Bagatelles for piano, Op. 126

Although the opening of Opus 109 did not end up as an individual bagatelle, Beethoven did go on to publish two such collections in his final decade (Op. 119 and 126). There was great popular demand for such miniatures. And despite the universal popularity of his Bagatelle in A Minor (1810), better known as Für Elise in honor of its dedicatee, Beethoven is rarely regarded as an expert miniaturist. Yet he treasured the experience of writing in small forms, for nothing else could demand such a reduction to essentials, such economy of means. He usually turned to smaller forms during or just after completing a larger project. Thus we find him composing Six Bagatelles, Op. 126—works he referred to as Kleinigkeiten or “trifles”—immediately after finishing the Ninth Symphony, Op. 125, and just prior to composing the first of his late string quartets, Op. 127.
In these bagatelles we hear vestiges of past composers, echoes of other Beethoven works (especially the late piano sonatas), and hints of what is yet to come. Beethoven died before the piano miniature came to fruition under Mendelssohn, Schumann, and Chopin. But Opus 126 clearly set the stage for that development; at the very least, these bagatelles authorize a Beethovenian endorsement on the very notion of brief character pieces. From the start of his sketching process, Beethoven intended Opus 126 to be heard as a “Bagatelle cycle.” Contrast in terms of mood, mode (major or minor), and tempo seems to be the organizing principle. Many pieces follow a simple ABA form, though the reprised A themes are often strikingly reconceived. Consider Bagatelle No. 1, in which the gentle main theme is recapitulated in the bass below an entirely new idea in the treble. Note, too, the way in which hallmarks of the late sonatas—use of fantasy style (Op. 109, 110) and rhythmic crescendo (Opp. 102, 109 and 111)—help motivate the B section. This Bagatelle’s lyricism prevails throughout the set, informing the mood of Nos. 3, 5, and 6. The second piece, a quixotic Allegro in G minor, moves abruptly between the sound world of CPE Bach and almost trivial melodic snippets. All the storm and stress leave us unsettled and totally unprepared for the tender Andante (No. 3).
A highlight in the set is No. 4. Set in the dark tonality of B minor—a rarely used key in the classical era—this Presto borrows some of its energy from Haydn’s piano sonata in the same key written a half century earlier. Its length and ABAB form mark it for attention, yet it is the aesthetic balance between its themes—furiosity versus pastoral meditation—that makes it a favorite of pianists and listeners. In final position, Bagatelle No. 6 summarizes the composer’s desire for juxtaposed opposites. The main body of the work offers a gracious dance, but it is framed by a seemingly unrelated rhetorical punch. On closer inspection one uncovers numerous tonal and motivic links between the Presto frame and the central Andante. The decision to repeat the Presto flourish as closing gesture adds a touch of raucous good humor as postscript to deep introspection.
These bagatelles crystallize aspects of Beethoven’s late style that he aggrand-ized in the larger works, such as the Missa Solemnis, Diabelli Variations, and Ninth Symphony. Counterpoint, variation, formal idiosyncrasies that border on sheer fantasy, thematic reminiscence, juxtaposition of high and low styles—all find a place in Opus 126, which thus offer a candid glimpse inside Beethoven’s workshop. But of course, the late style is more than just music, it is more than notes on a page. There is a spiritual component that must be grasped. The more one ponders Beethoven’s late music, the more one marvels. The more one writes about it, the less one feels the subject has been covered. The most our words can hope for, as Nietzsche aptly put it, is to make tangential approaches to the truth of music.

(c) Jason Stell