coda, 38, 39 75, 77, 80
derived, 49 tempo marking in, 14
in the Development, 26–28, 38 two bars lacking from, 30
and dynamics, 30, 31 unknown to Bülow, 25
imitative use of, 73 ornament, 56–8, 61
inversion of, 49, 52, 73 orthography, 16, 31, 69. See also notation
metric placement of, 30
and mode, 40 pedal, 22, 23, 35, 40, 41, 72
new, 64 performance, 8f., 14, 30–1, 32, 38ff., 46, 54, 58,
notation of, 76–77 62, 63f., 66, 75, 79
performance of, 54, 74, 75
primary, subsidiary, 45 register, 28, 32–3, 35, 47, 49, 51, 60, 68, 70
of sextolet, 18–19, 23, 36 Reinecke, Carl 3, 31, 32n16, 64, 80
simplicity of, 68 Reprise, 13, 27, 30–1, 38–41
submotifs of, 28 rests, 17, 25, 33, 37, 38
Index 89
Revised Copy, 66n7 composed out, 79
Nottebohm’s notes on, 3, 16, 17, 24, 36, 59 in deceptive cadence, 48
tempo marking in, 14, 15 in modulation, 56
expression marking in, 14 and motif, 46
and authentic text, 15, 24, 33, 58, 60, 61, progression of, 16, 20, 21, 52, 53, 54, 65
70, 75, 80 and tonicization, 21n8
keyboard idiom in, 33 second theme, 13, 14–26
and new ornament, 57 sextolet, performance of, 17–19, 23, 30, 31, 35–37
erroneous text in, 71 syncope, 34, 35, 41, 47, 69, 70, 73, 74
unknown to Bülow, 25
Riemann, Hugo, 15, 18, 24n11, 25, 26, 37, 39, tempo, 8–9, 14, 37, 44, 45, 54, 67, 68
42, 64, 66, 74 tonicization, 16, 20, 21n8
Rudorff, Ernst, 7–8
upbeat, 13, 14, 15 24–25, 26, 37, 38, 41, 42, 45
scale degree, viii, 20, 21, 45, 46, 48, 52, 53, 54,
56, 64, 78, 79 voice leading, 53, 66
anticipated, 17
change of, 60 Wagner, Richard, 21

PDF

Uploaded by

Document Information

Original Title

Copyright

Available Formats

Share this document

Share or Embed Document

Sharing Options

Did you find this document useful?

Is this content inappropriate?

Copyright:

Available Formats

PDF

Uploaded by

Copyright:

Available Formats

Piano Sonata in E Major, Op.

Oxford is a registered trademark of Oxford University Press

Published in the United States of America by

© Oxford University Press 2015

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in

You must not circulate this work in any other form

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Music engraving by Woytek Rynczak, W. R. Music Service

Editions consulted, and Facsimiles 81

Beethoven’s radically new way of integrating the form’s constituent parts—especially

With pleasure I fulfill a long-cherished wish of my own as well as of numer-

distortions based on faulty understanding, compelled him to deal in the commen-

commercial purposes. To characterize the author’s laudable attitude, a few passages

To Capellmeister Hofmeister in Leipzig. Vienna, 15th (or roughly that) of

The first movement is composed in sonata form.

cantly, the cresc. marking as well.

i.e., as 3 × 2, or—which is still worse—even gratuitously incorporate the tripartite

(The representation of this sextolet is therefore incorrect in the edition by

Herewith the explanation of why I assume in bar 12 as root a C 𝄪 instead of

of the root C ♯ to C 𝄪 as well. In a complete realization, therefore, the passage

And now it will be understood if I say that by reason of its relationships,

motion; the tonicization, incidentally, of itself signifies a 5—6 process:

probably have presented the sustaining of the harmonies expressly in chords

Granted, Beethoven has elevated the figurations, which so fittingly serve

forcement in the left hand returns here as well.

that insufficiency of musical instinct, so often pilloried by me, of editors, eminent

or by intention) internally10 just to bring the content of bar 15—by exception—up to

he helped himself (only seemingly by accident!) to two extra quarters as product

This plan of the composer’s must serve as foundation of performance, and in

Reinecke) adopted. Clearly Bülow merely identified the incidental possibility,

We now encounter such a technique at the beginning of the Reprise: the melody

Nothing makes so clear the shortfall in musical understanding on the part of

Thus Bülow is in error when he writes: “the thirty-second-note sextolets are to be

Possibly because he misunderstood the form, Nottebohm paid no attention to

The Autograph provides the following information on this point. Originally

The new Leipzig edition has:

This is an unplayable “improvement.” The upper voice c♯2 has to be sustained to

Despite all compression, the second movement too can be described as a

in the imitations, Beethoven understandably took care that a counterforce appear

(Seventh-leaps here stand for connections by second—compare Counterpoint I,

In performance, the aforementioned motivic construction demands that one alto-

In appearance the Theme consists of sixteen bars, but in actuality it consists

1. through the extraordinarily cantabile and thus also completely indivisible

Now a few bar-by-bar comments

Beethoven’s notation can be understood as follows: bar 2 of the Theme shows the

between two notes (compare Ornamentation, p. 138/71), is written out by Beethoven

The melodic line of the Theme is immediately recognizable and traceable in

but partly, as in bars 3 and 4, according to the following pattern:

Observe the enharmonic change in bars 7 and 8 of B ♭ instead of A♯ (E major: ♯IVЭиһ = F Bars

thereby be misled into underscoring them especially strongly in performance just in

Thus here we find essentially an ordinary passing motion, which, however, as

of itself explains the abutment of the sixteenths in bar 16 and bar [9].

is increased by marcato- and sf-accents to an incomparably greater level of intensity.

There is no reason, then, to differentiate “neutral” tones from sixteenths on which

My text thus shows the passage as revised.

The other possible nuancing:

“The lameness of this unnecessary contrary motion to the bass is so obvious.

analogously to the intensification of dynamics, that of the accompaniment

d’Albert, Eugen. Leipzig: Forberg, n.d.

Citation Form Title

antecedent, 13, 16, 21, 34, 35, 43, 44 on performance, 17, 36–37, 64;

You might also like