Symphony No. 6 in F (Pastoral), Op. 68

From the very beginning, there are two remarkable things about Beethoven’s Sixth Symphony in F Major, called the “Pastoral.” The first is that this spacious, pastoral-inspired symphonic meditation took shape simultaneously with the taut, teleological Fifth Symphony. Where modern listeners might resist the extreme contrast of hearing both works side-by-side, Beethoven’s expansive creative mind found it possible to juggle both works simultaneously. And perhaps that simultaneity is more than mere coincidence, for it is hardly a stretch to read the Sixth as offering Beethoven an emotional catharsis offsetting the Fifth’s motivic intensity.
The second striking feature of the Sixth Symphony comes across as much visually as audibly. In the early 1800s, composers still almost exclusively used Italian words for tempo and expressive markings: allegro, adagio, con moto, affetuoso, etc. But in the Sixth Symphony Beethoven chose to amplify—not replace—the Italian with German phrases. Thus the opening movement, marked Allegro ma non troppo, is further defined by Beethoven to represent “Erwachen heiterer Empfindungen bei der Ankunft auf dem Lande” (i.e., the awakening of cheerful feelings on arriving in the country). Obviously such revealing remarks push this work into the realm of “program music”—that vague realm where extra-musical connotations seem to emerge from and help narrate the music itself. Now, this hardly seems the place to debate that topic. Perhaps it will be sufficient to point out that Beethoven elected to include these German phrases where even a most cursory listen would already be envisioning bucolic scenes.
Breaking from the conventional form-movement structure, Beethoven’s Sixth unfolds through five scenes. The first (“The awakening of cheerful feelings…”) opens with placid tonic and dominant harmonies in F major. Abundant thirds between high woodwinds help paint the serene, rustic simplicity. Things become more interesting as the development begins, where an initial move to the subdominant key (B flat major) yields unexpectedly to D major (the modified submediant, for those keeping score!). D major turns out to be the dominant of G, which emerges and then itself yields unexpectedly to E major. These third-related modulations do not just excite theorists; such changes are like aural special effects, suggesting shafts of sunlight that burst suddenly through the clouds. There is no preparation, no process of transition—just a moment of revelation. It passes in an instant. The quality of Beethoven’s thematic material may make it hard to recall such a minor detail once the recapitulation has revisited the main theme in a dulcet F major. But I encourage you to listen for such nuances in Beethoven’s music.
The following “Scene at the Brook” starts in an even more reposeful mood, created by 12/8 meter in B-flat major (one step further in the flat direction of tonal space). Against an almost hymn-like full harmony in low strings, Beethoven places a heartfelt solo melody in first violin. As the lower strings accelerate their pace, the pleasant murmuring of the brook comes to the fore. Later, Beethoven again selects the modulation by third-related chords—perhaps not so unexpected any longer? He even moves as far away as C-flat major. By the reprise back in B-flat major, much more is going on. The brookside scene is exploding with life that, near the end, centers on distinctive calls by the nightingale (flute), quail (oboe), and cuckoo (clarinet).
Beethoven leads us out of communing with nature straight into a festival of human invention. First strings get their say, but this is mere prelude to the woodwinds. A delightful duet combines spritely oboe with ponderous bassoon, the latter stuck sounding just do-sol-do. Soon clarinets and horns take their moment before a foot-stomping allegro in 2/4 time clears the stage. Subsequent versions of the main theme go strangely off key, foreshadowing another change of scene. Just before a repeat of the 2/4 dance, Beethoven cuts the frivolity off with an ominous D-flat tremolo in low strings. A darker motive appears, is cycled a step higher, and threatens to burst the symphony apart. Even knowing this piece—having heard it a dozen times or more—does not diminish the dramatic force of the moment when the storm finally comes. It is late afternoon on a warm summer day, and Beethoven’s thunderous F-minor chords send everyone scrambling for cover. This is one of the highlights of all symphonic music. And just as in life: the more violent the storm, the shorter its duration. A simple dénouement and rising flute melody carry us back to a radiant F major for the final “gratitude after the storm.”
How ironic that it took a man bereft of hearing to hear nature so deeply, to translate emotions so many of us feel back into sound. Beethoven taps sensations so fundamentally human that every listener can respond and call to mind evocative scenes. We hardly need his poetic cues to know just where we are, every step of the way.

(c) Jason Stell