Analyzing Tension and Drama in Beethovens First-Movement Sonata Forms

by

Mark C. Richards

A thesis submitted in conformity with the requirements

for the degree of Doctor of Philosophy
Graduate Department of Music
University of Toronto

Copyright by Mark C. Richards (2011)

Abstract
Analyzing Tension and Drama in Beethovens First-Movement Sonata Forms
Mark Christopher Richards
Doctor of Philosophy (2011)
Graduate Department of Music
University of Toronto
Dramatic, in the sense of highly intense, is a quality we often associate with the music
of Beethoven, but no theory has attempted to define drama in any systematic manner. This study
therefore explores the idea by constructing a theory that distinguishes between dramatic and nondramatic passages. At the core of the theory is the notion that drama is the result of several types
of tension occurring simultaneously. Dramatic passages have a High tension level, whereas
non-dramatic ones have a Low level. Individual tension types are divided into two categories:
rhetorical and syntactical. Rhetorical tension types include such features as a loud dynamic, a
fast rhythm, and a thick texture, which need no musical context to be expressed. By contrast,
syntactical tension types include such features as chromaticism, metric irregularity, and phrase
expansion, which always require a comparison of events to be expressed. Only tension types
from the same category may combine to form drama.
Because this study examines the relationships between drama and sonata form, the
analysis of form is a key issue that receives a separate chapter and additional thought throughout.
The methodology combines aspects of William E. Caplins theory of formal functions and James
Hepokoski and Warren Darcys Sonata Theory, and is applied to all of Beethovens firstmovement sonata forms, a total of eighty-seven movements. Each formal unit is analyzed as one
of six dramatic archetypes that describe a basic outline of High and/or Low tension levels.
These archetypes constitute the dramatic structure of the piece.

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Percentage frequencies of the archetypes were calculated for each formal unit in the
movements as a whole, and as grouped by the categories of key, mode, genre, and style period.
The greatest distinctions in dramatic structure occur among the three style periods of early,
middle, and late, the early works showing a sectional approach with contrasting tension between
phrases and the middle to late works gradually becoming more continuous, maintaining the same
tension levels between units. A concluding analysis of Beethovens String Trio, op. 3,
demonstrates the theorys ability to enrich the interpretation of an individual work.

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Acknowledgements
There are many people I would like to thank for their invaluable assistance in the writing
of this dissertation. From my very first ideas to the final draft, my advisor, Prof. Ryan
McClelland, was a constant source of helpful guidance as he provided thoughtful and intelligent
responses to my work and always knew how to increase the effectiveness of my arguments. In
his written feedback, his wonderful thoroughness and attention to detail, no matter how small,
were an enormous asset, especially in verifying the copious numerical data on which I based so
many of my observations.
I am also indebted to the members of my committee, Profs. Robin Elliott and Mary Ann
Parker, for taking the time to read through the drafts and provide essential and insightful
comments that helped to strengthen the conceptual framework of the theory and enhance the
clarity of the text. Moreover, I am very grateful for their constant enthusiasm and positive
support in researching this little explored area of music theory.
Many thanks to Prof. Mark Sallmen for reading the final draft and taking part in my
doctoral defense. His keen skills as a theorist caught some analytical errors at important points.
A debt of gratitude is also owed to Prof. Scott Burnham, whose extremely gracious
remarks for the defense, both written and verbal, were most encouraging and especially helped
me to understand how I might further pursue the ideas presented in this dissertation.
I would like to thank my parents, whose encouragement in all of my musical endeavours
have inspired me to pursue my love of music to its fullest.
Finally, my beloved wife Natasha deserves enormous thanks for her continual willingness
to help me sort through the many conceptual roadblocks I met while writing this dissertation, and
for her infinite patience and tireless support throughout my entire graduate education.

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Table of Contents
Introduction......................................................................................................................... 1
I. What is Drama?: Defining Types of Tension........................................................ 2
II. Background
i) Caplin: Formal Functions.......................................................................... 6
ii) Hepokoski and Darcy: Sonata Theory...................................................... 9
iii) Other Important Sources.......................................................................... 12
III. The Theory of Dramatic Structure...................................................................... 13
IV. Limitations and Aims of the Study..................................................................... 15
Part 1: The Analysis of Dramatic Structure
Chapter 1: The Analysis of Musical Form........................................................................ 18
I. Determining the Type of Sonata Form.................................................................. 18
II. Large-Scale Analysis: Breaking the Form Down into Sections and Zones......... 20
III. Small-Scale Analysis: Breaking the Large Sections Down into Themes,
Theme-like Units and Other Smaller Structures
i) Thematic Areas of Sonata Form (P and S)................................................ 22
a) Sentence........................................................................................ 25
b) Period............................................................................................ 29
c) Caplins Hybrid Themes............................................................... 30
d) Other Hybrid Themes.................................................................... 33
e) Cadence Types............................................................................... 34
f) Framing Functions: Introductions and Post-Cadential Functions.. 40
g) Other Small-Scale Functions: Retransition, Transition,
and Expansion................................................................................ 42
ii) Non-Thematic Areas of Sonata Form
a) Theme-Like Units......................................................................... 45
b) Slow Introductions........................................................................ 46
c) Transitions..................................................................................... 47
d) Developments............................................................................... 49
e) Codas............................................................................................ 50
Chapter 2: The Analysis of Musical Tension and Drama............................................... 52
I. Rhetorical and Syntactical Tension........................................................................ 52
i) Rhetorical Tension Types
a) Dynamic Tension........................................................................... 54
b) Rhythmic Tension..........................................................................58
c) Melodic Tension............................................................................ 61
d) Harmonic Tension......................................................................... 63
e) Textural Tension........................................................................... 64
f) Thickness Tension......................................................................... 65
g) Timbral Tension............................................................................ 67
ii) Syntactical Tension Types
a) Tonal Tension................................................................................ 71
b) Metric Tension............................................................................... 73
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c) Expansional Tension..................................................................... 76
d) Accelerative Tension..................................................................... 79
e) Closural Tension........................................................................... 81
f) Implicational Tension.................................................................... 83
II. How Tension Types Combine to Create Drama................................................... 84
i) Rhetorical Drama....................................................................................... 84
ii) Syntactical Drama..................................................................................... 92
iii) Units of Dramatic Structure..................................................................... 97
Part 2: Dramatic Structures in Beethovens First-Movement Type 3 Sonata Forms
Introduction to Chapter 3
I. Archetypes of Dramatic Structure.......................................................................... 109
II. Patterns in Dramatic Structure.............................................................................. 114
Chapter 3: The Exposition.................................................................................................. 118
I. The Primary-Theme Zone (P).................................................................................118
II. The Transition Zone (TR)..................................................................................... 133
III. The Secondary-Theme Zone (S).......................................................................... 150
IV. The Closing Section (CL).................................................................................... 173
Chapter 4: The Development.............................................................................................. 190
I. Zone 1 (D1)............................................................................................................. 191
II. Zone 2 (D2)........................................................................................................... 196
III. Zone 3 (D3).......................................................................................................... 201
i) Single-Module D3-Zones........................................................................... 204
ii) Two-Module D3-Zones............................................................................. 209
iii) Three- and Four-Module D3-Zones......................................................... 217
IV. Zone 4 (D4).......................................................................................................... 218
Chapter 5: The Recapitulation........................................................................................... 229
I. The Primary-Theme Zone (P)................................................................................ 235
II. The Transition Zone (TR)..................................................................................... 243
III. The Secondary-Theme Zone (S)......................................................................... 250
IV. The Closing Section (CL)................................................................................... 252
Chapter 6: The Coda and Slow Introduction...................................................................
I. The Coda...............................................................................................................
i) Beethovens Codas: General Features.......................................................
ii) Zones 1 and 2 (Z1 and Z2)........................................................................
iii) Zone 3 (Z3)..............................................................................................
II. The Slow Introduction.........................................................................................
i) Beethovens Slow Introductions: General Features..................................
ii) Zone 1 (I1)................................................................................................
iii) Zone 2 (I2)...............................................................................................
iv) Zone 3 (I3)...............................................................................................
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260
261
271
273
275
282
284
285
287
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Chapter 7: Epilogue
I. Summary and Conclusions..................................................................................... 297
II. Dramatic Structure in Beethovens String Trio in E-Flat Major, op. 3................ 308
Bibliography......................................................................................................................... 326
Appendix A Beethovens Eighty-Seven Published Works with First Movements in
Type 3 Sonata Form, and Their Date of Composition, Style Period, and Key........ 334
Appendix B Dramatic Analysis of All Eighty-Seven of Beethovens First-Movement
Type 3 Sonata Forms................................................................................................ 336

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List of Tables
Introduction
Table 1 Types of Tension................................................................................................... 14
Chapter 1
Table 1.1 Formal Functions for the Analysis of Themes................................................... 24
Table 1.2 Caplins Hybrid Themes.................................................................................... 33
Table 1.3 Other Hybrid Themes......................................................................................... 34
Chapter 2
Table 2.1 Rhetorical Tension Types and Their Definitions............................................... 54
Table 2.2 Syntactical Tension Types and Their Definitions.............................................. 54
Table 2.3 Timbral Tension Threshold Pitches for Instruments of Beethovens Era.......... 70
Table 2.4 Dramatic Structure in P and TR of Beethovens Fifth Symphony Exposition... 108
Introduction to Chapter 3
Table 3.1 The Six Archetypes of Dramatic Structure........................................................ 113
Chapter 3
Table 3.2 Archetypes in P1.0.............................................................................................. 119
Table 3.3 Archetypes in P1................................................................................................ 121
Table 3.4 High Endings to TR by TR Type........................................................................ 134
Table 3.5 High Endings to Modulating TRs by Style Period............................................ 136
Table 3.6 High Endings to TR Part 1 in Two-Part TRs by Style Period........................... 148
Table 3.7 High Endings to TR Part 2 in Two-Part TRs by Style Period........................... 148
Table 3.8 High Endings to S-Themes in the Early Period................................................. 157
Table 3.9 High Endings to S-Themes in the Middle Period.............................................. 158
Table 3.10 High Endings to S-Themes in the Late Period................................................. 158
Table 3.11 Archetypes in Single-Codetta CLs by Style Period......................................... 175
Table 3.12 Tension Between End of S and Start of Single-Codetta CL by Style Period.. 180
Table 3.13 High Endings to CL by Style Period............................................................... 184
Table 3.14 High Endings to P, TR, S, and CL by Style Period......................................... 184
Table 3.15 Tension Between RT1 and First Module of an Expositional Repeat by Style
Period........................................................................................................................ 187
Table 3.16 Tension Between RT2 and First Module of Development by Style Period..... 187
Table 3.17 Tension Between Last Module of Exposition Proper (S or CL) and First
Module of Development by Style Period.................................................................. 187
Chapter 4
Table 4.1 L Archetype in D1 by Style Period....................................................................
Table 4.2 Low-Low Connections into D1 by Style Period................................................
Table 4.3 Tension Between Single-Module D2-zones and Following Zone by Style
Period.......................................................................................................................
Table 4.4 Comparison of Tension Between Modules Within Two-Module D2-Zones
and Between Two-Module D2-Zones and Following Zone by Style Period............
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196
199
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Table 4.5 High Endings to D3 by Style Period..................................................................

Table 4.6 - Percentages of D3-Zones with One to Four Modules by Style Period...............
Table 4.7 Archetypes in Single-Module D3-Zones by Style Period..................................
Table 4.8 Tension Between Single-Module D3-Zones and Surrounding Modules by
Style Period...............................................................................................................
Table 4.9 Three- and Four-Module D3-Zones Ending with a High Dramatic Unit by
Style Period...............................................................................................................
Table 4.10 Frequencies of D4 and TRSod by Style Period..................................................
Table 4.11 Archetypes in D4.1 by Style Period (Single-Module and First Module of
Two-Module Zones).................................................................................................
Table 4.12 Tension Between End of D3 (or D2) and Beginning of D4 by Style Period....
Table 4.13 High Endings to D4 by Style Period................................................................
Table 4.14 Tension Between End of Development and Beginning of Recapitulation by
Style Period...............................................................................................................
Table 4.15 Frequencies of Dramatic Strategies (Types of Drama Present) in High
Units at the End of Development Sections by Style Period.....................................

204
204
205
208
218
220
221
221
223
223
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Chapter 5
Table 5.1 Comparison of Archetype Frequencies in P1.0.................................................. 237
Table 5.2 Comparison of Archetype Frequencies in P1.................................................... 237
Table 5.3 Frequency of Dramatic Returns at Recapitulations (Compared to Low Starts
to Exposition) by Style Period.................................................................................. 240
Table 5.4 Comparison of Archetypes at End of P-Zone Between Exposition and
Recapitulation in Works that Omit Post-Cadential-P or P2 in Recapitulation.......... 241
Table 5.5 Comparison of Archetypes at End of P-Zone Between Exposition and
Recapitulation in Works that Retain Post-Cadential-P or P2 in Recapitulation........ 243
Table 5.6 Frequencies of Recapitulated TRs that Begin With Correspondence or
Referential Measures by TR Type............................................................................ 247
Table 5.7 S-Zone Alterations in Beethovens Recapitulations.......................................... 251
Table 5.8 Frequency of Retained Modules and Archetypes in Recapitulations CL........ 253
Table 5.9 Comparison of High Endings to CL in Exposition and Recapitulation by
Style Period............................................................................................................... 253
Table 5.10 Archetypes of CL Module from Exposition that is Omitted in
Recapitulation, and Its Replacement Archetype in Coda......................................... 254
Table 5.11 Frequencies of RT2 in the Recapitulation (of Works with a Coda) by Style
Period........................................................................................................................ 257
Chapter 6
Table 6.1 Frequency of a Coda by Style Period................................................................
Table 6.2 Number of Modules in Coda by Style Period....................................................
Table 6.3 Tension Between Modules into Z1 by Style Period...........................................
Table 6.4 Frequency of Z2 by Style Period........................................................................
Table 6.5 Initial Tension Levels in Z3 by Style Period......................................................
Table 6.6 Tension Between End of Recapitulation Proper and Coda Beginning with Z3
by Style Period..........................................................................................................
Table 6.7 Number of Modules in Z3 by Style Period........................................................
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272
272
274
274
276
276
277

Table 6.8 Tension at End of Z3 and End of Movement by Style Period...........................

Table 6.9 Low Movement Ends in the Major and Minor Mode by Style Period..............
Table 6.10 Comparison of High Starts to I1 and to First Module of I by Style Period.....
Table 6.11 Archetypes in Last Module of I2.....................................................................
Table 6.12 Frequency of I3 by Style Period......................................................................
Table 6.13 Frequency of Slow Introductions that End High by Style Period...................
Table 6.14 Tension Between Modules from Slow Introduction into First P Module by
Style Period...............................................................................................................

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282
286
289
293
294
294

List of Examples
Unless otherwise noted, all references are to first movements and, from chapter 2 onward, to
works by Beethoven.
Chapter 1
Example 1.1 A Sentence Within a Period Theme; Mozart, Piano Sonata in A Major,
K. 331, mm. 1-8........................................................................................................ 26
Example 1.2 Three Types of Sentence
a) Monofold Sentence; Mozart, Piano Sonata in E-Flat Major, K. 282, mm. 1-4.... 28
b) Trifold Sentence; Haydn, String Quartet in C Major, op. 50, no. 2, mm. 1-9...... 28
c) Quadrifold Sentence; Beethoven, Piano Sonata in E-flat Major, op. 7,
mm. 273-280......................................................................................................... 28
Example 1.3 Large-Scale Basic Ideas
a) Structured as a Sentence and Supported by a Dominant Prolongation;
Beethoven, Piano Sonata in D Minor, op. 31, no. 2, Tempest, mm. 41-49...... 31
b) Larger than Four Measures; Beethoven, Piano Sonata in D Major, op. 28,
Pastoral, mm. 1-39............................................................................................ 32
Example 1.4 Cadential Function as Determined by the Start of a Melodic Event (Along
with Harmony and Location)
a) Cadence Beginning Before (and with Embellishment of) the Initial Tonic
Harmony; Mozart, Piano Sonata in B-flat Major, K. 333, mm. 1-10................... 37
b) Cadence Beginning After the Initial Tonic Harmony; Haydn, Piano Sonata in
A Major, Hob. XVI: 12, II, mm. 1-10................................................................... 37
c) Cadence Beginning After the Predominant Harmony; Beethoven, Piano Sonata
in A Major, op. 2, no. 2, IV, mm. 5-8................................................................... 38
Example 1.5 A Separated PAC; Beethoven, Piano Sonata in C Minor, op. 111,
mm. 34-35................................................................................................................. 40
Example 1.6 A Transition Function; Beethoven, Piano Sonata in E-flat Major, op. 7,
mm. 181-190............................................................................................................. 43
Example 1.7 Expansion Functions
a) Beethoven, Cello Sonata in F Major, op. 5, no. 1, mm. 132-137......................... 44
b) Beethoven, String Trio, op. 3, mm. 63-83............................................................ 45
Chapter 2
Example 2.1 Different Types of Elision
a) Left Elision by a Loud Dynamic, Piano Sonata in B-Flat Major, op. 22,
mm. 58-63............................................................................................................. 57
b) Left Elision by a Soft Dynamic, Violin Sonata in A Minor, op. 23, mm. 50-55.. 57
c) Left Elision with a Crescendo Preparing a Loud Dynamic, Cello Sonata in
D Major, op. 102, no. 1, mm. 8-14........................................................................ 57
d) Right Elision by a Loud Dynamic, Piano Sonata in E-Flat Major, op. 7,
mm. 29-35............................................................................................................. 58
Example 2.2 Bass Pedal Points and Harmonic Acceleration; Piano Sonata in C Minor,
op. 13, Pathtique, mm. 11-19.............................................................................. 81

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Example 2.3 Passages Containing One Type of Rhetorical Tension

a) Dynamic Tension (Horn Sonata in F Major, op. 17, mm. 1-4); not Dramatic..... 85
b) Rhythmic Tension (Violin Sonata in E-flat Major, op. 12, no. 3, mm. 13-16);
not Dramatic......................................................................................................... 85
c) Melodic Tension (Piano Sonata in F Minor, op. 2, no. 1, mm. 1-2); not
Dramatic............................................................................................................... 86
Example 2.4 Rhetorical Tension and Drama
a) Not Dramatic; Only Rhythmic Tension (Piano Sonata in G Major, op. 31,
no. 1, mm. 1-3)..................................................................................................... 86
b) Dramatic; Rhythmic and Dynamic Tension (mm. 194-196)............................... 86
Example 2.5 Dramatic Combinations of Dynamic Tension and Other Rhetorical Types
a) Dynamic and Thickness Tension (Piano Sonata in C Minor, op. 10, no. 1,
mm. 1-4)............................................................................................................... 87
b) Dynamic and Timbral Tension (Piano Sonata in E-Flat Major, op. 31, no. 3,
mm. 39-46)........................................................................................................... 88
Example 2.6 Dramatic Combinations of Dynamic Tension and Multiple Other
Rhetorical Types (Piano Sonata in E-flat Major, op. 7, mm. 355-359)................... 88
Example 2.7 Combinations of Rhetorical Tension Types without Dynamic Tension
a) Rhythmic and Melodic Tension; not Dramatic (Piano Sonata in A Major,
op. 2, no. 2, IV, mm. 1-2)..................................................................................... 89
b) Rhythmic and Timbral Tension; not Dramatic (Piano Sonata in A-flat Major,
op. 110, mm. 12-13)............................................................................................. 89
Example 2.8 Rhythmic, Melodic, and Timbral Tension; Dramatic (Piano Sonata in
C Minor, op. 13, Pathtique, mm. 11-14)............................................................. 89
Example 2.9 Rhetorical Drama from Parallelism (String Trio in E-Flat Major, op. 3,
mm. 1-6).................................................................................................................... 91
Example 2.10 Accelerative Tension Only; not Dramatic (Piano Sonata in G Major,
op. 14, no. 2, mm. 1-8).............................................................................................. 92
Example 2.11 Tonal Tension Only; not Dramatic (Piano Sonata in C Major, op. 53,
Waldstein, mm. 1-8).............................................................................................. 93
Example 2.12 Non-Dramatic Combinations of Syntactical Tension Types
a) Tonal and Accelerative Tension (Piano Sonata in E-flat Major, op. 7,
mm. 221-229)........................................................................................................ 93
b) Expansional and Implicational Tension (op. 7, mm. 213-219)............................ 94
Example 2.13 Dramatic Combinations of Syntactical Tension
a) Tonal, Expansional, and Implicational Tension (op. 7, mm. 81-93).................... 96
b) Tonal, Metric, Expansional, and Accelerative Tension (Eroica Symphony,
mm. 3-11).............................................................................................................. 96
Example 2.14 Two Tension Types in Each Category; not Dramatic (String Quartet in
C Minor, op. 18, no. 4, mm. 33-41).......................................................................... 97
Example 2.15 P and TR of the Fifth Symphony, mm. 1-62.............................................. 99
Introduction to Chapter 3
Example 3.1 Dramatic Structure in the Piano Sonata in C Minor, op. 10, no. 1,
mm. 1-22................................................................................................................... 114

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Chapter 3
Example 3.2 LH Archetype in P1 of First Symphony, mm. 13-33.................................... 124
Example 3.3 LHL Archetype in P1 of the Piano Sonata in F-Sharp Major, op. 78,
mm. 4-12................................................................................................................... 127
Example 3.4 Accompaniments to S That Begin Before S-Zone
a) Piano Sonata in F Minor, op. 2, no. 1, mm. 18-22................................................ 138
b) Piano Sonata in D Minor, op. 31, no. 2, Tempest, mm. 39-42.......................... 139
Example 3.5 A Flush-Juxtaposed TR and S in the Eroica Symphony, mm. 37-46........ 139
Example 3.6 The Two Styles of Classical Instrumental Music
a) Symphony Style Violin Sonata in A Minor, op. 47, Kreutzer, mm. 18-27..... 142
b) Sonata Style String Quartet in A Major, op. 18, no. 5, mm. 1-15..................... 143
Example 3.7 Continuous, Non-Dramatic Cadence in Piano Sonata in F Minor, op. 57,
Appassionata, mm. 35-51...................................................................................... 145
Example 3.8 Postponement of Promised Drama in the String Quartet in F Major,
op. 59, no. 1
a) End of S-Zone in Exposition, mm. 85-93............................................................. 155
b) Coda, mm. 332-351.............................................................................................. 156
Example 3.9 High Ending to an S-Theme, First Strategy, in Piano Sonata in B-Flat
Major, op. 22, mm. 22-30......................................................................................... 161
Example 3.10 High Ending to S-Theme, Second Strategy, in Piano Sonata in E Major,
op. 14, no. 1, mm. 22-46........................................................................................... 163
Example 3.11 - High Ending to S-Theme, Fourth Strategy, in Piano Sonata in C Minor,
op. 13, Pathtique, mm. 101-113........................................................................... 167
Example 3.12 Standing on the Dominant with High Ending, Compensating for S Start
in Wrong Key, String Trio in C Minor, op. 9, no. 3, mm. 17-41.......................... 171
Example 3.13 Transition Function that Mitigates Differing Tension Levels Between
S-Themes, Piano Sonata in D Major, op. 28, Pastoral, mm. 71-91....................... 174
Example 3.14 Continuity Between Codetta and Development Section
a) By Tension Level and Motive, Piano Sonata in E Minor, op. 90, mm. 71-84..... 177
b) By Tension Level and Closing Exposition without a Triad or Unison, String
Quartet in A Minor, op. 132, mm. 73-78.............................................................. 178
Example 3.15 Excited Effect Followed by a Tutti Effect to Close the Exposition, Piano
Sonata in C Major, op. 2, no. 3, mm. 85-90............................................................. 184
Chapter 4
Example 4.1 Prominent B-Naturals at or Near Start of Development in E-Flat-Major
Movements
a) Piano Trio, op. 1, no. 1, mm. 104b-112................................................................ 193
b) Piano Sonata, op. 7, mm. 135-141........................................................................ 193
c) Eroica Symphony, op. 55, mm. 154-166 (piano reduction)................................. 194
d) String Quartet, op. 127, mm. 65-76...................................................................... 194
Example 4.2 Functions of D2-Zones
a) As a Pre-Core; String Trio in C Minor, op. 9, no. 3, mm. 74-82.......................... 197
b) As a Small-Scale Core; Piano Sonata in G Major, op. 49, no. 2, mm. 53-60....... 197
Example 4.3 An LH Archetype in a Single-Module D3-Zone; Violin Sonata in A Major,
op. 12, no. 2, mm. 88-110......................................................................................... 206
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Example 4.4 Drama in an LH Archetype in the First Module of a Two-Module D3Zone from the Early Period; Piano Sonata in E-Flat Major, op. 7, mm. 137-165.... 211
Example 4.5 An LH Archetype in the First Module of a Two-Module D3 from the
Middle Period; String Quartet in E Minor, op. 59, no. 2, mm. 89-107..................... 213
Example 4.6 Drama in an LH Archetype in the First Module of a Two-Module D3Zone from the Late Period; from Piano Sonata in E Minor, op. 90, mm. 82-111.... 215
Example 4.7 A High-High Connection Between D3 and D4 from Piano Sonata in
C Minor, op. 111, mm. 76-87................................................................................... 222
Chapter 5
Example 5.1 A Dramatic Return in the Piano Sonata in E-Flat Major, op. 7
a) Start of Exposition, mm. 1-6................................................................................
b) Start of Recapitulation, mm. 189-194..................................................................
Example 5.2 Comparison of a Modulating TR with its Recapitulation; Piano Sonata in
E-Flat Major, op. 81a
a) Exposition, mm. 29-36.........................................................................................
b) Recapitulation, mm. 122-128...............................................................................
Example 5.3 Comparison of a Non-Modulating TR with its Recapitulation; Septet,
op. 20
a) Exposition, mm. 39-52.........................................................................................
b) Recapitulation, mm. 172-187...............................................................................
Example 5.4 Transposed Opening of S-Zone in Recapitulation; Piano Trio in D Major,
op. 70, no. 1, Ghost, mm. 215-226........................................................................
Example 5.5 Comparison of Tension at End of CL in the Sextet, op. 71
a) Exposition, mm. 98-111 (CL1 and CL2)...............................................................
b) Recapitulation, mm. 264-278 (CL1 and first module of coda, Z1).......................

239
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248
249
252
255
256

Chapter 6
Example 6.1 String Trio in D Major, op. 9, no. 2
a) End of Exposition; mm. 103-110.......................................................................... 264
b) Codetta-Based Material that is Part of the Recapitulation (not the Coda);
mm. 300-end......................................................................................................... 265
Example 6.2 Piano Sonata in A-Flat Major, op. 110
a) End of Exposition; mm. 34-38.............................................................................. 266
b) New Codetta-Based Material that Begins Coda; mm. 93-105............................. 266
Example 6.3 Piano Sonata in E-Flat Major, op. 7
a) End of Exposition; mm. 127-136.......................................................................... 268
b) New Material Elided with End of Recapitulation to Begin Coda; mm. 307-318.. 268
Example 6.4 Piano Trio in E-Flat Major, op. 1, no. 1
a) End of Exposition; mm. 94-104............................................................................ 269
b) New Material not Elided with Recapitulation to Begin Coda; mm. 244-252...... 269
Example 6.5 Piano Sonata in G Minor, op. 49, no. 1
a) End of Exposition; mm. 28-33............................................................................. 270
b) Codetta-Based Material Not Elided with Recapitulation to Begin Coda;
mm. 96-106........................................................................................................... 270
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Example 6.6 Tension Types at End of a Movement that Ends with High Tension; Piano
Trio in C Minor, op. 1, no. 3, mm. 351-360............................................................. 281
Example 6.7 Zone 3 (I3) of a Slow Introduction as a Small-Scale Transition; Violin
Sonata in A Minor, op. 47, Kreutzer, mm. 9-18................................................... 283
Example 6.8 Differing Types of Tonal Tension in Final I2 Modules
a) Diatonic and Mixtural Tonal Tension; Septet, op. 20, mm. 1-8........................... 291
b) Distant Tonal Tension; Pathtique Sonata, op. 13, mm. 5-9............................ 292
Chapter 7: Epilogue
Example 7.1 Dramatic Structure in Beethovens String Trio in E-Flat Major, op. 3........ 317

xv

List of Figures
Chapter 1
Figure 1.1 Three Types of Continuation with Cadence.................................................... 29
Figure 1.2 A Sixteen-Measure Period............................................................................... 30
Introduction to Chapter 3
Figure 3.1 All Possible Modules in Beethovens First-Movement Type 3 Sonata Forms
(for the Purposes of This Study)............................................................................... 117

xvi

List of Appendices
Appendix A Beethovens Eighty-Seven Published Works with First Movements in
Type 3 Sonata Form, and Their Date of Composition, Style Period, and Key........ 334
Appendix B Dramatic Analysis of All Eighty-Seven of Beethovens First-Movement
Type 3 Sonata Forms................................................................................................ 336

xvii

Introduction
Dramaticin the sense of highly intenseis a term that seems inextricably bound to
virtually every description of classical sonata form from recent decades. In part, scholars are
motivated to use this and other similar terms like intensity and tension by some of the most
essential features of the form, especially in relation to first movements, features that Charles
Rosen collectively refers to as sonata style:
The method of articulating and dramatizing a variety of old forms that we call sonata style gave rise in turn
to a new set of forms, equally various. If we order these forms according to the expressive intensity of the
structuresthat is, the importance of the tonic-dominant polarization, the degree to which this is
heightened, the way the resolution is achievedthen we will find that they fall broadly into four types,
which correspond fairly well to whichever movement of the sonata as a whole employs them most
frequently: first, second, minuet, or finale. First-movement forms are the most dramatically structured.1

But what are the specific musical devices occurring within these sonata forms that may be
considered dramatic? While a wide variety of theoretical sources has discussed many aspects of
classical music in these dramatic terms, none has sought to determine precisely what
mechanisms contribute to the sense of drama in these works. In this study, I therefore attempt a
systematic analysis of drama in sonata form using the first movements of Beethoven as a model,
since these pieces often possess an intensity that, intuitively, could only be called dramatic.
The study of drama in Beethoven fits into a larger body of recent music-theoretical work
on the classical repertoire that deals with surface-level details of the music and their impact on its
form or expressive/rhetorical implications. Prominent among these is James Hepokoski and
Warren Darcys Elements of Sonata Theory, a comprehensive investigation of classical sonata
form that is constantly informed by rhetorical features such as dynamics, texture, rhythm, and

Charles Rosen, Sonata Forms, rev. ed. (New York: W. W. Norton, 1988), 98. Considering the close relationship
between Rosens work and that of Tovey, it is not surprising to find a similarand similarly frequentuse of the
term dramatic throughout the latters work in connection with sonata form or sonata style. To cite one instance
of many, see Donald Francis Tovey, Some Aspects of Beethovens Art Forms, in The Main Stream of Music and
Other Essays (New York: Oxford University Press, 1949), 275, who opines, a composer whose music is dramatic,
as all true sonata style is, . . .

2
melodic content.2 Their work is especially pertinent to the present study for its numerous
discussions of the relationships between these rhetorical features and specific locations in sonata
form. Robert Hattens two books take as their basis Leonard Ratners idea of musical topics,
each of which is defined by such details as surface rhythms and harmonies, metre, texture, and
melodic style. Going a step further, Hatten maps expressive oppositions onto these topics to
derive emotional meaning from the music, which, on the largest scale, creates what he calls
expressive genres.3 Along the same lines is Kofi Agawus Playing with Signs, which combines
Ratners topics with Schenkerian analysis in order to explore the interactions between classical
musics rhetoric and syntax (or expression and structure) and determine ways the two
may overlap to create regions of compositional play.4 Finally, there is Austin T. Pattys recent
Music Theory Spectrum article on pacing scenarios, which, although concerned with repertoire
of the late-nineteenth century, examines how factors such as dynamics, textural thickness,
melodic direction, and rhythmic and harmonic accelerations or decelerations contribute to our
understanding of musical climaxes.5 But because none of these works has suggested any
definitions for drama in music, it is necessary to establish some first principles on which to build
a theory of dramatic structure.

I. What is Drama?: Defining Types of Tension

Excluding definitions involving staged or enacted narrative of any kind, the term
dramatic when applied to music is simply another way of saying that an event is highly
2

James Hepokoski and Warren Darcy, Elements of Sonata Theory: Norms, Types, and Deformations in the LateEighteenth-Century Sonata (New York: Oxford University Press, 2006).
3
Robert Hatten, Musical Meaning in Beethoven: Markedness, Correlation, and Interpretation (Bloomington:
Indiana University Press, 1994); Robert Hatten, Interpreting Musical Gestures, Topics, and Tropes: Mozart,
Beethoven, and Schubert (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 2004).
4
V. Kofi Agawu, Playing with Signs: A Semiotic Interpretation of Classic Music (Princeton: Princeton University
Press, 1991).
5
Austin T. Patty, Pacing Scenarios: How Harmonic Rhythm and Melodic Pacing Influence Our Experience of
Musical Climax, Music Theory Spectrum 31 (2009): 325-67.

3
intense, or in other words, has a high degree of tension. But then, what is tension, and what
determines a high degree of it? For our purposes here, I would propose that, fundamentally,
tension may be defined as any event that requires a high or relatively high level of musical
energy, whether that energy is compacted into a single gesture or distributed over a more gradual
process. This definition explains why seeming opposites such as phrase expansion (which
increases the length of structural units) and fragmentation (which progressively decreases the
length of structural units) may both be understood as forms of musical tension: in the former,
energy is required to stretch the phrase out longer than is syntactically necessary; in the latter,
energy is required to accelerate the rate of progress in the phrase. With this definition, then,
precisely what factors may be considered types of musical tension? To answer this question, I
refer to a study of melodic highpoints by Zohar Eitan, who distinguishes among emphasis,
intensity, and tension:
In this study the notion of emphasis is used in a very general sense, denoting anything that is relatively
attention-getting in a time-pattern (Jones 1987: 622). Intensity is used here within a conceptual
background such as the intensification-abatement model (Hopkins 1990, chapter 2; Berry 1976),
postulating that some musical parameters have two opposing directions of change: one intensifying,
namely, promoting activity and elevating tension, the other abating, namely, lessening activity and
lowering tension. The related concept of musical tension refers here to an unstable, open, state, strongly
implying continuation and resolution.6

Of these terms, I consider the latter two to constitute two types of tension, what I will
respectively call rhetorical tension and syntactical tension. (Eitans choice of similar terms for
the two concepts, as well as his admission that they are indeed related, supports this idea.)
Rhetorical tension types (Eitans intensity) may be expressed along a spectrum of tensional
values, and encompass the following parameters (the range of tensional values, from low to high,
is shown in parentheses): dynamics (soft to loud), rhythm (slow to fast), melodic interval (large
leap down to large leap up), harmonic interval (perfect consonance to harsh dissonance), type of

Zohar Eitan, Highpoints: A Study of Melodic Peaks (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1997), 6.

4
texture (homophonic to polyphonic), thickness of texture (one voice to many voices), and timbre
(mellow/dark to harsh/bright). Such parameters essentially agree with Leonard Meyers notion of
statistical parameters, that is, those aspects of music that may be quantified (hence the term
statistical), but most importantly, are not essential to the musics formal structure;7
consequently, the form of the music remains the same regardless of whether the parameters
occur in a state of high or low tension. However, I prefer to describe these parameters as
rhetorical tension types because of the prevalence of the term rhetorical in theoretical writings
when referring to parameters that do not affect the form of a piece.8
Syntactical tension is based on Eitans definition of tension above: that which creates
instability in the music, and therefore implies further motion towards a more stable state. Such
tension implies further motion by exploiting the rules of musical syntax and thus has a direct
impact on the formal structure of the music. Types of syntactical tension include instabilities that
occur in tonality, metre, phrase rhythm, closure, as well as prolongations of dominant harmony
(which imply future motion to a tonic) and accelerations in surface rhythm, harmonic rhythm
and/or the length of structural units (all of which produce a forward-driving motion).9 A simple
example would be a half cadence: since a self-contained piece of tonal music cannot close with a
half cadence, it implies that more music lies ahead in order to arrive at the syntactically required

Leonard B. Meyer, Style and Music: Theory, History, and Ideology (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania
Press, 1989), 14-16. Whereas Meyer considers rhythm to be a syntactic (i.e., form-defining) parameter, I place it
in the rhetorical (Meyers statistical) category because I do not believe that note-to-note rhythms contribute to
form, but rather may accelerate or decelerate and hence create a spectrum of tensional values like other rhetorical
tension types.
8
Agawu, Playing with Signs, 67, distinguishes between syntactic and rhetorical components of cadences.
Following Agawus lead is William E. Caplin, The Classical Cadence: Conceptions and Misconceptions, Journal
of the American Musicological Society 57 (2004): 51-117, who likewise distinguishes between syntax and
rhetoric in cadences. Hepokoski and Darcy, Elements of Sonata Theory, 23, differentiate between the tonal form
and rhetorical form of a sonata. In addition, Eitan, Highpoints, 7, distinguishes between grammatical (i.e.,
syntactical) and rhetorical emphasis.
9
Cf. Meyer, Style and Music, 14, who considers the syntactic parameters of most musics of the world to be
melody, rhythm, and harmony. While my notion of syntactical tension certainly involves aspects of melody and
harmony, I rather define it by the more specific categories I discuss here (tonality, meter, etc.).

5
authentic cadence, after which the piece may then end. Besides the effects that syntactical
tension has on structure, one other feature that distinguishes it from rhetorical tension is its
inability to be expressed with a single intensified event. Whereas rhetorical tension may occur
with a sforzando marking over a single note, for example, syntactical tension requires a
comparison of juxtaposed events in order to be expressed. Thus the former tends to be an
absolute type of tension and the latter a relative type.
One important distinction to make at this point is that between tension and emphasis.
According to the definition I give here, tension always requires a high (or relatively high) degree
of musical energy, whereas emphasis, adopting Eitans definition, involves those features that
grasp ones attention, or more simply, are made prominent. But as a refinement of the latter
definition, I would propose that emphasis, as a rule, cannot be sustained over long stretches of
music. For example, if a piece begins with a forte gesture, it will create both emphasis and
tension, because loud gestures garner attention but also require a high energy level. However, if a
loud dynamic is sustained without change, the emphatic effect wears off, even though rhetorical
tension remains high. Consequently, emphasis tends to be concentrated in short gestures that
involve high contrast, but not necessarily high energy (such as a sudden drop to piano after an
extended fortissimo passage). It is for this reason that such effects as agogic accents, staccato
articulations, melodic highpoints (rather than the absolute pitches of a melody), and contrasts in
general create emphasis but do not create tension.
Noting the occurrence of rhetorical and syntactical tension in a piece of music is only part
of the process of analyzing dramatic content. In order to extract an overarching dramatic
structure for a particular section or piece, such tensions must be compared with their location in
the form. Moreover, since sonata form is the formal type under investigation here, a review of

6
the pertinent literature on classical form and its interactions with the various tension types I have
outlined above is now in order. Two recent books on classical form in particular will be of
central importance to the present study: those of William E. Caplin, and James Hepokoski and
Warren Darcy.

II. Background
i) Caplin: Formal Functions
Caplins book on classical form provides a detailed account of his theory of formal
functions, which revives the Formenlehre tradition of Arnold Schoenberg and his student Erwin
Ratz.10 The theory provides an ideal foundation on which to map tension types, not only because
it establishes a rigorous and highly detailed method for the analysis of form in these works, but
also because it explains much of how the syntax of this music operates, especially at the littlediscussed levels of structure below that of a complete phrase. For example, contrary to many
sources on form, the smallest unit of structure in Caplins view is not the motive but the basic
idea, which combines a few motives into a single gesture usually spanning two measures. This
basic idea can either be joined with other ideas to form complete themes (or theme-like units) or
fragmented into smaller units for the purpose of development. Various types of themes then
obtain from the particular arrangement of the ideas within a phrase.
Caplins theme type of the sentence occupies a privileged position in this study because,
inherently, it contains an accelerative type of tension. Structurally, it is defined by the three
formal functions of presentation, continuation, and cadence. The presentation initiates the theme
with a basic idea that may or may not be repeated, but most commonly, a presentation has two

10

William E. Caplin, Classical Form: A Theory of Formal Functions for the Instrumental Music of Haydn, Mozart,
and Beethoven (New York: Oxford University Press, 1998).

7
basic ideas and is four measures in length.11 The continuation then provides an intensification
through at least one of three types of acceleration: fragmentation (in which the size of the units,
as established in the presentation, becomes smaller, and perhaps increasingly so), a faster
harmonic rhythm, or an increase in surface rhythmic activity.12 These devices all serve to drive
the theme towards the final function, the cadence, which is often fused with the continuation into
a four-measure span.
Caplin also discusses a number of other issues regarding form that are especially
pertinent to this study. The techniques of cadential extension, through such means as imperfect,
evaded, abandoned, or repeated cadences, avoid closure in a phrase and therefore create
syntactical tension. Also in this category is Janet Schmalfeldts concept of the one more time
technique, in which a phrase promises an authentic cadence, but does not reach the final tonic
chord (resulting in an evaded cadence), then sounds that end one more time and completes it
with an authentic cadence.13 Caplins idea of a compound theme, in which one theme is nested
within another, is particularly valuable since it demonstrates that simple (eight-measure)
sentences may form the antecedent and consequent of a larger period theme, and thus a period,
which is often described as a more reposeful structure in opposition with the forward-driving
sentence, may in fact be composed of sentences and possess the very same accelerative type of
syntactical tension.
In contrast to the compound period, Caplins compound sentence does not involve such
nesting of theme types, but rather is distinguished by the number of measures contained in the
11

While Caplin, Classical Form, 35, defines the presentation as containing two basic ideas, I view it more broadly
as a function that may contain any number of basic ideas, even only one. For more discussion on this point, see my
chapter 1, Sentence.
12
Caplin, Classical Form, 41, also lists harmonic sequence as a defining feature of a continuation, but as explained
in my chapter 1, Sentence, I do not regard it as such.
13
Janet Schmalfeldt, Cadential Processes: The Evaded Cadence and the One More Time Technique, The Journal
of Musicological Research 12 (1992): 1-52.

8
theme. Normatively, the compound sentence is like a simple sentence, but with the proportions
doubled to form a sixteen-measure structure. Caplin does not discuss the nesting of one sentence
within another because his proportions of both the sentence and the basic idea make this
impossible: if a basic idea must always be either two measures (in the simple sentence) or four
(in the compound sentence), then a full eight-measure sentence cannot constitute a basic idea. If
one disregards the issue of length, however, then one finds that the nesting of sentences occurs
incredibly frequently in classical music. One common type involves sentences with a
continuation that is itself structured as a sentence the well-known opening theme of
Beethovens Piano Sonata, op. 2, no. 1, provides a typical example.14
A particularly enlarged version of the sentence, on the other hand, is a common feature of
development sections. Caplin describes this kind of structure with Ratzs idea of the core of the
development: The phrase-structural technique most characteristic of a development involves
the establishment of a relatively large model, which is repeated sequentially one or more times.
Subsequent fragmentation leads to a half cadence (or dominant arrival) of either the home key or
a development key.15 Clearly, this whole process of the core is tantamount to sentence structure,
but Caplin refrains from mentioning the resemblance, presumably because the putative
presentation generally does not prolong tonic harmony, which is one of his stipulations for that
function. Yet, there are sentences in which a tonic prolongation does not strictly occur within the
bounds of the presentation, as for example in the first theme of Beethovens Piano Sonata in G
Major, op. 14, no. 2, mm. 1-8, and his First Symphony, mm. 13-33.16 And conversely, there are

14

Such a structure is one of four types of continuation listed by Matthew BaileyShea, Beyond the Beethoven
Model: Sentence Types and Limits, Current Musicology 77 (2004): 5-33.
15
Caplin, Classical Form, 141. Dominant arrival is Caplins term for a non-cadential ending on V. For more on
this point, see my chapter 1, Cadence Types.
16
Caplin, Classical Form, 40. Of the sonata, Caplin notes that a tonic prolongation begun in the presentation is
completed within the continuation, but minimizes its significance, simply calling it an exceptional case.

9
development sections that contain a tonic prolongation within a presentation, as for example in
the first movement of Beethovens Fifth Symphony, mm. 129-138, where the return of the
movements opening material in F minor completes the prolongation with the first chord of the
continuation (just as the opening theme did). Thus, while it can be beneficial to distinguish
between a sentence as theme and a sentence as phrase structure, from a dramatic point of view,
there is analytical value in recognizing both as part of a larger family of sentence structures.

ii) Hepokoski and Darcy: Sonata Theory

James Hepokoski and Warren Darcys recent book Elements of Sonata Theory is one of
the largest and most thorough accounts of sonata form to date. One may therefore find
discussions of nearly any subject pertaining to the form as a whole and its various parts, large or
small. Their view of the sentence, for example, is somewhat broader than that of Caplin, since
they contend that not all presentations prolong tonic harmony, and therefore argue that it is not a
required feature of the function.17 Such a view would expand the sentence paradigm to include
presentations based on other harmonies, as for instance a dominant prolongation, which
sometimes occurs at the beginning of Beethovens second theme groups.
Although Hepokoski and Darcy employ most of Caplins terminology for theme types
(such as period, sentence, and hybrid themes), their view of sonata form relies primarily on
units of structure that they term modules: . . . module is intended to be a flexible term
covering any of a number of small building-blocks within a work, ranging from each of Caplins
two smaller ideas, to any slightly larger unit without strong inner contrasts, to, at times, a
consistent phrase itself.18 Depending on its location in the form, each module is assigned a
one- to three-letter abbreviation, most of which I adopt in this study, and the all-important
17
18

Hepokoski and Darcy, Elements of Sonata Theory, 84n14.

Hepokoski and Darcy, Elements of Sonata Theory, 69n10.

10
perfect authentic cadences (PACs), which provide the strongest type of closure, are enumerated
with superscript numerals. Thus, a first theme, or primary theme (P) as they call it, usually
begins with a module labelled P1. If there is an introduction to the theme, a P1.0 label is affixed.19
If after P1 there is then a PAC and another theme in the tonic, that theme is labelled P2. But if one
wishes to distinguish between modules that are not separated by PACs, numbers after a decimal
point may be used, as in P1.1, P1.2, and so on. While this latter notation may apply, for instance, to
the antecedent and consequent phrases of a period, it becomes especially useful in sections where
modules may flow into one another without cadential articulation, as in developments, codas,
and slow introductions.
Hepokoski and Darcys discussions of the various sections within a sonata movement are
strongly informed by features of the musical surface that, in the present theory, constitute
rhetorical tension types. They distinguish, for example, between P-themes that open with a
strong-launch option, which includes gestures that are forte, chordal, in dotted rhythm, and so
on, and those with a weak-launch option, which includes gestures that are piano and lyrical, or
engage in a crescendo effect. Moreover, each type of opening has an impact on the surrounding
sections of the movement: strong launches tend to occur in large-scale, public, or ambitious
works that lack a slow introduction, while weak launches tend to follow slow introductions and
be followed by a transition (TR) that is either a forte affirmation or a restatement of P.20 Their
view of TR does not depend on the appearance of a concluding V chord before the second theme,
as occurs in most sonata forms, but rather on TRs location within the exposition and its texture,

19

Hepokoski and Darcy, Elements of Sonata Theory, 72, also suggest only the superscript zero, as in P0, but for all
intents and purposes, I prefer the P1.0 label in order to emphasize the modules connection to the upcoming P1
module.
20
Hepokoski and Darcy, Elements of Sonata Theory, 66.

11
which they describe, significantly, as an energy-gain.21 The TR drives toward one of the
central features of Hepokoski and Darcys theory: the medial caesura (MC), which is the literal
break in texture that occurs directly before the secondary-theme zone (S) and classifies the
exposition type as two-part. (Without an MC, an exposition is of their continuous type.)
They observe that the beginning of S-themes are most often at a piano dynamic, but that a forte
opening to S can be the result of such events as a piano TR or a spilling over of energy from TR
into S.
Rhetorical features also inform Hepokoski and Darcys discussion of typical pathways
in development sections, which they divide into four optional zones.22 The first is a link between
the retransition (RT) at the end of the exposition into the development proper. The second is an
entry or preparation zone, often at a piano dynamic in anticipation of the third zone, the
central action or set of actions. Finally, the fourth zone is an exit or retransition leading to a
prolonged dominant chord in preparation for the recapitulation. But it is the central action that is,
as the name suggests, the real heart of the development and may involve up to three (or
occasionally more) subsections. Listing a wide range of events that may occur there, the authors
cite surging restlessness, moves to minor, Sturm und Drang outbursts, quieter, reactive
moments, special-effect episodes; and so on. Moreover, their suggestion that the central action
(as sometimes in Beethoven) can be a dramatic panorama of separate actions or dramatic
interactions encourages thought on precisely how a development may function in dramatic
terms and construct such dramatic passages through the use of various types of tension.

21
22

Hepokoski and Darcy, Elements of Sonata Theory, 93.

Hepokoski and Darcy, Elements of Sonata Theory, 229-30.

12
iii) Other Important Sources
Several other sources will be of considerable value to this study. William Rothsteins
concept of phrase expansion, as developed in his book Phrase Rhythm in Tonal Music,23 forms
an important type of syntactical tension found in many parts of sonata form. William Horne has
pointed out a wearing away of the medial caesura in Beethovens works up to the Eroica
Symphony, a trend that, as will be seen, becomes an increasingly pronounced part of the
composers style over time.24 Scott Burnham examines some of the most famous passages from
the first movements of the Eroica and Fifth Symphoniestwo movements that epitomize the
dramatic qualities of Beethovens heroic styleand often describes their effectiveness in
terms that correspond with the various types of tension I give here.25 Research by Harald Krebs
on metric dissonance in the music of Schumann applies equally well to similar passages in
Beethoven that therefore create a type of syntactical tension.26 Fred Lerdahl and Ray
Jackendoffs influential work deals much with rhythm, and helps to clarify the tension types that
belong to each of the two phrases involved in an elision.27 Robert Hattens work on musical
meaning in Beethoven and musical gesture provides insight into the inner workings of the
tension involved in rising melodic lines.28 Other important sources include James Websters New

23

William Rothstein, Phrase Rhythm in Tonal Music (New York: Schirmer Books, 1989).
William Horne, The Hidden Trellis: Where Does the Second Group Begin in the First Movement of Beethovens
Eroica Symphony?, Beethoven Forum 13 (2006): 95-147.
25
Scott Burnham, Beethoven Hero (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1995).
26
Harald Krebs, Fantasy Pieces: Metrical Dissonance in the Music of Robert Schumann (New York: Oxford
University Press, 1999).
27
Fred Lerdahl and Ray Jackendoff, A Generative Theory of Tonal Music (Cambridge, Mass.: MIT Press, 1983).
28
Hatten, Musical Meaning in Beethoven and Interpreting Musical Gestures, Topics, and Tropes.
24

13
Grove article on sonata form,29 William Kindermans book on Beethoven,30 and several of
Donald Francis Toveys writings.31
Still other scholarly works will be pertinent due to their focus on factors that affect the
tension types. Because harmonic rhythm, for instance, can accelerate and therefore contribute
syntactical tension, determining the rate of harmonic change in a passage will be an integral part
of the present study. Hence, Joseph P. Swains exploration of harmonic rhythm will prove useful,
especially in situations where harmonic changes occur at different rates at different levels of
structure.32 Clive Browns work on determining tempo in Beethovens music aids in judging
whether relatively fast rhythmic values can be considered intense in movements without
metronome marks.33 And finally, some typical patterns in Beethovens use of dynamics, another
important tension type, have been proposed by Miriam Sheer.34

III. The Theory of Dramatic Structure

Having identified many of the factors that create tension in Beethovens music, it is
necessary to classify them into one of the two categories, rhetorical or syntactical. Once they are
classified, it becomes much easier to analyze tension in a systematic way, as one can then assess
whether or not drama, or high tension, results from the combined effect of the tension types in
either the rhetorical or syntactical categories. Linking this result with the location in the form
29

James Webster, Sonata Form, The New Grove Dictionary of Music and Musicians, 2nd ed., edited by Stanley
Sadie and John Tyrell (London: Macmillan, 2001), 23:687-701.
30
William Kinderman, Beethoven, 2nd ed. (New York: Oxford University Press, 2009).
31
Donald Francis Tovey, A Companion to Beethovens Pianoforte Sonatas (London: Associated Board of the Royal
Schools of Music, 1931); Essays in Musical Analysis, 7 vols. (London: Oxford University Press, 1955. First
published 1935); The Forms of Music (New York: Meridian Books, 1959. Originally published 1944 as Musical
Articles from the Encyclopaedia Brittanica by Oxford University Press).
32
Joseph Peter Swain, Harmonic Rhythm: Analysis and Interpretation (New York: Oxford University Press, 2002).
33
Clive Brown, Historical Performance, Metronome Marks and Tempo in Beethoven's Symphonies, Early Music
19 (1991): 247-58.
34
Miriam Sheer, Comparison of Dynamic Practices in Selected Piano Sonatas by Clementi and Beethoven,
Beethoven Forum 5 (1996): 85-101; and Patterns of Dynamic Organization in Beethovens Eroica Symphony, The
Journal of Musicology 10 (1992): 483-504.

14
produces what I call the dramatic structure of the piece. For the time being, I would only like to
introduce the precise tension types within each category and defer until chapter 2 a more detailed
discussion of each type and how their combination creates drama.
Table 1 lists all possible types of tension in both categories. There are seven different
types of rhetorical tension, each of which is intense when at a high level in its spectrum of
values. In short, dynamic tension becomes intense with a dynamic level of forte or louder;
rhythmic tension with relatively fast rhythmic values; melodic tension with ascents of a perfect
fifth or more in the melody; harmonic tension with a simultaneous dissonance; textural tension
with a polyphonic texture; thickness tension with a relatively large number of simultaneous
voices; and timbral tension with the harsh tone colours of either extreme registers or loud
trumpets, trombones, or timpani. As I mentioned earlier, these types of tension are not essential
to the musics formal structure. In other words, the conventions by which we determine the
rules of classical form are not primarily based on these parameters. Moreover, rhetorical types
tend to be of an immediate nature, not requiring any comparison of events to be perceived.
Table 1 Types of Tension
Rhetorical Types
Dynamic
Rhythmic
Melodic
Harmonic
Textural
Thickness
Timbral

Syntactical Types
Tonal
Metric
Expansional
Accelerative
Closural
Implicational

The six syntactical tension types, on the other hand, involve parameters that are essential
to the musics form; that is, they strongly affect the course of events in the music and therefore
require a comparative context. Tonal tension involves chromaticism and harmonic/tonal
ambiguity, both of which are disturbances in the pitch structure that demand resolution,

15
respectively, to diatonicism or a clear chord function/key. In a similar way, metric tension
involves irregularities in the metric structure, such as hemiola, syncopation, and
metric/hypermetric ambiguity that demand motion to a regular, and therefore stable, metre.
Expansional tension occurs with any sort of phrase expansion. Accelerative tension is caused by
fragmentation, or an increase in harmonic rhythm or surface rhythm. Closural tension involves
any device that weakens the sense of closure at the end of a phrase: cadential evasion or
abandonment, melodic openness through an imperfect authentic cadence, or repetition of a
closural unit (whether or not it is harmonically closed). Finally, implicational tension occurs with
a prolonged dominant harmony, which increases the implication that its respective tonic chord
will arrive.35

IV. Limitations and Aims of the Study

The present study of dramatic structure is constrained by a number of limitations. First,
although I demonstrate how various devices create tension in Beethovens music, I do not seek to
explain precisely why this is so. As a result, my definition of tension rests only on the particular
mechanisms in the music that work to produce it, rather than the psychological effect they have
on the listener.
Second, I do not seek to describe absolutely every occurrence of tension in music, but
only those that are salient. As a result, in a given passage, there may be an event that, in a purely
technical sense, constitutes a type of tension, but that I do not recognize because it lacks salience
and therefore analytical value. For example, the seventh of a V7 chord is strictly a type of
35

I prefer the term implication to expectation for some of the same reasons given by Leonard B. Meyer in
Explaining Music: Essays and Explorations (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1973), 114-15n1. First, the
former term better describes implied events that we may not be consciously aware of. Moreover, it does not refer to
the listener and therefore describes processes in more objective terms. Naturally, the concept of implication is an
integral part of expansional and closural tensions, but the category of implicational tension is designed to describe
passages where a future tonic harmony is implied by a prolonged dominant harmony.

16
rhetorical tension, since it contains the dissonant harmonic interval of the minor seventh. But if
the dissonance is not made prominent (for instance, without a dynamic accent, agogic accent, or
is not differentiated in any way from the surrounding music), which occurs very frequently, I
will not consider it a significant contributor to musical tension and therefore will not include it in
my analysis. Since a discussion of all the factors that produce salience is beyond the scope of this
study, such judgements must necessarily remain with a degree of subjectivity. Moreover, by
adopting this approach, my hope is that the results will be of greater value than either a more or
less detailed approach: to be more in-depth would produce an overabundance of data, while to be
less in-depth would risk being too broad to be of much use.
Third, the study will have a tendency to favour more foreground, short-range
relationships since those of a more middleground or background level tend to be less perceptible
and, therefore, debatable. Nevertheless, a portion of the study will include some of the longrange relationships between passages in terms of their dramatic content, for example between the
start of the exposition and the return of the same music at the start of the recapitulation.
Finally, the nature of this study is more qualitative than quantitative. In other words, I do
not seek to measure how much tension is expressed in total at any given point, but rather to
identify precisely what types of tension occur in certain locations in sonata form. One important
exception concerns rhetorical tension types, since the amount of tension a type expresses is
crucial to deciding whether it can be considered intense at a particular moment.
As a whole, this study is intended to reveal which areas of sonata form Beethoven tended
to dramatize with a high level of tension, which tension types he used to do so, and the patterns
that may emerge from such an analysis. One other overarching aim of the study will be to
determine whether such patterns are consistent with the categories of key, mode, genre, or style

17
period. After all, Beethoven is known to have felt expressive differences with different keys.36
Moreover, as Robert Hatten points out, the minor mode consistently conveyed a tragic
character in the classical style, whereas the major mode was more broadly nontragic.37
Furthermore, intuitively, there would seem to be significant differences, for example, between
the genres of symphony and string quartet, owing to the largely public and private function of
each, respectively, at the time. Finally, identifying stark differences among works in the three
style periods of early, middle, and late has long been a part of Beethoven scholarship and will be
an important part of this study. I include the four above categories because the distinctions in
Beethovens musical attitude seen within each may have translated into significant differences in
his treatment of dramatic structure.
Overall, this study is divided into two large parts. Part 1 contains two chapters, the first of
which explains my method of analysis for the sonata forms involved. The second chapter
discusses each tension type individually then demonstrates how various types may be combined
to create a high tension level, or more simply, drama. Part 2 deals with the results of my analyses
and contains an introduction describing the application of the complete theory in actual practice,
then a separate chapter devoted to each large section of Beethovens first-movement sonata
forms: exposition, development, recapitulation, and coda and slow introduction (both in one
chapter). An epilogue then summarizes the most prominent findings and applies the theory of
dramatic structure to the entire first movement of Beethovens String Trio in E-Flat Major, op. 3,
in order to illustrate how such an analysis can enhance our interpretation of a single movement.
36

Rita Steblin, A History of Key Characteristics in the Eighteenth and Early Nineteenth Centuries, 2nd ed.,
(Rochester: University of Rochester Press, 2002), 140-41 and 165-66, cites several sources indicating Beethovens
belief in key characteristics, and although many are from the dubious Anton Schindler, Steblin rightfully remarks
(on p. 140) that although Schindler may not be the most reliable source, it is unlikely that he completely fabricated
the account here of Beethovens defence of key characteristics. Besides, several other pieces of evidence confirm
Beethoven as a believer in key meanings.
37
Hatten, Musical Meaning in Beethoven, 36.

Part 1: The Analysis of Dramatic Structure

Chapter 1: The Analysis of Musical Form

In order for an analysis of dramatic structure to have any sort of meaning, it must be
linked with the details of the musical form. Without this crucial relationship, it would be
impossible to establish patterns in the dramatic structure between similar sections of different
pieces. The parts of the form that contain these patterns may be large or small, but above all
ones interpretation of them must remain consistent from one piece to the next. It is therefore
imperative that the methodology for analyzing form be both detailed and precise, and it is for this
reason that I present here a lengthy description of my analytical procedure for the musical form
of the works studied, drawing primarily on two recent works: James Hepokoski and Warren
Darcys book on Sonata Theory, which proves an invaluable resource for the understanding of
sonata form from the perspective of relatively large sections of music (generally on the level of
the theme and larger); and William E. Caplins seminal book on classical form, which lays the
groundwork for my analysis on the level of theme and smaller. By combining these two theories,
it is my belief that more insight can be gained from dramatic analysis since, as I mentioned,
patterns between pieces may be on both the large and small levels.

I. Determining the Type of Sonata Form

The analysis of dramatic structure begins with an analysis of musical form, and although
the methodology presented here may be applied to any type of form, I deal exclusively with
sonata form in this study. Furthermore, although I apply this analytical method strictly to the
music of Beethoven, it may be applied equally well to music by other composers who wrote in

18

19
the classical style. Essentially, my approach to analyzing a sonata form involves a two-stage
process, the first being a large-scale, top-down analysis, guided largely by Hepokoski and
Darcys Sonata Theory, that divides the large sections of slow introduction, exposition,
development, recapitulation, and coda into their next largest components: the zones of each
section, such as the primary-theme zone, secondary-theme zone, various zones within the
development, and so on. The second stage involves a small-scale, bottom-up analysis, based
largely on Caplins work, which determines the type of phrase structure present (e.g., sentence,
period, etc.) by its internal components. In this way, one can take note of both small- and largescale patterns that may emerge when the dramatic content is mapped onto the musical form.
The first step in the large-scale analysis is to identify the particular type of sonata form
that one is dealing with. Hepokoski and Darcy have proposed five broad categories of sonata
form that are identified only by a type number and generally proceed from the simplest to the
most complex.1 Type 1, sonata form without a development, is most common in overtures and
slow movements. In the Type 2 binary sonata, there is a return to the tonic key in its second
half that begins with material from somewhat after the start of the exposition. Although it is
relatively infrequent in late-eighteenth and early-nineteenth century music, it tends to occur
mostly in finales. Type 3, the familiar standard form with exposition, development, and
recapitulation, is found mainly in first movements. Type 4, the sonata-rondo and its variants, is
another common occurrence in finales. Finally Type 5, first-movement concerto form, is a hybrid
between Type 3 and the older ritornello form found in baroque concertos. All of the movements
analyzed in this study were chosen from first movements in order that Beethovens idiosyncratic

For brief descriptions of the five sonata types, see James Hepokoski and Warren Darcy, Elements of Sonata
Theory: Norms, Types, and Deformations in the Late-Eighteenth-Century Sonata (New York: Oxford University
Press, 2006), vi and 344-45.

20
use of the Type 3 form, which was obligatory for a fast-tempo first movement in the classical
period,2 may be studied in some detail.

II. Large-Scale Analysis: Breaking the Form Down into Sections and Zones
For all Type 3 sonatas, the next step in the large-scale analysis is to break down the three
to five largest components of the form: exposition, development, recapitulation, and any optional
slow introduction and coda. Each of these large sections may be further broken down into
themes, theme-like units, and other small units. Essentially, I adopt the labelling system of
Hepokoski and Darcy for this purpose, but with a number of important differences. Most
significantly, while Hepokoski and Darcys system of analysis for expositions and
recapitulations is highly developed and readily applied to actual pieces, they offer no similar
detailed system for the other areas of the form, namely introductions, developments, and codas.
To be sure, they do recognize and discuss customary features of these areas, but not in such a
way that allows one to apply labels like those in their analyses of expositions. For this reason, I
have extrapolated their method into these far less studied areas by using the following labels:

I = Slow Introduction
D = Development
Z = Coda

For the exposition and recapitulation, I adopt Hepokoski and Darcys terminology and
shorthand labels of P for primary-theme zone (i.e., first theme group), TR for transition, and S
for secondary-theme zone (i.e., second theme group), but I diverge on a few other points. First, I
do not consider the medial caesura (MC) to be the only factor for the presence of S, for there
are cases in which an MC cannot be found yet one may still perceive an S to be present, as for
2

Hepokoski and Darcy, Elements of Sonata Theory, 321.

21
example in the first movement of Beethovens Sixth Symphony.3 Nevertheless, it is important to
note that none of Beethovens first-movement sonata forms have what Hepokoski and Darcy call
a continuous exposition, in which there is no discernible beginning to S; rather, they all have a
beginning to S and thus fall into the two-part category.4 Second, I do not prioritize the first
perfect authentic cadence (PAC) in S as the essential expositional closure (EEC), which for
Hepokoski and Darcy marks the end of S and after which begins a separate closing zone (C).
Rather, my understanding of the form in this respect agrees with that of Caplin, who considers S
(the subordinate theme group in his terminology) to consist of one or more successive themes,
the last of which is usually followed by a set of codettas that together form a closing section,
what I will label CL. Because these codettas are post-cadential in function, or more broadly
they project the sense of after-the-end, they are in fact an extension of S and stretch the S-zone
right to the end of the exposition, even if we may still distinguish them within their own part of
the form.5 In this way, themes in Caplins sense cannot be considered closing rather than
subordinate since closing function rests only with the group of codettas.6 Moreover, the EEC

Hepokoski and Darcy agree that there is an S-theme in this example, but are unable to locate a satisfactory MC,
stating that it seems clear that S begins (initially over the dominant) at m. 67. But where is the preceding MC? Is it
the I:IAC-effect (!) in m. 53, with the intervening measures serving as an expanded caesura-fillone that initiates
(but does not yet complete) the modulation to V? Are there other options? Thus, in my attitude towards the MC and
S, I am sympathetic to that of Caplin, who remarks of the same symphonys finale that even though the transition
failed to bring its own cadential closure or any textural caesura [the two components of a medial caesura], it is not
difficult to hear the beginning of this subordinate theme, as signaled by the harmony and, especially in this case, by
the grouping structure [i.e., a sentence theme]. See William E. Caplin, What are Formal Functions?, in Musical
Form, Forms & Formenlehre: Three Methodological Reflections, ed. Pieter Berg (Leuven: Leuven University
Press, 2009), 35.
4
Hepokoski and Darcy, Elements of Sonata Theory, 23 and 117, argue that there is no S at all in continuous
expositions, but since these expositions still lead to the authors EEC, which for them occurs at the end of all Szones in two-part expositions, it seems reasonable to equate their idea of continuous exposition with Caplins
transition lacking a concluding function or transition/subordinate theme fusion, depending on the musical
details. See the latters Classical Form: A Theory of Formal Functions for the Instrumental Music of Haydn,
Mozart, and Beethoven (New York: Oxford University Press, 1998), 201-3.
5
A similar argument is proposed by William Horne, The Hidden Trellis: Where Does the Second Group Begin in
the First Movement of Beethovens Eroica Symphony?, Beethoven Forum 13 (2006): 118n23.
6
William E. Caplin recently defended this concept against the criticism of James Hepokoski, remarking that when
considering what prior theorists have labeled as a closing theme, I find no consistent criteria used to make that
identification, other than the analytically trivial one that it appears last in the exposition. . . . I have been led to this

22
concept regards all the expositional material that follows it to be formally inessential. But the
fact that all of the material from the start of S to the end of the exposition nearly always recurs
transposed to the tonic in the recapitulation demonstrates that it is all part of the same largescale dissonance created by this same segment in the exposition. The EEC therefore downplays
the importance of subsequent expositional material in what Charles Rosen calls sonata style.7
Finally, application of the EEC sometimes creates S-zones that are uncomfortably short in
comparison with the following C-zone. While Hepokoski and Darcy address this issue, their
explanation states only that the proportion of S to the preceding P and TR is a matter of feel and
balance not to be captured by a simple rule, which would leave the concept unable to be applied
consistently in such cases.8
At this point in the analysis, an entire Type 3 sonata-form movement will be broken
down into the following components (optional ones are shown in parentheses):

(Slow
Introduction)
(I)
||

Exposition
P TR S ( CL)

||

Development
D
||

Recapitulation
P TR S ( CL)

(Coda)
|| (Z)

III. Small-Scale Analysis: Breaking the Large Sections Down into Themes, Theme-like Units
and Other Smaller Structures
i) Thematic Areas of Sonata Form (P and S)
Having defined the large sections and theme zones within the form, the second stage of
the analysis involves breaking these sections down into their component themes and similar
viewpoint by carefully considering how such a thematic category could be meaningfully developed and analytically
employed, and I have concludedfor the time being at leastthat it is entirely dispensable, that the concept of
subordinate theme adequately covers the formal situations presented in the later portion of a sonata exposition. See
William E. Caplin, Response to the Comments, in Musical Form, Forms & Formenlehre, 59.
7
Charles Rosen, Sonata Forms, rev. ed. (New York: W. W. Norton, 1988), 229 and 287.
8
Hepokoski and Darcy, Elements of Sonata Theory, 163-66.

23
units. Within an exposition, P and S are composed of one or more themes. In this sense, a theme
may be defined as a structure that, in its simplest form, is eight measures in length, centres
around a single key, and usually closes with a cadence.9 With the delineation of these themes, I
create an overlap between the two stages of analysis. First, I employ Hepokoski and Darcys
labeling system of adding superscript numbers to P and S to denote the ordinal position of a
theme in a zone (e.g., S1, S2, etc.). Although this number always advances by one after the final
PAC of a theme, there are cases in which it will advance in the absence of a PAC because
closure has been brought about by other means, for example cadential chords that are not in root
position. (This is especially common in non-thematic areas such as transitions and developments,
where cadences are not at all required).10 Second, I label these same themes as a sentence,
period, hybrid theme, or other type of theme, drawn largely from Caplins work. Far from
being mutually exclusive, these two approaches to the analysis of themes are largely
complementary and each contributes in a different way to the analysis of dramatic structure later
on. On the one hand, Hepokoski and Darcys methodthe top-down view of the formshows
clearly and concisely where the theme resides in comparison with the rest of the theme zone.
This information is particularly useful for indicating how dramatic structures relate to one

These three characteristics of a theme derive directly from Arnold Schoenberg, who states that a complete
musical idea or theme is customarily articulated as a period or sentence. . . . There are many different types which
are similar in two respects: they centre around a tonic, and they have a definite ending. In the simplest cases these
structures consist of an even number of measures, usually eight or a multiple of eight. Schoenberg later clarifies
that by ending, he means cadence, regardless of the theme type: The end of the sentence calls for the same
treatment as the consequent of a period. A sentence may close on I, V, or III, with a suitable cadence. See Arnold
Schoenberg, Fundamentals of Musical Composition, ed. Gerald Strang (New York: St. Martins Press, 1967), 20-21
and 59. This definition of a theme is perpetuated, if implicity, by Erwin Ratz, Einfhrung in die musikalische
Formenlehre, 3rd ed. (Vienna: Universal Edition, 1973), see especially 21-22; and by Caplin, Classical Form, see
especially p. 3. Both of these writers base their work on the theme types of the sentence and period as defined by
Schoenberg.
10
This practice differs from Hepokoski and Darcy, who allow for only two exceptions to the superscript numbering
system. The first is the trimodular block, (TM) which is a span of music that includes apparent double medial
caesuras. In such cases, the authors identify TM1, TM2, and TM3 within a single cadential span. The second
involves introductory modules, which the authors identify as zero-modules (e.g., P0, S0) and which advance in
number (e.g., to P1 or S1) without a PAC. See Elements of Sonata Theory, 72.

24
another as a sequence of events unfolding in time, for example if a certain type of dramatic
structure always occurs as an S1 theme. On the other hand, Caplins methodthe bottom-up
view of the formimmediately signals what type of internal phrase structure a theme possesses,
which is useful in determining whether or not relationships exist between specific formal
functions (e.g., the continuation of a sentence) and dramatic structure.
Once one has determined the extent of the themes in P and S, it is then necessary to break
them down further into their constituent formal functions, for these become the building blocks
for the analysis of dramatic content. In all, I employ thirteen such functions, ten of which derive
from Caplin, and three of which are my own new additions (see Table 1.1). Every theme begins
with a basic idea, a unit with exclusively initiating function that varies in length but most often
occupies two measures. The particular combination of functions that follows then determines the
type of theme, each of which I describe below.

Table 1.1 Formal Functions for the Analysis of Themes

Smallest
Functions

From Caplin
Basic Idea
Contrasting Idea

Sentence

Presentation
Continuation
Cadence

Period

Antecedent
Consequent

Framing
Functions

Introduction (Thematic)
Codetta
Standing on the Dominant

New Additions
Large-Scale Basic Idea
Small-Scale Transition
Expansion

25
a) Sentence
The sentence is the most important structure to this study not only because of its inherent
accelerative tension, but also because it is by far the most common phrase-structural device in
Beethoven and almost certainly in the classical period as a whole.11 In Caplins view, it is strictly
a type of theme that consists of a basic idea and its repetition (which together form a
presentation), followed by a continuation that contains a cadence to end the theme.12 In analysis,
however, I have found this definition to be overly restrictive, as it leaves many phrase structures
that are very similar to this model unable to be called sentences. Consequently, I provide a
broader definition of the sentence, which includes a presentation of any number of basic ideas, a
continuation and an optional cadence. Furthermore, there are a few other aspects of my definition
that differ from that of Caplin. First, I do not consider a prolongation of tonic harmony to be
necessary for the presence of a presentation or (by extension) a basic idea. Some themes begin
with dominant rather than tonic harmony, as for instance the first theme of the S-zone in the
Eroica Symphony at m. 45.13 Moreover, a basic idea need not be two measures long. Essential,
however, is Caplins notion that a theme must consist of a normative length of eight measures,
which eliminates the confusion that may arise when one type of theme appears to be nested
11

I expand on the ideas in this subsection in Viennese Classicism and the Sentential Idea: Broadening the Sentence
Paradigm, forthcoming in Theory and Practice 36 (2011). Other scholars have drawn attention to the importance of
accelerating phrase structures (i.e., sentences) in Beethovens music in particular. Alfred Brendel, Form and
Psychology in Beethovens Piano Sonatas, in Musical Thoughts & Afterthoughts (London: Robson, 1976), 39,
claims that phrase acceleration (or what he calls the technique of foreshortening) is the driving force of
[Beethovens] sonata forms and a basic principle of his musical thought (his italics). (Brendels idea of
foreshortening does, however, differ in some respects from accelerations in sentences. For example, in The Process
of Foreshortening in the First Movement of Beethovens Sonata Op. 2, No. 1, found in the same collection of
essays, he views the technique as applying not just to individual phrases but to large sections of the movement, as he
claims (on p. 161): Broadly speaking, the movement consists of two foreshortening series; the first extends from
the beginning to the development, the second from the development to the end.) See also Roger Kamien, Phrase,
Period, Theme, in The Cambridge Companion to Beethoven, ed. Glenn Stanley (New York: Cambridge University
Press, 2000), 66, who points out Beethovens particular attraction to the fragmentation type of acceleration:
Beethoven often creates momentum in [sentence] themes by this kind of progressive contraction or acceleration of
motivic units, a process also referred to as motivic foreshortening.
12
Caplin, Classical Form, 9-12. For a more extended discussion of the sentence, see his chapter 3 (pp. 35-48).
13
That this measure constitutes the start of the S-zone is convincingly argued in Horne, The Hidden Trellis.

26
within another. Caplin gives the opening of Mozarts Piano Sonata in A Major, K. 331,14 as an
example (shown here as Example 1.1) in which the antecedent and consequent of a period both

Example 1.1 A Sentence Within a Period Theme; Mozart, Piano Sonata in A Major,
K. 331, mm. 1-8

appear to be constructed of four-measure sentences. Are they both true themes? The answer is
no, since each sentence does not contain sufficient musical content to make up a full eightmeasure theme.15 The smaller sentences are therefore not truly themes, whereas the larger eightmeasure period is (even though it forms part of an even larger rounded binary theme). To make
this distinction clear in analysis, I add the term theme to structures that are true themes, and
exclude it from those that are not. Once again, this procedure differs from Caplin, who considers
a genuine sentence only to be what I would term a sentence theme. Thus in the Mozart example I
consider the antecedent and consequent to consist of sentences but not sentence themes, whereas

14
15

Unless otherwise specified or implied by the context, all references to works are to the first movement.
Caplin, Classical Form, 51.

27
Caplin would consider them to be only sentence-like or sentential.16 Under my definition
then, a sentence may assume virtually any formal function, not just that of theme. A basic idea,
for example, may be constructed as a sentence, complete with its own smaller-scale basic idea(s)
and continuation.
Because my definition of the sentence includes a presentation with any number of basic
ideas, there are a number of different types of sentence that may occur, each of which may be
found in Beethoven and in classical-style works in general (hence my usage of examples outside
of Beethoven). A monofold sentence contains a single basic idea, a bifold sentence two (although
I revert to the neutral term sentence when discussing this type in order to retain a connection
with all previous literature on the sentence, which is concerned only with this type), a trifold
sentence three, a quadrifold sentence four, and a multifold sentence any number beyond four.
Examples of the first four types are given in Example 1.2. My view of the continuation is similar
to that of Caplin, but differs in two important respects. Caplins continuation is defined by at
least one of four features: 1) fragmentation (in which the melodic units become shorter compared
to the basic idea), 2) harmonic acceleration (an increase in the harmonic rhythm), 3) rhythmic
acceleration (an increase in the surface rhythm), and 4) harmonic sequence.17 However, since
sequences are not confined to continuations alone but may be found in practically any other
formal function, I do not consider them to be a defining feature of a continuation. As a result, the
continuation is a function based entirely on some form of acceleration, and cannot begin a theme
as Caplin claims because its accelerative quality can only be perceived in relation to a previous
basic idea.18 Secondly, my view of the continuation does not necessarily include a cadence as it

16

Caplin, Classical Form, 51.

Caplin, Classical Form, 41.
18
In this connection, see Steven Vande Moortele, Two-Dimensional Sonata Form (Leuven: Leuven University
Press, 2009), 70-71, who views a sequence at the opening of a structure as the initiating units (i.e., presentation) of a
17

28
Example 1.2 Three Types of Sentence
a) Monofold Sentence; Mozart, Piano Sonata in E-Flat Major, K. 282, mm. 1-4

b) Trifold Sentence; Haydn, String Quartet in C Major, op. 50, no. 2, mm. 1-9

c) Quadrifold Sentence; Beethoven, Piano Sonata in E-flat Major, op. 7, mm. 273-280

large sentence in Liszts Die Ideale. Although Liszt postdates the classical era, it seems unlikely that the same
formal pattern would be heard differently according to the historical period in which a composition was written.

29
does for Caplin.19 Because I consider the cadence to be an optional component of the sentence, it
may be partially or fully fused with the continuation (as Caplin argues), or it may be a separate
structural unit (i.e., contains no acceleration), or it may be absent altogether. In all of these cases,
the result is a sentence by my definition. Figure 1.1 shows each of these situations schematically.

Figure 1.1 Three Types of Continuation with Cadence

a) Continuation, Cadence
(separate functions)
cont

cad

b) Continuation/Cadence
(fused functions)
cont
cad

c) Continuation (Cadence)
(partially-fused functions)
cont
cad

b) Period
The period consists of an antecedent followed by a consequent, but whereas Caplin
considers each of these components to consist strictly of a basic idea plus a differing contrasting
idea, many periods are in fact constructed of two smaller sentences (as in the Mozart sonata of
Example 1.1). This latter type of structure has important consequences for the analysis of
dramatic content, since a sentence always creates tension by acceleration. Two other features that
Caplin requires for the period are: 1) a weaker cadence at the end of the antecedent compared to
the consequent, and 2) a repeat of the antecedents basic idea at the start of the consequent.20 In
some large-scale structures, however, (as in the P-themes of Beethovens Fifth and Sixth
Symphonies), although the putative consequent phrase ends on a tonic chord in response to a half
cadence in the antecedent, it does so with a weaker kind of close than a cadence, as through a
pedal point (what I term a closural function, described more fully in the subsection Cadences

19
20

Caplin, Classical Form, 40.

Caplin, Classical Form, 49.

30
below). Thus, the idea of a period having to close with a cadence must sometimes be considered
flexibly.
The period and sentence theme types may appear in a larger form that Caplin calls
compound, with a normative length of sixteen measures. In analysis I do not specifically refer
to these larger period and sentence structures as compound, but rather I prefer to denote their
larger size through the use of all upper-case letters in their labels in order to simplify annotations.
Figure 1.2 schematically shows a sixteen-measure period composed of two eight-measure
sentence themes (the number of measures for each function is shown in parentheses).

Figure 1.2 A Sixteen-Measure Period

ANTECEDENT (8)
Bi (2) Bi (2)
Cont (4)

CONSEQUENT (8)
Bi (2) Bi (2)
Cont (4)

Bi = Basic idea; Cont = Continuation

c) Caplins Hybrid Themes

As Caplin points out, themes other than the sentence and period may be formed through
different combinations of functions, structures he therefore designates hybrid themes. Some of
these hybrid themes contain a four-measure function he calls a compound basic idea (Cbi),
which, like an antecedent, consists of a basic idea plus a contrasting idea, but has no cadence.21
Since a Cbi always has this structure, Caplin analyzes all basic ideas that go beyond the
normative two-measure length as Bi + Ci. This construction, however, is not always present in
larger basic ideas, nor are they always four measures long. Both small and large basic ideas may,
for example, consist of a sentence containing a presentation (Bi + Bi) plus continuation, which
21

For a discussion of Caplins hybrid themes and the compound basic idea, see his Classical Form, 59-63.

31
would have a more significant effect on the analysis of drama than the more neutral Bi + Ci.
Thus, I refer to basic ideas longer than two measures as large-scale basic ideas (BIs), as shown
in Example 1.3.22 While Caplins Cbi may at times correspond to my large-scale BI, the two

Example 1.3 Large-Scale Basic Ideas

a) Structured as a Sentence and Supported by a Dominant Prolongation; Beethoven, Piano
Sonata in D Minor, op. 31, no. 2, Tempest, mm. 41-49

22

Caplin has recently argued that the large basic ideas shown in Example 1.3a (what he terms compound basic
ideas) is composed of a two-measure basic idea (mm. 42-43 and their pickups) and a subsequent two-measure
contrasting idea (mm. 44-45 and their pickups). This interpretation, however, ignores the acceleration of the second
half of the idea in mm. 44-45 through fragmentation (note the increased rate of the low bass note E) and increased
rhythmic activity (more eighth notes in the right hand). For these reasons, I rather view the large basic idea as a
sentence. See William E. Caplin, Beethovens Tempest Exposition: A Springboard for Form-Functional
Considerations, in Beethovens Tempest Sonata: Perspectives of Analysis and Performance, ed. Pieter Berg,
Jeroen Dhoe and William E. Caplin (Walpole, MA: Peeters, 2009), 99 (Ex. 4.4).

32
b) Larger than Four Measures; Beethoven, Piano Sonata in D Major, op. 28, Pastoral,
mm. 1-39

are not interchangeable conceptsthe former consists only of a Bi + Ci, whereas the latter
may consist of any conceivable structure, as long as it does indeed break down into smaller
formal functions.23 Returning to the notion of hybrid themes, I present Caplins four such

23

Otherwise, what results is a smaller basic idea that has merely been notated with more measures. Caplin, Classical
Form, 35, describes this phenomenon with the formula R=2N, where each real measure (R) is equal to two
notated measures (N). On p. 256, Caplin defines a real measure as a unit of musical time corresponding to a
listeners perception of a full measure of music. In some fast movements, especially scherzos, a single real
measure is equal to two notated measures. Conversely, in some slow movements, it is equal to half a notated
measure. Thus, the concept is closely linked to tempo and the notation of rhythmic values, but because it has not

33
structures in Table 1.2. (Note that Caplins Cbi in Hybrids 3 and 4 has been replaced here with
the broader concept BI).

Table 1.2 Caplins Hybrid Themes

Theme
Hybrid 1
Hybrid 2
Hybrid 3
Hybrid 4

Components
Antecedent + Continuation
Antecedent + Cadence
Large-Scale Basic Idea + Continuation
Large-Scale Basic Idea + Consequent

Abbreviation
Ant + Cont
Ant + Cad
BI + Cont
BI + Cons

d) Other Hybrid Themes

Over the course of analyzing Beethoven movements for this study, two other hybrid
theme types have been found to exist. While they are admittedly rare, at least in this crosssection of Beethovens works, they are nevertheless important in order to be as comprehensive as
possible in the analysis of form; they are listed in Table 1.3. Caplin does mention a presentation
+ consequent as a possible theme type but, presumably due to its infrequency, does not assign it
a hybrid number like the others.24 Nonetheless, I call this theme type a hybrid 5 and, like the
sentence, I consider its presentation to contain any number of basic ideas. Similarly, a hybrid 6,
which I define as a presentation with any number of basic ideas plus a cadence, may appear to be
equivalent to Caplins compound basic idea + continuation (a hybrid sentence), but because it
lacks the crucial forward-driving motion of a continuation, it cannot be considered as such and
must instead be viewed as a less energetic structure (at least in its latter half). Finally, due to their
variable number of basic ideas, in analysis, both of these hybrid structures may be identified as a
monofold, bifold, trifold, quadrifold, or multifold type (e.g., a Monofold hybrid 5 theme).

been established with any hard and fast rules, relies largely on ones judgement and experience with the classical
style.
24
Caplin, Classical Form, 63.

34
Table 1.3 Other Hybrid Themes
Theme
Hybrid 5
Hybrid 6

Components
Presentation + Consequent
Presentation + Cadence

Abbreviation
Pres + Cont
Pres + Cad

e) Cadence Types
Because cadences are the primary means of articulating closure in music of the classical
period, it is essential that they be defined with precision and consistency.25 Caplin has recently
reiterated and expanded upon the fundamental concepts governing cadences in the classical
style.26 His two main tenets are essential to this study: 1) all authentic cadences must have both
its V chord and final I chord in root position (half cadences have only the root position V chord),
and 2) all cadences must follow a separate initiating unit of structure. As a consequence of the
first tenet, any V chord that is inverted, or approached or left through an inversion of V (or V7)
cannot function as a cadences ultimate chord (in half cadences) or penultimate chord (in
authentic cadences). Moreover, a V chord that includes a dissonant seventh cannot be considered
the end of a half cadence. The second tenet requires an initiating unit of structure that occurs
before, but remains separate from, the cadence; in other words, there will always be at the very
least one basic idea preceding a cadence. A basic idea must therefore be viewed strictly as an
initiating unit that cannot itself form a cadence to other larger groups. This is an especially
important distinction to make in themes that seem to begin with a cadence.27

25

I give a more detailed discussion of the ideas in this subsection in Endings to Classical Themes: The Role of
Melody and Texture in Cadences, Closural Function, and the Separated Cadence, forthcoming in Intersections:
Canadian Journal of Music (2011).
26
William E. Caplin, The Classical Cadence: Conceptions and Misconceptions, Journal of the American
Musicological Society 57 (2004): 51-117.
27
Caplins example in this regard is the opening of the Trio in the third movement of Mozarts Jupiter Symphony,
which begins with a V7-I progression that sounds like a cadence but cannot be because there is no previous initiating
unit. Caplin therefore makes a distinction between cadential content (chords typically used in a cadence) and
cadential function (cadential chords used in a unit after an initiating one). See The Classical Cadence, 83-85.

35

It is important to point out that the term cadence in this study does not only refer to the
final chord of the cadencethe cadential arrivalbut to the entire cadential progression at the
end of a phrasethe cadential function. A cadential progression, or cadential content, in its
fullest form involves four chords: an initial tonic (most often in first inversion), a predominant, a
dominant, and a final tonic chord.28 The initial tonic chord may be embellished by a
neighbouring form of V7, usually V, but sometimes appearing as V or, I would add, as any
form of a V chord, or even by IV (iv in the minor mode).29 In Caplins view, a cadential function
begins strictly with the start of the cadential progression, no matter where it may be located in
the latter part of a phrase. However, I attribute greater importance to the melodic events in a
phrase. In my view, a cadence involves not only a cadential progression and a phrase ending, but
also the start of a melodic unit, which, together with the harmony, signals that a cadential arrival
is imminent.30 Obviously, there are many cases in which these two parameters enter at different
times. If a cadential progression enters before the start of a melodic event, the cadential function
begins only with the onset of the melodic event rather than with the harmony alone. Similarly, a
new melodic event often signals a cadential function that begins with a dominant harmony that
embellishes the initial tonic chord, as mentioned above. Example 1.4 illustrates three situations
in which the melody establishes a cadential function at different positions than if it were based

28

For full descriptions of cadential arrival, cadential function, and cadential content, see Caplin, The Classical
Cadence, 77 and 82 for a description of cadential content.
29
Only V chords are mentioned in Caplin, Classical Form, 111. For the V and IV as possible embellishments, see
William E. Caplin, The Expanded Cadential Progression: A Category for the Analysis of Classical Form, The
Journal of Musicological Research 7 (1987): 241 and 227, respectively.
30
My preference of hearing a cadential function as beginning only with the start of a melodic unit is somewhat akin
to Hepokoski and Darcys understanding of the transition zone (TR) of a sonata as beginning only with the start of a
phrase: our strong tendency is to regard P [the primary-theme zone] as ending with a cadence (authentic or half)
and TR as beginning a new phrase . . . This means that many TRs begin as a P-restatement or as a consequent to Ps
antecedent: they begin with some sort of reiteration of the opening of P (sometimes referred to by other writers as
the counterstatement) but then turn mid-phrase into more typical transitional behavior. In these instances we
consider TR, as a structural concept, to have been launched at the thematic opening of the phrase. See their
Elements of Sonata Theory, 95.

36

solely on harmony and location. In 1.4a, at m. 9, the melodic change along with the supporting
harmony and location at the end of the phrase denotes a change in function, and the initial V
chord, with its strong pull towards the tonic, embellishes the initial tonic chord of the cadential
progression. The textural change from a single voice in m. 8 to three parts in m. 9 also projects
the sense of a new function suddenly entering. In 1.4b, the E in the right hand on the last beat of
m. 7 halts the motion of the preceding triplets, signalling an end to the continuation, and the
following appoggiatura on D-sharp begins a differing sixteenth-note rhythm that signals the
onset of the cadence despite the initial I6 chord of the cadential progression appearing with the
previous E. Finally, in 1.4c, the predominant chord of the cadential progression in m. 6 occurs
within the basic idea, and therefore cannot be considered part of a cadential function since basic
ideas have an initiating function. Rather, the cadence does not begin until the melodic change in
m. 7, which in this case coincides with the function of a contrasting idea. I would argue that the
more melodic view of cadential function I propose here is supported by the fact that formal
functions are made audible largely by means of melody, which is a highly prominent aspect of
the classical style that has been underappreciated in recent theoretical literature.31

31

James Hepokoski has recently argued that melody plays a much larger role in the perception of classical form than
Caplin admits: What is one to make of any system that declares that thematic [i.e., melodic] content, a central
topical feature of the dramatized classical style by any account and one of the foremost attributes that all listeners
directly experience, plays [only] a minimal role when compared with ever-recurring strings of beginning-middleend functionalities? The dramatic textural contrasts and intertextually shared thematic/topical signs that such content
regularly provides as vivid, expressive hallmarks of the style are thus demoted to a status essentially independent of
formal functionality, with no necessary connection to formal function. Even while granting the wiggle-room
offered here by the qualifier necessary, this seems an astonishing subordination of common sense to a dubious a
priori postulate. See James Hepokoski, Comments on William E. Caplins Essay What are Formal Functions?,
in Musical Form, Forms, & Formenlehre, 42-43.

37
Example 1.4 Cadential Function as Determined by the Start of a Melodic Event (Along
with Harmony and Location)
a) Cadence Beginning Before (and with Embellishment of) the Initial Tonic Harmony;
Mozart, Piano Sonata in B-flat Major, K. 333, mm. 1-10

b) Cadence Beginning After the Initial Tonic Harmony; Haydn, Piano Sonata in A Major,
Hob. XVI: 12, II, mm. 1-10

38
c) Cadence Beginning After the Predominant Harmony; Beethoven, Piano Sonata in A
Major, op. 2, no. 2, IV, mm. 5-8

The three types of cadence that may provide closure to themes are the perfect authentic
cadence (PAC), half cadence (HC), and more rarely the imperfect authentic cadence (IAC).32
Caplin identifies three other types of cadences that delay the onset of an expected PAC,
especially in S-themes: deceptive, evaded, and abandoned. A deceptive cadence may be created
by a final bass note other than the most familiar sixth scale-degree, which usually supports a vi
(or bVI) chord; for example, the raised fourth (as in viio7 of V) and even the third scale-degree
(as in a final I6 chord). Note that, in all cases, the replacement harmony will contain the tonic
scale degree and thus remains deceptive in that it retains some similarity with the implied tonic
chord. In an evaded cadence, a passage fails to reach an implied final tonic chord because a new
event begins where the chord is expected.33 This is a different situation from an elision, where a
32

While Caplin, Classical Form, 97, argues that S-themes (his subordinate themes) all end with PACs, I do not
make such a claim. While most S-themes do end with PACs, there are nonetheless a significant number of them that
do not. For examples of concluding HCs to S-themes in Beethovens first movements, see op. 18, no. 4, m. 49; op.
28, m. 77; op. 30, no. 2, m. 46; and even op. 55 (the Eroica Symphony), m. 99, which ends a theme with a dominant
arrival. Exceptions that Caplin admits (p. 270n10) all end with IACs. If an S-theme ends with a HC, which is far
more common than the IAC, Caplin views it as an internal half cadence that leads to a resumption of continuation
or cadential function, or to a new basic idea that begins a second part of a two-part theme. (For Caplins
discussion of the internal half cadence, see pp. 115-17.) In my view, if there is a new theme after such a HC, I
understand it as a separate theme (unless there is a return to the previous themes melodic material, in which case I
would consider it a part of the preceding theme). See, for example, Beethovens Piano Sonata in D Major, op. 28, m.
77, where a HC in F-sharp minor marks the end of S1 and proceeds to a transitional passage leading to S2. The sharp
contrast in melodic material between S1 and S2 also strengthens the sense of differentiation between the two themes.
33
Caplin, Classical Form, 101.

39
single event acts as both the end of one group and the start of the next. By contrast, in evaded
cadences, there is no sense of an ending when the next event begins, and thus the actual moment
of cadential arrival is absent. Caplins third type of cadential delay is the abandoned cadence, in
which the cadential dominant chord is, or becomes, inverted or is absent altogether.34 In each
type of cadential avoidance, the theme continues on and usually secures a PAC at some later
point.
Despite this broad range of cadence types, an examination of the classical repertoire
reveals that they are not the only means of providing closure to entire themes. In this light, I
propose a new type of cadential function I call the separated cadence and a new type of ending I
call a closural function. The separated cadence is not an entirely new cadential type, but rather a
new way of understanding how either a PAC or IAC may be deployed by having the melody and
bass move to their respective goal tones at different points in time. As a result, the cadential
arrival is not a single moment, but is dispersed over two or more beats. The notion of the
separated cadence is especially useful in explaining passages in which there is some cadential
ambiguity caused by a delayed motion in the bass. Indeed, in a number of instances, as in
Example 1.5, Beethoven continues to sound the dominant note in the bass beneath an otherwise
normative PAC. Finally, closural function, which provides a similar-sounding substitute for
cadential function, may end a theme in a number of ways. One particularly common closural
function is a dominant arrival, a final dominant chord that is not cadential because it is inverted,
contains a dissonant seventh, or is approached through non-cadential harmony such as a
dominant pedal.35 Closural function may also be attained by a tonic arrival, a new term I

34

Caplin, Classical Form, 106-7.

Caplin, Classical Form, 79, applies this term only to structures that are not themes, hence his introduction of it in
the context of the transition, a non-thematic area of sonata form.

35

40
Example 1.5 A Separated PAC; Beethoven, Piano Sonata in C Minor, op. 111, mm. 34-35

introduce here to describe an ending with a similarly non-cadential tonic chord (due to inversion
or a lack of cadential progression leading up to it). But perhaps the most common type of
closural function is that produced by a cadence-like progression of chords that, because they are
either inverted or occur over a pedal point, cannot be considered truly cadential. In each type of
closural function, the ending mimics the effect of a cadence in some way, but lacks true cadential
function for one of the harmonic reasons listed above.36

f) Framing Functions: Introductions and Post-Cadential Functions

In addition to the formal functions that make up the inner content of themes, there are
two other types that serve as framing functions that surround a theme.37 The first of these is an
introduction, which usually constitutes a brief span of one to four measures before the start of a
theme. This introductory framing function, which Caplin aptly terms a thematic introduction, is

36

Similarly, James Webster, Haydns Farewell Symphony and the Idea of Classical Style: Through-Composition
and Cyclical Integration in His Instrumental Music (New York: Cambridge University Press, 1991), 146, cites
avoidance of root-position V-I cadences as a device that weakens the sense of closure in a piece. Thus, implicitly,
he argues that closure still occurs in such situations despite its weakened condition.
37
The following discussion of framing functions draws on Caplin, Classical Form, 15-16.

41
to be distinguished from the larger slow introduction, which usually comprises its own set of
themes or theme-like units.38
The second type of framing function is the post-cadential function, which is subdivided
into two groups: codetta and standing on the dominant. As the name suggests, these functions
normally follow the final cadence of a theme, but may occur after a closural function or simply
after the final function of a structural unit. They are usually brief units of one to four measures
and serve to prolong the final harmony of the preceding cadence, tonic harmony in a codetta, and
dominant harmony in a standing on the dominant. A prolonged dominant harmony sometimes
appears without having first had a half cadence. In such situations, I only regard the prolongation
as a standing on the dominant if there is a perceptible ending to the phrase, which may include a
cadence or closural function, but may also be articulated simply by the grouping structure of the
phrase. Necessarily, such decisions remain somewhat subjective and with the judgement of the
analyst.
It should also be noted that while these post-cadential functions are defined primarily by
their harmonic content, their phrase-structural organization, which has tended to be ignored in
previous analyses, is no less important. Codettas, standing on the dominants, and even some
longer thematic introductions are very often organized as a sentence, and therefore carry more
dramatic weight than those that are not.

38

In the Tempest Sonata, although Beethoven combines aspects of both types of introduction in the opening two
measures, it ultimately (retrospectively, perhaps) has the function of a thematic introduction, a view shared by both
Janet Schmalfeldt, Form as the Process of Becoming: The Beethoven-Hegelian Tradition and the Tempest
Sonata, Beethoven Forum 4 (1995): 61, and Caplin, Beethovens Tempest Exposition, 90.

42
g) Other Small-Scale Functions: Retransition, Transition, and Expansion
The retransition is a relatively short passage that may occur as the last module of the
exposition and whose function is to divert the music away from the key of the S-zone and either
into the home tonic key for a repeat of the exposition or possibly another key for the start of the
development section (if the exposition is not repeated). Although the retransition is identified
exclusively by this tonal diversion, which is usually situated at or near its end, it is imperative for
the purposes of the present study to find a means of locating an exact starting point for its
beginning. Doing so provides a consistent method by which tension may be measured in the
complete module. Fortunately, Hepokoski and Darcy discuss the retransition in some detail, and
identify two ways in which it may begin: When a retransition occurs at the end of the
exposition, it may follow the final closing module [i.e., codetta] as an easily separable idea, often
P-based, or it may begin as a closing module (or its repetition) and dissolve into retransitional
activity. Crucially, however, they indicate a precise method of analyzing either type of
beginning: When a new module veers away from authentic-cadential implication and toward a
new dominant setup for the return of the tonic, the beginning of that module is considered the
start of RT, regardless of the material on which it is based. As with TR, one should not consider
RT as beginning in the middle of a phrase or self-standing concluding module.39 Thus, whether
a final codetta dissolves into a tonal diversion or whether the diversion is an independent
module, the analytical outcome is the same: RT begins with the start of the entire module that
contains the diversion and is not confined only to the diversion itself.
Two other small-scale functions that appear in classical works but have not been
discussed in the theoretical literature are the (small-scale) transition and expansion. A transition

39

Hepokoski and Darcy, Elements of Sonata Theory, 193.

43
has after-the-end function in that it generally occurs after a cadence then moves to another key
area, much like its larger counterpart in sonata expositions (TR) often does (see Example 1.6).

Example 1.6 A Transition Function; Beethoven, Piano Sonata in E-flat Major, op. 7, mm.
181-190

This type of function is essentially equivalent to William Rothsteins cadence-altering

expansion, in which a phrase reaches a cadence then adds an expansion that closes on a
different final harmony, thus altering our perception of the cadential chord.40 In an expansion
function, further action is withheld in a phrase through the use of material that does not express
any of the more goal-driven functions such as contrasting idea, continuation, or cadence. This
type of function produces a sort of form-functional stasis within a module, a quality that
distinguishes the expansion as a formal function from Rothsteins broader notion of phrase
expansion: whereas the latter is created by additional measures of music that add to its surface
hypermetre (or large-scale metre), the former is created by a succession of formal functions,

40

William Rothstein, Phrase Rhythm in Tonal Music (New York: Schrimer Books, 1989), 94-97.

44
which are not defined by hypermetre.41 Thus, the two types of expansion rest on very different
definitions, even if they may sometimes coincide. While there are too many ways that an
expansion function may occur in a phrase to list here, the two situations shown in Example 1.7
will suffice to give the general idea of how the function operates.

Example 1.7 Expansion Functions

a) Beethoven, Cello Sonata in F Major, op. 5, no. 1, mm. 132-137

41

See Rothstein, Phrase Rhythm, especially chapter 3.

45
b) Beethoven, String Trio, op. 3, mm. 63-83

ii) Non-Thematic Areas of Sonata Form

a) Theme-Like Units
As with the thematic areas of P and S, non-thematic areas, namely slow introductions,
transitions, developments, and codas, may be divided into one or more parts, but unlike P and S,
cadences are not obligatory in these other areas, and are therefore found less frequently. Thus
one cannot rely solely or even mainly on cadences to distinguish between different units within
the section. Frequently, these non-thematic sections are divided into theme-like units, which, as

46
Caplin notes, resemble one of the theme types mentioned above but are not required to close
with a cadence.42 Moreover, because they occur exclusively in more tonally unstable areas of a
form, they tend not to centre around a single key and thus differ again from themes. Although
theme-like units may indeed close with a cadence, they may also be separated from surrounding
units by beginning with a new basic idea, especially following a continuation. In such situations,
the new basic idea is made audible because the accelerative process of the continuation comes to
an endin other words, there is a deceleration in the harmony, rhythm, or size of the melodic
units, but no cadential function.43

b) Slow Introductions
Slow introductions are a relatively common feature in the classical symphonic repertoire,
but appear far less often in other genres. In the scholarly literature, while slow introductions have
long been a topic of interest, their component phrases and inner phrase structureissues central
to the present theoryhave been little discussed. Recently, however, Hepokoski and Darcy have
identified four optional zones in slow introductions: 1) an annunciatory call to attention, 2)
quieter material, 3) sequences, and 4) a dominant preparation. Caplin, moreover, has noted that
slow introductions often assume a bipartite or tripartite form as articulated by the number of
cadences, and that some may contain four or more distinct parts.44 Besides these general
outlines, however, slow introductions have not been examined with regards to their formfunctional content. As it turns out, the core of a slow introductionthat is, the content between

42

Caplin, Classical Form, 257.

Caplin has also recently recognized this phenomenon, noting that, while fragmentation (or the shortening of
melodic units) is highly expressive of medial functionality, or more simply, commonly denotes the middle of a
form-functional group, an opposite processfor which there is no standard termcan have important formfunctional consequences as well. Significantly, he states that I am referring here to situations where larger-sized
units are re-established following fragmentation. In some of those cases, the resumption of a larger unit can help to
signal formal initiation (my italics). See Caplin, What are Formal Functions?, 35.
44
Caplin, Classical Form, 205.
43

47
any introductory call to attention and the final standing on the dominantis composed of a
number of themes or theme-like units, usually one or two but sometimes more. Whereas all slow
introductions contain at least one theme or theme-like unit, the other two zones are optional.
Thus, from a form-functional perspective, a slow introduction may have up to three zones:

Introduction (Thematic)
Themes or Theme-Like Units
Standing on the Dominant

These zones form the basis of the main structural divisions within a slow introduction,
and recalling that my notation for a slow introduction in analysis is the letter I, each zone is
represented by its own symbol: I1, I2, and I3, respectively. Since not all three zones are always
present, there may be some slow introductions that begin with I2, for example, or that possess I1
and I2, but lack I3. In this way, comparisons are facilitated because each symbol is always
associated with the same particular zone. In slow introductions where the second zone contains
more than one theme or theme-like unit, the symbols number is subdivided using decimal points
as in I2.1, I2.2, etc., adapting Hepokoski and Darcys notational method of subdividing individual
phrases.

c) Transitions
It has long been observed that a transition is not necessarily a passage that modulates to
the new key for the start of S. More recently, however, a number of scholars have observed that
transitions generally provide an increase in energy over P.45 In Hepokoski and Darcys Sonata

45

Three sources are particularly noteworthy in this respect. Charles Rosen, Sonata Forms, 238, remarks that, in an
exposition, the first section [i.e., P + TR] always has an increasingly animated texture; this is as essential to the
style as the modulation itself, and, indeed, helps to give the modulation its dramatic meaning. Caplin, Classical
Form, 125, notes that the transition . . . imparts greater rhythmic continuity and momentum to the movement, and
that the frequent use of structural elision with the end of the main theme and a sudden change from piano to forte

48
Theory, this energetic transition (TR) leads to a medial caesura (MC), a break in texture that
occurs directly before the start of S. Although Hepokoski and Darcy consider the MC necessary
for the presence of S, I consider it to be a strong indication of an S-theme immediately following
it, but not a syntactically necessary feature. Many of Beethovens later S-zones in particular may
be differentiated from TR without a MC, but instead by being preceded by a V chord, occurring
with a clear change in texture, being structured as a type of theme, and beginning with
characteristic melodic material. Nevertheless, two other observations Hepokoski and Darcy make
with regard to the MC will be an important part of this study. First, when the MC is bridged over
by one or more voices that continue to sound through the gap (in such cases, marked by a thinner
texture), the resulting caesura-fill is neither a part of TR nor S.46 This distinction will be useful
in comparing how the end of TR interacts with the start of S, and whether the former usually
ends with the typical energy-gain that Hepokoski and Darcy suggest. Furthermore, I will adopt
these authors recommendation that the beginning of TR itself ought to be the start of a phrase
wherever possible (just as the retransition should, as mentioned earlier).47
It is important to distinguish whether a transition unfolds over one or two parts. If there is
only one part, the transition may be either non-modulating or modulating.48 In both cases, the
transition usually ends with a half cadence or dominant arrival that is prolonged by a standing on
the dominant. If a transition comprises two parts, then it usually combines a non-modulating part
with a modulating part, in that order, complete with independent standing on the dominants for
each part. In these cases, there is often the sense that a potential space that has been prepared for
also helps create the impression of high energy at the beginning of the transition. Finally, Hepokoski and Darcy,
Elements of Sonata Theory, 94, state that in first movements TR suggests the post-P expectation of a normative,
rhetorical energy-gain, a passage of rhythmic verve and increased harmonic action. . . . In orchestral Allegro
compositions, the onset of TR (especially following a relatively soft P-theme) is frequently marked with a strong
tutti entrance: the tutti affirmation or forte affirmation of the theme (their italics).
46
Hepokoski and Darcy, Elements of Sonata Theory, 40.
47
Hepokoski and Darcy, Elements of Sonata Theory, 95.
48
The notion of modulating, non-modulating, and two-part transitions is from Caplin, Classical Form, 125.

49
the start of S is being rejected as suchwhat Hepokoski and Darcy refer to as MC declined.49
In Beethoven, this rejection often takes the form of a sudden entrance of the submediant key,
particularly if the work is in C minor, as for example in his Piano Trio, op. 1, no. 3, String Trio
op. 9, no. 3, and String Quartet, op. 18, no. 4. For the analysis of two-part transitions, I denote
each of the parts with distinct superscript numerals, i.e., as TR1 and TR2, respectively. Note that
this practice differs from the thematic areas of P and S, where a cadential or closural function is
generally required to proceed from one numeral to the next. Moreover, if either part of TR ends
with a standing on the dominant, I denote it as TRSod1 or TRSod2 according to the respective TR
part that it follows.

d) Developments
Developments are notorious for defying broad analytical patterns largely because of the
myriad ways they may be constructed. No doubt this is one of the reasons why much of the
literature of the past half-century or so that discusses the structure of developments in any detail
focusses on the harmonic pathways the section may take, virtually eschewing its melodic
makeup altogether.50 More recently, however, theorists such as Caplin and Hepokoski and Darcy
have begun to consider both melodic and harmonic aspects of the section together.
Caplins view of development sections refines Erwin Ratzs notion of the core, the
central portion of a development that is essentially a single large-scale sentence (though Caplin

49

See Hepokoski and Darcy, Elements of Sonata Theory, 45-47, and for a lengthier discussion, James Hepokoski
and Warren Darcy, The Medial Caesura and Its Role in the Eighteenth-Century Sonata Exposition, Music Theory
Spectrum 19 (1997): 138-45. One caveat to my adoption of the MC declined is that, because my conception of
form is based on syntactical features in the music, I would not regard a situation as an MC declined if only rhetorical
features are involved. This is, however, the idea behind the authors Situation 3 of MC declined, in which the
music following the proposed MC accepts the generically expected new key but decisively reinvigorates obvious
TR-texture (or pointedly avoids all features of normative S-rhetoric). See Medial Caesura, 143.
50
See, for example, Leonard G. Ratner, Classic Music: Expression, Form, and Style (New York: Schirmer Books,
1980), 225-29, who does mention melodic material but focusses on the harmonic aspects of the section; Rosen,
Sonata Forms, 262-83; and Rothstein, Phrase Rhythm, 112-13.

50
does not refer to it as such). The core comprises a large initial unit (i.e., a large basic idea) that is
repeated through sequence then broken down through fragmentation, usually leading to a half
cadence or dominant arrival then a standing on the dominant. Hepokoski and Darcy, on the other
hand, contend that developments typically divide into a maximum of four zones: 1) a link from
the exposition leading into the development proper, 2) an entry or prepartory zone, 3) a central
action zone, and 4) a retransitional zone usually featuring a dominant prolongation.51 But by
combining these two views, it seems that the pre-core consists of Zone 2, and the core of Zones 3
and/or 4. (Because Zone 1 represents a retransition from the exposition, I instead shift the zone
forward to coincide with any thematic introduction to the development that may be present.
These zones are described in more detail in chapter 4.) Zone 2 would contain prepartory themes
or theme-like units; Zone 3 would be the large-scale sentence; and Zone 4 the final standing on
the dominant. However, because Zone 3s may not be structured as a sentence (but may still be
large in scale), I group other structural types (any number of them) into this same category. In
my analyses, each theme and theme-like unit is identified with its own superscript numeral, as in
D3.1, D3.2, and so on.

e) Codas
Because defining where a coda begins can be a complicated affair, a full discussion of the
matter is best deferred until chapter 6, which focusses specifically on the sections of coda and
slow introduction. Suffice it to say here that I identify three optional zones for a coda, Z1, Z2, and
Z3, the first two of which describe different types of introductions into the coda and the third of
which comprises the central portion of the coda. By this definition, every coda has a central
portion, or what I call a coda proper, regardless of whether its formal function is a theme, theme51

For these four zones and their descriptions (as cited above), see Hepokoski and Darcy, Elements of Sonata Theory,
229-30.

51
like unit, or even merely a codetta. Codas of substantial length, as famously in the Eroica
Symphony, are thus the result of an enlarged coda proper, by means of internal phrase expansion,
the addition of multiple modules, or both.

With the methodology I present in this chapter, one may divide a sonata form into its
component sections, zones, modules (themes and similar units), and on the smallest level, its
individual formal functions. This highly detailed approach allows one to compare dramatic
structure at precisely the same location in the form across many different pieces and thus to
uncover patterns in the ways that Beethoven tends to dramatize sonata form. But because the
idea of dramatic structure has heretofore been unexplored, we must first lay the foundation for
its analysis by defining what the various types of tension are and how their combination may
become dramatic, all of which will be the subject of the following chapter.

Chapter 2: The Analysis of Musical Tension and Drama

The intensely dramatic character of some passages of music is produced by the presence
of various types of tension. In all, I identify thirteen tension typesseven in the rhetorical
category and six in the syntactical. (A review of each category is given below.) Although this
may seem an unwieldy number of types to consider, the advantage of this approach is that a
passage may be defined as dramatic based only on the particular tension types present. The exact
combinations of types that produce drama, as well as a sample analysis of dramatic structure,
will be examined in the next section. The purpose of the present section is to define precisely
what constitutes tension for each type and to describe the grounds on which I base these types, at
least for the music of Beethoven (and in many cases, for the classical style in general).

I. Rhetorical and Syntactical Tension

Having considered the form of the music, the next step in the analysis of drama is to
identify all occurrences of musical tension in the selected passage. As outlined earlier, I divide
tension into the two broad categories of rhetorical and syntactical, which are based on Zohar
Eitans notions of intensity and tension, respectively. Rhetorical tension is produced by
parameters that are not governed by syntactical rules for the style at hand. In this way, the ability
of these parameters to create tension is not dependent upon the implication that another event
will follow to resolve the tension. Rather, they are an immediate form of tension generated by
being in a highly energetic state along a spectrum of possible states and thus, as Eitan states, they
have two opposing directions of change: one intensifying, namely promoting activity and
elevating tension, the other abating, namely, lessening activity and lowering tension.1
Obviously, not all values will produce tension, for while all the rhetorical types contain at least
1

Zohar Eitan, Highpoints: A Study of Melodic Peaks (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1997), 6.

52

53
some energy as long as the music continues, it may not be enough to constitute what we perceive
as tension. But each type does posses a range of prominent values, all of which create tension
and will be discussed below with each individual tension type. Table 2.1 presents the seven
possible rhetorical types within the classical style. The only caveat to mention here is that these
ranges are approximate in nature and are intended as a means of assessing, in a fairly noncontroversial way, whether or not tension is created by a certain type at a certain point in the
music. Such a methodology prevents this music-analytical study from becoming overly burdened
with details of music perception, which lies well beyond its scope.
In order for a musical feature to constitute syntactical tension, on the other hand, it must
fulfill two criteria. First, it must correspond to Eitans notion of tension as an unstable, open
state, strongly implying continuation and resolution.2 In this way, syntactical tension exists only
through a comparison of at least two juxtaposed musical events and is therefore a relative form
of tension. Secondly, each syntactical type must generate tension by exploiting the rules of
musical syntax in the given style and thereby create the need for more music to follow. In tonal
music, for example, a dominant harmony implies resolution to its tonic harmony. Moreover, a
dominant harmony can only be construed as such in relation to a preceding or following
harmony, thereby fulfilling the two criteria for syntactical tension. Table 2.2 lists the six types of
syntactical tension available in the classical style. The reasons for the definition of each type will
be explained in the following section.

Eitan, Highpoints, 6.

54
Table 2.1 Rhetorical Tension Types and Their Definitions
Tension Type
Dynamic
Rhythmic
Melodic
Harmonic
Textural
Thickness
Timbral

Defined By
f or louder
M.M. 400 or faster
upward-leaping 5th (or larger) or protracted stepwise interval
dissonant intervals
polyphonic texture
more than 50% of possible voices
harsh/bright timbres (extreme registers, trumpets, trombones)

Table 2.2 Syntactical Tension Types and Their Definitions

Tension Type
Tonal
Metric
Expansional
Accelerative
Closural
Implicational

Defined By
chromaticism, tonal ambiguity
hemiola, syncopation, metric ambiguity
phrase expansion
fragmentation, increase in surface rhythm or harmonic rhythm
phrase ending without a PAC, undermining of cadence
prolonged dominant harmony

i) Rhetorical Tension Types

a) Dynamic Tension
Despite being the most obvious type of rhetorical tension, dynamics, or indeed virtually
all parameters that can create rhetorical tension, have been little discussed in the literature.
Likely this neglect is because these parameters only contribute to musical form in a secondary
way in this style. (On the other hand, form by way of tonal structure, especially by Schenkerian
analysis, has been a central concern of music theory on classical style music in recent decades.)
Beethovens range of dynamic markings consists of the eight gradated levels from ppp to
fff, but he generally avoided both the outer extreme and intermediate levels, leaving his core set
to consist of only four markings: pp, p, f, ff. I consider only those dynamics at the level of f or
higher to create rhetorical tension since these markings, to varying degrees, all indicate loud
sounds. A mf dynamic level lacks the necessary power to truly create tension, as the term mezzo

55
forte (half loud) implies. With the exception of the accent markings > and ^, I consider all of
Beethovens accents to create tension, since he almost always used the sforzando (sf, sfz) (along
with the occasional forzato [fz] or, especially in early works, rinforzando [rf, rfz]), which
performance treatises of the day indicate was a sharper accent than the former markings.
Moreover, in the twelfth number of Fidelio, Beethoven indicates that the scene is to be played
very softly, and the sf and f must not be too strongly expressed,3 implying that sf markings were
indeed usually strongly expressed, i.e., at a level of forte or higher, in his music.
For gradual changes in dynamics, Beethoven most often used cresc. and dim., though in
his early compositions, the marking decresc. appears instead of the latter, which became the term
he used later on.4 With these gradual dynamic changes, tension occurs only if the change
incorporates at least a forte level. If not, it is viewed as a dynamic swell that naturally produces
emphasis and affects the expressive character of the passage but does not create tension. (Recall
the distinction between tension and emphasis in the Introduction, What is Drama?: Defining
Types of Tension.) Sometimes, however, it is not clear whether a crescendo reaches a forte
level, either because no goal dynamic is given (as in cresc. - decresc. markings) or because a
crescendo ends with a subito piano, which substitutes for a louder goal dynamic. Does one
ascribe tension in such cases? And if so, where exactly? Due to the highly individual nature of
each piece, instances such as these cannot be decided by an all-encompassing rule.
Consequently, the ultimate decision as to if and where tension arises (through a forte dynamic or
louder) must remain with the judgement of the analyst.

The two preceding observations are reported in Matthias Thiemel, Accent, in The New Grove Dictionary of
Music and Musicians, 2nd ed., ed. Stanley Sadie (London: Macmillan, 2001), 1:48.
4
Miriam Sheer, Comparison of Dynamic Practices in Selected Piano Sonatas by Clementi and Beethoven,
Beethoven Forum 5 (1996): 87.

56
One other important issue surrounding dynamics and rhetorical tension concerns elisions
between modules. When there is a change to or from a loud dynamic at the point of elision
between two modules, to which module may one ascribe dynamic tension? One essential
distinction to make in such situations is between what Fred Lerdahl and Ray Jackendoff have
termed left elision and right elision.5 In a left elision, it is the leftmost module on the page (i.e.,
the earlier of the two) that has its final event omitted, or elided, in favour of the first event of the
second module. While the two events generally have the same chord (and hence the possibility
for elision), their dynamic levels are often opposites. Perhaps the most common scenario
involves a sudden forte or fortissimo where there is a left elision, as shown in m. 62 of Example
2.1a. Here, the first module approaches its ending pianissimo and thus implies that it will end
with such a dynamic. When the second module enters fortissimo, the impression is that the
expected soft ending to the first module has been usurped by the loud beginning of the second
module. Thus, in analyzing the tension of the two modules, dynamic tension would be assigned
to the beginning of the second module, but not the end of the first. Generally speaking, when
there is a dynamic change associated with an elision, there will be two different tension levels
assigned to the end of the first module and the beginning of the second. This rule holds true even
if, in a left elision, a soft dynamic is heard in place of an expected loud dynamic, as shown in m.
54 of Example 2.1b. In this case, the end of the first module, where there is an implied forte, has
dynamic tension whereas the start of the second, where there is a literal piano, does not.

Fred Lerdahl and Ray Jackendoff, A Generative Theory of Tonal Music (Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 1983), 58.

57
Example 2.1 Different Types of Elision
a) Left Elision by a Loud Dynamic, Piano Sonata in B-Flat Major, op. 22, mm. 58-63

b) Left Elision by a Soft Dynamic, Violin Sonata in A Minor, op. 23, mm. 50-55

c) Left Elision with a Crescendo Preparing a Loud Dynamic, Cello Sonata in D Major, op.
102, no. 1, mm. 8-14

58
d) Right Elision by a Loud Dynamic, Piano Sonata in E-Flat Major, op. 7, mm. 29-35

One of the most common situations in left elisions in Beethoven involves a crescendo
preparing a forte mark at the start of a new module, as shown in Example 2.1c. In such cases,
dynamic tension exists at both the end of the first module and the start of the second, and the
elision does not involve any difference in the dynamic level of each module. In fact, apart from a
crescendo, other signs of an increasing intensity are often present at or near the end of the first
module, such as a thickening of the texture or, as in the piano left hand of this example, a change
to a more rapid rhythm (sixteenth notes) and a deeper bass register.
In a right elision, it is the first event of the rightmost module on the page (i.e., the later
one) that is omitted. But like left elisions, different dynamic levels are assigned to the two
modules when analyzing tension. Example 2.1d demonstrates a situation in which a piano start to
the second module in m. 35 is elided due to the forte end of the previous module. Notice, though,
how quickly the piano level is attained after the elisionin terms of dynamics, the elision lasts
only for a single quarter note. Brief overhangs of loud dynamics such as this are a good
indication that two separate dynamic levels are required in a right elision.

b) Rhythmic Tension
Another fairly obvious type of rhetorical tension, rhythm has been noted several times in
relatively recent literature as a contributor to an intense, dramatic, or similarly described

59
sound, especially in sonata-form transitions, where it is typically faster than in surrounding
passages. But at what speed does rhythm become a generator of tension? Perhaps the best way to
answer this question is to begin with a rhythmic device that is used for the specific task of
creating tension: the tremolo. In classical movements of an Allegro tempo or faster (hereafter
simply a fast tempo or movement), tremolos are generally written using the fastest note values
in the movement (barring possibly faster note values in the odd flourish or ornamental figure). It
would seem, then, that for fast movements, tension-producing values are most often the fastest
rhythmic values. In simple duple or quadruple metres, these fastest values tend to be a fourfold
division of the tactus, or governing beat, regardless of the rhythmic value that tactus may
assume.
Beethovens metronome marks, which in 1817 he applied to many of his works and a few
others thereafter, can now lead the way to a precise speed at which the fastest values may be
considered intense. For fast first movements, when sixteenth notes are the fastest value, the
quarter note (which is generally the tactus in such cases) does not drop below a metronome mark
of 100 (found in the Second Symphony). This finding suggests that 100 is a minimum speed for
a fast tactus in Beethoven, and thus the fastest value would have a minimum speed of four times
this tactus speed, or 400. This theoretical metronome mark is then the slowest speed at which a
rhythm may produce tension. In the opening theme of the Eroica Symphony, for instance, which
is in 3/4 time, if Beethovens metronome mark of 60 to the bar is followed, the pulsating eighth
notes of the accompaniment (of which there are six per bar) would clock in at a speed of 6 x 60 =
M.M. 360, and therefore would not constitute rhetorical tension by rhythm. On the other hand,
the tremolo sixteenths in the climactic fortissimo outburst at m. 37 of the same movement would
be twice the speed of the eighths, M.M. 720, far greater than the minimum speed of 400, and

60
thus would produce tension. This method provides a consistent means of assessing whether or
not tension is generated by a rhythmic value in a particular movement. (Those without
metronome marks are discussed below.) The same procedure would also hold for any triplet
rhythm: in the Septet, op. 20, for example, which is an Allegro con brio in 2/2 time and which
Beethoven marked as M.M. 96 to the half note, the triplet eighths in mm. 76ff would be at a
speed of 6 x 96 = M.M. 576, well above the minimum speed for tension. The regular eighth
notes of the movement proper (it includes a slow introduction), however, would move at a rate of
4 x 96 = M.M. 384, and thus would not generate tension. Of course, such moderately-paced
rhythms contribute a sense of energy to the movement (as absolutely any rhythm does), but it is
not enough to constitute musical tension. This highly mathematical approach is necessary since
composers notation of rhythm is not consistent with respect to tempo and metrein other
words, a sixteenth note is not necessarily the same speed even when the tempo indication and
metre are the same; hence my reliance on metronome marks.
It is fortunate that Beethoven left metronome marks for all the movements of a good
number of his works: the nine symphonies; the Septet op. 20; all the string quartets of opp. 18,
59, 74, and 95; the Hammerklavier Piano Sonata, op. 106; the cantata Meeresstille und
glckliche Fahrt, op. 112; and the Opferlied, op. 121b.6 There are enough movements in this
sampling for us to obtain a sense of what Beethoven typically meant by his tempo indications.
This becomes very important for works in which he did not specify metronome marks. In such
cases, it is usually possible to infer a speed that is in line with his other ones and that is based on
the three factors that, as Clive Brown noted, were considered by late-eighteenth-century theorists

Rudolf Kolisch, Tempo and Character in Beethovens Music, The Musical Quarterly 29 (1943): 173-74.

61
to be the primary factors which affected the tempo of a given piece. These were, in the first
place, the metre, the tempo term and the note values employed.7
While intense rhythms in Beethoven usually occur as continuous streams of a single note
value (e.g., a sixteenth), this is not always the case. Intensity is still expressed when at least two
note values at the minimum M.M. 400 are sounded adjacently, as in dotted rhythms, Lombard
rhythms, galloping rhythms ( la Rossinis William Tell overture), and, in fast triple or
compound meters, long-short or short-long rhythms. However, in order for the tension these
rhythms generate to be considered a salient feature (recalling that some occurrences of tension
are not considered due to their lack of salience), it should occur in at least two successive beats
to gain importance as a kind of motive.

c) Melodic Tension
A fundamental aspect of musical understanding is the perception that all melodic
intervals apart from the unison are heard as moving either up or down. When a pitch moves
up, there is an increase in its physical frequency and a corresponding increase in its level of
energy. Likewise, when it moves down, there is a decrease in energy because its frequency
decreases. For this reason, some theorists in recent years have likened a melodys motion
through an imagined musical space to that of a person through physical space. Steve Larson, for
example, postulates three forces that act upon a melody as it moves through musical space:
gravity, magnetism, and inertia. The first of these, which Larson defines as the tendency of an
unstable note to descend (his italics) is the most relevant to the present study, since it implies

Clive Brown, Historical Performance, Metronome Marks and Tempo in Beethoven's Symphonies, Early Music
19 (1991): 252.

62
that an increase in energy is required to move a pitch upward in musical space.8 Similarly,
Robert Hatten, in his theory of musical gesture, argues that the dynamic environment in which
we experience our bodies and their gestures has its virtual counterpart in music. This virtual
counterpart consists of a gravitational field established by metre, which conditions our
embodied sense of up versus down, the relative weighting of events, and the relative amount of
energy needed to overcome gravitational constraints (as in an ascending melody).9 So if
ascending melodies increase in energy, at what interval do they produce tension? In Eitans
investigation of melodic peaks, he defines relatively large pitch intervals as those exceeding a
tritone, and grounds the idea in a number of studies in music perception confirming that most
intervals larger than a tritone are followed by a change of registral direction.10 Thus, I will adopt
the same approach here and consider any rising interval of a perfect fifth or larger to possess
sufficient energy to create tension in the goal pitch. It seems, however, that when a rising
melodic line is filled in with stepwise motion, a sense of intensity can be reached with an interval
as small as a minor third (or even a major second in a rising chromatic line) if it is made
prominent by being stretched out over time and is more than a mere instant. But since no
consistent rule can be prescribed to determine a minimum length for this time, this distinction
requires ones judgement. One other caveat for melodic tension in general is that the interval
must be part of a single melodic gesture and not span two structural units that are perceived as
being disconnected. Furthermore, in order to simplify matters and not become overwhelmed with
detail, the only intervals that I will consider will be those that are made prominent due to longer
8

Steve Larson, Musical Forces and Melodic Patterns, Theory and Practice 22-23 (1997): 57 (as quoted from an
earlier paper of Larson).
9
Robert Hatten, Interpreting Musical Gestures, Topics, and Tropes: Mozart, Beethoven, and Schubert,
(Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 2004), 115. See also Hattens first book, Musical Meaning in Beethoven:
Markedness, Correlation, and Interpretation, (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1994), 56-57, in which he
notes that one of the most basic oppositions in music is that between up and down, and correlates upward intervals
with reaching, which is an action that requires an increase in energy to overcome the downward pull of gravity.
10
Eitan, Highpoints, 11 (see esp. n28).

63
note values or the interval being stretched out in time with intervening notes, as in stepwise
progressions and combinations of leaps in the same direction (e.g., arpeggios). And, as with all
other tension types, the tension caused by melodic intervals will largely be a local phenomenon,
and melodic rises across relatively broad spans will not be considered.

d) Harmonic Tension
In classical music, and more broadly in tonal music of the common practice period,
tension in harmonic intervals is created by the dissonant intervals, namely the major and minor
second and seventh, the perfect fourth, and the tritone. Hence, harmonic tension can be caused
not only by dissonances in a single voice such as passing notes, neighbour notes, and the like, but
by dissonances that have been subsumed into standard chords such as diminished sevenths and
augmented sixths (and even dominant sevenths, if made sufficiently prominent). However, such
intervals and chords may occur so frequently and so rapidly that it would be fruitless to consider
each instance to create tension. Rather, tension-creating intervals must be restricted to those
dissonances that are made prominent by a relatively long duration or by being placed on a strong
metric beat. In this way, dissonances that pass by fleetingly in the course of rapid scale passages
or ornamentation are not considered to be intense, and this corresponds with intuition. After all,
when a prominent dissonance is separated from all other rhetorical tension types (especially
dynamics), it still stands out from the texture and intensifies the passage.
It may seem that dissonance is a type of syntactical tension since, in accordance with my
definition adapted from Eitan, it undeniably expresses an unstable, open state, strongly
implying continuation and resolution. A crucial difference, however, is that unlike all
syntactical types, dissonance is not a type of tension that, as I said before, exists only through a
comparison of at least two juxtaposed musical events. A dissonant interval is always dissonant

64
regardless of what precedes or follows it. Moreover, harmonic intervals exist on a spectrum of
values ranging from very consonant to very dissonant. Harmonic tension therefore falls into the
rhetorical category.

e) Textural Tension
In the classical style, homophonic textures are the normthat is, textures in which the
melody (usually in the highest voice) dominates and is usually supported by a bass and inner
accompanying voices. When two or more melodic lines that are of roughly equal importance
occur simultaneously, each additional melodic line infuses the texture with an increased
animation, or energy, and therefore produces a kind of tension. This is one reason why fugal
expositions are such an effective means of beginning a piece or section: the textural tension
gradually rises with each entry of the fugue subject. In order for melodic lines to be of roughly
equal importance, however, they must not only be rhythmically independent, but also
characteristic enough to compete for the listeners attention. Thus, in the typical homophonic
texture, the bass line would not be considered a separate melody (and therefore would not create
textural tension) because it is less characteristic than the melody. Similarly, in cases where there
is imitation between melody and bassa common feature of the classical styleboth lines
would naturally be separate melody lines, but because they do not occur simultaneously, they
would not create textural tension. Because this type of tension is reserved for only those passages
that exhibit a true polyphony, it is a relatively rare type to encounter.

65
f) Thickness Tension
Thickness tension concerns the number of voices (independent or not) sounded
simultaneously at a given moment in a movement. However, rather than being defined by a
single number of voices that remains constant from piece to piece, tension created by textural
thickness relies on a proportion of the total number of voices sounded in a movement. If this
were not true, then intuitions about thickness would be contradicted, as orchestral music could,
for example, always be considered intense due to the sheer number of voices involved. Clearly,
this is not the case, and a proportional view must be adopted. But at what proportion does the
thickness become intense?
About half of the total number of voices heard in a given movement provides a fairly
accurate threshold for tension by thickness, and accords well with intuition. Note that this is not
half of the total possible number of voices, but only of a tutti sound for a piece in a certain style
and genre. In this way, a thick texture is based on context: it is intense when a majority of the
voices generally used in such a piece are sounded. Accordingly, this type of tension requires a
familiarity with the style and genre of the piece being performed. For example, in a classical
piece for solo piano, the maximum number of voices that are played simultaneously is usually
eight (one four-note chord per hand), and the tension threshold would then be half of this, or four
voices. This would seem to make sense, since I would argue that textures of five or more voices
produce an intense sound in the context of such a piece. In a classical piano trio (violin, cello,
piano), since triple- and quadruple-stops are seldom used compared with far more frequent
double-stops, the sound world of the trio usually involves at most twelve voices: two each in the
violin and cello and eight in the piano. I would suggest that half of this, six, agrees with
intuitiona normative texture of four voices in the piano plus one each in the two strings

66
produces a logical threshold value beyond which tension arises. In larger ensembles, it can be
difficult to assess whether a particular thickness produces tension when it is close to the 50%
threshold, and thus there are some grey areas that must remain subjective. It should be
mentioned, however, that in orchestral movements, the precise number of string players, which
can vary widely from one performance to another, does not make any difference because the
sound of each written string part emerges from the orchestra not as a collection of individual
parts, but as a single unified whole.
One exception to this majority-of-voices rule for thickness tension concerns unison
textures. In orchestral music, the point is a moot one, since a texture will sound intense with a
majority of the voices, regardless of whether they are playing in unison. But in smaller
ensembles, a problem arises. For, on instruments that can sound more than one voice
simultaneously (strings and piano), it can be difficult or impossible to achieve thickness tension
in unison textures by the usual majority of voices because all available pitches are an octave
apart. On stringed instruments, for instance, a majority of voices would always have to include
double-stops in octaves, which is not a normative part of classical works outside of concertos.
On the piano, moreover, attaining more than the tension threshold of four voices in a unison
texture is a physical impossibility for a solo player. And yet, despite these limitations, unison
textures in smaller ensembles often give the impression of being intense when all the players
participate, notwithstanding other features such as dynamics. To articulate this idea as a rule,
unison textures may be considered intense when all instruments participate and the number of
voices is at least the tension threshold established above. Thus, for stringed instruments,

67
thickness tension will result if they play only one voice in unison with the others, and for the
piano, four voices are required (octaves in each hand).11

g) Timbral Tension
Another fundamental concept of music is that brighter, harsher soundsthat is, those that
are more energetic in timbreare more intense. These timbres are usually produced in an
instruments extreme upper (or sometimes lower) register, or, on most percussion and brass
instruments, with any pitch or attack that is performed at a dynamic of forte or louder. For
intense timbres that rely solely on register, finding a precise threshold pitch is impossible to
establish with any reliability not only because there are differences in individual instruments and
performances, but also because of the very subtle change in timbre from one pitch to the next
higher one. In an attempt to avoid these problems, I have attempted to define threshold pitches
that lie well within what most would likely consider the extreme high or low ranges of each
instrument as it was in Beethovens era. I stress that these thresholds are only an approximate
guide for each instrument and may be expanded, especially when a passage approaches a

11

With analysts judgement, this rule may sometimes be bent in cases where the absence of one voice does not seem
to affect the perception of a tutti texture, as for example in Beethovens String Quartet in G Major, op. 18, no. 2,
mm. 90-91, in which a forte unison played four measures earlier is repeated without the first violin part. In the
earlier unison, that violin part simply doubled the second violin and viola, and hence its absence in the later unison
would hardly be noticed. Another type of exception occurs when two voices in unison on the piano are widely
spaced and therefore suggest a full tutti texture. This technique is frequently seen when the voices are rhythmically
active and a literal four-voiced unison would be impractical or even impossible. See, for example, the piano part in
the opening five measures of Beethovens Ghost Trio, op. 70, no. 1, in which there is space between the two
voices for two more octaves in unison with the two voices present, but because of the initial downward sweep in
sixteenth notes and the following rapid leaps of a sixth and even a seventh, a four-voiced unison would be
impractical. In mm. 4-5, Beethoven adds a third voice in the piano unison, which again has room for an additional
octave in the left hand (something which is realized in the analogous spot in the recapitulation, mm. 170-171). In all
of these cases, the unison textures strongly suggest a tutti texture of a larger ensemble and thus ought to be
considered as thickness tension even though they do not strictly adhere to the rule.

68
threshold from a closely neighbouring pitch. Table 2.3 displays the tension threshold pitches for
all of Beethovens commonly-used instruments.12
In the woodwinds, although tension ranges are given for each instrument, it is interesting
to note that the intense timbres of the flute are the only ones found with any regularity in
Beethoven. The piccolo and contrabassoon, which are usually used in their intense ranges, are of
course rare additions to the group, and the others tend to remain in their non-intense ranges
throughout a work. In the brass, the horn and trumpet are both unvalved natural instruments
that require crooks to obtain different harmonic series. Because the horn possesses a generally
softer timbre, I suggest that it is only with the high twelfth harmonic (written G5) of the highest
two horns, the A and Bb alto, that the sound becomes intense. With the trumpet, the twelfth
harmonic on any crook is generally an intense timbre. And on trumpets and trombones, a f
dynamic or louder gives a particularly intense sound on any pitch. Indeed these latter two
instruments are usually found at such a dynamic in Beethoven, whereas the horn appears with a
far greater variety of dynamic levels, no doubt due to its unique ability as a brass instrument to
produce very soft tones. For percussion instruments, any pitch or attack at f or higher will sound
intense, except of course for the triangle, which does not sound intense at any level, but rather
adds colour to orchestral sound.
During Beethovens lifetime, the piano was in a process of evolution. Most notably, its
range was substantially increased, which allowed it a greater dramatic capacity in Beethovens
compositions, as Lewis Lockwood explains:
[In Beethovens early years,] the typical range spanned sixty-three notes (five octaves plus a whole step)
from the F two octaves and a fifth below middle C to the G two octaves and a fifth above. But the range
soon expanded, and during Beethovens lifetime it extended down to the lower C three octaves below
middle C and to the F four octaves and a fourth above. This increase coincides with Beethovens

12

All pitches are given with reference to middle C as C4. Thus, the lowest B of the contrabassoon would be B 0 and
the highest C of the piccolo would be C8.

69
compositional use of range as a dramatic factor in many of his works, especially from the middle period,
and not only piano solo works [my italics].13

Taking into account this evolutionary process, the resulting variety of pianos Beethoven owned
over the years, and the subtle gradation of sound in all pianos, I have proposed the conservative
tension threshold of C5 and above for the upper register, and C2 and below for the lower
register.
Like the piano, the stringed instruments are known for having a homogeneity of timbre
throughout their ranges and thus tension thresholds must be just as conservative to ensure that
most everyone can agree on such values.14 For the low register, I have selected only the lowest
major third on the cello and bass, leaving the violin and viola without tension values in their low
ranges since they lack the sort of booming resonance of the lower instruments. On the other
hand, I have assigned high-range thresholds for all the strings. But although these are only rough
guidelines intended to give one a general sense of intense ranges for these instruments, I remain
faithful to them in analysis for the sake of consistency and explain any divergences from them.

13

Lewis Lockwood, Beethoven: The Music and the Life (New York: W. W. Norton, 2003), 288.
Samuel Adler, The Study of Orchestration, 2nd ed. (New York: W. W. Norton, 1989), 9, remarks that the tone
color of the string group is fairly homogeneous from top to bottom, variations in the different registers being much
more subtle than in the winds or brasses. This comment, however, may be traced, nearly verbatim, back to Walter
Piston, whose orchestration manual is still a valuable reference today. See Orchestration (New York: W. W. Norton,
1955), 3.

14

70
Table 2.3 Timbral Tension Threshold Pitches for Instruments of Beethovens Era
Instrument
Winds
Piccolo
Flute
Oboe
Clarinet
Bassoon
Contrabassoon

Tension Threshold
G7 and above
G6 and above
F4 and below; E6 and above
written C5 and above
G4 and above
Bb1 and below

Brass
Horn
Trumpet
Trombone

12th harmonic on A, Bb alto horn (high horn)

12th harmonic, or any pitch f or louder
any pitch f or louder

Percussion
Timpani
Triangle
Cymbals
Bass Drum

any pitch f or louder

none
f or louder
f or louder

Piano

C2 and below, C5 and above

Strings
Violin
Viola
Violoncello
Contrabass

C6 and above
C5 and above
E2 and below; G4 and above
E1 and below; G3 and above

71
ii) Syntactical Tension Types
a) Tonal Tension
Fundamental to the understanding of tonal music is the notion that a passage is in a single
key at any given point. Thus, any pitch material that disrupts this sense of key produces tension,
either through the entrance of a chromatic chord or non-tonic scale, or through an ambiguity in
key. A distinction must be made, however, between disruptions that occur in the thematic
sections (P and S) or codas, and those that occur in other sections. Within thematic sections and
codas, there is an expectation for the music to remain in a single key, since these are tonally
stable areas of the form, P being in the tonic, S in the new key (and in the tonic in the
recapitulation), and a coda in the tonic again.15 Thus, a tonal disruption in these areas
maintains tonal tension for the entire length of the disruption, even if it spans more than a
measure or two. Outside of P and S, there is no such expectation and therefore disruptions last
for only a few moments after the new chord, key, or scale enters. A new key in such situations
necessarily can only be established with a series of all or largely diatonic chords, the length of
which cannot be set down as a rule, but I would suggest is approximately two measures. A
shorter length may occur, however, with the attainment of a cadence in the new key. In such
cases, the phrase with the cadence would have tonal tension to its end (assuming a diatonic
length of less than two measures), but the following phrase, starting afresh in the new key, would
15

This feature of codas has been recognized by a number of theorists. Recently, Caplin, Classical Form, 181, states
that because a movements structural close is fulfilled by the recapitulation, the primary function of a coda is to
express the temporal quality of after-the-end. A coda is thus analogous to a closing sectionmade up of
codettasthat follows a perfect authentic cadence ending a theme. Furthermore, because Caplin considers postcadential functions to prolong the final harmony of a cadence (in the case of codettas, the final tonic harmony of an
authentic cadence), the implication is that the tonic key is a functional requirement of codas. Likewise, Hepokoski
and Darcy observe that in the later-eighteenth and early-nineteenth centuries the coda normally accomplished the
standard functions of grounding further the secured territory of the tonic and ending the movement with an
appropriate rhetorical flourish. Thus, tonal diversions that occur in a coda are heard to carry tonal tension until a
return to the tonic key. This is likely what Leonard G. Ratner, Classic Music: Expression, Form, and Style (New
York: Schrimer Books, 1980), 231, means when he argues that optional harmonic digressions at the start of a coda
create a harmonic whiplash that prepares the final tonic with increased force, a supreme effect of periodicity.

72
lack it at its outset. Once the new key has been established, it is taken as a stable tonal area (and
thus the tension dissipates) rather than one that is withholding a return to the old key (as it would
in P and S). In the context of this study then, tonal tension is limited to fairly local levels and is
not ascribed to large sections in differing keys, though tonal tension will inevitably arise on a
chord-to-chord basis at some point between two such sections.16
When tonal tension is caused by a chromatic chord, it is useful to distinguish which of
three categories of chromaticism it falls into, as defined by its relationship to the tonic key:
diatonic, mixtural, or distant. Diatonic chromaticism refers to chords from one of the five
closely-related keys, i.e., those whose tonic chords lie within the major or minor scale at hand. In
the major mode, these include the keys of ii, iii, IV, V, and vi; and in minor, III, iv, v, VI, and
VII. Mixtural chromaticism refers to the familiar concept of modal mixture, in which a passage
in a major mode incorporates chords from its tonic minor, or more rarely, vice versa. And distant
chromaticism includes chords from more remote keys that are neither diatonic nor the tonic
minor or major (e.g., bVII in major, bII in either major or minor).
It may seem that the minor mode itself is a form of tonal tension in the classical style,
since, as Robert Hatten notes, minor has a narrower range of meaning than major, in that minor
rather consistently conveys the tragic, whereas major is not simply the opposite (comic), but
must be characterized more generally as nontragicencompassing more widely ranging modes
of expression such as the heroic, the pastoral, and the genuinely comic, or buffa.17 This
observation, however, refers specifically to the expressive character of pieces in the minor mode,
and not to a tensional state. Syntactical tension types require a comparison of at least two

16

While larger-scale disruptions certainly do exist (as in the S-zone of a sonata form, which is always in a non-tonic
key), their perceptibility is debatable and therefore cannot form a part of this theory, which relies mainly on
foreground events. (See Limitations and Aims of the Study in the Introduction in connection with this point.)
17
Hatten, Musical Meaning in Beethoven, 36.

73
juxtaposed musical events, which clearly does not occur when a piece opens in the minor mode,
for example. Is it a type of rhetorical tension, then? Once again, the answer is no, since the minor
mode does not have two opposing directions of change: one intensifying, . . . the other abating.
In other words, it is not possible for a passage to be more minor than another passage, yet this
is precisely what defines a rhetorical type. Consider also Hepokoski and Darcys description of
the minor mode in classical works in expressive terms as a sign of a troubled condition seeking
transformation (emancipation) into the parallel major mode.18 Thus, while the minor mode itself
cannot produce tension, its tragic and troubled expressive state often provides a suitable
vehicle for other tension types, especially in those minor works that are frequently dubbed
dramatic, such as Beethovens Appassionata or Pathtique piano sonatas.

b) Metric Tension
Metric tension functions in much the same way as tonal tension, in that it occurs in
passages that challenge, destroy, or fail to establish a single metre. And as with tonal tension,
metric tension is limited to very local levels, generally including only note-to-note and measureto-measure events. There are three ways in which metric tension may be produced on the smallscale level of the notated metre. Two of these correspond to Harald Krebs definitions of his two
types of metrical dissonance: grouping dissonance and displacement dissonance.19 Krebs
defines metre as consisting of three layers: the pulse layer (the fastest-moving notes that are
pervasive in the music), micropulses (notes faster than the pulse layer, but present only as
coloristic embellishments), and an interpretive layer (notes that move more slowly than the
pulse layer and interact with the pulse layer to produce a metre). A grouping dissonance is

18

Hepokoski and Darcy, Elements of Sonata Theory, 306.

Harald Krebs, Fantasy Pieces: Metrical Dissonance in the Music of Robert Schumann (New York: Oxford
University Press, 1999), 31-33.

19

74
essentially a cross-rhythm and is defined as the presence of more than one interpretive layer,
usually only a metrical layer (a layer that is consonant with the established metre) and an
antimetrical layer (a layer with a different grouping from the established metre). A
displacement dissonance involves at least two interpretive layers that are the same length, but are
not aligned with one another. As Krebs notes, unlike syncopation, which is only one type of
displacement dissonance, the displaced layer may be created by regular accents in any parameter,
not just rhythmic duration. For the present theory, it is important that both grouping and
displacement dissonances be continued for more than a single beat in order to create the
impression of a prominent conflicting layer and therefore generate tension. The third means of
producing metric tension is through an ambiguous metre, meaning that a single stable metre
cannot be determined from the music (i.e., there is no consistent metrical layer).
Interpretive layers may be in conflict not only simultaneously but successively as well.
Krebs refers to these two situations as direct and indirect metrical dissonance, respectively,
and remarks that, in indirect dissonance, the listener inwardly continues the first layer as the
second begins, so that there arises a brief but clearly perceptible conflict between the mentally
retained first layer and the actually sounding second layer.20 Notice that Krebs describes such a
conflict as brief. Thus, in thematic areas of sonata form, metric and tonal disruptions differ in
that (indirect) metric ones cause a quick reorientation to the new metre presented (hence tension
does not last long here, roughly only two measures21), whereas tonal ones may be perceived as
tension until a return to the local tonic key (hence tension may last much longer). In non-

20

Krebs, Fantasy Pieces, 45.

Danuta Mirka, Metric Manipulations in Haydn and Mozart: Chamber Music for Strings, 1787-1791 (New York:
Oxford University Press, 2009), 32-33, posits that a metrical level is only established when there are two attacks on
the musical surface and a projected hypothetical third attack materializes. Thus, metre on the level of the measure
(i.e., the notated metre) would be established with the start of the third measure, after two complete measures have
been heard.

21

75
thematic areas, however, metric and tonal tension are very similar in that one quickly reorients to
a new metre or key presented by a disruption.
One other type of metrical dissonance that Krebs addresses is what he terms subliminal
dissonance, in which all musical features accents, groupings, etc. establish only one
interpretive layer, while the context and the metrical notation imply at least one conflicting
layer.22 Thus, for Krebs, subliminal dissonance is much like indirect dissonance but generally
lasts for longer periods, in essence a long and indirect grouping or displacement dissonance. But
although Krebs contends that in many cases [of subliminal dissonance], the performer can
subtly stress a heavily contradicted and otherwise unarticulated primary metrical layer and
therefore create a perceptibly dissonant effect, such a dissonant effect, if it exists at all, is not
prominent enough to constitute tension in the present theory.23 Rather, I would agree with Krebs
that subliminal dissonance necessarily involves indirect dissonance, before and/or after such a
dissonant passage, where it is juxtaposed with a passage in the actual metre of the piece. In such
cases, then, tension would be produced only at the junctures between the two passages, where
there is indirect dissonance.24
Metric tension may also arise from anomalies in the larger-scale metric phenomenon of
hypermetre (i.e., repeated metric unitshypermeasuresthat are more than a notated measure in

22

All references to Krebs subliminal dissonance in this paragraph are from Fantasy Pieces, 46.
Recall in Limitations and Aims of the Study my stipulation that only prominent tension devices would
contribute to drama in the present theory. But perhaps more importantly, subliminal dissonance does not play a
major role in Beethovens music as it does in that of Schumann, the subject of Krebs book.
24
Krebs, Fantasy Pieces, 47, writes that some writers have suggested that there is in fact nothing that the performer
can do to actualize subliminal metrical conflictsthat they are merely notational curiosities, symbolic rather than
real. Composers who so tortuously notated such conflicts, however, surely did not mean them to be a secret between
themselves and the performer, but rather wished performers to communicate them. The performer must encourage
listeners to join him or her in sensing a subliminal metrical dissonance instead of simply giving themselves over to
the new and different state of consonance that the musical surface suggests. I would argue, however, that the
effectiveness of subliminal dissonances derives from the shock of returning to the notated metre long after the music
has already sounded metrically consonant (to use Krebs term). The effect is somewhat akin to an enharmonic
modulation. In both cases, the composer has managed to fool the listener into thinking that a heard sound was not
what one was led to believe.
23

76
length). However, because the focus of this study is on surface-level events, I restrict this type of
metric tension in two ways. First, the hypermeasures cannot be longer than two real measures.
Beyond this length, the perceptibility of hypermetre is questionable, a good indication being the
lack of agreement among scholars on the issue.25 Second, the most perceptible shifts in
hypermetre are those that are, to use David Temperleys terms, sudden as opposed to
gradual, a sudden shift being one in which the musical cues favoring one hearing or the other.
. . . abruptly flip or switch from one duple phase to the other. A gradual shift, on the other
hand, is one involving a smoother, more incremental realignment of the musical evidence,
sometimes over quite a lengthy span of music.26 Thus, only those that may be deemed sudden
hypermetric shifts would constitute metric tension in this study.

c) Expansional Tension
Another important type of tension is that created by phrase expansion, a collection of
various processes that serve to lengthen a phrase. Although it may seem that when a phrase is
expanded, its forward motion slows down and it therefore decreases in tension, this is not the
case. Any phrase that has been expanded contains an underlying basic phrase, a shorter,
25

William Rothstein, Phrase Rhythm in Tonal Music (New York: Schirmer Books, 1989), 10, does not appear to set
a limit on the perceptible length of a hypermeasure. He does, however, propose hypermeasures of sixteen notated
measures for the Blue Danube Waltz of Johann Strauss, Jr., which I would argue correspond to hypermeasures of
four real measures (in a heard 12/8 time). See also Richard L. Cohn, The Dramatization of Hypermetric Conflicts
in the Scherzo of Beethovens Ninth Symphony, 19th-Century Music 15/3 (1992): 197, who states that although
more sympathetic to hypermeter than [Joel] Lester, I share his reluctance to hear hypermetric regularity beyond the
boundaries provided by strong cadences, and his view that such regularities are most likely to appear in the context
of continuous processes whose surface motion is relatively consistent. In the Scherzo [of Beethovens Ninth
Symphony], these conditions vary greatly from section to section, so that the spans that I hear as hypermetric may be
as small as the eight-measure call-to-attention that opens the movement, or as large as the forty-eight-measure
fugato that immediately follows it. Others, however, are more restrictive. See, for example, Fred Lerdahl and Ray
Jackendoff, A Generative Theory of Tonal Music (Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 1983), 21-25, who are skeptical of
the perceptibility of hypermetre above the two-measure level. Likewise, David Temperley, Hypermetrical
Transitions, Music Theory Spectrum 30/2 (2008): 306, cautiously notes that one might in some cases posit levels
of hypermeter above the two-measure level (my italics). And Christopher F. Hasty, Meter as Rhythm (New York:
Oxford University Press, 1997), 183, states that relatively short durations . . . of up to about two or three seconds
are the most conducive to forming repeated metric units. Though this is no absolute limit, it is significant that for
Beethovens Allegro movements, this generally corresponds to about two measures of music.
26
Temperley, Hypermetrical Transitions, 306.

77
unaltered version of the expanded phrase that, if not literally presented, is inferred from the
musical context.27 In a phrase expansion, this basic phrase is stretched out longer than expected,
delaying motion to the remainder of the basic phrase. Tension is produced by the need for this
delay to return to the basic phrase, as Rothstein explains:
The experience of an expansion is one of departure and return. The listener departs, often quite
unexpectedly, from a fixed point of reference, and returns to it after a detour . . . Return to more familiar
patterns of tones and rhythms brings resolution and reassurance, and often has the effect of a welcome
anticlimax.28

Strikingly, expanded portions of a phrase do not destroy the feeling for the metric length of the
basic phrase.29 If a basic phrase is four measures long, this length will still be perceptible amid
any phrase expansions that may be added to it. Thus, phrase expansions are primarily a metric
phenomenonto be more precise, they are a hypermetric phenomenon since they generally add
units that are at least a measure in length (rather than a metric beat). From a dramatic
perspective, expansional tension would therefore also include fermatas (even though they are not
strictly a type of phrase expansion30), since they too add length to a phrase without destroying
the underlying metric structure.
Crucial to Rothsteins and in turn my own understanding of phrase expansions is the
notion that the original and transformed versions of the phrase must be heard as different
representations of the same thing [his italics]. That thing, in Schenkerian terms, is the structural
27

Rothstein, Phrase Rhythm, 64-66.

Rothstein, Phrase Rhythm, 65.
29
This insight derives from Heinrich Christoph Koch, whose work provided a model for many of the ideas in
Rothsteins Phrase Rhythm. See Koch, Introductory Essay on Composition: The Mechanical Rules of Melody,
Sections 3 and 4, trans. and ed. Nancy Kovaleff Baker (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1983), 42, who
highlights with italics that, in the case of a five-measure phrase created by the repetition of one measure of a fourmeasure phrase, such a five-measure phrase arising through the repetition of a measure retains the value of a fourmeasure phrase under all circumstances relating to the connection of several melodic sections. It is considered as a
four-measure unit with regard to the rhythmic relations of phrases. Koch seems to limit this rhythmic phenomenon
to the particular technique of phrase expansion he mentions above, whereas Rothstein, Phrase Rhythm, 64, gives it
greater analytical power by allowing it to be applied to virtually all types of phrase expansion.
30
As Rothstein, Phrase Rhythm, 64, states, the process of phrase expansion usually involves adding not only
greater length to a basic phrase but more notes as well. (Otherwise expansion would mean nothing more than
playing the basic phrase, or some part of it, more slowly.)
28

78
skeleton common to both phrases (including a rhythmic pacing of events that is closely similar in
some corresponding parts of the two phrases).31 In other words, all phrase expansions must be
heard as elaborations of notes and chords in the basic phrase whether or not the basic phrase is
literally present in the music.
Expansions may occur in the midst of a phrase, before its beginning, or after its end. Midphrase expansions produce tension due to the feeling of departure and return mentioned above.
But how is tension produced before the phrase has begun, or after it has ended? While Rothstein
refers to the latter two types of expansion as small prefixes and small suffixes, respectively,
I instead adopt Caplins equivalent terms of introduction for small prefix and post-cadential
function (i.e., codetta or standing on the dominant) for small suffix, in keeping with the method
of formal analysis introduced earlier. Introductions produce tension through the sense of
anticipation they create for the upcoming module. Caplin cites Wallace Berrys term
progressive dynamic in this respect as an increasing buildup of energy and anticipation, and
further adds that from a rhythmic point of view, this dynamic growth is usually described as an
anacrusis, an upbeat, whose corresponding thesis, a downbeat, is the structural beginning of
the theme.32 Of the two post-cadential functions of codettas and standing on the dominants,
although both are phrase expansions in that they prolong the final chord of a previous cadence,
expansional tension occurs only with standing on the dominants because it is only with a
prolonged non-tonic harmony that the need for resolution, crucial for syntactical tension of any
kind, is made sufficiently prominent. In codettas, quite the opposite is true: although the phrase is
expanded, the prolongation of tonic harmony actually establishes an area of repose that
contradicts syntactical tensions need for resolution.

31
32

Rothstein, Phrase Rhythm, 64.

Caplin, Classical Form, 15.

79
d) Accelerative Tension
At least since Arnold Schoenberg, many theorists have noted the tendency of phrases in
the classical repertoire to accelerate in some way. Essentially, an acceleration may take place in
the melodic-motivic, harmonic, or rhythmic parameters of a phrase. (Indeed, in terms of formal
function, I view all such accelerations as continuations and it is important to note that, because of
the emphasis on foreground events in the present theory, tension-producing accelerations will be
confined to those that occur within a single phrase or portion thereof.) That acceleration
produces tension has not only been expressed by several authors over the past few decades,33 but
is such a fundamental syntactical feature of all music that it would seem to need little
explanation: an increase in the rate of motion in melodic-motivic, harmonic, or rhythmic material
produces tension because it gives the feeling that the music is leading somewhere. In other
words, we expect more music to follow to bring the acceleration to an end. Perhaps the
phenomenon is related to the fact that an acceleration in ones heart rate creates tension in that
individual (whether it is positive or negative). And yet, this fundamental notion has recently been
disputed by Austin T. Patty, who on the one hand recognizes that the assumption that
acceleration to a fast pace heightens tension and that deceleration to a slow pace lessens tension
makes a good deal of sense if we isolate rhythmic effects and keep other musical parameters,
such as dynamic level and melodic register, constant.34 Patty then contends that the assumption
that acceleration produces tension and deceleration produces relaxation encounters serious

33

See, for example, Wallace Berry, Structural Functions in Music (Englewood Cliffs, NJ: Prentice-Hall, 1976), 9,
who describes progressive or recessive shortening or lengthening (acceleration deceleration), as expressing
intensification and release. Likewise, Leonard B. Meyer, Style and Music: Theory, History, and Ideology
(Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1989), 209, states that, among other processes, faster rates of
motion . . . heighten excitement and intensity. Finally, Joseph P. Swain, Harmonic Rhythm (New York: Oxford
University Press, 2002), 98, remarks that motion creates musical tension, and the faster the motion (the more
changes per unit of time) the greater the tension. Moreover, he refers to the idea as a virtual tautology.
34
Austin T. Patty, Pacing Scenarios: How Harmonic Rhythm and Melodic Pacing Influence Our Experience of
Musical Climax, Music Theory Spectrum 31 (2009): 325-26.

80
difficulties, however, when we . . . hear how accelerations and decelerations interact with
changes in other musical parameters within real-life musical examples. Patty further claims that,
in the measures preceding the most prominent climax of the Liebestod from Wagners Tristan
und Isolde (m. 63), deceleration does not cause tension to decrease, but to increase.35 Such a
radical claim, however, cannot be supported by the evidence since it is actually a handful of
other rhetorical and syntactical parameters (tension types) that creates the tension, and not the
harmonic deceleration to which Patty refers.36
At times, it can be difficult to determine whether a passage contains an acceleration in
harmony because in tonal music harmony is hierarchical in nature; that is, it most often occurs on
more than one perceptual level at the same time. Thus, changing harmonies over a bass pedal
point would create one level of harmonic rhythm while the pedal itself would create another,
since it signals the prolongation of a single harmony. But less clear situations can arise in which
a passage with two levels of harmonic rhythm joins with another that contains only one level, as
for example in the opening theme of Beethovens Pathtique Sonata, op. 13 (see Example 2.2).
Throughout mm. 11-14, there are two levels of harmonic rhythm: a pedal point in the bass
sustaining the tonic note, and faster-moving harmonies (mainly in quarter notes) sounding
overtop. When the music reaches m. 15, there is only one level of harmonic rhythm in half notes.
35

Patty, Pacing Scenarios, 326.

Patty recognizes some of the other rhetorical parameters and their stake in the tension of the passage, which in
total include all seven types of rhetorical tension as I define it: a crescendo, fast rhythmic values, rising melody,
dissonant interval (at the climax itself), slightly polyphonic texture, tutti scoring, and extreme registers in many
instruments (especially violin I) plus the swelling of the brass immediately before the climax. The passage also
includes at least three types of syntactical tension: accelerational (due to fragmentation from one-measure units in
mm. 44-46 to half-measure units in m. 47 to the climax at m. 61), closural (since the V7 of m. 60 does not lead to a
closing I chord but to an unexpected IV6), and implicational (from the dominant pedal). (Closural and implicational
tension are explained in the following subsections of this chapter.) However, he believes that the deceleration
contributes tension on account of its interaction with the intensifying parameters, and later proposes the term
struggle to describe the combination of deceleration and intensification (see Pacing Scenarios, 330). While I
would agree that deceleration combined with intensification does indeed produce the sense of struggle Patty
describes, such a view conflates the expressive character of a passage with the tension types it possesses. I maintain
a strict separation of the two elements since I believe that the tension of each individual parameter is not influenced
by the presence of other parameters.
36

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Does this change to half-note harmonies represent an increase or decrease in harmonic rhythm?
In such instances, it is useful to invoke Joseph P. Swains observation that throughout the socalled common practice period, when musical languages assigned specific syntactic roles or
functions to different triads within the context of a key, music theorists, analysts, and critics have
pointed to the bass voice of a texture as the one that has the most effect on harmonic articulation
and movement.37 Consequently, the bass pedal in the Pathtique example takes precedence as
the more prominent level of harmonic rhythm, meaning that the harmonic change is perceived as
moving from a single four-measure stretch to half-note values in m. 15, resulting in a harmonic
acceleration.

Example 2.2 Bass Pedal Points and Harmonic Acceleration; Piano Sonata in C Minor, op.
13, Pathtique, mm. 11-19

e) Closural Tension
One of the most familiar concepts in all of tonal music is that of the perfect authentic
cadence (PAC) as the strongest means of closure for a phrase. Hence the PAC has real authority,
at least in the classical style, for if a PAC occurs and is not followed by a repetition of material
37

Swain, Harmonic Rhythm, 29.

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from the same phrase (which would reopen the phrase and undo the effect of the PAC), then
that phrase remains unequivocally closed.38 It then follows that any passage that implies an
impending cadence but either does not close with a PAC, or does but retraces part of the same
phrase, generates tension due to the need for the music to continue on in order to reach a final
PAC for that phrase. The specific devices that create this type of tension are those that were
mentioned in chapter 1 in the subsection Cadence Types as methods of avoiding a cadence:39
deceptive, evaded, abandoned, and separated cadences; repetition of a portion of the phrase
containing the cadence; and the closural function, which substitutes a non-cadential (and
therefore weaker) kind of close for a cadence by means of a dominant arrival, tonic arrival, or a
cadence-like progression. It is important to note that the tension generated by a non-PAC closure
or an undone PAC remains until either a PAC is reached within that phrase or the music moves
on to a new phrase, signalled by sharply contrasting material. In both cases, the tension derives
from a thwarted attempt at a PAC, a process that increases the listeners expectancy for closure
with a PAC.

38

This same idea underlies one of Hepokoski and Darcys chief methods for deferring their essential expositional
closure (EEC, the PAC that ends their S-zone) to a later cadence: one could not consider S to be completed if
either it or its cadential material is immediately restated. . . . By repeating the melody or a portion thereof, the
composer reopens the PAC and shifts the EEC forward to the next PAC. See Elements of Sonata Theory, 151.
39
Caplin, Classical Form, 101, recognizes the tension-generating effect of such cadential avoidances, observing that
extensions and expansions of the cadence do not make that function any less effective. On the contrary, the
moment of cadential arrival is often highly intensified by being withheld considerably longer than might be
expected (my italics). See also Janet Schmalfeldt, Cadential Processess: The Evaded Cadence and the One More
Time Technique, The Journal of Musicological Research 1-2 (1992): 6, who discusses the drama involved in what
she has termed the one more time technique in evaded cadences, and states its primary features to be its capacity
to withhold resolution precisely where the cadence reaches its highest degree of tension, its potential for creating
surprise through thwarted expectation, and for disrupting the rhetoric of closure, with the result that what is repeated
becomes imperative, and thus emphatically dramatic.

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f) Implicational Tension
A fundamental principle underlying tonality is that chords of dominant function (V and
viio in all inversions and with sevenths or other added notes) imply resolution to their respective
tonic chord. In the classical style, dominant chords are very often incorporated into progressions
at the same harmonic rhythm as the preceding chord or chords, so no special attention is drawn
to them. If the harmonic rhythm slows upon reaching a dominant chord, however, then the
implied resolution to tonic harmony (or a substitute thereof) is withheld from the listener, and
this creates tension.40 Slowing the harmonic rhythm down may involve a literal lengthening of
the dominant chord itself, a series of chords that serve to prolong it, or a dominant pedal. By this
definition, all form-functional standing on the dominants constitute implicational tension, and
this only makes sensethe prolonged dominant harmony governing such passages is so
prominent that it is the focal point of such passages.41 But implicational tension is not restricted
to standing on the dominants; it may occur in other formal functions as well. All that is required
is a prolongation of a literally-present or implied dominant chord (as for example if the dominant
note occurs unharmonized). Thus, a post-cadential standing on the dominant by definition always
creates two types of syntactical tension: implicational and expansional. Although both types
depend on the existence of dominant harmony underlying such passages, they nevertheless
remain conceptually distinct since implicational tension is based strictly on the powerful
implication of the dominant function, whereas expansional tension in such cases is a created by
40

By the term prolonging, I refer to fairly surface-level prolongations as defined by Caplin under Prolongational
Progressions in Classical Form, 15.
41
The term standing on the dominant is actually Caplins translation of Stehen auf der Dominante from Erwin
Ratz, Einfhrung in die musikalische Formenlehre, 3rd ed. (Vienna: Universal Edition, 1973), 25see Classical
Form, 268n18. Such passages have been noted by other scholars, most recently by Hepokoski and Darcy as a
dominant-lock, which is essentially equivalent to Caplins term (though the former authors disagree with Caplin
that the passage is post-cadential in function). See Elements of Sonata Theory, 24, 24n2, 28n6, 31n11, 39n14.
Donald Francis Tovey referred to a standing on the dominant as the familiar term dominant preparation; see A
Companion to the Beethoven Pianoforte Sonatas (London: The Associated Board of the Royal Schools of Music,
1931), 7.

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the prolongation of the dominant chord, which stretches out the final measure of the underlying
basic phrase.

II. How Tension Types Combine to Create Drama

At the beginning of this study, I proceeded from the premise that, in Beethovens music,
drama, in the sense of highly intense, is defined by the presence of musical tension. And in the
first part of this chapter, I clarified what sorts of situations constitute tension, in both categories
of rhetorical (immediate and capable of a spectrum of values) and syntactical (relative and
resolution-driven). In the second part of this chapter, I will demonstrate how drama is produced
by the combination of tension types, then provide an example of how I apply the theory to
Beethovens music.
In order for drama to exist as a span of highly intense music, it follows that the overall
level of tension in either the rhetorical and/or syntactical category must be at a high level. But
what exactly constitutes a high level of tension? I would contend that the combination of three
tension types from the same category produces a dramatic effect, the sole exception being
dynamic tension, which, due to its strength and prominence as a tension type, requires only one
other rhetorical type to create drama. But since this idea requires further clarification, I now turn
to a number of examples from Beethoven that illustrate its effect, first in the rhetorical then in the
syntactical category.

i) Rhetorical Drama
One way of achieving drama is through the simultaneous combination of different
rhetorical tension types that are all within their range of prominent values that I established in the
previous sectionthis is what I call rhetorical drama. The idea of combining types is essential

85
to the concept of drama since no single type of rhetorical tension is strong enough on its own to
create a dramatic effect. Example 2.3 provides passages from Beethoven that contain only one
type of rhetorical tension. In the first example, there is only dynamic tension (due to the forte
mark); in the second, rhythmic (due to the sixteenth notes); and in the third, melodic tension (due

Example 2.3 Passages Containing One Type of Rhetorical Tension

a) Dynamic Tension (Horn Sonata in F Major, op. 17, mm. 1-4); not Dramatic

b) Rhythmic Tension (Violin Sonata in E-flat Major, op. 12, no. 3, mm. 13-16); not
Dramatic

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c) Melodic Tension (Piano Sonata in F Minor, op. 2, no. 1, mm. 1-2); not Dramatic

to the rising arpeggio of the right hand). I think readers would agree that none of these passages
are so intense that they could be called dramatic in the sense I give here. But the same is not true
when multiple tension types occur together. Some combinations yield a dramatic result, and as
mentioned above, dynamic tension is a particularly strong type, for if it is combined with at least
one other rhetorical type, the result is unequivocally dramatic. Example 2.4 demonstrates this
effect with two passages containing the same musical material. In 2.4a, as far as rhetorical types
are concerned, there is solely the rhythmic tension caused by the run of sixteenth notes (safely
assuming the quarter note to be well above the minimum speed of M.M. 100 [= 400/4] for
intense sixteenths in this case),

Example 2.4 Rhetorical Tension and Drama

a) Not Dramatic; Only Rhythmic Tension (Piano Sonata in G Major, op. 31, no. 1, mm. 1-3)

b) Dramatic; Rhythmic and Dynamic Tension (mm. 194-196)

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especially since Beethoven marks the dynamic as piano. As with the examples in 2.3, this
passage, which opens the exposition, would not by any standard be considered dramatic. In 2.4b,
however, when this same passage returns at the start of the recapitulation, Beethoven elevates its
intensity to a dramatic level due to the increase in dynamic level to fortissimo and the timbral
tension from the low bass note G1 at the start of the passage. Indeed, combinations of dynamic
tension and any other rhetorical tension type will produce drama, as Examples 2.5a and b
illustrate with the addition of thickness and timbral tension, respectively. Dynamic and rhythmic
tension are a typical combination in Beethovens dramatic passages and they very often occur in
conjunction with one or more other types of rhetorical tension. (Textural tension, however, is
uncommon due to the rarity of polyphonic textures in the classical style in general.) Example 2.6,
for instance, gives a passage in which the closing measures of a movement contain five types of
rhetorical tension: dynamic, rhythmic, melodic, thickness, and timbral tension (in the
penultimate right hand chord only).

Example 2.5 Dramatic Combinations of Dynamic Tension and Other Rhetorical Types
a) Dynamic and Thickness Tension (Piano Sonata in C Minor, op. 10, no. 1, mm. 1-4)

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b) Dynamic and Timbral Tension (Piano Sonata in E-Flat Major, op. 31, no. 3, mm. 39-46)

Example 2.6 Dramatic Combinations of Dynamic Tension and Multiple Other Rhetorical
Types (Piano Sonata in E-flat Major, op. 7, mm. 355-359)

When dynamic tension is not involved, the situation is much different. Consider Example
2.7a, which expresses only two types of rhetorical tension: rhythmic, through the rapid opening
arpeggio, and melodic, through the rise in pitch of the same arpeggio. Although both types add
tension (or a heightened level of energy) to the music, it is not sufficient to deem the passage
dramatic. Similarly, in Example 2.7b, there is rhythmic tension through the thirty-second notes,
and timbral tension through the extreme registers (high then low), but again, the heightened
energy provided by these two types falls short of being dramatic.42 (Raising the dynamic level to
forte, on the other hand, would certainly qualify them as dramatic.) And so, because the
rhetorical tension types apart from dynamics are somewhat weaker, drama will only result if a

42

The rise in the melodic groups in m. 13 of this example would seem to add melodic tension to the passage, which,
together with the other two tension types, would create drama. Recall, however, that in my discussion of melodic
interval tension, I maintain that the interval must be part of a single melodic gesture. Hence, because each quarternote group is simply repeated an octave higher on the next quarter-note beat, the result is a set of self-contained
melodic groups rather than a single unbroken melodic line, and the passage cannot be called dramatic.

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passage combines at least three of these other types at the same time. A good example occurs in
the first theme of the Pathtique Sonata, which we saw earlier (see Example 2.8). The dynamic
here is piano, and thus does not add tension to the first four measures. There are, however, three
other types of rhetorical tension in these same measures. First, while there is

Example 2.7 Combinations of Rhetorical Tension Types without Dynamic Tension

a) Rhythmic and Melodic Tension; not Dramatic (Piano Sonata in A Major, op. 2, no. 2,
IV, mm. 1-2)

b) Rhythmic and Timbral Tension; not Dramatic (Piano Sonata in A-flat Major, op. 110,
mm. 12-13)

Example 2.8 Rhythmic, Melodic, and Timbral Tension; Dramatic

(Piano Sonata in C Minor, op. 13, Pathtique, mm. 11-14)

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no metronome mark for this work, the cut time signature and lack of sixteenth notes anywhere in
the Allegro portions of the movement indicate that the half note is the tactus and that the tremolo
eighth notes in the bass must therefore be played well above the minimum M.M. 400 (100 to the
half note) if Beethovens rapid tempo marking of Allegro di molto e con brio is to be followed.
Hence rhythmic tension certainly exists here. Second, the presence of the low C2 in the bass adds
constant timbral tension. And third, the continually rising line of the right hands top notes adds
melodic tension that begins with the melodys G4 (forming a fifth from the initial C4) and
continues until its peak at C6. Together, these three tension types create a dramatic effect
(beginning in m. 12) that could not be realized by any of the types on its own. This is one of the
major advantages of such an approach to drama: determining what makes a particular passage
sound dramatic is attributed to a number of tension types that can be readily identified in the
music; thus the subjective element is minimized.
One other point to mention with regard to rhetorical drama is that, when a rhetorically
dramatic portion of a phrase is in some way repeated, the parallelism can cause the repetition to
be interpreted as being dramatic, even if there are not enough tension types present. This is
especially true when there is musically very little distinction between the dramatic portion and
the non-dramatic portion. In the String Trio in E-Flat Major, op. 3, for instance (shown in
Example 2.9), mm. 1-2 are rhetorically dramatic due to dynamic tension (the forte) and thickness
tension (more than three voices in a string trio texture). Measures 5-6 are clearly a repetition of
the opening two measures, the V-I harmony of the former answering the I-V harmony of the
latter, but in strict terms, after the triple-stop in the violin, the music drops to a non-dramatic
level because the thickness tension disappears, leaving only a single rhetorical type, dynamic
tension. Such an analysis, however, seems counter-intuitive considering the strong parallelism of

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the two groups. After all, the four-voice texture of m. 1 is barely distinguishable from the threevoice texture of m. 5. Hence I prefer to deem the second of the two groups dramatic until it
comes to a halt in m. 6 and recognize the parallelism of the groups rather than to mechanically
apply a set of inflexible rules.43

Example 2.9 Rhetorical Drama from Parallelism (String Trio in E-Flat Major, op. 3, mm.
1-6)

43

In an arrangement Beethoven made of this work for cello and piano (op. 64), the thickness tension, and
consequently the drama as well, in the first measure actually ceases after the first thick chord because the piano is
reduced from five voices (dramatic) to only three (non-dramatic) and the cello has only one (non-dramatic)
throughout the measure. Hence, in this case, the repetition in mm. 5-6, where the tension types play out in the same
fashion, would be heard with the same quick drop from dramatic to non-dramatic, which, interestingly, differs from
its interpretation in the original string trio. See Ludwig van Beethoven, Sonata for Violoncello and Piano, opus 64
(after the String Trio in E Flat Major opus 3), ed. Erich Wilke (New York: Schott, 1984).

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ii) Syntactical Drama
Combinations of three syntactical tension types produce what I call syntactical drama,
which therefore, like rhetorical tension, can never be achieved by any single type. Otherwise,
every sentence structure, for example, which by definition contains accelerative tension, would
be dramatic, which simply is not the case. Example 2.10, for instance, shows a sentence theme
that contains only accelerative tension and clearly is not dramatic. Even tonal tension, which one
might expect to be a stronger form of syntactical tension than the others, cannot produce drama
single-handedly, as Example 2.11 illustrates. In terms of strength, syntactical types are roughly
equivalent to the rhetorical types besides dynamics, since no two types together can produce a
dramatic effect. See Examples 2.12a and b, which show passages containing, respectively,
accelerative and tonal tension, and expansional and implicational tension.44 This does not mean

Example 2.10 Accelerative Tension Only; not Dramatic

(Piano Sonata in G Major, op. 14, no. 2, mm. 1-8)

44

Although it may seem that there is tonal tension in Example 2.12b due to the minor mode, there actually is none
(at least in on the surface level) because the passage is in E-flat minor, and there is no expectation for a transition to
remain in any particular key (hence no tonal disturbance).

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Example 2.11 Tonal Tension Only; not Dramatic
(Piano Sonata in C Major, op. 53, Waldstein, mm. 1-8)

Example 2.12 Non-Dramatic Combinations of Syntactical Tension Types

a) Tonal and Accelerative Tension (Piano Sonata in E-flat Major, op. 7, mm. 221-229)

94
b) Expansional and Implicational Tension (op. 7, mm. 213-219)

that the syntactical tension in these passages does not drive the music forwardall syntactical
types do. Drama, however, is defined as highly intense, and thus passages that contain only
two syntactical types do not contain a sufficient amount of tension to create drama. Three
syntactical types together, on the other hand, do produce a dramatic effect so long as the types
are heard at the same time. Example 2.13a shows a passage that contains no rhetorical tension at
all but is nonetheless dramatic due to the syntactical types of tonal tension (through the C major
key in a B-flat major theme),45 expansional tension (the whole C major passage is part of an
expanded consequent phrase to a period theme), and implicational tension (through the dominant
pedal). Likewise, Example 2.13b, which depicts the famous C from the opening of the Eroica
Symphony, contains almost no rhetorical tension (only some dynamic tension in m. 10) but does
express drama in mm. 7-9 through the following syntactical types: tonal tension (the ambiguity
of key), metric tension (the syncopated violin I line), expansional tension (these measures are an
expansion of what would have been an eight-measure theme), and accelerative tension (the
increase in harmonic rhythm through these measures). Notice that the drama remains even when
there are only three syntactical types left after the violin line is no longer syncopated, but that it
is finally dispelled with the sounding of the home dominant seventh in m. 10 and a return to a
45

Tovey, A Companion to Beethovens Pianoforte Sonatas, 36, appropriately calls the C major key here an
intrusive key violently opposed to the present B .

95
more normative four-measure conclusion to the phrase (i.e., the phrase expansion ends in m. 11).
Especially noteworthy in these two examples is the observation that drama may arise without the
use of a loud dynamic. All that is required is a high level of energy caused by the simultaneous
combination of tension types. However, because of the fundamental difference in the way that
the rhetorical and syntactical categories operate, drama may only emerge from the combinations
of tension types in the same category. To demonstrate this effect, I refer to Example 2.14, which
shows a passage containing, on the one hand, two types of rhetorical tension: textural, due to the
polyphonic texture, and timbral, due to the high register of the violin. On the other hand, there
are also two types of syntactical tension present: metric, due to the syncopated second violin line
in mm. 38-39, and accelerative, due to the fragmentation of the initial two-measure basic idea
(mm. 34-35) into one-measure then half-measure units (as clarified by the first violins melody).
If drama were the product of any three tension types regardless of their category, then mm. 38-40
ought to give a dramatic effect. Certainly these tension types provide the music with a degree of
energy, but not one that could be considered dramatic in the sense of highly intense. Thus, it
becomes crucial to separate the rhetorical and syntactical categories to distinguish dramatic
passages from non-dramatic ones. Before one can describe how a passage is structured
dramatically, however, it is necessary to define some basic units of dramatic structure during
which the level of tension remains consistentthis will be the topic of the next subsection.

Example 2.13 Dramatic Combinations of Syntactical Tension

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a) Tonal, Expansional, and Implicational Tension (op. 7, mm. 81-93)

b) Tonal, Metric, Expansional, and Accelerative Tension (Eroica Symphony, mm. 3-11)

Example 2.14 Two Tension Types in Each Category; not Dramatic (String Quartet in C
Minor, op. 18, no. 4, mm. 33-41)

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iii) Units of Dramatic Structure

When a span of music is dramatic, the overall tension in either the rhetorical or
syntactical category (or both) is at a high level. As long as the music remains dramatic, I
therefore call such a span a High unit of dramatic structure. When there is no drama, the overall
tension is at a low level, and I call this a Low unit.
In order to demonstrate how spans of music may be structured according to the two
fundamental dramatic units, I provide here an analysis of a well-known passage from a
movement that is without question rife with highly intense dramatic effects: the first sixty-two
measures of Beethovens Fifth Symphony. As far as sonata form is concerned, these measures

98
constitute P and TR (the first theme and transition) of the exposition, with P structured as a
period theme, and both the antecedent and consequent phrases themselves structured as smaller
sentence themes. TR is likewise composed as a sentence, albeit with three basic ideas and is
therefore what I term a trifold sentence. Example 2.15 shows the component parts of both P and
TR, and below them the level of tension (Low or High) along with the present tension types in
parentheses. (If both rhetorical and syntactical types are present, the former are given first and
the latter follow a semicolon.)
The opening five measures of the movement are among the most famous in all of
Western music, a position it probably owes as much to its memorable four-note motive as it does
to its highly dramatic nature. In rhetorical terms, the fortissimo creates dynamic tension, the
rapid eighth notes (each at M.M. 108 x 4 = 432, above the minimum M.M. 400) create bursts of
rhythmic tension, and the low register of the cellos creates timbral tension.46 Thus, the
continuous dynamic and rhythmic or timbral tension create a High unit. But notice that this High
unit may also be seen as a consequence of the three syntactical tension types present: tonal and
metric tension, due to an ambiguity in both realms, and expansional, since these measures serve
as an introduction (P1.0, signaled by the unison texture) to the first theme proper (P1) beginning in
m. 6, and thus create tension through their before-the-beginning status as a kind of extended
upbeat.47 Whether one interprets the drama as stemming from the rhetorical or syntactical

46

Scott Burnham, Beethoven Hero (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1995), 33, likewise notes
Beethovens choice of a middle to low register in his creation of a dramatic effect. While I agree that the clarinets
here create more pungent (twelfth-heavy) overtones and the effect of breath because (as he states in 177n10)
these notes fall just below the instruments break, their timbre cannot be compared to the intensity of other
threshold pitches I listed in Table 2.3. Thus, they do not contribute timbral tension here even though, in terms of
expressive character, they add the effect of breath.
47
The tonal ambiguity of this opening has long been recognized in music literature, Burnham, Beethoven Hero, 32,
citing E. T. A. Hoffmanns famous review of the symphony as an early (if not the first) instance. It is interesting,
however, that although Hoffmann states of these measures that not even the key is yet certain, he promptly adds
that the listener assumes E major. In my own view, no such assumption could be made judging from the music
per se, and thus perhaps Hoffmann is projecting an expectation that the piece will be in the major mode because

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Example 2.15 P and TR of the Fifth Symphony, mm. 1-62

there is no tonic note present for C minor but there is for E major. See E. T. A. Hoffmann, Review of Beethovens
Fifth Symphony, in E. T. A. Hoffmanns Musical Writings: Kreisleriana, The Poet and the Composer, Music
Criticism, ed. David Charlton and trans. Martyn Clarke (New York: Cambridge University Press, 1989), 239. More
recently, Michael Baker, A Curious Type of Tonal Pun in Bachs Suites for Unaccompanied Cello, Indiana
Theory Review 27 (2009): 9, has pointed out that the cadence in the relative key of E major at the end of the
exposition primes the listener to hear the return to the opening G and E within this new harmonic context as 3 and 1
of E major. This results in a tonal punthe reinterpretation of a previously heard musical event within a new
harmonic context. Thus, the issue of tonal ambiguity in the opening measures is revisited when the exposition
heads into its second statement.

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101

102

103

104
category is moot, since either way these measures constitute a High unit. In other words, from
the standpoint of the present theory, Beethovens introduction remains at the same level of
tension throughout and therefore merits the High unit assigned here. Although any additional
tension types beyond the minimum number for drama do not alter the basic dramatic unit, they
do create a more dramatic effect than the minimum number would and no doubt contribute to the
unusually gripping quality of these opening measures.48
At the start of the P-theme proper in m. 6, the syntactical tension types disappear (the
introduction ends, resolving the expansional tension, and the tonal and metric tensions are
resolved with the establishment of C minor and a duple meter with the opening of the theme
proper), and of the rhetorical types, there is only rhythmic tension (due to the eighth notes) and
melodic tension (due to the rising melodic line divided among the upper strings), leaving the
overall tension at a Low level. With m. 15, accelerative tension begins due to a fragmentation
process that lasts until the end of the phrase in m. 21. Although this type on its own is not enough
to create drama, the rhetorical tension increases in m. 18 (with the addition of a rising dynamic,
and an intense thickness and timbre [trumpets and timpani]) and becomes High (dramatic) in m.
19 due to the forte mark. Syntactically, the augmented sixth chord in m. 20 creates tonal tension
and helps to boost the total tension level even higher for a more powerfully dramatic effect
before resolving onto the dominant chord in the next measure for the half cadence (which itself
creates closural tension). Despite the loss of tonal tension in m. 21, however, the tension remains
High, even when the first violin refuses to release its high G, because that G is attained through a
48

In connection with this point, Burnham, Beethoven Hero, 32, indicates that we can understand this opening as an
extreme case of a more or less common rhetorical exhortation, examples of which are not lacking in classical-style
musicone thinks of the opening of Mozarts Prague Symphony, or Haydns London Symphony, or even the
Eroica. But whereas such exhortations generally form terse rhythmic totalities (usually with dotted rhythms) that
often assert both a meter and a tonality, Beethovens does neither. Thus, it is the lack of a clear key and metre that
boosts the intensity of this introduction beyond that of its most prominent predecessors. Indeed, Burnham likens the
powerful effect of this introduction to that most unsettling of all utterances, the imperious command to do one
knows not what.

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leap of a perfect fifth and thus constitutes melodic tension. Together with that notes forte
dynamic, the drama is able to remain High right into the next phrase.49 Thus, this entire
antecedent phrase has a dramatic structure of Low-High.
After another High introduction in m. 22 (due to dynamics, thickness, and, in part,
rhythm), the second phrase begins like the first with a Low unit from mm. 25-33. (Note that all
the rhetorical types but rhythmic tension are below their prominent values here and that there are
no syntactical types at all.) But as the phrase progresses, both rhetorical and syntactical drama
emerge to give a High unit beginning at m. 38. Rhetorically, the music expresses dynamic
tension through the implied forte (sforzandos after a crescendo), rhythmic tension through the
constant eighth notes, melodic tension through the rising melody, harmonic tension through the
suspensions, and thickness tension through the thicker orchestral texture. And in terms of
syntactical types, there is accelerative tension through fragmentation (the continuation function),
expansional tension through the lengthening of the inner portion of the phrase, as well as some
tonal tension through the allusions to F minor.50 Like the antecedent, the dramatic structure of
this consequent phrase is therefore Low-High, but it is achieved using both rhetorical and
syntactical drama, giving it considerable impact as it heads into the transition (TR).
This High level of tension is maintained when TR begins at m. 44, despite six out of the
existing nine tension types dropping out either on or immediately following the downbeat of that
measure: the rhetorical types of melodic (rising melody), harmonic (suspensions), and timbral

49

As Burnham, Beethoven Hero, 35, similarly points out in this measure, the sustained G, like a cable taut with
high voltage, carries the tension over into the next phrase.
50
Burnhams description of these same features in this passage corresponds to my view of them as tension types
(though he does not mention the rise in dynamic level): At the point where such a balancing cadence might have
taken place [m. 38] . . . the music begins an intensification of all parameters: increased rhythmic activity [rhythmic
tension], addition of winds on the downbeats [thickness tension], rising sequence [melodic tension], accelerated
rhythmic activity [accelerative tension], and dissonance over a pedal tone [harmonic tension]. He also implies the
tonal tension in the passage by referring to the most involved harmonic progression yet: (from bar 37) i-vii7-V7/iviv-V7/iv-iv-vii7-i. See Beethoven Hero, 36.

106
tension (trumpets and timpani are only on the first beat of m. 44), and the syntactical types of
expansional and accelerative tension. Thus, the remaining types of dynamic, rhythmic, and
thickness tension are enough to carry the drama forth beyond this initial downbeat. In mm. 5258, the tension is still maintained at a High level, but is further enhanced by a sudden increase in
both dynamic tension (fortissimo) and the addition of harmonic tension (due to the dissonance
contained in the diminished seventh chord), timbral tension (the addition of trumpets and
timpani) and tonal tension (due to the ambiguity in key). Although the final tutti chords in mm.
56-58 resolve the tonal tension and suddenly halt the rhythmic tension, the overall tension again
remains at a dramatic High level due to the retention of the fortissimo, thick texture, and bright
timbre (especially from the trumpets), while accelerative tension gives TR forward drive as it
reaches the medial caesura. The famous horn call of mm. 59-62, which is an unusually tuneful
instance of caesura-fill, begins with a High unit due to the rhythmic tension of the eighth notes
and the still-present fortissimo dynamic.51 With its first downbeat at m. 60, however, the
rhythmic tension falls away, leaving the music now at a Low level of tension that is reinforced
with a decrescendo in m. 62 (leading to piano) before entering the secondary-theme zone (S) in
m. 63 (not shown).
At this point, it may seem that the dramatic structure of P and TR is merely a reflection of
the varying degrees of Beethovens dynamic marks. While, in this passage, nearly every loud
dynamic mark (forte or fortissimo) is involved in a dramatic event, dynamics alone cannot tell
the whole story for two reasons. First, not all drama incorporates dynamics. Recall that drama
may arise from combinations of rhetorical tension types other than dynamics, or from syntactical
types, which do not include dynamics. What is important to note in the Fifth Symphony example
51

Hepokoski and Darcy, Elements of Sonata Theory, 139, argue in favour of this interpretation: following the
emphatic hornsignal articulation of the MC in mm. 59-62 (which deformationally combines features of MC and
caesura-fill), a dolce S sets forth in m. 63.

107
is Beethovens consistent coordination of loud dynamics with at least one other type of rhetorical
tension, for this is how the drama is created. Secondly, recall that not all loud dynamics
constitute drama. If there are no other rhetorical types to boost the overall tension to a High
level, it remains at a Low level even though dynamic tension is present (as with the latter portion
of the horn call in the last example). One must not, therefore, be lulled into applying High units
to all loud dynamics in a passage.
In Table 2.4, I have given a summary of the dramatic structure, dividing P and TR into
the thematic units they contain and separating from them any framing units such as thematic
introductions, codettas, and standing on the dominants. One may ask why the basic unit of
measurement I have chosen for dramatic structures is the thematic unit, which encompasses both
themes and theme-like units. Since the purpose of this study is to compare dramatic structures
among Beethovens first-movement sonata forms, it must first be decided what units of the form
will be compared with each other. Obviously, an entire movement is too largeevery movement
is so uniquely composed that it is unlikely that any two will have the same dramatic structure.
The same could be said of the large sections of the form: exposition, development, and
recapitulation. On the other hand, examining the relatively small units that make up themes
(basic ideas, continuations, etc.) would result in far too many similarities among movements to
be of much use. An appropriate middle-ground between these two extremes would seem to be
the thematic unitessentially, passages that close with a cadence or substitute thereof (e.g., the
closing function I discussed in the previous chapter). The framing functions are considered
separately in this study because they are not part of the thematic unit proper. As Caplin states,
their function is one of either before-the-beginning or after-the-end,52 and hence they must
be detached from the main portion of the theme or theme-like unit. Thematic units are ideal for
52

Caplin, Classical Form, 15.

108
dramatic analysis because they usually incorporate a small number of formal functions and one is
therefore likely to find a manageable number of archetypal patterns of dramatic structure that
recur. Moreover, there are patterns that exist between the thematic units of adjacent sections, for
example from the end of TR to the start of S. It is these sorts of relationships that are the primary
focus of this study, and unearthing the patterns that lurk within them will be the topic of the next
chapter.

Table 2.4 Dramatic Structure in P and TR of Beethovens Fifth Symphony Exposition

Unit of Form
Phrase
Structure

P1.0
Intro.

Dramatic
Structure

High

P1
Period Theme
Antecedent
(Intro.) Consequent
Bi
Bi
Cont (Cad) Intro. Bi
Bi
Cont (Close)
Low - - - - - - - - - High High - Low - - - - - - - High

TR1
Trifold Sentence
3 Bis Cont CF
High - - - - - Low

Bi = Basic Idea; Cont = Continuation; Cad = Cadence

Intro. = Thematic Introduction; CF = Caesura-Fill (in the Medial Caesura)

Part 2: Dramatic Structures in Beethovens

First-Movement Type 3 Sonata Forms

Introduction to Chapter 3
I. Archetypes of Dramatic Structure
Having established a method of analyzing dramatic structure with respect to form, I now
turn to the dramatic analysis of Beethovens first-movement sonata forms, and only those of the
standard type, or Type 3, to use Hepokoski and Darcys term. As I indicated at the end of the
preceding chapter, I will group the units of dramatic structure according to their respective
themes, theme-like units, and other surrounding formal functions such as thematic introductions,
codettas, and standing on the dominants, all of which I refer to as the modules of a
movements form. In this way, several model types, or archetypes, of dramatic structure emerge,
each of which can be used to describe dramatically similar passages in Beethovens sonata
forms. After a brief definition of these archetypes, the primary goal of this second part of the
study will be to determine which archetypes tend to appear in each part of the form and whether
their usage may be related to works in a certain key, mode, genre, or style period.
Beethoven did not compose first-movement Type 3 sonata forms in all twelve major and
twelve minor keys but, like the other classical composers, tended to avoid keys with sharp or flat
tonics, with the exceptions of E-flat major and B-flat major, which were in common use at the
time. In these works, Beethoven wrote only in sixteen keys, ten of them major (C, D, E-flat, E, F,
F-sharp, G, A-flat, A, and B-flat), and six minor (C, D, E, F, G, A). The major keys of F-sharp
and A-flat, however, are only represented by a single movement, and in the case of E major, and
D, E, and G minor, only two movements. Because I consider three to be the minimum number of
movements that can constitute a pattern in dramatic structure (to reduce the likelihood of

109

110
coincidence), these keys are not numerous enough to be considered separate categories. The
movements in these keys, however, do contribute to the other categories of mode, genre, and
style period, and to the overall frequency of the various archetypes. The same may be said of the
genres of string quintet (of which there are two unique movements1) and piano four hands (only
one movement), neither of which I consider in separate genre categories in this study.
As concerns style periods, a few explanatory words are warranted since there has been
disagreement as to how Beethovens works ought to be divided among them and even whether
the concept is a valid one. The three periods of early, middle, and late, which first became
popular with Wilhelm von Lenzs Beethoven et ses trois styles of 1852, have generally been
agreed upon as to their approximate range of dates.2 The early period includes Beethovens first
compositions up to and including those composed in 1802. The middle period is defined by the
advent of heroic works from 1803 onward such as the Eroica Symphony, and runs to 1812,
just before Beethovens output dramatically decreased in 1813. This latter event marks the
beginning of the late period, which includes the rest of Beethovens career until his death in
1827. What this system lacks in nuance, it makes up for in practicality, for, as Kerman, Tyson,
and Burnham point out, in spite of all it obviously does accommodate the bluntest style
distinctions to be observed in Beethovens output, and . . . the breaks between the periods
correspond with the major turning-points in Beethovens biography,3 that is, the crisis over

The String Quintet, op. 104 is an arrangement of the Piano Trio, op. 1, no. 3, and thus is not a unique work.
Similarly, the Cello Sonata, op. 64, which is an arrangement of the String Trio, op. 3, is not included in this study.
2
Joseph Kerman, Alan Tyson, and Scott Burnham, Beethoven, in The New Grove Dictionary of Music and
Musicians, 2nd ed., ed. Stanley Sadie (New York: Macmillan, 2001), 3:95; Wilhelm von Lenz, Beethoven et ses
trois styles (New York: Da Capo Press, 1980 [a reprint of the 1909 edition published in Paris by Gustave Legouix.
Originally published 1852]). See also, Alfred Brendel, Beethovens New Style, in Music Sounded Out: Essays,
Lectures, Interviews, Afterthoughts (London: Robson, 1990), 60, who likewise views the end of 1812 as the end of
an era in instrumental music, during which the transition from early to middle-period Beethoven . . . had proceeded
smoothly and, as it were, of its own accord. The years 1813-1814, in which Beethovens productivity was quite
low, mark a pause that seems, to Brendel, to denote the start of the late period.
3
Kerman, Tyson, and Burnham, Beethoven, 95.

111
encroaching deafness at the start of the middle period and the lengthy court battle for custody of
his nephew Karl at the start of the late period. Moreover, while all recent biographies of
Beethoven add a fourth period up to 1792 for the composers younger years in Bonn, such an
addition would have no impact on the present study since the works under scrutiny here all carry
an opus number, meaning, at the earliest, they were from about 1793, when Beethoven first came
to Vienna. For these reasons, the three periods, as defined above, serve as a worthwhile means of
chronologically dividing up Beethovens works for my purposes here.
The archetypes of dramatic structure can be described in terms of the two dramatic units
of Low (L, non-dramatic) and High (H, dramatic). Obviously, the more complex the dramatic
structure, the more units that will appear, and thus there would seem to be a long list of potential
archetypes. But if one recognizes some basic similarities between certain structures, then it
becomes possible to group structures together into a limited number of archetypes. In order to
uncover these similarities, I propose three guidelines for analyzing an archetype from a series of
dramatic units:

Guideline 1

The dramatic units that occur at both the beginning and end of a module (unit of
form) are always included in the dramatic archetype because the tension level is
always prominent there.4

Guideline 2

Within the same formal unit, a single L or H will persist unless there is a change
to its opposite. For example, in a sentence theme, if the presentation and
continuation remain at a Low level of tension, a single label of L for both suffices
because it applies to contiguous parts of the same theme. However, tension that

This follows from basic psychology in that, given a series of events, people tend to most remember those at the
beginning and end.

112
continues unchanged into an entirely new module, as from P into TR, instead
requires two distinct labels because, in this study, I consider individual themes,
theme-like units, and any framing functions they may have, to all be separate
modules.

Guideline 3

Whenever an LH or HL group is repeated within the same formal unit, it creates a

redundancy in the dramatic structure and is therefore omitted from the archetype,
which represents the most fundamental form of the dramatic structure. If the
surface structure is LHLH or HLHL, the redundancy encompasses the final unit,
but because the outer units must remain present, it is the central L and H units that
are omitted, leaving the archetype of LH or HL, respectively. In many cases, such
redundancies occur in conjunction with a repeated formal function as well, as
with the basic idea of a sentence or even the consequent of a period (which is,
after all, a sort of repetition of the antecedent).5

With these three guidelines, there are a total of six archetypes that can appear; they are given in
Table 3.1 along with the abbreviations that I will use for each. The archetypes are most clearly
seen in relatively short formal units (up to about eight measures) where there are, at most, three
different dramatic units (of L or H). But in more complex structures, the above guidelines
provide a way of viewing such structures as more elaborate versions of the simpler underlying

This is not to say that any dramatic units were ignored in the process of my analyses, but only that further
statements of LH or HL groups did not create a different underlying archetype. In such repeated groups, I noted
where the tension occurred in relation to the form and would include this information in the study only if it was part
of a significant trend (I discuss significance shortly).

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Table 3.1 The Six Archetypes of Dramatic Structure
Archetype
Low
Low-High
Low-High-Low
High
High-Low
High-Low-High

Abbreviation
L
LH
LHL
H
HL
HLH

archetypes. A brief analysis will demonstrate how these guidelines are applied. Example 3.1
shows the opening sentence theme of P from the Piano Sonata in C Minor, op. 10, no. 1. On the
surface, the dramatic structure would be that shown in the analysis:

m.

Basic Idea
H
L
1
3

Basic Idea
H
L
5
7

Continuation Cadence
L
L
H
9
14

This structure, however, can be viewed as an expression of a more fundamental archetype.

According to Guideline 1, the archetype will both begin and end with H. Next, with Guideline 3,
the dramatic content of the second basic idea, being a repetition of the first, would be considered
a redundancy in the archetype and therefore omitted, leaving a dramatic structure of HLLLH.
And lastly, with Guideline 2, the three Ls that extend from the end of the first basic idea through
the continuation and into the cadence would be viewed as a single L unit, rendering the
underlying structure as HLH, one of the six archetypes. While different P-themes will
necessarily express surface dramatic structures differently, I would argue that the similarities
among identical archetypes are strong enough to warrant collecting them into a single category.
Through this method of grouping, it becomes possible to compare modules at the same location
in the form regardless of their length and to recognize patterns that exist in the dramatic structure
of Beethovens sonata forms.

114
Example 3.1 Dramatic Structure in the Piano Sonata in C Minor, op. 10, no. 1, mm. 1-22

II. Patterns in Dramatic Structure

Of Beethovens works, I considered only those that Beethoven himself had published
(i.e., that have an opus number). Within these works, there are a total of eighty-seven first
movements that are in Type 3 sonata form.6 In order to obtain results that were both
comprehensive and precise, I analyzed the archetypes in all parts of these movements, dividing
the forms into their respective themes, theme-like units, and other formal functionsall the
possible modules that were found to occur are shown in Figure 3.1. I then calculated the

See Appendix A for a complete list of all eighty-seven movements along with their corresponding genre,
composition date, style period, and key, and Appendix B for the dramatic analyses of all these movements.

115
percentage of works in which each archetype appeared in each module of the form, when that
particular module occurred. Otherwise, if the calculation was based on the frequency of that
division across all movements, patterns within little-used divisions would easily be overlooked.
Within each module, there were very few cases in which an archetype occurred a majority of the
time (that is, in more than 50% of all movements), a fact that speaks to the great variety in
dramatic structure that Beethoven sought in his sonata forms taken as a whole. It was useful,
however, to determine the archetype with the highest frequency in each module even if it did not
occur more than 50% of the time, as it was an indication of Beethovens most preferred
archetype in relation to others. In order to constitute a significant pattern, such preferred
archetypes had to occur in at least three movements, which reduces the probability of
coincidence with only two movements. I examined these preferred archetypes in detail to
determine precisely which tension types tend to occur in which formal functions.
For the categories of key, mode, genre, and style period, those patterns that I considered
significant occurred in at least three movements and in a majority of movements that contained
the module in question (i.e., more than 50% of them). In the case of the piano sonata and string
quartet, the number of works was relatively large and so, in order to search for patterns within
subsets of these works, I cross-searched genre and style period together (e.g., early piano
sonatas) and genre and mode (e.g., major string quartets). Moreover, due to the prominence of
the very beginning and very end of each division, I determined the frequency of Low- and Hightension units (L and H) in only those places. Finally, because modules do not exist in isolation,
and the way the tension proceeds from one into the next is an important component in the
construction of dramatic music such as Beethovens, I calculated the frequency of the four
different combinations that may result from the juxtaposition of the dramatic units at the end of

116
one module and the beginning of the next (i.e., L-L, L-H, H-L, and H-H). Needless to say, not all
of the data collected was significantin fact, most of it was not. Thus, in the next chapter, in
addition to the archetype frequencies in each part of the form, I present a summary of the
significant results from these calculations with regard to sonata expositions. In the following
three chapters, I examine in turn the development, recapitulation, and outer sections of slow
introduction and coda.

117

Figure 3.1 All Possible Modules in Beethovens First-Movement Type 3 Sonata Forms (for the Purposes of This Study)

Slow Introduction (I)

I2.1
I2.2
I2.3
I1

I2.4

I3

Exposition
P1.0
P1 Ct/Sod

TR1

TRSod1 TR2

P2

Primary-Theme Zone (P)

Transition (TR)

Development (D)
D1
D2.1 D2.2

D3.1

D3.2

D3.3

Recapitulation
P1 Ct/Sod
P1.0

P2

TR1

TRSod1 TR2

D3.4

Primary-Theme Zone (P)

Transition (TR)

Coda (Z)
Z1
Z2

Z3.3

Z3.1

Z3.2

Z3.4

TRSod2 CF S1 Tr/Sod

S2

S3

Sod

S4

Secondary-Theme Zone (S)

D4.1

CL1 CL2 CL3 RT1 RT2

Closing Section (CL)

D4.2

TRSod2 CF S1 Tr/Sod

S2

S3

Sod

Secondary-Theme Zone (S)

S4

CL1 CL2 CL3 RT1 RT2

Closing Section (CL)

Z3.5

Ct = Codetta; Sod = Standing on the dominant; Tr = Small-scale transition function (found only between themes, not to be confused
with the transition section, TR); CF = Caesura-fill (in the medial caesura); RT = Retransition

Chapter 3: The Exposition

As the section of sonata form that involves the most complex arrangement of modules,
the exposition is a rich site for the study of dramatic structure, each of its four main zonesP,
TR, S, and CLhaving idiosyncratic ways of dealing with tension and drama. However, as one
proceeds through the chapter, it becomes increasingly clear that, while some of the differences in
dramatic structure are the result of the movements key, mode, or genre, by far the most frequent
differences are seen among the three style periods of early, middle, and late. As it turns out, these
stylistic changes are deeply rooted in Beethovens intermingling of what Michael Broyles calls
the two styles of classicism: sonata style and symphony style, both of which will be
described in some detail below.1 As will be seen, this strong connection between dramatic
structure and style, or more specifically style change, is the single most important factor
affecting dramatic structure in all sections of Beethovens first-movement sonata forms.

I. The Primary-Theme Zone (P)

Within a movement proper (i.e., after a slow introduction), the first module we may hear
is a thematic introduction to the first theme, or P1.0. The frequencies of each archetype in this
module are given in Table 3.2 (most preferred or majority values are always shaded in grey and
actual number of movements shown in parentheses).2 Since P1.0 is almost always a short module,
there is little room for the development of drama beyond a single L or H; hence, these are the
modules significant archetypes, and they occur in equal ratios of 30% (6 of 20).3 Sorting the

Michael Broyles, Beethoven: The Emergence and Evolution of Beethovens Heroic Style (New York: Excelsior,
1987), chapter 1 et passim.
2
Due to rounding, percentages do not always add up to 100% (although they do in this case).
3
Works with an L archetype in P1.0 (works are always listed by order of opus number within the order of genres
given in Appendix A: piano sonata, string quartet, string trio, piano trio, string quintet, violin sonata, cello sonata,
symphony, four-hand piano sonata, and chamber work with winds or brass): op. 2, no. 2; op. 31, no. 1; op. 110; op.
18, no. 3; op. 92; op. 17. Works with an H archetype in P1.0: op. 31, no. 2; op. 111; op. 59, no. 2; op. 74; op. 55; op.
67.

118

119
works by the various categories within key, mode, genre, and style period also produces some
significant results. Considering only a Low (L) start to P1.0, the categories of major mode, piano
sonata, and early period become significant at 62% (8 of 13), 63% (5 of 8), and 70% (7 of 10),
respectively.4 These same categories recur as significant when considering only a Low end to
P1.0 at 77% (10 of 13), 63% (5 of 8), and 70% (7 of 10), respectively, indicating that there is a
tendency in the piano sonatas, early period, and major mode to use non-dramatic units hereany
drama that does occur tends not to last for all of P1.0.5
On the other hand, within the fully dramatic H archetype in P1.0, the categories of minor
mode, and middle period come to the fore at 57% (4 of 7) and 67% (4 of 6), respectively. If only
a High start to P1.0 is considered, then E-flat major becomes significant as well at 75% (3 of 4).
And if only its end is considered, symphonies and C minor emerge at 75% (3 of 4) and 100% (3
of 3).6 Thus, in this early stage of sonata form, dichotomies in dramatic structure are suggested

Table 3.2 Archetypes in P1.0

Archetype
L
LH
LHL
H
HL
HLH

% Frequency
30 (6)
15 (3)
5 (1)
30 (6)
20 (4)
--

For archetypes that are significant in multiple categories, many works appear in more than one category because of
inevitable overlap between categories. Major-mode works: Op. 2, no. 2; op. 7; op. 22; op. 31, no. 1; op. 110; op. 18,
no. 3; op. 92; op. 17. Piano sonatas: Op. 2, no. 2; op. 7; op. 22; op. 31, no. 1; op. 110. Early works: Op. 2, no. 2; op.
7; op. 22; op. 31, no. 1; op. 18, no. 3; op. 9, no. 3; op. 17.
5
Major-mode works: Op. 2, no. 2; op. 7; op. 31, no. 1; op. 81a; op. 110; op. 18, no. 3; op. 12, no. 1; op. 92; op. 17;
op. 87. Piano sonatas: Op. 2, no. 2; op. 7; op. 31, no. 1; op. 81a; op. 110. Early works: Op. 2, no. 2; op. 7; op. 22; op.
31, no. 1; op. 18, no. 3; op. 9, no. 3; op. 17.
6
Minor-mode works with an H archetype in P1.0: Op. 31, no. 2; op. 111; op. 59, no. 2; op. 67. Middle-period works:
Op. 59, no. 2; op. 74; op. 55; op. 60; op. 67. E-flat-major works with a High start to P1.0: Op. 81a; op. 74; op. 55.
Symphonies with a High end to P1.0: Op. 55; op. 67; op. 125. C-minor works: Op. 111; op. 9, no. 3; op. 67.

120
between the major and minor mode, the genres of piano sonata and symphony, and the
style periods of early and middle. Moreover, since a thematic introduction is often used to set the
tone of the music to come, the numbers for minor, symphony, and middle period indicate that
Beethoven considered these categories to be more dramatic than others.
But how do the tension types tend to play out in these H units? First of all, I would note
that, being an introduction, P1.0 always contains the syntactically-formed expansional tension.
But beyond this type, syntactical tension is generally scarce in this module and thus syntactical
drama is not typically found. This is largely what makes the opening to the Fifth Symphony so
powerful in its effectnot only does it use rhetorical drama, but syntactical as well, combining
the immediate intensity of the former with the unsettling quality of the latter.7 Four of the five
other movements with a High P1.0 achieve drama strictly through rhetorical tension, usually with
a combination of dynamic tension and thickness tension to create the typically orchestral tutti
effect, as in the opening two chords of the Eroica Symphony. But in the case of the famous
rolled-chord opening of the Tempest Sonata, op. 31, no. 2, Beethoven employs syntactical
tension to dramatic effect. Here, the drama is created by tonal and metric tension (through
ambiguities in key and metre) combined with expansional tension from the openings status as an
introduction (recalling that three syntactical types are always necessary for syntactical drama),
and is enhanced on the rhetorical side by thickness tension (the six-voice chord) and timbral
tension (the low register). Even so, the tutti effect remains the most common form of drama in
P1.0 and appears in the string quartet (op. 59, no. 2 and op. 74) as well as the symphony (op. 55),
demonstrating Beethovens preference for a symphonic type of drama in such cases, regardless
of the genre.

See n48 of chapter 2 in this connection.

121
The opening module of the P-zone proper, P1, being one of the formal pillars of a sonata
exposition along with at least one module for TR and S, is found in all eighty-seven movements.
All six archetypes occur within P1, as shown in Table 3.3, but L and LH are most preferred at
28% (24 of 87) and 30% (28 of 87), respectively.8
Table 3.3 Archetypes in P1
Archetype
L
LH
LHL
H
HL
HLH

% Frequency
28 (24)
32 (28)
16 (14)
2 (2)
13 (11)
9 (8)

Within the L archetype, two keys have a majority of Low P1 structures: F major at 56%
(5 of 9) and A major at 57% (4 of 7), trends that are surely bound up with Beethovens thoughts
on composing in those keys in general.9 It can, for instance, be no coincidence that two of his Fmajor works bear titles related to naturethe Spring Sonata, op. 24, and the Pastoral
Symphony. And since Lewis Lockwood remarks that there is a strong religious element in
Beethovens feeling for nature. . . . That he loved the countryside and relished taking excursions
into the woods and fields is clear from biographical evidence of all kinds,10 the Low P-themes
of F-major works may be seen as a reflection of the feelings of pious serenity that Beethoven felt
when close to nature. In the A major works, Low P1 structures are either of a contented, intimate
quality, as in the Violin Sonata, op. 30, no. 1, and the Piano Sonata, op. 101 (which Robert

Works with an L archetype in P1: op. 2, nos. 2 and 3; op. 10, no. 2; op. 14, nos. 1 and 2; op. 49, no. 1; op. 101; op.
109; op. 18, nos. 2, 5, and 6; op. 59, no. 2; op. 127; op. 135; op. 9, nos. 2 and 3; op. 12, no. 1; op. 24; op. 30, no. 1;
op. 96; op. 5, nos. 1 and 2; op. 17; op. 87. Works with an LH archetype in P1: op. 7; op. 10, no. 3; op. 22; op. 28; op.
31, nos. 1 and 2; op. 18, nos. 1 and 4; op. 59, nos. 1 and 3; op. 9, no. 1; op. 1, nos. 2 and 3; op. 97; op. 12, nos. 2 and
3; op. 23; op. 30, no. 2; op. 69; op. 21; op. 36; op. 55; op. 60; op. 67; op. 68; op. 92; op. 16; op. 20.
9
F-major works: op. 10, no. 2; op. 135; op. 24; op. 5, no. 1; op. 17. A-major works: op. 2, no. 2; op. 101; op. 18, no.
5; op. 30, no. 1.
10
Lewis Lockwood, Beethoven: The Music and Life (New York: W. W. Norton: 2003), 225.

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Hatten has further interpreted as an instance of the pastoral expressive genre),11 or they are rustic
and dance-like but decidedly non-dramatic, as in the Piano Sonata, op. 2, no. 2, and the String
Quartet, op. 18, no. 5.12
In the LH archetype, the only category to have a majority is the symphony at 78% (7 of
9), which includes the first seven symphonies. Examining the tension types within the High units
of each of these P1 modules, we find that the tutti effect of dynamic and thickness tension is
almost always present (in the Second Symphony, there is dynamic and rhythmic tension), along
with at least one other rhetorical tension type, usually timbral due to the presence of loud brass
and timpani. Example 3.2 illustrates a typical setup with P1 of the First Symphony. At m. 31, the
fortissimo gives dynamic tension, the use of the full orchestra gives thickness tension, and the
sounding of fortissimo trumpets and timpani gives timbral tension, which is not present in every
tutti effect, but certainly enhances its dramatic impact. Moreover, note that the drama here takes
place over the cadential portion of the continuation or Continuation (Cadence), as I mark in the
analysis. Thus there is accelerative tension, a syntactical type that not only increases the drama
already provided by the tutti effect, but also signifies that Beethoven is dramatizing an element
of the form that inherently possesses tension: the sentence continuation. Indeed, the drama in all
seven LH P1 modules in the symphonies contains a continuation at some level of structure.
Moreover, that the drama occurs in a cadential function in all but the Seventh Symphony
indicates a certain teleology in dramatizing only the very end of P1 and not simply its latter half
(which would generally begin with the continuation) or indeed none of it at all. But from an even
broader perspective, it must also be observed that, in order to obtain a continuation and the
11

Robert Hatten, Musical Meaning in Beethoven: Markedness, Correlation, and Interpretation (Bloomington:
Indiana University Press, 1994), 91-111.
12
In this latter respect, even the Seventh Symphonys P1, is quite similar, but is structured as LH rather than L,
almost certainly on account of its genre as a symphony rather than its A major key. (The LH structure in symphonies
is discussed below.)

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natural acceleration it contains, Beethoven makes exclusive use of sentence structure in these
themes, either in monofold or bifold form, the former in Symphonies 3, 4, and 6, the latter in 1,
2, 5, and 7. (In this last case, it occurs as the B section of a rounded binary rather than as an
entire sentence theme, as in the other works.) Thus, as will be seen in many other parts of these
sonata forms, archetypes that dramatize the end of a structure through LH or LHL are closely
tied to sentence structure.
While not the most common archetype in P1, a majority of LHL archetypes may be found
in the piano sonatas of the middle period, where it reaches a frequency of 80% (4 of 5).13 In all
four of these works, the drama results from a combination of rhetorical tension types that at the
very least includes dynamic and rhythmic tension (see Example 3.3). Syntactical tension also
plays a role as, in all but one of these works (op. 81a), the drama unfolds within a continuation
and hence involves accelerative tension, once again demonstrating the importance of the
sentence, or in the case of op. 78, the very similar hybrid sentence (hybrid 3), in which there is
a large-scale basic idea (composed of a basic idea and contrasting idea) plus a continuation. Near
the ends of these P1-themes, however, Beethoven eliminates dynamic tension by inserting a
piano mark, decreasing the overall tension to a non-dramatic Low level. This tactic effectively
pulls the rug out from under our feet and gives us the impression that the music must continue
further to reach a more satisfying dramatized ending. Thus, even though the LHL archetype is
not identical to that of LH, the manner in which Beethoven employs both demonstrates a high
teleology for these types of P1.

13

Op. 53, op. 57, op. 78, op. 81a.

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Example 3.2 LH Archetype in P1 of First Symphony, mm. 13-33

125

126

127
Example 3.3 LHL Archetype in P1 of the Piano Sonata in F-Sharp Major, op. 78, mm. 412

It will be noticed that the two most preferred archetypes for P1, L and LH, both begin
with a Low dramatic unit (L). In fact, taken together, all archetypes that begin with L (L, LH,
and LHL) make up the vast majority of all Beethovens P1 modules at 76% (66 of 87).14
Furthermore, in terms of formal functions, it is significant that, in almost every one of his LH
arcehtypes, P1 is structured as a monofold or, more often, a bifold sentence, and the presentation
function always bears an L unit. In most instances, the ideas in a presentation are not long
enough to accommodate a small-scale sentence and hence to include accelerative tension through
a continuation. Thus presentations that begin P are usually devoid of accelerative tension and
indeed of any syntactical tension, and it seems that Beethovens modus operandi in LH P1
modules was to augment the accelerative tension inherent in sentence structures by adding
rhetorical drama to the continuation. But in order to make this approach most effective, a Low14

This type of opening is essentially what Hepokoski and Darcy call the weak-launch option for P, which begins
piano, either with an unassuming lyrical melody . . . or with the onset of some sort of bustling crescendo effect.
See Elements of Sonata Form: Norms, Types, and Deformations in the Late-Eighteenth-Century Sonata (New York:
Oxford University Press, 2006), 66.

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tension presentation is required as a launching pad from which the tension may increase and
become dramatic. The sentence is therefore an ideal form for Beethovens P1 modules and, by
the same token, is likely why other forms that are not inherently tension-inducing, such as the
period, rarely occur in this area of his sonata forms. Thus, Beethovens teleological impulse
seems largely responsible for the most typical structures in P1, and is surely why we find L as the
most common beginning unit in the subcategories of key, mode, genre, and the early and middle
periods.
When it comes to the late period, there is the startling statistic that 54% (7 of 13) of P1
modules begin with H units, the only category to have such a majority.15 (By contrast, the early
and middle periods have large majorities of L starts to P1, at 85% [44 of 52] and 73% [16 of 22],
respectively.) Why might this lone category occupy such a position? Many writers have noted
that Beethovens late period is characterized by unusual procedures that stand in especially stark
contrast to the most celebrated works from his middle period. In this vein, Maynard Solomon
aptly observes:
The exhaustion of the vaunted heroic style and its descent into self-parody in Wellingtons Victory and
other propagandist pices doccasion written in connection with the victory over Napoleon and the
subsequent convening of the Congress of Vienna made it imperative that Beethoven locate a hitherto
unimagined musical problmatique. It was a time of many endingshistorical, philosophical, biographical,
stylistica period of flux in which old habits of mind needed to be reconsidered and the most deeply held
beliefs subjected to scrutiny.16

Thus, Beethovens late period involved the elimination or at least the subsiding of many old
compositional habits he had accrued over the course of his career, one of which was his
teleological impulse in P-themes. In so doing, he was able to carry out a search for germinating
influences and modes of expression that could aid him in the symbolization of new spheres of
psychic and social experience, inaccessible to the dramatic and overtly dialectical procedures of
15

Op. 90; op. 106; op. 111; op. 130; op. 102, nos. 1 and 2; op. 125.
Maynard Solomon, Late Beethoven: Music, Thought, Imagination (Berkeley: University of California Press,
2003), 2.

16

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sonata form and obbligato style.17 As a result of this search for the new, not only does the LH
archetype completely disappear from P1 (a stunning statistic in itself!), but an opposite impulse
actually begins to emerge and we see H beginnings rise to a majority. Concerning tension types,
while these H beginnings all contain rhetorical drama via dynamic tension and at least one other
type, there is no combination of rhetorical or syntactical types that dominates this category,
perhaps because the overall archetype is variably H, HL, or HLH (all three are present in lateperiod P1 modules). Hence, the symphonic type of drama that dominated P-themes in the
previous two periods became far less attractive to Beethoven in the late period. As we shall see,
this turn away from symphonic tendencies turns out to be an important aspect of Beethovens
stylistic evolution.
At the opposite side of P1, we find that its ending typically contains an L unit in the late
period, with a frequency of 69% (9 of 13) overall.18 Moreover, when the entire P-zone is taken as
a whole and includes any codetta or standing on the dominant after P1 as well as any P2 module,
we still find that L endings are the majority at 69% (9 of 13).19 Furthermore, most of the
subcategories I investigate within key, mode, genre, and style period likewise contain majorities
of L endings to P1. Significant exceptions occur in A minor (75%, 3 of 4), B-flat major (71%, 5
of 7), C minor (63%, 5 of 8), the minor mode (52%, 11 of 21), the symphony (100%, 9 of 9), and
the middle period (59%, 13 of 22).20 The last four from this list are familiar majorities from High
P1.0 modules, and thus a dramatic P1.0 tends to signal that the P1 that follows will contain a
dramatic ending.
17

Maynard Solomon, Beethoven, 2nd ed. (New York: Schirmer Books, 1998), 386-87.
Op. 90; op. 101; op. 109; op. 110; op. 111; op. 127; op. 132; op. 135; op. 102, no. 2.
19
Op. 90; op. 101; op. 109; op. 110; op. 111; op. 132; op. 135; op. 102, no. 2; op. 125.
20
A-minor works: op. 23; op. 47; op. 102, no. 1. B-flat-major works: op. 22, op. 106, op. 130, op. 97, op. 60. Cminor works: op. 10, no. 1; op. 18, no. 4; op. 1, no. 3; op. 30, no. 2; op. 67. Minor-mode works: op. 10, no. 1; op. 31,
no. 2; op. 18, no. 4; op. 95; op. 1, no. 3; op., 23; op. 30, no. 2; op. 47; op. 102, no. 1; op. 67; op. 125. Symphonies:
op. 21, op. 36; op. 55, op. 60, op. 67, op. 68, op. 92, op. 93, op. 125. Middle-period works: op. 79; op. 59, nos. 1 and
3; op. 95; op. 97; op. 47; op. 69; op. 55; op. 60; op. 67; op. 68; op. 92; op. 93.
18

130
In the keys of A minor and B-flat major, there is uniform use of a sentence or hybrid
sentence as the basis of the P1 theme, and in all but one case (the Kreutzer Sonata, op. 47), the
accelerative tension of a continuation pushes right to the end of the cadence, the High ending
providing a rhetorically dramatic capping off to the theme. It seems, then, that A minor and Bflat major were, for Beethoven, two keys that usually demanded a highly teleological P1. But
while there is always rhetorical (and only sometimes syntactical) drama in these cases, no
consistent pattern emerges as to the specific combination of rhetorical tension types.
The key of C minor, however, tells a different story. Of the five works in this key that
have a dramatic ending to P1, Beethoven achieves that drama through the same tension types in
four of them: the Piano Sonata, op. 10, no. 1, the String Quartet, op. 18, no. 4, the Violin Sonata,
op. 30, no. 2, and the Fifth Symphony (the lone exception being the Piano Trio, op. 1, no. 3). In
these works, rhetorical tension again takes centre stage, for it is with the tutti effect of dynamic
and thickness tension that Beethoven creates the drama. But immediately, we are drawn to the
question of why such a relationship between tension types and key exists in this case, especially
when it did not for A minor or B-flat major. It has long been known that most, if not all, of
Beethovens C-minor works bear a similar expressive stamp referred to as his C-minor mood,
described by William Kinderman as the tempestuous, strife-ridden character reflected in pieces
such as the string trio op. 9, no. 3, the Pathtique Sonata, the Fifth Symphony, and the very last
sonata, op. 111.21 This tempestuous character can be ascribed to the use of similar
compositional techniquesharmonic, textural, dynamic, and so forthwhich, for Beethoven,
were inextricably linked to the stormy, tragic character he strongly associated with this key.22 It

21

William Kinderman, Beethoven, 2nd ed. (New York: Oxford University Press, 2009), 41.
This consistently dramatic approach to several sections of Beethovens C-minor movements seems to have been
what Joseph Kerman, The Beethoven Quartets (New York: W. W. Norton, 1966), 70, recognized and even
condemned in many C-minor works: the C-minor mood in early Beethoven, the mood of the Sonate Pathtique, is

22

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now becomes apparent that the tutti effect at the end of P1 was just one of the many techniques
he employed to achieve this tempestuous, strife-ridden character.23
The influence of C minor on Beethovens dramatic structures can plainly be seen when P1
modules in that key are compared with those in minor-mode works in general. In the minor
mode, while it is significant that drama appears at the end of P1 52% (11 of 21) of the time, no
clear pattern dictates the combination of tension types that create the drama. Little more than half
of the works at 55% (6 of 11) employ a tutti effect, a far cry from the 80% (4 of 5) of works that
do so in C minor.24 In short, there appears to be a variety of approaches to achieving the drama
here, both in the combinations of tension types, and in the overall type of drama (rhetorical
and/or syntactical). It cannot even be said that almost all of them contain accelerative tension as
is the case in LH and LHL majorities. I would point out, however, that all but one work employs
expansional tension, signalling that the minor mode seems to demand some sort of mid-phrase
expansion that not only delays the onset of the cadence, but also allows more room for the drama
to unfold as the theme approaches its end. Consider, for example, how dramatically effective the
consequent phrase of the Fifth Symphonys P1 is, which expands the phrase beyond the expected

one that has dated most decisively and dishearteningly over the years . . . In this familiar emotional posture,
Beethoven seems to be an unknowing prisoner of some conventional image of passion, rather than his own passions
master. Conversely, Donald Francis Tovey, Beethoven (New York: Oxford University Press, 1944), 9, outright
denied the existence of key characteristics, claiming that the character of keys in themselves is . . . a psychological
vagary about which no two persons need trouble to agree. Instead, Tovey adamantly endorsed the expressive
consequences of key relationships in Beethoven. It is not difficult to understand Toveys dismissal of key
characteristics, as they are not categorically confirmed with every piece in that key. On the other hand, key
relationships, being essentially intervallic relationships, remain unchanged in every piece in which they occur.
Nevertheless, the strong connections among Beethovens works in C minor seem to me irrefutable.
23
Michael C. Tusa, Beethovens C-Minor Mood: Some Thoughts on the Structural Implications of Key Choice,
Beethoven Forum 2 (1993): 10, indicates a similar pattern in the sonata transitions of Beethovens C-minor works,
a quasi-symphonic gesture akin to hammer blows that shows up in op. 9, no. 3. . . , op. 18, no. 4, . . . , and op. 30,
no. 2 . . . . More importantly, he draws attention to features that correspond to my rhetorical tension types when he
says that these passages represent the first climax within their respective movements, a structural point underscored
both by dynamics [dynamic tension] and by a chordal texture [thickness tension].
24
Minor-mode works with tutti effects at the end of P1: op. 10, no. 1; op. 18, no. 4; op. 30, no. 2; op. 47; op. 67; op.
125. C-minor works: op. 10, no. 1; op. 18, no. 4; op. 30, no. 2; op. 67.

132
sixteen-measure response, allowing the violin I melody to rise up and complete a full octave on a
climactic C that ends the theme (as shown in Example 2.13 at the end of the previous chapter).
For the last two categories that have High endings to P1the symphony and the middle
periodthe tutti effect is the most common means of achieving the drama, which is something
of a trend for these works, since the same was true for fully dramatic (H) introductions (P1.0).
Moreover, in almost all of these works, the rhetorical drama is combined with the accelerative
tension of a sentence structure, which enhances their already teleological nature.
Of the post-cadential modules that follow P1 (codettas or standing on the dominants),
very little can be said as only eleven of the eighty-seven movements contain them.25 The L
archetype is by far the most preferred with 45% , or 5 of 11 works, containing the module.26
These five works create majorities of L in the categories of the major mode (56%, 5 of 9) and
early period (63%, 5 of 8), both of which were part of the trend that saw Low tension between
P1.0 and P1 (along with the piano sonata) and hence appear to be pieces that, at least in the Pzone, generally contain less drama than others. The reason for this trend may be related to the
nature of this module when combined with Low tension. In other words, a codetta or standing on
the dominant here serves to draw out the final chord of P1 beyond the expected end (the cadential
arrival) and, when combined with a Low dramatic unit, creates a relaxation in the flow of the
movement. By this reasoning, we can understand why such Low units are not found in more
teleological movements such as those in the minor mode, the symphony, and the middle period.
A second P-theme, P2, is a rarity in Beethoven, with a meagre six of the eighty-seven
movements possessing the module.27 When it does occur, the most preferred archetype is HL at

25

Op. 7; op. 10, no. 1; op. 31, no. 3; op. 18, nos. 3 and 6; op. 130; op. 1, nos. 1 and 2; op. 30, no. 1; op. 60; op. 125.
Op. 7; op. 31, no. 3; op. 18, nos. 3 and 6; op. 1, no. 1.
27
Op. 18, no. 2; op. 59, nos. 1 and 3; op. 127; op. 3; op. 17.
26

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50% (3 of 6),28 but even more broadly, in 67% (4 of 6) of cases, it begins High after a Lowstarting P1-theme,29 seemingly as a means of giving more dramatic weight to the P-zone as a
whole. Nevertheless, like the P1 codetta or standing on the dominant, I would argue that it is
because the presence of a P2 slows down the motion of a movement that it appears only in the
major mode and avoids the more intense drive of minor-mode works.

II. The Transition Zone (TR)

In chapter 1, I mentioned that it is important to distinguish whether TR contains one or
two parts, and if only one part, whether it is non-modulating, ending on the home-key V chord,
or modulating, ending on the new-key V chord. These distinctions become particularly important
with regard to dramatic structure, as Beethoven tended to treat each situation differently. Thus, I
will consider the non-modulating, modulating, and two-part TR separately. As it turns out, the
frequency of individual archetypes is not the most useful way of analyzing TRs for their drama,
since their formal structure is not always the same: some end with a standing on the dominant
while others do not. Moreover, because the greatest number of works is in the early period, and
because the early period displays dramatic structures in TRs that are not seen in the other periods
(as discussed below), frequencies of archetypes tend to be skewed toward early works. I will,
however, investigate significant frequencies in genre, key, and mode towards the end of this
subsection.
Much more germane to the dramatic structure of TRs is the tension at their very end,
regardless of their formal structure, since, as I also noted in chapter 1, Hepokoski and Darcy
have recently defined TR not only by its location following the P-zone, but by its characteristic
energy-gain in leading to the medial caesura (MC), which prepares for the secondary-theme
28
29

Op. 18, no. 2; op. 59, nos. 1 and 3.

Op. 18, no. 2; op. 59, nos. 1 and 3; op. 127.

134
zone (S). Thus, one would hypothesize that many TRs end with High tension, and indeed
Hepokoski and Darcy list some of the ways in which the energy-gain may be achieved, each of
which constitutes a form of tension from the perspective of the present theory: a more rapid
surface rhythm [rhythmic tension], an accelerated harmonic rhythm [accelerative tension], a
higher dynamic level [dynamic tension], a more active accompaniment pattern [again, rhythmic
tension], chromaticism [tonal tension], and so on.30 While at least one of these tension types is
usually present in Beethovens TRs, his most common ending to the zone is a dramatic one that
either employs the tutti effect of dynamic and thickness tension, or combines dynamic tension
with rhythmic tension, what I call an excited effect for the way it imitates the loud and rapidfire speech of an excited person. But just how often is the end of TR dramatic in Beethoven? Is
there always a dramatic energy-gain? The answer to these questions depends on the type of TR
one is dealing with: non-modulating, modulating, or two-part. Table 3.4 displays the frequency
of dramatic (High) endings in each of these TR types.

Table 3.4 High Endings to TR by TR Type

% Non-modulating TR
ends High
100 (10/10)

% Modulating TR
ends High
73 (44/60)

% Two-part TR
ends High
65 (11/17)

Despite the fact that only ten of the eighty-seven movements contain a non-modulating
TR,31 it is astonishing to find that fully 100% of them end dramatically. The reason for this
relationship was likely a matter of influence. First of all, these ten works date from the early
period (all in 1800 or before), at a time when Beethoven was still coming to grips with the facets
of the classical style he was in the process of inheriting. But the fact that the non-modulating TR
30

James Hepokoski and Warren Darcy, The Medial Caesura and Its Role in the Eighteenth-Century Sonata
Exposition, Music Theory Spectrum 19 (1997): 122.
31
Op. 2, no. 3; op. 49, no. 2; op. 18, no. 5; op. 9, no. 3; op. 5, no. 1; op. 21; op. 6; op. 17; op. 20; op. 71.

135
appears in these movements at all is noteworthy, since it had become a largely outmoded
technique by this time. I say largely because there was one composer who maintained this
method of writing TRs: Mozart. As Robert S. Winter indicates, the non-modulating TR (or what
he terms the bifocal close) was used less frequently during the 1760s and 70s by composers
other than Mozart.32 Moreover, even when other composers had culled the technique from their
repertoire, from 1786 to the end of his life, Mozart continued to employ it in three overtures and
more than a dozen sonata-form movements.33 In these works, the end of TR is indeed dramatic,
most typically through a tutti effect of dynamic and thickness tension and/or an excited effect of
dynamic and rhythmic tension (even if, in works such as the Piano Sonata in C Major, K. 545,
dynamic signs are only implicit). In nine of Beethovens ten movements, the drama is achieved
in these same ways; the lone exception being a logical one: in the String Quartet in A Major, op.
18, no. 5, which has been cited for its indebtedness to Mozarts String Quartet K. 464 in the same
key,34 we find the same dynamic tension (forte) and timbral tension (high register in violin I) that
furnish the non-modulating TR in Mozarts quartet. But whereas Mozarts drama is always
rhetorical and only adds syntactical drama to the mix in some of his orchestral works such as the
overtures to Le Nozze di Figaro, Don Giovanni, and the Piano Concertos in D Major
(Coronation), K. 537, and B-Flat Major, K. 595, Beethoven goes a step further in that, with the
exception of the Piano Sonata for Four Hands, op. 6, he always adds syntactical drama to the
rhetorical drama in these TR endings (which are in these cases TRSod1) through the combination
of expansional and implicational tension (both by virtue of the standing on the dominant) with

32

Robert S. Winter, The Bifocal Close and the Evolution of the Viennese Classical Style, Journal of the American
Musicological Society 42 (1989): 319.
33
Winter, Bifocal Close, 323.
34
See especially Kerman, The Beethoven Quartets, 57-64, who notes similarities between the last three movements
of both quartets, but unfortunately says nothing of the first. Winter, Bifocal Close, 331, on the other hand, marks
the striking fact that both first movements contain bifocal closes (non-modulating TRs).

136
the forward-driving accelerative tension (from structuring the standing on the dominant as a
sentence), thus lending extra boost to the dramatic effect. Given the high esteem in which the
young Beethoven held Mozart, it seems an inescapable conclusion that Beethovens dramatic
ends to his non-modulating TRs were the direct influence of Mozart.
Beethovens modulating TRs present a very different story. They are by far the most
common type, being found in sixty of the eighty-seven total movements, and are distributed
across his entire career.35 But now, dramatic endings are not always present, and an important
pattern emerges when these High-ending TRs are grouped by style period, as in Table 3.5.36

Table 3.5 High Endings to Modulating TRs by Style Period

Style Period
Early
Middle
Late

% Modulating TR
ends High
88 (28/32)
65 (13/20)
38 (3/8)

Clearly, dramatic endings to modulating TRs steadily decline from a majority in the early period
eventually to a minority in the late period. The impetus behind this drastic change in musical
thought is best explained by referring to some of the changes in style that occurred over the
course of Beethovens career.
In almost every case, regardless of style period, Beethoven dramatizes the end of a
modulating TR rhetorically, usually with a tutti effect or excited effect (much like nonmodulating TRs), and often adds syntactical drama by an accelerating standing on the dominant
35

Op. 2, nos. 1 and 2; op. 7; op. 10, nos. 1, 2, and 3; op. 14, nos. 1 and 2; op. 22; op. 28; op. 31, no. 2; op. 49, no. 1;
op. 53; op. 57; op. 78; op. 79; op. 81a; op. 101; op. 109; op. 110; op. 111; op. 18, nos. 1, 2, 3, and 6; op. 59, nos. 1,
2, and 3; op 74; op. 95; op. 127; op. 130; op. 3; op. 9, nos. 1 and 2; op. 1, nos. 1 and 2; op. 70, no. 1; op. 97; op. 29;
op. 12, nos. 2 and 3; op. 23; op. 30, nos. 1, 2, and 3; op. 47; op. 96; op. 5, no. 2; op. 69; op. 102, no. 1; op. 36; op.
60; op. 67; op. 68; op. 92; op. 93; op. 125; op. 16; op. 81b.
36
High endings to modulating TRs, by style period. Early: Op. 2, no. 1; op. 10, nos. 1, 2, and 3; op. 14, nos. 1 and 2;
op. 22; op. 28; op. 31, no. 2; op. 18, nos. 1, 2, 3, and 6; op. 3; op. 9, nos. 1 and 2; op. 1, nos. 1 and 2; op. 29; op. 12,
no. 2; op. 23; op. 30, nos. 1, 2, and 3; op. 5, no. 2; op. 36; op. 16; op. 81b. Middle: Op. 53; op. 81a; op. 59, nos. 1, 2,
and 3; op. 74; op. 70, no. 1; op. 97; op. 47; op. 69; op. 60; op. 67; op. 93. Late: Op. 109; op. 110; op. 111.

137
(which gives accelerative, expansional, and implicational tension), thus enhancing the effect.
And in the early works, given that almost all of these High-ending TRs lead to the textural gap of
a medial caesura and on to a contrastingly Low start to S, there is an unmistakable sense of
separation that arises between the end of TR and the start of S, both in terms of drama and
texture.37 But as time progressed, there was an increasing continuity between the end of TR and
the start of S. This trend is only hinted at in the early period by a couple of works that obscure
the medial caesura by beginning an accompaniment figure to S a measure before entering that
zone: the Piano Sonata in F Minor, op. 2, no. 1, and the Tempest Sonata, op. 31, no. 2 (see
Example 3.4).38 In the watershed work that defines the beginning of the middle period, the
Eroica Symphony, the medial caesura is whittled down to being flush-juxtaposed with S
(which begins at m. 45) rather than creating a literal break in texture (see Example 3.5).39 And in
light of the greater continuity begun to be seen in the early works, this lack of a textural break led
William Horne to comment that, for the works up to and including the Eroica,
a critical window on the evolution of Beethovens style, at least for his first-movement sonata forms, may
be opened by recognizing his very deliberate wearing away of the prominence of the first cadential pillar of
the exposition . . .40

Extending this view into other middle-period works, we find a larger trend in which the medial
caesura is either omitted completely (as in the Eroica) or somewhat obscured through the
37

Even when the caesura is bridged over by one voice (or sometimes more) in what Hepokoski and Darcy call
caesura-fill and drops the tension level to Low before the start of S, the perception of a tensional divide between
TR and S remains perceptible because, as these authors point out, and as mentioned in my chapter 1, caesura-fill is
part of neither TR nor S: it represents the sonic articulation of the gap separating the two zones. See Elements of
Sonata Theory, 40.
38
In the case of the Tempest, the sense of continuity is strong enough for James Hepokoski to view the exposition as
one of his continuous types, in which there is no S-zone at all, but only a transition that becomes a series of
Fortspinnung modules leading to the important structural cadence he calls the EEC. See Approaching the First
Movement of Beethovens Tempest Sonata Through Sonata Theory, in Beethovens Tempest Sonata: Perspectives
of Analysis and Performance, ed. Pieter Berg et al. (Leuven: Peeters, 2009), 194. Likewise, Charles Rosen,
Beethovens Piano Sonatas: A Short Companion (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2002), 169, contends that in
the Tempest, there is no clear separation between first and second groups.
39
Flush-juxtaposed is Hepokoski and Darcys term for this type of situation. See Elements of Sonata Theory, 47.
40
William Horne, The Hidden Trellis: Where Does the Second Group Begin in the First Movement of Beethovens
Eroica Symphony?, Beethoven Forum 13 (2006): 146. The first cadential pillar is Hornes description of his
substitute term for the medial caesura, the strong dominant complex.

138
addition of more than the usual single voice in the caesura-fill (in the manner of the early works
shown in Examples 3.4a and b). Moreover, in the middle period, even though the majority of
modulating TRs still end High, and always do so with rhetorical drama, an increased proportion
of them end Low (always with a piano dynamic), as shown by the drop in High endings from
88% in the early period to 65% in the middle. Thus, the sense of separation of TR from S
diminishes since the two zones now meet with the same level of tension.41 In the late period, this
tendency becomes even more prevalent, as most modulating TRs (63%, 5 of 8) lead into S from
a Low tension level and without a textural break. Even more strikingly, of the thirteen pieces
ascribed to this period, a standing on the dominant, which in the classical style is one of the most
common ways of preparing for S and a typical site of syntactical drama (as we have seen), now
appears in only one work.42

Example 3.4 Accompaniments to S That Begin Before S-Zone

a) Piano Sonata in F Minor, op. 2, no. 1, mm. 18-22

41

Caesura-fill does not alter the tension at the end of TR or the start of S, being a part of neither zone. Its dramatic
structure almost always consists of either an L (58% [23 of 40]) or HL (25% [10 of 40]) archetype, regardless of
style period, even though 65% (26 of 40) of caesura-fills occur in the early period (the middle period containing
30% [12 of 40] of them, and the late period a mere 5% [2 of 40]). In any case, caesura-fill almost always ends Low
(88% overall [35 of 40]), not only to prepare for the usual Low start to S, but to provide a dramatic unit that closely
resembles the silence that the filled-in gap represents.
42
This lone standing on the dominant occurs in the Ninth Symphony, mm. 64-73, and it is an odd one at that,
forcibly transforming the prolonged dominant harmony from V of D minor to V of the new key, B-flat major. A
prolonged dominant harmony before the S-zone is also found in two other late works, op. 106 and op. 102, no. 2, but
because in each case it appears in the midst of the phrase and not as a post-cadential function, it is not a formfunctional standing on the dominant. Moreover, that these dominants do not appear after a cadence in a sense
negates the function they would normally have of preparing for an upcoming phrase, since we have not yet heard the
end of the present phrase.

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b) Piano Sonata in D Minor, op. 31, no. 2, Tempest, mm. 39-42

Example 3.5 A Flush-Juxtaposed TR and S in the Eroica Symphony, mm. 37-46

The increasing trend toward a Low tension level at the end of Beethovens modulating
TRs fits into a larger pattern of stylistic changes proposed by Michael Broyles. In his book,
Beethoven: The Emergence and Evolution of Beethovens Heroic Style, Broyles argues that the
stylistic changes that led to Beethovens late works were part of the same impulse that had led to
his middle-period works. The main thrust of Broyles argument relies on the recognition of two
opposing styles of instrumental composition that were in use at the time: symphony style and

140
sonata style. These two styles, which may roughly be thought of as an extroverted and an
introverted style, respectively, are differentiated primarily in two respects: melody and drive.
According to Broyles, who bases his definition on late-eighteenth-century writings of Augustus
Friedrich Kollmann and Heinrich Christoph Koch, the melody of each may be described as
follows:
the symphony style emphasizes supra-period activity; gestures tend toward the larger units, creating a sense
of melodic sweep through the binding or overlapping of cadences. . . . In the sonata style, however,
elaboration, nuance, and detail play a much greater role, and cadences are heard more as actual divisions
between which the manipulation of motivic figures is centered. Rhythmic subtlety and variety as well as
flexibility, all of which impart to the motion a more expressive and hence rhetorical tone, are more at home
in the sonata.43

Hence, in symphony style, as the music approaches a cadence, melodic motion is highly
continuous, minimizing the number of internal resting points and tending to maintain that motion
up to and often even through the cadence by way of elision. Broyles further explains that
symphony style also included a driving component in the buildup towards a cadence:
The grandeur and power associated with the symphony style was, as Koch noted, in large measure due to
cadential manipulation. For this aspect of the style to have maximum impact, however, it was necessary
that the phrase drive hard to a cadential point, and whether the cadence materialized or not, that it be clear
where the implied point of arrival was to be.44

Implicit in Broyles requirement that the phrase drive hard to a cadential point is a highly
intense, or dramatic, form of tension accompanying a cadential progression, the terms grandeur
and power strongly suggesting thickness tension and dynamic tension, or, more broadly,
rhetorical drama. (These two tension types are, after all, common enough in Beethovens
symphonies to be deemed a tutti effect, as we have seen.) Thus, one of the hallmarks of
symphony style is a rhetorically dramatic cadence, even one that avoids a cadential arrival at its
end, as Broyles points out. He further notes that symphonic melodies tend to participate in

43
44

Broyles, Beethoven, 15.

Broyles, Beethoven, 15.

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cadential momentum because they are relatively simple, being based on trochaic (strong-weak)
and uncomplicated rhythms that clarify the meter, and on chordal arpeggiation.45
In sonata style on the other hand (which, from Broyles description, seems to be
synonymous with the galant style), there are types of melody that are typical. The first, which
suggests virtuosic improvisation, is characterized by highly elaborated, detailed regular motion,
with intricate rhythms consisting of very small divisions within the measure. The second, which
suggests recitative, is characterized by irregular rhythms, often jagged intervals, and sudden
dynamic changes. The overall effect of these first two types of melody is one of dividing up the
phrase into a series of individuated gestures through rhythmic subtlety and variety, that is, with
fine gradations in rhythm and a diversity of motivic material. Consequently, these melody types
inhibit the continuity typical of symphony style. Finally, the third type of melody, which
suggests song, includes lyrical aria-like melodies, since a vocal line, whether highly elaborated
or not, was considered less suited to the rushing, energetic character of the symphony style.46
Sonata style also differs from symphony style in its approach to cadences. In sonata style,
cadences are both more frequent and more easily attained (occurring without the hard drive
of rhetorical drama), and therefore prevent a continual buildup of tension and momentum.
Hence, in defining the two styles of instrumental composition, melody and drama went hand in
hand.
A brief example of each style will clarify how their respective features are put into
practice in an actual piece of music. An excellent representation of symphony style is the Ptheme of Beethovens Kreutzer Sonata, op. 47, given in Example 3.6a. To begin with, notice the
continuity of the melody in the violin part as it proceeds from the start of the theme to the

45
46

Broyles, Beethoven, 23.

Broyles, Beethoven, 15-17.

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cadence at the fermata without as much as a beats rest. Moreover, the motivic material of the
melody remains highly concentrated, focussing largely on the motive of the second measure.
This melody is also rhythmically quite simple, being constructed mainly of quarter notes, which
help to clarify the duple metre of the movement, and is based entirely on chordal arpeggiations.
Then there is the dramatic aspect of the theme, which is suggested with the crescendo of m. 23,
and comes into full bloom with the thick texture and sforzandos of the last two chords, giving
thickness tension and dynamic tension and producing a rhetorically dramatic effect. In all these
ways, this opening theme stands at one extreme of the spectrum as a passage thoroughly
ensconced in symphony style.

Example 3.6 The Two Styles of Classical Instrumental Music

a) Symphony Style Violin Sonata in A Minor, op. 47, Kreutzer, mm. 18-27

143
b) Sonata Style String Quartet in A Major, op. 18, no. 5, mm. 1-15

144
On the other side of the spectrum, a passage like the opening theme of Beethovens
String Quartet in A Major, op. 18, no. 5, shown in Example 3.6b, provides a good foil to the
Kreutzer as an instance of pure sonata style. The first four measures introduce a melody in the
first violin with dainty turn-figure ornaments that suggest the virtuosity of sonata style. In mm.
5-11, the melody presents new figures that include longer slurred notes, entering a more lyrical
vein that continues to express the style. Measures 11-15 give the concluding portion of the theme
with yet a different melodic figure in the first violin, one that, in its use of rapid sixteenth notes,
again suggests virtuosic performance. Overall then, the melody of the entire fifteen-measure
theme is segmented into three distinct parts, inhibiting the kind of melodic continuity that is
typical of symphony style. Moreover, the closing five measures of the theme are completely
devoid of rhetorical drama and thus lack the grandeur and power that also defines symphony
style. For all these reasons, this theme is an particularly clear example of sonata style in
Beethovens music.
This association between rhetorically dramatic phrase endings and symphony style was
one that Beethoven largely retained throughout his early period. But with the middle period, this
began to change. Referring to an incomplete cadence in the S-zone of the Appassionata Sonata,
given in Example 3.7, Broyles notes that, although the avoidance of melodic closure resembles
the symphonic practice, the demand for closure is greatly reduced because the drive to the
cadence is much less pronounced.47 In other words, the lack of rhetorical drama accompanying
the cadential progression (apart from a briefly dramatic Neapolitan sixth chord in m. 42) fails to
create any of the drive that is typical of symphony style. But also note that the melody remains

47

Broyles, Beethoven, 102.

145
Example 3.7 Continuous, Non-Dramatic Cadence in Piano Sonata in F Minor, op. 57,
Appassionata, mm. 35-51

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continuous even when the cadential harmonies disappear, its mysterious trills and sinuous
downward path adding breadth to the phrase without an intense forward drive, and leading,
without interruption, into the next theme. Beethoven has therefore separated out the melodic and
rhetorically dramatic aspects of symphony style and used only the former to create a sense of
continuity without the typical drive of the latter.
It is this non-driving continuity that begins to appear in Beethovens middle-period works
and becomes even more prominent in his late works. In this regard, Beethovens Low endings to
modulating TRs begin to make more sense. If the continuous approach is applied to the tension
between TR and S, then either TR has to be deprived of its usual energy-gain at its end, leaving S
to begin at its usual Low tension level, or S would have to be invigorated with a High level at its
start to match the usual energy-gaining end of TR. As it turns out, Beethoven much preferred the
former scenario over the latter (though an instance of the latter becomes important in the twopart TR, as discussed below) and thus we see a decline in the hard drive of symphony style and,
in turn, a substantial drop in the frequency of energy-gaining TRs. And yet at the same time,
Beethoven gradually enhanced the continuous aspect of symphony style between TR and S in
two important ways, most prominently by the wearing away of the medial caesura hinted at in
the early works, which eventually led to the end of TR usually being elided with the start of S.
Second, by relying less and less on a standing on the dominant at the end of a modulating TR
(TRSod1), especially in the late period, Beethoven resolutely cast aside one of the clearest means
of creating a formal articulation, further smoothing out the connection between the two zones.

147
Two-part TRs may be found in seventeen of the eighty-seven movements,48 somewhat
more than the ten examples of the non-modulating type, but still a distant second to the sixty of
the modulating type. Unlike the non-modulating type, which was confined to the early period,
the two-part type spans all three periods, demonstrating that Beethoven considered it a viable and
indeed modern solution to TR throughout his life, the last instance occurring in his final
published work, the String Quartet in F Major, op. 135. Dramatic structure in the two-part TR is
best approached by examining the tension in the two parts individually and, like the other TR
types, across the three style periods. Especially noteworthy is the frequency of High endings to
each of the two parts, given in Table 3.6. (The middle period cannot be counted because it only
contains two movements with two-part TRs.)
In Part 1, a majority of endings are High in the early and late periods. In these dramatic
endings, there is almost always rhetorical drama by dynamic tension and either thickness tension
(for a tutti effect) or rhythmic tension (for an excited effect). Moreover, syntactical drama most
often heightens the intensity by means of a standing on the dominant (TRSod1), which includes
expansional and implicational tension, along with at least one other type (in most cases,
accelerative tension). Consequently, in terms of dramatic structure, these Part 1s closely
resemble non-modulating TRs, a relationship that is hardly coincidental since, also like nonmodulating TRs, the first module of Part 1 (TR1) usually ends with either a half cadence or
dominant arrival in the tonic key. Thus, these modules lead the listener to expect the start of an
S-theme immediately afterward, an expectation that is thwarted when what follows precludes S
status, usually because it is in the wrong key. This sense of deception is central to the
understanding of a two-part TR and forms what Hepokoski and Darcy have termed a medial

48

Op. 13; op. 31, nos. 1 and 3; op. 90; op. 106; op. 18, no. 4; op. 132; op. 135; op. 1, no. 3; op. 70, no. 2; op. 4; op.
12, no. 1; op. 24; op. 102, no. 2; op. 55; op. 11; op. 87.

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caesura declined.49 Thus, Part 1 of Beethovens two-part TRs generally mimics the nonmodulating type in both its harmonic goal and its dramatic structure.

Table 3.6 High Endings to TR Part 1 in Two-Part TRs by Style Period

Style Period
Early
Late

% TR Part 1 ends High

80 (8/10)
80 (4/5)

Part 2 of a two-part TR is usually dramatically shaped much like the first, as shown by
the frequencies of its High endings, given in Table 3.7. The majority of High ends in the late
period is at first surprising, given their infrequency in the modulating TR. Recall, however, that
when Low endings occurred in the latter, they almost always led to a Low-starting S-zone, hence
promoting continuity between zones. The two late works that end Part 2 Low (the String
Quartets, op. 132 and op. 135) do indeed move into a Low-starting S, resulting in the non-driving
type of continuity typical of these works. But in one of the works with a High-ending Part 2 (the
Piano Sonata, op. 90), the following S-zone (at m. 55, elided with the end of TR) instead begins
at a High tension level. In this regard, the majority of High endings to Part 2 in the late period is
less important than the fact that the majority of late two-part TRs have the same level of tension
between TR and S, and therefore maintain the trend toward a greater continuity at this juncture in
Beethovens sonata forms.
Table 3.7 High Endings to TR Part 2 in Two-Part TRs by Style Period
Style Period
Early
Late

49

% TR Part 2 ends High

70 (7/10)
60 (3/5)

Hepokoski and Darcy, Elements of Sonata Theory, 45-47. For more analyses containing the medial caesura
declined, see Hepokoski and Darcy, The Medial Caesura, 138-45.

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As for archetypes in the various modules of TR, analysis reveals that Beethovens most
preferred archetype in every module of TR was Low-High (LH). But as mentioned at the start of
this subsection, this finding is the result of having a disproportionate number of such works in
the early period, thus skewing the overall frequencies. Even so, one might rightfully ask why
Beethoven preferred LH in the early works much more than he did in the other two periods. Most
likely, this preference is another reflection of his gradually changing attitude towards this part of
sonata form. In the early period, the prominence of LH archetypes in all TR modules creates a
highly sectionalized approach to the form, differentiating modules by changing the tension from
High at the end of one to Low at the start of the next. This procedure is in keeping with the
classical style in general, as the frequent changes in texture between modules are typically
accompanied by changes in tension as well (most notably in dynamic level). In the middle and
late periods, LH is still preferred in the first module of TR (regardless of whether it has one or
two parts) in both periods at 32% (7 of 22) and 46% (6 of 13), respectively. Thus, the energygain was still an important part of the initial stage of TR even in these later periods. But as we
have seen, the trend towards greater continuity between TR and S led to an increase in Low
endings for TR. Thus, whereas 87% (45 of 52) of the last module of early TRs end with a High
unit, this proportion steadily decreases with time, becoming 64% (14 of 22) in the middle period,
and 46% (6 of 13) in the late period.
In all style periods, TR (of any type) was found to have a Low beginning a majority of
the timeone of the few consistent dramatic trends across Beethovens entire career. One
notable exception, however, is the genre of the symphony, 78% (7 of 9) of which begin with a
High unit by means of a tutti effect, a technique that was of course not unique to Beethoven as it
was standard in classical symphonies in general. (Indeed, one has only to look as far back as

150
Haydns London Symphonies to see numerous examples.) Such High beginnings, however, are
usually in response to a Low-starting P1 module (always with a piano dynamic), in accordance
with Hepokoski and Darcys claim for symphonic practice of the period: In orchestral Allegro
compositions, the onset of TR (especially following a relatively soft P-theme) is frequently
marked with a strong tutti entrance: the tutti affirmation or forte affirmation of the theme (their
italics).50

III. The Secondary-Theme Zone (S)

With the S-zone, we come to the most important section of any sonata form, for it is here
that material in a new key challenges the authority of the governing tonic and becomes the very
crux of the form. No doubt, it is for this reason that the S-zone (call it what you will: second
theme, second subject, subordinate theme, and so on) has been a topic of perennial interest
in scholarship dealing with sonata form. Most importantly, many of the features that scholars
have pointed out concerning the S-zone imply or outwardly acknowledge a sense of intensity or
drama. One of the best-known ideas stems from Charles Rosen, who refers to the S-zone as a
large-scale dissonance that is pitted against the tonic key established by the P-zone and
therefore demands resolution by being restated in the tonic in the recapitulation.51 William E.
Caplin, following the lead of Arnold Schoenberg and Erwin Ratz, describes the S-zone as
loosely organized in relation to a tight-knit main theme, the term loose referring to a host of
compositional techniques that serve to establish a formal function in a manner that is less
efficient than those that he considers tight-knit, of which the most relevant to the present
theory are harmonic-tonal instability (modulation, chromaticism), which expresses tonal

50
51

Hepokoski and Darcy, Elements of Sonata Theory, 94.

Charles Rosen, Sonata Forms, rev. ed. (New York: W. W. Norton, 1988), 229.

151
tension, and phrase-structural extension and expansion, which express expansional tension.52
And even more recently, Hepokoski and Darcy have discussed two of their most important
concepts regarding S-zones, the medial caesura (MC) and the essential expositional closure
(EEC), specifically in terms of intensity. As mentioned earlier, the typical energy-gain leading
to the MC was one of the ways that the preparation for the S-zone and its new key was
dramatized in sonata form, especially in late-eighteenth-century works, as was especially evident
in early Beethoven. And within the S-zone itself, there is the EEC, which the authors generally
consider to be the first satisfactory perfect authentic cadence that proceeds onward to differing
material.53 While they underscore the importance of viewing the EEC only as a generic
requirement that need not beand often is notthe strongest cadence in the exposition, they
do note that in Beethoven, where strenuous striving within the S-zone is common, the strategy
can suggest that accomplishing the requirement of the EEC can be a monumental or nearly
impossible task, implying the presence of drama within the zone.54 And yet, for all the attention
on the S-zone, it is surprising that more discussion has not centred on its fundamentally dramatic
nature, and specifically how and where the features that create tension on a local level tend to
occur within itthat will be the primary focus of this subsection.
In studying the tension in the S-zones of all eighty-seven movements, perhaps the most
apparent pattern is that eighty-two of them (94%!) begin at a Low level, in almost every one of
these cases, the Low unit being facilitated by a dynamic level of piano.55 As Hepokoski and
Darcy indicate, although a piano start to S is the most frequent option (what they call a firstlevel default) in late-eighteenth- and early-nineteenth-century style, an energetic forte is not
52

William E. Caplin, Classical Form: A Theory of Formal Functions for the Instrumental Music of Haydn, Mozart,
and Beethoven (New York: Oxford University Press, 1998), 97, 255.
53
Hepokoski and Darcy, Elements of Sonata Theory, 120.
54
Hepokoski and Darcy, Elements of Sonata Theory, 139.
55
The only S-zones that begin High are op. 81a; op. 90; op. 109; op. 111; op. 74.

152
unusual, and in fact forms a second-level default (as in TR, I understand their term energetic
to indicate rhythmic tension and hence, along with the dynamic tension of the forte, to be
dramatic).56 Thus, Beethovens Low starts to S in all but five movements are all the more
astonishing and suggest a strong personal preference within the overall classical repertoire. As a
result of this preference, archetypes that begin with a High unit (H, HL, and HLH) at the start of
S are virtually non-existent in Beethoven. Assessing the significance of the archetypes that do
occur requires some careful thought, however, because the number of S-themes in the S-zone as
a whole is variable, ranging from a single theme to as many as three (and even four in the Eroica
Symphony alone), and therefore the last S-theme, which appears to be dramatically significant in
Beethoven, is not always the same S-theme in the zone, that is, S1, S2, S3, or S4. In order to avoid
skewing the statistics then, I will only consider archetype frequencies within S-zones containing
the same number of S-themes. (Being in a category of its own, I will compare the Eroica to the
other S-zone types to find a best fit model.) Moreover, because S-themes most often exhibit
some degree of phrase expansion and therefore have more opportunity for rises and falls in
tension than P-themes, many of the archetypes I present for S-themes here are reductions in the
manner outlined at the beginning of this chapter. This does not mean that I ignored much of the
inner portion of such themes, but rather that each archetype is in a sense an abstraction that
allows themes that share a basic dramatic outline to be grouped together.
S-zones comprising only one theme are found in forty-four movements,57 almost exactly
half of the total eighty-seven. While all but the H archetype may occur, the most preferred are

56

Hepokoski and Darcy, Elements of Sonata Theory, 132. Examples of first movements in which S begins with a
dramatic forte in Haydn include Piano Sonatas Hob. XVI: 41 and 52, String Quartets op. 33, no. 1; op. 50, no. 1; op.
74, no. 1; and Symphonies No. 98, 99, and 102. In Mozart, such movements include Piano Sonatas K. 279 and 280,
Symphony No. 9, and String Quartets K. 169 and 465.
57
Op. 2, no. 1; op. 10, no. 1; op. 14, no. 1; op. 31, nos. 1 and 2; op. 49, no. 1; op. 78; op. 79; op. 81a; op. 90; op.
101; op. 106; op. 109; op. 110; op. 111; op. 18, nos. 3 and 6; op. 59, nos. 1, 2, and 3; op. 74; op. 95; op. 127; op.

153
LH at 43% (19 of 44) and LHL at 45% (20 of 44), the remaining archetypes occurring in a scant
number of movements.58 Indeed, in the early period, LH and LHL are the only two archetypes to
appear, the former being much more common than the latter at 61% (11 of 18) and 39% (7 of
18), respectively. Within LH and LHL archetypes of single-themed S-zones of all style periods,
drama is introduced only late in the theme, most typically, as the cadence approaches. What this
suggests is that Beethoven often treated the one and only cadence in the new key in these
situations as an event deserving of a dramatic preparation and most often a dramatic finish.
In the middle period, it is perhaps unexpected to find that LH in single-themed S-zones
drops substantially to a frequency of only 27% (4 of 15) and that the LHL archetype rises to a
majority of 60% (9 of 15), indicating that the end of S is, most of the time, not dramatized.59
How could this be so, especially when we tend to think of Beethovens middle-period works as
perhaps the most teleological of his entire oeuvre? In the LH archetype, drama always occurs at
the end of the theme, even if there have been dramatic stretches in the inner portions of that
theme. In the middle-period works, drama is most often built up in the same way as that of LH,
that is, as the theme approaches its end with a cadential function. The drama, which is almost
always a rhetorical excited effect, combined with the supporting cadential progression lead us to
expect a dramatic ending to the theme. But Beethoven usually thwarts this expectation with a
drop to a Low level of tension through a sudden piano dynamic and, if any syntactical drama
exists, through a halt in accelerative tension. The promised dramatic ending, however, always
appears sometime after this Low-ending theme. In the simplest cases, the listener is not made to
132; op. 3; op. 9, no. 1; op. 70, nos. 1 and 2; op. 97; op. 4; op. 23; op. 24; op. 30, no. 1; op. 96; op. 5, no. 1; op. 102,
nos. 1 and 2; op. 36; op. 67; op. 68; op. 93; op. 125; op. 6; op. 81b.
58
LH: op. 10, no. 1; op. 14, no. 1; op. 31, nos. 1 and 2; op. 78; op. 18, nos. 3 and 6; op. 59, no. 2; op. 127; op. 132;
op. 23; op. 5, no. 1; op. 102, no. 2; op. 36; op. 67; op. 68; op. 125; op. 6; op. 81b.
LHL: op. 2, no. 1; op. 49, no. 1; op. 79; op. 101; op. 106; op. 110; op. 59, nos. 1 and 3; op. 95; op. 3; op. 9, no. 1;
op. 70, nos. 1 and 2; op. 97; op. 4; op. 24; op. 30, no. 1; op. 96; op. 102, no. 1; op. 93.
59
LH: op. 78, op. 59, no. 2; op. 67, op. 68.
LHL: op. 79; op. 81a; op. 59, no. 1; op. 95; op. 70, nos. 1 and 2; op. 97; op. 96; op. 93.

154
wait long as a codetta follows S that sounds a dramatic tonic chord or chords, as in the Eighth
Symphony, mm. 92-99. But more typically, the dramatic resolution to a tonic chord is not
regained in the exposition at all, but is postponed until after the recapitulation, in the coda, and
sometimes at the very end of the movement. A fine example of this technique may be seen in the
String Quartet in F Major, op. 59, no. 1 (see Example 3.8a). In this case, S ends with a cadential
function (mm. 89-93) that begins with rhetorical drama by dynamic, thickness, and timbral
tension, thus implying that the impending close will be a dramatic one. But at m. 91, all of these
tensions are removed and the music draws to a non-dramatic cadence, thwarting that expectation.
The same cadence plays out at the end of S in the recapitulation (see Example 3.8b), but
immediately afterward moves into a coda and yields the promised dramatic arrival on the tonic at
m. 348 by the same dynamic, thickness, and timbral tensions that were expected to end S (and
even on the same P-material). This sort of compensatory function of codas is commonly noted by
music scholars, and op. 59, no. 1 in particular has been cited in this regard on more than one
occasion.60 Even though the non-dramatic tonic chord in the exposition and the dramatic tonic
chord in the coda are not of the same key, there is still a sense that a dramatic arrival on such a
chord makes good on the promise left unfulfilled in the exposition. That such a promise demands
to be fulfilled here is due to the S-zones function of securing a perfect authentic cadence. Thus,
if an S-theme approaches a cadence dramatically, then recoils and sounds the cadence at a nondramatic level, then the conclusive power of that cadence is to some degree weakened.61 This
recoiling effect heightens the impact of the drama once it arrives at a later point and confirms
60

See Joseph Kerman, Notes on Beethovens Codas, in Beethoven Studies, ed. Alan Tyson (Cambridge:
Cambridge University Press, 1982), 150; and Rosen, Sonata Forms, 351. While the former notes that the hollow
texture of the first theme required filling out, the latter focuses on harmony, observing that the only passing
allusions to the tonic triad are fixed in the coda with a decisive tonic drone bass.
61
A more specific version of this tactic, in which only the final tonic chord is marked suddenly piano, forms the
basis for Hepokoski and Darcys notion of the attenuated PAC, a method of deferring their S-ending EEC to a
later cadence in S. See Elements of Sonata Theory, 170.

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rather than denies our belief that the middle-period works are indeed more teleological, at least in
this respect. Moreover, it explains why Beethoven used LH far less frequently in the middle
period and why, in contrast to the other periods, we instead find the LHL archetype as a majority.
By looking at S-zones with more than one theme, Beethovens highly teleological
treatment of S becomes even more apparent. First of all, 100% of such S-zones begin with a Low
unit and thus are never dramatic right from the start, as was possible with single-themed zones.
The ends of these S-zones are also suggestive, as Table 3.8 demonstrates that, in the early period,

Example 3.8 Postponement of Promised Drama in the String Quartet in F Major, op. 59,
no. 1
a) End of S-Zone in Exposition, mm. 85-93

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b) Coda, mm. 332-351

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a majority of final S-themes end with a High (dramatic) unit regardless of the total number of
themes, which is usually two (more than the one of most middle and late works), but ranges from
one to three. Thus, there is most often a teleological effect within the S-zone as a whole, which
usually begins Low and ends High regardless of the number of themes in S.
Table 3.8 High Endings to S-Themes in the Early Period
# of S-Themes
1 (of 18)
2 (of 27)
3 (of 7)

% S1 end H
61 (11)
36 (11)
17 (1)

% S2 end H
-54 (15)
67 (4)

% S3 end H
--83 (5)

In the middle period, S-zones generally contain either one or two themes, and with the
former, as we have seen, High endings are usually withheld from single-themed S-zones (i.e.,
they are a minority), in order to restore the promised dramatic arrival later in the movement,
thereby creating an even greater teleology than in early works. When S contains two themes,
however, the frequency of High endings for the last S-theme increases substantially, indicating
that in such S-zones, Beethoven felt that the end of the zone had been postponed long enough to
merit a dramatic ending (see Table 3.9). The only middle-period work to exceed two themes is
the Eroica Symphony, which, in accordance with its groundbreakingly massive size, comprises
no less than four S-themes (the only movement of all eighty-seven to do so). But even here, there
is a grand teleological effect at work across the four themes since, in contrast to the first three (at
mm. 45, 57, and 83, respectively), which all are of the LH archetype, the last theme (m. 109), an
HLH archetype, begins High to provide a sense of dramatic arrival for the entire S-zone.62

62

As pointed out by Miriam Sheer, Patterns of Dynamic Organization in Beethovens Eroica Symphony, The
Journal of Musicology 10 (1992): 485-87, not only does this final S-theme (what she labels IK(1P)on p. 487)
begin with the longest fortissimo section of the exposition to give it the sense of its highest peak, but it is also part
of a strategy for dynamics within the whole movement, as Beethoven placed much shorter ff spans both before and
after a major ff span in order not to weaken its effect. Thus, dynamically and dramatically (given the consistent

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Hence, in terms of dramatic structures in middle-period S-zones, the Eroica comes closest to
those with two themes, with their typical High end to the zone, but goes one further in having
every one of its four themes end dramatically (unlike most other middle-period S-zones with
multiple themes, where the first theme usually ends Low).
In the late period, the number of multiple-themed S-zones dwindles to just two of
thirteen, making it impossible to draw out significant patterns in the archetypes (as at least three
are required). The reason for this emphasis on the single-themed S in the late works may well be
that, in most movements, these S-themes were often such large structures that Beethoven felt
subsequent themes unnecessary. From Table 3.10, not only does it become clear that a minority
of movements end the S-zone High, but also that neither of the two multiple-themed S-zones end
High, indicating that the high teleology of S, which was such a staple of Beethovens style in the
first two periods, was no longer a priority. No doubt, this decline is the result of his search for
the new in the late period, which in most cases included a greater intimacy of feeling that would
easily be destroyed with a dramatic end to S. Such a claim is borne out by the fact that such nondramatic endings to S are usually not compensated for later as they are in the middle-period
works. Rather, they are content simply to be non-dramatic.

Table 3.9 High Endings to S-Themes in the Middle Period

# of S-Themes
1 (of 15)
2 (of 6)

% S1 end H
33 (5)
50 (3)

% S2 end H
-83 (5)

Table 3.10 High Endings to S-Themes in the Late Period

# of S-Themes
1 (of 11)
2 (of 2)

% S1 end H
45 (5)
0 (0)

% S2 end H
-0 (0)

pairing of loud dynamics with drama in this movement), Beethoven carefully prepares this final S-theme of the
exposition.

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Given the frequency of High endings to S-themes, we might ask which archetypes are
most frequent and which tension types and formal functions are involved in their final dramatic
portion. Since the position of a High-ending S-theme within an S-zone (i.e., as S1, S2, etc.) seems
to make no significant difference to the sorts of tension types and formal functions involved, I
will discuss these aspects in relation to S-themes generally, regardless of their position. By far
the most common archetype to occur in such S-themes is LH (82%, 55 of 67), which
demonstrates once again (as was found in P1 and most TR modules) its importance in the
creation of drama in Beethovens phrases in general. There are some scattered instances of H
(9%, 6 of 67) and HLH (9%, 6 of 67) as well, but they pale in comparison to the outright
dominance of LH. Despite the fact that all three of these archetypesLH, H, and HLHend
with a High unit, the manner in which they express the drama is not always the same. In total,
Beethoven made use of four different strategies based on the categories of tension: 1) rhetorical
drama alone, 2) syntactical drama alone, 3) rhetorical and syntactical drama simultaneously, and
4) syntactical drama resolving in the presence of rhetorical drama. All four are in their own way
fascinating since, as a group, they reveal some very fundamental features of Beethovens
approach to closing S-themes.
The first strategy, in which the drama emerges from rhetorical drama alone, is the most
common of the four, occurring in 57% (38 of 67) of High-ending S-themes.63 In nearly all cases,
the rhetorical drama is caused by dynamic and rhythmic tension, which together create the

63

First strategy in High ends to S1: Op. 2, no. 3; op. 10, nos. 2 and 3; op. 22; op. 53; op. 78; op. 111; op. 18, nos. 3
and 6; op. 59, no. 2; op. 74; op. 127; op. 132; op. 1, no. 2; op. 47; op. 5, no. 2; op. 102, no. 2; op. 68; op. 6; op. 16;
op. 81b. First strategy in High ends to S2: Op. 2, no. 2; op. 2, no. 3; op. 22; op. 31, no. 3; op. 49, no. 2; op. 18, no. 4;
op. 9, no. 2; op. 12, nos. 1 and 2; op. 30, no. 2; op. 21; op. 92; op. 16. First strategy in LH archetypes in S3: Op. 18,
no. 1; op. 12, no. 1; op. 21; op. 11. (None in S4.)

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excited effect I referred to earlier.64 In the symphonies that utilize this strategy (Nos. 1, 6, and
7), the power of the ensemble provides a more natural way of creating drama and hence we
always find the tutti effect of thickness and dynamic tension, with rhythmic tension being
included less often. While it is rhetorical tension that causes these passages to sound dramatic,
there may be syntactical tension along for the ride, but inevitably it falls short of drama because
there are always less than the requisite three syntactical types present. Mostly, these syntactical
types comprise expansional tension (which is practically a sine qua non of at least one theme in
S)65 often in combination with closural tension caused by some type of avoided closure to the
theme. Thus, these themes frequently suggest, then avoid, closure or they return to part of the
themes material after a close, either of which spurs the music to continue on in order to achieve
proper cadential closure. But because first-strategy themes end without syntactical drama, which,
due to its contextual nature, would create an intense need for resolution, the immediately rousing
effect of the rhetorical drama instead gives the impression of a celebration (in the major mode) or
calamity (in the minor mode) as the expected cadence nears, especially because every instance
involves a loud dynamic (see Example 3.9). In other words, there is a distinct sense of stability
and satisfaction in the drama that ends these themes. Likely for this reason, all but seven of the
thirty-eight themes of this type occur in major-mode movements. In the minor mode, the restless
quality typical of such movements seems to make this strategy a less attractive option even
when, as is usually the case, the S-zone is major.66

64

Heightened rhythmic activity near the end of a classical exposition has been noted as a common tactic by both
Charles Rosen, The Classical Style: Haydn, Mozart, Beethoven, exp. ed. (New York: W. W. Norton, 1997), 99 (he
reiterates this in Sonata Forms, 238), and Hepokoski and Darcy, Elements of Sonata Theory, 181.
65
As Caplin, Classical Form, 97, states, subordinate themes are, with rare exceptions, more loosely organized than
their preceding main themes. Internal phrase expansion is one of the devices associated with this loose type of
formal structure.
66
To provide some support for this claim, I would point out that minor-mode movements are underrepresented in
this strategy at 18% (7 of 38), compared to 24% of the total eighty-seven movements. Conversely, major-mode
movements are overrepresented at 82% (31 of 38), compared to 76% of the total.

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Example 3.9 High Ending to an S-Theme, First Strategy, in Piano Sonata in B-Flat
Major, op. 22, mm. 22-30

In terms of formal structure, while periods and hybrid themes may be found to occur,
most first-strategy S-themes are sentences of some sort, as was the case with P-themes in
general. But unlike the latter, sentences in such S-themes tend to be much more expanded on

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account of their looser quality. This greater length induces the latter functions of a sentence
the continuation and cadenceto become separate rather than fused functions,67 and
consequently, most of these S-themes end with cadential functions that lack any accelerative
tension. This absence of one type of syntactical tension makes it fairly easy to avoid syntactical
drama in these cases and instead allow the rhetorical drama that characterizes the first strategy to
shine through unhindered.
The second strategy, in which the drama emerges from syntactical tension alone, is
exceedingly rare in Beethoven, occurring in only one of the fifty-five S-themes with an LH
archetype: the Piano Sonata in E Major, op. 14, no. 1. In the lone S-theme of this movement,
given in Example 3.10, the dramatic effect is created by the combination of expansional,
closural, and accelerative tension. The first two of these are the result of an imperfect authentic
cadence in m. 42 that demands a subsequent perfect authentic cadence. The accelerative tension
is caused by the presence of a sentence continuation that persists to the very end of the theme,
which is an unusual practice for S-themes.68 Thus, unlike themes of the first strategy, the formal
functions found here entail a cadential function that is fused with an entire continuation (shown
as Continuation/Cadence in the analysis), signifying a more tight-knit S-theme than usual
and consequently, a more modestly-sized work, especially since this theme is the only one in the
entire S-zone. Doubtless, the extreme scarcity of this strategy speaks to Beethovens
overwhelming preference for rhetorical over syntactical drama in S-themes. Moreover, it can be
no coincidence that the only instance of the strategy occurs in a sonata that is one of the smallest
and has a general lightness of character throughout.

67

Also noted by Caplin, Classical Form, 100.

This continuation contains contrasting material from the previous basic idea and is based on a faster harmonic
rhythm of two chords per measure compared to the much broader chord changes in the basic ideas of mm. 31-34 and
35-38.

68

163
Example 3.10 High Ending to S-Theme, Second Strategy, in Piano Sonata in E Major, op.
14, no. 1, mm. 22-46

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The third strategy, which combines both rhetorical and syntactical drama, occurs in only
eight movements, but among them are some of the most important in Beethovens output: the
Piano Sonatas of op. 31, no. 1 in G major and no. 2 in D minor, Tempest, and op. 57 in F
minor Appassionata, the Violin Sonatas of op. 23 and op. 47, Kreutzer, both in A minor,
Symphonies No. 1 and 9 (in D minor), and the Clarinet Trio of op. 11.69 As is clear from this list,
five of these movements are in the minor mode, but more significantly, three of the actual themes
are, unusually for S, in the minor mode as well (the Tempest, op. 23, and the Kreutzer) and two
of them, although beginning in major, collapse into the minor for the remainder of the theme (op.
31, no. 1 and the Appassionata). Why this emphasis on the minor mode in S? In its combination
of both rhetorical and syntactical drama, this strategy has the rousing effect of rhetorical drama
yet at the same time maintains the intense instability and forward drive of syntactical drama all
the way to the end of the theme. The resulting expressive state suggests an inability or perhaps
unwillingness of the S-theme to attain a major-mode celebration at the end of the theme (as
occurs with the purely rhetorical drama of the first strategy).70 And because these themes close
out the entire zone in all but three works (op. 23, op. 21, and op. 11), S is usually left with an
urgent sense of restlessness that meshes well with the expressive state of the minor mode. But it
is not simply that these works deal largely with the minor mode: four of these minor-mode works
in particularthe Tempest, Appassionata, Kreutzer, and Ninth Symphonyare some of the most
tragic that Beethoven ever wrote, and thus suggest a close connection between the highly tragic

69

Third strategy in High ends to S1: Op. 31, nos. 1 and 2; op. 23; op. 21; op. 125. Third strategy in High ends to S2:
Op. 57; op. 47; op. 11. (None in S3 or S4.)
70
As noted by Hepokoski and Darcy, Elements of Sonata Theory, 306, the minor mode is generally interpretable
within the sonata tradition as a sign of a troubled condition seeking transformation (emancipation) into the parallel
major mode. This is what they refer to as the extra burden of minor-mode sonatas.

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and third-strategy S-themes.71 The Ninth Symphony, however, is somewhat different since its
single S-theme begins and ends in the key of B-flat major in the exposition, and there is a
celebratory codetta in that key immediately following the themes cadence (m. 150). But in the
recapitulation, S begins in D major then, like some of the other themes of this strategy, collapses
into D minor, where the music remains for the rest of the movement. Moreover, given the
unusually dramatic nature of the movements P-theme, the immense and largely minor-mode
development section, and the codas haunting, chromatically-descending bass ostinato, the
movement may still be classified as one of Beethovens most tragic.
In terms of formal structure, no single theme type predominates, as there are three
sentences (the Tempest, Ninth Symphony, and op. 11),72 three periods (op. 31, no. 1, the
Kreutzer, and the First Symphony), and two hybrids (op. 23 [a hybrid 1] and the Appassionata [a
hybrid 4]). But what is common to most of these movements is the fact that the S-theme is
usually greatly enlarged, attaining a size well beyond the standard eight-measure modelsonly
the Appassionata with its eleven-measure theme (in mm. 51-61) and op. 11 with its fourteenmeasure theme (in mm. 63-76) do not meet this criterion. The six other movements all include
much internal phrase expansion, in part aided by replaying the latter portion of the theme to
71

Robert Hatten, Musical Meaning in Beethoven, 85, identifies what he calls the tragic expressive genre in works
that maintain the darker affect of the minor key in part reflected in [Beethovens] use of the minor dominant as
the second key area of the exposition, and cites the first movement of the Tempest as an example.
72
For an excellent analysis of the Ninth Symphonys single S-theme as a sentence, see William E. Caplin,
Structural Expansion in Beethovens Symphonic Forms, in Beethovens Compositional Process, ed. William
Kinderman (Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press in association with the American Beethoven Society and the Ira
F. Brilliant Center for Beethoven Studies, San Jose University, 1991), 44-52. With the Tempest, on the other hand,
there has been much disagreement as to the structure of the S-zone, as evidenced by a number of essays in
Beethovens Tempest Sonata, ed. Pieter Berg et al.: William E. Caplin, Beethovens Tempest Exposition: A
Springboard for Form-Functional Considerations, 97-116, argues for two sentence themes on account of the PAC
that occurs at m. 63; James Hepokoski, Approaching the First Movement of Beethovens Tempest Sonata Through
Sonata Theory, 194, advocates a continuous exposition, in which there is no S-theme (due to a lack of a medial
caesura), but only a transition that becomes a series of Fortspinnung modules that lead to the EEC; and finally,
William Rothstein, Riding the Storm Clouds: Tempo, Rhythm, and Meter in Beethovens Tempest Sonata, 242-43,
understands what I call the S-theme (mm. 41-87) as a sentence with a cadence that is evaded then repeated and
expanded. Thus, in viewing the S-zone as a single expanded sentence theme, I essentially agree with Rothsteins
interpretation.

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produce closural and expansional tension. To these tension types, accelerative tension is added
by means of a continuation to give syntactical drama. The rhetorical drama usually involves an
excited effect but, as expected of a symphony, the Ninth utilizes a tutti effect instead. Due to the
large size of most of the themes, these tension types tend to occur in formal structures that are
nested, or contain multiple levels of formal functions, usually a continuation nested within a
separate cadential function.
The fourth and final strategy is far more widespread than the second or third strategies,
occurring at a frequency of 30% (20 of 67), but is still a distant second to the first.73 In this
strategy, the drama at the end of an S-theme always begins with syntactical drama. While
rhetorical drama may be involved as well, the crucial aspect is the resolution of enough
syntactical tension that the drama then becomes purely rhetorical. Thus, not only does the
strategy resolve the highly intense instability of the syntactical drama, but it also creates a span,
short or long, that celebrates this resolution with the rousing power of rhetorical drama.
Expressively, the resulting effect depends on which syntactical tension types are resolved with
the shift to the purely rhetorical drama. Thirteen of the twenty themes resolve accelerative
tension from a sentence continuation, giving the sense that an important goal has been reached
and setting the rhetorically dramatic portion in relief. However, in all but one of the themes,
there is a resolution of tonal tension, each of its three typesdiatonic, mixtural, or distant
correlating with a particular type of theme. In themes with diatonic tonal tension, one or more
diatonic chords are enhanced with their own dominant. Since this type of chromaticism does not
require much space to unfold, it follows that the fourth-strategy themes that use it are quite short

73

Fourth strategy in High ends to S1: Op. 2, no. 2; op. 10, no. 1; op. 1, no. 3; op. 12, no. 2; op. 5, no. 1; op. 36; op.
55; op. 60; op. 67. Fourth strategy in High ends to S2: Op. 10, nos. 2 and 3; op. 13; op. 53; op. 18, no. 1; op. 1, no. 1;
op. 12, no. 3; op. 55; op. 60. Fourth strategy in High ends to S3: Op. 7. Fourth strategy in High ends to S4: Op. 55.

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as S-themes go, ranging from twelve to eighteen measures, the Pathtique Sonata, op. 13,
providing a prime example (as shown in Example 3.11).
Themes that use mixtural tonal tension always insert the tonic minor mode into a passage
in the major mode, but because of the tragic nature of the minor mode, resolving this type of
tension seems to require the continuous buildup of momentum typical of the symphonic style,
even if the minor mode reference is concentrated into a single chord (especially a diminished

Example 3.11 - High Ending to S-Theme, Fourth Strategy, in Piano Sonata in C Minor, op.
13, Pathtique, mm. 101-113

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seventh, which immediately expresses tragedy). Thus, the technique may be found in four of
Beethovens symphonies (Nos. 2-5, most famously in the Fifth) and a few other pieces that
display many aspects of the symphonic style, especially in the S-zone: the Piano Sonatas of op.
7; op. 10, no. 1; and op. 53 Waldstein; the Piano Trio, op. 1, no. 3; and the Violin Sonatas of
op. 12, nos. 2 and 3. Moreover, in all but one work (op. 1, no. 3), the technique occurs at the very
end of S, no doubt because the feeling of triumph over tragedy it engenders makes for a
particularly satisfying ending to the zone.
Finally, in fourth-strategy themes that employ distant tonal tension, there is an intrusion
of a key that is relatively remote from the local tonic, being two or more fifths away in the cycle
of fifths. Four works employ this particular brand of the fourth strategy: the Piano Sonatas of op.
2, no. 2, and op. 10, no. 3; the Cello Sonata, op. 5, no. 1; and the Eroica Symphony. Because the
classical style was essentially a diatonic one and sudden chromatic shifts were not typical of its
syntax (as they were in later nineteenth-century music), distant tonal relationships needed to be
mitigated by preparing and/or leaving the chromaticism with a series of logical harmonic steps,
or by solidly anchoring the harmony in the local tonic before and/or after the chromaticism.
Either of these situations inevitably requires some time to play out. Consequently, themes of this
kind tend toward the expansive, and, because all instances of them are in the major mode (both
in the theme and the movement overall), the rhetorically dramatic return to the tonic takes on the
feeling of a jubilant homecoming after a far-reaching voyage.
In all fourth-strategy themes, the syntactical drama includes not only tonal tension, but
usually expansional and accelerative tension as well. Hence, it is no surprise to find that they are
most often structured as a type of expanded sentence. Even those that are a period (op. 10, no. 2,
mm. 38-55, and op. 5, no. 1, mm. 73-143) or hybrid theme (hybrid 1 occurs in the Second

169
Symphony, mm. 73-112) encompass a sentence continuation on a smaller level of structure,
giving the typical acceleration. As with the other strategies, the rhetorical drama is usually
brought about by an excited effect, a tutti effect (in symphonies), or both simultaneously. And
like the other strategies, the majority of fourth-strategy themes dramatize a cadential function
that is separate from any preceding continuation, and in resolving the accelerative tension, many
of them make the shift from syntactical to purely rhetorical drama just as the continuation moves
into the cadential function, setting the rhetorical drama into high relief.

Two other types of modules that may occur in an S-zone are a standing on the dominant
and what I have termed a (small-scale) transition function. Both types of modules generally
appear after the cadence of an S-theme and therefore take on after-the-end function. Although
these modules reveal important aspects of drama in Beethovens sonata forms, they are a
relatively rare phenomenon, appearing in a total of seven works: op. 2, no. 3; op. 10, no. 2; op.
28; op. 18, no. 4; op. 9, no. 3; op. 30, no. 2; and op. 55. Likely purposes of these modules and
their respective dramatic structure generally fall into two categories: either the module
compensates for some sort of deficiency earlier in the exposition, or it serves to mitigate the
different tension levels between the end of one S-theme and the start of the next.
One type of deficiency within the first category is an S-zone that begins in the wrong
key or mode after a preparatory standing on the dominant, as occurs in the Piano Sonata in C
Major, op. 2, no. 3, and the String Trio in C Minor, op. 9, no. 3. In these cases, a second standing
on the dominant compensates by preparing for a theme that starts in the correct key, the major
dominant in op. 2, no. 3, and the mediant in op. 9, no. 3. In the latter work, S1 begins in the
wrong key of the submediant, A-flat major, and S2 fixes the problem by being set in the

170
correct key of the mediant (see Example 3.12).74 But in order for S2 to be heard in this way, it
must be prepared by a passage that sounds like the end of TR, thus giving the sense that the
music is attempting to atone for a problematic start to S.75 And since a standing on the dominant
is the most common way to prepare for the onset of an S-zone (especially one in the new key, at
the end of a modulating TR), Beethoven provides such a module before S2, complete with the
ending High dramatic unit typical of early-period works such as this, caused by the syntactical
types of expansional, implicational, and accelerative tension.
Another type of deficiency that may cause a later standing on the dominant within S
involves a non-standard end to TR, either when TR prepares S with a wrong-key V chord or
lacks a standing on the dominant altogether. The former tactic occurs famously in the Piano
Sonata in F Major, op. 10, no. 2, where S is prepared by V of the mediant, A minor, and the latter
in the String Quartet in C Minor, op. 18, no. 4, and Violin Sonata in C Minor, op. 30, no. 2,
where S is preceded only by a V chord of the new key rather than the more form-defining
standing on the dominant. Again, for this technique to be convincing as a corrective procedure,
the standing on the dominant that appears within S ought to sound like it is the end of a
modulating TR (since S is already in the new key). Thus, the tension ending these S-modules is
always High and may be the result of either rhetorical tension (op. 18, no. 4, and op. 30, no. 2) or
syntactical tension (op. 10, no. 2).

74

This work even problematizes the end of TR (shown in Example 3.12) in that it transforms the prolonged homekey V chord at the last moment into V65 of the submediant, and later corrects it with the second standing on the
dominant that remains firmly on V of the mediant.
75
This procedure forms one type of Hepokoski and Darcys concept of the trimodular block (TMB): the
invariable impression is that of apparent double medial caesuras [MCs], and, concomitantly, the effect of two
separate launches of new themes . . . following those MCs. The three blocks associated with this concept are the
first new theme after the first caesura [TM1]; its dissolution and the setting up of the second caesura [TM2]; and the
onset of a differing S-theme [TM3]. See Elements of Sonata Theory, 171. In my analyses, however, I regard the MC
as only one of several possible criteria that denote the start of an S-zone and include the presence of tonic harmony
of the new key, preparation of S by a V chord, a change in texture at S, and characteristic melodic material.

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Example 3.12 Standing on the Dominant with High Ending, Compensating for S Start in
Wrong Key, String Trio in C Minor, op. 9, no. 3, mm. 17-41

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The second category of standing on the dominants or small-scale transitions within S

function to smooth out the stark contrast in tension between two S-themes, and can be seen in
two works: the Piano Sonata in D major, Pastoral, op. 28, and the Eroica Symphony, op. 55. In
op. 28, shown in Example 3.13, S1 ends with a High unit (from the rhetorical types of dynamic,

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melodic, and thickness tension) that elides into a Low-beginning transition function. S2, on the
other hand, begins Low, and hence the fourteen-measure transition gives the listener a chance to
become accustomed to the Low level before plunging into the next theme.76 Of course, the
transition serves a harmonic purpose as well, since S1 ends on V of F-sharp minor and,
considering the calm expression of the movement thus far (being a pastoral sonata), requires
some mediation before moving into S2, which begins with a pickup on V of A major. In the
Eroica, a standing on the dominant between S3 and S4 carries out the opposite tensional effect in
mm. 99-108. S3 ends Low at m. 99 and S4 begins High at m. 109. The ten-measure standing on
the dominant introduces a crescendo and a gradual thickening of the texture that together become
rhetorically dramatic at the moment that S4 enters. The buildup towards this drama is further
enhanced by expansional tension (from the post-cadential status of the module) and implicational
tension (from the prolonged dominant), both of which resolve at S4 and increase that themes
importance as an arrival point in the S-zone as a whole. (Recall that this theme is the only one in
S that begins with a High unit and therefore, in keeping with the trend of ending S-zones High,
provides a fitting end to the S-zone overall.)

IV. The Closing Section (CL)

Once the S-zone proper comes to an end, there may be a closing section (CL) comprising
anywhere from one to three codettas, or there may be no such section at all, but in general, there
tend to be more codettas in early works, of which 42% (22 of 52) contain two or three codettas,

76

Whether the crescendo at m. 87 reaches a forte dynamic and therefore contributes rhetorical tension is a moot
point, since there are no other prominent rhetorical types present with which to combine and create drama.

174
Example 3.13 Transition Function that Mitigates Differing Tension Levels Between SThemes, Piano Sonata in D Major, op. 28, Pastoral, mm. 71-91

compared to 14% (3 of 22) in middle works and 15% (2 of 13) in late works.77 Because of this
variety in number, it becomes important to distinguish among dramatic structures for CLs with
one, two, and three codettas. Hence, like S-themes, I will consider each codetta separately, and,
in order to prevent the opus-heavy early period from distorting results, I will consider them with
regard to the style period in which they are situated.

77

Works with two codettas, by style period. Early: Op. 2, no. 3; op. 7; op. 10, no. 3; op. 13; op. 14, no. 1; op. 22; op.
49, no. 2; op. 18, no. 5; op. 3; op. 9, no. 3; op. 1, no. 3; op. 23; op. 30, no. 3; op. 5, nos. 1 and 2; op. 36; op. 6; op.
16; op. 17; op. 20; op. 71; op. 81b. Middle: Op. 81a; op. 59, no. 3; op. 92. Late: Op. 106; op. 102, no. 1.

175
The archetypes for CLs with a single codetta are broken down by style period in Table
3.11. The overall paucity of the LHL and HLH archetypes may be explained by the fact that
codettas are generally less than eight measures and do not usually encompass enough musical
space to accommodate structures of three dramatic units. Therefore structures of only one or two
units are more likely to appear. Focussing on these smaller structures, then, we find that the
archetypes that form a majority or are most preferred (if less than 50%) are LH in the early
period, L and H in the middle, and HL in the late period. Hence, the majority of codettas went
from having drama only at their end via LH in the early period to having drama only at their
beginning via HL in the late period, turning the dramatic structure, as it were, completely on its
head. The middle period is less decisive, having only preferred archetypes rather than majorities
and, furthermore, having those preferred types in near-equal proportions between the opposites
of L and H, thus seeming to represent a transitional halfway point between the early and late
periods.

Table 3.11 Archetypes in Single-Codetta CLs by Style Period

Style Period
Early (25)
Middle (17)
Late (9)

%L
24 (6)
29 (5)
22 (2)

% LH
52 (13)
18 (3)
--

% LHL
16 (4)
6 (1)
11 (1)

%H
8 (2)
35 (6)
11 (1)

% HL
-12 (2)
56 (5)

% HLH
----

These striking statistics are further evidence of the stylistic changes that take place across
the three periods. In the early period, the majority of the LH codetta, which occurs in thirteen
works,78 is an indication of Beethovens strong allegiance to a late-eighteenth-century sensibility,
since the end of codettas are not only nearly always sounded forte or fortissimo, as Hepokoski
and Darcy point out, but are also usually accompanied by at least one other rhetorical tension
78

Op. 10, no. 2; op. 14, no. 2; op. 28, op. 18, nos. 1, 3, 4, and 6; op. 9, no. 1; op. 4; op. 29; op. 21; op. 11; op. 87.

176
type such as thickness or timbral tension, rendering them dramatic.79 In the middle period, the
five Low codettas participate in the more teleological dramatic structures described earlier in
which a dramatic arrival is implied in the last S but is withheld, even through the codetta, and is
then supplied much later, in the coda.80 By contrast, the six High codettas occur after a
particularly long S-theme that ends with a High unit, the codetta representing an extension of the
celebration or (in the minor mode) calamity achieved after an arduous journey to the end of S.81
Both of these middle-period techniques for writing codettas are therefore part of the highly
teleological structures that characterize many of those works that we tend to think of as heroic.
In the late period, the majority of the HL archetype, which occurs in five works,82 is not part of
any strategy for high teleologyon the contrary, the archetype takes the steam out of a dramatic
arrival achieved at the start of the codetta. Combine this anti-teleological approach with the fact
that none of the works provide a definitive, non-elided ending to the exposition and the result is
the non-driving continuity that became a prominent feature of the late works in particular.
Moreover, Beethoven sometimes enhances this continuity either by maintaining a motive from
the end of the codetta straight into the development, as in op. 90 (see Example 3.14a) and op.
125, or by failing to resolve a dominant harmony to a tonic triad (since the exposition usually
ends with a clear tonic triad or tonic unison before moving into the development), as in op. 132,
which sounds a dominant seventh on F in place of the expected F-major triad along with an
obstinate cello that retains its note when the others rest (see Example 3.14b). This greater
continuity was also seen between TR and S, especially in the middle and late periods, and its
79

Hepokoski and Darcy, Elements of Sonata Theory, 184. Because these authors base their definition of a module
largely on melodic and textural changes rather than form-functional changes, which are dictated by harmonic and
phrase-structural considerations, their codetta-module generally corresponds to the latter portion (the High unit) of
what I have called a codetta in Beethoven. Most importantly, however, we agree that the very end of a codetta is
usually dramatic in late-eighteenth-century style.
80
Op. 53; op. 57; op. 59, no. 1; op. 95; op. 70, no. 1.
81
Op. 79; op. 59, no. 2; op. 47; op. 55; op. 60; op. 67.
82
Op. 90; op. 127; op. 132; op. 102, no. 2; op. 125.

177
appearance here demonstrates that it is part of a larger trend to undermine important points of
articulation in the form in favour of a more continuous musical discourse.
In all of the above majority/preferred archetypes of single-codetta CLs, the drama is
always brought about by rhetorical tension regardless of whether the archetype is the LH of the
early period, H of the middle, or HL of the late period. But the similarities run even deeper, as
the precise tension types that appear in the dramatic portions of these codettas are, in almost
every case, a tutti effect or an excited effect. Thus, not only did Beethoven usually dramatize a
single-codetta CL with the immediacy of rhetorical drama, he also usually selected two of the
most powerful combinations of rhetorical types possible. Moreover, when the codetta ends with
a High unit, it most often involves the syntactical accelerative tension as well, heightening the
drama as it moves towards the final gesture of the exposition. Five of these High-ending codettas

Example 3.14 Continuity Between Codetta and Development Section

a) By Tension Level and Motive, Piano Sonata in E Minor, op. 90, mm. 71-84

178
b) By Tension Level and Closing Exposition without a Triad or Unison, String Quartet in A
Minor, op. 132, mm. 73-78

even include metric tension,83 which thus far has proven to be quite rare, but probably appears
more frequently in codettas for two reasons. First, although a codetta may appear after practically
any authentic cadence, at least one usually occurs after the S-zone proper in order to provide an
area of tonal stability after a theme that, in most cases, has encountered much phrase expansion
and tonal diversion en route to its cadence. Hence, if syntactical tension is going to appear at all
in a codetta, it is logical that it usually be a type that does not disturb this sense of stability the
codetta expresses. In this light, metric tension is an appropriate choice since it does not have any
harmonic requirements in the way that tonal, closural, and implicational tensions do. This notion
of stability is also supported by the fact that in these cases, the metric dissonance is restricted to
syncopation, and therefore expresses a relatively weak type compared to the more jarring effect
that a stronger type, like hemiola, would create. Secondly, the rarity of metric tension in other

83

Op. 14, no. 2; op. 28; op. 21; op. 60; op. 11.

179
parts of the exposition lends it a freshness that is especially effective as a means of
differentiating the closing section from the S-themes that precede it.
Another notable feature of single-codetta CLs is the relationship between the tension at
the end of S and that at the start of the codetta. Table 3.12 highlights the two most common
situations, High-Low (H-L) and High-High (H-H). In the early period, the majority of H-L,
found in fifteen works,84 indicates that the start of a single-codetta CL was usually both a point
of repose in the dramatic structure, and a point of clear articulation in the form, separating the
end of S from the start of the codetta through a large contrast in tension. In the middle period, HL drops to a small minority and the H-H pattern, found in seven works,85 instead becomes most
preferred. That most of these works are symphonies indicates that Beethovens middle-period
symphonies, at least in this respect, tended to extend the features of late-eighteenth-century
symphony style (with its emphasis on attaining cadences with rhetorical drama) well beyond the
point of cadence and across the entire codetta (as shown by the preference for the H archetype).
In the late period, H-L disappears altogether, and H-H becomes a majority, occurring in five
works,86 once again inverting the normal practice of the early period in favour of a heightened
continuity. And even if this continuity cannot be said to be a non-driving one, as it was
between TR and S (which would seem to be more typical of the late style), the drama is usually
dissipated before the codetta ends (indicated by the majority of the HL archetype in the late
period in Table 3.11) rather than being prolonged throughout the codetta as was generally the
case in the middle period (shown by the preference for the H archetype).

84

Op. 2, no. 2; op. 10, nos. 1 and 2; op. 31, nos. 1, 2, and 3; op. 18, nos. 1, 3, 4, and 6; op. 9, no. 2; op. 1, no. 1; op.
12, no. 3; op. 21; op. 11.
85
Op. 59, no. 2; op. 74; op. 47; op. 55; op. 60; op. 67; op. 68.
86
Op. 111; op. 127; op. 132; op. 102, no. 2; op. 125.

180
Table 3.12 Tension Between End of S and Start of Single-Codetta CL by Style Period
Style Period
Early (25)
Middle (17)
Late (9)

% L-L
32 (8)
35 (6)
33 (3)

% L-H
8 (2)
6 (1)
11 (1)

% H-L
60 (15)
18 (3)
--

% H-H
-41 (7)
56 (5)

Moving on to CLs with two codettas, we find most occurrences within the early period,
which contains eighteen such CLs, compared with only one in the middle and two in the late
periods.87 While this is an interesting finding in itself, the possible reasons for it will not be of
concern here since it is strictly an issue of form rather than drama and form together. I mention it
here because there can be no significant patterns within the later two periods (since a minimum
of three works are required) and consequently, the patterns I will discuss are largely reflections
of early-period tendencies, even though I will sometimes refer to the middle and late works as
supporting evidence.
In the first codetta (CL1) of these two-codetta CLs, there are no majority archetypes
overall, but rather two that are virtually tied for most preferred: L, at 33% (7 of 21), and LH, at
38% (8 of 21). Combining these with the two LHL that occur (the other archetype with a Low
start), we find that most CL1s (of two codettas) begin Low, at a total frequency of 81% (17 of
21).88 Moreover, with these Low-starting CL1s, any drama that is reached within this module or
in the next module tends to be maintained right to the end of the CL-zone, as occurs in 65% (11
of 17) of them, thus emphatically punctuating the end of the exposition.89

87

Early works: op. 2, no. 3; op. 13; op. 14, no. 1; op. 49, no. 2; op. 18, no. 5; op. 3; op. 9, no. 3; op. 1, no. 3; op. 23;
op. 30, no. 3; op. 5, nos. 1 and 2; op. 36; op. 16; op. 17; op. 20; op. 71; op. 81b. Middle work: op. 92. Late works:
op. 106; op. 102, no. 1.
88
Works with L archetype: Op. 3; op. 1, no. 3; op. 5, no. 1; op. 16; op. 17; op. 20; op. 71. Works with the LH
archetype: Op. 2, no. 3; op. 13; op. 49, no. 2; op. 106; op. 23; op. 30, no. 3; op. 5, no. 2; op. 36. Works with the LHL
archetype: Op. 18, no. 5; op. 9, no. 3.
89
Op. 2, no. 3; op. 13; op. 49, no. 2; op. 106; op. 1, no. 3; op. 5, nos. 1 and 2; op. 36; op. 16; op. 17; op. 20.

181
Regarding CL1s with the L archetype in particular, a majority is seen in chamber works
with horn or woodwinds at 80% (4 of 5): op. 16, op. 17, op. 20, op. 71. But even besides
belonging to the same genre, these works have a number of other remarkable similarities: all four
are from the early period, three (op. 16, 20, and 71) are in the key of E-flat major, and three (op.
17, 20, and 71) contain the less common non-modulating TR. And stylistically, all four of the
works reside mainly within the borders of sonata style, especially in their preference for
melodies that break up the momentum of the phrase through numerous starts and stops and a
relatively high degree of ornamentation and lyricism. Thus, the majority of the L archetype
found in these works was part of a larger tendency for Beethoven, in his early period, to write in
sonata style in these genres, likely because he considered the horn and winds to be fundamentally
lyrical instruments, and, because he maintained a fairly strict separation of sonata and symphony
styles in his early works, the natural home for this lyrical type of melody was sonata style.
On the other hand, for the LH archetype in CL1, majorities occur in the piano sonata
(80%, 4 of 5) in op. 2, no. 3; op. 13; op. 49, no. 2; and op. 106.90 In contrast to the horn and wind
works mentioned above, most of these CL1 codettas are highly representative of the symphony
style in that 1) the melody is very continuous, containing few or no rests or relatively long
rhythmic halts that break up the momentum of the codetta, and 2) the latter portion of the codetta
is made dramatic by rhetorical tension, through either an excited effect (op. 13 and op. 106) or a
tutti effect (op. 2, no. 3).91 Furthermore, while it was by no means obligatory for a composer to

90

Although op. 49, no. 2 lacks any dynamic markings, basic markings of piano and forte can be inferred from
contextual cues because, in his other works of the early period, Beethoven generally sets lyrical (sonata-style)
passages at a soft dynamic and more symphonic ones at a loud dynamic. Moreover, these stylistic distinctions are
particularly clear in this movement, making the assignment of basic dynamics fairly reliable. The dynamics I assign
to this movement are as follows (superscript numerals indicate quarter-note beats in the measure): m. 1 = forte, m. 22
= piano, m. 5 = forte, m. 62 = piano, m. 15 = forte, m. 203 = piano, m. 36 = forte, m. 54 = piano, m. 56 = forte, m.
57 = piano, m. 67 = forte, m. 682 = piano, m. 71 = forte, 722 = piano, m. 75 = forte, m. 873 = piano, m. 103 = forte.
91
Op. 49, no. 2 is the sole exception in which rhetorical drama is absent from the end of the first codetta. Instead, it
makes use of syntactical drama by avoiding a cadential arrival at m. 46 (closural tension), returning to an earlier part

182
consistently apply either symphony or sonata style throughout an entire movement,92 the works
cited in this category adopt symphony style for much of the movement. In all these works,
Beethoven even augments the powerful sense of drive in this style by following the first codetta
(CL1) with a second (CL2) that expresses the H archetype, thus extending the drama achieved at
the end of CL1 across the entirely of CL2. As might be expected, this same spilling over effect
of the drama is also evident in the two symphonies that contain two codettas, but whereas the
Second Symphony has the LH archetype moving into an H archetype from CL1 to CL2, the
Seventh goes a step further by having both codettas as H (and thus, the spilling over is from
the end of S into CL). In any case, it seems that the prevalent dramatic structure of LH then H for
the two codettas was guided primarily by the symphony style of much of the movement. But
more broadly, that H occurs as an overall majority in CL2 at 52% (11 of 21) indicates that the H
archetype itself was an important aspect of expositional closure for Beethoven,93 especially as we
also find the archetype most preferred in CL2 and CL3 of CL-zones with three codettas at 50%
each (3 of 6).94
There is little to say of CL-zones with three codettas simply because they are so scarce,
occurring in only six works: op. 7; op. 10, no. 3; op. 22; op. 81a; op. 59, no. 3; and op. 6.
Moreover, that there are only two works from the middle period (op. 81a and op. 59, no. 3), and
absolutely none in the late period, precludes the formation of any significant generalizations
across the style periods. The dramatic situation in CL of these works depends on the style in
of the codetta at m. 47 (expansional tension), and accelerating the harmonic rhythm at m. 48 (accelerative tension).
No doubt, the lack of rhetorical drama is related to the lesser technical demands of the work as an easy sonata
(leichte Sonate).
92
See Broyles, Beethoven, 28, on this point, where he indicates that not only were the two styles mixed in the same
genre but frequently in the same piece and in the same movement. . . . It would be more accurate to think of them as
theoretical extremes or ideals which interpenetrate and blend in a number of combinations and in a number of
different ways.
93
Two-codetta CL-zones with H archetype in CL2: Op. 2, no. 3; op. 13; op. 49, no. 2; op. 106; op. 5, no. 2; op. 36;
op. 92; op. 16; op. 17; op. 20; op. 81b.
94
Three-codetta CL-zones with H archetype. In CL2: Op. 22; op. 59, no. 3; op. 6. In CL3: Op. 7; op. 59, no. 3; op. 6.

183
which Beethoven wrote each movement. Four of the movements (op. 7; op. 22; op. 59, no. 3; and
op. 6) mostly display the characteristics of symphony style, especially in the P-zone. (S-zones, as
Broyles points out, tended toward sonata style, at least at their opening, due to the melodic
lyricism so often found there.95) In the CL-zone of these works, symphonic drive permeates both
the second and third codettas through a relatively continuous melody that is supported by
rhetorical dramain fact, in all four movements, both of these codettas have an archetype that
ends High (either an H or LH archetype). Thus, symphony style continues to be a strong
influence in the dramatic structure of CL.
A final word about CL ought to address the dramatic situation at the very end of the zone
since it often forms the end of the exposition as a whole. Table 3.13 shows the frequency of High
(dramatic) endings to CL, regardless of the number of codettas it contains, broken down by style
period. The pattern here is clear: High endings to CL are a majority in the early period, and their
frequency continually drops with each subsequent period, becoming a minority in the late period.
Within these majority-High endings, the drama is almost always rhetorical, consisting of an
excited effect or a tutti effect (and sometimes both simultaneously). One particularly frequent
arrangement is to drive toward the end of the last codetta with the rushing character of an excited
effect, then to cap off the codetta, and exposition, with a final tutti effect, either on two tonic
chords or a V-I progression, the latter of which occurs in op. 2, no. 3, illustrated in Example
3.15.
For the sake of comparison, Table 3.14 juxtaposes the frequency of High endings to each
of the four major sections of the exposition: P, TR, S, and CL. Clearly, the P-zone is unlike the

95

Broyles, Beethoven, 16-17.

184
Example 3.15 Excited Effect Followed by a Tutti Effect to Close the Exposition, Piano
Sonata in C Major, op. 2, no. 3, mm. 85-90

Table 3.13 High Endings to CL by Style Period

Style Period
Early
Middle
Late

% CL ends High
68 (32/47)
55 (11/20)
18 (2/11)

Table 3.14 High Endings to P, TR, S, and CL by Style Period

Style Period
Early
Middle
Late

%P
ends High
37 (19/52)
50 (11/22)
31 (4/13)

% TR
ends High
87 (45/52)
64 (14/22)
46 (6/13)

%S
ends High
60 (31/52)
50 (11/22)
38 (5/13)

% CL
ends High
68 (32/47)
55 (11/20)
18 (2/11)

185
others as there are no majorities of High endings in any of the style periods, a finding almost
certainly linked to the tonal stability of that zone in the form. In other words, because P generally
establishes the home tonic key and provides a sound tonal base on which to build the rest of the
exposition (and the rest of the movement), a Low unit at its end aptly reflects the stability of this
base through a calm, non-dramatic expression. The end of TR, S, and CL, however, together
present an altogether different trend. High endings to these zones are always at a majority in the
early period, then drop in frequency in the middle period, and drop even further in the late
period. The majority of High endings in the early period may be attributed to the teleology most
often found within each zone of those works. Because this approach highlights the end of each
individual zone as an important goal, it lends a decidedly sectionalized feel to the sonata form
overall. In the middle period, this goal tends to shift to later in the movement and the zones start
to become far less sectional as one often blends or elides into the next. Hence, the frequency of
High endings within each zone of the exposition tends to decrease from the early period. And in
the late period, Beethoven often abandons teleological premises for a movement in favour of a
search for new modes of expression. Thus, continuity between zones becomes a clear priority
and High endings become even less frequent than in the middle period.
The last possible module within an exposition is the retransition (RT), which serves as a
relatively brief modulating link into a repeat of the exposition and/or into the development
sectionthose of the former type I call RT1, and those of the latter RT2.96 With these labels, an
RT module that remains unchanged for both purposes is counted in both types; after all, the two
modules are separated in time even if they contain the same music. This approach allows us to

96

In op. 130, RT1 leads back to an anomalous slow introduction that is worked into the movement proper. Although
Hatten, Musical Meaning in Beethoven, 142, views this slow introduction as the P-theme proper, I view it as a slow
introduction because it does not return at the start of the recapitulation, which instead begins with the Allegro
material that initially followed this slow introduction.

186
compare whether the two types of RT modules differ in their dramatic structure. Since RT has a
linking function, we may gain the most useful results by comparing the tension levels between
the end of RT and the start of the next module. As shown in Tables 3.15 and 3.16, the most
common arrangement is a Low-Low connection between RT and the following module
regardless of whether it leads to the expositional repeat or the development. Indeed, this situation
is either a majority or most preferred in the early and middle periods, the late being unable to
form any significant results due to the lack of three movements in any category. Nonetheless,
even with the small numbers in the late period, Low-Low connections are never any less frequent
than any other type of connection, demonstrating their importance at that time as well. Rather
than bearing any sort of relationship with the non-driving continuity I have mentioned, all these
Low-Low connections are most likely the result of a conceptual filling-in of the silence that
would have otherwise occurred between the last event of the exposition and the first event of the
development. In this way, RT is something like caesura-fill within the medial caesura (which
usually ended Low to connect smoothly with the usual Low start to S). If this is the case, then we
ought to consider how the tension ending the exposition properthat is, without the addition of
any RT modulesjoins with that beginning the development. As Table 3.17 indicates, this
juncture is set with contrasting tension levels in a majority of early movements, but gradually
shifts to a majority of having the same tension levels in the late, with the middle period acting as
a transition between the two by showing no preference for either arrangement. Furthermore, the
same tension levels of the late period are exclusively Low-Low connections. Hence, the same
progression from sectionalization toward continuity that emerged between some zones of the
exposition resurfaces again here, and even to the extent that the continuity of the late period is
exclusively of the non-driving type. At this point in the form, however, the finding is all the more

187
significant, as it marks the dividing line not just between two zones but indeed between two large
sections.

Table 3.15 Tension Between RT1 and First Module of Expositional Repeat by Style
Period
Tension Between
Modules
Low-Low
Low-High
High-Low
High-High

% in Early
(of 22)
68 (15)
9 (2)
23 (5)
--

% in Middle
(of 14)
36 (5)
29 (4)
7 (1)
29 (4)

% in Late
(of 3)
33 (1)
33 (1)
-33 (1)

Table 3.16 Tension Between RT2 and First Module of Development by Style Period
Tension Between
Modules
Low-Low
Low-High
High-Low
High-High

% in Early
(of 22)
45 (10)
32 (7)
14 (3)
9 (2)

% in Middle
(of 17)
59 (10)
6 (1)
12 (2)
24 (4)

% in Late
(of 6)
33 (2)
17 (1)
33 (2)
17 (1)

Table 3.17 Tension Between Last Module of Exposition Proper (S or CL) and First
Module of Development by Style Period
Tension Between
Modules
Low-Low
Low-High
High-Low
High-High
Changes to opposite
Stays the same

% in Early
(of 52)
21 (11)
17 (9)
40 (21)
21 (11)
58 (30)
42 (22)

% in Middle
(of 22)
32 (7)
18 (4)
32 (7)
18 (4)
50 (11)
50 (11)

% in Late
(of 13)
62 (8)
23 (3)
15 (2)
-38 (5)
62 (8)

188
In summarizing dramatic structure in Beethovens expositions, it is important to note that
there were no areas of the form in which a single archetype was a majority when all eighty-seven
movements were taken as a whole; rather, patterns emerged in movements of the same key,
mode, genre, and style period. But of these categories, by far the most significant was style
period. Indeed, profound differences were found among the style periods in all four zones of the
exposition (P, TR, S, and CL), and these differences suggested some fundamental changes in
Beethovens conception of sonata form over time. In general, the early period was marked by
stark contrasts in the tension between modules, especially at the end of TR and at the end of S,
both of which usually had a High unit moving into a Low unit. This contrast in tension levels led
to a clear articulation of form at these locations and in turn resulted in a highly sectional type of
exposition, at least from a dramatic point of view. In the middle period, Beethoven moved
toward more teleological structures, again most apparently at the ends of TR and S, where he
began to use Low endings more frequently, thus decreasing the sense of division at these points
and creating a non-driving type of continuity. This impulse intensified in the late period as
generally lower proportions of movements had High endings to TR and S. Overall then, dramatic
structure reveals that continuity became a progressively integral part of Beethovens stylistic
development, particularly through the manipulation of aspects of the classical symphony style.
On the one hand, he often reduced the hard driving aspect of the style, hence the increase in
Low phrase endings. On the other hand, he most often augmented its continuous aspect not only
by maintaining the same tension level between phrases, but also by altering some of the
movements formal features. Chief among these was the wearing away of the medial caesura,
which generally went from being clearly articulated in the early period to being largely absent in

189
late works either through a TR that was flush-juxtaposed or even elided with the following Szone.
As might be expected, these trends were not restricted to the expositions of Beethovens
sonata forms. In fact, as we shall see, the trend toward continuity plays a more pervasive, if not
more important, role in the second large section of the sonata, the development.

Chapter 4: The Development

Because the vast majority of literature on sonata form focusses its attention on
expositions, relatively little has been said about the other parts of the form. In the case of
development sections, there is also the added deterrent that they do not always divide into the
same broad sections, as expositions do, since there are no consistent syntactical rules that govern
how a development is to be structured, especially in terms of key and motivic material.1
Nevertheless, as outlined in chapter 1, I construct an analytical framework by combining
Hepokoski and Darcys four potential development zones with Caplins pre-core/core
technique. As a result of this fusion of ideas, I slightly redraw some of the boundaries of the
four zones in order that they may coincide with changes in formal function. Zone 1 (D1) is formfunctionally a thematic introduction or even a slow introduction (as it was a predilection of
Beethovens to restate material from a slow introduction at the start of the movement here); zone
2 (D2) is a relatively short, tight-knit theme or theme-like unit (which, together with zone 1 forms
Caplins pre-core); zone 3 (D3) is Hepokoski and Darcys central action zone and Caplins
core; and zone 4 (D4) is a standing on the dominant (the traditionally-named retransition). In
the ensuing sections of this chapter, I will examine these zones most typical patterns in dramatic
structure and how they relate to the sorts of trends that I outlined for Beethovens expositions.
But like the secondary-theme zone, because the dramatic structure of each zone varies with the
number of modules it contains (except D1, which always has a single introductory module), I will
consider zones with different numbers of modules in separate groups.
1

James Hepokoski and Warren Darcy, Elements of Sonata Theory: Norms, Types, and Deformations in the LateEighteenth-Century Sonata (New York: Oxford University Press, 2006), 205-20, advocate viewing development
sections as rotational, meaning that motivic material follows the order of modules in the exposition. The idea,
however, is not as predictive as it seems since most developments begin with P-theme material (as Hepokoski and
Darcy recognize) and hence any other expositional material that follows creates a rotational layout or at least what
the authors call a half-rotational layout of P-TR. I argue this same point in my review of Elements of Sonata
Theory, forthcoming in Gamut: The Online Journal of the Music Theory Society of the Mid-Atlantic (2011).

190

191
Regarding tension and drama, developments tend not to reveal patterns relating to mode,
and very few exist for works in a certain key or genre. No doubt, the scarcity of patterns in mode
and key is linked to the fact that developments are restless in these two domains and hence the
home key and mode become such an abstraction that any effect from them becomes unlikely.
Also considering that there are few patterns related to genre in developments, these facts together
demonstrate that the development was for Beethoven a part of the form that was generally not
amenable to the immediate features of the piece at handi.e., its key, mode, and genre.
However, like so many parts of the form, it certainly was amenable to the changes in
Beethovens style that took place over long spans of time. Thus, it is this aspect of tension and
drama that will be the primary focus of this chapter, mainly from the vantage point of the
increasingly continuous approach to sonata form that became a prominent feature of his works
from the middle period onward.
I. Zone 1 (D1)
Nearly half (48%, 42 of 87) of the movements in this study contain an introductory D1zone, which is identified by a single module that is relatively short (generally less than eight
measures). Beethovens most common way of beginning this module is at a Low level of
tension, which occurs in 62% (26 of 42) of the movements overall, and in at least 50% of
movements when grouped by the categories of key, mode, genre, or style period (and the
category contains at least three pieces). There are, however, two exceptions: E-flat major and C
minor, both of which have a majority of High beginnings to D1 at 63% (5 of 8) and 60% (3 of
5), respectively.2 It is interesting that there should be any discrepancy among movements in
different keys at the start of the development section, since the home key of a movement is not
2

E-flat-major movements: op. 7; op. 81a; op. 74; op. 127; op. 20. C-minor movements: op. 10, no. 1; op. 13; op. 67.

192
usually sounded there and hence cannot be linked to dramatic structure, at least on a foreground
level. Why, then, are there majorities of High beginnings to D1 in E-flat major and C minor?
Mark Anson-Cartwright has pointed out similarities in the harmonic construction of
developments in E-flat-major movements by Haydn, Mozart, and Beethoven, most prominently
an enharmonic relationship between the pitches B-natural and C-flat, the former always being
harmonized with a dominant of the submediant, C minor.3 While Anson-Cartwright notes that
this relationship is usually expressed in or just before the retransition of the development (what I
call D4), Beethovens personal preference was to place a prominent B-natural at or near the start
of the whole development, as he does in an astounding thirteen (87%) of the fifteen movements
in E-flat major I consider in this study, four of which are shown in Example 4.1 in order to give
some idea of how this pitch usually appears.4 Moreover, the dramatic High starts to D1 that occur
in five of the E-flat-major movements all include this B-natural as a tonicization of C minor.
Thus, these dramatic starts to D1 are, at least on a local level, more connected to the key of C
minor than to E-flat major. In the case of the three C-minor movements with a dramatic start to
D1, none are actually in C minor in this module (in op. 10, no. 1 and op. 67, it is in F minor and
in op. 13, G minor then E minor), but all echo a dramatic opening to the entire movement that
was indeed in C minor. The key of C minor therefore seems to have carried significant dramatic
weight to Beethoven, especially when it came to beginning the large sections of his sonata forms.

Mark Anson-Cartwright, Features of E#-Major Works of the Classical Period, Music Theory Spectrum 22 (2000):
180-81. Surprisingly, the large-scale harmonic pathways of these development sections are not unique to E-flatmajor works, but are forms of more typical procedures that allow for a prominent III harmony. Compare AnsonCartwrights Examples 1a, b, and c, respectively, with Figures iii-a, vii-a, and vii-b in Edward Laufer, VoiceLeading Procedures in Development Sections, Studies in Music from the University of Western Ontario 13 (1991):
72, who identifies the twelve most common tonal structures for classical development sections. The difference, of
course, is that the procedures that allow for a prominent III are more common in E-flat major than in other keys.
4
Op. 7; op. 31, no. 3; op. 81a; op. 74; op. 127; op. 3; op. 1, no. 1; op. 12, no. 3; op. 55; op. 16; op. 17; op. 20; op.
71.

193
Example 4.1 Prominent B-Naturals at or Near Start of Development in E-Flat-Major
Movements

a) Piano Trio, op. 1, no. 1, mm. 104b-112

b) Piano Sonata, op. 7, mm. 135-141

194
c) Eroica Symphony, op. 55, mm. 154-166 (piano reduction)

d) String Quartet, op. 127, mm. 65-76

195
Concerning dramatic archetypes in D1, there is none that forms a majority in the eightyseven movements as a whole. The L and H archetypes are the most preferred at 31% (13 of 42)
and 24% (10 of 42) respectively, as they were in the introductory P1.0, because the generally
short length of the module prevents any more elaborate archetype from occurring.5 When D1 is
considered by style period, however, we find a steady increase in the L archetype (see Table 4.1),
which reaches a majority in the late period. This common lack of drama in D1 in the late period
is usually coupled with a Low unit both before and after D1 as well to create the same nondriving continuity that is characteristic of many junctures in late-period expositions. It was only
gradually that Beethoven began to favour such Low-Low connections into D1, as demonstrated
in Table 4.2 by the steady increase in the technique over the three style periods.6 And since D1,
when it appears, is always the first module of the entire development section, a Low-Low
connection can participate in blurring the boundary between the exposition and development, as
sometimes occurs in the late works when the technique is combined with others such as elision
and/or a lack of resolution onto a tonic triad or unison. (Recall the similar discussion in chapter 3
regarding single-codetta closing sections in the late period and especially Examples 3.14a and b.)
All this is to say that for Beethoven the sonata was evolving into a more continuous form than it
generally was in his early works, and the manipulation of tension levels was just one of the ways
that he achieved that transformation.

Works with the L archetype in D1: Op. 2, no. 2; op. 10, no. 2; op. 57; op. 90; op. 111; op. 18, no. 3; op. 130; op.
132; op. 1, no. 3; op. 55; op. 68; op. 125; op. 81b. Works with the H archetype: Op. 7; op. 31, nos. 1 and 2; op. 81a;
op. 18, no. 1; op. 74; op. 5, no. 2; op. 60; op. 67; op. 20.
6
Works with Low-Low connections into D1, by style period. Early: Op. 2, nos. 1 and 2; op. 10, no. 3; op. 14, no. 1;
op. 28; op. 18, no. 2; op. 1, no. 1. Middle: Op. 57; op. 78; op. 55; op. 68; op. 92. Late: Op. 90; op. 130; op. 132; op.
125.

196
Table 4.1 L Archetype in D1 by Style Period
Style Period
Early
Middle
Late

% Frequency
20 (5/25)
30 (3/10)
71 (5/7)

Table 4.2 Low-Low Connections into D1 by Style Period

Style Period
Early
Middle
Late

% Frequency
28 (7/25)
50 (5/10)
57 (4/7)

II. Zone 2 (D2)

Together with any D3 that is present, D2 forms what could be called the development
proper, since the nature of the preceding D1 is entirely introductory and D4, being a standing on
the dominant, projects the sense of after-the-end in the manner of a post-cadential function. D2
may have either one or two modules, but what distinguishes it most readily from an ensuing D3 is
the length of its modules. As mentioned earlier, the modules of D2 are relatively tight-knit, and
tight-knit modules are usually around eight measures, following the standard models of such
common theme types as the sentence and period. And because tight-knit modules by definition
contain fewer syntactical tension types than looser ones, there is a built-in difference between
D2- and D3-zones in both their formal structure and their dramatic structure. For this reason, it is
crucial to distinguish between the two zones in analysis. D2 does not, however, function merely
as a prelude for the more expansive and weighty D3, for in works of modest proportions or
technical demand, the central portion of a development section may consist only of a D2 without
a subsequent D3, as in Beethovens two easy piano sonatas of op. 49, the only two movements

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Example 4.2 Functions of D2-Zones
a) As a Pre-Core; String Trio in C Minor, op. 9, no. 3, mm. 74-82

b) As a Small-Scale Core; Piano Sonata in G Major, op. 49, no. 2, mm. 53-60

198
of the eighty-seven to have developments so structured.7 Example 4.2 illustrates the two
functions of D2-zones, as a pre-core to a more substantial core (D3), and as a small-scale core in
the context of a modestly-sized sonata.
Like all zones of the development section, D2 is by no means obligatory and in fact is the
least likely of the four zones to appear, occurring in only 37% (32 of 87) of the movements.
However, this statistic is somewhat misleading, for dividing the movements by style period
reveals that D2, like D1, occurs in nearly half of the movements in the early and middle periods
(42% and 45%, respectively) but completely disappears from all thirteen movements of the late
period. When D2 is absent, the development proper comprises only D3, which is formfunctionally looser than the tight-knit D2 as it always incorporates modules that are longer than
the eight-measure standard of the latter. Thus, the elimination of D2 signifies an increased
emphasis on expanded phrases in development sections of the late period, an idea that meshes
well with Beethovens increased focus on expansiveness, which in the late period played as
important a role in his development sections as it did in expositions, as will be seen in the next
section. For the present section, however, it must be kept in mind that, at least for first
movements, D2 zones are exclusively a feature of the early and middle periods.
When D2 contains just one module, no dramatic archetype is favoured as a majority, but
L and LH are preferred at 23% (5 of 22) and 32% (7 of 22), respectively, reflecting the fact that
most development sections begin with a transposition of P1, where the same two archetypes are
preferred at nearly the same frequencies as in P1 (28% and 32%, respectively).8 More important,
however, is the way in which the tension at the end of single-module D2-zones connects with that

Hence in this subsection I cannot refer to the tension between D2 and D3 for all works, but only between D2 and
the following zone, which may be either D3 (the core) or D4 (the retransition).
8
Works with the L archetype in a single-module D2: Op. 57; op. 1, no. 3; op. 29; op. 5, no. 1; op. 11. Works with the
LH archetype: Op. 31, no. 3; op. 18, nos. 4 and 6; op. 74; op. 9, no. 2; op. 36; op. 71.

199
at the start of the following zone since substantial differences emerge between the early and
middle periods. As Table 4.3 shows, the majority of single-module D2-zones (72%, 13 of 18) in
the early period change the level of tension in moving into the next zone (either from Low to
High or High to Low), whereas in the middle period, the majority (80%, 4 of 5) actually do the
opposite and maintain the same level of tension into the next zone.9 This about-face in the
construction of D2 is even emphasized by the fact that the situation that is the most common in
the early period (High-Low) dwindles down to 0% in the middle period.
Table 4.3 Tension Between Single-Module D2-zones and Following Zone by Style Period
Tension Between
Modules
Low-Low
Low-High
High-Low
High-High
Changes to opposite
Stays the same

% in Early
(of 17)
18 (3)
29 (5)
47 (8)
6 (1)
76 (13)
24 (4)

% in Middle
(of 5)
40 (2)
20 (1)
0 (0)
40 (2)
20 (1)
80 (4)

Clearly, some stylistic change is at work here, and I would argue that it has to do with
Beethovens evolving conception of sonata form in which the series of relatively distinct, or
sectionalized, zones that regularly characterize much of the early movements gradually
becomes a more continuous series of less clearly differentiated zones through the middle period
and into the late period. This helps to explain why there is a shift in the use of tension from D2
into the following zone but also why Beethoven eliminated D2 from these sonata forms
altogether in the late periodby that time, a D2-zone, which is at the very least distinguished
from the following D3 by its shorter length, had become antithetical to his much more continuous
9

Early works that change the tension level from the end of a single-module D2 into the next zone: Op. 31, no. 3; op.
18, nos. 2, 4, and 6; op. 9, no. 2; op. 1, no. 3; op. 23; op. 30, no. 1; op. 5, no. 1; op. 11; op. 16; op. 17; op. 71. Middle
works that keep the tension level the same: Op. 79; op. 59, no. 1; op. 74; op. 70, no. 2.

200
conception of sonata form. This does not mean that developments of the late period are
necessarily shorter than earlier ones, for Beethoven often added length to the D3-zone through
more extended motivic repetition.10 Thus, while a great length characterizes some late
movements, such as the Ninth Symphony and the Hammerklavier sonata, there are others that
tend toward the concise such as the Piano Sonata in E Major, op. 109 and the Cello Sonata in D
Major, op. 102, no. 2. The continuous approach to the form is much more evident in the
boundaries between the zones than between the modules within the zones, as can be seen in D2zones with two modules, where there is a marked difference in Beethovens treatment of the
tension between the modules within the zone and between D2 and the following zone. As shown
in Table 4.4, the majority of two-module D2-zones have a contrasting level of tension between
their component modules in both the early and middle periods, but between D2 and the following
zone, most early movements retain a contrasting tension level while most middle-period
movements keep the level of tension the same.11
Table 4.4 Comparison of Tension Between Modules Within Two-Module D2-Zones and
Between Two-Module D2-Zones and Following Zone by Style Period
Tension Between
Modules
Low-Low
Low-High
High-Low
High-High
Changes to opposite
Stays the same
10

Between D2 Modules
% in Early
% in Middle
(of 5)
(of 5)
40 (2)
40 (2)
0 (0)
20 (1)
60 (3)
40 (2)
--60 (3)
60 (3)
40 (2)
40 (2)

Between D2 and Following Zone

% in Early
% in Middle
(of 5)
(of 5)
20 (1)
40 (2)
40 (2)
20 (1)
20 (1)
20 (1)
20 (1)
20 (1)
60 (3)
40 (2)
40 (2)
60 (3)

Michael Broyles, Beethoven: The Emergence and Evolution of Beethovens Heroic Style (New York: Excelsior,
1987), 223, points out that, in many of Beethovens late works, motivic emphasis becomes more extreme
[compared to previous works], as motives expand and contract following their own internal dynamics almost
oblivious to the bar line.
11
Works that change the tension level between modules of a two-module D2, by style period. Early: Op. 14, no. 2;
op. 22; op. 18, no. 3. Middle: Op. 70, no. 1; op. 97; op. 69. Early works that change the tension level between D2 and
following zone: Op. 14, no. 2; op. 22; op. 18, no. 5. Middle works that keep the tension level the same: Op. 70, no.
1; op. 97; op. 55.

201
III. Zone 3 (D3)
D3 constitutes the core of the development, not only because it usually occupies a
central position in that sectionindeed, 74% (63 of 85) of them are preceded by a D1- and/or D2zone and therefore begin somewhere in the middle of the sectionbut also because it is the most
substantial zone of the development and thus, when present, plays a more fundamental role than
any of the three other zones.12
As outlined in chapter 1, I adopt a broader definition of the core than the Ratz/Caplin
model, which essentially states that a core must be structured as a large-scale sentence. In my
view, a core may be structured in any number of ways,13 but it is distinguished by the use of
phrase expansion to augment the size of modules beyond the standard of eight measures and thus
express a relatively loose form-functional structure.14 After such a loose structure, there may
be a return to more tight-knit material, but this material would still be considered a part of D3,
not D2, since D3 has already been demarcated by the initial expanded phrase and cannot revert to
a previous zone.15 While both Caplin and Hepokoski and Darcy identify a D3-zone primarily by
rhetorical Sturm und Drang effects (such as a loud dynamic, intensely active rhythm, thick
12

The central positioning of D3 in the development (after D1 and/or D2) is a majority trend in all three periods: 80%
in the early (40 of 50), 73% in the middle (16 of 22), and 54% in the late (7 of 13). The only twenty-two works (in
any period) in which D3 occurs first in the development are op. 53; op. 101; op. 109; op. 110; op. 59, no. 3; op. 95;
op. 135; op. 3; op. 1, no. 2; op. 4; op. 12, nos. 2 and 3; op. 30, nos. 2 and 3; op. 47; op. 96; op. 102, nos. 1 and 2; op.
21; op. 93; op. 6; op. 87.
13
These include the various types of core substitute identified by William E. Caplin such as pseudo-core,
transition-like unit, and subordinate themelike unit, all of which lack the large-scale sentence structure. See
Classical Form: A Theory of Formal Functions for the Instrumental Music of Haydn, Mozart, and Beethoven (New
York: Oxford University Press), 155-57.
14
In some instances, a slightly expanded phrase leads to another phrase containing a noticeably higher degree of
expansion. In retrospect, this more-expanded phrase, and not the previous phrase, sounds like the beginning of D3.
Hard and fast rules cannot be devised for such situations since they are a matter of judgement, but in general one
should be wary of phrases in the development that stretch beyond the length of a previous phrase and thus may in
fact mark the start of D3. See for example the development of Beethovens String Quartet in D Major, op. 18, no. 3,
in which two phrases (mm. 110-122 and 123-134) are slightly expanded (thirteen and twelve measures, respectively)
but the latter is followed by a seventeen-measure phrase that, at least to my ear, signals the D3-zone.
15
See, for example, the String Quartet in C Minor, op. 18, no. 4, in a relatively tight-knit unit in mm. 78-90
(essentially a transposition of P1) defines D2, then a much expanded module at m. 90 marks the start of D3, but
returns to a more tight-knit module (now a transposition of S1) in mm. 112-119 and 120-128.

202
textures, and the like),16 I myself am drawn to the idea of large-scale phrases as the main
indicator of the zone because so many lack this rhetorical character and because it is consistent
with my reliance on syntactical elements such as harmony and phrase structure to determine
formal structure in every other part of sonata form. After all, D3 does not necessarily begin with
or even incorporate the Sturm und Drang effects of a loud dynamic and intensely active rhythm
(and perhaps thicker textures). If this were true (considering the minimum Strum und Drang
effect to be a module with a loud dynamic and an intense rhythm), then only 38% (33 of 87) of
the movements in this study would have a D3-zone,17 which seems anti-intuitive given the
importance of this zone as the development sections core or central action zone. Defining
the beginning of D3 instead by its relative phrase length results in eighty-five (98%) of the
eighty-seven movements having such a zone. (As mentioned earlier, only the two piano sonatas
of op. 49 lack this longer zone.) One other point to clarify with regards to D3 is that it may
contain more than one module, as both Caplin and Hepokoski and Darcy recognize.18 But in the
movements of this study, there are never any more than four such modules in D3, even in the
largest movements, though the modules themselves may be quite extensive.
The sentence is the most common formal structure for modules of D3, regardless of the
number of modules it contains, a fact that will therefore apply to each of the subsections below
on the various types of D3-zones. Moreover, with the large size of D3 modules, sentences may

16

Caplin, Classical Form, 142 and 155 (under pseudo-core); Hepokoski and Darcy, Elements of Sonata Theory,
230.
17
Movements with a D3 that incorporates at least one module with a minimal Sturm und Drang effect of a loud
dynamic and fast rhythm: Op. 2, nos. 1, 2, and 3; op. 10, no. 3; op. 13; op. 14, nos. 1 and 2; op. 22; op. 28; op. 31,
nos. 1, 2, and 3; op. 53; op. 57; op. 78; op. 90; op. 18, no. 4; op. 74; op. 70, no. 1; op. 30, no. 2; op. 47; op. 5, nos. 1
and 2; op. 69; op. 21; op. 36; op. 67; op. 92; op. 93; op. 125; op. 11; op. 16; op. 17.
18
Caplin, Classical Form, 141 (themelike unit is his equivalent term for module here); Hepokoski and Darcy,
Elements of Sonata Theory, 230. Although what the latter authors call an event, part, or subsection here may
not always coincide with a complete module, their assertion that the zone may be expanded at considerable length,
and it may unfold in one, two, three, or more events or parts (subsections) seems to allow for multiple modules
easily enough.

203
acquire enormous lengths due to a vastly-proportioned basic idea, continuation, or both. (No
pattern appears to govern when each part may be expanded.) The same applies to the other
structures one may encounter in D3: the hybrid 3 (large-scale basic idea + continuation), hybrid 4
(large-scale basic idea + consequent), and the hybrid 6 (basic idea[s] + cadence). In a hybrid 6, if
the basic idea is small, a vast length for the module is sometimes attained by repeating the basic
idea more times than one would generally see in the thematic zones of P and S.19 In any case, the
proportions of at least one of the functions in a D3 module will always be larger than the typical
P- or S-theme.
Throughout the following section, it will be seen that the most common dramatic
archetype in almost every module of the D3-zone is LH. Why this should be so likely relates to
the widely-held assertion that the development section is intended to intensify excursions away
from the tonic key in order to set its return in the recapitulation in relief. And considering that D3
is usually the largest zone of the development, and that the classical style is driven primarily by
the buildup to and attainment of harmonic goals, it follows that the core of the section would in
most instances be structured dramatically by the LH archetype. And even more broadly, most
D3-zones end with a High unit no matter what the number of modules they contain or even the
style period of the work, as Table 4.5 illustrates. (While categories with fewer than three pieces
cannot be considered significant per se and hence are not shaded, they nevertheless contribute to
the percentage of all D3-zones in that period and hence are included here for
comprehensiveness.) Moreover, LH seems to be an archetype that is a fundamental part of
development sections in general.

19

Op. 12, no. 1 provides a good example in its D3 (mm. 106-126), where a two-measure basic idea that alternates
between violin and piano is stated nine times before moving into the cadential function with viio7 of the home V (of
D).

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Table 4.5 High Endings to D3 by Style Period
Style Period

Early
Middle
Late

% of
1-Module
D3s
90 (18/20)
50 (1/2)
50 (2/4)

% of
2-Module
D3s
81 (22/27)
72 (8/11)
60 (3/5)

% of
3-Module
D3s
100 (3/3)
60 (3/5)
100 (1/1)

% of
4-Module
D3s
-75 (3/4)
100 (3/3)

% of
All D3s
86 (43/50)
68 (15/22)
69 (9/13)

i) Single-Module D3-Zones
Table 4.6 shows the percentages of D3-zones with anywhere from one to four modules
across the three style periods. As the table demonstrates, D3-zones containing only one module
are relatively common in both the early and late periods, but are exceedingly rare in the middle
period, with only two instances in twenty-two movements (not enough for significant patterns).
This drastic difference in the middle period is surely linked to Beethovens stylistic change at the
time toward a greater expansiveness in his music, which he achieved in part by increasing the
number of modules in some zones of the sonata. Hence, the following discussion will relate only
to the movements of the early and late periods.
Table 4.6 - Percentages of D3-Zones with One to Four Modules by Style Period
Style Period
Early
Middle
Late

% with
1-Module D3
40 (20/50)
9 (2/22)
31 (4/13)

% with
2-Module D3
54 (27/50)
50 (11/22)
38 (5/13)

% with
3-Module D3
6 (3/50)
23 (5/22)
8 (1/13)

% with
4-Module D3
-18 (4/22)
23 (3/13)

% with
Any D3
96 (50/52)
100 (22/22)
100 (13/13)

An analysis of the archetypes in single-module D3-zones (given in Table 4.7) reveals LH

to be a majority in the early period at 60% (12 of 20),20 and within these LH archetypes,
Beethoven usually brings the drama about in much the same way. Example 4.3 provides a typical

20

Op. 2, no. 1; op. 28; op. 31, no. 3; op. 18, no. 5; op. 9, no. 1; op. 1, no. 1; op. 12, nos. 1 and 2; op. 24; op. 30, no.
3; op. 20; op. 81b.

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setup. In this case, the development section begins directly with the large-scale D3, without the
introductory material of a D1 or the tight-knit material of a D2. This D3 essentially starts out as a
transposition into C major of the opening A-major P1, which is structured as a bifold sentence.
But before long, it expands on P1 by adding further fragmentation onto the end of the (repeated)
continuation, stretching the module beyond its original sixteen measures. Hence, there is both
accelerative tension (due to the continuation) and expansional tension (due to the phrase
expansion). Moreover, the moves through A minor, F major, D minor, and A minor contribute
tonal tension, and the final half cadence adds closural tension to the mix. Together, these four
syntactical tension types produce a High-tension unit through syntactical drama. And
rhetorically, the end of this D3 is also dramatic due to the excited effect of dynamic tension
(through the loud dynamics from m. 100) together with rhythmic tension (through the sixteenth
notes in mm. 108-109). Sounding syntactical and rhetorical drama together creates an especially
forceful musical effect and is likely the reason why several scholars have felt that the end of the
large-scale D3 in classical works often constitutes the climax of the development or even of the
overall form.21
Table 4.7 Archetypes in Single-Module D3-Zones by Style Period
Style
Period
Early (20)
Middle (2)
Late (4)

21

%L

% LH

% LHL

%H

% HL

% HLH

--50 (2)

60 (12)
-50 (2)

5 (1)
---

15 (3)
---

5 (1)
50 (1)
--

15 (3)
50 (1)
--

See, for example, William Kinderman, Beethoven, 2nd ed. (New York: Oxford University Press, 2009), 37, who
describes the half cadence at the end of D3 in m. 81 of Beethovens op. 2, no. 1 as powerful, climactic, and a
structural downbeat, in part due to the syncopation (i.e., metric tension), rhythmic compression [accelerative
tension] and modulation [tonal tension] that precede it. See also L. Poundie Burstein, Beethovens Tempest
Sonata: A Schenkerian Approach, in Beethovens Tempest Sonata: Perspectives of Analysis and Performance, ed.
Pieter Berg et al. (Walpole, MA: Peeters, 2009), 70, who, in discussing the first movement of the Tempest, remarks
that the core of the development section (i.e., D3), which ends with both syntactical and rhetorical drama, ensues in
bars 99ff., climaxing in bars 119-121 with a G implicitly resolving to A.

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Example 4.3 An LH Archetype in a Single-Module D3-Zone; Violin Sonata in A Major,
op. 12, no. 2, mm. 88-110

The tension types found in the above example are a common configuration in singlemodule D3-zones and it is not difficult to see why. Because D3 is defined primarily by phrase
expansion, it will always incorporate expansional tension, and due to the usual nature of D3 as a

207
tonally restless sentence structure that closes with a half cadence (or dominant arrival), tonal
tension, accelerative tension, and closural tension regularly appear. This blend of three
syntactical tension types will then create syntactical drama. On the rhetorical side, Beethoven
always has dynamic tension in these single-module D3s with the LH archetype, but in eight of
the twelve early movements, combines it with rhythmic tension to give the excited effect that
was seen in the example.22
In the late period, the four movements with a single-module D3 are divided evenly
between the archetypes of L and LH (see again Table 4.7). Considering the ease with which
syntactical drama can emerge in D3 modules, it is remarkable that there are any movements at all
that avoid it with an archetype of L, as in the Piano Sonatas of opp. 109 and 110.23 In both of
these pieces, not only does Beethoven avoid rhetorical drama in D3 (a relatively easy feat when
the dynamic is soft, as it is in these pieces), but he also distinctly avoids syntactical drama by
doing away with any type of sentence structure (the most typical phrase structure of this zone),
which would have given accelerative tension and resulted in syntactical drama, in both cases
through its combination with expansional and tonal tension.
A closer look at the LH archetypes shows syntactical drama to be a feature in only one of
the two. Thus, whereas syntactical drama is a feature of eleven of the twelve early movements
considered above, it is found in only one of the four late movements.24 While these late-period
single-module D3s naturally still include expansional and tonal tension, Beethoven refrains from

22

Op. 2, no. 1; op. 28; op. 31, no. 3; op. 9, no. 1; op. 12, no. 2; op. 24; op. 30, no. 3; op. 20.
In op. 110, the lack of syntactical drama in D3 is certainly related to the extreme simplicity of its structure, which
consists essentially of one long sequence on its initial two-measure unit. Of this simplicity, Charles Rosen, The
Classical Style: Haydn, Mozart, Beethoven, exp. ed. (New York: W. W. Norton, 1997), 489, points out that I do not
know of another development section written after the 1770s in which the underlying structure is of such
exaggerated simplicity, and even from that decade I can think of nothing as ostentatiously minimal as the melodic
line.
24
Early movements with syntactical drama in a single-module D3: Op. 2, no. 1; op. 28; op. 31, no. 3; op. 18, no. 5;
op. 9, no. 1; op. 1, no. 1; op. 12, no. 1; op. 12, no. 2; op. 24; op. 20; op. 81b. Late movement: Op. 111.
23

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adding the accelerative tension of a sentence continuation or the closural tension of a concluding
half cadence (as was usually the case in the early period), no doubt because the resulting drama
would be ill-suited to the non-driving (or non-dramatic) quality that was an important part of his
style during that period.
Style change is also evident in the tension surrounding single-module D3-zones (see
Table 4.8). Of the early movements, a majority 55% (11 of 20) have the contrast in tension of
High-Low or Low-High between the end of the module preceding D3 and the start of D3 itself,
whereas of the late movements, 100% (4 of 4) lead into D3 with the same level of tension, either
Low-Low or High-High.25 And likewise, exiting D3 and moving into the next module, we find
65% (13 of 20) of early movements with contrasting levels of tension and the same 100% of late
movements with the same level of tension.26 These majorities on both sides of these D3s are
another indication that the early movements tended to be much more sectional in nature than the
late works, which generally gained a greater continuity than the early- and middle-period works.

Table 4.8 Tension Between Single-Module D3-Zones and Surrounding Modules by Style
Period
Tension Between
Modules
Low-Low
Low-High
High-Low
High-High
Changes to opposite
Stays the same
25

Moving into D3
% Early % Middle
(of 20)
(of 2)
15 (3)
-15 (3)
100 (2)
50 (10)
-20 (4)
-65 (13)
100 (2)
35 (7)
--

% Late
(of 4)
100 (4)
----100 (4)

Moving out of D3
% Early % Middle % Late
(of 20)
(of 2)
(of 4)
10 (2)
50 (1)
50 (2)
--65 (13)
--25 (5)
50 (1)
50 (2)
65 (13)
--35 (7)
100 (2)
100 (4)

Early movements with contrasting tension into D3: Op. 2, no. 1; op. 18, no. 5; op. 9, no. 1; op. 12, no. 1; op. 24;
op. 30, no. 3; op. 5, no. 1; op. 11; op. 17; op. 20; op. 71. Late movements with same tension: Op. 109; op. 110; op.
111; op. 130.
26
Early movements with contrasting tension out of D3: Op. 2, no. 1; op. 31, no. 3; op. 18, no. 5; op. 9, no. 1; op. 1,
no. 1; op. 12, nos. 1 and 2; op. 24; op. 5, no. 1; op. 6; op. 17; op. 20; op.81b. Late movements with same tension:
Op. 109; op. 110; op. 111; op. 130.

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ii) Two-Module D3-Zones
Across all eighty-seven movements in this study, the most common number of modules
in the D3-zone is two (refer back to Table 4.6), and that this finding applies to virtually any
division of the movements by key, mode, genre, or style period indicates that it was a
fundamental part of Beethovens conception of sonata form. He likely found this an ideal
number because it is a way of giving the form substantial breadth, something he was interested in
doing even in many of his early works.
When D3 contains two modules, the dramatic archetype of its first module (D3.1) is LH a
majority of the time at 58% (25 of 43), once again indicating one of the fundamental
consistencies of Beethovens conception of the form. LH is even a majority when the movements
are divided by style period: 52% (14 of 27) in the early period, 73% (8 of 11) in the middle
period, and 60% (3 of 5) in the late period.27 By contrast, absolutely none of these first modules
contain the L archetype, which is not to say that it is impossible in developments since, as
mentioned earlier, the single-module D3-zones of opp. 109 (mm. 17-36) and 110 (mm. 40-55) are
structured as such.
Within the majority LH archetypes for D3.1, the final High unit (there is sometimes more
than one) includes syntactical drama in all but one case (op. 18, no. 6) and most often involves
rhetorical drama as well; the number and selection of individual tension types vary with each
style period. In the early period, Beethoven did not always feel it necessary to combine the
syntactical drama with rhetorical drama since the latter is absent in four of these fourteen High
units (op. 10, no. 1, op. 18, no. 4, op. 23, and op. 87). In such cases, the overall dramatic effect
lacks the immediate intensity of rhetorical drama superficially, it is relatively calmbut it
27

Early works: Op. 7; op. 10, nos. 1 and 2; op. 31, no. 1; op. 18, nos. 4 and 6; op. 9, no. 3; op. 1, no. 2; op. 29; op.
23; op. 30, nos. 1 and 2; op. 16; op. 87. Middle works: Op. 53; op. 81a; op. 59, no. 2; op. 70, nos. 1 and 2; op. 96;
op. 67; op. 93. Late works: Op. 90; op. 101; op. 132.

210
carries the intense need for resolution that is created by syntactical drama. The mean for the
number of tension types in these High units of the early period is approximately six, most often
split into three syntactical and three rhetorical types, the syntactical types usually comprising
tonal and expansional tension (as is expected of development sections) and either closural
tension (if the module closes without a perfect authentic cadence) or implicational tension (if it
ends with a standing on the dominant), and the rhetorical types usually comprising dynamic,
timbral, and rhythmic and/or thickness tension. Example 4.4 shows a fairly typical case from the
early Piano Sonata in E-Flat Major, op. 7, in which syntactical drama of an LH archetype in D3.1
results from metric tension (due to the constant syncopations, which seem to shift the downbeat
onto the third eighth note of each measure), expansional tension (due to the expansion of the
phrase beyond a relatively tight-knit length), and closural tension (due to the half cadence).
Rhetorical drama is created by dynamic tension (the fortissimo), thickness tension (five voices on
the piano), and timbral tension (the high melodic register). The combination of both syntactical
and rhetorical drama creates a more dramatic effect than having only one type of drama, but even
so, an even more dramatic effect is possible, as the middle-period works tend to show.
In the middle-period LH archetypes for D3.1, the mean for the number of tension types in
the last High unit climbs to seven-and-a-half, or roughly eight. Most commonly, there are at least
four syntactical tension types present, usually tonal, expansional, closural, and now accelerative
tension due to Beethovens more frequent use of a continuation function (from a large sentence)
right to the end of the module; in the early works, most modules possess a continuation, but it is
not always drawn out to the modules end. Moreover, middle-period works more often include at
least four rather than three rhetorical tension types, in almost all cases, dynamic and timbral

211
Example 4.4 Drama in an LH Archetype in the First Module of a Two-Module D3-Zone
from the Early Period; Piano Sonata in E-Flat Major, op. 7, mm. 137-165

212
tension mixed with rhythmic, thickness and/or melodic tension. Example 4.5 illustrates with the
latter portion of an unusually long D3.1 from the String Quartet in E Minor, op. 59, no. 2. As with
all D3-zones, there is, on the one hand, expansional tension (from mm. 90-106 due to the
unresolved dominant into m. 91), but the lack of a settled tonality in mm. 101-107 also creates
tonal tension, and the prolonged dominant seventh in mm. 103-106 gives rise to implicational
tension. More subtly, the arpeggiation of this dominant seventh in the bass prevents proper
cadential closure (which must occur without arpeggiating the crucial V chord) and results in
closural tension.28 On the other hand, the rhetorical types present are dynamic (due to the forte
and fortissimo), melodic (due to the gradual rise of the melody from B up to C an octave higher),
thickness (five voices in a string quartet), and timbral tension (due to the extreme register of both
the first violin and cello). Passages such as this from D3-zones of the middle period create a
greater dramatic impact than those of the early period by sounding more tension types
simultaneously and by combining rhetorical and syntactical drama together in all but one
movement (op. 96). And certainly, these additional tension types lend great teleological weight
to the phrase structure, a quality for which many of the middle-period works are known.
In the late period, the smaller number of works that have LH in D3.1 (3 of 5) makes it
difficult to generalize, but it is significant that, while all three make use of syntactical drama, the
proportion of works that combine syntactical drama with rhetorical drama drops to 33%, now
occurring in only a single work (op. 132). This decline in rhetorical drama is surely related to the
late works transformation of symphonic style from a style dependent on long phrases that create
drive through rhetorical drama to a style that retains the long phrases but largely eliminates this
drama to create the non-driving continuity seen in other parts of Beethovens sonata forms. A
fine instance of this situation occurs in D3.1 from the Piano Sonata in E Minor, op. 90, given in
28

See Cadence Types in chapter 1 in connection with this point.

213
Example 4.5 An LH Archetype in the First Module of a Two-Module D3 from the Middle
Period; String Quartet in E Minor, op. 59, no. 2, mm. 89-107

214
Example 4.6. The drama at the end of this LH archetype is purely syntactical, drawing on the
tension types of tonal (due to the ambiguity of key through the contrary-motion chromatic
scales), expansional (due to the status of mm. 101-108 as an expansion of the G harmony that
occurs at m. 100), accelerative (due to fragmentation that has been in effect since m. 92), and
closural (no proper closure to the module). Concerning rhetorical types, although there is some
rhetorical drama in the middle of the module (mm. 92, 96, 98-100), the end of the module
contains none, as there is only harmonic tension formed by the dissonance between melody and
bass in mm. 107-108, which is carried into m. 109 when the bass re-enters on a dissonant F.
Most significant here is the absence of dynamic tension (a forte or fortissimo), rendering the
music only syntactically dramatic at the end of this D3.1.
In the second module of two-module D3-zones (D3.2), LH is the majority in the early
period (70%, 19 of 27) and late period (60%, 3 of 5), but in the middle period is only secondmost preferred (27%, 3 of 11) to the all-dramatic H (36%, 4 of 11), which I will discuss in
greater detail later in this section.29 Like D3.1, syntactical drama plays a larger role than rhetorical
in D3.2 overall and in fact is present in every one of the LH archetypes in this location. Moreover,
this syntactical drama is usually produced by the same tension types found in D3.1, that is, some
combination of tonal, expansional, accelerative, and closural tension. However, Beethoven treats
rhetorical drama in these modules differently in each of the three style periods, and the tendency
is for its frequency to increase as time progresses, as it occurs at 37% (7 of 19) in the early
period, 67% (2 of 3) in the middle period, and 100% (3 of 3) in the late period.30 This last
29

Works with LH in second module of a two-module D3-zone, by style period. Early: Op. 2, no. 2; op. 7; op. 10,
nos. 1 and 2; op. 13; op. 14, no. 1; op. 18, nos. 4 and 6; op. 1, nos. 2 and 3; op. 4; op. 29; op. 12, no. 3; op. 23; op.
30, no. 2; op. 5, no. 2; op. 21; op. 16; op. 87. Middle: Op. 70, no. 2; op. 96; op. 69. Late: Op. 90; op. 132; op. 102,
no. 1. Middle works with the H archetype: Op. 53; op. 74; op. 70, no. 1; op. 93.
30
Works with rhetorical drama in LH archetype of second module of a two-module D3-zone, by style period. Early:
Op. 14, no. 1; op. 18, no. 6; op. 1, no. 3; op. 29; op. 23; op. 30, no. 2; op. 16. Middle: Op. 70, no. 2; op. 69. Late:
Op. 90; op. 132; op. 102, no. 1.

215
Example 4.6 Drama in an LH Archetype in the First Module of a Two-Module D3-Zone
from the Late Period; from Piano Sonata in E Minor, op. 90, mm. 82-111

216
statistic is not what we might expect of the late period, given the preponderance of non-dramatic
music found there. But recall that the non-driving character in many modules of the late works
was part of a larger trend toward continuity in general. Thus, we ought to ask how these High
dramatic units that end the D3-zone proceed into the next zone: does the tension level change or
does it remain the same? In seventeen of the nineteen early movements with LH, the tension
changes from High to Low leading into the next zone, but in all three of the late movements, the
tension remains at a High level.31 What we are witnessing, then, is another expression of the
move from sectionalization between zones in the early period via contrasting levels of tension
toward continuity between zones in the late period via the same levels of tension. This
maintained level of tension is High rather than Low because a High-ending to D3 seemed to be a
basic element of sonata form for Beethoven, as evidenced by the fact that such endings are a
majority in the eighty-seven movements and in virtually all groupings of them (i.e., by key,
mode, genre, or style period).32 Moreover, because rhetorical tension types do not resolve, as
syntactical types do (especially at the beginning of a new module or zone), they provide an ideal
way of maintaining a High level of tension into a subsequent zone; hence the rise in importance
of rhetorical drama in LH archetypes ending two-module D3-zones in the late period.
As mentioned above, in the middle period, the most preferred archetype in D3.2 of twomodule D3-zones is the all-dramatic H at 36% (4 of 11), not LH, which is a close second at 27%
(3 of 11). The larger proportion of H over LH stems from the particularly strong teleology that
characterizes many middle-period works, a quality that results from an extended use of both the

31

Early LH archetypes forming High-Low connection between D3 and following zone: Op. 2, no. 2; op. 7; op. 10,
nos. 1 and 2; op. 13; op. 14, no. 1; op. 18, nos. 4 and 6; op. 1, nos. 2 and 3; op. 4; op. 29; op. 12, no. 3; op. 30, no. 2;
op. 5, no. 2; op. 16; op. 87. Late LH archetypes forming High-High connection between D3 and following zone: Op.
90; op. 132; op. 102, no. 1.
32
Only the late piano sonatas (opp. 90, 101, 106, 109, 110, and 111) lack a majority, but even so, High endings to
D3 are not insignificant, as they occur in a 50/50 split with Low endings.

217
drama and continuity of symphony style. For example, all four of these H archetypes maintain a
High ending to the previous module by keeping the rhetorical tension High, usually through the
retention of dynamic and rhythmic tension (an excited effect). Considering the fact that in most
cases Beethoven ended D3 with a High unit, it seems that this more symphonic H archetype is
perhaps best understood as a more highly-charged version of the LH archetype, which was
overall far more common in this second module. After all, this intensification of the module
through rhetorical tension accords with the greater use of rhetorical types in general in D3, as
noted in those with a single module.
iii) Three- and Four-Module D3-Zones
D3-zones with three or four modules are considerably less common overall than those
with only one or two. Those with three modules number three in the early period, five in the
middle, and one in the late period, and those with four modules number zero in the early, four in
the middle, and three in the late period.33 Clearly, most of these occur in the middle period,
where movements often achieve a greater expansiveness than the early works through both the
lengthening of individual modules and the inclusion of more modules within a zone. By contrast,
when late works tend toward the expansive, they usually do so through the expansion rather than
the addition of modules, and hence they generally contain fewer modules, even if those modules
are greatly expanded. The scarcity of D3-zones with three or four modules renders generalization
difficult since not all style periods contain at least three instances (the minimum number for
significant results in this study) and since, even when a style period contains at least three
instances, there are not many patterns that rise to the minimum number for significance,

33

Works with three-module D3-zones, early period: Op. 3; op. 9, no. 2; op. 36. Middle period: Op. 57; op. 59, no. 3;
op. 97; op. 60; op. 68. Late period: Op. 135. Works with four-module D3-zones, middle period: Op. 59, no. 1; op.
47; op. 55; op. 92. Late period: Op. 106; op. 127; op. 125.

218
especially concerning the dramatic archetypes. The most important pattern instead involves the
end of the zone as a whole, where, like the other types of D3-zones, significant majorities (in the
possible style periods) end with a High unit (see Table 4.9). These cases usually involve
syntactical drama due to expansional, accelerative, and closural tension, and rhetorical drama in
the form of an excited effect of dynamic and rhythmic tension.34
Table 4.9 Three- and Four-Module D3-Zones Ending with a High Dramatic Unit by Style
Period
Style Period
Early
Middle
Late

% 3-Module D3
Ending H
100 (3/3)
60 (3/5)
100 (1/1)

% 4-Module D3
Ending H
-75 (3/4)
100 (3/3)

IV. Zone 4 (D4)

D4, the fourth and final possible zone of the development section, corresponds with the
traditional notion of the retransition, which is generally signalled by a prolonged dominant
harmony that prepares for and leads directly into the recapitulation. In order for a prolonged
dominant to properly constitute a D4-zone, that dominant must be a form-functional standing on
the dominant that is separate from the preceding phrase.35 Thus, the zone excludes prolonged
dominants that occur before the end of a phrase, which belong to D3 instead of D4 (as, for
instance, in the Violin Sonata in A Minor, op. 23, mm. 160-163). Moreover, if this dominant is
not of the home key, the prolongation may (but is not obliged to) lead first into another passage
that mediates between the two keyswhat I referred to as a small-scale transition function in

34

Three-module D3-zones ending High, early period: Op. 3; op. 9, no. 2; op. 36. Middle period: Op. 57; op. 59, no.
3; op . 97. Four-module D3-zones ending High, middle period: Op. 59, no. 1; op. 47; op. 92. Late period: Op. 106;
op. 127; op. 125.
35
Cf. chapter 1, Framing Functions for a similar discussion of standing on the dominants in general.

219
chapter 1.36 In works in E-flat major, however, Beethoven played with alternatives to the more
typical dominant harmony in two different ways: either by preparing for the recapitulation with a
prolongation of a predominant harmony of the home key, or by sounding a short transition
function that does not begin with the home dominant, but leads to it unexpectedly at its end.37
At this point in the formheading into the recapitulationBeethovens trend toward a
more continuous discourse takes on even more significance, and it resurfaces here in a number of
ways. First, there is a decrease over time in the frequency of the entire D4-zone, which moves
from a majority in both the early and middle periods to a minority in the late period, a trend that
is mirrored in standing on the dominants at the end of the transition in the exposition (TRSod), as
shown in Table 4.10. Because a standing on the dominant serves to build expectation for what
follows it, and because what follows it in these cases is an entirely new zone and not merely a
new module within the same zone, it plays an important role in clarifying the form. Thus, its
decline in both the development and the transition goes hand in hand with the idea of increasing
continuity and the blurring of formal boundaries that it entails. D4-zones, however, did not
decline as much as TRSods, and are found at consistently higher frequencies in each period than
TRSod, likely due to the greater importance the former has in articulating an entire large section
of the sonata (the recapitulation) rather than a zone within the same section (the S-zone within
the exposition).

36

See, for example, op. 28, mm. 219-256, which sound the first module of D4 on the dominant of B minor, vi of the
home key of D major. A second module of D4 (a transition function) therefore intervenes in mm. 257-268, which
leads to the home dominant at its end.
37
The works that use a predominant prolongation cover all the style periods and clearly make use of the technique to
prepare for a P-zone that begins unusually with a predominant chord: op. 31, no. 3; op. 81a; and op. 127, though in
the latter work, the prolongation is a part of the last module of D3 rather than a separate module in D4. Those that use
a transition function are op. 7 and op. 12, no. 3.

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Table 4.10 Frequencies of D4 and TRSod by Style Period
Style Period
Early
Middle
Late

% Frequency of
D4
90 (47/52)
86 (19/22)
46 (6/13)

% Frequency of
TRSod
69 (36/52)
55 (12/22)
23 (3/13)

Secondly, the trend toward continuity is reflected in Beethovens choice of dramatic

archetypes for the first module of D4 (D4.1) in either single-module or two-module D4s. As Table
4.11 demonstrates, the two archetypes that come to the fore are LH and H, of which he gradually
began to favour H more as time passed.38 This rise in the H archetype across the three periods
may seem curious given the tendency for the middle-period works to withdraw tension as they
approach the end of a module (as in LHL, which was found, for example, in some P-themes and
S-themes) and also given the non-driving quality of many late works. But a look at the tension
moving into D4, shown in Table 4.12, proves that the clear trend is for the tension to be evened
out between D4 and the previous module.39 Why, though, should High-High be the favoured
arrangement, rather than Low-Low, especially if tension tends to be Low at the end of many
modules in middle and late works, as noted? Recall that D3 (the development core) was one of
the few places in Beethovens sonata forms (thus far) that usually ended with the same level of
tensionHighregardless of the style period or number of modules included. Thus, the High
unit that begins an increasing proportion of D4s produces a continuous level of tension across
zonal boundaries.

38

Early works with LH archetype in D4.1: Op. 2, nos. 1 and 3; op. 49, no. 1; op. 18, nos. 1, 2, and 4; op. 9, nos. 1 and
3; op. 1, nos. 1, 2, and 3; op. 12, nos. 1 and 2; op. 24; op. 30, no. 2; op. 5, nos. 1 and 2; op. 6; op. 11; op. 16; op. 20;
op. 71; op. 87. Middle works with LH archetype in D4.1: Op. 57, op. 79; op. 81a; op. 59, no. 1; op. 74; op. 95; op. 97;
op. 47; op. 55; op. 60. Late works with H archetype in D4.1: Op. 111; op. 125.
39
Early works with High-Low connections between D3 (or D2) and D4: Op. 2, nos. 1, 2, and 3; op. 7; op. 13; op. 14,
no. 1; op. 31, no. 3; op. 18, nos. 1, 4, 5, and 6; op. 9, nos. 1 and 3; op. 1, nos. 1, 2, and 3; op. 4; op. 29; op. 12, nos.
1, 2, and 3; op. 24; op. 30, no. 2; op. 5, nos. 1 and 2; op. 6; op. 16; op. 17; op. 20; op. 81b; op. 87. Middle works
with High-High connections: Op. 53; op. 78; op. 59, nos. 2 and 3; op. 70, no. 1; op. 92; op. 93. Late works with
High-High connections: Op. 90; op. 111; op. 132; op. 125.

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Table 4.11 Archetypes in D4.1 by Style Period (Single-Module and First Module of TwoModule Zones)
Style
Period
Early (47)
Middle (19)
Late (6)

%L

% LH

% LHL

%H

% HL

% HLH

23 (11)
---

49 (23)
53 (10)
17 (1)

6 (3)
5 (1)
17 (1)

13 (6)
21 (4)
33 (2)

9 (4)
21 (4)
17 (1)

--17 (1)

Table 4.12 Tension Between End of D3 (or D2) and Beginning of D4 by Style Period
Tension Between
Modules
Low-Low
Low-High
High-Low
High-High
Changes to opposite
Stays the same

% in Early
(of 47)
13 (6)
4 (2)
66 (31)
17 (8)
70 (33)
30 (14)

% in Middle
(of 19)
26 (5)
5 (1)
32 (6)
37 (7)
37 (7)
63 (12)

% in Late
(of 6)
33 (2)
--67 (4)
-100 (6)

In each case of High-High tension moving into D4, the drama between the modules is
maintained by means of rhetorical tension types since, in the classical style, syntactical types
tend to resolve either at the end of a module or with the onset of a new module. See, for instance,
Example 4.7, in which the penultimate measure of D3 in m. 85 sounds the syntactical types of
tonal (due to the viio7/V), metric (due to the bass syncopation), and expansional tension (due to
the expansion of the predominant harmony here). But once its final V chord arrives in m. 86, the
tonal, metric, and expansional tensions resolve, and even though closural tension is added (due to
the half cadence), one type alone cannot create syntactical drama. On the other hand, there is
rhetorical drama by dynamic, rhythmic, thickness, and timbral tension. When D4 begins with the
elision at m. 86, all that is present syntactically is expansional tension (since D4 is a postcadential function) and implicational tension (due to the dominant pedal), which are not enough

222
to constitute drama. But rhetorically, the three types of dynamic, rhythmic, and timbral tension
all remain, and therefore continue the dramatic High level from the end of D3 into D4.
Example 4.7 A High-High Connection Between D3 and D4 from Piano Sonata in C Minor,
op. 111, mm. 76-87

The third manner in which a continuity of tension levels plays out in the latter part of the
development section is at the juncture between the last module of the development and the first
module of the recapitulation. In this case, all three style periods display the trend for continuity,
though given the predominance of High tension at the end of developments, even in those that

223
end with D4 rather than D3 (as indicated by Table 4.13),40 it is perhaps best to focus on
connections of High-High between the development and recapitulation. As shown in Table 4.14,
the frequency of High-High connections increases with each style period, becoming a majority in
the late, while the most preferred connection of the early periodthe section-inducing HighLowfades with each period, becoming least preferred (along with Low-High) in the late.41
Table 4.13 High Endings to D4 by Style Period
Style Period
Early
Middle
Late

% D4 Ends High
62 (29/47)
74 (14/19)
83 (5/6)

Table 4.14 Tension Between End of Development and Beginning of Recapitulation by

Style Period
Tension Between
Modules
Low-Low
Low-High
High-Low
High-High

% in Early
(of 52)
19 (10)
17 (9)
35 (18)
29 (15)

% in Middle
(of 22)
23 (5)
5 (1)
23 (5)
50 (11)

% in Late
(of 13)
15 (2)
8 (1)
8 (1)
69 (9)

Following the particular tension types involved in the High-High connections provides
more insight on how this crucial part of the form changed in Beethovens works over time. To
begin with, for the High tension unit at the end of the development (not the one starting the
40

Works with High end to D4, by style period. Early: Op. 2, no. 3; op. 10, no. 3; op. 14, no. 2; op. 22; op. 31, no. 1;
op. 49, no. 1; op. 18, nos. 1, 2, 3, 4, and 5; op. 9, nos. 1 and 3; op. 1, nos. 1, 2, and 3; op. 12, nos. 1 and 2; op. 24; op.
30, no. 2; op. 5, nos. 1 and 2; op. 6; op. 11; op. 16; op. 17; op. 20; op. 71; op. 81b. Middle: Op. 53; op. 79; op. 81a;
op. 59, no. 1; op. 74; op. 95; op. 70, no. 1; op. 97; op. 47; op. 55; op. 60; op. 67; op. 92; op. 93. Late: Op. 90; op.
109; op. 111; op. 102, no. 2; op. 125.
41
Connections between development and recapitulation. High-Low in early period: Op. 2, no. 3; op. 10, nos. 2 and
3; op. 14, no. 2; op. 22; op. 49, no. 1; op. 18, nos. 3, 4, and 5; op. 9, nos. 1 and 2; op. 1, no. 2; op. 12, no. 2; op. 24;
op. 30, no. 2; op. 5, no. 2; op. 16; op. 71. High-High in early period (since these are discussed below): Op. 31, no. 1;
op. 18, nos. 1 and 2; op. 9, no. 3; op. 1, nos. 1 and 3; op. 12, no. 1; op. 23; op. 30, no. 3; op. 5, no. 1; op. 6; op. 11;
op. 20; op. 81b. High-High in middle period: Op. 79; op. 81a; op. 74; op. 95; op. 70, nos. 1 and 2; op. 47; op. 60; op.
67; op. 92; op. 93. High-High in late period: Op. 90; op. 106; op. 109; op. 111; op. 130; op. 135; op. 102, nos. 1 and
2; op. 125.

224
recapitulation), it will help to invoke here the four dramatic strategies that Beethoven
employed in S-zones that ended with High tension: 1) syntactical drama alone (SD), 2) rhetorical
drama alone (RD), 3) syntactical and rhetorical drama together (SD+RD), and 4) syntactical
drama resolving in the presence of rhetorical drama (SDRD). Of these four strategies, only the
first three occur at the ends of developments, and the reason is a simple one: with the fourth
strategy, SDRD, the resulting expression is either a celebration if the mode is major, or
calamity if minor. Thus, there is a strong sense of arrival with this strategy, something that is
entirely in keeping with the finality of the PAC that ends S-zones, but that would literally steal
the thunder of the recapitulations entrance if the strategy were to appear within the final stretch
of the development. As for the other three strategies, the clear trend shown by Table 4.15 is that
the third strategy, SD+RD, which is a majority in each of the three periods, occurs more
frequently as time progresses and becomes nearly exclusive in the late period.42 Why these
majorities of SD+RD, and why the increase?

Table 4.15 Frequencies of Dramatic Strategies (Types of Drama Present) in High Units
at the End of Development Sections by Style Period
Strategy
1 (SD)
2 (RD)
3 (SD+RD)

% in Early
(of 15)
27 (4)
20 (3)
53 (8)

% in Middle
(of 11)
9 (1)
27 (3)
64 (7)

% in Late
(of 9)
-11 (1)
89 (8)

Drama occurring at the end of development sections comes as no surprise since, as we

have seen, most final modules of D3 and D4 (the two most common zones at the end of
developments) conclude with High tension. Nor is syntactical drama any surprise since this High

42

Works with third strategy in High unit at end of development section, by style period. Early: Op. 18, no. 1; op. 1,
no. 1; op. 30, no. 3; op. 5, no. 1; op. 6; op. 11; op. 17; op. 20. Middle: Op. 79; op. 81a; op. 74; op. 70, nos. 1 and 2;
op. 67; op. 93. Late: Op. 90; op. 106; op. 109; op. 111; op. 135; op. 102, nos. 1 and 2; op. 125.

225
tension is most often due to the syntactical types of expansional, tonal, and accelerative tension,
which arise because D3s are usually structured as a large-scale modulating sentence. And
because D4-zones are almost always post-cadential standing on the dominants and are themselves
often structured as a sentence, the syntactical types of expansional, implicational, and
accelerative tension frequently occur there. Hence, what we are really seeing in Table 4.14 is an
increase in the use of rhetorical drama in a part of the form that usually incorporates syntactical
drama. The question, then, is why the increase in rhetorical drama?
In Beethovens style and the classical style in general, instabilities in a phrasein other
words, syntactical tension typestend to resolve when the phrase comes to an end. And this
holds true for almost all the syntactical types: tonal, metric, expansional, accelerative, and
implicational. Only closural tension appears most often with the final chord of a phrase, when
the ending is not a PAC. Thus, because phrase endings in classical music tend to bring stability
and resolve syntactical tension, it is not typical of the style to maintain syntactical types from one
phrase into the next. Rhetorical types, on the other hand, are not governed by rules of resolution
the way syntactical types are. They may simply come and go as the composer pleases to give
expressive shape to the syntactical foundation beneath. For this reason, rhetorical types may be
easily sustained over any number of phrases or junctures between phrases. And hence, of the
recapitulations involved in High-High connections from the end of the development, we find that
absolutely none involve syntactical drama, but rather are dramatic due to rhetorical tension, most
syntactical types resolving at the moment of recapitulation.43 All this is to say that the increase in
rhetorical drama at the end of developments is a way of heightening the continuity of the form
even at this critical juncture, where it would seem that clear articulation in tension would be most
43

Some pieces do, however, retain some syntactical types into the recapitulation, such as the Eighth Symphony,
which retains the dominant note in the bass into the recapitulation (m. 190), forming a six-four chord that (at least
momentarily) maintains the previous implicational tension.

226
desirable. (Recall from Table 4.14 that clear articulation in tension actually is the norm in the
early works, where High-Low connections are most preferred, and that the High-High
connections only become preferred in the middle period.) Moreover, the resolution of all
syntactical tension in the presence of rhetorical drama at the onset of the recapitulation infuses
that moment with a wonderfully satisfying sense of arrival, one that some scholars have noted is
made particularly impactful in Beethovens music.44
Besides these patterns determined by style period, the only other pattern to arise concerns
single-module D4-zones: whereas the H archetype constitutes only 49% (23 of 47) of all such
zones, it forms a decided majority of 80% (4 of 5) in symphonies.45 Because the symphonies are
the greatest purveyors of symphony style in Beethoven, they are the works most faithful to the
driving force created by rhetorical drama, especially, as we have seen, in locations where
syntactical drama tends to be present as well, such as thematic introductions to the first-theme
zone (P1.0), and ends of transitions, second-theme zones, and development sections.
44

See William S. Newman, The Sonata in the Classic Era, 3rd ed. (New York: W. W. Norton, 1983), 149-50, who
claims that a secondary peak in sonata form often occurs in the retransition to the home key at the start of the
recapitulation, and further adds that Beethoven seems to be especially conscious of these crucial moments (the
primary peak being at the shift to the dark or subdominant side of the tonal orbit in the coda). On p. 157, Newman
also contends that the retransition to the recapitulation was seen often to be climactic. The actual moment of return
to the home key itself provides a main opportunity for the release of tension in the sonata form. He then cites
Beethovens Waldstein Sonata, op. 53, as a powerful example. This view is moreover sustained by James
Webster, Sonata Form, in The New Grove Dictionary of Music and Musicians, 2nd ed., ed. Stanley Sadie (New
York: Macmillan, 2001), 23:693, who states that the tension caused by modulations and the various standard
techniques of development found in a development section in a psychological sense . . . is the climax of the
movement. But he also makes the distinction that at the same time, [this climax] prepares the structural climax, the
simultaneous return which begins the recapitulation. See also Leonard B. Meyer, Style and Music (Philadelphia:
University of Pennsylvania Press, 1989), 306, who suggests that the increasing importance of statistical form [i.e.,
of form based on what are essentially rhetorical rather than syntactical parameters], coupled with the considerable
growth in the size (length) of movements, leads to important changes in the structure of sonata-form movements,
and more specifically in changes to the placement of the statistical climaxthat is, the place at which the secondary
[i.e., rhetorical] parameters reach their greatest degree of intensity: highest (and lowest) pitches, most frequent rate
of attack, high acoustic tension (discord), loudest dynamic, most forceful sonorities, and densest textures. . . . For
Beethovenand this is one respect in which his music often seems Romanticstatistical climax is more emphatic
and more focal [than in Haydn and Mozart], and it tends to occur just before the recapitulation (as in the first
movement of the Eighth Symphony) or in what is sometimes referred to as a second development (as in the coda of
the first movement of the Third Symphony. Finally, see also Edward T. Cone, Musical Form and Musical
Performance (New York: W. W. Norton, 1968), 31, who claims that the entrance of the recapitulation in the first
movement of the Eroica will always sound like a huge structural downbeat, regardless of performance!
45
Op. 67, op. 92, op. 93, op. 125.

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As mentioned earlier, that Beethovens development sections were not much influenced
by the key, mode, and genre of the movement is demonstrated by the very few patterns in those
categories. In the case of key, this scarcity speaks to the unsettled quality of developments in that
respect. (Why should the key of the movement have much influence if it is literally not present
much in the section?) The case of genre is unexpected since one might have expected that the
more intimate or extroverted quality of various genres (such as the string quartet and symphony,
respectively) would have had a stronger impact than it did on the dramatic shape of the
development. However, quite the opposite was found, as Beethoven seemed to take a more
egalitarian approach to the development across the different genres. That developments lack any
significant distinction between the major and minor mode is perhaps more surprising, as it may
seem that the tragic expression of many minor-mode movements would colour the
development and increase the levels of tension typically found in its four zones. But on the other
hand, it is not difficult to bring to mind examples of major-mode movements in which the
development is laden with rhetorically dramatic effects that one would expect of stormy minormode movements, examples such as the Harp Quartet, op. 74, mm. 93-109, where a
combination of dynamic and rhythmic tension (an excited effect) lasts for the entire first module
of the central D3-zone. Thus, there is no reason why major-mode movements must remain wellbehaved, refraining from lengthy outbursts of High tension in developments. Conversely,
minor-mode movements do not always remain highly intense in both the exposition and
development, as demonstrated by the Piano Sonata in C Minor, op. 10, no. 1, whose two D3
modules are for the most part rather subdued, only reaching a High tension level at the end of
each, and a rhetorically dramatic level only at the very end of the entire zone (mm. 151-158).

228
Thus, as is gradually becoming clear, comparing Beethovens sonata forms by their style
period produces the most significant differences among the eighty-seven movements. However,
as we shall see in the following chapter, the categories of key, mode, and genre will regain the
moderate importance they had in the exposition as the sonata heads into its third large section
the recapitulation.

Chapter 5: The Recapitulation

As with the other sections of sonata form, a study of dramatic structure in Beethovens
recapitulations begins with an account of the formal structure, but while the beginning of a
recapitulation would seem to be one of the more obvious points in the form to locate, the matter
continues to be debated even today. James Webster offers what is perhaps the most widelyaccepted view of a recapitulation as a double return, namely that it almost always enters
unambiguously with the simultaneous return of the opening theme in the tonic. But with the
words almost always, Webster allows for certain exceptional cases: When two or more
themes occur in the first group (not the transition), the return to the tonic may coincide with the
second of these; the opening theme then appears earlier in a foreign key (Beethoven, Sonata
op.10 no.2), immediately afterwards in the tonic (Beethoven, String Quartet op.59 no.1), or as a
coda following the second group (Haydn, String Quartet op.50 no.3).1 Thus, his approach to
recapitulations is a flexible one that is intended to group variants of the double return idea
together into the same category.2
Recently, however, Hepokoski and Darcy have argued against the double return,
proposing instead that the deciding factor is the thematic return of the P1-modules opening (i.e.,

James Webster, Sonata Form, in The New Grove Dictionary of Music and Musicians, 2nd ed., ed. Stanley Sadie
(New York: Macmillan, 2001), 23:693. It is important to note that Websters use of the term theme here does not
necessarily coincide with the form-functional idea of a theme as a structure that generally ends with a cadence (such
as a sentence or period). Rather, it seems to mean only distinctive melodic material that is distinguished by motivic
changes. Thus, Websters opening theme of op. 59, no. 1 is a form-functional theme whereas that of op. 10, no. 2
is not as it is a sentence presentation that is followed by a continuation with contrasting material.
2
The notion of a tonal return can have different meanings. From a Schenkerian point of view, the tonal return occurs
with the return of the tonic Stufe after the interruption on V, whereas outside of Schenkerian analysis, it seems to
mean the return of a significant thematic idea from the exposition in its original tonic-key context. Even so,
Schenker recognizes irregularities at the starts of recapitulations (including op. 10, no. 2). See Heinrich Schenker,
Free Composition, trans. and ed. Ernst Oster (New York: Longman, 1979), 137-38; first published as Der Freie Satz
in 1935. In any case, as far as I know, scholars always locate the start of a recapitulation with a significant thematic
idea from the exposition. Thus, a tonal return (in a non-Schenkerian sense) must always be accompanied so, whereas
a thematic return need not be. The divergence in authors views of recapitulations (discussed below) therefore
depends on their prioritization of either the thematic or the tonal element when the two are separated.

229

230
its melodic content) to begin what they call the recapitulatory rotation.3 This rotation then
cycles through the expositions melodic material in the order that it was presented there. This
distinction furnishes the basis for one of their more striking claims:
If we confront what we at first presume is a recapitulation that begins significantly after the P1-module (and
especially after the first TR-module), thereby producing a space that seems to omit the early portions of the
rotation, we should not label that space as a recapitulation at all. In most cases one is examining a variant of
or intermixture with the Type 2 sonata, for which the term recapitulation is misleading, and within which
the initial part of the operative rotation has been occurring within the developmental space. A
recapitulation cannot begin with a TR1.2 or S-module. To assume that one can leads to such erroneous
concepts as partial, incomplete, or reversed (mirror) recapitulations, which are definitional
contradictions to be avoided.4

To Hepokoski and Darcy, then, movements that move from the development into material that
initially occurred after P1 cannot be called a recapitulation since, in their view, such cases
involve a single rotation that begins with the start of the development (a feature of their Type 2
sonata). Thus, while pieces such as op. 10, no. 2 fit more comfortably into their notion of
recapitulation, others such as op. 59, no. 1, in which the opening modules of P are reordered
upon returning (P2 returns before P1), are viewed as beginning the recapitulation only with the
first module of P1, regardless of it being preceded by other P-material that is in the tonic key.5
For other scholars, it is the tonal return of the tonic key (when attached to some important
idea from the exposition) that is the deciding factor in locating a recapitulation. Charles Rosen,
for example, asserts that in continuing to use the term recapitulation we must not assume that
3

James Hepokoski and Warren Darcy, Elements of Sonata Theory: Norms, Types, and Deformations in the LateEighteenth-Century Sonata (New York: Oxford University Press, 2006), 231. This viewpoint is shared by Leonard
G. Ratner, Classic Music: Expression, Form, and Style (New York: Schrimer Books, 1980), 229, who claims that
the restatement of melodic material becomes essential, whereas a strong return to the tonic at the beginning of
the recapitulation . . . is not essential to the harmonic unity of the form, since the end of part II provides the
confirmation (both italics are his).
4
Hepokoski and Darcy, Elements of Sonata Theory, 232.
5
In the case of op. 59, no. 1, Hepokoski and Darcy locate the recapitulation at m. 254. See Elements of Sonata
Theory, 218. However, because P2 constitutes a full theme of the P-zone and returns in the tonic key after a lengthy
development section, I mark the recapitulation from the start of P2 at m. 242 (as discussed further below).
Nevertheless, the highly unusual nature of this arrangement would seem to leave room for debate. See, for instance,
Michael Steinberg, The Middle Quartets, in The Beethoven Quartet Companion, ed. Robert Winter and Robert
Martin (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1994), 179, who asks the question, has Beethoven decided to
begin the recapitulation with the counterpart of the expositions measure 19 [P2]?, but, provocatively, gives no
definitive answer.

231
the eighteenth-century composer was required to begin at the head with the first theme, or that he
had to go over the whole exposition. Indeed, it was possible to begin anywhere in the first
group.6 Consequently, he considers the moment of recapitulation to include situations in which
the opening P-module, having been begun at the start of the development, is continued in the
tonic key after the development comes to an end, whereas Hepokoski and Darcy would call this a
Type 2 sonata (the development and continuation of P forming a single rotation).7
Attempting to make ones way through this thicket of conflicting views is no easy matter,
but my own inclinations of what constitutes a recapitulation lie somewhere between the first two
views only.8 In other words, I consider thematic return to be more important than tonal return,
but do not insist on having the very opening of P begin the recapitulation. Thus, in op. 59, no. 1,
the recapitulation would, in my opinion, begin with the second P-theme rather than the first,
which appears directly afterward. The third view seems to me untenable in that a tonal return that
begins without any thematic return of P (rather with S or in the midst of TR) cannot be called a
true recapitulation but rather the tonal resolution of Hepokoski and Darcys Type 2 sonata,

Charles Rosen, Sonata Forms, rev. ed. (New York: W. W. Norton, 1988), 284.
This prioritization of the tonal return is also shared by William E. Caplin, Classical Form: A Theory of Formal
Functions for the Instrumental Music of Haydn, Mozart, and Beethoven (New York: Oxford University Press), 173,
who likewise refers to recapitulations that delete the opening material of the main theme or even the entire
theme in what would be Hepokoski and Darcys Type 2 sonata. Caplin is, however, somewhat flexible with the
idea of tonal return in that he questions the accuracy of the term recapitulation in such situations (p. 173) and, in
cases of thematic returns in the subdominant, likewise adds that the question of whether a true recapitulation is at
hand is also raised by this tonal procedure.
8
Even writings from the late-eighteenth century, while shorter on details, seem not to agree on the definition of this
part of the form. (Although the term recapitulation had not yet been introduced, the following authors are clear
enough that one may infer the analogous terms.) Augustus Frederic Christopher Kollmann, Essay on Musical
Composition, According to the Nature of That Science and the Principles of the Greatest Musical Authors (London:
Kollmann, 1799. Reprint, New York: Da Capo Press, 1973), 5, seems to prioritize the tonal return when he states
that the fourth subsection contains the return to the [home] key, the fourth subsection being one of two subsections
contained within the second of two long sections. In other words, what Kollmann is describing is a tonal return that
may or may not include a thematic return (and so may encompass both Type 2 and Type 3 sonatas). On the other
hand, Heinrich Christoph Koch, Introductory Essay on Composition: The Mechanical Rules of Melody, Sections 3
and 4, trans. Nancy Kovaleff Baker (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1983), 201, describes the similar last
period of the second section in the first allegro of symphonies with a flexible double return idea, as he
maintains that it is devoted above all to the main key, and most frequently again begins with the [opening] theme
in this key, but occasionally may also start with another main melodic idea.
7

232
since a clear statement of the opening P-material is generally found at the start of the
development section, even though it is usually in a non-tonic key.9 And even if, in such cases,
the opening of P returns in the tonic key at the end of the movement after S, I would understand
that return to be part of a coda, as several scholars contend.10
As for the other two views, on the one hand, Hepokoski and Darcys more easily allows
for non-tonic beginnings to recapitulations in Beethoven such as op. 10, no. 2, or the Piano Trio
in E-Flat Major, op. 70, no. 2, which begins the recapitulation briefly off-tonic (m. 130) before
righting itself. Yet on the other hand, a flexible notion of double return with its fairly equal
status allotted to thematic and tonal elements, allows one to acknowledge the onset of a
recapitulation despite slight shufflings of the melodic material, an idea that is highly attractive in
the face of odd pieces like op. 59, no. 1, where Beethoven seems to be deliberately toying with
the norms of sonata recapitulations rather than beginning a straightforward recapitulation after a
development that happens to end with a P-theme in the tonic.
The one movement of the eighty-seven in which even a highly flexible notion of double
return seems inadequate is the famously unusual first movement of Beethovens String Quartet
in A Minor, op. 132, over which much ink has been spilled. In short, the problem is that,
although the material of the exposition returns where we expect a recapitulation, it occurs in the
wrong keys. In the exposition, the A-minor P-zone and F-major S-zone are, in the latter half of
the piece, recapitulated in E minor and C major, respectively. Thereafter, an abbreviated
9

This is the main feature that underpins Hepokoski and Darcys notion of the Type 2 sonata. See Elements of Sonata
Theory, 353. The same feature was pointed out earlier by William S. Newman, The Sonata in the Classic Era, 3rd
ed. (New York: W. W. Norton, 1983), 145-46, who refers to the return of the tonic key as a return rather than a
recapitulation (he uses the latter term in cases where there is a clear thematic return to P1). Furthermore, on p. 146,
he notes an additional feature of such structures in that this incomplete return is most likely to occur in sonatas in
which a clear contrasting idea has marked the arrival at the related key in the first half.
10
The issue is most thoroughly treated in Hepokoski and Darcy, Elements of Sonata Theory, 382-86; but see also
Caplin, Classical Form, 173-74; and Jan LaRue, Guidelines for Style Analysis (New York: W. W. Norton, 1970),
189, although LaRue advocates an incomplete recapitulation (with a coda) in such situations rather than simply a
tonal return.

233
version of each zone is stated once more, but in the respective right keys of A minor and A
major. Thus, both a thematic return and tonal return are present, but each occurs in isolation from
the other. The question is, does the recapitulation begin with the E-minor P-material or with the
later A-minor P-material? Most recent scholarship on the issue agrees that neither answer is
completely satisfactory in itself, and either that it is fruitless to propose a correct solution to
the problem, or that there are in fact two recapitulations, each of which is necessary for complete
resolution.11 Moreover, many argue that that is precisely the point: the movement is so fraught
with ambiguity that the ambiguity itself becomes a part of the meaning of the movement.12
Certainly, this is true, but at the same time, I would contend that the movements form is perhaps
not as ambiguous as it seems.
That the entire expositional layout reappears in non-tonic keys is without doubt a highly
unusual feature, but given that P- and S-zones can appear entirely in wrong keys (though not
generally in the same piece), we might accept the first thematic return in E minor as a weakly
articulated point of recapitulation.13 What follows in the right keys may then be viewed as a
coda, especially since one of the primary functions of codas is to compensate for anything that is

11

For the fruitless argument, see V. Kofi Agawu, Playing With Signs: A Semiotic Interpretation of Classic Music
(Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1991), 118-20; and Frank Samarotto, The Divided Tonic in the First
Movement of Beethovens Op. 132, in Keys to the Drama: Nine Perspectives on Sonata Forms, ed. Gordon Sly
(Burlington, VT: Ashgate, 2009), 2. For the two recapitulations argument, see Joseph Kerman, The Beethoven
Quartets (New York: W. W. Norton, 1966), 247-50 (though Kerman admits that the use of the term E-minor
recapitulation to describe the first recapitulation is to stretch terminology hard); Michael Steinberg, The Late
Quartets, in The Beethoven Quartet Companion, 267-68; Hepokoski and Darcy, Elements of Sonata Theory, 280;
and William Kinderman, Beethoven, 2nd ed. (New York: Oxford University Press, 2009), 203.
12
This is the position taken by Robin Wallace, Background and Expression in the First Movement of Beethovens
Op. 132, The Journal of Musicology 7 (1989): 9.
13
Cf. Donald Francis Tovey, Essays in Musical Analysis, vol. 1 (New York: Oxford University Press, 1935), 14,
who likewise recognizes that exceptions may occur in recapitulations: the restatement of the second group will not
be in the complementary key, but, with rare exceptions, in the home tonic (my italics). The finale of Beethovens
Piano Sonata in E-Flat Major, op. 31, no. 3 provides an excellent example of an S-zone that is not recapitulated in
the tonic. Instead of the home E-flat major, it is set entirely in G-flat major, only heading back towards E-flat minor
in a subsequent codetta and the tonic major in a coda.

234
left unresolved in the recapitulation.14 Op. 132, however, goes further than other works in these
two respects in that both P and S first appear in non-tonic keys and that the coda is unusually
faithful to the expositions order of material, surely to compensate for the anomalous keys of the
recapitulations P and S. With this interpretation, I am in no way attempting to eliminate the
ambiguity of the movement, but only to demonstrate that its form lies closer to a normative plan
of exposition-development-recapitulation-coda than to the virtually unique plan of expositiondevelopment-recapitulation-recapitulation, and hence the two layouts ought not to be considered
equally viable possibilities for the movements form. For these reasons, I view op. 132 as
beginning a recapitulation with the E-minor P at m. 121, and a coda with the A-minor P at m.
195.15
For all the debate over recapitulations, it is surprising that very little has been said
regarding the use of terminology within them. After all, a recapitulation is necessarily different
from an exposition, even if minimally so, and thus a few terms, which I borrow from Hepokoski
and Darcy, are in order to facilitate comparison of the two sections. With the start of a
recapitulation, any measures that match those of the exposition on a one-to-one basis, perhaps
with minor changes, are called correspondence measures. However, measures that are
significantly altered, yet retain the one-to-one mapping are referential measures. After any
14

See Manfred Hermann Schmid, Streichquartett a-Moll, op. 132, in Beethoven: Interpretationen seiner Werke,
vol. 2, ed. Albrecht Rietmller, Carl Dahlhaus, and Alexander L. Ringer (Laaber: Laaber, 1994), 329, who proposes
a similar solution, but with the recapitulation beginning at m. 103, ostensibly due to the motivic correspondence of
the material there with the opening slow introduction. However, because the material is treated entirely differently
and is now in the tempo of the movement proper, I instead hear mm. 103-118 as part of the development. Notice
also that these measures prolong V of E minor somewhat like the dominant preparation at the end of a development
section.
15
A similar psychology underlies James Hepokoskis reading of a nonresolving recapitulation in Beethovens
Egmont Overture in F minor, in which the S-zone in the recapitulation occurs in the key of D-flat major rather than
the tonic F (major or minor). Thus, there is absolutely no tonal resolution of the S-zone to the tonic within
recapitulatory boundaries. Rather, that resolution is postponed until the coda, which, Hepokoski argues, ought to be
regarded as occurring outside the recapitulation: In resolving what was not resolved earlier, such a coda might
serve principally to show us what the preceding sonata form did not accomplish, thus underscoring the primacy of
the more essential recapitulatory nonresolution. See Back and Forth from Egmont: Beethoven, Mozart, and the
Nonresolving Recapitulation, 19th-Century Music 25 (2001-2002): 134.

235
divergences from the exposition, the point at which the recapitulation becomes largely a
transposed version of the exposition is the crux, with any changes made before the crux
(including referential measures) being precrux alterations, and any made after it postcrux
alterations.16
Having established the details of my method of formal analysis for recapitulations, I turn
now to the dramatic content within them. But naturally, because of the high degree of similarity
between the recapitulation and exposition, this chapter will largely focus on the differences
between the two sections in dramatic structure.

I. The Primary-Theme Zone (P)

Needless to say, not every module of the exposition is returned to in the recapitulation
since the material is so well-known by this time in the piece that a full restatement of each
module is unnecessary. Nevertheless, in the recapitulations P-zone, Beethoven almost always
returns to the same module that began the exposition, even if it turns out to be highly
recomposed, as in the two phrases of the P-theme in the Tempest sonata. The only exceptions to
this rule of return are the Eroica and Seventh Symphonies, and the Piano Sonata in C Minor,
op. 111. In the first two of these works, the expositions P1.0 module, which is by definition a
thematic introduction (in the former, the famous pair of tutti chords, in the latter, mostly a
repeated dominant note in a dotted rhythm), changes its function when it returns, becoming the
last portion of the development section rather than the first portion of the recapitulation.17 In op.
111, the music of the expositions P1.0 module has the function of evolving into the P-theme

16

These terms from Hepokoski and Darcy, Elements of Sonata Theory, 239-42.
In the Eroica, the chords change in harmony as well, from tonic chords in the exposition to dominant chords just
before the recapitulation. Nevertheless, the similarity remains quite strong.

17

236
through two primordial fragments, an effect that would certainly grow tired by the recapitulation,
especially considering that it is sounded twice by the expositional repeat.18
As concerns dramatic structure, one profitable way to understand the recapitulation is to
compare the percentage frequencies of archetypes in each module with the analogous module in
the exposition in order to obtain a sense of how the dramatic structure changes, if at all. Even if
some modules of the P-zone are omitted in the recapitulation, restatements that are identical to
those of the exposition (barring slight melodic ornamentation) are relatively rare in Beethoven,
occurring in only 18% (16 of 87) of movements.19 But this does not necessarily mean that
unaltered dramatic structures are just as rare, for not all musical changes result in changes to
dramatic structure. In fact, changes to the archetype of this first P-module in the recapitulation,
whether a P1.0 or P1 module, occur less than half the time, at an overall frequency of only 38%
(33 of 87).20 Even so, we might investigate how the archetypes differ when indeed they do
change.
Tables 5.1 and 5.2 juxtapose the overall frequencies of archetypes for the first two
possible modules of an exposition and recapitulation: P1.0 and P1. The trend here is clear:
archetypes with a Low start become less frequent in the recapitulation while those with a High
start become more frequent or (as with HLH in P1.0) remain at the same frequency, with H
becoming much more preferred in P1.0 than it is in the exposition. Since P1.0 and many P1s are the
18

I would point out, however, that Beethoven seems to have retained something of the theme-before-the-theme
idea by stating the first two measures of the P-themes melody at the end of the development section (mm. 90-91),
just before it re-enters in the recapitulation. By contrast, Rosen, Sonata Forms, 99, considers this melodic
anticipation to actually begin the recapitulation rather than precede it. In my view, the continuation of the dominant
pedal (only implied in m. 91) precludes this interpretation even if the moment of recapitulation is uncertain before
the fortissimo entrance of P in m. 92.
19
Op. 13; op. 14, no. 2; op. 22; op. 31, no. 3; op. 49, no. 1; op. 79; op. 81a; op. 90; op. 18, nos. 4 and 5; op. 3; op.
12, nos. 1 and 2; op. 30, no. 1; op. 36; op. 81b.
20
In the anomalous case of op. 59, no. 1, I compare the P1 module that begins the recapitulation with the P2 module
of the exposition due to the reversed order of the P-themes in the former (as discussed above). Op. 2, no. 1; op. 7;
op. 10, no. 3; op. 14, no. 1; op. 31, nos. 1 and 2; op. 78; op. 109; op. 111; op. 18, nos. 1, 2, and 6; op. 59, nos. 1 and
2; op. 95; op. 135; op. 9, no. 3; op. 1, no. 3; op. 29; op. 23; op. 30, no. 3; op. 96; op. 5, nos. 1 and 2; op. 21; op. 55;
op. 92; op. 93; op. 125; op. 6; op. 11; op. 17; op. 20.

237
first modules heard in the recapitulation, this trend invites us to ask how often a recapitulation
begins with a High unit when the exposition began with a Low unit. After all, as some writers
have pointed out, a dramatic return at the recapitulation is not an uncommon feature in
Beethoven, and Kerman, Tyson, and Burnham go so far as to call it a characteristic Beethoven
fingerprint.21
Table 5.1 Comparison of Archetype Frequencies in P1.0
Archetype
L
LH
LHL
H
HL
HLH

Exposition %
(of 20)
30 (6)
15 (3)
5 (1)
30 (6)
20 (4)
0 (0)

Recapitulation %
(of 18)
17 (3)
6 (1)
0 (0)
44 (8)
33 (6)
0 (0)

Table 5.2 Comparison of Archetype Frequencies in P1

Archetype
L
LH
LHL
H
HL
HLH

Exposition %
(of 87)
28 (24)
32 (28)
16 (14)
2 (2)
13 (11)
9 (8)

Recapitulation %
(of 87)
18 (16)
26 (23)
14 (12)
5 (4)
21 (18)
16 (14)

To answer this question, we need to consider not only those pieces in which the recapitulation
begins with P1.0, but also those in which it begins directly with the first theme proper, P1, as well
as the three pieces mentioned above in which P1.0 is omitted in the recapitulation, thus leaving P1
as the first module. I will therefore consider a dramatic return to occur when the recapitulation
21

Joseph Kerman, Alan Tyson, and Scott Burnham, Beethoven, in The New Grove Dictionary of Music and
Musicians, 2nd ed., ed. Stanley Sadie (New York: Macmillan, 2001), 3:95. See also Hepokoski and Darcy, Elements
of Sonata Theory, 231, who are somewhat less emphatic about the idea, admitting that it occurs only in some
compositions of Beethoven.

238
begins High with a P-module that began Low in the exposition, regardless of whether that
original module was actually first in the exposition. (After all, the impact of a dramatic return
derives from the module being the very first only in the recapitulation.) Of the eighty-seven
movements as a whole, we find that the total frequency of a dramatic return to the first P-module
is only 21% (18 of 87) and never reaches majority status in any key, mode, genre, or style
period.22 Thus, even though the technique is undoubtedly a Beethoven fingerprint, it remains a
far less common feature than simply retaining the same tension level that began the exposition,
which occurs in the other 79% of movements (69 of 87). This is not to say, however, that the
dramatic return is of no consequence to Beethovens compositional style, for the above
percentages show that whenever he changes the dramatic unit at the start of the recapitulation, it
is never from High to Low but only from Low to High for the purpose of a dramatic return.
When a dramatic return occurs, the change in the level of tension is always brought about
by rhetorical rather than syntactical tension, no doubt because, as I mentioned in the previous
chapter, it is much easier to sound rhetorical tension at the beginnings of phrases. To be sure,
there are cases where syntactical tension is present at the moment of recapitulation, as famously
in the dominant pedal that is sustained into the recapitulation of the Appassionata. But by and
large these instances are rare, and as a rule there are never enough types for syntactical drama.
(Although such moments undoubtedly create tension, because drama requires more than a single
type of tension, they remain at a Low, non-dramatic level.) To create their dramatic High level of
tension, each of these instances involves the rhetorical dynamic tension and adds at least one
other type, most commonly thickness and/or rhythmic tension, resulting in a tutti effect, an
excited effect, or a combination of both, as in Example 5.1. In this case and indeed most others,

22

Works with dramatic returns: Op. 7; op. 14, no. 1; op. 31, no. 1; op. 109; op. 18, nos. 1 and 2; op. 135; op. 9, no.
3; op. 1, no. 3; op. 23; op. 30, no. 3; op. 5, no. 1; op. 21; op. 60; op. 92; op. 125; op. 17; op. 20.

239
the formal function and musical material at the start of the first P-module are not altered in ways
that affect its pitch content. Thus, these opening measures are almost always correspondence
measures rather than referential measures, and consequently the sense of return is quite clear.23
Moreover, this is where the effect derives its power: recognizing the start of the recapitulation
not merely as a repetition of material (which could in theory occur at any part in a form) but a
true return allows the listener to experience the kind of psychological journey or growth
process that characterizes the symphonic ideal of many of Beethovens works.24
Example 5.1 A Dramatic Return in the Piano Sonata in E-Flat Major, op. 7
a) Start of Exposition, mm. 1-6

b) Start of Recapitulation, mm. 189-194

Despite the relatively low percentage of dramatic returns, we might gain a more accurate
picture of Beethovens recapitulations by comparing the sheer percentage of High starts there to
those of the exposition. For, with the addition of movements that have a dramatic return at the
recapitulation, most recapitulations (54%, 47 of 87) end up with a High start regardless of how
23

Of course, there are exceptions in each period of Beethovens career, for example the early String Quartet in G
Major, op. 18, no. 2 (the recapitulation is anticipated with tonic harmony at m. 145, four measures before the true
recapitulation begins), the middle-period String Quartet in F Major, op. 59, no. 1, and the late String Quartet in A
Minor, op. 132 (the latter two are discussed above).
24
Kerman, Tyson, and Burnham, Beethoven, 100.

240
the exposition began.25 On the other hand, we can expect expositions to begin Low most of the
time since High starts are a clear minority there (33%, 29 of 87).26 One surprising exception to
this discrepancy is in the middle period, where the occurrence of dramatic returns in relation to
all movements that begin the exposition Low are proportionally lower than in the other two
periods, as shown in Table 5.3. Since these statistics are a measure of how often Beethoven made
use of the technique from all possible opportunities, they demonstrate that when he began a
middle-period exposition Low, more often than in other periods, he tended to retain that Low
tension at the start of the recapitulation and withhold a dramatic arrival point until later. Wellknown examples include the Waldstein and Appassionata Sonatas, and, most of all, the Eroica
Symphony.27 Thus, as we have seen at other points in the form, the middle works tend to
maintain a stronger teleological drive than those of the other two periods.

Table 5.3 Frequency of Dramatic Returns at Recapitulations (Compared to Low Starts to

Exposition) by Style Period
Style Period
Early
Middle
Late

% Frequency
32 (13/41)
18 (2/11)
50 (3/6)

Like the exposition, after a P1 theme the next possible module one may hear in the
recapitulation is a post-cadential function (either a codetta prolonging I or a standing on the
dominant prolonging V) or a P2 theme (the two never appear together). Compared to the

25

Op. 7; op. 10, no. 1; op. 14, no. 1; op. 31, nos. 1 and 2; op. 49, no. 2; op. 79; op. 81a; op. 90; op. 106; op. 109; op.
111; op. 18, nos. 1 and 2; op. 59, nos. 1 and 2; op. 74; op. 95; op. 130; op. 132; op. 135; op. 3; op. 9, no. 3; op. 1,
nos. 1 and 3; op. 70, nos. 1 and 2; op. 4; op. 12, no. 1; op. 23; op. 30, no. 3; op. 47; op. 5, no. 1; op. 102, nos. 1 and
2; op. 21; op. 60; op. 67; op. 92; op. 93; op. 125; op. 6; op. 11; op. 17; op. 20; op. 81b; op. 87.
26
Op. 10, no. 1; op. 31, no. 2; op. 49, no. 2; op. 79; op. 81a; op. 90; op. 106; op. 111; op. 59, no. 2; op. 74; op. 95;
op. 130; op. 132; op. 3; op. 1, no. 1; op. 70, nos. 1 and 2; op. 4; op. 12, no. 1; op. 47; op. 102, nos. 1 and 2; op. 55;
op. 67; op. 93; op. 6; op. 11; op. 81b; op. 87.
27
In a sense, the String Quartet, op. 59, no. 1 withholds a dramatic arrival for the original P1 as well, but because in
the recapitulation this module is heard after the original P2, the effect is not entirely the same.

241
exposition, the incidence of both these modules in the recapitulation is drastically reduced, the
post-cadential module dropping from eleven appearances in the exposition to five in the
recapitulation, and the P2 module dropping from six to only three. Certainly, the reduction in the
use of these modules relates to the general trend toward compression in a recapitulation,
especially in the P-zone, where, after the all-important P1, extra modules become dispensable.
But how does the omission of these modules affect the tension in the P-zone? Because a postcadential-P or P2 module is always last in a P-zone, it is perhaps best to ask how the tension at
the end of the P-zone changes in the recapitulation. Table 5.4 compares the archetypes in the last
P module in both the exposition and recapitulation in the nine works that omit the extra P
modules in the recapitulation. Of the P-zones in the exposition, 78% (7 of 9) end with Low
tension, a clear majority, while in the recapitulation, High endings to the P-zone in these works
now become the majority at 56% (5 of 9). Why this change?

Table 5.4 Comparison of Archetypes at End of P-Zone Between Exposition and

Recapitulation in Works that Omit Post-Cadential-P or P2 in Recapitulation

Op.

7
10/1
18/3
18/6
60
125
18/2
3
17
% Low Endings
% High Endings

Exposition
Archetype in
Last P
Module
L
H
L
L
LH
LHL
HL
L
L
78 (7/9)
22 (2/9)

Recapitulation
Archetype in
Omitted
Last P Module
Module
LHL
HLH
L
LH
HL
H
HLH
HL
LH
44 (4/9)
56 (5/9)

P-Cta
P-Cta
P-Cta
P-Sod
P-Cta
P-Sod
P2
P2
P2

P-Cta = Codetta to P; P-Sod = Standing on the dominant to P

242
In most cases, omitting the extra P module allows a High end to P1 to become the end of
the entire P-zone, which then leads into the transition (TR) with a dramatic effect. At this point
in a form (the end of the P-zone), and indeed for most of the recapitulation, the music is
generally in the tonic key. Because of this broad tonal stasis, any additional dramatic effects are
particularly welcome in the recapitulation, especially before entering the S-zone, where there is
less opportunity for new effects because of the need to be largely faithful to the exposition and
provide the sense of a tonal resolution. It must be said, however, that this dramatization of the
move from P into TR is not characteristic of all eighty-seven movements. Rather, it seems to be
one of the benefits of module omission in the P-zone aside from the usual compression of
material, particularly because the previous P1 module tends not to alter its dramatic archetype
even though it may well include what Rosen has termed a secondary development, which
tends to move through keys on the flat side of the tonic, especially the subdominant.28
Quite a different story emerges when we examine extra P modules that are actually
retained in the recapitulation, which occurs in five of eleven movements for the post-cadential-P
and three of six for P2. In each case, the module in question stands as the last in the P-zone, and
as Table 5.5 shows, six of the seven final P modules end with Low tension, two works even
altering the module to obtain a Low ending (op. 130 and op. 1, no. 2). This strong tendency
toward a non-dramatic ending to P at first seems puzzling since the patterns garnered so far in
the recapitulation involve an increase in tension, not a decrease. But recalling that these modules
occur in only seven of the eighty-seven movements, their mere presence in the recapitulation is
highly unusual. In the exposition, the presence of extra P modules was usually a means of
relaxing the forward motion of the movement since they tend to broaden the journey towards the
next zone (TR) and towards important cadential goals such as a PAC within the S-zone.
28

Rosen, Sonata Forms, 289.

243
Supporting this view is the near exclusive use of Low endings to these modules and the
disappearance of any standing on the dominants, which rather have the effect of heightening
expectation and intensifying the music.29
Table 5.5 Comparison of Archetypes at End of P-Zone Between Exposition and
Recapitulation in Works that Retain Post-Cadential-P or P2 in Recapitulation

Op.

31/3
130
1/1
1/2
30/1
59/3
127
% Low Endings
% High Endings

Exposition
Archetype in
Last P
Module
L
HLH
L
HL
HL
HL
H
71 (5)
29 (2)

Recapitulation
Archetype in
Module
Last P Module
L
HL
L
L
HL
HL
H
86 (6)
14 (1)

PCt
PCt
PCt
PCt
PCt
P2
P2

II. The Transition Zone (TR)

TR is usually the site of the most substantial changes in the recapitulation, and it is not
difficult to see why. As we saw in chapter 3, the most common TR type in the exposition is
modulating, which moves to the new key before the entrance of S. Thus, in the recapitulation,
changes are required in order to lead TR to a tonic-key ending and properly prepare for S. But
does this necessarily mean that the archetypes change as well? No, and in fact the changes that
do occur in the archetypes produce some unexpected relationships.
Recall that in expositions, significant differences were observed between TRs of the three
different types: non-modulating, modulating, and two-part. In the recapitulation, because no
29

Once again, the reordered recapitulation of op. 59, no. 1 must be treated separately. Since the last module of P is
now the original P1 module, which retains its archetype of LH (though by different tension types), the entire zone
ends with High tension whereas it ended Low in the exposition through P2s archetype of HL. In the shift to a
dramatic entry into TR, Beethoven therefore treats this case like most of those with omitted P modules, perhaps
because the original P2 module is in a sense omitted, at least from its original spot in P-zone.

244
modulation is necessary for S, there is no need to distinguish among different TR types since
almost all of them end on a home-key V to prepare for the (usually) tonic S. And yet, we may
still ask if and how the archetypes change according to the TR type heard in the exposition.
Beginning with the non-modulating type, it is found that 71% (5 of 7) of archetypes in TR1
modules are altered in the recapitulation.30 While TR1 occurs in the exposition in ten works,
three of them (op. 9, no. 3, op. 21, and op. 71) omit the module because the move to the homekey V takes place entirely within the P1 module. In any case, nearly all works (8 of 9) that
prolonged the home V with a standing on the dominant (TRSod1) in the exposition retain this
module in the recapitulation,31 and in all eight of these cases, the entrance of this module in the
recapitulation marks the location of the crux, where the music largely becomes a transposed
version of the exposition, complete with the same archetype.32
When modulating TRs are recapitulated, on the other hand, it is surprising that only 28%
(16 of 57) alter the dramatic archetype in TR1 and a mere 11% (4 of 36) do so in TRSod1.33 Why
would Beethoven not alter the archetype more frequently in these TRs, especially in light of their
need to be altered in order to now prepare for the tonic? We must remember that the archetypes
depend heavily on the dramatic structure at the beginning and end of modules, hence we ought to
ask what Beethoven does with these portions of modulating TRs in the recapitulation. As it turns

30

Op. 2, no. 3; op. 49, no. 2; op. 18, no. 5; op. 6; op. 20.
Op. 2, no. 3; op. 49, no. 2; op. 18, no. 5; op. 5, no. 1; op. 21; op. 17; op. 20; op. 71.
32
Of non-modulating TRs, however, Hepokoski and Darcy, Elements of Sonata Theory, 240, astutely remark that
there will always be a second (albeit different kind of) crux when the S-zone begins: the music that directly follows
the MCnamely, S (originally heard in V)will have to be wrenched down a fifth from the level of the exposition,
in order that it might now appear in the tonic key. In other words, crux-points at the original pitch level normally
require an additional tonal shift immediately after the MC. This produces another kind of cruxa transposed one
directly at the S point, even though the rhetorical correspondence measures had begun several bars earlier.
33
Works with archetype change in recapitulated modulating TR1: Op. 7; op. 31, no. 2; op. 78; op. 18, nos. 1 and 6;
op. 95; op. 130; op. 9, no. 1; op. 70, no. 1; op. 97; op. 23; op. 30, no. 3; op. 96; op. 102, no. 1; op. 36; op. 92. Works
with archetype change in recapitulated modulating TRSod1: Op. 18, nos. 2 and 6; op. 1, no. 2; op. 70, no. 1.
31

245
out, most of them (61%, 35 of 57) begin with correspondence or referential measures,34 meaning
that in the recapitulation, TR begins with music that is exactly or virtually the same as music
from the exposition (though not necessarily from the start of TR since, as mentioned earlier,
several recapitulations assign P with the task of moving to the home-key V and therefore omit
TR1). Moreover, the fact that a majority of these TRs (77%, 44 of 57) place the crux either at the
end of TR1 or the start of TRSod1 signifies that the end of TR is most often the same as that of the
exposition.35 Consequently, the dramatic archetype is also most often the same as well, despite
the musical changes that Beethoven makes. Although this may seem to be a pedestrian way of
handling the recapitulated TR, he always leads into the crux with such smoothness that one
hardly notices, if at all, when this crucial moment occurs. Thus, even though musical changes are
an absolute necessity in the modulating TR, Beethoven strove to minimize both the structural
and dramatic effect of these changes and hence elegantly make the music appear to follow much
the same path yet, paradoxically, arrive at a different place (see Example 5.2). A similar
argument may be made for two-part TRs, which generally retain both the beginning and end of
the entire TR-zone, either by condensing the content of the expositional TRs two parts into a
single part (as in 8 of 17) or, as with most in the late period, maintaining its two-part structure (as
in the other 9 of 17).36 In either case, the recapitulated TR1 has the same archetype as in the

34

Op. 2, nos. 1 and 2; op. 10, no. 1; op. 14, no. 2; op. 22; op. 28; op. 49, no. 1; op. 53; op. 57; op. 78; op. 79; op.
81a; op. 109; op. 110; op. 111; op. 18, no. 1; op. 59, nos. 1 and 3; op. 74; op. 127; op. 3; op. 9, no. 2; op. 29; op. 30,
nos. 1 and 2; op. 47; op. 96; op. 5, no. 2; op. 69; op. 60; op. 67; op. 68; op. 92; op. 93; op. 81b.
35
Works with crux at various locations in recapitulated modulating TR. At end of TR1: Op. 2, no. 2; op. 10, no. 1;
op. 14, no. 2; op. 28; op. 31, no. 2; op. 78; op. 79; op. 81a; op. 110; op. 111; op. 95; op. 130; op. 3; op. 9, no. 2; op.
1, no. 1; op. 30, no. 1; op. 67; op. 68; op. 92; op. 93. At start of TRSod1: Op. 7; op. 14, no. 1; op. 22; op. 53; op. 57;
op. 18, nos. 1, 3, and 6; op. 59, nos. 1 and 2; op. 74; op. 9, no. 1; op. 97; op. 29; op. 12, no. 3; op. 30, no. 3; op. 47;
op. 96; op. 5, no. 2; op. 69; op. 36; op. 60; op. 16; op. 81b.
36
Works that compress recapitulated two-part TRs into a single part: Op. 13; op. 31, nos. 1 and 3; op. 18, no. 4; op.
1, no. 3; op. 12, no. 1; op. 11; op. 87. Works that retain both parts of a recapitulated two-part TR: Op. 90; op. 106;
op. 132; op. 135; op. 70, no. 2; op. 4; op. 24; op. 102, no. 2; op. 55.

246
Example 5.2 Comparison of a Modulating TR with its Recapitulation; Piano Sonata in EFlat Major, op. 81a

a) Exposition, mm. 29-36

b) Recapitulation, mm. 122-128

247
exposition 59% (10 of 17) of the time, in most cases because the module begins with
correspondence measures.37 Moreover, condensed or not, the tension at the end of the whole
zone is usually the same as in the exposition, as 59% (10 of 17) of these TRs place the crux at the
end of TR1 or the start of TRSod1 or TR2.38 As a result, the TR-zone most often ends, as in the
exposition, with a High level of tension, regardless of the type of TR.
A vast difference is seen, however, in both the dramatic and musical structure at the start
of non-modulating TRs. As Table 5.6 illustrates, in contrast to modulating and two-part TRs,
non-modulating TR1s in the recapitulation begin with correspondence or referential measures in
only one case (11%, 1 of 9).39 Thus, contrary to what one might expect, Beethoven avoided the
straightforward solution of restating the TR verbatim when he had the opportunityin a
recapitulated non-modulating TRin favour of a substantial recomposition, either as TR1 or
even as the latter portion of P when he omits TR1 (as he does in the First Symphony). This
heavily altered TR1 (or end of P) creates variety merely for its own sake and instills the piece
with a breath of fresh air, as it were, before moving on to the largely transposed restatements
of S and CL (see Example 5.3).

Table 5.6 Frequencies of Recapitulated TRs that Begin With Correspondence or

Referential Measures by TR Type
TR Type
Non-Modulating
Modulating
Two-Part

37

% Frequency
11 (1/9)
61 (35/57)
65 (11/17)

Recapitulated two-part TRs with same archetype: Op. 90; op. 106; op. 18, no. 4; op. 132; op. 135; op. 1, no. 3; op.
70, no. 2; op. 4; op. 12, no. 1; op. 55. Beginning with correspondence measures: Op. 13; op. 31, no. 3; op. 90; op.
106; op. 18, no. 4; op. 135; op. 12, no. 1; op. 24; op. 11; op. 87.
38
Works with crux at various locations in recapitulated two-part TR. At end of TR1: Op. 13; op. 31, no. 1; op. 132;
op. 70, no. 2. At start of TRSod1: Op. 1, no. 3; op. 4; op. 12, no. 1; op. 24; op. 87. At start of TR2: Op. 90.
39
This lone work is the First Symphony (op. 21), but even here, TR1 is omitted and the zone begins directly with
TRSod1. Note that the total number of non-modulating TRs in the recapitulation is only nine rather than the
expositions ten because op. 9, no. 3 omits its TR altogether.

248
Example 5.3 Comparison of a Non-Modulating TR with its Recapitulation; Septet, op. 20
a) Exposition, mm. 39-52

249
b) Recapitulation, mm. 172-187

250
III. The Secondary-Theme Zone (S)
Upon reaching the recapitulations S, Beethoven always sounds the same modules from
the start of the zone to the finish, neither omitting any from the exposition nor adding any to the
recapitulation. Likewise, he usually keeps the music within these modules parallel with the
exposition, but with regard to the first module, S1, in seventeen of the eighty-seven movements
(20%) he makes prominent changes to the pitch content that fall into two broad types: 1)
transpositions of the opening material to the wrong key, after which there is a correction leading
to the tonic key (in effect, a second crux), and 2) postcrux alterations, generally in the form of
new interpolations and the addition or deletion of measures.40 Table 5.7 categorizes all seventeen
instances of the S-zone alterations.41 Within these seventeen movements, however, or even
within any of the eighty-seven, it is surprising that he alters absolutely none of the dramatic
archetypes within S1; and practically the same holds true for all other modules of Sonly in the
Cello Sonata in G Minor, op. 5, no. 2, does he alter an archetype in the S-zone at all.42 This does
not mean that structurally-altered modules create the archetype with precisely the same tension
types. The technique of the transposed opening, for example, of which Beethoven was quite
fond, certainly adds tonal tension since the music there lies outside the tonic key, which is
expected at the recapitulated S (see Example 5.4); likewise, lengthening the S1 module creates or
adds to any existing expansional tension. But the fact that the structural changes are almost never

40

Hepokoski and Darcy, Elements of Sonata Theory, 240, discuss the idea of a double-crux effect in such
situations.
41
Michael Spitzer, The Significance of Recapitulation in the Waldstein Sonata, Beethoven Forum 10 (1996):
115, points out that the wrong-key opening of the S-zone in Beethovens Waldstein Sonata differs from some in
the late works (op. 110, op. 130, and the finale of op. 131) in that it integrates the correction to the tonic within the
same portion of the phrase, whereas in the late-period examples, the correction is given with a repetition of the
phrases opening. Spitzer views this difference as evidence that the middle period was still in a process of
development (p. 117) that led to the late period.
42
In this case, it is S2 that he alters from LHL in the exposition to LH in the recapitulation, providing the zone with a
dramatic finish. Given that this is the only movement with an archetype change in S, the reasons for the change are
difficult to speculate.

251
great enough to cause changes to the archetype reveals Beethovens strong allegiance to the idea
of a recapitulation of S as a resolution of S, that is, as a portion of sonata form that essentially
ought to remain faithful to the exposition. This belief differs drastically from that of Haydn, for
instance, who had no qualms about heavily recomposing a recapitulations S-zone. We have,
however, already seen evidence of Beethovens narrower take on S-zones in their near
unanimous Low starts, in contrast with Haydn and Mozart, who seem to have begun S with a
High unit more often. Hence, there is a strong consistency in the way Beethoven recapitulated
his S-zones, not only in terms of their form but their drama as well.

Table 5.7 S-Zone Alterations in Beethovens Recapitulations

Op.
10/1
10/2
13
31/1
49/1
53
110
111
95
130
132
70/1
4
23
67
71
81b

Transposed Opening
x

Postcrux Alterations
x (end of S1)

x
x
x (end of S1)
x
x
x (middle of S1)
x
x
x*
x
x (shortened at end of S1)
x
x (lengthened near start of S1)
x (lengthened near end of S2)
x (lengthened near end of S1)

* As discussed above, the String Quartet in A Minor, op. 132, is a unique case
that applies the idea of wrong-key transposition to the entire recapitulation.

252
Example 5.4 Transposed Opening of S-Zone in Recapitulation; Piano Trio in D Major,
op. 70, no. 1, Ghost, mm. 215-226

IV. The Closing Section (CL)

Beethovens treatment of CL is very similar to that of the S-zone in that, in almost every
case, he retains the modules it contained in the exposition, and thus CL appears to have been for
him a section of sonata form with practically the same requirements for resolution as the S-zone.
When he retains the module in CL, he also tends to retain its archetype, as Table 5.8 shows, and
thus CL possesses similar patterns in dramatic structure as in the exposition, notably the
continual drop in the frequency of High endings to the entire zone, as shown in Table 5.9.

253
Table 5.8 Frequency of Retained Modules and Archetypes in Recapitulations CL

% Retained Module
% Retained Archetype

CL1
92 (72/78)
90 (65/72)

CL2
89 (24/27)
96 (23/24)

CL3
67 (4/6)
100 (4/4)

Table 5.9 Comparison of High Endings to CL in Exposition and Recapitulation by Style

Period
Style Period
Early
Middle
Late

Exposition
% CL ends High
68 (32/47)
55 (11/20)
18 (2/11)

Recapitulation
% CL ends High
80 (32/40)
45 (9/20)
27 (3/11)

There are a few instances in which Beethoven breaks CL off before it has been
completely recapitulated, and the frequency with which this occurs increases the later the module
is within CL.43 When he omits CL modules, the music always leads directly to a coda, and we
ought to ask whether this entrance of the coda changes the level of tension that existed at the start
of the omitted CL module.44 Table 5.10 compares the archetypes of the omitted module with that
of its replacement at the start of the coda. Clearly, Beethoven almost always retains the tension
level at the start of the omitted module, even if the musical material of the coda module is
different. But there are three exceptions in which the tension level at its start changes from Low
in the exposition to High in the recapitulation: the String Quintets, opp. 4 and 29, and the Sextet,
op. 71. Of all those works that omit CL modules, these three are the only ones that are set in a
genre of a larger sizefive or six players, as opposed to the one or three of the others. It would
therefore seem that, when CL modules are omitted at all (which is not often), in those works with
43

But also note that, despite the lower rate of recapitulation of these later modules, there simply are not many
instances of such modules to begin with. Thus, the percentage of all modules within CL that are recapitulated is still
very high at 89% (99 of 111).
44
In op. 49, no. 1, and op. 1, no. 3, the material of the CL1 module is not omitted but reassigned to the coda due to
significant musical changes. (This idea of reassignment is described in more detail below.) Nevertheless, I include
them here to take note of how these changes affect the dramatic structure of the material.

254
larger ensembles, the onset of the coda is surprising not only in its early location, but also in its
dramatic tension level (see Example 5.5).

Table 5.10 Archetypes of CL Module from Exposition that is Omitted in Recapitulation,

and Its Replacement Archetype in Coda
Op.
14/2
49/1
1/1
1/3
4
29
71
2/3
90
7
6

Exp.
CL1
LH
L
L
L
LH
LH
------

Coda
LHL
L
LH
LHL
HL
HLH
------

Exp.
CL2
---LH
--L
H
L
---

Coda
---LH
--HLH
HL
L
---

Exp.
CL3
---------H
H

Coda
---------HL
H

The final module to discuss in the recapitulation is, like the exposition, the retransition
(RT). In the exposition, RT invariably serves to divert the music away from the new key that was
established there, paving the way for either a smooth return to the tonic key with a repeat of the
exposition or another key with the start of the development section. In the recapitulation,
however, the formal purpose of RT is not necessarily one of diversion, as it may lead to a repeat
of the development and recapitulation or into a codasimilar to the exposition, I call the former
RT1 and the latter RT2. Due to this change in function, the recapitulations RT ought to be
regarded independently from the expositions, even if it is based on the same music in most
cases.

255
Example 5.5 Comparison of Tension at End of CL in the Sextet, op. 71
a) Exposition, mm. 98-111 (CL1 and CL2)

256
b) Recapitulation, mm. 264-278 (CL1 and first module of coda, Z1)

257
As for RT1, because only four works possess the module, almost no patterns occur the
requisite three times for significance. Nevertheless, it is significant that 75% (3 of 4) of them
have an L archetype and thus, as in the exposition, seem to represent a close approximation, or
filling-in, of the silence that often results between the end of the recapitulation and the start of
the development.45 The same premise underlies RT2, where the L archetype is also a majority at
52% (12 of 23), and in the early and middle periods, where there are enough of the modules to
form significant findings, L is either most preferred, as in the early period at 38% (5 of 13), or a
majority, as in the middle period at 67% (6 of 9).46 The fact that the late period lacks a
significant number of RT2 modules with only one occurrence is, however, in itself significant
(see Table 5.11). For when we also consider that it is only in the late period that a majority of
codas begin as an extension of the recapitulations final module rather than as a separate module
(as will be explained more fully in the following chapter), it becomes clear that the virtual
elimination of RT2 was part of Beethovens effort to synthesize sonata form into a more
continuous musical process. But because a complete understanding of the tension involved in
moving into this type of coda requires a more thorough explanation of what exactly constitutes a
coda, I defer such a discussion to the following chapter.
Table 5.11 Frequencies of RT2 in the Recapitulation (of Works with a Coda) by Style
Period
Style Period
Early
Middle
Late

45

% Frequency
32 (13/41)
40 (9/22)
8 (1/13)

Op. 59, no. 2; op. 70, no. 1; op. 23.

L archetypes in RT2, by style period. Early: Op. 28; op. 31, no. 1; op. 12, no. 2; op. 23; op. 24. Middle: Op. 53;
op. 81a; op. 59, no. 2; op. 70, no. 2; op. 69; op. 68. (The lone RT2 in the late period, mentioned below, is also an L
archetype and occurs in op. 130).
46

258
As we have seen, much of the music in Beethovens recapitulations remains as it was in
the exposition. In most movements, the P-zone is notably altered, but from then on, the
recapitulation is largely faithful to the exposition, especially if TR is of the modulating or twopart type.47 In the P-zone, a comparison of archetypes with the exposition revealed that the most
significant change is an intensification of the recapitulations very first module to create a
dramatic return. And although this may well be a characteristically Beethovenian technique, as
some have noted, it is certainly not one that finds its way into the majority of Beethovens first
movements, since its frequency sits at only 21%79% actually begin with the same level of
tension.48 TR, as expected, was found to be laden with changes to both structure and drama, but
exactly how these changes took place seemed to contradict the intuitions one would have about
recapitulated versions of the various TR types. For it was in the non-modulating type, which
technically requires no change at all, that alterations in structure and drama were nearly
ubiquitous, whereas the modulating and two-part types, which require at least some change due
to their original modulation away from the tonic key, most often began and ended with
practically the same music as in the exposition. Thus, Beethoven skillfully wove the crucial
moment of the crux into the flow of TR rather than placing it more obviously at the beginning of
a phrase. In the S-zone, although we encountered the not infrequent structural changes of the
transposed opening, and postcrux additions and deletions, strikingly, Beethoven made almost no
changes to any of the archetypes, indicating his strong belief in the recapitulated S as a strict
47

Perhaps this is what is meant by Donald Francis Tovey, Sonata Forms, in The Forms of Music (New York:
Meridian, 1956), 217, who says of recapitulations that Beethoven combined the forms of Haydn and Mozart,
writing on a scale large enough to contain Mozarts regular recapitulations together with Haydns free perorations.
Even if, as Tovey notes earlier on the same page, a peroration in Haydn, which is full of new developments,
generally occurs after the first theme and not within it as in Beethoven, the idea of writing a recapitulation with a
mind for both freedom and regularity is clear.
48
The question of how this frequency compares with Haydn and Mozart would of course yield important results, but
is beyond the scope of this study. My intuition is that these composers very rarely engaged in the technique, thus
allowing Beethovens use of it to appear to be relatively prominent despite its low frequency within his own works.
See also chapter 7 for a discussion of potential comparisons among the three composers.

259
resolution rather than a loose recapturing or complete reinterpretation of S, as occurs in Haydn.
His treatment of CL was much the same as S in this respect, for even when he omitted or
reassigned a CL module, he generally kept the tension level at its beginning the same as it was in
the exposition, thus leading very smoothly into the last section of the movementthe coda.

Chapter 6: The Coda and Slow Introduction

With an exposition, development, and recapitulation, a Type 3 sonata fulfills all that is
strictly required of the form. For this reason, I investigate the coda and slow introduction, both of
which Hepokoski and Darcy refer to as parageneric spaces, in a single chapter, beginning with
the next possible section after a recapitulationthe coda.1 As with the other sections of sonata
form examined thus far, because dramatic structure hangs so crucially on the constituent modules
of the section, a few words are necessary to clarify my methodology in analyzing the form in
these parageneric spaces, the more so because the issue has been given very little attention in the
literature.
In this chapter, I will discuss some of the general features of both Beethovens codas and
slow introductions individually before discussing their dramatic structure in order to give the
reader a sense of the frequency of these non-essential parts of the form, especially across the
three periods, and how I approach some difficult analytical situations. The dramatic structures
will largely be interpreted from the standpoint of three main ideas. First, there is the position of
the modules within each of the sections zones (the most significant patterns occurring among
those modules that are first or last) and their tension connection from the previous module.
Second, there is the pervading style of the movement. In the early period, the most distinctive
patterns are seen in movements that are in symphony style, especially with its typical Hightension drive at the ends of phrases. However, as Michael Broyles has pointed out, in the latter
two periods, the differences between symphony and sonata style begin to break down as
Beethoven combines aspects of both and adds features from French Revolutionary composers

James Hepokoski and Warren Darcy, Elements of Sonata Theory: Norms, Types, and Deformations in the LateEighteenth-Century Sonata (New York: Oxford University Press, 2006), chapter 13.

260

261
such as Cherubini and Mehul.2 While Broyles does not attribute a name to this middle-/lateperiod style (which he convincingly argues is a single style), the new style is a name that
seems well-suited both to Broyles concept and to Beethovens famous admission of wishing to
strike out on a new path (or new way) some time near the end of the early period.3 Finally
(related to the previous point), there is the greater continuity that overtook so many aspects of
Beethovens conception of sonata form in the latter two periods.

I. The Coda
Locating the start of a coda in sonata form is not always a straightforward matter.
Although Roger Bullivant and James Webster aptly note that a coda refers to anything
occurring after the end of the recapitulation, they add the important caveat that a coda does not
refer to an expansion within the recapitulation before its original codetta or closing is reached.4
When the second half of a sonata form (development + recapitulation) is repeated, as is common
in classical works before Beethoven, a coda can simply consist of any material that follows the
last repeat sign. This is, in fact, the only type of coda that was recognized by theorists of the

Michael Broyles, Beethoven: The Emergence and Evolution of Beethovens Heroic Style (New York: Excelsior,
1987), 111-26, but see especially p. 119, where Broyles asserts that Ries reports of Beethovens fascination with
the operas of Cherubini and Mehul, and according to Potter Beethoven stated flatly in 1817 that he considered
Cherubini the greatest of living composers.
3
Broyles, Beethoven, 5, in a diagram tracing Beethovens changes in style, shows the middle period (second style)
and late works connected by a single line of development he calls the new synthesis, which becomes more
prominent as time progresses. For Broyles, then, (as for myself) middle- and late-period works do not differ in
overall style, but only in the degree of expression of that style. Beethovens reference to a new path is cited by
Carl Czerny (a pupil of Beethoven) as occurring about 1800 in O. G. Sonneck, ed., Beethoven: Impressions by His
Contemporaries (New York: Schirmer, 1926), 31. According to Philip G. Downs, Beethovens New Way and the
Eroica, Musical Quarterly 56 (1970): 585, the date of Beethovens remark lies somewhere between the beginning
of 1801 and April of 1802. While this date range is somewhat before my dating of the start of the middle period, I
would argue that the remark and its fulfillment were not simultaneous (despite some of the stylistic differences seen
in the op. 31 piano sonatas, particularly the Tempest and the piano variations of opp. 34 and 35). Hence, I locate the
start of the middle period with the compositions following the Heiligenstadt Testament (written in October 1802),
beginning with the Eroica Symphony, which Beethoven had completed by the end of 1803.
4
Roger Bullivant and James Webster, Coda, in The New Grove Dictionary of Music and Musicians, 2nd ed., ed.
Stanley Sadie (New York: Macmillan, 2001), 6:82.

262
eighteenth century such as Heinrich Christoph Koch.5 But codas of this type are relatively rare in
Beethoven, one instance occurring in the Cello Sonata in G Minor, op. 5, no. 2. Furthermore,
even if a repeat sign is included, there may be a substantial amount of material that was not heard
in the exposition that enters before the expected end of the recapitulation. In such pieces, where
exactly does the recapitulation end? The question is further compounded by cases in which the
last modules of the recapitulation are restored at the very end of the movement, and thus the
whole coda can sound like an interpolation within the recapitulation. Admittedly, this is a
thorny issue that authors who have written about codas have tended to avoid.6 And even those
who address it do not necessarily agree in their points of view.7
For Hepokoski and Darcy, the coda begins once the recapitulation has reached the point
at which the expositions closing materials, normally including a final cadence, have been
revisited in full. Consequently, they do not interpret any new material that enters before the
expected end of the recapitulation as a coda, but only coda-rhetoric interpolation.8 It should be
noted, however, that such interpolations usually occur within the codettas of the recapitulation,
and that, as Caplin observes, if the recapitulation is followed by a coda, the final codettas of the
5

Heinrich Christoph Koch, Musikalisches Lexikon (Hildesheim: G. Olms, 1964 [originally published 1802]), 346,
states that if, for example, in an Allegro that is composed of two reprises, after the repetition of the second part or
the second reprise yet another short closing period exists, it is called the coda. (Wenn z. B. in einem Allegro,
welches aus zwei Reprisen bestehet, nach der Wiederholung des zweiten Theils oder der zweiten Reprise, noch eine
besondere kurze Schluperiode vorhanden ist, so wird die Coda genannt.)
6
Two well-known writings on codas that avoid this issue are Joseph Kerman, Notes on Beethovens Codas, in
Beethoven Studies 3, ed. Alan Tyson (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1982), 141-59, who instead
discusses the various functions a coda may assume; and Charles Rosen, Sonata Forms, rev. ed. (New York: W. W.
Norton, 1988), 297-352, who focusses mainly on distinctions between the two types of codas that occur in
movements that repeat the second half (i.e., outside the repeat or within it).
7
For Heinrich Schenker, the coda is driven entirely by the tonal structure of the movement, and thus the issue of
melodic material becomes unimportant: The middleground and background also determine the definitive close of a
composition. With the arrival of 1 the work is at an end. Whatever follows this can only be a reinforcement of the
closea codano matter what its extent or purpose may be. See Free Composition, trans. and ed. Ernst Oster
(New York: Longman, 1979), 129; first published as Der Freie Satz in 1935. Esther Cavett-Dunsby, Mozarts
Codas, Music Analysis 7 (1988): 32 and 34, refers to Schenkers type of coda as a structural coda and the type of
coda that follows a repeat sign as a formal coda, hence clarifying that the two conceptions describe different
phenomena.
8
Hepokoski and Darcy, Elements of Sonata Theory, 281-82.

263
closing section are sometimes altered or eliminated.9 These codettas are therefore not as
necessary a component of recapitulations as the S-zone, which, at least in Beethoven, always
remains intact even if somewhat altered. For this reason, I would argue that a recapitulation can
end without cycling through all of its codettas. The recapitulation then ends only with the
addition of new material at some point in the closing section (CL), and by new material, I
mean only material that was not present at that point in the exposition, not necessarily that the
material is entirely new to the movement. Indeed, this new material may even derive from the
foregoing module of S, CL, or the retransition (RT). The placement of the new material then
affects the location of the coda. Either the coda begins 1) without a clear beginning, as an
extension of a module that is in progress;10 or 2) with a clear beginning, possibly elided with the
previous module. I discuss each situation in detail below. Either way, the new material must lead
to what I call a coda proper (described below) in order to be considered a true coda; otherwise, it
is merely an expansion of the recapitulation.
In the case of new material that appears without a clear beginning, a further distinction
between recapitulation and coda is the degree of difference between the new material and the
material that began the ongoing module (usually a codetta). In the String Trio in D Major, op. 9,
no. 2, m. 306 (Example 6.1), new material begins as three rescored repetitions of the previous
two measures then breaks off into portions of a motive from P1 (m. 4, not shown). Despite this
motivic change, the entire passage from m. 304 to the end is bound together by the prolonged
dominant chord that begins in m. 304 (even if that dominant disappears from the musical surface
in mm. 312-315). Thus, the new material is best considered an expansion of the codetta rather

William E. Caplin, Classical Form: A Theory of Formal Functions for the Instrumental Music of Haydn, Mozart,
and Beethoven (New York: Oxford University Press, 1998), 171.
10
This type of coda is also recognized by Caplin, Classical Form, 181, who states that the coda in such cases is not
perceived as a structural beginning.

264
than a coda. On the other hand, in the Piano Sonata in A-Flat Major, op. 110, m. 97 (Example
6.2), although the new material clearly grows out of the preceding two measures of codetta (a
feature that defines a zone I call Z1, as labelled in the analysis), it leads into a module at m.
105 that is unequivocally coda material (what I have labelled Z3, which is the coda proper).
Because the codetta-based material at m. 97 acts as a preparation for the more substantial coda
module at m. 105, I consider m. 97 to be an introductory zone of the coda rather than an
expanded codetta. This distinction therefore rests crucially on what follows an extension of
codetta material: if the extension ends the entire movement (as it does in Example 6.1), it is a
phrase expansion within the recapitulation; if, however, the extension leads to another module
that can be deemed a coda proper, it then becomes an introductory part of the coda.

Example 6.1 String Trio in D Major, op. 9, no. 2

a) End of Exposition; mm. 103-110

265
b) Codetta-Based Material that is Part of the Recapitulation (not the Coda); mm. 300-end

266
Example 6.2 Piano Sonata in A-Flat Major, op. 110
a) End of Exposition; mm. 34-38

b) New Codetta-Based Material that Begins Coda; mm. 93-105

267
When new material elides with the end of the previous module, a coda will result if the
material is contrasting enough to provide the sense of a clear beginning, as for instance in the
Piano Sonata in E-Flat Major, op. 7 (Example 6.3). When the new material is not elided but
appears before the last module heard in the exposition, the distinction between recapitulation and
coda depends on the degree of difference between the new material and that of the expected
module at that point. Most of the time the changes are so substantial that there is no doubt that
the material constitutes a coda (see Example 6.4). However, in the Piano Sonata in G Minor, op.
49, no. 1 (Example 6.5), the material that enters at m. 98 is very similar to the original codetta of
the exposition and therefore casts doubt on the modules function: is it an altered codetta or a
coda? To my ear, the changes in the melodys register, the accompaniment pattern, dynamic
shape (now with sforzandos), and addition of a melodic imitation in the right hand, combine to
give the passage a feeling of new from old rather than variation of old, and thus I regard the
passage as a coda rather than a codetta. But there are no hard and fast rules that can be laid down
to distinguish between the two situationsthe decision necessarily remains with a degree of
subjectivity. However, immediate repetitions of material from the previous module tend to sound
like expansions (and therefore not like codas) unless they substantially diverge from the original
module.11

11

See, for instance, Beethovens String Quintet in C Major, op. 29, m. 253, where the end of S2 is immediately
repeated but quickly diverted two measures later into the motive from the expected codetta (which is in turn Pbased). Thus, the idea of the repetition as an expansion of S2 is contradicted by the appearance of the later codetta
material, making an analysis particularly difficult. However, that the repetition was not part of the exposition,
combined with the eventual high degree of difference between this diverted module and the S2 theme, at least in my
opinion, tips the scale in favour of a coda at m. 253.

268
Example 6.3 Piano Sonata in E-Flat Major, op. 7
a) End of Exposition; mm. 127-136

b) New Material Elided with End of Recapitulation to Begin Coda; mm. 307-318

269
Example 6.4 Piano Trio in E-Flat Major, op. 1, no. 1
a) End of Exposition; mm. 94-104

b) New Material not Elided with Recapitulation to Begin Coda; mm. 244-252

270
Example 6.5 Piano Sonata in G Minor, op. 49, no. 1
a) End of Exposition; mm. 28-33

b) Codetta-Based Material Not Elided with Recapitulation to Begin Coda; mm. 96-106

I represent coda modules in general by the letter Z and divide the entire section into
three zonesZ1, Z2, and Z3the first two of which are optional. Outside of the thematic areas of
P and S, I use a superscript 1 to represent introductory zones of some kind in order to coincide
with Hepokoski and Darcys descriptions of first zones in developments and slow introductions
(non-thematic areas).12 But in codas, there are two ways a zone can be introductory: as we saw in

12

Hepokoski and Darcy, Elements of Sonata Theory, 229 and 297.

271
op. 110 (Example 6.2), there may be new material that has no perceptible beginning because it is
drawn directly from the previous module. This is Z1. Conversely, there may be new material that
has a perceptible beginning (whether elided or not) and is relatively brief, usually one to four
measures in length (as in Example 6.4), but still serves as an introduction to further material.
This is Z2. Z3 is the coda proper, and may feature entire themes, theme-like units, or even just
codettas (as in Example 6.5), each of which is differentiated in analysis by decimal points after
the superscript number as in Z3.1, Z3.2, etc. It is important to note that Z3 is the only zone that can
stand alone; that is, if a coda has only one module, it will always be a Z3 module. Z1 and Z2, on
the other hand, by definition always lead to Z3 and are therefore introductory in character. While
this may seem an overly complex approach to codas (one that provides somewhat more detail
than current approaches), it allows those zones that are structurally equivalent to be grouped
together and compared with those that are structured in different ways. Significantly, strong
differences in dramatic structure emerge from these distinctions.

i) Beethovens Codas: General Features

Of the movements in this study, 87% (76 of 87) possess a coda as defined above, which
comes as no surprise given Beethovens expansion of this part of sonata form in relation to
Haydn and Mozart, as is often pointed out.13 But we might well ask how many modules
Beethovens codas can attain, and how often they occur, since dramatic structure is closely tied
to formal structure. As Table 6.1 indicates, a coda is present in most pieces in the early period,
but becomes absolutely imperative in the latter two periods. Moreover, as shown in Table 6.2, in
the early period, the number of coda modules (which includes the generally less substantial
zones of Z1 and Z2) tends toward the smaller numbers of one, two, or three, all of which are
13

Movements without a coda: Op. 2, nos. 1 and 2; op. 10, nos. 1 and 2; op. 22; op. 49, no. 2; op. 18, nos. 2 and 6;
op. 9, no. 2; op. 12, no. 1; op. 17.

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roughly equal in frequency. In the middle period, codas tend toward a greater number of
modules, as one would expect, most often four. But surprisingly, in the late period, codas tend
back toward the smaller numbers, usually two or three (but almost never the single module that
was common in the early period). In this respect, the late period stands somewhere between the
early and middle periods since codas are never again the brief Mozartean structures they
sometimes were in Beethovens early period, but at the same time, they almost never reach the
immense lengths often seen in the middle period. Hence, important differences in the formal
structure of Beethovens codas are indeed seen among the style periods, and as we shall see, it is
the style periods that also govern the most frequent differences in their dramatic structure.

Table 6.1 Frequency of a Coda by Style Period

Style Period
Early
Middle
Late

% Movements with a Coda

79 (41/52)
100 (22/22)
100 (13/13)

Table 6.2 Number of Modules in Coda by Style Period

Style Period
% Early (of 41)
% Middle (of 22)
% Late (of 13)

1
22 (9)
9 (2)
8 (1)

Number of Modules in Coda

3
4
5
29 (12)
27 (11)
20 (8)
2 (1)
18 (4)
23 (5)
32 (7)
14 (3)
38 (5)
31 (4)
23 (3)
-2

6
-5 (1)
--

273
ii) Zones 1 and 2 (Z1 and Z2)
When the coda begins with Z1 (no clear beginning function), it starts with a dramatic
High level of tension in 60% (12 of 20) of pieces overall.14 But since Z1 always grows out of a
module in progress, a more accurate picture develops when we consider how this High tension is
approached from the preceding music. Table 6.3 displays the four different possibilities between
the modules by style period and reveals that by far the most common way of leading into Z1 was
through the same level of tension. This finding is made all the more obvious by the striking fact
that none of the Z1 modules are led into through a High-Low connection. Clearly, Beethoven
generally thought of this type of coda beginning as a smooth connection in terms of both form
and drama. But the frequency of Z1 modules across the style periods is at a majority only in the
late period at 54% (7 of 13); in the early and middle periods, it occurs at 20% (8 of 41) and 23%
(5 of 22), respectively.15 No doubt, this majority is inextricably linked to Beethovens
preoccupation with a more continuous approach to sonata form in this period, as is also indicated
by the smooth dramatic connection into the Z1 module. Also notice in Table 6.3 that in the late
works this continuity is usually of the non-dramatic or non-driving type of Low-Low (another
important feature of the period) whereas in the early period, High-High connections into Z1
occur at a majority.16 These trends likely stem from Beethovens decreasing reliance on the harddriving, dramatic phrase endings of symphony style, which these early works express, at least at
this point in the movement. The late works I indicate, on the other hand, are firmly entrenched in
Beethovens new style, where the hard drive of symphony style is largely absent.
14

Op. 2, no. 3; op. 106; op. 110; op. 111; op. 18, no. 1; op. 59, no. 2; op. 9, no. 1; op. 47; op. 102, no. 1; op. 55; op.
20; op. 81b.
15
Movements with Z1, by style period. Early: Op. 2, no. 3; op. 10, no. 3; op. 18, no. 1; op. 9, no. 1; op. 1, no. 3; op.
36; op. 20; op. 81b. Middle: Op. 59, nos. 1 and 2; op. 70, no. 2; op. 47; op. 55. Late: Op. 90; op. 101; op. 106; op.
110; op. 111; op. 132; op. 102, no. 1.
16
Low-Low connections into Z1, late period: op. 90; op. 101; op. 132. High-High connections into Z1, early period:
Op. 2, no. 3; op. 18, no. 1; op. 9, no. 1; op. 20; op. 81b.

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Table 6.3 Tension Between Modules into Z1 by Style Period
Tension Between
Modules
Low-Low
Low-High
High-Low
High-High
Changes to opposite
Stays the same

% in Early
(of 8)
38 (3)
--63 (5)
-100 (8)

% in Middle
(of 5)
40 (2)
40 (2)
-20 (1)
40 (2)
60 (3)

% in Late
(of 7)
43 (3)
29 (2)
-29 (2)
29 (2)
71 (5)

Codas that start with the Z2 module have a beginning that is clearly separate from the
preceding module and serve as an introduction to the more substantial portion of the coda that is
Z3. As Table 6.4 shows, Z2 is relatively rare, though it occurs more often in the middle period
than in the others.17 Moreover, significant trends will only be drawn from the early and middle
periods since the late period contains only two instances of the module, the highly connective Z1
module being a much more common entrance into the coda during that time.
Table 6.4 Frequency of Z2 by Style Period
Style Period
Early
Middle
Late

% Codas with Z2
20 (8/41)
27 (6/22)
15 (2/13)

That Beethoven considered Z2 to be dramatically more flexible than Z1 is demonstrated

by the lack of any majority for the types of connections in tension between Z2 and the previous
module. Moreover, none of the archetypes appear as a majority overall or in any key, mode,
genre, or style period. However, in the early works, 63% (5 of 8) of Z2s begin at a Low tension

17

Codas with Z2, by style period. Early: Op. 13; op. 31, no. 1; op. 18, no. 3; op. 9, nos. 1 and 3; op. 1, no. 1; op. 23;
op. 5, no. 1. Middle: Op. 57; op. 81a; op. 59, no. 2; op. 60; op. 68; op. 92. Late: Op. 130; op. 102, no. 2.

275
level and 75% (6 of 8) end High; hence LH is the most preferred archetype at 50% (4 of 8).18 By
contrast, in middle works, beginnings to Z2 are split equally between Low and High, but 83% (5
of 6) end it Low; no archetype is significantly preferred.19 This disparity, I would argue, is
largely the result of the greater teleology of middle-period works: in the early period, a Z2
module tends to end High in order to dramatically introduce the coda proper (Z3), while in the
middle period, the end of Z2 tends to be non-dramatic, and in such cases, a dramatized goal (i.e.,
a High finish to a module) is withheld until later in the coda.
iii) Zone 3 (Z3)
Every coda possesses a Z3 zone, or coda proper. The main difference between Z3 and the
previous coda zones is that Z3 is an independent section that neither continues a previous
module, as Z1 does, nor is a separate introduction, as is Z2. The length of Z3 is variable and may
consist of full themes and theme-like units of eight measures or more, or one or more codettas of
any length.
Beethoven makes significant distinctions in the initial tension level of first modules of Z3
(Z3.1) that begin the coda and those that follow a previous Z1 or Z2 (see Table 6.5). When Z3.1 is
not the first coda module, the strong tendency is for it to begin at a Low level of tension, which
occurs at essentially the same frequency across the three periods.20 Conversely, when Z3.1 is the
first coda module, Low starts to it steadily increase over time to a frequency of 100% in the late

18

Early movements: with Low start to Z2: Op. 13; op. 18, no. 3; op. 9, no. 1; op. 1, no. 1; op. 23; with High end to
Z : Op. 31, no. 1; op. 18, no. 3; op. 9, no. 1; op. 1, no. 1; op. 23; op. 5, no. 1; with LH archetype in Z2: Op. 18, no. 3;
op. 9, no. 1; op. 1, no. 1; op. 23.
19
Middle movements with Low end to Z2: Op. 57; op. 81a; op. 59, no. 2; op. 68; op. 92.
20
Low starts to Z3.1 when it does not begin the coda, by style period. Early: Op. 2, no. 3; op. 10, no. 3; op. 13; op.
18, nos. 1 and 3; op. 9, nos. 1 and 3; op. 1, nos. 1 and 3; op. 23; op. 5, no. 1; op. 20. Middle: Op. 57; op. 81a; op. 59,
no. 2; op. 70, no. 2; op. 47; op. 55; op. 68; op. 92. Late: Op. 90; op. 101; op. 106; op. 110; op. 111; op. 132; op. 102,
nos. 1 and 2.
2

276
period.21 Furthermore, the tension between the end of the recapitulation proper (i.e., without
intervening RT modules) and these same Z3.1 modules shows a similar pattern for Low-Low
connections (see Table 6.6).22 Even though all three periods display a majority of same-tension
connections here, the Low-Low type becomes more frequent over time. Given that Beethovens
codas are usually fairly substantial and consist of more than a few measures, especially in the
latter two periods, the fact that this pattern occurs only when Z3.1 begins the coda signifies an
increase in non-driving continuity between the two large sections of recapitulation and coda as
time progresses.
Table 6.5 Initial Tension Levels in Z3 by Style Period
Style Period
Early
Middle
Late

% Starts Low when

not 1st coda module
80 (12/15)
80 (8/10)
89 (8/9)

% Starts Low when

1st coda module
50 (13/26)
67 (8/12)
100 (4/4)

Table 6.6 Tension Between End of Recapitulation Proper and Coda Beginning with Z3 by
Style Period
Tension Between
Modules
Low-Low
Low-High
High-Low
High-High
Changes to opposite
Stays the same

21

% in Early
(of 26)
31 (8)
19 (5)
19 (5)
31 (8)
38 (10)
62 (16)

% in Middle
(of 12)
42 (5)
17 (2)
25 (3)
17 (2)
42 (5)
58 (7)

% in Late
(of 4)
100 (4)
----100 (4)

Low starts to Z3.1 when it begins the coda, by style period. Early: Op. 14, nos. 1 and 2; op. 28; op. 31, nos. 2 and
3; op. 49, no. 1; op. 18, no. 5; op. 1, no. 2; op. 12, no. 2; op. 30, nos. 1, 2, and 3; op. 21. Middle: Op. 53; op. 78; op.
59, no. 3; op. 74; op. 70, no. 1; op. 96; op. 69; op. 93. Late: Op. 109; op. 127; op. 135; op. 125.
22
By the end of the recapitulation, I am referring to its end proper, meaning without a retransition module, which is
therefore consistent with my method of comparing the tension between the exposition and development, as was
explored at the end of chapter 3. Low-Low connections from end of recapitulation proper into Z3.1 when it begins the
coda, by style period. Early: Op. 14, nos. 1 and 2; op. 31, nos. 2 and 3; op. 49, no. 1; op. 18, no. 5; op. 30, nos. 1 and
3. Middle: Op. 53; op. 78; op. 74; op. 70, no. 1; op. 69. Late: Op. 109; op. 127; op. 135; op. 125.

277
Once the coda proper is underway, regardless of whether or not it begins the entire coda,
it may sound anywhere from one to five modules, though the most common number in the early
and late periods is one, whereas in the middle period, it is three (see Table 6.7). Within the
central modules of Z3 (i.e., those that are neither first nor last), dramatic structure is quite varied
and tends not to form any significant patterns, a finding that reflects the variety of formal
purposes that Beethovens codas could assume.23 Patterns do emerge, however, when
considering the final module of Z3-zones with any number of modules, as a majority end with a
High tension level in each style period, although it becomes less common in the late period. And,
as Table 6.8 indicates, this trend also holds true if we add the few remaining early movements
that do not end with a coda, but rather with CL or S.24
Table 6.7 Number of Modules in Z3 by Style Period
Style Period
1
% Early (of 41)
% Middle (of 22)
% Late (of 13)

34 (14)
9 (2)
38 (5)

Number of Modules in Z3
2
3
4
32 (13)
22 (9)
12 (5)
27 (6)
41 (9)
14 (3)
31 (4)
23 (3)
8 (1)

5
-9 (2)
--

Table 6.8 Tension at End of Z3 and End of Movement by Style Period

Style Period
Early
Middle
Late

23

% Z3 Ends High
68 (28/41)
68 (15/22)
54 (7/13)

% Movement Ends High

71 (37/52)
68 (15/22)
54 (7/13)

See Kerman, Notes on Beethovens Codas, who identifies in Beethovens codas such techniques as Mozartean
cadential phrases (p. 142), Haydns method of recomposing the recapitulation in which a regular recapitulation is
cut off before the cadence theme (p. 147), and the familiar purpose of thematic completion (p. 151) among
others. See also Nicholas Marston, The Sense of an Ending: Goal-Directedness in Beethovens Music, in The
Cambridge Companion to Beethoven, ed. Glenn Stanley (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2000), 88, who
indicates that the downplaying of the double return (thematic and tonal) at the recapitulation (his italics) in
Beethoven, as with the tonic six-four harmonies that begin the recapitulation in the Eighth Symphony and the
Appassionata Sonata, was a source of tension that was typically resolved in the coda.
24
Movements ending High at the end of CL: Op. 2, no. 1; op. 10, nos. 1 and 2; op. 22; op. 49, no. 2; op. 18, no. 6;
op. 9, no. 2; op. 17. Movements ending High at the end of S: Op. 12, no. 1.

278
Delving further into these roughly two thirds of all movements that end High reveals
some important patterns in dramatic structure.25 First, we find that the drama is rhetorical in
100% (59 of 59) of cases, syntactical drama not playing a part in any of the movements since it
involves a lack of resolution and such a tactic at the end of a movement would naturally
contradict the classical aesthetic. Individual syntactical tension types are sometimes found, but
never exceed two types in total (which would otherwise create syntactical drama) and are limited
to expansional and accelerative tension (at 17%, 10 of 59; and 36%, 21 of 59, respectively),26
surely because these are the only syntactical types that do not affect the tonality or metre, thus
driving the music forward while enabling it to remain in the home key and time signature for a
decidedly stable concluding effect. This is probably the same reason why, in all but one case (op.
12, no. 1), Beethoven chooses to conclude these High-ending movements not with a theme, but
rather with a codetta, which never veers far from the tonic chord. Concerning rhetorical types, all
fifty-nine High-ending movements conclude with a tutti effect of dynamic and thickness tension,
or more simply, a loud, thick chord. Most of these movements also incorporate timbral and/or
rhythmic tension at 76% (45 of 59) and 68% (40 of 59),27 respectively, the former through

25

Movements that end High, by style period. Early: Op. 2, nos. 1 and 3; op. 7; op. 10, nos. 1, 2, and 3; op. 13; op.
22; op. 49, no. 2; op. 18, nos. 1, 3, 4, 5, and 6; op. 3; op. 9, nos. 1, 2, and 3; op. 1, nos. 1, 2, and 3; op. 4; op. 29; op.
12, nos. 1 and 3; op. 24; op. 30, no. 2; op. 5, nos. 1 and 2; op. 21; op. 36; op. 6; op. 11; op. 16; op. 17; op. 20; op.
81b. Middle: Op. 53; op. 78; op. 81a; op. 59, nos. 1 and 3; op. 74; op. 70, no. 1; op. 97; op. 47; op. 96; op. 69; op.
55; op. 60; op. 67; op. 92. Late: Op. 101; op. 106; op. 130; op. 132; op. 102, nos. 1 and 2; op. 125.
26
Movements with expansional tension at end: Op. 2, no. 1; op. 7; op. 10, no. 1; op. 13; op. 78; op. 81a; op. 18, no.
3; op. 3; op. 9, no. 2; op. 16. Movements with accelerative tension at end: Op. 2, no. 1; op. 7; op. 10, nos. 2 and 3;
op. 78; op. 18, no. 6; op. 130; op. 3; op. 9, no. 3; op. 1, nos. 2 and 3; op. 12, no. 3; op. 96; op. 5, no. 1; op. 21; op.
36; op. 55; op. 6; op. 11; op. 16; op. 81b.
27
Movements with timbral tension at end: Op. 2, no. 3; op. 7; op. 10, nos. 2 and 3; op. 13; op. 22; op. 49, no. 2; op.
53; op. 78; op. 81a; op. 101; op. 106; op. 18, nos. 3 and 4; op. 3; op. 9, nos. 2 and 3; op. 1, nos. 2 and 3; op. 70, no.
1; op. 97; op. 4; op. 29; op. 12, nos. 1 and 3; op. 24; op. 30, no. 2; op. 47; op. 96; op. 5, nos. 1 and 2; op. 69; op. 102,
nos. 1 and 2; op. 21; op. 36; op. 55; op. 60; op. 67; op. 92; op. 125; op. 6; op. 11; op. 16; op. 17. Movements with
rhythmic tension at or near end: Op. 2, no. 3; op. 7; op. 10, nos. 2 and 3; op. 13; op. 49, no. 2; op. 53; op. 78; op.
106; op. 18, nos. 3 and 6; op. 9, nos. 1, 2, and 3; op. 1, nos. 1, 2, and 3; op. 70, no. 1; op. 97; op. 4; op. 29; op. 12,
nos. 1 and 3; op. 24; op. 30, no. 2; op. 47; op. 96; op. 5, nos. 1 and 2; op. 102, nos. 1 and 2; op. 21; op. 55; op. 60;
op. 92; op. 125; op. 6; op. 11; op. 17; op. 81b.

279
extreme registers and, in symphonies, loud trumpets, trombones, or timpani, the latter by a rapid
flourish at or near the end of the movement.28
Joseph Kerman seems to be referring to these loud, rhythmic flourishes in discussing
Mozarts influence on Beethovens codas:
Thanks to an anecdote stemming from J. B. Cramer, Beethoven is known to have admired the coda in the
Finale of Mozarts C-minor Concerto K 491. The first-movement coda too, I believe, must have struck him
very forcibly. . . . The characteristic calando effect at the end appears to have haunted him as much as
Mozarts affective cadential harmonies. . . . Beethoven adopted both the calando effect and the idea of
cadential phrases in the Finale of the C-minor Sonata Op. 10 No. 1. . . . Throughout the first period, in fact,
Beethovens standard solution for a minor-mode sonata-form coda involves a pathetic calando followed by
some sort of furioso conclusion, ranging in extent from just a few notes (Pathtique Sonata, Op. 13, third
movement) to a few bars (String Trio in C minor Op. 9 No. 3, first movement) or a sizable section (Cello
Sonata in G minor Op. 5 No. 2, first movement).

Moreover, Kerman notes that

Later he seems to have felt more comfortable ending minor-mode movements quietly, as in the first
movements of the Appassionata Sonata Op. 57, the Quartets in E minor Op. 59 No. 2 and F minor Op. 95,
and later still the C-minor Sonata Op. 111.29

A look at the movements in this study confirms that Kermans claim for the calando-furioso
effect, which essentially translates into a Low-tension passage (as opposed to a brief measure)
with cadential harmonies followed by a concluding High-tension passage that contains the
rushing intensity of rhythmic tension (though the Low and High passages are not necessarily
within the same module), is indeed Beethovens most preferred among early minor-mode
movements, as it occurs in five of eleven movements (45%), three of which are in C minor.30

28

Only op. 9, no. 2; op. 11; and op. 17 have the flourishes coincide with the very end of the movement. In all the
others with High endings, the flourish is somewhat before it.
29
Kerman, Notes on Beethovens Codas, 143-45.
30
Op. 10, no. 1; op. 13; op. 9 no. 3; op. 1, no. 3; op. 5, no. 2 (the first four of these works are in C minor). Other
early minor-mode movements that do not display both the calando and furioso features: Op. 2, no. 1; op. 31, no. 2;
op. 49, no. 1; op. 18, no. 4; op. 23; and op. 30, no. 2. Joseph Kerman, Beethovens Minority, in Write All These
Down: Essays on Music (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1994), 223, observes that Tierces de Picardie
end four of Beethovens early C-minor works, but none of his minor-mode works in other keys, until op. 131. It is
interesting to note that none of the three C-minor works that end with the calando-furioso effect have this
characteristic. In fact, even the two other C-minor first movements that end High (op. 18, no. 4; and the Fifth
Symphony) close in the minor mode. Evidently, ending in C minor was for Beethoven a situation that called for a
dramatic finish.

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Example 6.6 illustrates the calando-furioso effect in the Piano Trio in C Minor, op. 1, no.
3. In mm. 351-353, the only tension types present are timbral due to the bottom C in the left hand
of the piano, and tonal tension due to the chromaticism of the E in m. 351 and #II chord in m.
352. Because there is only one tension type from each category (the timbral tension is rhetorical
and the tonal tension syntactical), no dramatic effect results. The tension level is therefore Low,
which can, as noted above, be considered an expression of Kermans calando effect (if there are
cadential harmonies, as there are here). On the other hand, from m. 354, the number of rhetorical
types suddenly jumps to four. First, there is dynamic tension from the loud dynamics. Second,
there is thickness tension because the total number of voices (always seven) is greater than the
six that would be considered normative for a piano trio in this style (four voices in the piano and
one each in the violin and cello). Third, there is timbral tension from the same low Cs in the
piano left hand and now the right hands notes of C5 and above as well. And finally, there is
rhythmic tension from the flourish of sixteenth notes in every measure until the final
hammerblow chords of the last two measures. On the syntactical side, there is also metric tension
due to the syncopated sforzandos, and accelerative tension due to the compression of the initial
gesture from four beats in the first two measures down to three beats in the ensuing measures.
Measures 354-360 are therefore High in tension and create the dramatic furioso effect that
Kerman points out in such movements (especially those in C minor like this one).
As for Kermans remark on quiet endings, we can consider such endings to represent
Low-tension units since, in the minor mode, all soft endings in the movements studied here are
associated with Low tension. A glance at Table 6.9 shows that, while Low endings to minormode movements are a majority only in the middle period, where they are roughly three times as
likely to occur in minor than in major, in the late period, the frequencies between the modes are

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almost the same (especially considering the small sample size for minor-mode works) and do not
reach majority status.31 Thus, the Low-tension ending is not a typical feature among all of
Beethovens works after the early period, as Kerman suggests, but rather only of the middle
period, at least in the context of first movements.

Example 6.6 Tension Types at End of a Movement that Ends with High Tension; Piano
Trio in C Minor, op. 1, no. 3, mm. 351-360

31

Movements that end Low (those in the minor mode shown in bold), by style period. Early: Op. 2, no. 2; op. 14,
nos. 1 and 2; op. 28; op. 31, nos. 1, 2, and 3; op. 49, no. 1; op. 18, no. 2; op. 12, no. 2; op. 23; op. 30, nos. 1 and 3;
op. 71; op. 87. Middle: Op. 57; op. 79; op. 59, no. 2; op. 95; op. 70, no. 2; op. 68; op. 93. Late: Op. 90; op. 109; op.
110; op. 111; op. 127; op. 135.

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Table 6.9 Low Movement Ends in the Major and Minor Mode by Style Period
Style Period
Early
Middle
Late

% Major Movements
End Low
23 (12/52)
18 (4/22)
31 (4/13)

% Minor Movements
End Low
27 (3/11)
60 (3/5)
40 (2/5)

II. The Slow Introduction

In chapter 1, I mentioned that I divide slow introductions (represented by the letter I)
into three distinct zones that have largely the same order of functions as those in the development
and coda, two other non-thematic areas of sonata form. The first zone, I1, is a thematic
introduction and is equivalent to the developments D1 and to the codas two zones of Z1 and Z2.
The second zone, I2, contains one or more themes or theme-like units, like the development
propers zones of D2 and D3, and the coda proper, Z3. The last zone, I3, has no analog in the coda
since it is, like the developments D4 zone, a concluding standing on the dominant or a smallscale transition that alters the ending harmony of the preceding I2, as in op. 81a and op. 47 (see
Example 6.7).
I2 may contain from one to four modules, each of which is represented in analysis by I2.1,
I2.2, and so on. However, due to the status of slow introductions as preparatory sections, these
modules are not nearly as stable as those found in P and S in the movement proper, and are
instead often fantasia-like and subjected to modulation and sometimes enormous phrase
expansions. Nevertheless, the primary components that dictate the division of the form are the
cadences. In the monumental slow introduction to the Seventh Symphony, op. 92, for example,
the initial phrase winds its way through a harmonic sequence from the tonic of A major down
through D major and C major back to V of A, thus sounding something like an antecedent of a
large period theme. When this phrase begins again in m. 15, though now tutti with robust

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Example 6.7 Zone 3 (I3) of a Slow Introduction as a Small-Scale Transition; Violin Sonata
in A Minor, op. 47, Kreutzer, mm. 9-18

rising scales as accompaniment, we might expect a modified consequent phrase to be underway.

But this phrase is interrupted, without a cadence, by what Carl Dahlhaus calls a woodwind
episode in C major before resuming the putative consequent phrase with the rising scales;32 the
same episode then returns after this resumption, now in F major. Are these episodes to be
regarded as modules unto themselves, or merely expansions of the ongoing module? Although,
on the surface, each episode seems to create a beginning by virtue of its new melodic material,
the harmony of each, which is the most important factor in determining the ends of modules, tells
a different story, as there are no cadences to speak of until the end of the F-major episode, which

32

Carl Dahlhaus, Ludwig van Beethoven: Approaches to His Music, trans. Mary Whittall (New York: Oxford
University Press, 1991), 107.

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moves to V of A for a concluding half cadence.33 Thus, the entire passage from the start of the
consequent phrase to the final half cadence is one gigantic single module rather than a series of
smaller ones.

i) Beethovens Slow Introductions: General Features

The number of slow introductions in the eighty-seven movements of this study is twentythree, or 26% of the total. By style period, there are proportionally more slow introductions in
the middle and late periods (36%, 8 of 22; and 38%, 5 of 13; respectively) than the early period
(19%, 10 of 52),34 largely because Beethovens works acquired a more serious tone in the latter
two periods, an idea that corresponds well with the enhanced seriousness that a slow introduction
generally provides.35 While it may seem that slow introductions would be more commonly found
among movements in the minor mode due to its darker, tragic character, overall the proportion
of such introductions in each mode is approximately the same, at 26% (17 of 66) in major and
29% (6 of 21) in minor. By genre, slow introductions are the most frequent in Beethovens
symphonies, not surprisingly, at 44% (4 of 9), but also in the cello sonatas at 60% (3 of 5) and
chamber works with winds at 43% (3 of 7).36 In the cello sonatas, the high frequency is certainly
compensation for the lack of a proper slow movement in the sonata as a whole, especially since

33

Dahlhaus, Ludwig van Beethoven, 107-8, likewise argues that it would be incorrect to interpret the woodwind
episodes as themes within a movement-like slow introduction for harmonic reasons: first, the episodes are not in the
tonic key; second, their harmony makes a curiously unfounded impression, as if the tonic triad was a 6-4 chord;
and third, the episode is linked to the chromatic progressions by the fact that the bass-line of the episode can be
said to grow into the chromaticism.
34
Movements with a slow introduction, by style period (those in the minor mode, as discussed below, shown in
bold). Early: Op. 13; op. 9, no. 1; op. 1, no. 2; op. 5, nos. 1 and 2; op. 21; op. 36; op. 16; op. 20; op. 71. Middle: Op.
78; op. 81a; op. 59, no. 3; op. 74; op. 70, no. 2; op. 47; op. 60; op. 92. Late: Op. 111; op. 127; op. 130; op. 132; op.
102, no. 1.
35
Cf. Hepokoski and Darcy, Elements of Sonata Theory, 295, who remark that a sizable introduction such as a
slow introduction more overtly thematizes the claim of the formality of the occasion and the seriousness of the
composition than having no such introduction.
36
Symphonies: Op. 21, op. 36, op. 60, op. 92. Cello Sonatas: Op. 5, nos. 1 and 2; op. 102, no. 1. Chamber works
with winds: Op. 16 (Quintet for Piano and Winds), op. 20 (Septet), op. 71 (Sextet for Winds).

285
all three of the slow introductions are relatively long.37 In the chamber works with winds, the
introductions occur only in those with a larger ensemble of five to seven instruments that begin
to approach a symphonic sound.
ii) Zone 1 (I1)
The first zone of a slow introduction, I1, consists of a single module that acts as a
thematic introduction to the more substantial modules of the second zone. As Hepokoski and
Darcy point out, the beginning of a slow introduction in a late-eighteenth-century sonata form
was often a heraldic or annunciatory call to attention, . . . an initial forte impulse launching the
entire work in a grand or important style.38 And indeed, in Beethovens early period, in which
the late-eighteenth-century style is most evident, five of the six I1s begin with a High tension
level: the String Trio, op. 9, no. 1; the First and Second Symphonies, opp. 21 and 36; the Septet,
op. 20; and the Sextet, op. 71. But when we turn to the I1 modules of the middle and late periods,
a number of questions arise. First of all, whereas I1 exists in 60% (6 of 10) of the early slow
introductions, the frequency drops to only 13% (1 of 8) in the middle and 20% (1 of 5) in the late
period.39 Neither of these two later I1 modules begins High, as do the majority of the early I1s,
and, as Table 6.10 shows, this large discrepancy between early and middle or late works holds
whether the first module of the slow introduction is I1 or I2.40 (I3 never begins the section, but
always follows I2.) How may we explain these changes? If we consider the musical features of
the High-starting slow introductions, we find that their High tension always includes the

37

Only the Cello Sonata in D Major, op. 102, no. 2, has a true slow movement. Significantly, it also lacks a slow
introduction.
38
Hepokoski and Darcy, Elements of Sonata Theory, 297.
39
Movements with I1, by style period. Early: Op. 9, no. 1; op. 5, no. 1; op. 21; op. 36; op. 20; op. 71. Middle: Op.
60. Late: Op. 102, no. 1.
40
High starts to the slow introduction, by style period (those that are I1 shown in bold). Early: Op. 13; op. 9, no. 1;
op. 1, no. 2; op. 5, no. 2; op. 21; op. 36; op. 20; op. 71. Middle: Op. 59, no. 3; op. 47; op. 92. Late: Op. 111; op.
127.

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orchestrally-based tutti effect of dynamic and thickness tension. Furthermore, each of these
introductions leads to a P-theme that is strongly in symphony style (indeed two of them are in
symphonies), consisting of rhythmically simple melodies that build to a dramatic finish and elide
with TR, creating its typically intense forward drive.
Table 6.10 Comparison of High Starts to I1 and to First Module of I by Style Period
Style Period
Early
Middle
Late

% I1 Start High
83 (5/6)
0 (0/1)
0 (0/1)

% 1st I Start High

80 (8/10)
38 (3/8)
40 (2/5)

On the other hand, the Low starts to the introduction that are a majority in both the
middle and late periods almost all avoid the symphony style and instead draw largely on the
refined intricacies of sonata style, with its focus on vocal melody and ornamentation. (The lone
exception here is the introduction to the Fourth Symphony, op. 60, which is a measure of mere
accompanimental introduction of pedal point in the low horns.) Likewise, in nearly every case,
the P-themes that follow are quite vocal in character. In short, a slow introduction that begins at a
Low tension level generally leads to a P-theme that is more intimate in character and lacks the
hard-driving intensity of symphony style. And because the central portions of slow introductions
often consist of quieter material, often a brief, lyrical melody, as Hepokoski and Darcy
observe,41 we may conclude that Beethoven did away with the initial forte impulse so common
in late-eighteenth-century introductions in order to begin directly with quieter, lyrical material,
thus setting the stage for a more intimate sonata form. Such a change in expressive content is,
after all, in line with the larger stylistic changes seen in Beethovens middle and late periods,
namely the weaving together of facets from both symphony and sonata style and even combining
41

Hepokoski and Darcy, Elements of Sonata Theory, 297.

287
them with aspects of French Revolutionary music to form a new style that often has less dramatic
drive.42
iii) Zone 2 (I2)
The second zone of I (I2), being the core of the section, is found in all slow introductions
and contains from one to four modules. The tension at the start of this zone shows a marked
difference between those I2s that begin the movement and those that do not due to the presence
of a preceding I1 module. In the former type, I2 begins with High tension most of the time at 57%
(8 of 15) but in the latter, it never does (0 of 8),43 likely because a dramatic effect near the start
of a slow introduction is most effective as the annunciatory call to attention in the very first
module of the piece; notably, 75% (6 of 8) of these I2s are prepared by an I1 that contains some
drama.
When we consider only those I2 modules that begin a movement, we find that, like
beginnings to slow introductions overall, the difference between Low and High starts relates to
the predominant style of the movement, those with Low starts (most in the middle and late
periods) leaning more towards the intimacy of sonata style or aspects of it in the new style, and
those with High starts (most in the early period) towards the extroversion of symphony style.
And again, the drama in almost every one of the High starts is a tutti effect and usually predicts a
symphony-style P-theme (op. 59, no. 3 and op. 127 are exceptions). But one further distinction
between High and Low starts in I2 is that the High starts are always part of a sentence structure
(usually bifold), whereas the Low starts almost never are, being instead based on a period

42

Broyles, Beethoven, especially pp. 4-5, 223, and 268.

Movements with I2s that begin High and are not preceded by an I1: Op. 13; op. 111; op. 59, no. 3; op. 127; op. 1,
no. 2; op. 47; op. 5, no. 2; op. 92. Movements with I2s that begin Low and are preceded by an I1 (those with drama
in I1, as discussed below, shown in bold): Op. 9, no. 1; op. 5, no. 1; op. 102, no. 1; op. 21; op. 36; op. 60; op. 20;
op. 71.
43

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structure or an imitative texture that does not break down into constituent formal functions.44
Thus, when a movement begins with a dramatic start to I2, it is associated with the inherently
intense, forward-driving sentence. This contrasts with the beginning of the P-zone, where
sentences, like most structures, tend to start Low even when they begin the entire movement.
This discrepancy is no doubt linked to the differing functions of these two sections of the form:
whereas the slow introduction assumes before-the-beginning function in preparing for P, and
therefore is most effective in heightening our sense of anticipation through dramatic effects, the
P-zone has true beginning function, providing the foundation for the rest of the movement,
generally by securing the tonality and metre. Hence, a Low level of tension is entirely apt to give
the sense of a solid starting point and allow the piece to earn its way to a dramatic tension level
later on.
The most important finding concerning archetypes in I2 is that modules that end the zone
(and may perhaps be the only module there) strongly tend toward the LH archetype with a
majority of 61% (14 of 23) and tend toward an even higher majority of High endings in general
at 78% (18 of 23), as Table 6.11 indicates.45 The main idea here is clear: the dramatic (High)
endings point up the goal of I2, whether it is a dominant chord to begin I3 or the beginning of the
P-zone. Because this trend is consistent across the style periods, it marks one of the few places
that the tension level remains fairly constant in all of Beethovens first-movement Type 3 sonata
forms. Moreover, an analysis of the eighteen modules that end I2 High into their constituent
formal functions and tension types reveals some notable patterns. Most striking is the fact that
every one of these modules has syntactical drama, whereas only about half (56%, 10 of 18) have
44

Only op. 74 exhibits a sentence structure at its opening and starts Low. Movements that begin I with a period
structure: Op. 81a, op. 130, op. 16. Movements that begin I with an imitative texture: Op. 132; op. 70, no. 2.
45
Movements with High end to last module of I2 (those with the LH archetype shown in bold): Op. 13; op. 81a; op.
111; op. 59, no. 3; op. 74; op. 132; op. 9, no. 1; op. 1, no. 2; op. 70, no. 2; op. 47; op. 5, nos. 1 and 2; op. 36; op.
60; op. 92; op. 16; op. 20; op. 71.

289
rhetorical drama as well.46 While it is no surprise to find syntactical tension, since part of the
purpose of a slow introduction is to stress the need for resolution and slingshot the sonata form
proper into action, it is surprising that this tension is almost always at a dramatic level (op. 59,
no. 3 and op. 74 are the only two exceptions of the eighteen), namely through the three
syntactical types of tonal tension (due to chromaticism), accelerative tension (due to a sentence
structure), and closural tension (due to an ending on a dominant chord)another indication of
the consistency in Beethovens thoughts on this point in the form. The closural tension found in
these last I2 modules is the least one would expect to find, since most slow introductions lead to a
prolonged dominant chord of some kind. Accelerative tension, on the other hand, which is
present in 94% (17 of 18) of the modules, results from ending with the forward-driving
continuation function. Because this is certainly no generic default (as the closing dominant is), its
presence here again demonstrates Beethovens heavy reliance on the sentence in the creation of
drama in these first movements.47
Table 6.11 Archetypes in Last Module of I2

Archetype
L
LH
LHL
H
HL
HLH

46

% Frequency
in Last I2
(of 23)
13 (3)
61 (14)
4 (1)
-4 (1)
17 (4)

Movements with rhetorical drama at end of I2: Op. 13; op. 111; op. 74; op. 132; op. 9, no. 1; op. 1, no. 2; op. 36;
op. 92; op. 16; op. 20.
47
Only op. 59, no. 3 lacks accelerative tension at the end of I2, perhaps to allow the music to float ambiguously on
the diminished seventh chord in mm. 22-28, before finally resolving to a dominant seventh in m. 29, just before the
entrance of the sonata-form proper.

290
Although tonal tension is certainly not uncommon in slow introductions, the manner in
which Beethoven deploys it in those I2s that end High is remarkably consistent: almost all of the
modules (89%, 16 of 18) have the diatonic type of tonal tension, which involves secondary
dominants only of closely-related keys, but most movements combine this type of tonal tension
with one of the other two types, mixtural and distant, and their usage is strongly influenced by
the mode of the movement.48 Movements in the major mode usually employ the mixtural type by
borrowing from the tonic minor (77%, 10 of 13),49 thus darkening the colour of the music and
creating anticipation for a return to the major. But in the minor mode the only way to have
mixtural tonal tension is to borrow from the tonic major, not such an attractive option when the
introduction is in a minor key, since the expressive content of the minor mode depends largely
on the tragic character of the mode itself.50 Instead, these minor movements most often make
use of the distant type (60%, 3 of 5),51 which moves through keys that stray further from the
tonic than either the diatonic or mixtural type, providing an appropriate analog for the intensity
of the mixtural type in the major mode. Example 6.8 compares these different approaches.52 In
both 6.8a and b, the use of mixtural or distant tonal tension heightens the effect of the preceding
diatonic tonal tension by shifting the music to a region further away from the home tonic key.
Hence, the mixtural and distant tonal tensions give the dominant chord at the end of each passage
a much weightier dramatic impact than would be possible with only the diatonic type.
48

Movements with (at least) the diatonic type of tonal tension at the end of I2: Op. 81a; op. 111; op. 59, no. 3; op.
74; op. 132; op. 9, no. 1; op. 1, no. 2; op. 70, no. 2; op. 47; op. 5, nos. 1 and 2; op. 36; op. 60; op. 16; op. 20; op. 71.
49
Movements with (at least) the mixtural type of tonal tension at the end of I2: Op. 81a; op. 59, no. 3; op. 74; op. 1,
no. 2; op. 5, no. 1; op. 36; op. 92; op. 16; op. 20; op. 71.
50
The Kreutzer Sonata, op. 47, and the Cello Sonata, op. 102, no. 1 are different in that the whole slow introduction
is in the major mode before the sonata proper is plunged into the tragedy of a minor mode (in op. 47, the tonic
minor, and in op. 102, no. 1, the relative minor). While the effects of contrasts between large spans of music such as
these are certainly significant, they exceed the scope of the present study.
51
Movements with (at least) the distant type of tonal tension at the end of I2: Op. 13; op. 111; op. 5, no. 2.
52
Recall from chapter 2 that, even after a chromaticism has literally disappeared, tonal tension takes approximately
two measures to dissipate because of the need to firmly establish a new key by means of a cadence or a series of
largely diatonic chords. Hence, in Examples 6.8a and b, the tonal tension is shown as existing beyond the actual
chromaticism.

291
Example 6.8 Differing Types of Tonal Tension in Final I2 Modules
a) Diatonic and Mixtural Tonal Tension; Septet, op. 20, mm. 1-8

292
b) Distant Tonal Tension; Pathtique Sonata, op. 13, mm. 5-9

iv) Zone 3 (I3)

I3 occurs in most slow introductions (70%, 16 of 23), but as Table 6.12 shows, it occurs
as a majority in both the early and middle periods then sinks into minority territory in the late
period, where the number is so small that no significant conclusions can be drawn from that
category.53 In the early and middle periods, some features of I3 remain fairly consistent,
especially the tension levels connecting the previous module and I3, which is High-Low in 89%
(8 of 9) of early movements and 80% (4 of 5) of middle movements, indicating a highly sectional
approach to tension in this part of the form.54 Concerning archetypes, however, the early period
is much more formulaic than the middle, the former favouring the High-ending LH at a majority
53

Movements with I3, by style period. Early: Op. 13; op. 9, no. 1; op. 1, no. 2; op. 5, nos. 1 and 2; op. 36; op. 16; op.
20; op. 71. Middle: Op. 81a; op. 70, no. 2; op. 47; op. 60; op. 92. Late: op. 111; op. 102, no. 1.
54
Movements with High-Low connection into I3, by style period (those with LH archetype, discussed below, shown
in bold). Early: Op. 13; op. 1, no. 2; op. 5, nos. 1 and 2; op. 36; op. 16; op. 20; op. 71. Middle: Op. 81a; op. 70,
no. 2; op. 47; op. 60.

293
of 89% (8 of 9) and the latter still preferring LH at 40% (2 of 5), but more heavily favouring
archetypes that end with Low tension (L, LHL, and HL) at a majority of 60% (3 of 5).55 Hence,
the end of I3 appears to be an important point of divergence between the two periods, but in order
to gain a more accurate picture of the tension at the end of a slow introduction, we ought to
include all modules that can end this sectionin other words, all I3 modules and all final I2
modules. Casting this wider net is also more beneficial because it allows us to consider slow
introductions of the late period as well and compare all three style periods. What becomes most
apparent through such a comparison is the gradual streamlining of sonata form that takes place
over Beethovens career, a trend that is suggested in two main ways at the end of slow
introductions.
Table 6.12 Frequency of I3 by Style Period
Style Period
Early
Middle
Late

% Slow Introductions with I3

90 (9/10)
63 (5/8)
40 (2/5)

First, as mentioned above, there is the very scarcity of I3s in the late period. Since
standing-on-the-dominant functions help to clarify formal articulations, their absence certainly
contributes to a sense of continuity rather than sectionalization. Recall, moreover, that these
functions were found to be relatively rare at the other expected places in sonata formthe end of
the transition and development sectionand thus their paucity here adds to the broader trend in
the form overall. Second, Table 6.13 reveals that slow introductions that end High are a majority

55

Middle-period movements that have Low ending to I3 (archetype shown in parentheses): Op. 70, no. 2 (LHL); op.
60 (L); op. 92 (HL).

294
in early movements and that the proportion decreases with each of the last two periods.56 But if
we explore this idea further and consider the tension level between the end of the slow
introduction as a whole (ending with I2 or I3) and the first module of the exposition, as in Table
6.14, we find that middle and late movements have a majority of connections at the same level,
reinforcing continuity, whereas almost all early movements instead have the more discontinuous
High-Low connection.57
Table 6.13 Frequency of Slow Introductions that End High by Style Period
Style Period
Early
Middle
Late

% Slow Introductions end High

80 (8/10)
50 (4/8)
40 (2/5)

Table 6.14 Tension Between Modules from Slow Introduction into First P Module by
Style Period
Tension Between
Modules
Low-Low
Low-High
High-Low
High-High
Changes to opposite
Stays the same

% in Early
(of 10)
20 (2)
-80 (8)
-80 (8)
20 (8)

% in Middle
(of 8)
25 (2)
25 (2)
13 (1)
38 (3)
38 (3)
63 (5)

% in Late
(of 5)
20 (1)
40 (2)
-40 (2)
40 (2)
60 (3)

Finally, I would point out that, like the end of the I2-zone, when the whole slow
introduction (I) ends High, the drama is always composed of syntactical tension, rhetorical
drama being present a lesser 64% (9 of 14) of the time.58 In the early period, this syntactical

56

Movements that end the slow introduction High, by style period. Early: Op. 13; op. 1, no. 2; op. 5, nos. 1 and 2;
op. 36; op. 16; op. 20; op. 71. Middle: Op. 81a; op. 59, no. 3; op. 74; op. 47. Late: Op. 111; op. 132.
57
Early movements that have a High-Low connection into first P module: Op. 13; op. 1, no. 2; op. 5, nos. 1 and 2;
op. 36; op. 16; op. 20; op. 71. Movements that have same-tension connection into first P module, middle period: Op.
78 (Low-Low); op. 81a (High-High); op. 74 (High-High); op. 47 (High-High); op. 92 (Low-Low). Late period: Op.
111 (High-High); op. 127 (Low-Low); op. 132 (High-High).
58
Movements with rhetorical drama at end of I: Op. 13; op. 111; op. 132; op. 1, no. 2; op. 47; op. 36; op. 16; op. 20;
op. 71.

295
drama always takes place within a standing on the dominant and in all but one case (the Cello
Sonata, op. 5, no. 2) consists of the three types, expansional, accelerative, and implicational
tension. In the middle period, however, High endings to I, which occur in four works (op. 81a,
op. 59, no. 3, op. 74, and op. 47), are never part of a standing on the dominant, but some other
function in which the sense of anticipation for the exposition is considerably decreased: a smallscale transition (op. 81a and op. 47), a closural function (op. 74), or an expansion function (op.
59, no. 3). Moreover, instead of including implicational tension by means of a standing on the
dominant, Beethoven now includes tonal tension in the drama in all four of these middle works
through modulation or ambiguity in the tonality, again lessening expectation of the upcoming
exposition. And as for late works, recall from Table 6.13 that High endings, occurring only
twice, are not common enough to form generalizations.

Like the other sections of sonata form, dramatic structure in the two parageneric spaces
of coda and slow introduction are governed by a number of principal patterns. For codas,
Beethoven made substantial distinctions between codas that begin as an expansion of the
preceding phrase (Z1) and those that begin with a separate entity that is either an introduction
(Z2) or the coda proper (Z3). The start of Z1 usually kept the tension the same as the ongoing
module, heightening the sense of connectivity and blurring the border between recapitulation and
coda (hence the majority of this module only in the late period). With Z2, although there were no
majorities for the types of tension connections leading into that module, the greater teleology of
middle-period works tended to end it Low, delaying a dramatized arrival point until later in the
coda. Early works, on the other hand, instead preferred the LH archetype, thus dramatizing the
arrival of Z3.

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Tension at the beginning of Z3 was strongly influenced by its position in the coda and its
style period: those that were the first module had their tension level smoothed out with that of the
bordering recapitulation, creating a more continuous flow. The end of Z3 usually ended
dramatically, regardless of the style period of the work. Moreover, this dramatic end was always
the result of a flourish of rhetorical drama, never syntactical drama, which would threaten to
spoil the strong sense of resolution the end of a movement brings in the classical style.
As for slow introductions, significant differences were seen between pieces that were
largely in symphony style and those in the new style of the middle and late periods in which the
Low-tension intimacy of sonata style was an important factor. Generally, those that began the
whole section (whether I1 or I2) High were of the surging restlessness of symphony style while
those that began it Low tended to be of the new style. Moreover, a High end to I2 was discovered
to be one of the few aspects of dramatic structure that remained very consistent throughout
Beethovens career. And the final zone of the slow introduction, I3, usually a standing on the
dominant, was found to be most affected by the trend toward continuity that Beethoven
developed over his later two periods, especially the last, where the zone hardly occurred at all.
With the addition of these two parageneric spaces, we have now covered the gamut of
formal options that one may encounter in Beethovens first-movement Type 3 sonatas. This
leaves us in a position to consider more broadly the questions about dramatic structure that I
posed at the beginning of this study regarding drama as it relates to Beethovens particular
manifestations of sonata form and to the four categories of key, mode, genre, and style period. It
is this task that I leave to the final chapter as a means of summing up some of the key issues
regarding dramatic structure in Beethovens sonata forms.

Chapter 7: Epilogue
I. Summary and Conclusions
With our exploration of dramatic structure in Beethovens eighty-seven first-movement
sonata forms now complete, I may attempt some overarching answers to the questions I set out at
the beginning of this study, namely: Which areas of sonata form did Beethoven tend to
dramatize? What patterns emerge from comparing form and drama not only in these movements
overall, but also in the categories of key, mode, genre, and style period? With what mechanisms
did he achieve the dramatization?
Concerning the parts of sonata form that Beethoven usually dramatized, each module
tended not to be linked to any one archetype, but there were a few spots in the form that showed
a constant trend in dramatic structure throughout his career, all of which were important
landmarks in the form: the start of TR (Low), the start of S (Low), the ends of the development
core and retransition, D3 and D4 (both High), the end of the slow introductions core, I2 (High),
and the end of the entire movement (High). Nevertheless, the scarcity of these relationships
indicates that Beethovens conception of first-movement sonata form as a dramatic form
underwent significant change. And concerning key, mode, genre, and style period, these
dramatic changes were found to have little connection to the first three categories, the minor
mode being the most significant on account of its more frequent High starts to modules early on
in the movement in P and TR, where the drama seems to be affected by the literal, audible
presence of the minor tonic key with its accompanying tragic character. But on the whole, it was
found that minor-mode movements do not employ radically different dramatic structures than
major-mode ones, and the same generally applies to movements in a certain key or genre. C
minor was an exceptional key, especially in its fairly consistent use of tutti effects to create its

297

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drama. Thus, there was something extraordinarily symphonic about the key of C minor,
regardless of the genre of the movement, a feature that can be considered a part of the
composers C-minor mood. Indeed, genre played the least important role in dramatic structure
with the exception of the symphony, which, more frequently than other genres, tended to reach
High tension levels early in a zone with H archetypes, as in the first modules of the P-zone (P1.0),
transition (TR1), and closing section (CL1), and the last possible zone of the development, D4.
But with the symphony, we begin to speak more of a style than a genre since Beethovens
symphonies are the greatest exemplars of classical symphony style among the eighty-seven
movements. Indeed, one of the most unexpected and illuminating findings of this study was the
relationship between drama and style as it pertains to the differences among symphony style,
sonata style, and the new style Beethoven forged in his middle and late periods, drawing on
elements from the first two styles and French Revolutionary music.
These distinctions in style, however, were closely connected to style period, the category
that saw the most profound changes in Beethovens use of drama and had an effect on almost
every module of the form. Moreover, even if one understands the division of Beethovens works
into periods differently from the approach I have given here, there is no doubt that the most
important changes took place over large spans of time, and that those changes usually revealed
similar trends in dramatic structure throughout the entire sonata form. The most pervasive trend
was the evolution of Beethovens conception of the sonata from a highly sectional form in the
early period to a more continuous one through the middle and especially into the late period, a
trend that, from a dramatic perspective, was the result of a number of findings that arose
repeatedly throughout this study.

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First, the early works often dropped the tension level from High at the end of one module
to Low at the start of the next. The usual setup for these High-Low connections involved
rhetorical drama in the form of a tutti effect of dynamic and thickness tension or excited effect of
dynamic and rhythmic tension then a drop in these tension types to non-dramatic Low levels.
Given the immediate impact that the rhetorical types have, especially dynamic tension, it is
virtually impossible to miss the grand sense of articulation that these High-Low connections
provided in the form. (No doubt, this is the reason why the typical late-eighteenth-century sonata
exposition not only has a TR that ends High, but also an S that starts Low.) In the middle and late
periods, the tension connections between modules was most often the continuous High-High or
Low-Low, but of the two, Low-Low connections were generally more frequent because of
Beethovens stylistic changes: while in his last two periods he retained much of the melodic
continuity of symphony style, he relied far less on its hard drive, which essentially boiled
down to a rhetorically dramatic ending to a phrase. Thus, the middle and late pieces were often
characterized by a non-driving continuity that emphasized Low-Low connections between
modules, especially in the late works. In the middle works, such connections were usually part of
a highly teleological plan that reserved a dramatic arrival for later in the piece, whereas the late
works generally remained at a Low level of tension, being much more concerned with intimate
vocal melody and intricate ornamentation. But moreover, in middle works, High-High
connections occurred at roughly equal frequencies to Low-Low ones, most often to maintain the
High tension of symphonic drive; hence the frequency of the technique in the symphonies in
particular (six of the nine being from the middle period).
Second, because of the large number of High-Low connections in the early period, the
most favoured archetype within modules in general was LH. As a result, the intense goal-

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directedness that was such an integral part of the classical style generally existed on the level of
the single phrase in the early period, whereas in the middle period it began to operate across
many phrases or even across most of a movement, as was seen, for instance, with the greatly
delayed High end to S in op. 59, no. 1. This is not to say that a dramatic goal in the early works
could not be reached after a long expansethe lone S-theme of the Cello Sonata in F Major, op.
5, no. 1, which is structured as an LH archetype, is a prime example, attaining a dramatic
cadential arrival after a startling seventy-one measures! But these types of phrases were
exceptional in the early period, and Beethoven achieved length primarily by adding more
modules to a zone, as was shown by the generally higher number of modules in S and CL. Thus,
the sectional dramatic structure in the early works was in large part the consequence of having
LH archetypes (often several of them) lined up in succession. In the middle and late periods, LH
was still a common archetype in many modules, especially in S-themes and the development
core (D3), but when it appeared, it tended to be followed by a module that began High, hence
maintaining the tension level into the next module and creating a more continuous dramatic flow.
Several other features demonstrated that this streamlining of dramatic structure was part
of a larger trend toward continuity in the form in general, one that crystallized with the late
works. The transformation of the medial caesura was perhaps the most conspicuous clue in this
respect, as Beethoven gradually moved from the distinct separation of clear caesuras in the early
period to the more continuous obscured or absent caesuras in the middle and late periods,
especially preferring the absent type in the late period, thus heightening the trend. Similarly, in
the late works, it was found that Beethoven often blurred the boundary between sections at two
important locations in the form: between the exposition and development, and between the
recapitulation and coda, the former by repeating the expositions final motive (as was seen in op.

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90) or by not resolving the exposition to a final triad or unison (as was seen in op. 132), and the
latter by the preference for the type of coda that began as an extension of the ongoing module
(Z1) rather than as a module with a clear beginning (Z2 or Z3). Furthermore, the formal ambiguity
that these techniques provide was likely an incentive for Beethoven to omit the expositional
repeat in most of the late works. (The lack of a second-half repeat likewise allowed for a more
ambiguous effect, but that convention had largely taken hold by Beethovens early works.) The
late period in particular also saw the near elimination of standing on the dominants, which, in the
classical style, are almost always used as a preparation for a new section in the form. Sections
are therefore more apt to lack a clear starting boundary when standing on the dominants are
absent, as they usually were in late works, precisely where one would have most expected to find
them: the ends of transitions, development sections, and slow introductions.
Although these more continuous approaches to sonata form may seem to be at odds with
the widely-held view of Beethovens late style as highly discontinuous, the two are not mutually
exclusive. The discontinuities that others point out (usually rooted in the work of Theodor
Adorno) occur largely within the same section of the form.1 Consider, for example, the opening
of the Piano Sonata in E Minor, op. 90. In the first eight measures, there are strong contrasts in
dynamics, textural thickness, and bass register (and hence fluctuations in the overall tension
level). Moreover, this opening eight-measure span is itself strongly contrasted with the graceful

See, for example, Rose Rosengard Subotnik, Adornos Diagnosis of Beethovens Late Style: Early Symptom of a
Fatal Condition, Journal of the American Musicological Society 29 (1976): 266, who notes that the increased use of
silence in late Beethoven (observed by Adorno) creates discontinuities that naturally tend to emaciate the physical
robustness of Beethovens music. See also Michael Spitzer, Music as Philosophy: Adorno and Beethovens Late
Style (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 2006), 125, who remarks that, in the late piano sonatas, Beethoven
problematizes the sense of beginning through discontinuities of material, entailing sharper contrasts of texture,
dynamics, or theme. And Daniel K. L. Chua, The Galitzin Quartets of Beethoven: Opp. 127, 132, 130
(Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1995), chap. 3, regards much of the disunity of the late works as
originating in the same processes that create these same works sense of unity: variation and counterpoint.
Nevertheless, Chuas claims for unity remain latent in a web of middleground motivic relationships, leaving the
musical surface highly discontinuous, as others have generally viewed it.

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lyricism of the following eight measures. All of these discontinuities take place within the same
single P-theme that opens the movement. Yet within this same exposition, the juncture between
TR and S is made almost seamless through the continuity in the High tension level (rhetorically),
and the lack of a medial caesura and standing on the dominant. Thus, the continuities in drama
and form sew together important divisions in sonata form in a way that suggests that the entire
piece is a single unified utterance. And the discontinuities within the phrases, I would argue,
suggest the spontaneity of the stream of consciousnesssomething that was practically
impossible with the more sectional approach seen in the early works. Furthermore, it was an idea
that would have a profound effect on the romantic generations to follow, especially Wagner,
whose use of endless melody sought to do the very same thingto capture emotion in a way
that more closely mirrored human thought in real time.
Other significant patterns in dramatic structure were seen in Beethovens use of rhetorical
drama versus syntactical drama and their constituent tension types. Syntactical drama was the
less common of the two and, because it requires more time to unfold, it tended to occur mostly in
modules that could acquire substantial length, that is, those of the S-zone, the development core
(D3), and the slow introductions core (I2). By contrast, shorter modules such as the introductory
units P1.0, D1, Z1 and Z2, and I1, along with the codettas of CL, tended to rely only on rhetorical
drama. But because syntactical drama derives its power from creating the need for resolution, it
was commonly seen in those parts of sonata form where the attainment of a cadence is a crucial
occurrence, such as the ends of the S-zone, the development core, and I2 of a slow introduction.
Syntactically dramatic units tended to employ different syntactical tension types depending on
the goal or function of the passage. If leading to a PAC (as at the end of S-themes), the types
were usually tonal, expansional, and accelerative tension; if leading to a HC (as at the end of I2,

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TR1, and D3), they were usually tonal, closural, and accelerative; and if a standing on the
dominant (as in TRSod1, D4, and I3), the types were usually expansional, implicational, and
accelerative tension. The appearance of accelerative tension in all three kinds of passages
indicates Beethovens heavy reliance on the sentence as a way of structuring a module that ends
dramatically. And certainly this reliance stems from the inherent accelerative tension the
sentence has to offer in its continuation portion, which more easily lends itself to dramatic levels
of tension than non-accelerating structures for this very reason. But more fundamentally, the
sentence was found to be an extremely important part of Beethovens style in general, since it
was a prominent phrase structure in virtually all parts of sonata form, throughout his entire
career.
Rhetorical drama occurred much more frequently than syntactical drama, a fact that is
surely rooted in their difference in effect. Rhetorical tension types need no particular musical
context in order to be expressed; we instinctively know that loud sounds, fast rhythms, harmonic
dissonances, and so on, are all intense phenomena. From this viewpoint, in his rhetorically
dramatic passages, we might understand Beethovens near ubiquitous use of dynamic tension
the most powerful tension type of allbe it in a tutti effect, excited effect, or some other
combination, as an attempt to infuse his music with the kind of dramatic power and immediacy
that we so often feel in listening to Beethoven. If this is true, then it might also explain why
Beethoven may have chosen to dramatize loud passages in the first place, for music can have
intensity without drama, and a loud dynamic per se is not enough to create drama, as I have
defined it here. Thus, one of the most fundamental aspects of Beethovens use of drama is that
loud dynamics were strongly associated with dramatic intensity and hence usually called for the
addition of at least one other rhetorical tension type.

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But this then raises other questions, perhaps most importantly, do Beethovens dramatic
structures differ from those of other composers, especially those to whom he is most often
compared, Haydn and Mozart? And if so, how? One important clue rests in these two
composers use of symphony style and sonata style. As Michael Broyles points out,
Mozarts instrumental style is essentially symphonic, although there is a great deal of interpenetration
between the two styles in both his symphonies and his sonatas. The cantabile theme in the secondary area is
of course common in his symphonies, even though some theorists considered it inconsistent with the
symphonic style, and many of his sonatas can legitimately be called symphonies for keyboard. . . . Haydns
works by contrast present a picture of a composer fully bent on maintaining the stylistic dualism. . . . His
symphonies are among the purest manifestations of the symphony style, even to the extent of frequently
avoiding the corrupting cantabile theme. . . . In the 1790s a significant change in the relationship between
the two styles begins to take place, however. The symphony style becomes more and more pervasive in
Haydns instrumental music, affecting virtually all of his instrumental genres.2

If Beethoven treated sonata and symphony styles in much the same manner as Haydn and Mozart
(a bold, but not unreasonable assumption), then we would expect two main similarities in
dramatic structure to emerge. First, Beethovens passages in symphony style would largely
resemble Haydns symphonies and Mozarts works in general, and second, Beethovens passages
in sonata style would largely resemble Haydns piano sonatas. In Haydns works before 1790,
however, we would expect to find differences along the lines of genre, since style and genre were
virtually interchangeable for Haydn during that time. But with the dominance of symphony style
from 1790 on, it would seem that genre would become far less important as an indicator of style.
Whether or not these tendencies would be true, the results would nonetheless be
enlightening, since any differences in dramatic structure could lead to insights into differences
among these composers personal styles and changes within them. In considering these issues,
some difficult analytical decisions would have to be faced, for even in their first movements,
Haydn and Mozart make use of more than the standard Type 3 sonata and the two-part type
of exposition. As is well known, Haydn often turned to a type of sonata form in which what
2

Michael Broyles, Beethoven: The Emergence and Evolution of Beethovens Heroic Style (New York: Excelsior,
1987), 28-31.

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begins as a transition appears to end with a cadential portion of a second theme.3 And both
composers made considerable use of the Type 2 sonata, in which the development leads not to a
recapitulation of P, but to some later point of the exposition, usually somewhere in TR. If we
were to compare Beethovens dramatic practices with those of Haydn and Mozart, could we
consider all P-themes, for instance, to be equivalent in these two types of sonata forms? They
would seem to be similar enough in function to invite comparison, but then again, if the rest of
the form unfolds differently, should they be considered different entities? What about
development sections in Type 2 versus those in Type 3? The former always begin with Pmaterial, whereas the latter may or may notcan the two be compared? Such questions could
even be asked of Beethovens own output, for he does avail himself of all five of Hepokoski and
Darcys sonata types (Type 1 being the sonata without development, Type 4 the sonata-rondo,
and Type 5 concerto sonata form). Indeed, one of the most thought-provoking questions that
reaches beyond the limits of this study is if and how Beethovens dramatic sensibility was
significantly altered by the type of sonata form he was writing.
Besides looking backward to Haydn and Mozart, we might also cast our gaze in the
forward direction and ask whether similar kinds of dramatic structures may be found in the
music of composers after Beethoven. For Schubert, Schumann, and Brahms, Beethoven was a
particularly powerful influence, and we may therefore expect many similarities to emerge. But
each had their differences as well, and while it is impossible to speculate how each composers
use of drama might have been affected by his own idiosyncrasies, it is at least worth mentioning
3

This type of structure has been variously named. William E. Caplin, Classical Form: A Theory of Formal
Functions for the Instrumental Music of Haydn, Mozart, and Beethoven (New York: Oxford University Press, 1998),
201-3, refers to it as either transition lacking a concluding function or transition/subordinate theme fusion,
depending on the situation; James Hepokoski and Warren Darcy, Elements of Sonata Form: Norms, Types, and
Deformations in the Late-Eighteenth-Century Sonata (New York: Oxford University Press, 2006), 51-64, refer to it
as a continuous exposition; and Jens Peter Larsen, Sonata Form Problems, in Handel, Haydn, and the Viennese
Classical Style, trans. Ulrich Krmer (Ann Arbor, MI: UMI Research Press, 1988), 274-75, refers to it as a threepart exposition.

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a few of them here. Perhaps most relevant in the case of Schubert is the absolute dominance of
lyrical melody and even greater expansivenessthe heavenly lengthhis music often
acquires. In a sense, both qualities may be viewed as an extension of features seen in late
Beethoven, but does this mean that we would encounter similar dramatic structures, as though
the trends of the late works were taken to an even further extreme? Alternatively, Schumann
believed that it was a composers duty not merely to continue past traditions but to reinvent
them, and regarding sonata form in particular, he once wrote that on the whole it seems as
though the form has run its life course, and this is to be sure in the order of things, for we should
not repeat the same things for another century but rather be mindful of seeking out the New.4 It
is difficult to think that this emphasis on novelty would not have affected his use of dramatic
structure. Finally, with Brahms we come to a composer whose mindset was often a nostalgic one
and whose aesthetic was heavily influenced by the classical composers, especially Beethoven
consider, for example, his reinstating of the classical expositional repeat in his first three
symphonies; or his return to classical procedures in concerto sonata form with the use of an
opening ritornello, as in his First Piano Concerto, at a time when it had become outmoded.5 Does
his use of drama, then, also mark a return to earlier practices and reflect many of the same
patterns found in Beethoven? Or did Brahms return to older forms with a new approach to
dramatic structure?
Another possible avenue for future research on dramatic structure is its intersection with
other analytical techniques of contemporary music theory. One of the most intriguing
4

As reported in and translated by John Daverio in Nineteenth-Century Music and German Romantic Ideology (New
York: Schirmer Books, 1993), 21. For the original statement, see Robert Schumann, Sonaten fr das Clavier, Neue
Zeitschrift fr Musik 10 (1839): 134.
5
James Hepokoski mentions both of these practices of Brahms and argues that the first of the two was probably to
be taken as a purposeful gesture harking back not only to older traditions but also to the more abstract or absolute
idea of the symphony. See Beethoven Reception: The Symphonic Tradition, in Music, Structure, Thought:
Selected Essays (Burlington, VT: Ashgate, 2009 [essay originally published 2002]), 53.

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possibilities involves Robert Hattens notion of expressive genres, which he defines as a
category of musical works based on their implementation of a change-of-state schema (tragicto-triumphant, tragic-to-transcendent) or their organization of expressive states in terms of an
overarching topical field (pastoral, tragic).6 Considering that Hatten devised this term
specifically for the interpretation of Beethovens music, it seems likely that there would be
important connections between expressive genre and dramatic structure. Indeed, such
connections were already suggested in some parts of sonata form, especially in the various
dramatic strategies of High-ending S-themes, some of which were related to such expressive
qualities as the highly tragic within minor-mode movements.
In other recent work, Austin T. Patty has examined musical climaxes and proposed four
pacing scenarios: surge, struggle, tumble, and settle, each of which describes a
particular combination of acceleration or deceleration in harmony and/or melody with a pattern
of musical intensification or abatement.7 Because, as Patty states, intensification always precedes
a climax and abatement always follows it, dramatic structure would seem to be a natural
addition, especially since the parameters that contribute to these intensifications and abatements
largely correspond to various tension types in the present study. Thus, one may ask whether
certain archetypes of dramatic structure and even whether certain combinations of tension types
such as the tutti effect, tend to be paired with certain pacing scenarios.
Dramatic structure may also be related to Harald Krebs idea of metrical maps, in
which one charts the metrical consonances and dissonances within an entire movement.8

Robert Hatten, Musical Meaning in Beethoven: Markedness, Correlation, and Interpretation (Bloomington:
Indiana University Press, 1994), 290.
7
Austin T. Patty, Pacing Scenarios: How Harmonic Rhythm and Melodic Pacing Influence Our Experience of
Musical Climax, Music Theory Spectrum 31 (2009): 325-67.
8
Harald Krebs, Fantasy Pieces: Metrical Dissonance in the Music of Robert Schumann (New York: Oxford
University Press, 1999), 85.

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After all, as Krebs points out, the comparison of metrical maps of different works quickly
brings their metrical differences and similarities into focus, and hence there is at least a
potential for correspondences between metrical structure and dramatic structure, especially as
Krebs notes that he could just as well have based the book on the music of Beethoven.9 My
intuition, however, is that such correspondences would be less prominent in sonata-form
movements than in dance-like pieces such as scherzos, where a strong rhythmic character and
metrical play are a standard part of Beethovens craft.10

II. Dramatic Structure in Beethovens String Trio in E-Flat Major, op. 3

I wish to conclude this study with an analysis of a complete movement not only to
illustrate at once how the theory of dramatic structure may be applied to all parts of a sonata
form, but also to demonstrate that the theory can be a particularly useful tool for comparisons of
musical style. I have chosen for this purpose the first movement of Beethovens String Trio in EFlat Major, op. 3, an early work that, while unfamiliar to most, reveals many oddities when
analyzed for its dramatic structure, especially in the context of its style period (see Example 7.1).
At first glance, there would appear to be nothing particularly unusual about the opening
P1 theme. After all, from a purely formal perspective, it is a perfectly square sixteen-measure
phrase. But a closer look reveals that it is of no ordinary sentence or period design, but is
constructed as a presentation (4 + 4) and a repeated cadential unit (4 + 4), creating what I call a
hybrid 6 themea very rare theme type indeed. Dramatically, the opening tutti effect of dynamic
and thickness tension produces a High-tension unit that quickly gives way to a Low-tension unit

Krebs, Fantasy Pieces, vii.

See, for example, Harald Krebs, Metrical Dissonance and Metrical Revision in Beethovens String Quartets, in
The String Quartets of Beethoven, ed. William Kinderman (Urbana: University of Illinois Press, 2006), 31-59, which
focusses mainly on several dance movements from Beethovens quartets.

10

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with the soft dynamic and thinner three-voice texture at the end of m. 2.11 While there is
accelerative tension in mm. 2-4 with the fragmentation of the initial motive (see the brackets
over these measures in Example 7.1), there are no other syntactical types present to increase the
tension to a dramatic level; hence the music remains Low. In mm. 5-8, the repetition of the
opening four-measure basic idea, which is an HL unit, brings a redundancy in the dramatic
structure with another HL unit that does not alter the underlying archetype. Throughout mm. 916, there are in fact no rhetorical types at all, and syntactically, there is only the closural tension
caused by the IAC in m. 12 and the subsequent repetition of the cadence, as well as the
expansional tension this repetition createsnot enough for syntactical drama. Hence, the
passage acquires a Low-tension unit. Thus, the overall archetype for this P-theme is HL, a most
unusual choice given that 85% (44 of 52) of early movements began P1 with Low tension, and
that it is only in the late works that there is a majority of High-starting P1-themes (54%, 7 of 13).
Instead of moving straight from P1 into TR, the P-zone adds a second P-theme (P2) in
mm. 17-27 that is unusual in a number of ways. First, P2 was a rare phenomenon, occurring in
only six of the eighty-seven movements expositions. Second, its structure is an odd oneonce
again not a common sentence or period but rather what I call a hybrid 5 theme (presentation +
consequent). Moreover, when P2 was added at all, we found that it most often began High as a
means of invigorating the piece after a Low-starting P1. In op. 3, however, the P2 does just the
opposite and begins Low after a High-starting P1, thus providing an even greater length of repose
after the High start to P1. This Low start results despite the presence of a couple of tension types:

11

Measures 5-6 (and other similar repetitions of this material in the movement) are also dramatic despite lacking the
thickness tension of mm. 1-2. See the discussion of this passage in chapter 2, Example 2.9.

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rhetorically, thickness tension (from the four total voices in mm. 16-20) and syntactically,
accelerative tension due to the increase in harmonic rhythm at m. 26).12
TR in this case is of the most common typemodulatingand due to the repetition of
P1s opening, it begins with a High unit, which is unusual considering that Low starts to TR were
the majority in all style periods. It is, however, completely in line with the other string trios (op.
9) in this respect, all three of which begin TR (of any type) High (see Appendix B), thus
demonstrating a rare connection between dramatic structure and a genre outside of the
symphony, which had many such connections due largely to its strong associations with
symphony style. In op. 3, TR becomes more typical as it progresses, since it signals an energygain with a dramatic High unit containing an excited effect (dynamic and rhythmic tension) as
well as the syntactical types of expansional and implicational tension, all of which were present
at the end of most modulating TRs of the early period.13 Even the caesura-fill is like most others
in that it ends at a Low level with the last-minute addition of a decrescendo in m. 40, paving the
way for a dramatically smooth entrance to the S-zone. Furthermore, the tension between the end
of TR and the start of S is High-Low, which, in the early period, was the most common
connection at this juncture, one that contributed to the sectional approach to sonata form
generally seen in these works.
S is composed of a single theme, as were about half of all S-zones, but unusually for
early works, attains a massive size that extends through mm. 41-88. The theme begins with Low
tension, as did 94% of Beethovens S-zonesindeed, there is not a single tension type present at
12

In a strictly theoretical sense, there is also dynamic tension from the sforzandos of mm. 17 and 19, but I do not
regard these as prominent enough to be truly intense gestures.
13
Formally, this TR is somewhat unusual in that it moves directly from a presentation, which has beginning
function, to a standing on the dominant, which has after-the-end function. Despite the lack of a half cadence at m.
35, I nonetheless hear a standing on the dominant at this point because the preceding presentation has come to a
perceptible endin other words, there is no sense of an elision at m. 35. For more on this sort of situation, see the
discussion in chapter 1, Framing Functions.

311
this point.14 Formally, the theme is an orthodox choice for S-zones, especially in Beethovens
early works: a large period with an expanded consequent phrase. And as is often the case with
such structures, the antecedent phrase is entirely Low in tension (an L unit), the only tension
types being some accelerative tension (since each four-measure basic idea and, on a larger level,
the entire antecedent phrase are constructed as a sentencesee the brackets in Example 7.1),
tonal tension (with the modulation to F major in mm. 51-52), and closural tension (with the
concluding half cadence).15
The consequent phrase begins in m. 53 with the melody shifted down to the cello part,
similarly with Low tension. However, at m. 63, although the accelerative tension of the
antecedent is retained (through the continuation function), the music departs from the antecedent,
creating expansional tension with a phrase expansion that lasts until the cadential function at m.
66. While we expect a PAC at m. 67, the cadence is instead evaded and a repetition of the
continuation function ensues, introducing expansional and closural tension, both of which seek
resolution through attainment of the promised PAC. The two types thus remain until the end of
the theme at m. 88.16 At m. 69, Beethoven stretches the phrase out still further with a lengthy
expansion that ends with the new cadential function at m. 82. Along the way, however,
Beethoven mixes in the syntactical types of tonal tension (with the moves through C minor and
G minor in mm. 69-77), accelerative tension (due to the expansions structure as a sentence), and
even some metric tension (due to the accented syncopations in mm. 77-80). Syntactically, then,

14

Of course, from a broader viewpoint, there is tonal tension caused by the new key, but since the present theory
deals only with small-scale, measure-to-measure relationships, such tension does not come into play here. See
Limitations and Aims of the Study in the Introduction for further discussion of this point.
15
Although the cadence to the antecedent is a PAC, that it is in the local V key creates the impression rather of an
enhanced HC and therefore creates closural tension. Caplin, Classical Form, 57, refers to this situation in antecedent
phrases as a reinterpreted half cadence (i.e., a cadence that is reinterpreted as a half cadence, not a half cadence
that is reinterpreted).
16
No doubt, this is why the technique is a common one in S-themes, where the new-key PAC is a major formal
landmark that, at least in Beethoven, is often approached with High tension.

312
the music is unquestionably dramatic. Furthermore, the thickness tension in mm. 75-81
combined with dynamic tension, when it appears in m. 81, adds rhetorical drama as well,
creating an LH unit in the process and giving considerable dramatic weight to a theme that began
so innocently, even coyly, at the start of the S-zone.
The new cadential function at m. 82 immediately sheds the additional tension types that
had accumulated over the phrase expansion, and thus begins with Low tension. But the repeated
turns to V7/ii (in B-flat major) in mm. 82, 84, and 86 provide brief glimmers of High tension as
they are combined with the still-present expansional and closural tension, resulting in a dramatic
unit of LHL that is stated three times.17 With the end of the theme in mm. 87-88, however, the
tonal tension disappears and, despite the rhetorical rhythmic tension that bursts out in the violin
through the sixteenth notes in mm. 85-87, there are not enough tension types in either category to
produce a dramatic effect; hence the theme ends Low when the long-awaited PAC finally arrives
in m. 88. In total, then, the dramatic units of this long and tortuous S-theme would, on the
surface, be L-LH(LHL)(LHL)(LHL), where the hyphen represents the separation between
antecedent and consequent, and the parentheses the repetitions of the final cadential function.
But on a more fundamental level, the archetype underlying these many twists and turns would be
LHL, according to the guidelines I described in the introduction to chapter 3. Although singlethemed S-zones of the early period were limited to the archetypes of LH and LHL, given the
unusual nature of the movement thus far, it seems only fitting that its S should be the less
common of the two, LHL, which stood at 39% (7 of 18) compared to LHs 61% (11 of 18).

17

This cadential function per se has expansional and closural tension as a result of the repetitions of the function,
which keeps the phrase open. But because these tension types are already present (even though on a larger level),
they do not count as new tension types when they appear in the cadential function. One could say that the two
tension types become more intense, but such considerations lie beyond the scope of this theory.

313
The final portion of the exposition in mm. 88-100 is a closing section (CL) composed of
two codettas: the first (CL1) is two measures long and sounded four times successively (in a
varied form the last two times), and the second (CL2, at m. 96) is five measures long but sounded
once. With the only rhetorical tension type being some dynamic tension (from the sforzandos)
and the only syntactical types being metric tension (from the syncopations) and some tonal
tension (from the brief suggestions of the subdominant through the A#s), CL1 remains entirely at
a Low tension level. CL2, however, begins immediately with a forte unison that therefore brings
a dramatic High tension level through dynamic and thickness tension before quickly fading to
pianissimo and a Low level.18 The archetypes for these codettas are thus L and HL, respectively,
which in part is a normative setup for two-codetta CLs, since most two-codetta CL-zones began
Low and since L was a preferred archetype for CL1 at 33% (7 of 21). For CL2, however, the
majority of archetypes were H and, more importantly, the CL-zone as a whole strongly tended to
end High in early works (68%, 32 of 47). The Low-tension ending to CL here is therefore
unusual and in fact was only to became a norm in the late period, when High endings were found
to be a substantial minority (18%, 2 of 11).
Things continue to be out of the ordinary in the development section in terms of both
form and drama. Formally, the section begins directly with the core D3-zone (whereas three
quarters of movements had prior D-zones) and this zone unfolds in three modules rather than the
most common two. Dramatically, the connections between zones are evened out, occurring with
the same tension levels rather than the more frequent contrasting levels. At the beginning of D3.1

18

The unison texture at m. 96 is not immediately apparent due to the elision from the previous codetta, which
resolves the dissonant seventh in the violin to D before joining in the unison. Nonetheless, I would argue that this D
hides its more fundamental tone of B# at that point. After all, the violins D is not the melody, only an accompanying
voice (the melody being in the cello part). At the same time, I hear the forte dynamic at m. 96 as belonging to the
second codetta rather than the first because it enters suddenly with m. 96 and is extended into the second codetta.
Thus, different parameters can be elided in different ways between modules.

314
(m. 101), the lack of tension types besides tonal tension (from the sudden shift into G minor)
creates a smooth connection of Low-Low between the exposition and development. Central
modules of three-module D3s did not form strong patterns due to the small number of pieces
containing such zones overall and in each period. Instead, the focus was on the end of the entire
D3-zone. In this case, where the zone ends with the cadence of D3.3 at m. 155, the High tension
caused by the excited effect (in itself a common feature at the end of D3) is sustained into the
retransition, D4, creating another smooth zonal connection, this time High-High. Moreover, even
though a D4-zone is present, as it was in 90% of early works, its last module (D4.2) ends with
Low rather than the High tension that was seen in 62% of early pieces. Notice how High tension
is avoided at the end of the zone in mm. 172-177: although, syntactically, there is expansional
tension (from the post-cadential function of the zone) and implicational tension (from the
prolonged dominant harmony), there is no accelerative tension, as is the case in most other early
D4s. In fact, not only does the phrase structure fail to accelerate, it actually slows down in its
final two measures (mm. 176-177), slowing the harmonic rhythm from two chords per measure
to one. And rhetorically, there is a decrescendo that drops the dynamic down to a hushed
pianissimo. Admittedly, this Low tension level sets up a stark contrast with the start of the
recapitulation, which replays the openings rhetorically High level, which may seem to be
normative for early works with their abundance of connections with contrasting tension (creating
a more sectionalized form). But recall that even in the early period, most connections into the
recapitulation instead featured continuous connections of High-High or Low-Low, even though,
individually, High-Low ones were the most preferred.
The recapitulation is an unusually literal one, with P1, S, and CL all following precisely
the same course as in the exposition, measure-for-measure, with no major changes, a fact that is

315
especially uncommon in P1, which remained unchanged in only 18% of all movements. TR1 does
begin with a reinterpretation of its first four measures, with the melody now in the cello and new
accompaniments given to the violin and viola, yielding a High-tension unit due to the rhetorical
excited effect of dynamic and rhythmic tension. But even with these changes, the opening
measures of TR1 remain close enough to the exposition to be considered referential measures,
which last until the crux, about halfway through the module at m. 198 (a typical placement for
TRs that were modulating in the exposition). Moreover, the overall archetype remains unchanged
as HL. With so few changes in this recapitulation, the entire section thus remains nearly as
eccentric as it did in the exposition (apart from the fact that most recapitulations started High, as
this one does).
The music persists in being unusual into the coda, which, beginning directly with the
coda proper Z3 (in much the same way that the development began directly with D3), resides in a
smaller class of early works that contain three modules in the coda propermost had only one.
Moreover, the dynamic and thickness tension at its outset create a High-tension unit that sharply
divides it from the Low end to the recapitulation. This Low-High connection runs against the
trend for smooth connections in all periods, and notably is the least frequent type in the early
works (along with High-Low connections) at only 19%. (Low-Low and High-High were the
most frequent at 31% each.) Finally, while no patterns governed the central portion of Z3, and
thus nothing significant can be said about the tension there, the end of the movement is one of
the few places that conforms to most others overall, as it ends High with the rhetorical drama of
a tutti effect, and lacks syntactical tension of any kind.
What we gain from this in-depth analysis is a picture of op. 3 as a piece that is
dramatically quite unlike most of Beethovens other early first-movement sonata forms. At

316
almost every turn, it contradicts the most prominent trends found in those works and, sometimes,
in all works. In some respects, the dramatic structure is closer to works of the late period than the
earlyis that of any consequence? If not, perhaps its unusual qualities are more easily related to
earlier works by other composers. After all, op. 3 is known to have been modeled on Mozarts
String Trio (Divertimento) in E-Flat Major, K. 563.19 Or maybe what we are dealing with is a
piece that Beethoven composed well before his other early works and with a consistently
different dramatic sensibility, especially since the exact date of composition for the work is not
known. These questions all signify the very close relationship between drama and style, and
moreover suggest that dramatic structure itself may be thought of as an aspect of style. For it is
in the context of style change that the present theory appears to be most relevant, and as I hope to
have shown, dramatic structure is just one of the ways that we may seek to measure that change.

19

William Drabkin, Beethovens Understanding of Sonata Form: The Evidence of the Sketchbooks, in
Beethovens Compositional Process, ed. William Kinderman (Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press in association
with the American Beethoven Society and the Ira F. Brilliant Center for Beethoven Studies, San Jose University,
1991), 18n3.

317
Example 7.1 Dramatic Structure in Beethovens String Trio in E-Flat Major, op. 3

318

319

320

321

322

323

324

325

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of Key Choice. Beethoven Forum 2 (1993): 1-27.

333
Vande Moortele, Steven. Two-Dimensional Sonata Form. Leuven: Leuven University Press,
2009.
von Lenz, Wilhelm. Beethoven et ses trois styles. New York: Da Capo Press, 1980. Reprinted
from the 1909 edition published in Paris by Gustave Legouix. First published 1852.
Wallace, Robin. Background and Expression in the First Movement of Beethovens Op. 132.
The Journal of Musicology 7 (1989): 3-20.
Webster, James. Haydns Farewell Symphony and the Idea of Classical Style: ThroughComposition and Cyclical Integration in His Instrumental Music. New York: Cambridge
University Press, 1991.
. Sonata Form. In The New Grove Dictionary of Music and Musicians, 2nd ed., edited
by Stanley Sadie, 23:687-701. London: Macmillan, 2001.
Winter, Robert S. The Bifocal Close and the Evolution of the Viennese Classical Style.
Journal of the American Musicological Society 42 (1989): 275-337.

Appendix A Beethovens Eighty-Seven Published Works with First Movements in Type 3

Sonata Form, and Their Date of Composition, Style Period, and Key

Piano Sonatas

String Trios

Op.

Date of Composition Period

Key

Op. Date of Composition Period Key

2/1
2/2
2/3
7
10/1
10/2
10/3
13
14/1
14/2
22
28
31/1
31/2
31/3
49/1
49/2
53
57
78
79
81a
90
101
106
109
110
111

1793-5
1794-5
1794-5
1796-7
?1795-7
1796-7
1797-8
1797-8
1798
?1799
1800
1801
1802
1802
1802
?1797
1795-6
1803-4
1804-5
1809
1809
1809-10
1814
1816
1817-18
1820
1821-2
1821-2

FA+
C+
Eb+
CF+
D+
CE+
G+
Bb+
D+
G+
DEb+
GG+
C+
FF#+
G+
Eb+
EA+
Bb+
E+
Ab+
C-

3
9/1
9/2
9/3

Early
Early
Early
Early
Early
Early
Early
Early
Early
Early
Early
Early
Early
Early
Early
Early
Early
Middle
Middle
Middle
Middle
Middle
Late
Late
Late
Late
Late
Late

Early
Early
Early
Early
Early
Early
Middle
Middle
Middle
Middle
Middle
Late
Late
Late
Late

Eb+
G+
D+
C-

Op. Date of Composition Period Key

1/1
1/2
1/3
70/1
70/2
97

1794-5
1794-5
1794-5
1808
1808
1810-11

Early
Early
Early
Middle
Middle
Middle

Eb+
G+
CD+
Eb+
Bb+

String Quintets
Op. Date of Composition Period Key
4
29

1795
1801

Early
Early

Eb+
C+

Violin Sonatas
Op. Date of Composition Period Key
12/1
12/2
12/3
23
24
30/1
30/2
30/3
47
96

Op. Date of Composition Period Key

1798-1800
1798-1800
1798-1800
1798-1800
1798-1800
1798-1800
1806
1806
1806
1809
1810-11
1824-5
1825-6
1825
1826

Early
Early
Early
Early

Piano Trios

String Quartets
18/1
18/2
18/3
18/4
18/5
18/6
59/1
59/2
59/3
74
95
127
130
132
135

Before 1794
1797-8
1797-8
1797-8

F+
G+
D+
CA+
Bb+
F+
EC+
Eb+
FEb+
Bb+
AF+

1797-8
1797-8
1797-8
1800
1800-01
1801-2
1801-2
1801-2
1802-3
1812

Early
Early
Early
Early
Early
Early
Early
Early
Middle
Middle

D+
A+
Eb+
AF+
A+
CG+
AG+

Cello Sonatas

334

Op.

Date of Composition Period Key

5/1
5/2
69
102/1
102/2

1796
1796
1807-8
1815
1815

Early
Early
Middle
Late
Late

F+
GA+
AD+

335

Symphonies
Op. Date of Composition Period Key
21
36
55
60
67
68
92
93
125

1799-1800
1801-2
1803
1806
1807-8
1808
1811-12
1812
1822-4

Early
Early
Middle
Middle
Middle
Middle
Middle
Middle
Late

C+
D+
Eb+
Bb+
CF+
A+
F+
D-

Piano Four Hands

Op. Date of Composition Period Key
6

1796-7

Early

D+

Chamber Works with Winds and/or Brass

Op. Date of Composition Period Key
11
16
17
20
71
81b
87

1797(?-1798)
1796
1800
1799
?1796
?1795
?1795

Early
Early
Early
Early
Early
Early
Early

Bb+
Eb+
F+
Eb+
Eb+
Eb+
C+

Appendix B Dramatic Analysis of All Eighty-Seven of Beethovens First-Movement Type 3 Sonata Forms
Expositions (Dynamics estimated for op. 49/2; see p. 181n96) Ct = codetta; Sod = standing on the dominant; CF = caesura-fill; Tr = small-scale transition
Op.
2/1
2/2
2/3
7
10/1
10/2
10/3
13
14/1
14/2
22
28
31/1
31/2
31/3
49/1
49/2
53
57
78
79
81a
90
101
106
109
110
111
18/1
18/2
18/3
18/4
18/5
18/6
59/1
59/2
59/3
74
95
127
130
132
135

P1.0
L
LHL

LH
L
H

HL

L
H

H
H

HL

P1
LHL
L
L
LH
HLH
L
LH
LHL
L
L
LH
LH
LH
LH
LHL
L
HL
LHL
LHL
LHL
H
LHL
HL
L
HLH
L
LHL
HL
LH
L
LHL
LH
L
L
LH
L
LH
LHL
HLH
L
HLH
LHL
L

Ct/Sod

P2

L
H

HL
L

L
HL
HL

H
HLH

TR1
LH
HL
H
HLH
L
LH
LH
LHL
LH
L
HL
LH
LH
HLH
L
L
L
LHL
HL
L
LHL
LH
LH
L
HLH
LH
LH
H
LHL
L
LH
H
L
L
LH
LH
L
LH
HL
L
H
LH
LH

TRSod1

TR2

L
H
L
LH

LH
H
LH
LH
H

TRSod2

CF

S1

H
LHL

LHL
LH
LH
L
LH
LH
LH
LHL
LH
LHL
LH
LHL
LH
LH
L
LHL
L
LH
LHL
LH
LHL
HL
HL
LHL
LHL
HL
LHL
HLH
LHL
LHL
LH
L
L
LH
LHL
LH
LHL
HLH
LHL
LH
L
LH
L

LH

LH

L
L
L
L
LH
L

LH
L
H
LH
LHL

HL
L

HLH
H

LH
H
LH
LH
LH
LH
H
HLH
LH

HLH

HL

L
L
L

HL
HL
HLH

HL
LHL
L

336

Tr/Sod

S2

HL

H
LH
LHL

LH

S3

HLH

LH
LH
LH
L
HLH
LHL

LH
H
H
H

LH
LHL
LHL

LH
LHL

LH

Sod

S4

CL1
LHL
L
LH
L
L
LH
LH
LH
H
LH
L
LH
LHL
LHL
L
L
LH
L
L
LHL
H
L
HL
L
LH

CL3

RT1

LH
LH
LHL
LH
L
H
LH
HL
L
HL
HL
LHL

RT2
L

H
LH

L
H
LHL

LH

L
H
L

L
H
L

L
L
L
LHL

L
L
L
LHL

L
L
L

L
LH
L

HL

L
H
LH

LHL
LHL

CL2

L
LH

LH
LH
L

LH
LH
L

H
L

L
H
L

337
Expositions (cont.)
Op.
3
9/1
9/2
9/3
1/1
1/2
1/3
70/1
70/2
97
4
29
12/1
12/2
12/3
23
24
30/1
30/2
30/3
47
96
5/1
5/2
69
102/1
102/2
21
36
55
60
67
68
92
93
125
6
11
16
17
20
71
81b
87

P1.0

LH

HL

H
H
L
LH

HL

P1
HL
LH
L
L
HL
LH
LH
HL
HL
LH
HL
LHL
L
LH
LH
LH
L
L
LH
LHL
HLH
L
L
L
LH
HLH
HL
LH
LH
LH
LH
LH
LH
LH
HLH
H
HL
HL
LH
L
LH
LHL
HLH
L

Ct/Sod

P2

TR1

TRSod1

HL
HLH
HLH
HLH
LH
LH
LH
H
H
HL
LH
LHL
LH
LH
LH
HL
L
H
HLH
L
LH
LH
LH
H
HL
HL
LH
H
H
LH
H
H
L
HL
H
H
LH
L
LHL
LH
HLH
LH
LHL
LH

H
LH
HLH
H
H
LH
H
H

L
HL

HL

LH

LHL

TR2

TRSod2

CF

S1

HL

LHL
LHL
LHL
LHL
LHL
LH
LH
LHL
LHL
LHL
LHL
LHL
L
LH
L
LH
LHL
LHL
L
L
LH
LHL
LH
LH
L
LHL
LH
LH
LH
LH
LH
LH
LH
LHL
LHL
LH
LH
L
LH
LHL
LHL
L
LH
LHL

LHL
L
HL

LH

L
LH
LHL
LH
LH

L
L
L
LH

H
L

LHL
LH
LH

HLH

HLH

LH
H
L
LH
H
H
HL
H
H
HLH
LH

L
H
HL
L
HL
L
L
HL

HL

LH
H

H
L
HL

L
HL
LH
H
H
LH
LH
LH

L
HL

LH

LH

Tr/Sod

LH

S2

Sod

S4

LH
L
LH
LHL
HL

LHL
LH
LH
LH

LH

S3

CL1

CL2

L
LH
LHL
LHL
L
H
L
L

HL

CL3

RT1

RT2

LH
LH
L
L

H
L
L

L
H
LH
L
L

L
H
LHL
L
L
LH
HL
HLH
LHL

LHL

LH

LH
LH
LH
HLH
L
LH
H

LH
HL
H

LHL
HL

LHL

LH
H
LH
L
LH

L
HL

LH
H

LHL

H
HL
LH
LH
H
H
H
HL
H
LH
HL
H
LH
L
L
L
L
HL
LH

HL

LH

LH
LH

LH

LH
LH
LHL
LHL
LHL

LH

HL

LHL

LH

HLH

LH
HL
HL
L
H

L
H
H
H
H
H
H
L
H

L
L
LH
HL
HL
L
H
L
HL
H

338
Developments
Op.

D1

2/1
2/2
2/3
7
10/1
10/2
10/3
13
14/1
14/2
22
28
31/1
31/2
31/3
49/1
49/2
53
57
78
79
81a
90
101
106
109
110
111
18/1
18/2
18/3
18/4
18/5
18/6
59/1
59/2
59/3
74
95
127
130
132
135

LH
HLH
LH
H
HL
L
LH
HL
LH
LH
LHL
H
H
HL

L
LHL

D2.1

LH
H

LH
L
HL

D2.2

L
L

L
H

LHL

LHL
LH
LH
LHL
LH
LHL

HLH
H
HL
L
L

LH

LH
HL
HL
LH
LH
LH
HLH
LHL
HL
HL
H
LH
LH
HLH
LH

D3.2

D3.3

D3.4

LH
H
LH
LH
LH

LH
LH

LH
H
HLH
HLH
LH
LH
LH
LH
L
L
LH
HLH
HLH
H
LH
LH
LH
LH
LH
LH
H
HL
LH
LH
LH
LH

H
LH
HL
HL
LH
L
HL

LH

D4.1

D4.2

Op.

LH
LHL
LH
L
L

3
9/1
9/2
9/3
1/1
1/2
1/3
70/1
70/2
97
4
29
12/1
12/2
12/3
23
24
30/1
30/2
30/3
47
96
5/1
5/2
69
102/1
102/2
21
36
55
60
67
68
92
93
125
6
11
16
17
20
71
81b
87

H
LHL
L
HL
H
HL
H
HL
L
LH
L
HL
LH
HL
LH
LH
HLH

LH
LH
L
L

LHL

H
L

L
H
LH
L

D3.1

LH
L
LH
L

LH
HL

HLH
LH

HLH
LHL
LH
LH
LH
HLH
L
H
H
LH
LHL

LHL

LH

LH

HL

H
LH
LH
H
LH
L
L
LH
HL
HL
LH
LH

LH
HL

LH

LH
L
HLH

HL

D1

D2.1

D2.2

LH
LH
HL
LH
L

L
L
HL
LH

HL
L

L
LH

H
HLH
HLH

L
H
LH

L
H
H
L
LH

LH
L
L

L
L
H
HL
H
LH
L

LH
LH

D3.1

D3.2

D3.3

LH
LH
LH
LH
LH
LH
HL
LH
LH
LHL
LHL
LH
LH
LH
H
LH
LH
LH
LH
LH
LH
LH
H
H
H
HLH
HL
HLH
H
HLH
LH
LH
LHL
H
LH
LH
HLH
HL
LH
H
LH
LHL
LH
LH

LHL

HLH

LH
L

LH

LH
LH
H
LH
LH
LH
LH

D3.4

D4.1

D4.2

H
LH

LHL
LH

LH
LH
LH
LH
H
LH

LH
L
LHL
LH
LH
L

LH
LH

LH
LH

LH
LHL
LH
H
LH
LH
LH
LH
LHL
LH
H
LHL
HLH
LHL
LHL
L
H
H

LH

LH

LH
L

LH
LH
L

HLH

LHL
LH

HL

LH

LH
LHL
LH
LH

LH

LHL
H
HL
LH
LH
H

H
HL
LHL
LH

H
H
H
LH
LH
LH
L
LH
LH
L
LH

LH

LH
LH
LH
LHL

339
Recapitulations
Op.
2/1
2/2
2/3
7
10/1
10/2
10/3
13
14/1
14/2
22
28
31/1
31/2
31/3
49/1
49/2
53
57
78
79
81a
90
101
106
109
110
111
18/1
18/2
18/3
18/4
18/5
18/6
59/1
59/2
59/3
74
95
127
130
132
135

P1.0
L
H

LH
H
HL

HL

HL
H

HL

P1
LH
LH
L
LHL
HLH
L
LHL
LHL
HL
L
LH
LH
LHL
LH
LHL
L
HL
LHL
LHL
LH
H
LHL
HL
L
HLH
H
L
HLH
HLH
HLH
L
LH
L
LH
HLH
L
LH
LHL
H
L
HLH
LHL
HL

Ct/Sod

P2

TRSod1

LH
HL
LH
LH
L

L
H
L
LH

LH
LH
LH
L
HL
LH
HLH
LH
LH
L
H
LHL
HL
LHL
LHL
LH
LH

LH
HL

H
HL

TR1

HLH
LH
LH
H
LH
L
LH
H
LHL
HLH
LH
LH
L
LH
L
L
LH
LH
LH

TR2

TRSod2

CF

S1

L
LHL

LHL
LH
LH
L
LH
LH
LH
LHL
LH
LHL
LH
LHL
LH
LH
L
LHL
L
LH
LHL
LH
LHL
HL
HL
LHL
LHL
HL
LHL
HLH
LHL
LHL
LH
L
L
LH
LHL
LH
LHL
HLH
LHL
LH
L
LH
L

H
L
H
LH
LH

L
L
L
LH
L
L

H
LH
LHL

HL
L

HLH
H

HLH

LH
LH
LH

HL

L
L
L

LH
LH
H
HLH
LH

HL
HL
HLH

HL
LHL
L

Tr/Sod

S2

HL

H
LH
LHL

LH

S3

HLH

LH
LH
LH
L
HLH
LHL

LH
H
H
H

LH
LHL
LHL

LH
LHL

LH

Sod

S4

CL1
LH
L
LH
L
LH
LH
LH
LH
H

CL3

RT1

RT2

LH

LH
H
LHL

L
LH
LHL
LHL
L

LH

L
L
L
LHL
HL
L
HL
L
LH

H
LHL

L
L
LHL

LH
L

LHL
L

L
H
LH
LH
LH
LHL
LH
L
H
LH
HL
L
HL

LHL
LHL

CL2

LH
LH
H

L
H

L
HL
LHL

340
Recapitulations (cont.)
Op.
3
9/1
9/2
9/3
1/1
1/2
1/3
70/1
70/2
97
4
29
12/1
12/2
12/3
23
24
30/1
30/2
30/3
47
96
5/1
5/2
69
102/1
102/2
21
36
55
60
67
68
92
93
125
6
11
16
17
20
71
81b
87

P1.0

HL

HL

P1
HL
LH
L
HLH
HL
LH
HL
HL
HL
LH
HL
L
L
LH
LH
HL
L
L
LH
HL
HLH
LH
HL
LH
LH
HLH
HL
HLH
LH
LHL
HL
LH
LH
HL
HL
HL
H
HLH
LH
LH
HLH
LHL
HLH
L

Ct/Sod

L
L

HL

P2

TR1

TRSod1

HL
H
HLH

H
LH
HLH

LH
LH
LH
HLH
H
LHL
LH
LHL
LH
LH
LH
LHL
LH
H
HLH
LH
LH
HL
LH
H
HL
LHL
HL
LH
LH
H
H
L
LH
H

TR2

TRSod2

CF

S1

HL

LHL
LHL
LHL
LHL
LHL
LH
LH
LHL
LHL
LHL
LHL
LHL
L
LH
L
LH
LHL
LHL
L
L
LH
LHL
LH
LH
L
LHL
LH
LH
LH
LH
LH
LH
LH
LHL
LHL
LH
LH
L
LH
LHL
LHL
L
LH
LHL

LHL

H
H
LH
HL

L
L
L

LH
LHL
LH
H

L
L
L
L

L
LH
LH

HLH

LH
H
L
LH
H
H
LH
H
H
H
LH

HLH

L
H
HL
L
HL
L
L
HL

LH
L
H
L
HL

HLH
LHL
LH
LH
LHL
LHL

H
H
LH
LH
LH
LH

HL

Tr/Sod

LH

S2

S3

Sod

S4

LH
L
LH
LHL
HL

CL1

CL2

L
LH
LH
LHL

HL

CL3

LH

RT2

LHL

LH
L

LHL
LH
LH
LH

RT1

LH

L
LH

L
LH
H

L
H
L
L

HLH

LH
HL
H

LH
HL

LHL

LH
H
LH
L
LH

H
HLH
LH
LH
H
H
H
HL
H
LH
HL
H
LH
L
L
L
L
HL
LH

HL

LH
H

LH
L

LH

LH
LH

LH

LH
LH
LHL
LHL
LHL

LH

HL

LHL

LH

HLH

H
L

HL
H
L

H
H
H
H
H
H
H

341
Codas
Op.
2/1
2/2
2/3
7
10/1
10/2
10/3
13
14/1
14/2
22
28
31/1
31/2
31/3
49/1
49/2
53
57
78
79
81a
90
101
106
109
110
111
18/1
18/2
18/3
18/4
18/5
18/6
59/1
59/2
59/3
74
95
127
130
132
135

Z1

Z2

HL

LH
HL

LH
LHL

LHL

HL
L
LHL
HLH
HL
HL
H
LH

LH
H

HL

L
LH

Z3.1

Z3.2

LHL

Z3.3

Z3.4

LH

LH
LH
L
LHL
L
H
L
LHL
L
LH
LH
LH
H
LHL
L
LHL
LH
L
LHL
LHL
LHL
LH
H
LH
HLH
LHL
LH
L
H
LHL
HL
LH
LHL

LHL
LHL
L

LHL

LH
LH

LH
L

LH

L
LHL

LH

LH
HLH
LHL
LHL
LH

LH

LH
LH

HL

LH
H

HLH
HL

LHL
L
LH

LH
LH
L

Z3.5

Op.
3
9/1
9/2
9/3
1/1
1/2
1/3
70/1
70/2
97
4
29
12/1
12/2
12/3
23
24
30/1
30/2
30/3
47
96
5/1
5/2
69
102/1
102/2
21
36
55
60
67
68
92
93
125
6
11
16
17
20
71
81b
87

Z1

Z2

Z3.1

Z3.2

LH

HL
LH

LH
H

L
LH
LH
LH
LH
LH
HLH
HL
HLH

L
L
LHL

LH
LH
H

H
HL
H
L
HL

LH
LH

HL
LH
LHL
LH

LH

H
H

H
H
LH
HL
H
L
L

H
H

LH
HLH
LH
HLH
LHL
LHL
LHL
LH
LHL
LH
HL
LH
LH
LH
LH
H
L
H
HLH
LH
LH
LH
LH
H
HL
HL
LHL
HLH
HL
HL

Z3.3

Z3.4

Z3.5

LH

L
HL
LH

LH

LH

HLH

L
LH
HLH
LH
HL

LH
H
LHL
LH

H
H
LH
LH
H
LHL
H
HLH
LHL

H
LHL
LH
H
LHL
H
H
LH

LH
LHL

LH
L
H
L

HL

H
H

LH

LH

LH

HL
H

LH

342
Slow Introductions
Op.
2/1
2/2
2/3
7
10/1
10/2
10/3
13
14/1
14/2
22
28
31/1
31/2
31/3
49/1
49/2
53
57
78
79
81a
90
101
106
109
110
111
18/1
18/2
18/3
18/4
18/5
18/6
59/1
59/2
59/3
74
95
127
130
132
135

I1

I2.1

HLH

I2.2

LH

I2.3

I2.4

I3

LH

L
LH

LH

HLH

HLH
LH
HL
LHL
LH

LH

LH

Op.
3
9/1
9/2
9/3
1/1
1/2
1/3
70/1
70/2
97
4
29
12/1
12/2
12/3
23
24
30/1
30/2
30/3
47
96
5/1
5/2
69
102/1
102/2
21
36
55
60
67
68
92
93
125
6
11
16
17
20
71
81b
87

I1

I2.1

I2.2

HL

LH

HL

HLH

LH

LH

LHL

I2.3

I2.4

I3

LH

LHL

HLH

LH

LH
HL

LHL

HLH
H

LHL
LHL

LH

LH

LH

HLH

HLH

HL

LHL

LH

LH

HL
H

LH
LH

LH

LH

LH
LH
LHL

LH

LH

LH
LH