A Stylistic Assessment of the Viennese Symphony, 1790-1825

Home , Adalbert Gyrowetz, Anton Eberl, Anton Reicha, Ferdinand Kauer, Ferdinand Ries, Ignaz Holzbauer

A dissertation submitted to the

Division of Graduate Studies and Research of the University of Cincinnati

In partial fulfillment of the requirements for the degree of

DOCTOR OF PHILOSOPHY

In the division of Composition, Musicology, and Theory of the College-Conservatory of Music

2017

John Stine

BMEd University of Southern Mississippi, 1998 MMEd Ithaca College, 2000 MFA Indiana University, 2004

Committee Chair: Mary Sue Morrow ABSTRACT

Our understanding of the Viennese symphony at the turn of the eighteenth century relies heavily on the symphonies of Franz Joseph Haydn and Ludwig van Beethoven. While these works are deserving of praise and scholarship, limiting the repertoire studied to two composers cannot allow for a complete understanding of the Viennese symphony from this time. For this study, I researched and examined symphonies by six contemporaries of Haydn and Beethoven in order to attain a greater stylistic assessment of the genre from this time. Five of these composers-

--Anton Eberl (1765-1807), Adalbert Gyrowetz (1763-1850), Antoine Reicha (1770-1836),

Ferdinand Ries (1784-1838), and Paul Wranitzky (1756-1808)---were highly regarded as performers and composers during their lifetimes, but their reputations and works quickly fell into obscurity following their deaths. Franz Schubert (1797-1828), the sixth composer in this study, has received considerable scholarly attention for his symphonies, but I included him in this study to focus on his earlier symphonies, which have not received much attention. An examination of the roughly seventy symphonies among these six composers provide a larger pool of works to assess the stylistic characteristics of the Viennese symphony during the time of Haydn and

Beethoven. Through a combination of formal and stylistic analysis, I examine the formal approaches to the movements of the symphonies and the stylistic approaches to the use of the orchestra by each composer. With the information and analysis gained from this study, I place the symphonies of these composers in historical context and challenge the historical narrative constructed around the symphonies of Haydn and Beethoven.

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ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

I would like to thank my colleagues, friends, and family for their constant support throughout my research. Their encouragement and belief in my efforts helped me see this study to completion. I am grateful for the assistance I received from Daniel Bernhardsson. His interest and passion for the music of Wranitzky took him to numerous libraries across Europe to examine manuscripts and score the symphonies of Wranitzky from parts. His willingness and generosity to share his work with me is greatly appreciated.

I thank Dr. Steven Cahn and Dr. Jonathan Kregor for serving on my committee and providing me with helpful and constructive feedback and suggestions. Finally, I especially thank my advisor, Dr. Mary Sue Morrow, who assisted and guided me from the conception of my topic to the completion of this study. Her dedication and commitment as my advisor was a tremendous help in the development and end result of my dissertation.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

ABSTRACT

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

TABLE OF CONTENTS

LIST OF TABLES

LIST OF MUSICAL EXAMPLES

CHAPTER ONE: INTRODUCTION

CHAPTER TWO: FIRST MOVEMENTS 1. Slow Introduction 2. Exposition 3. Development 4. Recapitulations; False and Real

CHAPTER THREE: MOVEMENTS BEYOND THE FIRST 1. Second Movements 2. The Minuet in Metamorphosis 3. Final Movements

CHAPTER FOUR: INSTRUMENTATION 1. The “Classical” Orchestra 2. The Trombone 3. Accessory Instruments

CHAPTER FIVE: ORCHESTRATION 1. Wind Instruments

2. Trumpets and Horns 3. Turkish Music and Battlefields 4. Wranitzky and the Novelty of Orchestration 5. Conclusion

BIBLIOGRAPHY

APPENDIX: MUSICAL EXAMPLES

LIST OF TABLES

1.1. Newbould’s Chapter Descriptions for Schubert’s Symphonies

2.1. Symphonies with and without Slow Introductions

2.2. Size and Scope of Slow Introductions

2.3. Structure of Introduction to Schubert’s Ninth Symphony

2.4. Structure of Introduction to Wranitzky’s Op. 33, No. 3 (P34)

2.5. Development Proportions

2.6. False Recapitulations in Wranitzky Symphonies

3.1. Dominant and Subdominant Key Relationships between First and Second Movements

3.2. Mediant and Submediant Key Relationships between First and Second Movements

3.3. Form of Second Movements in Ries and Schubert Symphonies

3.4. Form of Second Movement (March funèbre) of Ries’s First Symphony

3.5. Subject and Answers in the Development of Reicha’s Symphony No. 3 in F Major

3.6. Unifying Tonal Plan in Wranitzky’s Symphony in A Major (P45)

4.1. Instrumentation of Symphonies

4.2. Symphonies with Trombones

4.3. Movements to Wranitzky’s Quodlibet Symphony

5.1. Symphonies Incorporating a Turkish Topic

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5.2. Form to the Finale of Wranitzky’s P15, P19, and P20

5.3. Form to the Finale of Wranitzky’s Symphony in D Major (P22)

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LIST OF MUSICAL EXAMPLES

2.1. Wranitzky, Symphony in A Major, Op. 51 (P44), Mvt. 1, mm. 1-5

2.2. Wranitzky, Symphony in D Major (P22), Mvt. 1, mm. 4-9

2.3. Ries, Symphony No. 4 in F Minor, Op. 110, Mvt. 1, mm. 23-28

2.4. Ries, Symphony No. 6 in D Major, Op. 146, Mvt. 1, mm. 30-35

3.1. Wranitzky, Symphony in F Major, Op. 33, No. 3 (P34), Mvt. 2, mm. 79-81

3.2: Ries, Symphony No. 1 in D Major, Op. 23, Mvt. 2, mm. 10-14

3.3: Eberl, Symphony in E-Flat Major, Op. 33, Mvt. 2, mm. 16-24

3.4: Wranitzky, Symphony in C Major (P6), Mvt. 3, mm. 59-65

3.5: Wranitzky, Symphony in D Major (P22), Mvt. 3, mm. 16-22

3.6: Ries, Symphony No. 6 in D Major, Op. 146, Mvt. 3, mm. 46-53

3.7a: Wranitzky, Symphony in F Major, Op. 33, No. 3 (P34), Mvt. 3, mm. 41-8

3.7b: Wranitzky, Symphony in D Major (P22), Mvt. 4, mm. 249-51

3.8: Ries, Symphony in E-Flat Major, WoO 30, Mvt. 3, mm. 1-6

3.9: Ries, Symphony No. 4 in F Minor, Op. 110, Mvt. 3, mm. 2-16

3.10: Eberl, Symphony in E-Flat Major, Op. 33, Mvt. 3, mm. 180-95

3.11: Reicha, Symphony No. 3 in F Major, Mvt. 4, mm. 198-213

3.12a: Wranitzky, Symphony in E-Flat Major (P31), Mvt. 1, mm. 19-26

3.12b: Wranitzky, Symphony in E-flat Major (P31), Mvt. 4, mm. 1-6

3.13a: Gyrowetz, Symphony in D Major, Mvt. 1, mm. 205-08

3.13b: Gyrowetz, Symphony in D Major, Mvt. 4, mm. 1-4

4.1: Schubert, Symphony No. 9 “Great” in C Major D.944, Mvt. 1, mm. 199-240 (trombone parts)

5.1: Wranitzky, Symphony in D Major (P20), Mvt. 4, mm. 111-19

5.2: Ries, Symphony No. 1 in D Major, Op. 23, Mvt. 1, mm. 32-37 (Horns and Trumpets)

5.3: Wranitzky, Symphony in D Major, Op. 36 (P18), Mvt. 1, mm. 342-48 (Trumpet fanfare)

5.4: Eberl, Symphony in E-Flat Major, Op. 33, Mvt. 1, mm. 333-40 (Trumpet fanfare)

5.5 a-c: Turkish Percussion Examples

5.6: Wranitzky, Symphony in D Major (P20), Mvt. 4, mm. 165-71

5.7: Wranitzky, Symphony in D Major (P27), Mvt. 4, mm. 165-70 (end of piano solo)

5.8: Wranitzky, Symphony in D Major (P22), Mvt. 4, mm. 216-28 (horn solos)

5.9: Wranitzky, Symphony in D Major (P22), Mvt. 4, mm. 279-91 (bass solo)

5.10: Wranitzky, Symphony in D Major (P22), Mvt. 4, mm. 303-12 (timpani solo)

5.11: Wranitzky, Symphony in G Major (P38), Mvt. 1, mm. 1-6

5.12: Wranitzky, Symphony in G Minor (P42), Mvt. 2, mm. 27-33

Chapter 1

Introduction

Scholarship on the Viennese symphony at the turn of the eighteenth century has focused largely on the triumvirate of Haydn, Mozart, and Beethoven. Given their output and contributions to the genre, there is little doubt the symphonies of these three composers have justly had thorough investigation, inquiry, and analysis. The vast amount of scholarship devoted to this repertoire initially concentrated on issues of authenticity and formal analysis, and later on issues of historical context of composition and performance and their lasting impact in the nineteenth, twentieth, and twenty-first centuries. However, with such a dominant presence in musicological research and scholarship, the lives and symphonies of their contemporaries has been seemingly swept under the musicological rug.

My study examines six symphonic contemporaries of Haydn, Mozart, and Beethoven whose compositions date from the 1790s to the first quarter of the nineteenth century. The composers discussed include: Anton Eberl (1765-1807), Adalbert Gyrowetz (1763-1850),

Antoine Reicha (1770-1836), Ferdinand Ries (1784-1838), Franz Schubert (1797-1828), and

Paul Wranitzky (1756-1808).1 These composers were highly respected as composers and performers during their lifetimes, but, with the exception of Schubert, quickly forgotten following their deaths. It is not my intention to compare their symphonies with those of Haydn,

Mozart, and Beethoven, but rather to discuss their symphonic output analytically and contextually so that they may stand on their own.2 As the twenty-first century approached, only

1 A brief biography of each composer and my reason for selecting these composers is provided later in this chapter.

2 My methodology for doing this is discussed later in this chapter.

Schubert had garnered significant scholarly attention.3 With the beginning of the twenty-first century, the other five composers began receiving scholarly attention, and recordings of some of their symphonies were made. It is my ultimate goal with this study to discuss these composers and their symphonies in a manner that builds off of initial research while approaching their symphonies from a different perspective. I first provide background on the research currently available about this repertory, a biographical account of each composer, and my organization and process for analyzing and discussing their symphonies.

As a seminal source of scholarship for lesser-known symphony composers throughout the eighteenth century and early nineteenth century (and spanning across all of Europe), the Garland

Series, edited by Barry S. Brook and Barbara Heyman, provides brief biographies, formal analysis, and previously unpublished symphony scores by some of the neglected composers.4

While this has been an important source for score study, with a wealth of material spanning sixty volumes, the treatment of each composer and his symphonies tends to lack depth, with more of an emphasis on the works published in the series. Recently more concentrated and exhaustive efforts have been made investigating the symphonic contemporaries of Haydn, Mozart, and

Beethoven.

Among the first of these is Richard Will’s The Characteristic Symphony in the Age of

Haydn and Beethoven published in 2002. In his book, Will addresses the subgenre of the symphony known as the characteristic symphony. He defines it as instrumental music whose

3 Schubert is probably the only well-known symphony composer of the group here. My main reason for including him here is because of his earlier symphonies, which have received scant attention.

4 Barry S. Brook and Barbara Heyman, eds., The Symphony, 1720-1840: A Comprehensive Collection of Scores in Sixty Volumes, 60 vols. (New York: Garland, 1979-1986).

2 subject matter is specified or elaborated by a text.5 The textual association varies from work to work, with some works based on entire poems, like the six symphonies of Carl Ditters von

Dittersdorf (1739-1799) based on Ovid’s Metamorphoses, and works that use one or only a few words to describe the subject matter described by the work. From his research, Will views the characteristic symphony as, “first and foremost a genre of pastoral idylls, thunderstorms, military conflicts, hunts, and political identities,” while it also “explores the development and definition of human identities by representing the unfolding of emotions through time.”6 He identified 225 works that fit this definition, yet this number is small compared to the several thousand symphonies that survive from this time period. In relation to my study, Will includes the First

Symphony of Ries for the second movement funeral march, and four symphonies by Paul

Wranitzky: 1) his La Chasse symphony from (1793) for its use of idiomatic hunting music; 2) his

Symphony in D Minor, “La Tempesta” (no date) for its depiction of a storm; 3) his Symphony in

D Major, Op. 36 from c.1799 for its use of national and regional styles and dances (the inner movements are Russe and Polonese); and 4) his Grand Characteristic Symphony for the Peace with the French Republic. In my study I examine additional symphonies of Wranitzky, most of which were unpublished during his lifetime, that incorporate characteristic elements of hunting, storms, and battle scenes.

The year after Will’s book was published, John A. Rice’s Empress Marie Therese and

Music at the Viennese Court, 1792-1807 appeared. This source details the contents of the music catalogue at her court and how the diverse and one-of-a-kind works reflect the musical taste of the Empress. Rice provides accounts of private concerts, music for birthdays and namedays of

5 Richard Will, The Characteristic Symphony in the Age of Haydn and Beethoven (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2002), 1.

6 Ibid., 2.

3 the aristocracy, and the use of unconventional instruments, all intended to set the scene of musical life at the court of Marie Therese. He uses names and works by several composers found in her music diary and catalogue to illustrate her personal musical taste. Composers active at her court include: Joseph Eybler (1765-1846), Ferdinand Kauer (1751-1831), Ferdinando Paer

(1771-1839), Ignaz Schweigl, Ignaz von Seyfried (1776-1841), Joseph Weigl (1766-1846), and

Paul Wranitzky. Rice discusses symphonies associated with the court of the Empress that do not fall under Will’s definition of “characteristic.” In this sense, Rice supplements the research performed by Will. Rice focuses on the musical culture and activities at the court, and therefore not every work found in the Empress’s music catalogue receives detailed attention. I discuss several unpublished symphonies of Wranitzky in my study that Rice does not discuss, some with a known affiliation with the court and some whose affiliation is probable but not known to be an absolute.

In 2006, David Wyn Jones’s The Symphony in Beethoven’s Vienna was published, and, as the title suggests, its subject matter runs close to my study. Jones focuses on the status of the symphony in Vienna at the turn of the nineteenth century. He states that “in the absence of a regular concert series in Vienna Beethoven’s symphonies were not at the centre of musical life in the city in the way that Haydn’s symphonies had been in London a decade earlier and they certainly did not constitute a repertory.”7 Along with the irregular concert series, Jones stresses employment opportunities and other genres that appealed to the public market as other factors in the decline of Viennese symphony at this time. Gyrowetz composed less than a handful of symphonies after 1795, Haydn composed none after 1795, and Johann Vanhal (1739-1813) composed none after 1780. Jones explains the symphonic decline among these three composers

7 David Wyn Jones, The Symphony in Beethoven’s Vienna (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006), 3.

4 by saying that “Gyrowetz can be said to have lacked the creative will to explore the genre further; Haydn was too busy with the composition of six late masses, The Creation, and The

Seasons; [and] Vanhal’s music had not kept pace with the times.”8 With fewer symphonies composed in this period, Jones covers more composers and their symphonies in greater detail. He examines and analyzes symphonies of Eberl, Gyrowetz, Reicha, Schubert, and Wranitzky, but does not include symphonies of Ries. This is peculiar since Ries held a close association with

Beethoven, so I have included seven of his eight symphonies that fall within my time period of study. Jones often compares or traces possible influences of Haydn, Mozart, and Beethoven on the symphonies of these composers. As I stated earlier, with my analysis I refrained from comparing the symphonies in this study with Haydn, Mozart, and Beethoven.

These three recent sources, along with the initial work presented in the Garland series, give visibility and context to the contemporaries of Haydn, Mozart, and Beethoven. After examining the symphonies of the six composers in my study, I searched for common symphonic denominators as well as for individual approaches that venture beyond the standard practice and expectation for a symphony from this time.9 Before proceeding with my approach to studying the symphonies of these composers, I will provide a brief biography of each composer to place them within the context of my study.

Anton Eberl was born in Vienna in 1765 and died there in 1807. His father encouraged him to study law, but when his family experienced financial hardship he could not afford to continue his studies in law, and this provided the opportunity for him to pursue music instead. He

8 Ibid., 9.

9 Standard practice and expectation refer to concepts such as the number of movements in a symphony (discussed in my Chapter 3) and the instrumentation and orchestration of a symphony (discussed in my Chapter 4 and 5 respectively).

5 was befriended by Mozart, and he may well have been one of Mozart’s pupils. Nonetheless,

Mozart had an influence on his approach to composition. By 1785 Eberl had composed three symphonies. The third of these, the Symphony in C Major, WoO 7, was misattributed to Mozart and remained as such as late as 1944.10 The style and the sound of the symphony does resemble the style of Mozart, and Jones believes that the first movement “is blatantly modelled on the first movement of Mozart’s ‘Haffner’ Symphony.”11 Other misattributions to Mozart followed with some of Eberl’s piano works beginning in 1788.

As a symphonist, Eberl was nowhere near as prolific as Haydn and Mozart. In all he composed five symphonies, and of the five only two date from the time period covered here. His

Symphony in E-Flat Major, Op. 33 and Symphony in D Minor, Op. 34 date from 1803 and 1804 respectively. The former bears a dedication to Prince Lobkowitz, the same dedicatee as

Beethoven’s Eroica Symphony. Jones provides a translation of the Allgemeine musikalische

Zeitung review of the symphony describing the work as “extraordinarily successful, full of bold and new ideas, and, in particular, Eberl has demonstrated a profound and extensive knowledge of instruments. . . May this symphony be made generally available in print, and Herr Eberl further employ his talent in this genre!”12 Eberl wrote his final symphony three years before his death in

1807. Though few in number, his contribution to the Viennese symphonic repertory was substantial, and I will explore his final two symphonies further throughout the discussion of my study.

10 Jones, The Symphony in Beethoven’s Vienna, 107.

11 Ibid.

12 Ibid., 108, translated from Allgemeine musikalishe Zeitung, 6 (1803-04), cols. 468-70.

Adalbert Gyrowetz was born in Bohemia in 1763, and received early music lessons from his father, who held a position at their hometown cathedral. With this background, it is not surprising that many of his early compositions are for the church, though he also wrote chamber music, such as serenades, quartets, and songs. Like Eberl, Gyrowetz initially studied law while continuing his music efforts. After moving to Prague, his first professional position was as secretary to Count Franz von Fünfkirchen. He performed in the orchestra there and received early praise for his compositions, leading to the first publications of his music. Following a brief stay in Vienna, he embarked on a European tour starting in 1787, visiting the musical centers of

Naples, Paris, and London, among others. He spent three years in London as a composer and music teacher beginning in 1789. Here he composed symphonies for the Hanover Square Rooms, and in 1791 he welcomed Haydn to London.13

Gyrowetz returned to Vienna in 1792, and Rice remarks that this “marks the end of his first artistic period, the only period in which the symphony figures as the predominant genre.”14

He focused more on chamber music during his new artistic period, while also composing a few symphonies and publishing symphonies from his first period. Gyrowetz struggled to keep up with the ever-changing musical taste in the 1790s, and his music was often found to lack meaning and unity.15 1804 marks the beginning of his final artistic period, when he accepted the position of Vice-Kapellmeister at the court theaters. Given the nature of this position, music for the stage dominates this artistic period. According to Jones, “Gyrowetz was to compose one opera a year and one ballet. . . but there is no mention of an evening for a benefit concert. At the

13 John A. Rice, Adalbert Gyrowetz (1763-1850). Four Symphonies. The Symphony 1720-1840, Series B; vol.11, ed. in chief Barry S. Brook, B/XI (New York: Garland, 1983), xv.

14 Ibid.

15 Ibid.

7 age of forty-one Gyrowetz had turned his back on a career as a composer of symphonies.”16 In his autobiography, he recounts his career as a composer and his current position in Viennese cultural life, writing:

There was a time when I celebrated triumphs in Paris, Naples, London, and Vienna. I welcomed Haydn to London, and some of my quartets were published later under his name by speculating music sellers. My operas were sung a hundred time on every stage; the arias of my Augenarzt went, like Donizetti’s, around the world. And who knows me now? I am poor and forgotten. And that is natural. I was only a talent, and must count myself lucky, since talent wins over only the present; only genius lives beyond the grave. But it is a strange feeling to remain alive yet to understand that one is spiritually dead.17

Gyrowetz composed over forty symphonies spanning the first two periods identified by

Rice (1780-1804). Some of his symphonies were performed by the court orchestra at Esterháza, but Rice downplays their artistic significance stating that, “Prince Esterházy may have welcomed

Gyrowetz’s symphonies as a pleasant alternative to the more demanding and complex creations of his own more famous Kapellmeister [Haydn].”18 His late symphonies dating from his return to

Vienna draw inspiration from Haydn’s London Symphonies, yet never quite match the mastery of the latter.19 Most of his are in four movements and follow the common layout of fast sonata movement (sometimes preceded by a slow introduction), a slow movement, a minuet, and a fast finale. For the three-movement symphonies the minuet movement is omitted. His symphonies

16 Jones, The Symphony in Beethoven’s Vienna, 4. Jones also chronicles Beethoven’s application to a similar position with the court theaters three years later, one that also included the stipulation of composing one opera and ballet a year on pages 1-2.

17 Adalbert Gyrowetz, Biographie, ed. Alfred Einstein (Vienna: Mechitharisten Buchdruckerei, 1848), 126 quoted in Rice, Adalbert Gyrowetz, xvii.

18 Ibid., xviii.

19 Ibid., xxii.

8 composed during the period of my study reflect the use of the High Classical style that had waned during the 1790s, causing them to sound outdated and therefore neglected.

Gyrowetz and Schubert represent the only Viennese natives among the composers in my study. Antoine Reicha was born in Prague in 1770, and when he was ten months old his father died at the age of 30. At the age of fifteen, Reicha moved to Bonn and was adopted by his uncle,

Joseph Reicha, an accomplished cellist and court music director. It was here that he met and befriended a young Beethoven, and the two “attended lectures together at Bonn university and studied advanced composition with the court organist and harpsichord player, Christ.[ian]

Gottlob Neef[e].”20 Reicha moved to Paris in 1799 and composed operas and instrumental music during his time there. He took up residence in Vienna from 1802-08, and reconnected with

Beethoven and met Haydn, Albrechtsberger, and Salieri. While living in Vienna, he composed instrumental works and wrote his early theoretical texts. After his stay in Vienna, he returned to

Paris where he lived for the remainder of his life. In 1818, with the recommendation of Luigi

Cherubini, Reicha was appointed to teach theory and composition at the Paris Conservatory. His notable composition students included: Hector Berlioz, Charles Gounod, César Franck, and taught Franz Liszt as a private student. In addition to his teaching at the conservatory, he composed operas and instrumental music and published more theoretical writings.

His theoretical approach used older concepts and forms, the fugue for example, and applied contemporary compositional techniques to make them more of interest to nineteenth- century audiences. His 36 Fugues for the Pianoforte (dedicated to Haydn) illustrates this approach, with subjects being answered in distant keys and some of the fugues composed in 5/4

20 Vratislav Bělský, Symphony in E-Flat Major, Op. 41 Musica Antiqua Bohemica 76 (1973), x.

9 and 7/4.21 Vratislav Bělský states that Reicha’s instrumental music drew from the style of Haydn and Mozart.22 But Jones points to Reicha’s autobiography, where he “suggests that instrumental music in the tradition of Haydn and Mozart was on the decline.”23 Jones admits this is a

“misleading comment” given that composers in the early nineteenth century continued to revere the two masters.24 Only four symphonies date from his stay in Vienna, two after his arrival and two shortly before his departure.

Ferdinand Ries also had a close association with Beethoven. He was baptized in 1784 and came from a musical family, much like Beethoven. His father, Franz, was a member of the electoral court orchestra in Bonn and occasionally taught the young Beethoven.25 When Ries arrived in Vienna in 1802, Beethoven returned the favor and taught Ries piano. For composition lessons, Beethoven referred him to Albrechtsberger. After serving as an apprentice to Beethoven from 1802-05, Ries moved around frequently over the next eight years. He lived for brief periods in Bonn, Paris, St. Petersburg, and Stockholm before settling in London in 1813 for eleven years.26 Johann Peter Salomon, a former pupil of Ries’s father, guided Ries and introduced him to important musical circles in the city. After he left London in 1824 to return to Bonn, his compositional activities declined sharply (Hill describes this post-London period as a “virtual retirement”).27

21 Jones, The Symphony in Beethoven’s Vienna, 104.

22 Bělský, Symphony in E-Flat Major, xi.

23 Jones, The Symphony in Beethoven’s Vienna, 104.

24 Ibid., 104-5.

25 Cecil Hill, Ferdinand Ries (1784-1838). Three Symphonies. The Symphony 1720-1840, Series C; vol. 12, ed. in chief Barry S. Brook (New York: Garland, 1982), xi.

26 Ibid., xii.

His symphonic output of eight symphonies spans from 1809 to 1835. Only one of his eight symphonies, the Seventh Symphony from 1835, falls outside the time period of this study.

None of them were composed when he lived in Vienna. The majority of them, six to be exact, were composed while living in London. His apprenticeship with Beethoven and his composition lessons with Albrechtsberger appeared to define his style as Viennese. London audiences still received the Viennese style positively until the early 1820s, when prejudice against foreign musicians was on the rise.28

I am not providing a biography of Schubert since he is a well-known composer and an abundance of scholarship has been devoted to him. A. Peter Brown divides his symphonies into three stylistic divisions: 1) Nos. 1-5, which represent a “continuation of a classical style”; 2) No.

6 and incomplete sketches (D. 615, D. 708A, and D. 729) represent a transition; and 3) Nos. 8 and 9.29 The first group was composed for an ensemble in which Schubert performed; the incomplete works of the second group were abandoned because there was nowhere to perform them; and the final group reveals Schubert’s growth as a composer and an increased likelihood they would receive a public performance.30

In his table of contents, Brian Newbould attaches a descriptive title to each symphony.

The descriptions (shown in Table 1.1)suggest an overarching growth throughout Schubert’s symphonic output.31 Even though his symphonies have received a considerable amount of

27 Ibid., xiii.

28 Ibid.

29 A. Peter Brown, The First Golden Age of the Viennese Symphony: Haydn, Mozart, Beethoven, and Schubert, Vol. II of The Symphonic Repertoire (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 2001), 576-7.

30 Ibid., 577.

11 scholarly attention, there are formal and stylistic properties shared between them and the symphonies of the other composers in this study.

Table 1.1: Newbould’s Chapter Title Descriptions for Schubert’s Symphonies

Building on the Past: The First Symphony New Perspectives: The Second Symphony Serene Confidence: The Third Symphony Sturm und Drang: The Fourth Symphony A Nostalgic Aside: The Fifth Symphony Crossroads: The Sixth Symphony Glimpse of Transition: The Seventh Symphony Immortality Without End: The Eighth Symphony Greatness Accomplished: The Ninth Symphony

The final composer included in my study is Paul Wranitzky, who was born in 1756 in the town of Neureisch. He studied theology as a young man and considered a career in the church.

His path to a career in music began when he was appointed “choirmaster at the theological seminary he was attending.”32 Wranitzky differs from the other composers in my study in that he maintained regular employment at various courts. These positions allowed him to display his talent as a violinist and his mastery of composition. His first court appointment came in 1784 where he served as music director at the court of Count Johann Baptist Esterházy, a distant cousin of Nikolaus. He was also one of at least five musicians responsible for leading performances at the court of Empress Marie Therese.33 Even with these court positions,

Wranitzky manage to keep a public presence as the concertmaster for the Kӓrntnertortheater and

31 See the table of contents to, Brian Newbould, Schubert and the Symphony: A New Perspective (London: Toccata Press, 1992).

32 Jones, The Symphony in Beethoven’s Vienna, 75.

33 John A. Rice, Empress Marie Therese and Music at the Viennese Court, 1792-1807 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2003), 55.

Burgtheater. It was this last position where he led the first public performance of Haydn’s The

Creation in 1799 and Beethoven’s first benefit concert, in which his First Symphony was performed, in 1800.

The Czech musicologist Milan Poštolka published a thematic catalogue of Wranitzky’s symphonies in 1967. The catalogue contains fifty-one symphonies and is organized by the key of the symphonies. Both published and unpublished symphonies are listed, but some entries are incomplete, probably because Poštolka did not have access to certain manuscripts. Daniel

Bernhardsson, the founder of The Wranitzky Project, (with which I am associated) traveled across Europe to the various libraries housing the symphony manuscripts and scored them using music notation software.34 All of the symphonies of Wranitzky have been scored from parts, and this work has filled in some of the holes in Poštolka’s catalogue. As I mentioned earlier, Rice and Jones include some of Wranitzky’s symphonies in their scholarship, but the Wranitzky

Project provides a more comprehensive overview of Wranitzky’s symphonic output.

The total number of symphonies by these six composers examined in my study comes to about seventy. I have divided my analytical approach evenly between formal analysis and stylistic analysis. In my first two chapters I discuss the formal commonalities and divergences I encountered. I discuss the first movements in my second chapter, and all subsequent movements in my third chapter. For the analytical discussion of these chapters I use the analytical system developed by James Hepokoski and Warren Darcy in their Elements of Sonata Theory: Norms,

Types, and Deformations in the Late Eighteenth-Century Sonata. My discussion of first movements is organized by the formal articulations found in sonata form: slow introduction, exposition, development, and recapitulation. The subsequent movements discussed in my

34 The Wranitzky Project can be found on the internet at www.wranitzky.com.

Chapter 3 examines the formal choices available to composers, the changing style of the minuet movement, and the promotion of multi-movement unity.

I consider the instrumentation of these symphonies in my Chapter 4. I focus solely on the instruments a composer calls for in a symphony. My Chapter 5 on orchestration covers how the instruments are used in performance of the symphonies. The instrumentation of the eighteenth- century symphony varied throughout the century, but scholarship has generally argued that the instrumentation had stabilized by the close of the century.35 My examination of these symphonies challenges the notion that the instrumentation of a symphony from 1790-1825 had become standardized. As for the orchestration of the symphonies, I argue that an increased use of the winds in exposed, extended passages can be found during this time. This practice appears to have been favored by composers from the Czech region (Eberl, Reicha, and Wranitzky).

Examples of symphonies depicting Turkish music, battlefields, and storms are also examined, and the novel approach to orchestration used by Wranitzky for symphonies at the court of

Empress Marie Therese demonstrate how he tailored these works to her particular musical taste.

My approach to this study involved score study and analysis, empirical and data-driven analysis, and an examination of the historical narrative of the Viennese symphony during the time period of this study. Since much of our understanding of the Viennese symphony hinges on a narrative built around the symphonies of Haydn, Mozart, and Beethoven, I want to supplement our understanding of the genre by examining the symphonies of some of their contemporaries.

To accomplish this, traditional musicological methods prove useful, although this style of

35 The general texts included in my discussion include, J. Peter Burkholder, , Claude V. Palisca, and Donald J. Grout, A History of Western Music, 7th ed. (New York: W. W. Norton & Co., 2006); Richard Taruskin, The Oxford History of Western Music, vol. 2, Music in the Seventeenth and Eighteenth Centuries (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2005); and Christopher Rouse, “Orchestra,” in The New Harvard Dictionary of Music, ed. Don Michael Randel, 4th ed. (Cambridge: The Belknap Press of Harvard University Press, 2003).

14 musicology has lost some ground in the field. As Mary Sue Morrow comments, “interest in analytical and archival-based source studies has dwindled as the trend toward interpretive musicology has intensified, an unfortunate circumstance given the amount of work still needed to gain bibliographic and stylistic control of the vast repertoire.”36 By using this traditional approach in my study I intend to not only introduce symphonic composers who have been forgotten over time, but also demonstrate how their symphonies provide us with a better understanding of symphonic composition for the Viennese symphony at the close of the eighteenth century and the first quarter of the nineteenth century.

36 Mary Sue Morrow, “Historiography of the Eighteenth-Century Symphony” in The Eighteenth-Century Symphony, Vol. I of The Symphonic Repertoire, ed. Mary Sue Morrow and Bathia Churgin (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 2012), 23.

CHAPTER 2

First Movements

During the later eighteenth century, a preference for sonata form over binary form emerged, particularly for the first movement of a multi-movement work. Writers and scholars have taken different approaches to this transition. The plethora of treatises, writings, and research on sonata form have produced a labyrinth of theories, descriptions, and terminology for discussing its operations.1 By the close of the eighteenth century, the use of Type 2 and Type 3 sonata forms, as defined by Hepokoski and Darcy, was commonplace. Yet even with the pervasive use of these two types, a remarkable amount of variety and individual approaches to the forms are found.

The basic shape of these forms is rather straightforward: an exposition, a development, and a recapitulation. But within these broad areas much diversity occurs, often going beyond the conventional and normative expectations, illustrating the flexibility of sonata practice. While the broad areas described above remain relatively stable, the tonal and thematic schemata used varies greatly from composer to composer, and even within the œuvre of one composer. Assessing and accounting for this variety has led to numerous theories, systems, and philosophies that help in analyzing sonata form. Hepokoski and Darcy identify four approaches to the study of sonata form, the first two from a musicological perspective, and the last two from a theoretical perspective.

The first approach features “eclectic analytical writing” by scholars such as Joseph

Kerman and Charles Rosen.2 Focusing on the latter’s magnum opus, Sonata Forms (1980, rev.

1 I discuss a few of these different approaches on the following page.

1988), Hepokoski and Darcy describe this approach as one that details the individual approach composers take when composing a sonata form, rejecting any kind of generalized practice.3 The second approach places sonata form composition within the context of contemporary treatises and analyses, and they provide Leonard Ratner’s Classic Music (1980) as an example. This approach also includes the empirical and data-driven analyses represented by Jan LaRue’s

Guidelines for Style Analysis (1992).4 The third approach includes Schenkerian and post-

Schenkerian analysis with Heinrich Schenker’s seminal writing, Der Freie Satz (1935).5 The fourth approach is based on motivic growth in which small cells develop into larger blocks of music. William E. Caplin’s Classical Form (1998) represents this approach.6 Each of these approach the analysis of sonata form through a different lens, illustrating the numerous possibilities for composing and analyzing sonata form.

Just as the triumvirate of Haydn, Mozart, and Beethoven has informed and influenced the historical narrative of the Viennese symphony, their approach to composition has also been used to demonstrate the norms of and deviations from sonata form in the Viennese symphony. An examination of the approaches to sonata form by their contemporaries introduces additional examples of deviations and deformations, similar or differing from the preferences of the triumvirate. The composers in my study used numerous approaches to sonata form in their symphonies. It is not my goal for this chapter to cover every instance of deviation or deformation

2 James Hepokoski and Warren Darcy, Elements of Sonata Theory: Norms, Types, and Deformations in the late Eighteenth-century Sonata (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2006), 3.

3 Ibid., 4.

4 Ibid., 4-5.

5 Ibid., 5.

6 Ibid., 6.

17 taken by these composers. Though proceeding in this manner may produce interesting results on an individual level, I am more concerned with a broader understanding of how these composers worked within the framework of sonata form.

I divide this chapter according to the major formal articulation areas; slow introduction, exposition, development, and recapitulation. I used proportional and formal analysis among these articulation areas for all the symphonies. From these two approaches, an assessment of the various methods these composers used to manipulate first movement sonata form is possible.

The proportional analysis provides an understanding of how the composers emphasized certain areas of the form, and the formal analysis details times where the composers ventured beyond the standard convention and understanding of sonata form.

Slow Introduction

Beginning a symphony with a slow introduction was certainly an option for an eighteenth-century Viennese composer, but an option seldom used until the close of the century.

Mary Sue Morrow chronicles the increased preference for this option, writing, “Before about

1760, they [slow introductions] are found in fewer than 5 percent of the works, a percentage that rises to 8 in the 1760s and 1770s, 25 in the 1780s, and 50 percent by the 1790s.”7 Elaine Sisman chronicles a similar rise in the use of slow introductions in the symphonies of Haydn and

Mozart.8 This increased use suggests a stylistic and aesthetic trend, yet it also coincides with the

7 Mary Sue Morrow, “The Symphony in the Austrian Monarchy” in The Eighteenth-Century Symphony, Vol. I of The Symphonic Repertoire, ed. By Mary Sue Morrow and Bathia Churgin (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 2012), 428.

8 Elaine R. Sisman, “Genre, Gesture, and Meaning in Mozart’s ‘Prague’ Symphony” in Mozart Studies 2, ed. Cliff Eisen (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1997), 33.

18 rise in popularity of instrumental music. With a growing interest in and prominence of instrumental music, composers used the slow introduction for various reasons and means.

Typically, the slow introduction is an open structure, often beginning on the tonic and ending on the dominant. This dominant preparation is resolved with the tonic of the allegro proper, and aids in the emphasis on the allegro section. James Webster compares the overall goal of the slow introduction and its resolution to antecedent-consequent phrasing, stating, “the goal of the entire introduction, which therefore constitutes a large half-scale cadence, or ‘antecedent’; it is separated from what follows. The allegro is thus not merely a contrast, not merely a local resolution; its first theme (or even the first entire group) is a large-scale consequent to the introduction as a whole.”9 As the size and scope of the slow introduction grew in some symphonies, so did the importance and aesthetic qualities of the introduction.

The use of a slow introduction carries the association of grandness and a loftier, elevated approach to the symphony. This is particularly true for long slow introductions, whose size suggests that, “more importance is being claimed for the piece as a whole.”10 Additionally, themes, motives, and tonal strategies from the slow introduction could generate material in the allegro. As I will demonstrate with my group of composers, the slow introduction was used for all of the above reasons, and their proportion to the rest of the movement indicates the prominence and style of introduction used.11

9 James Webster, Haydn’s “Farewell” Symphony and the Idea of Classical Style: Through-Composition and Cyclic Integration in His Instrumental Music (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1991), 163-4.

10 Hepokoski and Darcy, Elements of Sonata Theory, 292.

11 To maintain consistency and clarity I have eliminated some symphonies from my data that do not adhere to the customary three- or four-movement plan, such as characteristic symphonies and some of the novelty symphonies by Wranitzky.

For this chapter I examined forty-five symphonies by five composers, a large enough number to produce usable, but by no means, definitive results. Of the forty-five symphonies in my study, thirteen (twenty-nine percent) do not use a slow introduction, and thirty-two (seventy- one percent) do (See Table 2.1). This roughly 3:1 ratio of symphonies with slow introductions to those without a slow introduction illustrates the wide and accepted use of the slow introduction among these composers. Furthermore, while the symphonic output of Reicha and Eberl is limited, both composers opened all of their symphonies with slow introductions. The output by

Schubert and Ries is also limited, but both composers incorporated slow introductions in all but two of their symphonies. This brings the percentage of Schubert symphonies without an introduction to twenty-five percent and those with an introduction to seventy-five percent, and for Ries it is twenty-nine percent to seventy-one percent respectively. With twenty-five symphonies represented, Wranitzky used a slow introduction in sixteen (64 percent) and nine (36 percent) without an introduction.

Table 2.1: Symphonies with and without Slow Introductions Composer Symphony Slow Introduction Eberl Symphony in E-flat Major, Op. 33 Yes Eberl Symphony in D Minor, Op. 34 Yes Reicha Symphony No. 1 in C Minor Yes Reicha Symphony No. 3 in F Major Yes Reicha Symphony in E-flat Major, Op. 41 Yes Ries Symphony No. 1 in D Major, Op. 23 Yes Ries Symphony No. 3 in E-flat Major, Op. 90 Yes Ries Symphony No. 4 in F Minor, Op. 110 Yes Ries Symphony No. 6 in D Major, Op. 146 Yes

Ries Symphony in E-flat Major, WoO 30 Yes Schubert Symphony No. 1 in D Major, D. 82 Yes Schubert Symphony No. 2 in B-flat Major, D. 125 Yes Schubert Symphony No. 3 in D Major, D. 200 Yes Schubert Symphony No. 4 in C Minor, D. 417 Yes Schubert Symphony No. 6 in C Major, D. 569 Yes Schubert Symphony No. 9 in C Major “Great”, D. 944 Yes Wranitzky Symphony in C Minor (P10) Yes Wranitzky Sinfonia con Musica Turca in D Major (P19) Yes Wranitzky Symphony in D Major (P22) Yes Wranitzky Symphony in B-flat Major (P50) Yes Wranitzky Symphony in F Major, Op. 33, No. 3 (P34) Yes Wranitzky Symphony in C Major, Op. 35, No. 1 (P1) Yes Wranitzky Symphony in G Major, Op. 35, No. 2 (P40) Yes Wranitzky Symphony in E-flat Major, Op. 35, No. 2 (P32) Yes Wranitzky Symphony in D Major, Op. 36 (P18) Yes Wranitzky Symphony in D Major, Op. 37 (23) Yes Wranitzky Symphony in G Major, Op. 50 (P39) Yes Wranitzky Symphony in A Major, Op. 51 (P44) Yes Wranitzky Symphony in D Major, Op. 52 (P21) Yes Wranitzky Symphony in C Major (P6) Yes Wranitzky Symphony in D major (P17) Yes Wranitzky Symphony in E-flat major (P31) Yes Ries Symphony No. 2 in C Minor, Op. 80 No Ries Symphony No. 5 in D Minor, Op. 112 No Schubert Symphony No. 5 in B-flat Major, D. 485 No Schubert Symphony No. 8 in B Minor, D. 759 No Wranitzky Symphony in D Major (P16) No

Wranitzky Symphony in D Major (P20) No Wranitzky Symphony in A Major (P45) No Wranitzky Symphony in G Minor (P42) No Wranitzky Symphony in B-flat Major, Op. 33, No. 1 (P48) No Wranitzky Symphony in C Major, Op. 33, No. 2 (P7) No Wranitzky Symphony in D Minor “La Tempesta” (P30) No Wranitzky Symphony in D Major “La Chasse”, Op. 25 (P25) No Wranitzky Symphony in D Major (P15) No

Ten symphonies in the minor mode appear in this table, and are evenly split between symphonies with a slow introduction and symphonies without one. Of the thirteen symphonies without a slow introduction, five of them are in the minor mode, and this represents thirty-nine percent of these symphonies. Conversely, for the thirty-two symphonies with a slow introduction, five are in the minor mode, representing sixteen percent of the symphonies with an introduction, and suggesting the use of a slow introduction in a minor mode symphony to be a rare occurrence.

The slow introduction not only announces the beginning of the symphony, but also prepares the beginning of the ensuing allegro. There are various ways in which both of these functions unfold. Hepokoski and Darcy identify and define four “characteristic zones” found in a slow introduction. They are: 1. A call to attention, be it with a coups d’archet, dotted rhythms, or fanfare-like material; 2. Quiet material, often contrasting the bombastic opening or as a contrasting section within the introduction; 3. Sequences, usually in the transitional or developmental areas of the introduction; and 4. Dominant preparation, an introduction often concludes with a prolongation or cadence on the dominant to prepare the opening tonic of the

22 ensuing allegro.12 Sisman describes similar characteristics in her discussion of slow introductions. Having discussed three Mozart symphonies from the 1780s that contain a slow introduction (Symphonies Nos. 35, 36, and 39), she provides a general discussion of common characteristics found in these introductions that align with the historical function of a slow introduction. She mentions the call to attention, building an anticipation for the allegro, and notes that a slow introduction adds an air of grand style.13 In addition to these characteristics, she adds that “the introduction ‘previews’ some of the contrasts to be found in the first movement: between heroic and lyrical affects, between periods of tension and repose, between major and minor.”14 The size and scope of the introduction can also play a determining factor in any correlation between it and the allegro. Table 2.2 demonstrates the various size of introductions to symphonies, and the proportion of the introduction to the movement as a whole.

Table 2.2: Size and Scope of Slow Introductions Composer Symphony Number of Percentage of Measures Movement Wranitzky Symphony in A Major, Op. 51 (P44) 5 2 Schubert Symphony No. 2 in B-flat Major, D. 125 10 2 Reicha Symphony No. 1 in C Minor 6 3 Wranitzky Symphony in C Minor (P10) 9 4 Schubert Symphony No. 1 in D Major, D. 82 20 4 Wranitzky Symphony in G Major, Op. 35, No. 2 (P40) 15 5 Wranitzky Symphony in C Major (P6) 16 5 Wranitzky Symphony in C Major, Op. 35, No. 1 (P1) 17 5

12 Hepokoski and Darcy, Elements of Sonata Theory, 297-8.

13 Sisman, “Genre, Gesture, and Meaning in Mozart’s ‘Prague’ Symphony,” 34.

14 Ibid.

Eberl Symphony in E-flat Major, Op. 33 18 5 Eberl Symphony in D Minor, Op.34 22 5 Ries Symphony in E-flat Major, WoO 30 25 6 Wranitzky Symphony in E-flat Major (P31) 14 7 Wranitzky Symphony in D Major (P19) 15 7 Wranitzky Symphony in G Major, Op. 50 (P39) 19 7 Ries Symphony No. 4 in F Minor, Op. 110 24 7 Ries Symphony No. 1 in D Major, Op. 23 25 7 Wranitzky Symphony in D Major, Op. 37 (P23) 28 7 Wranitzky Symphony in D Major (P22) 32 7 Reicha Symphony in E-flat Major, Op. 41 17 8 Schubert Symphony No. 3 in D Major, D. 200 18 8 Wranitzky Symphony in D Major (P17) 27 8 Wranitzky Symphony in D Major, Op. 36 (P18) 29 8 Schubert Symphony No. 6 in C Major, D. 589 30 8 Wranitzky Symphony in B-flat Major (P50) 23 9 Wranitzky Symphony in E-flat Major, Op. 35, No. 3 (P32) 24 9 Wranitzky Symphony in D Major, Op. 52 (P21) 27 9 Ries Symphony No. 6 in D Major, Op. 146 33 9 Schubert Symphony No. 4 in C Minor “Tragic”, D. 417 29 10 Wranitzky Symphony in F Major, Op. 33, No. 3 (P34) 37 11 Reicha Symphony No. 3 in F Major 47 11 Schubert Symphony No. 9 in C Major “Great”, D. 944 77 11

As evident from this table, a longer introduction does not necessarily correlate to a larger percentage of the movement. For instance, the Symphony in D Major (P22) by Wranitzky has a slow introduction of thirty-two measures (seven percent of the first movement) compared to the

Fourth Symphony by Schubert where the slow introduction is shorter by three measures (twenty-

24 nine) but comprises ten percent of the movement. In the case of Ries’s Symphony in E-flat

Major, WoO 30, the introduction is twenty-five measures long and only comprises six percent of the movement. These three examples illustrate that the length of the introduction does not necessarily denote a larger proportion of the movement, and that the size of the allegro lends greater or lesser weight to the introduction.

For a discussion of individual symphonies I begin with the shortest of the introductions because of its simple approach to preparing the allegro. Wranitzky’s Op. 51 (P44) was published by André around 1805, suggesting this is one of his late symphonies.15 The five-measure introduction does not provide much opportunity to develop or even contrast ideas, and the brevity and nature of the material does not afford the generation of musical ideas for the exposition (Example 2.1). The harmonic rhythm of the introduction is structured as 1+1+3 (A major + B minor + E dominant). This common progression does not foreshadow anything that would signal a connection between the introduction and the exposition. One connection between the two is the three eighth-note figures from the first three measures as energetic impetus for P in the exposition. Some symphonies form this time incorporate more fleshed out introductions, and introductions with a greater correlation to the exposition, but here Wranitzky presents more of a harmonic prelude with a subtle rhythmic motive connection to the exposition.16

An introduction comprising seven percent of the movement occurs the most frequently among these composers, with this proportion occurring seven times. And yet even within this

15 Milan Poštolka, “Thematisches Verzeichnis der Sinfonien Pavel Vranickýs” Miscellenea musicologica 20 (1967): 123.

16 Other symphonies with larger introductions from this time present several motives explored in the introduction and later used and re-imagined in the exposition. For a discussion of this in the late symphonies of Haydn, See Yoel Greenberg, “Minding the Gap: ‘Active Transitions’ from the Slow Introduction to the Fast Section in Haydn Symphonies” The Journal of Musicology 29/3 (2012), 292-322. His analysis of the relation between the introduction and allegro section to Symphony No. 103 (pp. 300-5) demonstrates this technique in great detail.

25 most frequently occurring percentage the length of the introduction varies considerably. The shortest of these is Wranitzky’s Symphony in E-flat Major (P31) with a fourteen-measure introduction, and the longest is Wranitzky’s Symphony in D Major (P22) at thirty-two measures.

The introductions to these two symphonies carry the same proportional weight, yet the introduction to P22 is more than twice that of P31. The compositional approach taken by

Wranitzky in the introduction and the allegro may explain why the introduction to P22 is twice as long as that of P31 yet does not take up a larger portion of the movement. In both areas he incorporates echo effects across the orchestra. An example of this occurs in measures 4-9 of the introduction, where Wranitzky not only tosses the echo effect among different instruments, he shortens the material being echoed to further simulate the dying effect of an echo (Example 2.2).

This use of repetitive technique extends the length of the introduction and the allegro. The tonal plan to the introduction for P22 is simple with oscillations between tonic and dominant, and no shifts to the parallel minor or tonicization of remote keys.

The longest slow introduction among the composers of this study comes from Schubert’s

Ninth Symphony with its seventy-seven measure introduction. Not only is this the longest introduction in my study sample, it is also the longest introduction in proportion to the first movement (eleven percent). Just as Sisman and Hepokoski and Darcy claimed that a larger slow introduction carried an association of elevated status for a symphony, the large-scale slow introduction to Schubert’s Ninth certainly applies. Known as the “Great” symphony, Brown places this descriptor within the context and time the symphony was composed:

The terms “grosse” and “grand” have been mistranslated to mean “great,” a term which in the hyperbolic twentieth century takes on a different meaning, implying the quest for canonization so often associated with the romantic composer. In the early nineteenth century, the term was often reserved for works of joyous and

celebratory affect, for a full orchestra with trumpets and drums, perhaps somewhat longer than the norm, and in the key of C or D major. By 1825, it was being used too commonly, as an advertising ploy by concert-givers and publishers.17

The Ninth Symphony certainly fulfills all of these parameters of a “grand” symphony.

The seventy-seven measure introduction alone, in a first movement comprising 685 measures, reflects the epic scale of the design of the movement and the symphony as a whole. Schubert accomplishes this affect in the introduction by using a series of variations, and Brown maps the structure of the variations onto sonata principles. A reduction of his analysis is provided in Table

2.3.18

Table 2.3: Structure of Introduction to Schubert’s Ninth Symphony

Sonata Principle Theme and Variations Theme Exposition Variation 1 (m. 9) Extension (m.17)

Variation 2 (m. 29) Development Variation 3 (m. 38) Extension (m. 48)

Recapitulation Variation 4 (m. 61) Transition (m. 70)

17 A. Peter Brown, The First Golden Age of the Viennese Symphony: Haydn, Mozart, Beethoven, and Schubert, Vol. II of The Symphonic Repertoire (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 2001), 630.

18 Ibid., 632.

The theme and variations approach to the introduction lends itself to an expansive size.

More often with a large introduction a simpler ternary approach is taken, such as in Wranitzky’s

Op. 33, No. 3 (P34), published in 1799.19 This introduction carries the same proportional weight as Schubert’s Ninth Symphony (eleven percent), but is slightly less than half the size at thirty- seven measures. It is the largest slow introduction to a symphony by Wranitzky, and exhibits balanced phrasing, despite not moving away from tonic (See Table 2.4).

Table 2.4: Structure of Introduction to Wranitzky’s Op. 33, No. 3 (P34) A 4+4 Vln., Ob., Fl. B 4+4 Ob., Bsn. 4+4 Ob., Fl., Bsn. Transition 2 Strings A 4+2 Vln., Ob., Fl. K 5 Strings

The final example I examine departs from the formal order commonly found between a slow introduction and its ensuing allegro. Eberl’s Symphony in D Minor, Op.34 from 1804 has an introduction of twenty-two measures, which accounts for five percent of the movement. The first movement to this symphony is an anomaly in that Eberl composed it in three distinct sections.

The movement features a slow introduction of twenty-two measures (Andante maestoso e sostenuto), followed by a march of ninety-two measures (Tempo di Marcia), and then a Type 3 sonata form of 352 measures (Allegro agitato). The layout of the movement breaks from the common format of introduction followed by an allegro section. The march interrupts this layout,

19 Poštolka, “Thematische Verzeichnis,” 119-20.

28 causing a disruption between the introduction and the allegro. The introduction begins in the tonic, D minor, touches on A-flat major, and closes on the dominant. The march that follows is a self-contained closed structure that begins in the parallel major, features a trio in the subdominant (G major), and concludes in D major. Jin-Ah Kim identifies the structure of the three-movement symphony as having two parts: the slow introduction, march, and allegro form the first part, and the Andante and Finale form the second. She recognizes a similar approach taken by Reicha in his Op. 42 from 1803, this time with the two parts split evenly among the four movements.20 Additionally she considers the march as a replacement to the expected minuet movement, though positioned ahead of the allegro. With the march positioned where it is, and incorporated into the first movement, the introduction to this symphony comprises five percent of the movement. If the march were separated and placed in second or third position, the introduction gains slightly in importance by accounting for six percent of the movement.

As the examination of the introductions to these forty-five symphonies, the proportion of the introduction to the remainder of the movement varied greatly among the composers and their symphonic output. The proportions ranged from two percent to eleven percent, and the most frequently recurring percentage was seven, which only represents twenty-two percent of the symphonies in my study. Clearly there was not an established or expected proportion an introduction should have on the first movement. Also, the form of the introduction varied, as shown in the examples of Schubert’s Ninth Symphony and Wranitzky’s Op. 33, No. 3 (P34).

Most of the introductions among the composers in this study began in the tonic, and only four use a non-tonic opening: The First, Third, and Fourth symphonies of Ries and the Symphony No.

20 Jin-Ah Kim, Anton Eberls Sinfonien in ihrer Zeit:Hermeutisch-analytische Aspekte der Sinfonik 1770-1830 (Eisenach: K.D. Wagner, 2002), 374.

3 in F Major by Reicha. The composers of my study used introductions of varying lengths, formal properties, and characteristics (like the four detailed by Hepokoski and Darcy on page

23). An increased use of slow introductions to begin a symphony did not coalesce into a standardized form or character, but rather it varied from symphony to symphony much like the varied handling of sonata form.

Exposition

The exposition of a sonata-form movement acts as the heart of the movement in that it presents the P and S material that will be developed and resolved in the development and recapitulation, respectively. The skeleton of the exposition comprises four parts: 1) P (Primary material), 2) TR (Transition material), S (Secondary material), and C (Closing material). Within this frame much variation and manipulation of the material and tonal plan can take place on the part of the composer. It is the variation and manipulation within this basic structure that propelled the “War against the Textbooks” chronicled by Hepokoski and Darcy.21 Countless analyses of solo sonata and symphonic sonata movements compare the deformations and manipulations against the “textbook” form so often, one begins to wonder if a “textbook” form truly exists. Or, because of its frequency of use, perhaps the deformed and manipulated forms are the true “textbook” approach, and what has been presented as the “textbook” approach is actually the rarity.

For my discussion of the expositions of the symphonies in my study, I focus on those expositions that represent unusual or rare approaches to the expositional structure. These are few in number, but demonstrate times when the composer ventured outside the usual presentation of

21 Hepokoski and Darcy, Elements of Sonata Theory, 6-9.

30 material. In the symphonies of these composers, such rare approaches include non-tonic openings to the exposition, monothematic expositions, and three-key expositions. These techniques are limited to three of my composers: Wranitzky, Schubert, and Ries.

The non-tonic beginning to an exposition is not all that common, and is found in only one of the twenty-five Wranitzky symphonies examined here, whereas Ries used a non-tonic beginning in four of the seven symphonies under discussion.22 Coincidentally, in all five of these symphonies with non-tonic openings, there is no caesura or break of any kind between the slow introduction and the allegro. Yoel Greenberg calls this an “active transition,” and defines it as, “a moment that . . . generates new musical material by transforming immediately preceding material and creating an active transition between the sections. Such an active boundary serves as a means of achieving continuity of the compositional logic without sacrificing formal clarity.”23

Greenberg classifies the active transition into three categories: reflection, refraction, and transparency.24 The five symphonies in my study illustrate each example of these three categories, and a demonstration of each category will be provided.

Greenberg defines the first category, reflection, as, involving “the mirroring of previous material: music after the juncture [between slow introduction and allegro] thus inverts what has gone before it, either entirely faithfully or at other times more loosely, inverting just the sequence of pitches or the general contour.”25 The transition in the Fourth Symphony of Ries, in

F minor, serves as an example of this. The slow introduction begins with a non-tonic opening on

22 The lone Wranitzky symphony is his Op. 51, and the four Ries symphonies are his Op. 23, Op. 110, Op. 112, and Op. 146.

23 Greenberg, “Minding a Gap,” 293.

24 Ibid.

25 Ibid.

31 a descending tritone (D-flat down to G). While the introduction ends on a dominant, it is actually a V/V leading to a cadence on the dominant (C) to open the allegro. Over the murmuring strings is a solo horn playing a series of perfect fifths (G down to C) that reflect back, with a slight alteration, to the opening interval of the symphony (Example 2.3). The non-tonic opening to the allegro beginning on the dominant also serves as a delayed structural downbeat for P, which occurs in measure 39 (fourteen measures into the allegro) with the arrival on the tonic.

Refraction “maintains the melodic identity of the material directly preceding the juncture but ‘refracts’ it sequentially, repeating it at a different pitch.”26 An example of this is found in the active transition in Wranitzky’s Symphony in A Major, Op. 51 (P44). The last two pitches of the slow introduction (D and D-sharp), performed by the first violins, are shifted up a semitone and inverted to E and D-sharp.

Transparency “allows material through the formal juncture without melodic transformation, although other transformations such as acceleration, rescoring, and metric displacement usually take place.”27 In Ries’s Sixth Symphony, the violins present musical material in the last four measures of the introduction that is transformed through tempo and meter (Example 2.4). This example of transparency illustrates how a composer generates P from the introduction, forming a continuity between the introduction and the allegro.28

26 Ibid., 293-4.

27 Ibid., 294.

28 Perhaps a more striking example of this comes from Schubert’s First Symphony where the ascending and descending triadic material from the introduction becomes P in the exposition. Schubert manipulates the tempo and note values to achieve the effect of no acceleration of the material. Though this is an exposition beginning on the tonic, it is a notable example illustrating Greenberg’s concept of transparency. See Brown, The First Golden Age, 578-9.

In addition to material from the introduction generating P material, sometimes the P material generates S material. These are rare instances of this in the symphonies in my study, five to be exact, four by Wranitzky (P17, 18, 21, and 23) and the Sixth Symphony of Ries.

Among the symphonies in this study, only five (nine percent) have S material generated from P.

This compositional technique has long been termed “monothematicism,” but this term, and its simplistic definition, has fallen out of favor. It is considered misleading because it suggests S is built on the same theme as P. In relation to Haydn’s use of this, Brown explains, “The use of this term [monothematic] is clearly a misnomer in that Haydn does not construct his movement out of a single theme, but reuses P to commence S and then goes on to present new material.”29 This sentiment is echoed by Matthew Riley, “This does not mean that the main and subordinate themes---conceived as paragraphs expressing a sequence of formal functions initiating, medial, concluding)---are identical, still less that the exposition spins out only one motive or figure. It means that the basic idea of the subordinate theme is identical or very similar to that of the main theme.”30 Monothematic expositions often lack a strict repetition of P in the new key of the S- zone. What can be found in most of these from this time is the use of a head motive, or incipit, of

P material to spin out or generate S. Timothy Mastic details this in his analysis of the exposition to Haydn’s “Military” Symphony as, “The exposition seems as though it is going to be monothematic: after a transition and very clear V:HC MC in m. 73, the P-theme is presented again, not only in the dominant but also at a softer dynamic with a reduced texture. However, this theme loses energy in m. 80 and dissolves into motivic repetitions characteristic of TM2”31

29 Brown, The First Golden Age, 105.

30 Matthew Riley, The Viennese Minor-Key Symphony in the Age of Haydn and Mozart (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2014), 179.

Two of the four “monothematic” examples by Wranitzky demonstrate a slight alteration to the common design. Two that adhere to the common design are his Op. 36 and 52. Beginning in m. 64 of the exposition in Op. 52, the P material is presented in the dominant and proceeds just as it had at the beginning of the exposition (except S is stable with the dominant in first inversion [C-sharp in the bass]). The initial presentation of P in the dominant uses the same 6+2 structure as before, followed by a repetition of the first four measures, but then dissolves into an excursion to F-sharp minor before returning to the dominant. This differs from the more stable presentation in P in terms of the tonal plan, where the material transitions through V/V to prepare for the arrival of S.

The other two examples, P17 and Op. 37 (P23), present P material in S in a slightly different way. In these two symphonies, Wranitzky does not initiate S with the theme or head motive from P. In P17, after a strong V:HC MC in m. 61, Wranitzky does not begin S with the head motive of P, but rather the consequent phrase from P (mm. 36-42). The head motive of P is reserved for C beginning in m. 135. This strengthens the connection between the end of the exposition and the repetition of P by having the same material presented first in the dominant and answered in the tonic.

One concern with a monothematic exposition is the reprise of the material in the recapitulation. Neuwirth discusses this in relation to Haydn, stating that “a considerable number of examples can be found, extending from his earliest compositions to his very last symphony, where Haydn retains the monothematic statement retransposed to the tonic. To be sure, Haydn at

31 Timothy R. Mastic, “Normative Wit: Haydn’s Recomposed Recapitulations” Music Theory Online 21/2 (June 2015), 5.

34 times makes some minor changes in the monothematic theme zone.”32 In each of the four symphonies by Wranitzky, the monothematic statement and structure is upheld in the recapitulation and presented in the tonic as expected.

By its very nature, monothematic expositions contain less motivic variety than bi- thematic ones since all of or a head motive of P is used for S. But the tonal conventions remain intact with P stated in the tonic and S in the dominant for the major mode and the relative major or minor dominant for the minor mode. Based on the positioning of the monothematic statement, the resulting structure of the exposition can be either a two-part exposition or a three-part

(continuous) exposition.33 Hepokoski and Darcy take some issue with the term three-part exposition, “because it refers to the surface features of only one variant of the continuous exposition, of which we have identified two subtypes, and because in individual analyses some writers have placed the boundaries of the three parts in questionable places.”34 For their purposes they define the continuous exposition being, “identified by a lack of a clearly articulated medial caesura followed by a successfully launched secondary theme.”35 This lack of clarity between the end of the primary theme and the beginning of the secondary theme is the hallmark of a continuous exposition.

Hepokoski and Darcy use two categories for continuous expositions: the first is the

“Expansion Section,” where a MC does not materialize and presents a Fortspinnung effect, and

32 Markus Neuwirth, “Does a ‘Monothematic’ Expositional Design have Tautological Implications for the Recapitulation? An Alternative Approach to ‘Altered Recapitulations’ in Haydn” Studia Musicologica 51 (September 2010), 372.

33 Mastic, “Normative Wit,” 371.

34 Hepokoski and Darcy, Elements of Sonata Theory, 51.

35 Ibid.

35 the second is the use of an early PAC in the secondary area followed by cadential repetition. The difference between these two lies in the motion of the material. The MC is alluded to in the first type, which creates a more consistent level of energy, and the second type utilizes an early PAC to establish the secondary area, and often followed by numerous cadential patterns. Conversely, an exposition containing three clearly articulated key areas represents a three-key exposition, where caesuras aid in defining each of the key areas.

Among the composers in my study, only two composers used a three-key exposition, found in just four symphonies. There are two examples by Ries (his Sixth Symphony and WoO

30) and two by Schubert (his Second and Fourth Symphonies). Rey Longyear and Kate

Covington present a simple definition for the three-key exposition and categorized it into two types. According to them, “The term ‘three-key exposition’ describes a sonata-form exposition in which the second theme-group begins in a key different from both the opening and the close of the exposition.”36 Longyear and Covington simply categorize three-key expositions according to major and minor mode. In addition to these two categories they recognize a grey area exists and details a synthesis between the two groups. To illustrate this synthesis, they use selected works by Schubert, among them his Fourth Symphony.

In their analysis of the first movement, Longyear and Covington note that P is in the tonic minor, the first statement of S in the submediant major, and the second statement of S in the mediant major.37 Brown’s analysis acknowledges the first statement of S in A-flat major, and that a repetition of S begins in E-flat major, but he does not ascribe this process as a three-key

36 Rey M. Longyear and Kate R. Covington, “Sources of the Three-Key Exposition” The Journal of Musicology 6/4 (Autumn 1988), 448.

37 Ibid., 466.

36 exposition.38 What Longyear and Covington consider the third key area of the exposition in E major (mm. 85-130), Hepokoski and Darcy consider to be “an expanded continuation.”39

Newbould adds additional analysis for this section as a sequence of major thirds leading back to

A-flat. He describes the passage as, “Forsaking A-flat, he [Schubert] moves downwards in three stages, by major thirds. Three major thirds adds up to an octave, so that he ends up where he began, in A flat. But meanwhile he has passed through F flat major (which he call E major) and

C major. For each stage he uses the same eight-bar module of music.”40 This modulatory restatement resembles what Hepokoski and Darcy refer to as a thematic loop, in which “a composer does provide a notably brief S leading to an early PAC, one common strategy is to repeat (and perhaps vary) the theme, in part to defer the EEC-moment to a more proportionally acceptable position. This is one of several motivations that could be implicated in EEC deferral through thematic repetition.”41 The analysis by Newbould takes this thematic loop into full account, and the analysis by Brown recognizes it, but stops short of declaring S being ruled completely by A-flat. The Longyear and Covington analysis does not take into account a thematic loop. They consider the repetition of the second group to be a tonicization of E major even though this cycles back to the original key area of the group, A-flat, before the commencement of the coda. Though there are differing opinions on the merits of the exposition of Schubert’s Fourth Symphony as a three-key exposition, his Second Symphony is a clearer example of a three-key exposition.

38 Brown, The First Golden Age, 599.

39 Hepokoski and Darcy, Elements of Sonata Theory, 277.

40 Brian Newbould, Schubert and the Symphony: A New Perspective (Surbiton, England: Toccata Press, 1994), 94.

41 Hepokoski and Darcy, Elements of Sonata Theory, 166.

According to Brown, the Second Symphony by Schubert, completed in 1815, is the first occurrence of a clear three-key exposition in his symphonic writing. Brown proposes that

Schubert may have used Beethoven’s String Quartet Op. 18, No. 3, the Coriolan overture, and the Eighth Symphony as models for the process used in his Second Symphony.42 Instead of presenting the 1S in the dominant, F major, Schubert presents it in the subdominant, E-flat major, beginning in m. 80. 2S (actually a reprise of P) is set in the dominant to close out the exposition and allow a smooth and logical connection back to the beginning of the exposition.

Newbould details how this structure was criticized by Maurice Brown, who wrote that the restatement of P “prolongs the exposition section to an almost unendurable extent and seriously upsets the hitherto perfect balance of the movement.”43 Newbould was not concerned so much with the structural balance of the exposition, but rather how to make sense of the key areas and their order in relation to conventional expositional form. He tells us that “one asked at the point where the first subject returned, ‘Is this a repeat, real or illusory, of the exposition?’ No, it couldn’t be: it’s in the wrong key. ‘Is it the first return of the main theme in a rondo form, then?’

Again, the key is wrong, or at least unconventional. But I began to sense after a mere twelve bars that there was an air of codetta about this passage, a sense of winding down.”44 The move to the subdominant for S coupled with a third key area built on P, which Newbould takes to be the start of the codetta, is unconventional compared to common sonata practice. While the move to the subdominant is unusual, it was not so rare for Schubert.

42 Brown, The First Golden Age, 587.

43 Maurice J. E. Brown, Schubert Symphonies (London: BBC Music Guide, 1970), 13 quoted in Newbould, Schubert and the Symphony, 62-3.

44 Newbould, Schubert and the Symphony, 63.

To conclude my discussion of the three-key exposition I will discuss one of the two example found in the symphonies by Ries. He composed his First Symphony in 1809 and Hill believes the style of the slow introduction and the funereal second movement pay homage to

Haydn, who died earlier in the year.45 Following the fanfare-like P, Ries announces 1S in the dominant minor in m. 52. Moving to the dominant minor is rare in general, but Hill states that

Ries did this “occasionally,” making this a little more than a rarity for him.46 For 2S Ries simply changes to the major mode, now presenting secondary material in the dominant. Like Schubert with his Second Symphony, Ries sets 2S in the dominant to close the exposition and provide a logical link back to the repetition of the exposition.

For all three of the techniques examined here for the exposition, the non-tonic opening, the monothematic presentation, and the three-key exposition, composers ventured outside usual formal conventions and challenged the listener’s comprehension of the form. Even though these techniques are uncommon, they still serve as unifying elements for the movement. The non-tonic opening can grow out of the slow introduction, providing a thematic, motivic, and/or harmonic unity between the slow introduction and the exposition. The monothematic statement unifies the first and second subject groups by presenting P, or head motives of P, in the secondary key area.

The variability of key areas that can be explored in a three-key exposition sets up implications for the development and recapitulation, and thus acts as an overarching unifier for the movement.

Once the exposition is complete, its materials receive invention and exploration in the development.

45 Cecil Hill, Ferdinand Ries. Three Symphonies in The Symphony, 1720-1840. Series C.; v. 12, Barry S. Brook, editor-in-chief (New York: Garland Press, 1982), xviii.

46 Ibid.

Development

The development section of a sonata form movement recalls one or more ideas from the exposition, and sometimes introduces new material. This section is unstable and unpredictable, yet can also exhibit a semblance of ordered function. Hepokoski and Darcy claim the development is commonly based on the first half of the first rotation (P and TR), and that these areas are usually presented in the same order as they appeared in the exposition.47 Although P- based openings are more common, a development could have an S-based opening or even a C- based opening.48 The numerous possibilities available to composers with the development section adds to its unstable and unpredictable nature. As was the case with their treatment of the exposition, the composers in this study sometimes used straight-forward approaches, but also ventured beyond conventional means that deserve attention. For my discussion of the development sections I examine the various procedures used in this area and the size of the development in relation to the exposition and what impact this has on the balance of the movement.

Proportion of Movement

Hepokoski and Darcy generalize that the average development section in works from

1760-1790 took up proportionally less space than that of the exposition. For later symphonies, they state, “Longer, more elaborate developments in the 1780s, 1790s, and later decades are monumentalized statements that invite special attention.”49 This growth in the size of the development suggests a composition written on a grand scale and of an elevated nature.

47 Hepokoski and Darcy, Elements of Sonata Theory, 19.

48 Ibid., 207-17.

49 Ibid., 19.

Hepokoski and Darcy list a variety of compositional strategies used by composers to expand the development space; these strategies include:

frequent modulation; complete or fragmented references to motivic or thematic material from the exposition, typically shifted through different harmonic and major-minor colors; occasionally interpolated episodes or ‘new themes’; blocks of sequences; Sturm-und-Drang textures; large-scale intensification-drives; surprises and interruptions; fugato and other contrapuntal treatment; the ‘false- recapitulation’ effect; and several others.50 These strategies certainly afforded composers the tools to not only expand the development section, but also allows them to display their inventiveness with the expositional material. These strategies expanded, or were used in combination, to increase the length of the developmental space in the later part of the eighteenth century. Hepokoski and Darcy place the length of the development section in symphonies from the mid-eighteenth century at half that of the exposition. They observe that in “the last decades of the eighteenth century developments commonly extended anywhere from about twenty-five percent to seventy-five percent of the length of the preceding expositional rotation.”51 Thus the development section began to grow and almost take on equal weight as that of the exposition. Table 2.5 provides the proportions for the development sections of the symphonies in this study. In the table, I provide the proportion of the exposition in relation to the entire movement, the proportion of the development in relation to the entire movement(indicated in boldface), and the proportion of the development to the exposition

(indicated in italics). I have organized the table according to the proportion of the development space from smallest to largest.

Table 2.5: Development Proportions

50 Ibid., 196.

51 Ibid.

Composer Symphony % of % of Development/ Exposition Development Exposition Schubert Symphony No. 2 in B-flat 50 13 26 Major, D. 125 Wranitzky Symphony in C Minor (P10) 52 14 27 Wranitzky Symphony in D Major (P22) 42 15 36 Wranitzky Symphony in G Major, Op. 35, 39 15 38 No. 2 (P40) Schubert Symphony No. 4 in C Minor, D. 37 15 41 417 Schubert Symphony No. 6 in C Major, D. 31 15 48 589 Schubert Symphony No. 9 in C Major, D. 27 15 56 944 Eberl Symphony in E-flat Major, Op. 40 15 38 33 Wranitzky Symphony in F Major, Op. 33, 31 16 52 No. 3 (P34) Wranitzky Symphony in G Major, Op. 50 32 16 50 (P39) Ries Symphony No. 4 in F Minor, 35 16 46 Op. 110 Wranitzky Symphony in C Major, Op. 33, 37 17 46 No. 2 (P7) Wranitzky Symphony in D Major, Op. 36 37 17 46 (P18) Schubert Symphony No. 5 in B-flat 39 18 46 Major, D. 485 Reicha Symphony in E-flat Major, Op. 36 18 50 41 Wranitzky Symphony in D Major (P17) 35 19 54 Wranitzky Symphony in D Major (P20) 49 20 41

Wranitzky Symphony in D Minor (P30) 43 20 47 Reicha Symphony No. 3 in F Major 33 20 61 Ries Symphony No. 1 in D Major, 31 20 65 Op. 23 Ries Symphony No. 2 in C Minor, 42 20 48 Op. 80 Wranitzky Symphony in E-flat Major, Op. 30 21 70 35, No. 3 (P32) Wranitzky Symphony in D Major, Op. 37 32 21 67 (P23) Schubert Symphony No. 1 in D Major, D. 39 21 54 82 Wranitzky Symphony in C Major, Op. 35, 37 22 59 No. 1 (P1) Wranitzky Symphony in C Major (P6) 33 22 67 Wranitzky Symphony in D Major, Op. 25 36 22 61 (P25) Reicha Symphony No. 1 in C Minor 31 23 74 Ries Symphony No. 5 in D Minor, 44 23 52 Op. 112 Wranitzky Symphony in D Major, Op. 52 34 24 71 (P21) Schubert Symphony No. 3 in D Major, D. 33 24 73 200 Ries Symphony in E-flat Major, WoO 29 24 83 30 Wranitzky Symphony in D Major (P19) 31 25 81 Wranitzky Symphony in D Major (P15) 32 25 78 Ries Symphony No. 6 in D Major, 33 25 76 Op. 146 Wranitzky Symphony in D Major (P16) 39 26 67

Schubert Symphony No. 8 in B Minor, D. 32 26 81 759 Wranitzky Symphony in A Major (P45) 34 27 79 Wranitzky Symphony in B-flat Major (P50) 35 27 77 Wranitzky Symphony in A Major, Op. 51 34 30 88 (P44) Wranitzky Symphony in B-flat Major, Op. 35 32 91 33, No. 1 (P48) Wranitzky Symphony in E-flat Major (P31) 37 41 111

The symphonies represented in the table cover a period of roughly thirty-five years, yet no clear progression, or “evolution,” can be drawn from them. The smallest development in proportion to the entire movement comes from Schubert’s Second Symphony, which dates from

1815. Conversely, the longest development in proportion to the entire movement comes from

Wranitzky’s Symphony in E-flat Major (P31), which dates from the 1790s.52 The proportion of the development to the exposition for Schubert’s Second Symphony falls on the low end of the range presented by Hepokoski and Darcy. The development in Wranitzky’s P31 exceeds the proportion of the exposition and extends beyond the twenty-five to seventy-five percent range given by Hepokoski and Darcy. It is worth noting the proportional layout to P31: slow introduction, seven percent; exposition, thirty-seven percent; development, forty-one percent; and recapitulation, fifteen percent. With such a weighted emphasis on the exposition and development, Wranitzky truncated the recapitulation by more than half compared to the exposition.

52 Since this is an unpublished symphony, the dating of the symphony is not known for certain. The first movement contains a chase characteristic with the horns appropriately leading the way. This symphony may have been composed for the court of Empress Marie Therese.

Among his eight symphonies discussed here, five of Schubert’s symphonies have a development space of less than twenty percent of the movement, including his lengthy Ninth

Symphony, the “Great.” The proportional layout of this symphony composed on a grand scale is: slow introduction, eleven percent; exposition, twenty-seven percent; development, fifteen percent; and recapitulation, forty-seven percent. The first movement is evenly divided proportionally between the first three areas and the recapitulation. A ninety-two measure coda to conclude the movement shifts the weight toward the recapitulation. The smaller development section is not the only area where Schubert developed material. Brown states that, “strong thematic development is not confined to transition passages and the development section proper, but also occurs in the introduction and coda.”53 The development section for such an ambitious work may appear small within the confines of its designated area, but Schubert exercised the development of material in other areas of this movement.

Five of the symphonies in my study have a developmental proportion of twenty percent, the most common proportion. These symphonies demonstrate that the time and space a composer devoted to the development section varied greatly. Also evident from the table, the variability of the development proportion differs not only from composer to composer, but also from symphony to symphony. One final observation drawn from the table is that as the proportion of the development increases, so does the proportion of the development to the exposition. This is not necessarily a direct correlation, but in general the greater the development proportion to the movement, the more likely the proportion of the development to the exposition increases.

Recapitulation; False and Real

53 Brown, The First Golden Age, 636.

The development section of a first movement often recalls P-space, S-space, and/or introduces new material. Most development sections from the time period of my study are based upon P and TR rather than S and C.54 There are reasons for using a P-based or S-based development in relation to the formal layout of the movement as a whole. First, a P-based development assimilates the previous repetition of the exposition since the P material appears immediately following S and C, and the EEC, much like the return to P when the exposition is repeated. Second, a P-based development provides unity throughout the movement, with P used to start the exposition, development, and recapitulation. An S-based development section could be considered an extension of S, and the same can be said for C if it is prominent in the development. Since S and C prepared to the return of P with the repeat of the exposition, this function is mirrored in an S-based development with the retransition to the recapitulation.

The return of P in the tonic following the development signals the arrival and beginning of the final rotation of a sonata-form movement. However, composers occasionally use a false recapitulation to disrupt the usual order. Still confined to the development area, the false recapitulation often states P material with the exact or nearly exact orchestration as in the exposition, but appears in the “wrong” key, a key other than the tonic. Often the statement, or statements, of P in the “wrong” key serves as a transitional space leading to the true recapitulation in the tonic. The early statements of P in the “wrong” key could be considered as part of the recapitulation, though it still has a foothold in the development. To this point,

Hepokoski and Darcy “consider the recapitulation proper to begin with the tonic statement of the theme. The preceding false starts also belong to the recapitulatory rotation, of course, but as tentative and aborted gestures they are reabsorbed and converted into the new beginning of the

54 Hepokoski and Darcy, The Elements of Sonata Theory, 205.

46 rotation at the proper tonic-pitch level.”55 Of the composers in my study, Wranitzky used false recapitulations the most, and this occurs in five of his symphonies. In Table 2.6 I provide the five symphonies along with the tonal relationship of the false recapitulation and the home key of the movement.

Table 2.6: False Recapitulations in Wranitzky Symphonies

Symphony Key of False Key Relationship to Recapitulation Home Key Symphony in A Major (P45) C Major LIII Symphony in D Major, Op. 36 (P18) D Minor i Symphony in E-Flat major, Op. 35, No. 3 (P32) G Major III Symphony in C Major (P6) E Major III Symphony in G Major, Op. 35, No. 2 (P40) G Major I

For the majority of these, Wranitzky elected to use some form of tertian relationship to the home key of the symphony. Though the use of such a distantly related key relationship may seem unorthodox, it is a logical choice for the composer at this point in the composition. Prior to the false recapitulation the dominant is usually established, and presenting a false recapitulation in the dominant would not offer the tonal contrast to signal an effective false start. The subdominant could be used, but there are times where a composer begins the recapitulation in the subdominant. There are two reasons why a composer might choose a tertian relationship for the false recapitulation: first, with P stated in the tonic and S stated in the dominant, the false recapitulation in the mediant fills in the triad between the two key areas heard in the exposition; and second, as I demonstrate in the next chapter, the composer may refer back to this key

55 Ibid., 260.

47 relationship later in the symphony, especially for the key of the second movement. In the latter instance, the use of a tertian relationship for the false recapitulation serves as a unifying element across the symphony if the composer incorporates it into other movements.

The key relationship of the false recapitulations for symphonies P18 and P40 are in the minority. In P18 Wranitzky simply states the opening motive of P in the parallel minor of the home key. The change in mode signals a false start despite the use of P material. The use of D minor allows Wranitzky to retransition once again to the dominant to prepare the real recapitulation.

In P40 this presents a bit of a quandary in terms of its placement and function. Wranitzky prepares the return to the tonic with iterations of P1.1 on V/V and V in mm. 183-92. Beginning in m. 193, P1.1 returns in the tonic with a slight alteration to the orchestration of the exposition. For the exposition, P1.1 is played tutti by the strings, but for the recapitulation the winds join with the violins in the statement of P1.1 while the lower strings play repeated eighth notes to reinforce the arrival of the tonic. The first six measures (mm. 193-98) refer back to the first six measures to the opening of the exposition. Unlike the exposition, the recapitulation does not move forward with P1.2. Instead, Wranitzky reworks P1.1, suggesting we may not have left the development section. This uncertainty is bolstered by the appearance of a syncopated motive from the development section in the first violins. This developmental, or transitional, material lasts for a substantial thirty-four measures. Beginning in m. 233, P1.2 asserts the tonic again, and proceeds with a recollection of the initial six-measure statement in the exposition. P1.2 shifts to the minor mode after the six-measure phrase and then recalls the transition material that led to the MC in the exposition. Following a cadence on the dominant, S returns in m. 250 in the tonic, as would be expected in the recapitulation. The clear articulation of S in the tonic marks a sustained area

48 of tonal stability. The issue at hand is classifying and analyzing what preceded it with P1.1 and

P1.2 stated and developed.

One interpretation is that this is a Type 2 sonata form, or modified version, since a true and stable recapitulation occurs with S. According to Hepokoski and Darcy, the P material launches the development: “Within the implied generic rules of the game, if the postexpositional material continued more or less in rotational order (P-TR), a conceptual conversion into a Type 2 sonata was always possible at or around the S-point.”56 In this case, the development does follow the P-TR rotational order, with a few statements of S motives thrown in. The argument for a

Type 2 form can be affirmed with the following definition by Hepokoski and Darcy, “The moment that a development based on P- or TR-modules or on an appropriate episodic proxy (a writing-over) establishes a crux-event on a subsequent module of the rotational pattern is the moment when the Type 2 intentions of the sonata form are declared. This can happen, for example, at P1.2, at TR1.1, at TR2, at the MC, or even at the S-point.”57 Considering this a Type 2 sonata form, with the recapitulation at the S-point in m. 250, the tonic articulation of P1.1 and P1.2 remains in the development space, and may be considered as tonic false recapitulations.

Making sense of P1.1 and P1.2 as developmental, or as tonic false recapitulations instead of a true one depends on the definition of what constitutes a recapitulation and which recapitulatory procedure is at play. Hepokoski and Darcy provide a broad, general definition: “The term recapitulation suggests a postdevelopmental recycling of all or most of the expositional

56 Hepokoski and Darcy, Elements of Sonata Theory, 373.

57 Ibid., 379.

49 materials, beginning again with the module that had launched the exposition.”58 Bonds provides a more detailed definition for the recapitulation:

‘Recapitulation’ indicates that portion of the second half of a sonata-form movement following the definitive re-establishment of the tonic key. If the tonic is established not at the beginning of a melodic phrase but only within the course of such a phrase, the moment of recapitulation may be extended backward to the point at which that melodic unit began, provided that the thematic material of the entire phrase corresponds to the opening of the movement.59

Both definitions remark on the return to the opening module, and Bonds speaks more closely to the role of the tonic in the recapitulation, whereas this is only implied by Hepokoski and Darcy.

To view this in larger terms, Robert P. Morgan’s work on delayed structural downbeats considers the recapitulation according to several parameters. For works where the recapitulation exhibits a delayed structural downbeat, he remarks, “In harmonic terms, this means that the recapitulation begins before the tonic has been reached; in rhythmic terms, it means that the opening of the recapitulation still represents part of a large-scale upbeat; and in general formal terms, it means that at this point the overall structure is still essentially developmental in character, despite the thematic return.”60 Though the harmonic definition by Morgan does not apply here since

Wranitzky suggests a tonic recapitulation, but the remainder of Morgan’s definition of recapitulation, especially one with a delayed structural downbeat, applies to this example.

Certainly each of these authors launch into discussions of exceptions and various types of

58 Ibid., 231.

59 Mark Evan Bonds, “Haydn’s False Recapitulations and the Perception of Sonata Form in the Eighteenth Century” (Ph.D. diss., Harvard University, 1988), 207-8.

60 Robert P. Morgan, “The Delayed Structural Downbeat and its Effect on the Tonal and Rhythmic Structure of Sonata Form Recapitulation” (Ph.D. diss., Princeton University, 1969), 47.

50 recapitulatory techniques, but the general definition by Bonds provides a foundation for establishing where the recapitulation occurs in P40.

Mark Evan Bonds comments that some scholars define the false recapitulation as an

“interpolation of the opening theme in the tonic key” while some also include the appearance of the opening theme in the dominant, and some extend this to the opening theme presented in a distantly-related key.61 From his perspective, Bonds considers the false recapitulation in the tonic to be the most effective, “The term ‘false recapitulation’ carries – or at least should carry – the connotation of surprise on the part of the listener. This surprise, in turn, results from an intentional deception exercised by the composer upon his audience, a calculated play upon the listener’s expectations. Only the narrow definition of the term, limited to the reappearance of the opening material in the tonic, meets this criterion.”62 Taking this interpretation of the false recapitulation into consideration, the statements of P1.1 and P1.2 play with the listener’s expectation with two false recapitulations in the tonic.

The converse of the tonic false recapitulation is the non-tonic true recapitulation, which

Schubert incorporated into three of his symphonies. While the tonic false recapitulation represents the pinnacle of surprise for Bonds, Schubert allows for surprise with a non-tonic recapitulation in the subdominant in his Second and Fifth Symphonies and the minor dominant in his Fourth Symphony. A proper preparation on the dominant precedes the Second and Fifth

Symphony recapitulations, yet because Schubert elects a key area other than the tonic, listeners may still find themselves lost until the arrival of S in the tonic. Speaking specifically of the non- tonic recapitulation in the Fourth Symphony, Newbould concludes that, “it is not possible to

61 Ibid., 228.

62 Ibid., 229.

51 know at the point of recapitulation that recapitulation has begun. The fact is first suspected when the forte ‘afterstatement’ follows; and all else after that confirms the suspicion.”63 Remarking on the non-tonic recapitulation in the Second Symphony, Brown points more toward the tonal illusion Schubert achieves, noting that “the subdominant establishes itself with such strength that

E-flat is convincingly heard as the tonic with the return of 1P (m. 334).”64 Unlike the recapitulation from the Second Symphony, which Schubert effectively prepares, the recapitulation from the Fourth Symphony arrives abruptly, adding to the sleight of hand establishing the non-tonic recapitulation.65 Schubert’s use of non-tonic recapitulations subvert the model and expectation found in most symphonies, but this use benefits the strategy for the remainder of the recapitulation.

In the exposition of his Second Symphony, Schubert sets S in the subdominant, and he begins the recapitulation with P in the subdominant. Not only is the use of the subdominant to launch the recapitulation a reference to the key area explored earlier in the exposition, when S arrives in the recapitulation in the tonic a mirror-like effect for the tonal plan of the movement emerges between the exposition and recapitulation. Figure 1 re-creates the tonal plan laid out by

Newbould between the exposition and the recapitulation, demonstrating how the key areas of P and S reverse roles.66 Brown adds that S and K are altered in the recapitulation, represented by S in the tonic for the recapitulation and the concluding material now in the tonic.67

63 Newbould, Schubert and the Symphonies, 97-8.

64 Brown, The First Golden Age, 588.

65 Newbould, Schubert and the Symphony, 98.

66 Ibid., 66.

67 Brown, The First Golden Age, 589.

Figure 1: Tonal Plan between Exposition and Recapitulation in Schubert’s Second Symphony Exposition P S Codetta Tonic Subdominant Dominant

Recapitulation P S Codetta Coda Subdominant Tonic Tonic Tonic

For his Fifth Symphony, Schubert takes a slightly different approach by placing S in the dominant for the exposition and P in the subdominant for the recapitulation. The appearance of the subdominant in the recapitulation is more of a surprise than that from the Second Symphony.

Schubert sets up a conventional key structure by using the dominant for S in the exposition, only to have the tonic return at the launch of the recapitulation subverted by the subdominant.

Whereas the use of the subdominant in the exposition and recapitulation to the Second

Symphony creates a tonal unifier between the two sections, the use of the subdominant at the launch of the recapitulation in the Fifth Symphony sounds more like a false recapitulation in the wrong key rather than a true recapitulation.

Schubert’s justification in using the subdominant for some of his recapitulations has been explored by many. Brown posits Schubert picked up this technique from similar works by

Haydn, Mozart, and Beethoven, and also from works by Florian Leopold Gassmann (1729-1774) and Christoph Sonnleithner (1734-1786). Gassmann preferred the submediant for non-tonic recapitulations in his symphonies, and Sonnleithner preferred the subdominant.68 Beyond possible modeling, there are theoretical motivations to consider. If the exposition were presented unaltered in the recapitulation starting on the subdominant, the recapitulation of P is simply

68 Ibid.

53 transposed down a fifth, which allows for a seamless return to the tonic for S and K. Some music critics viewed Schubert’s use of the subdominant to start the recapitulation as a lazy effort.

Newbould describes Donald Tovey, Arthur Hutchings, and Hans Gál critiquing the use of a simplified tonal plan allowing for unaltered expositional material in the recapitulation.69

Newbould argues against these authors, stating that Schubert altered the recapitulation to his

Fifth Symphony, even though the alterations were not necessary to achieve the intended tonal plan. Newbould refers to the coda containing sixteen measures of new music, which serves as a link between the EEC and the unaltered, repeated eight-measure codetta from the exposition.70

Furthermore, Brown mentions the alteration to T, and adds that it “goes far beyond what is necessary to achieve the return of S in the tonic.”71 Brown chronicles the journey Schubert makes in T to prepare the return to the tonic, as Schubert, “cadences in E-flat’s subdominant (m.

217) before closing on the dominant of B-flat (m. 230), in preparation for S and K.”72 Certainly with these examples of alteration Schubert did not choose to begin his recapitulation in the subdominant for mere convenience. The alterations display a concerted effort on the part of

Schubert to play with convention.

Conclusion

Throughout this chapter I provided examples in each area found in a first movement where the composers in this study ventured outside the prescribed “textbook” understanding of sonata form. Though the symphonies of Haydn, Mozart, and Beethoven have received

69 Newbould, Schubert and the Symphony, 116.

70 Ibid., 116-7.

71 Brown, The First Golden Age, 605.

72 Ibid.

54 considerable attention to illustrate various deformations of sonata form, the examination of the first movements by the composers in this study reinforces the idea that a “textbook” sonata form was indeed an elusive concept. This chapter also explored select options used by composers in their symphonies, such as the slow introduction, three-key exposition, and false recapitulation to name a few.

The proportional analysis used in this chapter revealed a clear inclination to the use of a slow introduction, affirming that the frequency of beginning a symphony with a slow introduction rose at the end of the eighteenth century. The length of the slow introduction varied, and there was not a clear indication that the length of the slow introduction grew or shrunk during the time period studied. The more traditional style analysis investigated formal properties rarely encountered in first movements. The combination of these two analyses suggest the approach taken by these composers was not standardized or “textbook” in any way. From the proportion the composers devoted to each area of sonata form, and the techniques used to occupy each area (monothematicism, three-key exposition, false recapitulation, etc.), a highly individualistic approach, not only among the composers, but among the symphonies of any given composer, comes to the fore.

CHAPTER 3

Movements Beyond the First

As discussed in the previous chapter, how composers traversed and manipulated the type of sonata form chosen demonstrated their ability, handling, and prowess with the form. The use of sonata form, in all its various types, was expected for a first movement, and it was the way in which a composer shaped the components found within the form (contrasting subjects, key/tonal plan, development, recapitulation of exposition material, etc.) that distinguished one composer from another. Whereas the formal type used for first movements was limited to sonata form, the remaining movements of a symphony offered a number of options and choices for a composer.

As for the number of movements following the first, a clear preference emerged by the close of the century. The three-movement format dominated the four-movement format by a factor of three for symphonies dating before 1760, but a shift in preference during the 1760s brought the two formats closer to an even division. The four-movement format became favored as the century progressed, and by the 1790s the four-movement format outnumbered the three- movement format four to one.1 While the preference for the number of movements clearly shifted to the four-movement format, the origin for the format remains contested.

Elaine Sisman suggests the symphony came into its own as a genre and became emancipated from the Italian sinfonia, stating that “by 1780, symphonies had long since abandoned the three-movement format that linked them to earlier Italian opera overtures. Haydn wrote no three-movement symphonies after 1765, while Mozart’s ‘Prague’ Symphony, with its

1 Mary Sue Morrow, “The Symphony in the Austrian Monarchy” in The Eighteenth-Century Symphony, Vol. I of The Symphonic Repertiore, eds. Mary Sue Morrow and Bathia Churgin (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 2012), 428.

56 famously absent Minuet, remains the exception that proves the rule.”2 Wolf insists that the four- movement format spun out from the F-S-F format with, “the insertion of a minuet and trio before the finale.”3 Webster approaches the development of the four-movement format from a different perspective stating, “not so much the insertion of a minuet into the F-S-F pattern, as is usually assumed, as the addition of a finale to the traditional three-movement pattern ending with a minuet.”4 Both arguments are plausible, and it is possible the development of the four-movement symphony did not simply emerge from one or the other type of three-movement symphony, but from both types. How the four-movement symphony grew out the three-movement symphony remains inconclusive, as does who was the first to use the four-movement format. Hugo

Riemann proposed Johann Stamitz was the first, whereas Guido Adler claimed it was Georg

Matthias Monn, and Fausto Torrefranco stated it was Giovanni Battista Sammartini.5 However it emerged, by the last decade of the century the four-movement format was strongly preferred among Viennese composers.

In this chapter I provide a comprehensive assessment of the movement types and forms used in movements beyond the first by the composers in this study. For my discussion, I limited my findings and analysis only to those symphonies containing three or four movements.6 By

2 Elaine Sisman, Mozart: The “Jupiter” Symphony (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1993), 7.

3 Eugene K. Wolf, “Symphony,” The New Harvard Dictionary of Music, ed. Don Michael Randel, 4th ed. (Cambridge: The Belknap Press of Harvard University Press, 2003), 823.

4 James Webster, Haydn’s “Farewell” Symphony and the Idea of Classical Style: Through-Composition and Cyclic Integration in His Instrumental Music (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1991), 183.

5 Mary Sue Morrow, “Historiography of the Eighteenth-Century Symphony,” in The Eighteenth-Century Symphony, Vol. I of The Symphonic Repertiore, eds. Mary Sue Morrow and Bathia Churgin (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 2012), 29.

6 Symphonies with more than four movements are exceptional, often falling under the category of a characteristic symphony. For this reason the ordering and types of movements, and the formal and tonal plan, may result in misleading conclusions.

57 analyzing and comparing these movements, I will demonstrate their commonalities, and will also highlight the exceptional and uncommon approaches taken by certain composers.

Each of the movements following the first carries with it historical and extra-musical associations. The second movement builds off the opera aria in that it often features a solo instrument and cast in a simple rondo form.7 The third movement, typically a minuet, was often the final movement when three-movement symphonies were more common. The minuet also reflects the courtly nature associated with the symphony, an association that continued throughout the eighteenth century but began to wane around the turn of the nineteenth century.

Because of the stylized nature of the composition, dancing to the movement was impractical, and composers played and experimented with the form. The fourth and final movement was added to balance out the allegro first movement. It is not unusual to find compositional fireworks such as solos or virtuosic writing or skillful contrapuntal writing.

The first movement of a Viennese symphony from this time period contains some typical musical elements; among them that the first movement would be a sonata-allegro type in the home key of the symphony. The second movement generally provides contrast by means of a slow or relaxed tempo. When it comes to the second movement, composers faced a number of choices, chief among them the key relationship with the first movement’s home key. For the majority of symphonies, the second movement tended to be the one movement governed by a key other than the home key. Historically the most common key relationships were the subdominant and dominant for symphonies in major keys and the relative major or dominant for symphonies in minor keys. But by the last decade of the century remote keys for the inner

7 Nancy Kovaleff Baker, Heinrich Christoph Koch: Introductory Essay on Composition (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1983) in Strunk’s Source Reading in Music History, ed. Leo Treitler (New York: W.W. Norton & Company, 1998), 811.

58 movements became more common. The use of remote keys not only provided a starker contrast to the home key of the symphony; they also generated multi-movement unity, revealing a conscious attempt to compose with a larger scope for the entire work.8

James Hepokoski and Warren Darcy list the most common to least common key relationships as: “1. Subdominant (IV), 2. Dominant (V), 3. Tonic minor (i), 4. Submediant minor (vi), 5. Various types of III or VI (primarily after 1790), 6. Tonic major (I), and 7. Other.”9

Just as Hepokoski and Darcy have described, the dominant and subdominant key relationships between the first and second movements chosen by the composers in this study found in Table

3.1 reveals these tonal relationships still held favor with composers at the end of the eighteenth century, and into the nineteenth century.

Table 3.1: Dominant and Subdominant Key Relationships between First and Second Movements Composer Symphony Key Key of Second Relationship Movement Eberl Symphony in D Minor Dominant A Major

Gyrowetz Symphony in F Major Dominant C Major

Reicha Symphony No. 3 in F Major Dominant C Major

Reicha Symphony in E-flat Major, Op. 41 Dominant B-flat Major

Ries Symphony No. 4 in F Major, Op. 110 Dominant C Major

Ries Symphony in E-flat Major, WoO30 Dominant B-flat Major

Wranitzky Symphony in C Major (P6) Dominant G Major

Wranitzky Symphony in D Major (P16) Dominant A Major

Wranitzky Symphony in D Major, Op. 36 (P18) Dominant A Major

8 Ethan Haimo, “Remote Keys and Multi-Movement Unity: Haydn in the 1790s.” The Musical Quarterly 74/2 (1990), 242-4.

9 James Hepokoski and Warren Darcy, Elements of Sonata Theory: Norms, Types, and Deformations in the late Eighteenth-century Sonata (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2006), 324.

Wranitzky Symphony in E-flat Major (P32) Dominant B-flat Major

Wranitzky Symphony in F Major, Op. 33, No. 3 (P34) Dominant C Major

Wranitzky Symphony in G Major, Op. 35, No. 2 (P40) Dominant D Major

Wranitzky Symphony in G Minor (P42) Dominant D Major

Gyrowetz Symphony in D Major Subdominant G Major

Reicha Symphony in E-flat Major, Op. 42 Subdominant A-flat Major

Ries Symphony No. 3 in E-flat Major, Op. 90 Subdominant A-flat Major

Schubert Symphony No. 1 in D Major, D. 82 Subdominant G Major

Schubert Symphony No. 2 in B-flat Major, D. 125 Subdominant E-flat Major

Schubert Symphony No. 3 in D Major, D. 200 Subdominant G Major

Schubert Symphony No. 5 in B-flat Major, D. 485 Subdominant E-flat Major

Schubert Symphony No. 6 in C Major, D. 589 Subdominant F Major

Twenty-one out of the fifty-one (forty-one percent) symphonies examined for this chapter have a dominant or subdominant key relationship between the first and second movements. To break this down further, thirteen (twenty-five percent) of the symphonies have a dominant key relationship between the first and second movements, and eight (sixteen percent) have a subdominant key relationship.

These two key relationships occur often partly because the dominant and subdominant are common keys when modulating away from the tonic. Furthermore, the use of these two relationships for the second movement contain a unifying feature with the first movement. The dominant in a movement with a subdominant key relationship is the home key of the symphony, and a second movement set in the dominant refers back to the dominant from the first movement.

Both of these key relationships organically and innately unite the first two movements.

After the dominant and subdominant the median and submediant are the most common choices (numbers 4 and 5 on the list by Hepokoski and Darcy). Table 3.2 lists the symphonies with mediant and submediant key relationships.

Table 3.2: Mediant and Submediant Key Relationships between First and Second Movements10 Composer Symphony Key Relationship Key of Second Movement Eberl Symphony in E-flat Major, Op.33 Submediant Minor C Minor

Gyrowetz Symphony in D Major Submediant Major B-flat Major

Ries Symphony No. 2 in C Minor, Op. 80 Submediant A-flat Major

Ries Symphony No. 5 in D Minor, Op. 112 Submediant B-flat Major

Ries Symphony No. 6 in D Major, Op. 146 Submediant Minor B Minor

Schubert Symphony No. 4 in C Minor, D. 417 Submediant A-flat Major

Schubert Symphony No. 9 in C Major, D. 944 Submediant Minor A Minor

Wranitzky Symphony in E-flat Major, P31 Submediant C Major/Minor

Reicha Symphony No. 1 in C Minor Mediant Major E-flat Major

Wranitzky Symphony in D Major (P17) Mediant F Major

Wranitzky Symphony in D Major (P20) Mediant F Major

Of the fifty-one symphonies examined, eleven have a mediant or submediant key relationship to the first movement. Of these eleven, eight (sixteen percent) have a submediant relationship, and three (six percent) have a mediant relationship. Eberl’s Op.33 and Schubert’s

Ninth Symphony have a home key in the major mode, and the second movement for each is composed in the relative minor, C minor and A minor respectively. In this case, the submediant minor could be considered as an embellishment or upper neighbor to the dominant from the first

10 I provide the mode following the key relationship for those movements whose relationship is the relative major or minor.

61 movement. For the secondary key area in movements like this, the relative major is an option, which returns us to the tonic of the symphony. Neither Eberl nor Schubert explored this option in these symphonies, as Eberl uses the parallel major (C major) and Schubert use a third relation for the first S-zone (F major) and the parallel major to begin the reverse recapitulation (A major). In the case of Reicha’s Symphony No. 1 in C Minor, the key for the second movement moves to the relative major, E-flat major. Though Reicha uses C major for the S material in this movement, the transition material into and out of the S-zone is in C minor, recalling the tonic of the symphony.

The Symphony in E-flat Major (P31) by Wranitzky is a unique example among these symphonies because the second movement begins in the submediant major (C major) and concludes in the parallel minor (C minor). The C major opening does not return later in the movement, and can be considered as an introduction leading to the C minor Sturm und Drang portion of the movement, which serves as a recollection of the C minor episode found in the development section of the first movement. The symphony has the title Jagd-Sinfonie, and the first movement musically depicts a hunt with its duple compound meter and prominent horn parts that introduce themes. The C major opening spans forty measures of the 202-measure second movement. With its relaxed tempo and affect, it is possible the hunting party is taking respite until a thunderstorm set in C minor erupts.

Four symphonies in this study represent the final two categories proposed by Hepokoski and Darcy, the “Tonic major” and “Other.” Two symphonies by Wranitzky have a tonic major relationship between their first and second movements. The second movements of his Symphony in D Major, Op. 25 (P25) and Symphony in G Major (P38) are set in the tonic major. The latter most likely retains the tonic major for the second movement because of the instrumentation. For

62 this symphony in three movements, Wranitzky uses four Papageno flutes with three tuned to the tonic, G major, and one in the dominant, D major. Because these instruments lack the ability to modulate, the tonic is used for all three movements of the symphony.11 The former symphony, his Op. 25 (P25), also retains the tonic for the second movement, but is an exceptional case.

Rather than a slow, lyrical movement for the second movement, Wranitzky opted to set the minuetto as the second movement. This is also the case for Ries’s Sixth Symphony except that the key relationship between the first and second movements is the submediant (D major to B minor). Whereas Ries returns to the tonic for the third movement of his Sixth Symphony,

Wranitzky modulates to the mediant, F major, of the home key for the third movement.

Considering the seventeen symphonies by Ries and Schubert examined here, only one places the minuet in the second position, suggesting the switch was exceptional in the early part of the nineteenth century, although it would become more common later in the century.

Two symphonies fall under the “Other” category of Hepokoski and Darcy. First, the

Symphony in D Minor (P30) by Wranitzky has a tonic major relationship between the first and second movements, which Hepokoski and Darcy believe was more commonly found in symphonies before 1790. The change in mode provides the only contrast to the other movements.12 The second is the First Symphony of Ries, whose second movement has a dominant minor relationship to the first movement. This relationship falls under the “Unusual or

Deformational Tonal Choices” under the larger category of “Other” by Hepokoski and Darcy.13

The minor mode of the movement is appropriate for the character, a funeral march, but setting

11 This symphony is discussed in greater detail in the Orchestration chapter.

12 Ibid., 327.

13 Ibid., 329.

63 the dominant in the minor mode causes Hepokoski and Darcy to remark that this is “an extremely rare choice.”14

For the most part the key relationships for second movements among the composers in this study followed the list of most common to least common proposed by Hepokoski and Darcy.

And while the choice of key and its relationship to the first movement can have an impact on the affect of the movement, the presentation of thematic material can have equal or greater impact.

Composers had a choice of several key relationships they could use to escape the confines of the home key. Here several differences in formal types can be found in the second movement from the sonata-driven first movement. Jan Larue and Eugene Wolff describe the possible formal types for second movements to an eighteenth-century symphony as, “the formal structure of second movements spans a wide range, from various binary and ternary types to the sonata, variation, rondo and refrain forms.”15 For the early nineteenth-century symphony, the second movement is usually described in general terms as, “a lyrical slow movement, typically in sonata form, ABA, or theme and variations.”16 The forms used in the second movements in the symphonies of Ries and Schubert, shown in Table 3.3, demonstrate the use of these forms in the early nineteenth-century symphony.17

Table 3.3: Form of Second Movements in Ries and Schubert Symphonies Composer Symphony Form Ries Symphony No. 1 in D Major, Op. 23 Sonata

14 Ibid.

15 Jan Larue and Eugene Wolff, “Symphony – Eighteenth Century,” Grove Music Online accessed on 12-29-2012

16 Mark Evan Bonds, “Symphony – Nineteenth Century,” Grove Music Online accessed on 12-29-2012.

17 The form designations for the second movements of the Schubert symphonies are taken from A. Peter Brown’s study of the symphonies in his The First Golden Age of the Viennese Symphony: Haydn, Mozart, Beethoven, and Schubert, Vol. II of The Symphonic Repertoire (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 2002).

Ries Symphony No. 2 in C Minor, Op. 80 Sonata

Ries Symphony No. 3 in E-flat Major, Op. 90 Sonata

Ries Symphony No. 4 in F Major, Op. 110 Rondo

Ries Symphony No. 5 in D Minor, Op. 112 Sonata

Ries Symphony in E-flat Major, WoO. 30 Theme and Variations

Ries Symphony No. 6 in D Major, Op. 146 ABA

Schubert Symphony No. 1 in D Major, D. 82 ABA

Schubert Symphony No. 2 in B-flat Major, D. 125 Theme and Variations

Schubert Symphony No. 3 in D Major, D. 200 ABA

Schubert Symphony No. 4 in C Minor, D. 417 Rondo

Schubert Symphony No. 5 in B-flat Major, D. 485 Rondo

Schubert Symphony No. 6 in C Major, D. 589 Rondo

Schubert Symphony No. 9 in C Major, D. 944 Sonata

The formal types of these two early nineteenth-century symphonists reflect the preferred types for symphonies from this time. Yet, between the two of them, Schubert had more of a preference for rondo form in his second movements while Ries preferred sonata form (only using rondo form once). Both composers used theme and variations sparingly, reflecting the infrequent use of theme and variations from the last half of the eighteenth century on.18 The standard convention for a symphonic movement built on theme and variations consists of five variations, with the theme being embellished while retaining the harmonic progression of the periods and featuring rhythmic variations. Schubert’s lone contribution to this formal type in his Second

Symphony adheres to these conventions, though with one slight alteration.19 A variation in the minor mode is not uncommon and usually occurs in the parallel minor of the key of the

18 Mary Sue Morrow, “The Symphony in the Austrian Monarchy,” 430.

19 Brian Newbould, Schubert and the Symphony: A New Perspective (London: Toccata Press, 1992), 68.

65 movement. Schubert set the minor variation in the relative minor, C minor, for the E-flat second movement.

With just two examples of theme and variations by Schubert and Ries, I turn my attention to Wranitzky, who composed more theme and variations second movements. Of the twenty- seven three- and four- movement symphonies by Wranitzky from this time period, six of them

(twenty-two percent) feature theme and variations. Among these the second movement from his

Symphony in F Major, Op. 33, No. 3 (P34) exemplifies the theme-and-five-variation format, complete with one variation in the tonic minor. Whereas some theme and variation movements simply demonstrate the composer’s ability to vary material, the second movement from this symphony contains extra-musical meaning because of the theme used.

The theme for the movement is “Freut euch des Lebens,” a folk-style tune composed by

Hans Georg Nӓgeli (1773-1836) in 1795 to the text written by Johann Martin Usteri (1763-1827) in 1793.20 Set against the backdrop of the Austrian-Turkish War (1787-91), and the economic woes that came with it, the overall theme of the text conveys the spirit of carpe diem, stopping to smell the roses, and taking advantage of all the pleasures life has to offer. The text stands in stark contrast to the economic and political situation Austrians faced at the time. Ronald Calinger described the impact on the domestic economy as devastating, saying that “As food prices and taxes rose and a new conscription was implemented, the mood in Vienna turned ugly. Bread riots erupted after the bad harvest of 1788/89 and the emperor’s [Joseph II] popularity plummeted.”21

20 David Cox, “Switzerland” in A History of Song, ed. Denis Stevens (New York: W. W. Norton & Company, 1970), 400.

21 Ronald Calinger, “Reform Absolutism of Joseph II in the Austrian Monarchy in 1781,” in Democracy: In the Throes of Liberalism and Totalitarianism, eds. George F. McLean, Robert R. Magliola, and William Fox (Washington, D.C.: The Council for Research and Philosophy, 2004), 71.

Beyond economic woes, fear and anxiety permeated to the upper echelons of society. Solomon describes how “the morale of the cultural elite was severely eroded; fears of conscription led many aristocratic families to leave Vienna, and there were widespread feelings of disillusionment with Emperor Joseph, a sense that he had betrayed the promise of an enlightened reform movement.”22 The optimistic text presents a path forward to putting the war and economic worries in the past. The music by Nӓgeli from 1795 is further separated from the conclusion of the war, but Wranitzky’s set of variations suggest a recollection to the conflict.

Though there are seven strophes to the poem, Wranitzky maintains the standard number of five variations, with the second being in the parallel minor. Wranitzky’s use of trumpet fanfares in the third and fifth variations provide a contrast of affect to the variations of the lyrical, idyllic theme. In both of these, the trumpet fanfares are the most active part when they occur, ensuring they are easily heard through the orchestra (Example 3.1). Their use in a movement set in C major evokes the C major trumpeting tradition found in Viennese symphonies, and the ascent and descent on the tonic triad resembles that of a military fanfare, which may refer back to the conflict at the beginning of the decade. This would not be the first time Wranitzky chronicled a military conflict in a symphony. In his Grande Sinfonie caractéristique pour la paix avec la République françoise, Op. 31 (P12), Wranitzky details numerous events that led up to the Treaty of Campo Formio in 1797. And in his unpublished

Symphony in D Major (P20), he uses large Turkish drums with Zum Cannonieren written on the parts to simulate canons on opposing sides of the battlefield firing at each other. Both of these symphonies are treated in more detail in my fourth chapter on orchestration, but I mention them here to highlight that Wranitzky made use of similar trumpet fanfares in his Op. 33, No. 3. This

22 Maynard Solomon, Mozart: A Life (New York: Harper Perennial, 1995), 433.

67 symphony was published in 1799 by André, and the use of “Freut euch des Lebens” could either refer back to the Austrian-Turkish War, or refer to the recently concluded conflict with France.

With the Turkish style still being used, and in particular with Wranitzky’s works, the Austrian-

Turkish War is the more likely candidate.

Looking beyond the theme and variations format, other second movements also reflect the mood of conflict and anxiety looming over Vienna. Second movements tend to be slower in tempo, more lyrical than the first, and contrasting to the energetic first movement,23 but there are exceptions where a more serious or somber tone is taken, usually by being set in the minor mode with a sometimes doleful character, sometimes full of angst. One particular style in the minor mode makes several appearances in symphonies from this time period: the funeral march.

The most familiar funeral march appearing in a symphony from this time comes from the

Eroica Symphony by Beethoven. As well-known as this movement may be, there still remains a considerable amount of speculation about what or whom Beethoven memorializes in this movement.24 With regard to a model for his funeral march style, there are conflicting ideas.

Thomas Sipe details precedents in French opera, Beethoven’s prior use of a funeral march in his

Op. 26 piano sonata, similar stylistic characteristics between Gossec’s Marche Lugubre and the funeral march from the Eroica, and the rise of French revolutionary music and rescue opera in

Vienna following the end of the revolution.25 Raymond Monelle emphasizes the memorial

Revolutionary marches composed by Gossec throughout the 1790s, beginning with the Marche

23 Hepokoski and Darcy, Elements of Sonata Theory, 322.

24 Rita Steblin, “Who Died?: The Funeral March in Beethoven’s Eroica Symphony,” The Musical Quarterly 89 (2006): 62-79.

25 Thomas Sipe, Beethoven: Eroica Symphony (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998), 104-5.

Lugubre in 1790 and ending with the Cantate Funèbre pou la Féte du 20 Prairial An VII in

1799. Monelle finds stylistic similarities between Gossec’s Marche Lububre and Beethoven’s

Op. 26 piano sonata in its use of non-melodic material and the soft timpani rolls of the Gossec that can be heard in the middle section of the sonata movement. 26 Claude Palisca goes further and details similarities between the Gossec and the Eroica movement. These include the sudden fortes on fully-diminished chords and the strings imitating the ruffles of drums.27 Furthermore, both Sipe and Lockwood describe a connection between Fernando Paër’s funeral march from his opera Achille and the funeral march from the Eroica, suggesting the former influenced the latter.28

Though Sipe, Monelle, Palisca, and Lockwood lay out numerous possibilities for the stylistic origin or models based on French revolutionary music for Beethoven’s funeral march,

A. Peter Brown contests the possible influence of “post-French revolutionary models by Gossec,

Pleyel, and J. A. P. Martini,” stating that “there is no evidence of Beethoven’s knowing any of these French funeral marches from ca. 1800. It would make more sense to search for a funeral- march tradition in Vienna.”29 If such a tradition existed in Vienna, it remains undiscovered. The shared stylistic characteristics found in funeral march movements suggest a common model, and to our best knowledge this is the French revolutionary march.

26 Raymond Monelle, The Musical Topic: Hunt, Military, and Pastoral (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 2006), 128.

27 Claude V. Palisca, “French Revolutionary Models for Beethoven’s Eroica Funeral March,” in Music and Context; Essays for John M. Ward (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1985), 202.

28 Sipe, Eroica, 104-5; Lewis Lockwood, Beethoven’s Symphonies: An Artistic Vision (New York: W. W. Norton & Company, 2015), 63.

29 Brown, The First Golden Age, 469.

Among the contemporaries examined in this study, two composers chose a funeral march for the second movement of a symphony. The first of these, Paul Wranitzky’s Grande Sinfonie

Characteristique pour la paix avec la Republique Francoise, Op. 31 (P12), predates Beethoven’s

Eroica Symphony, and Steblin argues that this symphony may have influenced some of

Beethoven’s choices for his funeral march movement.30 The second symphony, Ferdinand Ries’s

Symphony No. 1 in D Major, Op. 23, postdates the Eroica by four to five years. These movements share a common tonal plan, as well as certain stylistic conventions conveyed in symphonic funeral march movements.

Wranitzky’s Op. 31 (P12) details the history and conflict between France and Austria that culminated in the Treaty of Campo Formio in October of 1797. The symphony was originally scheduled for a public concert by the Viennese Tonkünstler-Sozietät two months after the treaty was signed. Emperor Franz II did not allow the symphony to be performed in public since he viewed the work as a glossing-over of the conflict versus the harsh, Pyrrhic reality of signing over long-held territories to the French. Though a public performance was not allowed, Empress

Marie Therese had the symphony performed at a private concert on 24 February 1802.31

The funeral march by Wranitzky comes in the middle of a larger ternary second movement titled, “The Destiny and Death of Louis XVI.” Louis XVI was the uncle by marriage to Franz, and the funeral march is not fueled by pathos, but rather admiration and solemnity.

Unlike the other funeral march movements, a specific name is associated with this movement.

Coincidentally, the key and tonal plan to Wranitzky’s second movement is the same key relation

30 Steblin, “Who Died?,” 69-72

31 John A. Rice, Empress Marie Therese, 158-59.

70 as Beethoven’s Eroica Symphony; E-flat major to the relative minor, C minor, and back to E-flat major.

Since the funeral march by Wranitzky serves as one section of an overall movement, its form is not entirely fleshed out. The second movement as a whole is cast in ternary form, with the funeral march serving as the middle section. The march itself is a truncated ternary form, with the return of A shortened considerably and a coda or transition inserted to return to the opening material of the movement.

The second movement of Ries’s First Symphony is titled March funèbre, yet who or what is being memorialized is unclear. Cecil Hill remarks that this symphony is, “written in a style that is pre-Eroica Beethoven and derived from Haydn rather than Mozart.”32 Ries completed the symphony “in the latter months of 1809,” and given that Haydn died 31 May of that year, Hill states that this movement can “tempt one to see it as a tribute to Haydn, whom Ries admired.”33

Though a dedication or homage to Haydn remains a matter of conjecture, the timing of Haydn’s death and the completion of the symphony, coupled with Ries’s reverence for Haydn, makes

Haydn a likely choice for the composition of the movement.

The key relationship of this movement to the first movement is the dominant minor (A minor), which Hepokoski and Darcy describe as, “an extremely rare choice,” for a key relationship of a second movement.34 Hill remarks that the movement “is written in an unusual sonata form,” and that “the tempo is faster than that of Beethoven’s Eroica, and the simplicity of

32 Cecil Hill, Ferdinand Ries (1784-1838). Three Symphonies, xviii.

33 Ibid.

34 Hepokoski and Darcy/Elements of Sonata Theory, 329.

71 the writing would not suggest a comparison of the two.”35 Several of the stylistic traits of a funeral march can be heard in this movement, yet the form of the movement that Hill finds

“unusual” demands some attention.

Exactly what Hill regards as “unusual” about the form of the movement is unclear since he only provides a general description. But the movement appears to be a Type 3 sonata form with the EEC and the ESC eliding with the development and coda respectively. As found in other funeral march movements, the Wranitzky and Eroica in particular, The S material is presented in the parallel major (A major). Table 3.4 illustrates the form of the movement as:

Table 3.4: Form of Second Movement (March funèbre) of Ries’s First Symphony

Exposition: P (i) – mm. 1-20; TR – mm. 21-37 (MC); S (I) – mm. 38-53 Development: mm. 53-74 (Elision with end of S [EEC] and beginning of D) Recapitulation: P (i) – mm. 75-84; TR mm. 85-105 (MC); S (I) - mm. 106-119 Coda: mm. 119-29 (Elision with end of S [ESC] and beginning of Coda)

Both of these movements feature thematic material in a martial character set in the minor mode, and both share a similar ternary formal process. Beyond these overall musical traits, the

Ries has more characteristics associated with the French revolutionary funeral march. These characteristics, identified by Palisca, include the mimicking of drums, loud outbursts on fully- diminished chords, and a relaxed, hymn-like melody in the major mode. From the opening of the movement, the first two utterances of the strings simulate a drag ruff on a drum, which is reinforced further in measure ten when the timpani enters on the repeat of the primary material

(Example 3.2). In measure 21, a solo horn fanfare prepares the first of many loud outbursts on

35 Hill, Ferdinand Ries (1784-1838). Three Symphonies, xviii.

72 fully-diminished chords, heard numerous times in the movement. These outbursts are emphasized in the development section in measure 61-66, this time with more sforzando punctuations. Finally, the S material in the major mode has a conjunct, lyrical quality evoking a hymn. Measures 37-46 illustrate this lyrical quality as performed by the clarinet and bassoon with simple accompaniment in the strings, reminiscent of the empfindsamer Stil. Ries completed his First Symphony near the end of 1809, well after the death of Haydn on 31 May. Even if the movement serves as a memorial to Haydn, as Hill postulates, the style of the movement resembles characteristics found in French revolutionary marches.

Though it does not exhibit all of the musical characteristics of a revolutionary style funeral march, the second movement to Eberl’s Op. 33 contains enough to suggest an influence from revolutionary marches. Eberl composed the symphony the same year Beethoven composed his Eroica Symphony, and both works feature first movements in E-flat major and second movements in C minor. Both of the second movements display characteristics found in French revolutionary music, but whereas Beethoven and Ries specifically designate their movements as a funeral march, Eberl simply supplies the tempo, Andante con moto. Perhaps this movement by

Eberl is not a funeral march, but it does contain some of the musical characteristics associated with revolutionary marches in a minor key.

The movement by Eberl shares a ternary form with the funeral march by Beethoven and

Ries, but the S material in the Eberl is set in the relative major rather than the parallel major, as it is in the Ries and the Eroica Symphony. In addition to this, its S material does not have a lyrical, hymn-like quality. The key and style of the S material may differ from other examples, but other characteristics associated with the proposed model of French revolutionary marches can be found. In measures 16-24, the strings imitate the drag ruff of a drum, and the winds and timpani

73 accentuate the second beat of the measure (Example 3.3). The conclusion to the repetition of P features the strings and winds on sixteenth-note sextuplets outlining a fully-diminished chord on the seventh scale degree suggesting a surge of grief and anguish. A similar technique using this sextuplet figure can be found in the Eroica and Ries (mm. 94-9).

These three examples are a minority among the second movements of Viennese symphonies at the turn of the nineteenth century, but they demonstrate efforts made by composers to make the content of their symphonies relevant, or at least reflective, of current events and musical tastes, particularly with public performances in mind. A Viennese funeral march tradition cannot be securely identified, making it difficult to justify a stronger connection to Viennese musical taste, as Brown believes there may have been, but a strong case can be made for the influence of French revolutionary music.

Just as some second movements stepped outside the conventional expectations, examples of third movements venturing beyond standard expectations and conventions occur at this time in the Viennese symphony. The third movement of a four-movement symphony typically featured a triple meter dance movement, namely the minuet. While this holds true for the large majority, rustic dance elements appeared in the trio presenting a contrast with the stately minuet. In addition, there are third movements composed in a style and character closer to a scherzo than a minuet. I will discuss the third movement as a finale in the following section on finales.

The Minuet in Metamorphosis

The minuet has long been a staple in multi-movement instrumental music. As discussed above, in a symphony it serves as either the finale to a three-movement symphony or a dance movement in the four-movement format. Since the time of Lully, the minuet has held a strong

74 association with the aristocracy. The symphonic minuet during much of the eighteenth century reflects this with a noble character36 and moderate tempo, with ornamentation used to add a touch of the galant style. But certainly by the last decade of the eighteenth and the beginning of the nineteenth century, some third movements carried the name of a minuet, but in style and character suggested something more akin to the Lӓndler or scherzo. Two contributing factors that led to the decline of the minuet as a wholly noble and stately movement are tempo and the incorporation and other dance styles. Whether or not a tempo designation was given, the dance title of “Minuet” persisted, setting up an expectation for the listener.

By the 1770s, and certainly by the 1780s, the movement designation of “Minuet” still indicated a noble, stately aristocratic dance style, but new elements began to appear. The addition of other dance elements, such as folk tunes, Lӓndler, and Deutsche Tӓnze, often in the trio section, signified a rustic contrast to the stately and noble minuet proper. Later in the century, and into the nineteenth century, the symphonic minuet became subsumed by rustic and unrefined elements compared to the minuet of the earlier eighteenth century.37 By the 1790s and into the nineteenth century, the movement title “Minuet” seems to have been simply following convention, even if the content of the movement reflected little of the movement designation.

One indication composers gave performers and listeners as to their intentions is the tempo designation of the movement. A title of “Minuet” implies a moderately-fast tempo, allegro or allegro moderato perhaps. When additional dance elements from outside the minuet tradition are introduced, a tempo designation of allegro molto or allegro vivace might have indicated a

36 Melanie Lowe, “Falling from Grace: Irony and Expressive Enrichment in Haydn’s Symphonic Minuets” The Journal of Musicology 19/1 (Winter 2002): 174. Lowe provides the descriptions of the minuet by Jean-Jacques Rousseau, Johann Georg Sulzer, and C.J. von Feldenstein, and each describe the minuet as having a noble and elegant character.

37 Ibid., 175-6.

75 change in character. Haydn labeled all the minuet movements in his symphonies either minuet or minuet and trio. Occasionally he would add a tempo designation, but this appears occasionally throughout his symphonic output, though a case could be made that he used tempo designations more frequently in his symphonies from the 1790s.38 The most common tempo given by Haydn is allegretto, with allegro and allegro molto used for faster movements. An early example of this in Haydn’s output comes from his Symphony No. 28 (1765) in which he provides the tempo designation, “Allegro molto.” In this movement the minuet contains elements of the Lӓndler with continuous eighth notes and wide leaps, and the trio containing the character of folk tunes.39

For the purposes of this discussion, I describe some of the elements associated with the

Lӓndler commonly found in symphonic movements from this time. The Lӓndler is a rustic and unrefined dance, often associated with rural living and the lower class. One element that makes frequent appearances in symphonic minuets is the yodel. In his study on the Lӓndler, Eugene

Beenk defines the musical style of the dance as follows, “The broken chords used in the Lӓndler, the leap up of a sixth, the wide intervals, the arpeggios, and the Dudeln can all be considered as yodel figures musically similar in effect.”40 The symphonic minuets of Haydn incorporated these elements, sometimes with the addition of an oom-pah-pah accompaniment, sparingly before

1780. But from 1780 on, he incorporated the rustic and low-style dance elements into his minuets more regularly.41

38 Ibid., 206.

39 Ibid., 202-3. Lowe also identifies Lӓndler elements in the trio of Symphony No. 69.

40 Eugene Lester Beenk, “Lӓndler Elements in the Symphonic Minuets of Joseph Haydn” (Ph.D. diss., University of Iowa, 1969), 54. In his dissertation, Beenk also outlines the various phrasing patterns and cadential patterns of Lӓndler elements in the symphonic minuets of Haydn. I focus more on the melodic content in this study.

41 Lowe, “Falling from Grace,” 204.

The increased use of these dance styles was not limited to Haydn, and an immediate contemporary who also embraced and incorporated these elements into his symphonic minuets was Wranitzky. Often found in the trio section, the Lӓndler and other forms of popular dance styles contrasted with the more formal presentation of the minuet proper. The trio to his

Symphony in C Major (P6) contrasts the minuet in musical material and orchestration. The minuet concludes with the full orchestra, and the trio begins with the sparse scoring of oboes, clarinets, and bassoons. The bassoons provide simple harmonic accompaniment with the second clarinet providing an arpeggiated accompaniment and the first oboe and clarinet playing the melody. In the first measure of the trio the leap of a sixth in the first oboe and clarinet from e’’ to c’’’ is indicative of the yodeling style associated with the Lӓndler. This is balanced at the end of the phrase in the penultimate measure with the oboe and clarinet leaping down a seventh from f’’ to g’ (Example 3.4). In his Symphony in D Major (P22), Lӓndler and Deutsche Tӓnze elements appear in the second strain of the minuet. Beginning in measure sixteen the solo clarinet performs a running arpeggio melody (Lӓndler) while other members perform an oom-pah-pah accompaniment (Deutsche Tӓnze) (Example 3.5).

These elements also appear in symphonic minuets in the early nineteenth century. The trio from the minuetto movement from Ries’s Sixth Symphony, Op. 146 from 1822 features a

Lӓndler melody passed around the wind instruments and the strings providing an oom-pah-pah accompaniment. The trio is in D major and the key, along with the lighter style, contrasts greatly with the serious minuetto in B minor (Example 3.6).42

42 Even though this Minuetto movement is the second movement to the Sixth Symphony, I include it here for the purpose of illustrating the mixture of dance styles persisting into the nineteenth century.

In rare circumstances, popular tunes found their way into the third movements of symphonies. In lieu of a minuet and trio movement, Wranitzky used a polonaise and trio for the third movement to his Symphony in D Major, Op. 36 (P18). This symphony is associated with a specific event, and a rather political one at that. It was composed for the marriage between

Archduke Joseph, brother of Emperor Joseph II, and Alexandra Pawlowna, daughter of Tsar Paul

I.43 This wedding between Russia and the Hapsburg Empire helped strengthen the relationship between the two following the Treaty of Campo Formio. The wedding took place in Russia in

October of 1799, and the Viennese celebration of the newlywed couple was held in January

1800, dating the symphony around this time. The usual triple-meter minuet movement was supplanted by the triple meter polonaise and trio as a gesture to the Russian court, where this dance was a staple.44

Wranitzky also used a popular tune as the subject in the trio to his Symphony in F Major,

Op. 33, No. 3 (P34). For the trio to this minuetto movement, Wranitzky based the trio on the popular tune, “Auch, du lieber Augustin.” This is the same symphony in which he used the popular tune “Freut euch des Lebens” for the theme-and-variations second movement, making both of the inner movements based on popular tunes. The set of three symphonies of Op.33 were published by André in 1798 and dedicated to Baron Peter von Braun, who served as director of the court theaters from 1794 to 1806. But the source material used for this third movement may suggest that this symphony was composed with the Empress Marie Therese in mind. We know she had a set of Wranitzky variations for xylophone based on a popular tune in her music collection (Mus. Hs. 11375).45 Another work in her collection, the Serenata con una cantatina by

43 David Wyn Jones, The Symphony in Beethoven’s Vienna (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2006), 92.

44 Ibid., 94.

Ignaz von Seyfried, was composed for the name-day of Emperor Franz in 1805, and the fourth movement is a quodlibet comprising twenty-four tunes. The musical selections were dictated by

Marie Therese, and number twenty of the twenty-four is “Ach, du lieber Augustin.”46 Given the association of these two works incorporating the popular tune, it stands to reason that Op. 33,

No. 3 may have been performed at the court of Marie Therese.

The origin of “Ach, du lieber Augustin” dates back to the times of the Great Plague that struck Vienna in 1679. According to legend, Marx Augustin, a town balladeer, imbibed too much at a tavern and fell into a deep slumber on the streets of Vienna. The patrols collecting the dead from the streets presumed Augustin was among the dead and carried him off and deposited him into a mass grave. Awakening in the mass grave, Augustin climbed out and was lucky to have survived spending the night surrounded by the contaminated corpses. The tune gained popularity in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, and was set to different lyrics and taking on new names. Among these are “Molly (or Polly) Put the Kettle On,” “Did You ever See a Lassie,” and

“The More We Get Together.”47Additionally, the tune has found its way into other works beyond that of Wranitzky and Seyfried. Johann Nepomuk Hummel (1778-1837) composed variations for orchestra based on the tune (S 47, WoO2), Ferrucio Busoni (1866-1924) composed a fugue for two pianos on the tune in 1888 (BV 226), and Arnold Schoenberg (1874-1951) used the tune in the second movement to his Second String Quartet, Op. 10 from 1908.

45 John A. Rice, Empress Marie Therese, 141.

46 Ibid., 135-7.

47 James J. Fuld, The Book of World-Famous Music: Classical, Popular, and Folk, 5th ed. (New York: Dover Publications, Inc.: 2000), 400-01.

In the context of the Wranitzky symphony, the tune appears as the subject of the trio.

Despite the movement’s title of Minuetto, the style is closer to that of a Lӓndler. The movement opens with a dense tutti texture for the first four measures, and in measures 9 and 13, the oboe and first violins have ascending leaps of a sixth in the melody, suggesting a yodel-like quality to the line. The trio is scored for fewer forces and opens with the strings. The first violins play the melody to “Ach du lieber Augustin” and the second violins play an arpeggiated accompaniment, in keeping with the Lӓndler style. In measure 9 the tune is taken up by the bassoon, the oboe performs an arpeggiated accompaniment, and the strings provide harmonic support with an oom- pah-pah pattern. The tune later shifts to the woodwinds in measures 41-48 and measures 57-64

(Example 3.7a). What is interesting about these passages is the accompaniment in the solo second horn. The nimble facility needed to perform these passages on the natural horn suggests access to a talented horn player. In this passage, the writing has a striking similarity to the horn solo in the finale from Wranitzky’s unpublished Symphony in D Major (P22) (Example 3.7b).

This unpublished symphony was most likely composed for the orchestra at the court of Marie

Therese, which featured the very talented and skilled musicians in her orchestra.

Rustic elements and popular tunes found in the trio provided a contrast to the minuet, but as the century drew to a close, these elements also found their way into the minuet. The shift away from a true and strict minuet took place sometime around 1780, at least in what can be observed in the symphonies of Haydn. This trend increased in the 1790s and later, and by now naming a movement a minuet became more and more topically dissonant where, “The expected has become unexpected, and consonance, ironically, dissonant.”48 Both Lowe and Brown use

Haydn’s Symphony No. 94 to demonstrate this dissonance. Though Haydn designates the

48 Lowe, “Falling from Grace,” 208.

80 movement as a Minuet, he adds the tempo designation of Allegro molto to aid in the interpretation of the movement.49 In the early nineteenth century, naming a dance movement happened less frequently and the tempo designation became the movement title. During this time of transition, movements once reserved for the minuet were supplanted by the scherzo, though the tempo designation suggested this rather than a direct labeling of the movement.

The scherzo was not defined solely by a faster tempo. Composers focused more on motivic material instead of thematic material, and explored ways to present these motives in a contrapuntal setting. As for the phrasing and structure of the material used in scherzo movements, Tilden Russell observes that, “Scherzo rhythm tended away from balanced, closed structures and toward a motoric continuum. These characteristics correspond with those of the canonic minuets, in which thematic interest and phrase integrity were subordinated to short, recognizable imitated motives and contrapuntal integrity masking normal caesuras.”50 Based on stylistic characteristics such as these, Brown discusses the dance movements from Beethoven’s symphonies, except for the Eighth Symphony, as scherzos. Even though the First Symphony and the Eighth Symphony receive the designation of Minuetto, and the Second Symphony is demarcated a scherzo, the remaining movements contain only a tempo designation, but the style

49 Brown states the use of Allegro molto marks his quickest tempo for a minuet movement to date, although Lowe states that the Allegro molto tempo designation was used previously for the minuet movement from Symphony No. 28. Regardless, both movements contain rustic dance elements and the indication of tempo lends to a proper interpretation. See Brown, The First Golden Age, 259; Lowe, “Falling from Grace,” 202.

50 Tilden A. Russell, “Minuet, Scherzando, and Scherzo: The Dance Movement in Transition, 1781-1825” (Ph.D. diss., University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill, 1983), 96.

81 of the movements is the determining factor in his analysis.51 Lockwood follows suit with his individual discussions of the dance movements.52

Similar conclusions can be drawn from the dance movements in the symphonies of

Schubert. In general, both Brown and Newbould agree the only symphony with an appropriately named dance movement is the minuetto from the Fifth Symphony.53 For the first three symphonies, both agree these movements, though titled minuetto and trio, contain rustic elements found in late eighteenth-century symphonic minuet movements. The two differ in their discussion of the Fourth Symphony, with Brown calling the movement a minuetto and Newbould calling it a scherzo. Though Brown recognizes the rhythm and melody as being “out-of-joint,” referring to the opening hemiola effect in the first four measures, he does not consider this enough to term it a scherzo.54 Newbould states that the addition of the tempo indication of

Allegro vivace is not enough alone to deem this a scherzo. Additional elements that he uses to argue his preference for the minuetto designation are the, “texture, harmonic rhythm, line, and accentuation.”55 He also recognizes the topical dissonance between the minuetto designation and its scherzo elements. In essence, the topically dissonant title of the movement is jarring when compared to the actual style and resulting sound of the movement. Newbould relates this to

51 Brown’s analysis of each dance movement can be found in Brown, The First Golden Age. The individual analyses can be found as follows: First Symphony, 446; Second Symphony, 458; Third Symphony, 470; Fourth Symphony, 480; Fifth Symphony, 489; Sixth Symphony, 498-9; Seventh Symphony, 510; Eighth Symphony, 522; and the Ninth Symphony, 538-9.

52 Lockwood, Beethoven’s Symphonies. The individual discussion of the dance movements can be found as follows: First Symphony, 24; Second Symphony, 35-6; Third Symphony, 71-2; Fourth Symphony, 90-2; Fifth Symphony, 111-4; Sixth Symphony, 140-2, Seventh Symphony, 162-4, Eighth Symphony, 182-3; and the Ninth Symphony, 210-2.

53 Brown, The First Golden Age, 606, and Newbould, Schubert and the Symphony, 120.

54 Brown, The First Golden Age, 601-2.

55 Newbould, Schubert and the Symphony, 105.

Beethoven, stating, “As with Beethoven (for example, the Symphony No. 1 in C), the composer’s heading is not necessarily to be believed.”56

Both nineteenth-century and modern analyses weigh in on the proper style designation of a dance movement, even if the title of the movement differs. Russell explains this problematic designation saying that, “the dance movement may have been generically referred to, for the sake of convenience, as the ‘minuet,’ so too in the early nineteenth century it became generically known as the ‘scherzo.’”57 He illustrates this point by mentioning that though Beethoven used the scherzo designation infrequently, “authoritative commentators” referred to the majority of his

“non-scherzo dance movements” as scherzos.58

When a composer labeled a dance movement as a scherzo, an understanding of conscious intent on the part of the composer to differentiate the style from the minuet is expected. Even though early nineteenth-century critics may have used the scherzo designation as a new conventional title, minuet movements persisted and were referred to as scherzos. In his two symphonies, the Sixth and the Ninth, composed 1818 and 1825 respectively, Schubert designated the dance movements as scherzos. Similarly, Ries called the dance movements to his Fourth and

Fifth Symphonies and his Symphony in E-flat Major, WoO 30, composed 1818, 1813 and 1822 respectively, scherzos. All three exhibit a motivic drive versus a thematic drive, and kernels and segments of the motives are passed around throughout the orchestra.

The scherzo of WoO 30 carries the tempo indication of vivace, and opens with soli horns in octaves (Example 3.8). This opening motive is varied in measures 9-11 and the motive is later

56 Ibid.

57 Russell, “Minuet, Scherzando, and Scherzo,” 135-6.

58 Ibid., 135.

83 truncated and passed throughout the orchestra in measures 22-30. These two passages, particularly the latter, highlight the imitative nature of the early symphonic scherzo. The opening to the scherzo to the Fourth Symphony illustrates a more imitative, almost fugal, style. The tempo indication of the movement is Allegro, a slow tempo for a scherzo, but the movement is also in 6/8 giving the beat more movement than if it had been in 3/4. The movement opens with two tutti hammerstrokes followed by a one-measure pause before launching into the highly imitative scherzo first presented by the strings (Example 3.9). Just as in his WoO 30, Ries divides the imitative motive into smaller units and passes them around the orchestra.

As this preceding discussion has shown, the style and conventions of the minuet progressed during the time period of my study. Beginning in the 1790s minuet movements already exhibited a mixture of the old style (minuet proper) and a new style (Lӓndler, Deutsche

Tanz, etc.). The new style gradually supplanted the minuet proper, and tempo increases drew it closer to the scherzo and further away from the minuet. Conventions and expectations associated with the minuet faded with the mixture of styles and faster tempos, but new conventions and expectations were established early in the nineteenth century with the scherzo, even if the title to the movement was only a tempo indication. Likewise, conventions and expectations for final movements were tested, though not as drastically as with the minuet/scherzo.

Final Movements

The one constant expectation for a final symphonic movement is the reaffirmation of the tonic. This is especially true for three-movement symphonies where the slower second movement ventures away from the home key of the work. Likewise, if the inner movements to a four-movement symphony are in an unconventional order with the slow movement in third position, the movement most likely will not be in the tonic. The minuet movement in third

84 position is rarely set in a non-tonic key, but can sometimes appear in the parallel or relative minor to add additional contrast to the overall tonal plan of the work. But in most cases, a minuet movement in third position is in the tonic, making the fourth movement finale a final affirmation and declaration of the tonic.

The various forms used in finales presented the composer with a number of options, just as the key relationship and form did for second movements. For the early eighteenth-century symphony in three movements, the finale was often a dance movement in 3/4 or 3/8, in keeping with formal convention of the Italian opera sinfonia. By the second half of the century, duple meter finales based on other types of dances or contrapuntal finales became more common in the

Viennese symphony. Finales to four-movement symphonies came in various forms, each with characteristics associated with it. Hepokoski and Darcy describe a hierarchy of aesthetic weight stating that, “Some finales are extremely light (dance-movement related); others are more substantial, presenting sonata forms (and even the occasional fugue) of various complexities and implications.”59 The high and low distinctions between the use of these two forms also applied to the rondo finale, the most commonly found form during the late eighteenth and early nineteenth century. Hepokoski and Darcy distinguish two aesthetic levels in the rondo: “Simpler rondos of alternating themes occupied the lighter side; rondos intermixed with the sonata (sometimes producing Type 4 sonatas of uncommon subtlety) made higher claims.”60 Thus, it was not necessarily the formal type used that elevated a final movement, but how the composer utilized the musical material within the form.

59 Hepokoski and Darcy, Elements of Sonata Theory, 333.

60 Ibid., 334.

Some final movements to symphonies from the 1760s to 1780s were composed as fugues.

These works had a close association with church music in the learned style. Composers such as

Georg Matthais Monn (1717-1750), Ignaz Holzbauer (1711-1783), Franz Xaver Richter (1709-

1789), Antonio Rosetti (1750-1792), Joseph Reicha (1752-1795), and Michael Haydn (1737-

1806) occasionally wrote such fugal finales in their symphonies, especially the latter two, and some later symphonies infused sonata form practices with fugal procedure.

From 1778 through the end of the 1780s, Michael Haydn composed six symphonies with fugal finales.61 In the first of these, MH272 in D major from 1778, the fugal process unfolds in the manner of a Type 3 sonata form. Ruhling analyzes the movement as follows:

P (mm. 1-26) is a double fugue; 1S (mm. 57-76) introduces a new fugue subject based on a countersubject motive from P; 2S (mm. 77-99) returns to the P subject in V utilizing stretto and invertible counterpoint; and K (mm. 100-130) represents a new subject in the violins that inverts the eighth-note rhythmic figure from 1S. After a brief development section (mm. 131-158) that casts the P and 1S subjects against each other in B minor and E minor, the energetic double return in m. 159 then combines elements of P, 1S, and K. After 1S (mm. 201-221), an expanded 2S (mm. 221-250), and K (mm. 250-297) return in the tonic, and a brief coda with a homophonic rendering of the P subject concludes the movement.62

Haydn uses the various principles and techniques of fugal composition within the framework of sonata form with clarity and inventiveness.

Likewise, Joseph Reicha composed fugal finales where sonata principles may be mapped onto the movement. His Symphony in D Major (D1) from 1784 is one such movement. It opens

61 Michael Ruhling, “Johann Michael Haydn” in The Eighteenth-Century Symphony, Vol. I of The Symphonic Repertoire, eds. Mary Sue Morrow and Bathia Churgin (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 2012), 499. The six symphonies are MH272, 287, 384, 473, 478, and 508.

62 Ibid., 505.

86 with a short Allegro vivace introduction. The subject of the fugue is derived from the opening motive to the movement, and fugal expositions alternate with episodic passages, which double as transitions. The fugal movement also contains S material and what can be termed a development section, but these two areas of sonata form do not unfold in the usual order of sonata practice.63

Perhaps the best-known and most-celebrated fugal finale comes from Mozart’s “Jupiter”

Symphony from 1788. The opening four-note motive is taken from either the hymn Lucis creator or an alleluia chant.64 Commenting on the duality when interpreting this movement, particularly the opening, Brown writes, “Nevertheless, the first statement can be heard either in a galant context, as melody with accompaniment, or as Fux’s first species, note-against-note counterpoint.”65 He further emphasizes this discrepancy from a regional perspective, stating that the movement is, “fugal in the South German sense, and sonata form in the Mozartean manner.

Those oriented to the North German/J. S. Bach fugue tradition expect a work saturated with polyphony; whereas a South German type can have its episodes in a homophonic texture.”66

From this description the finale contains contrapuntal and homophonic textures and is not a strict fugal treatment as seen in earlier eighteenth-century symphonies. Brown outlines and discusses the form of the movement in terms of contrapuntal and fugal writing mapped onto a Type 3 sonata practice.67

63 Sterling E. Murray, “The Symphony in South Germany” in The Eighteenth-Century Symphony, Vol. I of The Symphonic Repertoire, eds. Mary Sue Morrow and Bathia Churgin (Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press, 2012), 322.

64 Brown, The First Golden Age, 427.

65 Ibid. Concerning the duality of galant and learned styles, Alfred Einstein wrote, “Mozart was too great and fine a musician not to feel deeply and painfully the conflict produced when his habit of thinking in terms of galant and ‘learned’ music was shaken by the encounter with a living polyphonic style.” See, Alfred Einstein, Mozart: His Character, His Work (New York: Oxford University Press, 1945), 153.

66 Ibid.

As with his contemporaries, part of Mozart’s study of counterpoint included species counterpoint from Johann Joseph Fux’s Gradus ad parnassum (1725). Brown asserts that the counterpoint lessons Mozart taught to his composition students from 1785 to 1787, leading up to the composition of the “Jupiter” Symphony, likely played a role in his renewed interest in species counterpoint. Additionally, Brown also believes Mozart’s study of Viennese church music, his access to the Hofkapelle and Imperial music collections, and studies of North German

Baroque music culminated in the highly contrapuntal finale to the “Jupiter” Symphony.68

These three examples from Michael Haydn, Joseph Reicha, and Mozart illustrate that composers incorporated contrapuntal and fugato writing within the sonata framework in some of their symphonic finales. These movements are not fugues in the strict sense of the word, but rather incorporate contrapuntal and fugue elements into sonata practice. From the 1780s on it was a rarity for a composer to write a strict fugal movement. Composers used different subject materials and textures to accentuate the formal areas of sonata and rondo forms.69 This style of integrating counterpoint and fugato within the framework of a sonata movement continued, though less frequently, to be used in the symphony for the remainder of the eighteenth century.

By the early nineteenth century strict fugal finales gave way to finales incorporating counterpoint and fugal elements limited to the development section. This coincided with the early nineteenth-

67 Ibid., 428.

68 A. Peter Brown, “Eighteenth-Century Traditions and Mozart’s ‘Jupiter’ Symphony K.551” The Journal of Musicology 20/2 (Spring 2003): 161.

69 Mary Sue Morrow, “Other Classical Repertoires” in The Cambridge Companion to the Symphony, ed. Julian Horton (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2013), 48.

88 century re-imagining of the fugue as a dramatic style, and the development section to a sonata form movement was considered the height of the drama.70

The development sections in the finales of Anton Eberl’s Symphony in D Minor, Op. 34 from 1804 and Anton Reicha’s Symphony No. 3 in F Major from 1808 feature fugal treatment, but each approaches it in a different manner.71 Eberl opens the development of Op. 34 with a new theme, not based on a theme previously heard in the exposition, though previous motives do find their way into the fabric of the counterpoint (Example 3.10). Eberl uses a stretto technique beginning in the upper instruments and working downward to the lower instruments to arrive on a prolonged dominant pedal, which eventually brings the development to a close. The recapitulation begins with S in the winds, as it had in the exposition, this time stated in the tonic rather than the dominant. The development of Op. 34 features species counterpoint, but does not formally adhere to the traditional definition and understanding of a fugue.

Theoretical writings and musical composition by Antoine Reicha demonstrate new possibilities and rules for the fugue, situating it within the context of modern compositional technique. Antoine was the nephew of Joseph Reicha, who adopted him when Antoine was ten and became his first teacher in music and composition. Joseph’s interest in fugue and counterpoint may have influenced Anton’s own interests in this area. This fascination with the fugue culminated in 1803 when Reicha published his 36 Fugues for Piano and dedicated them to his former teacher, Haydn. Two years later the fugues were published in a new edition, which included an introductory essay penned by Reicha, Über das neue Fugensystem. In this theoretical

70 Jin-Ah Kim, Anton Eberls Sinfonien in ihrer Zeit hermeutisch-analytische Aspekte der Sinfonik 1770-1830 (Eisenach: K. D. Wagner, 2002), 471.

71 Kim also cites the finale to Franz Danzi’s Symphony in D Major, Op. 20 in her discussion of Eberl and Reicha. See, Kim, Anton Eberls Sinfonien, 192.

89 writing, Reicha dispenses with the antiquated understanding of the fugue and suggests new characteristics for modern composition. Perhaps the greatest departure from traditional fugal writing proposed by Reicha is that the answer to the subject does not need to appear in the dominant. Under his new system, the answer can appear in any key, and he demonstrates this in some of the fugues, namely No. 20, in which the subject is answered at the tritone.72 Many disagreed and took exception to the proposals laid out by Reicha, including Beethoven who said that under these principles “the fugue is no longer a fugue.”73

Reicha illustrates his new tonal approach to writing fugues in the development of the finale of his Symphony No. 3 in F Major. The subject comes directly from P and begins in the dominant (C major) in the first violins (Example 3.11). Table 3.5 displays the entrances of the subject and answers throughout the development, most notably the various distantly-related keys of the answers, illustrating his re-imagining and interpretation of the fugue in the early nineteenth century.

Table 3.5: Subject and Answers in the Development of Reicha’s Symphony No. 3 in F Major Instrument(s) Measure Number of Entrance Key 1st Violins 198 C major 2nd Violins 203 A major Violas, Bassoon 208 G minor Cellos, Double Bass 213 C minor 2nd Violins 221 E-flat major Violas, Bassoon 227 F minor 1st Violins 234 G minor

72 Peter Eliot Stone, “Antoine Reicha”, Grove Music Online, ed. L. Macy (Accessed 15 April 2017).

73 Paul M. Walker, “Fugue. 7. The Romantic Era”, Grove Music Online, ed. L. Macy (Accessed 15 April 2017)

Cellos, Double Bass 241 D minor

Reicha freely explores various key relationships among the entrances, particularly the shift from

A major to G minor. In both examples by Eberl and Reicha, the strict operations found in fugues from the previous century are absent. These development sections come across more like imitative counterpoint than a fugue. They can also be defined as fugato since there are “brief passages of fugal imitation within non-fugal movements.”74 Just as the minuet experienced a time of transition and terminological confusion, so did the fugue.

These fugal sections in the finales of symphonies not only showcased the deft handling of counterpoint by a composer, but it also paid homage to an earlier symphonic style. Its use in the development section seems natural since material can be explored and worked out, just as in a non-contrapuntal development section. In discussing symphonies from the latter half of the eighteenth century, Webster argues that the use of fugal finales is an act of culmination. In addition to the use of fugal finales, Webster includes other culminating traits such as “run-on movements,” “recalls of earlier movements,” “the transformation of minor into major,” prominent and unusual tonal relations,” “an impression of incompleteness of unfulfilled potential before the finale,” and “a mood of tension or irresolution [in earlier movements].”75 All of these traits of the finale-as-culmination point to multi-movement or cyclic unity. While the example par excellence of this is Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony, with an overarching motive and resolution from minor to major, composers were often more subtle in their approaches to cyclic unity.

74 Ibid.

75 James Webster, Haydn’s “Farewell” Symphony and the Idea of Classical Style: Through-Composition and Cyclic Integration in His Instrumental Music (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1991), 184-5; quoted in Hepokoski and Darcy, Elements of Sonata Theory, 335.

There are overt examples of cyclic unity that appear on the surface of the music, such as the recollection of a theme or motive heard in a previous movement. One example of this technique from the composers in this study comes from Wranitzky’s Symphony in E-flat Major

(P31). Nicknamed the “Jagd-Sinfonie,” the horns present a hunting motive early on in the

Allegro (m. 5 and 7). This hunting motive opens the finale (m. 1 and 3), thus connecting the two outer movements through this motive (Examples 3.12a and b). While this is a more overt example of multi-movement unity, composers often found more subtle and clever ways to achieve unity throughout a work. One such approach was using, or recalling, particular key areas or tonal plans used in earlier movements.

In his Symphony in D Major, Gyrowetz unifies the symphony by bringing back key areas and schemes encountered in the first two movements in the third-movement finale. This symphony was published by André in 1802, and no manuscripts or prints have been found before

1795, suggesting it is a late symphony by the composer.76 It is a rare three-movement symphony given it was composed near the turn of the century, and the thin instrumentation of strings a4 and pairs of oboes and horns also add to the peculiarity of the work given the time of composition.

There are several ways Gyrowetz unifies the symphony across movements with the use of key areas, and I will discuss these in relation to their culmination in the final movement.

The opening four measures of the finale shares a commonality with K from the first movement. What seemed like a descending triad on the tonic to generate energy for the conclusion of the first movement actually generated P for the finale (Examples 3.13a and b). In this respect, the end of the first movement and the beginning of the third movement bookend and

76 John A. Rice, Adalbert Gyrowetz (1763-1850). Four Symphonies in The Symphony, 1720-1840, Series B, v. 11, Barry S. Brook, editor-in-chief (New York: Garland, 1983), xxix.

92 frame the second movement.77 The concluding four measures of the exposition and the first four measures of the development in the finale make a sly reference to the second movement. The end of the exposition (mm. 155-8) repeats the dominant (A) tutti, firmly establishing the dominant and anticipating a resolution to the tonic. Instead, Gyrowetz launches immediately into the development based on P with a sudden shift to B-flat major. The move to B-flat major recalls the key of the second movement, thus forming a link between the two.

To go a little deeper with multi-movement unity, there are instances when a composer does not merely refer to key areas and modulations from earlier movements, but rather an entire tonal plan used for previous movements. Basic tonal plans for sonata and rondo movements build expectations, so it comes as no surprise if a correlation is found between a first movement and last movement in sonata form, or a second movement and final movement in rondo form.

But at times a case can be made that a composer is using a more detailed tonal plan across multiple movements. An example of this is found in the second, third, and fourth movements to

Wranitzky’s Symphony in A Major (P45).

Wranitzky unifies this work through the tonal plan for the development sections in the second and fourth movements and the trio from the third movement. In the developments of the second and fourth movements and the trio of the third movement, Wranitzky begins in the parallel minor, moves to the relative major, and returns to the parallel minor. For the recapitulations following these tonal episodes, Wranitzky returns to the tonic in the third and fourth movements, but begins the recapitulation of the second movement in the dominant (Table

3.6).

77 Ibid., xxx.

Table 3.6: Unifying Tonal Plan in Wranitzky’s Symphony in A Major (P45)

Movement Formal Section Tonal Plan Resolution Second Development D minor – F major – A major – D minor Dominant Third Trio A minor – C major – A minor Tonic Fourth Development A minor – C major – A minor Tonic

Despite the slight turn to A major in the second movement, the overall tonal plan of the central sections of the movements is the same. With the third and fourth movements set in the tonic, the tonal plan for the central sections have the identical key schemata. For a similar tonal plan to take place over three movements of a symphony does not occur by happenstance. This is a clear and deliberate effort to unify the symphony across several movements.

The movements beyond the first of the late eighteenth-century and early nineteenth- century Viennese symphony experienced changes and transitions. While familiar forms remained en vogue, such as the rondo, theme and variations, and sonata-rondo, other aspects of composition showed experimentation and development. Remote key relationships between the first and second movements remained in the minority, but their use was not arbitrary or without forethought. Often times the decision to set a second movement in a remote key served the purpose of not only providing heightened tonal contrast, but also of stimulating unity among the other movements.

The minuet sometimes retained its courtly dance style, but also moved away from this style. Some minuet movements kept the older minuet style for the opening and closing of the movement, but the trio increasingly incorporated popular dance styles, such as the Lӓndler and the Deutsche Tanz, creating a mixture of contrasting styles. After the 1790s some dance movements only carried the tempo as the title, suggesting a departure from the minuet style.

While other movements may have retained the title of minuet, the faster tempo created a conflict between title and style. The early nineteenth-century Viennese symphony saw the rise of the symphonic scherzo, though this happened slowly and was still rare. The tempo was faster, but more importantly the style defined the movement designation. Imitative texture looked back to the canonic minuet, but the faster tempo and playfulness of motives differed from the older style.

During this time period, both the minuet and the scherzo, as movement designations, experienced an identity crisis as composers, critics, and listeners lacked a consensus on what constituted each style.

The finale to the Viennese symphony beginning in the late eighteenth-century increased in importance and weight. The role of the finale became one of balancing the symphony with the previous movements, the first movement in particular. Composers continued to compose finales in a lighter style; the finales based around a contredanse extended from the 1790s into the very early nineteenth century. But there are some finales where composers used the learned style; finales that incorporate fugal counterpoint, often in the development section, as homage to an older style in the eighteenth century, but composed in accordance to modern standards.

Composers like Gyrowetz, Wranitzky, and Eberl represented an older style, but one that was evolving from its past. Reicha, Schubert, and Ries, who outlived the previous three, composed in a style that experimented with new conventions and a progression from the style that came before them. This juxtaposition came to a crossroads in the late eighteenth- and nineteenth-century Viennese symphony, which explains the variety of approaches and styles explored by the composers.

CHAPTER 4

Instrumentation

Examining and assessing the general narrative of the Viennese symphony from the last decade of the eighteenth century through the first quarter of the nineteenth century suggests that a standardized instrumentation emerged. Using the late symphonies of Haydn and the symphonies of Beethoven, this standardized orchestra consisted of strings in four parts, pairs of flutes, oboes, clarinets, bassoons, horns, trumpets, and timpani. While this is a convenient narrative with respect to the instrumentation used by these two composers, a broader examination reveals the instrumentation for the Viennese symphony was varied at the close of the eighteenth century and the first quarter of the nineteenth century. Even a closer examination of Beethoven’s symphonies shows he ventured outside the standardized instrumentation. His

Eroica Symphony uses a third horn, his Fifth Symphony piccolo, contrabassoon, and three trombones, his Sixth Symphony piccolo and two trombones, and his Ninth Symphony piccolo, contrabassoon, four horns, three trombones, bass drum, cymbals, triangle, and chorus. That is four out of his nine symphonies that do not adhere to the standardized instrumentation. With almost half of Beethoven’s symphonies not conforming to the narrative of a standardized instrumentation, how reliable is this narrative?

This chapter examines the instrumentation of the composers of my study to illustrate the shortcomings of the narrative shared among several sources that the instrumentation of the

Viennese symphony became standardized during this time. For the purpose of this discussion, instrumentation pertains to the instruments a composer uses in a symphony. How the composers use the instruments, individually and in combination, to communicate the musical material falls under orchestration, which will be addressed in the next chapter. For this chapter, I will

97 demonstrate that the scoring of the Viennese symphony varied among composers and within the output of each composer. While a fair number of the symphonies fall into the instrumentation described above, the majority of them either call for fewer forces or greater forces. The particular instrumentation used reflects a certain sound desired by the composer, the audience and venue for which the symphony is composed, and the access some composers had to additional forces and performers. I begin with a discussion on the narrative of a developing standardization of the instruments used for symphonies, or what several sources describe as the “classical orchestra.”

The “Classical Orchestra”

Numerous scholars and texts define and refer to the “classical orchestra” as an ensemble consisting of strings in four parts, pairs of flutes, oboes, clarinets, bassoons, horns and trumpets, and a pair or set of timpani. Just as the overall movement structure of the symphony and the lineage of Haydn, Mozart, and Beethoven become part of the symphonic narrative at the close of the eighteenth century, so too has this particular instrumentation. John Spitzer and Neal Zaslaw combine the two narratives of orchestral practice and composer canonization, writing:

In retrospect the orchestras of the second half of the 18th century and the early 19th century can be referred to collectively as the “classical orchestra”—classical in that they represented the first orchestral configuration that was both stable and normative. In addition, these were the orchestras for which Haydn, Mozart, and Beethoven composed their symphonies, concertos, and operas; as their works were turned into “classics,” their orchestras became “classical.”1

1 John Spitzer and Neal Zaslaw, The Birth of the Orchestra: A History of an Institution, 1650-1815 (New York: Oxford University Press, 2004), 307.

Adam Carse, a pioneer for instrumental studies, went further and associated the changing orchestral landscape with composers, such as Haydn, Mozart, and Beethoven, who built upon previous styles:

The new style of orchestration grew side by side with, and actually depended on, the changing style of musical art. It could hardly have been applied to or developed by means of contrapuntally-conceived music. Its very existence hung on the harmonic nature of the musical material which gave it birth. Thus it is that the pioneers of modern orchestration were the very same composers whose music shows the first traces of what is usually called the classical style, the style of Haydn, Mozart, and Beethoven, the chief builders, but not the inventors, of the modern symphony and of modern orchestration.2 In general music history sources, the narrative of the “classical orchestra” is certainly commonplace, and Haydn’s London Symphonies prove to be the leading material for examples of the “classical orchestra.” Writing on Haydn’s symphonies composed for public concerts, J.

Peter Burkholder informs the reader of the slight expansion Haydn made to the orchestra for his symphonies, all within the time of a decade. “In the 1780s, Haydn increasingly composed for the public, selling his symphonies to patrons or publishers abroad. By now he consistently wrote for an orchestra of flute, two oboes, two bassoons, two horns, and strings, sometimes augmented by trumpets and drums.”3 Note that the only missing instruments from this orchestra compared to the “classical orchestra” are one flute, a pair of clarinets, and consistent inclusion of trumpets and drums. The “classical orchestra” is completed when Burkholder arrives at his discussion of

Haydn’s London Symphonies composed in the following decade. “The orchestra is expanded, with trumpets and timpani now standard and clarinets in all but one of the last six.”4

2 Adam Carse, The History of Orchestration (New York: Dover Publications, Inc., 1964), 132-3.

3 J. Pete Burkholder, Claude V. Palisca, and Donald J. Grout, A History of Western Music, 7th ed. (New York: W. W. Norton & Co., 2006), 540.

4 Ibid., 541.

Haydn remains central to the “classical orchestra” narrative in other general sources.

Though not naming the orchestra as “classical” per se, Richard Taruskin implies the “classical orchestra” in his discussion of Haydn’s London Symphonies, writing, “the London symphonies augment the sheer performing forces so that the normal Haydn orchestra now includes, as standard operating equipment, pairs of flutes, oboes, bassoons, trumpets, and horns, as well as kettledrums.”5 The only instrument missing from the “classical orchestra” in Taruskin’s discussion of the London Symphonies is the clarinet. He discusses their inconsistent inclusion in

Haydn’s symphonies when he provides his reader with an analysis of the “Surprise” Symphony, which does not contain clarinets, and the “London” Symphony, which uses a pair of clarinets.

As a final example, The New Harvard Dictionary of Music uses Haydn and one of his

London Symphonies as an example for the “classical orchestra.” “The scoring of Haydn’s

London Symphony no. 104 (1795) well represents the composition of a full high-Classical orchestra: two flutes, two oboes, two clarinets, two bassoons, two horns, two trumpets, a pair of timpani, and strings.”6 All of these references to the “classical orchestra” contain the similarities of pairs of winds (with or without clarinets), optional trumpets and kettledrums, and all refer to works composed during the last decade of the eighteenth century.

In terms of instrumentation, Spitzer and Zaslaw describe the stability of the “classical orchestra” as follows, “The classical orchestra typically included violins, violas, cellos, and double basses, flutes, oboes, horns, and bassoons, and keyboard continuo. Trumpets and timpani

5 Richard Taruskin, The Oxford History of Western Music, vol. 2, Music in the Seventeenth and Eighteenth Centuries (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2005; Oxford University Press, 2010), 557.

6 Christopher Rouse, “Orchestra,” in The New Harvard Dictionary of Music, ed. Don Michael Randel, 4th ed. (Cambridge: The Belknap Press of Harvard University Press, 2003), 573.

100 were optional. Clarinets were added toward the end of the period.”7 This is echoed by Richard

Will stating that “by the 1790s, the standard had grown to fourteen parts or more, the ensemble most typically associated with the modern term ‘classical orchestra’: four-part strings plus one or two flutes, two oboes, two clarinets (sometimes), one or two bassoons (now playing their own parts rather than doubling the basso), two horns, two trumpets and timpani.”8 It is interesting that the complete or perfected “classical orchestra” hinges so much on the addition of clarinets to the symphony. In terms of symphonic works, the clarinets were added rather late despite being employed throughout much of the century as a solo instrument and in opera. But once they found their way into the symphony orchestra by the end of the century they quickly became a stable member.

During the period of Haydn and Mozart, Carse remarks that, “clarinets are fairly common, but not universal, in scores written during the last quarter of the eighteenth century.

They occur in most of Mozart’s operas, but in only five of his symphonies, also in some of

Haydn’s last twelve symphonies.”9 Aside from the number of symphonies in which Haydn and

Mozart used clarinets, Carse’s statement about their use in opera reveals an earlier, stable employment in operatic works. In fact a pair of clarinet players was listed on the roster for the

7 Spitzer and Zaslaw, The Birth of the Orchestra, 307. With regards to the use of continuo, Spitzer and Zaslaw refer to the classical orchestra during the second half of the century when continuo was still used on a consistent basis. There are those who argue that the practice of continuo became unnecessary and disappeared, and there are those who remain open to the idea of skilled keyboardists who could realize a continuo part from looking solely at the bass part. For a discussion on the disappearance of the continuo, See Adam Carse, The History of Orchestration (New York: Dover Publications, 1964), 169, and James Webster, “On the Absence of a Keyboard Continuo in Haydn’s Symphonies,” Early Music XVIII/4 (November 1990): 599-608. For a response to this argument, See A. Peter Brown, The First Golden Age of the Viennese Symphony: Haydn, Mozart, Beethoven, and Schubert, Vol. II of The Symphonic Repertiore (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 2002), 4.

8 Richard Will, “The Symphony and the Classical Orchestra” in The Cambridge Companion to the Symphony, ed. Julian Horton (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2013), 314.

9 Carse, The History of Orchestration, 179.

101

Burgtheater in 1781, filling out the complement of wind instruments, and establishing a score consistent with the “classical orchestra.”10 Clarinets can be found employed somewhat regularly by numerous composers during this time, marking their acceptance in the opera orchestra well ahead of that for symphonies.11

Given the inconsistent use of the clarinet in Viennese symphonies during the last decade of the eighteenth century, as well as the inconsistent use of trumpets and timpani, defining the

“classical orchestra” becomes difficult, and in itself inconsistent. Mozart used the clarinets in only five of his symphonies and Haydn used them in only five of his last twelve symphonies.

This suggests a “classical orchestra” in a state of flux, and the use of additional instruments to achieve a particular sound envisioned by the composer rather than working with a stable institution. Among the triumvirate of Haydn, Mozart, and Beethoven, Beethoven was the only composer to consistently use the clarinet in all his symphonies. And if the symphonies of

Schubert are included, all but one of his symphonies, the Fifth Symphony, uses clarinets. This suggests throughout the first quarter of the nineteenth century the clarinets became regular members of the symphony orchestra. By the turn of the century, the symphony orchestra begins to resemble the “classical orchestra” defined by Spitzer and Zaslaw, Burkholder, and Rouse.

Unfortunately using only Haydn, Mozart, and Beethoven, and using them as a normative template, limits our knowledge and understanding of the symphony orchestra and the composers who composed for it during this time. Examining the symphonies by contemporaries of Haydn,

Mozart, and Beethoven reveals that the instrumentation of the Viennese symphony remained variable and inconsistent at the close of the eighteenth century and throughout the first quarter of

10 Mary Sue Morrow, Concert Life in Haydn’s Vienna: Aspects of a Developing Musical and Social Institution (Stuyvesant, NY: Pendragon Press, 1989), 175.

11 Carse, The History of Orchestration, 179-80.

102 the nineteenth century. Though my study only examines six of these symphonic contemporaries, their symphonic output supplies more than enough data to demonstrate the weakness of the accepted definition of the “classical orchestra” used so often.

I arranged the symphonies into groups based on similar instrumentation, and each group is organized by the date of composition. The one constant represented among the groups is the strings, which for the purpose of this study I define as strings in four parts (first violin, second violin, viola, cello and basses). I identified ten different instrumentation groups during the time period of my study (see Table 4.1). The instrumentation called for in these symphonies ranges from a simple a8 scoring to that of the “classical orchestra.” There is variability among the groups as to the number of symphonies and composers represented, but nonetheless the variety of instrumentation used contradicts the standard narrative of the “classical orchestra” being established in the late symphonies of Haydn and the symphonies of Beethoven. To provide a fair assessment of the instrumentation from this time versus the standard narrative of the “classical orchestra” I have excluded symphonies whose instrumentation contains trombones, additional percussion instruments, and accessory instruments. Symphonies incorporating these additional instruments will be addressed later in the chapter.

Table 4.1: Instrumentation of Symphonies Group A Strings, 2 Fl., 2 Hn.

Composer Title Date # of Movements Gyrowetz Symphony in A Major 1800 4

Group B

103

Strings, 2 Ob., 2 Hn.

Composer Title Date # of Movements Gyrowetz Symphony in A Major Before 1796- 4 97 Gyrowetz Symphony in D Major c.1802 or 3 before

Group C Strings, 2 Ob., 2 Hn., 2 Tpt.

Composer Title Date # of Movements Gyrowetz Symphony in D Major Beg. of 19th 3 century

Group D Strings, 1 Fl., 2 Ob., 2 Bsn., 2 Hn.

Composer Title Date # of Movements Reicha Symphonie á petit orchestra in C Minor Before 1808 4 Schubert Symphony No. 5 in B-flat Major, D485 1816 4

Group E Strings, 1 Fl., 2 Ob., 2 Bsn., 2 Hn., Timp.

104

Composer Title Date # of Movements Wranitzky Symphony in D Major, Op. 25 “La Chasse,” 1793 4 P25 Reicha Symphony in E-flat Major, Op. 41 1799 4 Reicha Symphony in E-flat Major, Op. 42 1799 4

Group F Strings, 1 Fl., 2 Ob., 2 Bsn., 2Hn., 2 Tpt., Timp.

Composer Title Date # of Movements Wranitzky Symphony in C Major “Coronation,” Op. Pub. 1792 4 19, P5 Gyrowetz Symphony in C Major* Before 1796 4 Wranitzky Symphony in C Major, Op. 35, No. 1, P1 1799 4 Wranitzky Symphony in E-flat Major, Op. 35, No. 3, 1799 4 P32*

Group G Strings, 1 Fl., 2 Ob., 2 Cl., 2 Bsn., 2 Hn., 2 Tpt., Timp.

Composer Title Date # of Movements Reicha Symphony in F Minor Before 1808 4 Ries Symphony No. 1 in D Major, Op. 23 1809 4 Schubert Symphony No. 1 in D Major, D82 1813 4

Group H

105

Strings, 2 Fl., 2 Ob., 2 Bsn., 2 Hn., 2 Tpt., Timp.

Composer Title Date # of Movements Wranitzky Symphony in E-flat Major, “Jagd- 1790s 4 Sinfonie,” P31 Gyrowetz Symphony in G Major* Before 1796 4

Group I Strings, 2 Fl., 2 Ob., 2 Cl., 2 Bsn., 2 Hn., 2 Tpt., Timp.

Composer Title Date # of Movements Wranitzky Symphony in C Minor, P10* 1790s 4 Wranitzky Symphony in D Major, “con Echo,” P22* 1790s 4 Wranitzky Symphony in D Major, P17* 1790s 4 Wranitzky Symphony in A Major, P45* 1790s 4 Gyrowetz Symphony in E-flat Major* Before 1796 4 Wranitzky Symphony in D Major, P16* Before 1799 4 Wranitzky Symphony in B-flat Major, Op. 33, No. 1, 1799 4 P48 Wranitzky Symphony in F Major, Op. 33, No. 3, 1799 4 P34* Wranitzky Symphony in C Major, Op. 33, No. 2, P7 1799 4 Wranitzky Symphony in G Major, Op. 35, No. 2, 1799 4 P40* Wranitzky Symphony in D Major, Op. 36, P18 1799 4 Eberl Symphony in E-flat Major, Op. 33 1803 4

106

Eberl Symphony in D Minor, Op. 34 1804/05 3 Wranitzky Symphony in G Major, Op. 50, P39* Pub. 1805 4 Wranitzky Symphony in D Major, Op. 52, P21* Pub. 1805 4 Wranitzky Symphony in A Major, Op. 51, P44* Pub. 1805 4 Schubert Symphony No. 2 in B-flat Major, D125 1815 4 Schubert Symphony No. 3 in D Major, D200 1815 4 Schubert Symphony No. 6 in C Major, D589 1818 4

Group J Strings, 2 Fl., 2 Ob., 2 Cl., 2 Bsn., 4 Hn., 2 Tpt., Timp.

Composer Title Date # of Movements Schubert Symphony No. 4 in C Minor, “Tragic,” 1816 4 D417 * - denotes split or separate viola parts

The instrumentation of the “classical orchestra,” the most frequent scoring for the symphonies under consideration, can be found in Group I. This group comprises the largest number of symphonies among the groups with 19 out of the 38 symphonies from the table.

Though this instrumentation appears to be the favored scoring, there are still symphonies by these composers using trombones and accessory instruments (additional percussion, keyboard, toys, etc.) to factor into the equation. With these symphonies included, the slight majority of the

“classical orchestra” instrumentation slips into the minority (19 out of 55), but still remains the most often used instrumentation. This favored instrumentation extended as late as 1818 with

Schubert’s Sixth Symphony, yet it also coincides with symphonies of lesser and greater forces, demonstrating a varied approach to scoring the symphony continued.

107

Though Group I represents a preferred scoring with respect to the number of symphonies represented, the scoring and number of symphonies outside this group suggests the instrumentation of the Viennese symphony remained in a varied state. Groups A and B represent the lightest scoring of these symphonies, and all three were composed by Gyrowetz. These symphonies date from the mid-1790s to 1802 at the latest, and their thin scoring is in stark contrast to that found in the symphonies Haydn and Beethoven were composing at the time, and with the other symphonies in the table. The instrumentation of these two groups resembles a symphonic ensemble from the middle of the eighteenth century rather than the end of the eighteenth and the beginning of the nineteenth century. Pairs of oboes or flutes, and horns joined strings in four parts to form the instrumentation of symphonies from the middle of the century.

This light scoring surely enhanced the clarity of the musical material, and also made the music accessible and marketable. Given the light instrumentation of these symphonies, ease of performance and reception appears to be at the forefront. Rice comments, “They were written not for posterity, but for den heutigen Geschmack, as the composer himself put it. They are easy to play and easy to listen to. And this explains their contemporary popularity. These symphonies did not make the intellectual demands on performers (soloists excluded) made by the late symphonies of Haydn and Mozart. A symphony by Gyrowetz was always welcome as light, pleasant entertainment music.”12 The light entertainment aspect of these symphonies is not restricted to their instrumentation, but also stems from the simplicity and clarity of the thematic material and formal construction of the movements.

12 John A. Rice, Adalbert Gyrowetz (1763-1850). Four Symphonies. The Symphony, 1720-1840, Series B, v. 11, Barry S. Brook, editor-in-chief (New York: Garland, 1983), xxv.

108

Group C, also solely represented by Gyrowetz, expands the orchestra of the previous groups with the addition of trumpets. Groups D-G feature larger instrumentation with the addition of one flute, and pairs of oboes, bassoons, horns, trumpets, and timpani. A distinct feature about the instrumentation for these groups is the use of one flute while the other winds are in pairs. Though paired in the symphonies found in the remaining groups, the flute is the only wind instrument to appear in symphonies with only one part. The flute parts in these symphonies do not stray from the expected role of the flute, and in fact the flute part engages in the material and texture of the works just as it does in symphonies with two flutes. The flute doubles the first violins at times, it imitates figures by the violins, helps sustain harmonies with other wind instruments, and occasionally serves as a solo instrument. Another interesting observation to be made about these symphonies using one flute is the time span that this particular instrumentation covers. Wranitzky’s Symphony in C Major “Coronation,” Op. 19 represents the earliest with its publication in 1792, and Schubert’s Fifth Symphony represents the latest with a date of 1816.

Several symphonies of Wranitzky and Gyrowetz in Groups F, H, and I call for split and separate viola parts. Out of the thirty-eight symphonies in the table, fourteen of them use split or separate viola parts; eleven by Wranitzky and three by Gyrowetz. Nearly half of the symphonies by Gyrowetz (three out of seven) use this scoring, and Wranitzky uses this scoring in eleven out of eighteen symphonies, making this five-part string texture a common one for both composers.

This scoring may lead one to assume that a five-part string texture is at work, but an examination of the parts reveals that this split scoring is more versatile.

The string texture in these symphonies using split or separated viola parts varies throughout the movements. At times the upper viola doubles the second violin at the octave and the lower viola doubles the bass and cellos either at the octave or in unison depending on the

109 range. At these moments, a three-part texture is presented with the two lower parts reinforced by the violas. Sometimes the violas play in unison and double the cellos at the octave, along with the basses, creating another three-part texture, again with the lowest part reinforced.

Another texture created through the use of split or separated violas is a four- or five-part texture with the violas filling out the harmony. In these cases, the four-part texture results when the violins play in unison, and the five-part texture results when the violins act independent of each other. But in both of these textures the violas are also independent from the lower strings and simply fill out the triadic harmonies. Other symphonies without an asterisk contain momentary instances of split viola parts, such as Eberl’s Op. 33, but these are so slight (largely at cadence points for suspensions and retardations) that categorizing them as symphonies with split viola parts would conflict with those whose viola parts are split or separated throughout.

Though only two of my composers use this particular instrumentation, its use harkens back to an earlier period of instrumentation where the viola was used to reinforce the bass.

According to A. Peter Brown, a single viola played along with the cello and bass at the

Esterhazy orchestra during Haydn’s early years there. However, Haydn’s preference in scoring changed and the violas migrated further up the score, and established a role as a middle voice.13

Though the practice of split or separate viola parts appears to be seldom used in the Viennese symphony, it is interesting that two composers active in Vienna during the late eighteenth century and early nineteenth century continued the practice. Clearly this approach to instrumentation was not held across the board since none of the symphonies by Schubert, Ries,

Eberl, or Reicha use split or separate viola parts.

13 Brown, The First Golden Age, 3.

110

Both Gyrowetz and Wranitzky were born in the Bohemian lands, and, at least for

Gyrowetz, John A. Rice suggests that composers of Bohemian origin routinely composed for a five-part string ensemble.14 Furthermore, Rice suggests that Gyrowetz’s familiarity with the symphonic repertoire from the Oettingen-Wallestein court also explains his use of a five-part string texture.15 Though it seems reasonable to deduce that Wranitzky, also a Bohemian composer, learned of this practice in his homeland, there is a lack of concrete evidence to say this for certain. But a shared preference between Gyrowetz and Wranitzky for split or separate viola parts exists, and this preference is one not shared by the other composers examined here.

Another possibility for the use of split or separate viola parts concerns the other instruments being used. In Groups F, H, and I the winds fill out the harmonies, making this a reduced role for the violas. With the addition of the winds, Gyrowetz and Wranitzky may have reinforced the basses and cellos or second violins to compensate for the additional instruments used. It may have happened due to a confluence of Bohemian origins, preceding compositional practices, and the strengthening of the musical lines.

Finally, I place Schubert’s Ninth Symphony as the sole symphony in Group J because of the four horns used. Though the use of four horns is to be expected in a minor-key symphony with each pair crooked in different keys; this major-key symphony treats them differently. In most minor-key symphonies using four horns, the first pair is crooked in the minor tonic, and the second pair either in the dominant or the relative major. The two pairs of horns rarely interact with each other. The second pair usually does not enter until the second theme where a modulation takes place. Though only a single pair of horns is used in the inner movements of the

14 Rice, Adalbert Gyrowetz. Four Symphonies, xxv.

15 Ibid., xxiv-xxv.

111

Schubert, both pairs perform together in the outer movements despite the formal area and key, thus creating a four-horn texture used for rhythmic emphasis and filling out harmonies. Four other minor-key symphonies can be found in the table, yet these symphonies only use a single pair of horns. There are symphonies by Reicha in Groups D and G and one by Wranitzky and

Eberl in Group I. Reicha chose to keep his horns tuned to the tonic, Eberl used one horn in the tonic key and the other in the relative major, and Wranitzky allowed the horn player time to change the crook when needed.

As mentioned above, all of the different instrumentations found in the table coexisted.

For example, the symphonies by Gyrowetz featuring a sparse instrumentation (Groups A-C from the early nineteenth century) were composed after his fuller instrumentations (Groups F, H, and

I from before 1796). Thus, the approach to the instrumentation of the symphony was not one of evolution and progression towards a “classical orchestra,” but one of variety and coexistence.

During this same period of time the symphony orchestra expanded slightly with the inclusion of trombones, and, in some cases, accessory instruments.

The Trombone

Just as the narrative of the evolution of the “classical orchestra” was simplified to lead to the triumvirate, so did the narrative of the entrance of the trombones into the symphonic orchestra. It has been long-held that Beethoven was the first composer to introduce trombones into the symphony, though at least one scholar argues that Swedish composer Joachim Eggert struck first.16 In addition to the question of when they joined the orchestra, the number of

16 Avishai Kallai, “Joachim Eggert: Authenticating the Premiere Performance of His E-flat Symphony,” STM-Online IV (2001). Beethoven calls for three trombones for his Fifth Symphony, which premiered 22 December 1808, whereas Eggert used three trombones in his Third Symphony, which premiered 14 May 1807.

112 trombones was not standardized during the period. Beethoven used three trombones in his Fifth,

Sixth, and Ninth Symphonies, and this may have fed the narrative that three trombones was the common number found in symphonies from this period. But as will be shown in this section, three trombones was not the standard number found in symphonies until after Beethoven’s and

Schubert’s Ninth Symphony.

The history of the function and role of the trombone up to the first quarter of the nineteenth century is a varied one. It is often associated with religious and funeral rites, street bands, military bands, and opera by the close of the eighteenth century.

But the trombone experienced a period of decline across Europe during the seventeenth century, and a revival by the end of the eighteenth century.17 It is important to note that during its decline the trombone consistently remained active in Vienna and Salzburg, though, much as in the first quarter of the nineteenth century, skilled performers on the instrument were difficult to find.18 In fact, Herbert reports that the bassoon regularly performed the solo at the beginning of the “Tuba mirum” movement from Mozart’s unfinished Requiem because of a lack of skilled trombonists.19 Much of the repertoire during this time remained sacred, but when Gluck incorporated the instrument into his Orfeo ed Euridice in 1762, this ended nearly a century-long drought since the trombone appeared in an opera in Vienna (Cesti’s Il pomo d’oro from 1668 being the last).20

17 Trevor Herbert, The Trombone (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2006), 109-14.

18 Ibid., 113-14.

19 Ibid., 120.

20 Ibid., 114.

113

Following Gluck, the trombone expanded its operatic role by appearing in operas by

Mozart (Don Giovanni and Die Zauberflöte) and Salieri (Axur). Carse, like Herbert, points to

Gluck as the catalyst for the inclusion of trombones into the orchestra, even though, “Gluck’s bass trombone by no means always sounds the bass note of the chord.”21 Carse’s comment suggests that the trombone had some autonomy in its appearance in operas and did not merely double instruments within its range, unlike the bassoon for example. Opera, with oratorios following a close second, provided skilled trombonists with a steady and predictable means for living. And much like other instrumentalists in the past, those skilled in playing the trombone were also skilled in other instruments in order to find enough performance opportunities to make a living. In addition, the formation of a musical canon during the early nineteenth century featuring works with trombones, such as Beethoven’s Fifth, Sixth, and Ninth Symphonies,

Mozart’s Don Giovanni and Die Zauberflöte, and Haydn’s The Creation and The Seasons, not to mention additional new works utilizing the trombone, provided trombonists with greater opportunities to perform.

As illustrated in Table 4.2, during the first quarter of the nineteenth century few composers incorporated trombones into their symphonies. In addition to Beethoven, only

Schubert and Ferdinand Ries included trombones with any kind of consistency.

Table 4.2: Symphonies with Trombones Group A Strings, 1 Fl., 2 Ob., 2 Bsn., 2 Hn., 2 Tpt., 1 Tbn., Timp.

Composer Title Date # of Movements Ries Symphony No. 2 in C Minor, Op. 80 1814 4

21 Carse, The History of Orchestration, 159.

114

Group B Strings, 1 Fl., 2 Ob., 2 Cl., 2 Bsn., 2 Hn., 2 Tpt., 2 Tbn., Timp.

Composer Title Date # of Movements Ries Symphony No. 3 in E-flat Major, Op. 90 1815 4

Group C Strings, 1 Fl., 2 Ob., 2 Cl., 2 Bsn., 2 Hn., 2 Tpt., 3 Tbn., Timp.

Composer Title Date # of Movements Ries Symphony No. 5 in D Minor, Op. 112 1813 4

Group D Strings, 2 Fl., 2 Ob., 2 Cl., 2 Bsn., 2 Hn., 2 Tpt., 1 Tbn., Timp.

Composer Title Date # of Movements Ries Symphony in E-flat Major, WoO 30 1822 4

Group E Strings, 2 Fl., 2 Ob., 2 Cl., 2 Bsn., 2 Hn., 2 Tpt., 3 Tbn., Timp.

Composer Title Date # of Movements Schubert Symphony No. 8 in B Minor, 1822 2 “Unfinished,” D759 Schubert Symphony No. 9 in C Major, “Great,” 1828 4 D944

115

Group F Strings, 2 Fl., 2 Ob., 2 Cl., 2 Bsn., 1 C. Bsn., 2 Hn., 2 Tpt., 3 Tbn., Timp.

Composer Title Date # of Movements Ries Symphony No. 4 in F Major, Op. 110 1818 4

Group G Strings, 2 Fl., 2 Ob., 2 Cl., 2 Bsn., 1 C. Bsn, 4 Hn., 2 Tpt., 3 Tbn., Timp.

Composer Title Date # of Movements Ries Symphony No. 6 in D Major, Op. 146 1822 4

As shown in the table, the narrative of three trombones being used in the early ninetenth- century symphony—with Beethoven being the first to incorporate the instrument into the symphony—does not hold up. Of the seven symphonies listed in the table that include the trombone, only four use the expected trio of trombones. One caveat is that although the Sixth

Symphony of Ries uses three trombones, it has been excluded from this table since the symphony also uses accessory instruments and will be discussed in the following section. One of the early proponents of the three-trombones narrative, Adam Carse, wrote, “It was a great moment in the history of the orchestra when, early in the nineteenth century trombones became regular and permanent members of the community. They came in a party of three, a complete brass band, but endowed with very powerful voices.”22 But the symphonies in the table indicate

22 Adam Carse, The Orchestra, with an Introduction by Sir Adrian Boult (New York: Chanticleer Press, 1949), 26.

116 otherwise. For the two Schubert symphonies this narrative holds true, but does not match up with the symphonies composed by Ries.

Ries used different numbers of trombones throughout his symphonies. Though his Fifth

Symphony from 1813 is the earliest of his symphonies to use three trombones (Group C), his

Symphony in E-flat Major, WoO 30 from 1822 is the latest of these symphonies and only calls for one trombone. His Third Symphony from 1815 (Group B) curiously calls for two trombones, the only symphony I have come across to call for two trombones.

Regardless of the number of trombones used, one constant remains for all the symphonies in the table: all use a bass trombone that helps to reinforce the bass. The bass trombone often duplicates the double bass part, but if the latter is more active or decorated, the bass trombone performs a simplified, held tone. There is very little exposure for the bass trombone since they double some kind of bass instrument (if not the double bass, then the bassoons). However, in the first movement of his Ninth Symphony, Schubert provided some exposure for the three trombones (Example 4.1). The trombones perform a key motive of the movement with the remainder of the orchestra providing accompaniment and decoration around the trombone lines.23

Herbert noted that “it was Schubert who was probably the first composer to identify a holistic role for the trombone. His ‘Unfinished’ Symphony D759 (1822) and the ‘Great’ C major

Symphony D944 (1826) contain some of the most imaginative and truly idiomatic orchestral writing ever devised for trombones in the orchestra.”24 This example provides another property

23 This musical example comes from Herbert, The Trombone, 176.

24 Herbert, The Trombone, 175. Herbert does not qualify this statement to the early nineteenth-century repertoire. Surely there are other trombone parts that exemplify more imaginative writing for the trombone in a symphony.

117 shared by Ries and Schubert when composing for the trombone in the symphony. The trombones receive a homophonic treatment much like the trumpets and horns. In the above example, the trombones perform in a monophonic texture from the beginning of the excerpt to measure 227.

From measure 228 on, the trombones perform in a homophonic texture, the most likely texture of trombone writing from this time. While the bass trombone often doubled the other bass instruments, the alto, and sometimes the tenor, trombone doubled the violins in the lower register, the violas, or simply aided in filling out and punctuating harmonies.

Though the horns and trumpets exhibit slightly more active roles by the 1810s, such as performing melodic material or providing harmonic decoration, the simple approach to trombone writing appears to be the result of its being the newest member of the orchestra, coupled with the difficulty of finding quality players. With composers including trombones in their symphonies, the orchestral institution reached its full maturity, one that persisted and eventually became standard during the latter half of the nineteenth century. However, there are some symphonies, with or without clarinets and/or trombones, which include additional instruments for specific occasions and effects.

Accessory Instruments

No matter the number of instruments called for, some composers expanded the size and palette of the orchestra beyond the use of conventional instruments. I call these additional, unconventional instruments accessory instruments because of their infrequent appearances and their role in the symphonic work as a whole. Accessory instruments include: percussion instruments beyond timpani (side drums, bass drums, triangle, cymbals, etc.), keyboard instruments, and toy instruments. These instruments were rarely used over the span of the circa

118 thirty-five years of this study, and no composer was more consistent in using accessory instruments than Paul Wranitzky.

To represent the Turkish style, composers used a large drum (bass drum), cymbals, and triangles. Using the term Turkish instruments to describe these accessory percussion instruments dates back centuries, and their use experienced a rise in popularity during the last couple of decades in the eighteenth century. The incorporation of these instruments into symphonic works came from two main sources, military bands and opera. For the latter, Gluck’s Le Cade dupé

(1761), Le pèlerins de la Mecque (1764), Iphigénia en Aulide (1774), and Mozart’s Die

Entführung aus dem Serail (1782) are the most prominent examples of operas using the Turkish style. By the last decade of the eighteenth century these instruments made their way into the symphony as references to military bands. Symphonies like Franz Xaver Süssmayr’s Sinfonia turchesa (1791) and Haydn’s “Military” Symphony (1794) represent early symphonic works playing off of the Turkish military band tradition, hence the nickname of the latter.25 Though

Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony from 1823 represents the next prominent example, there are several examples in the years between Haydn and Beethoven where Turkish instruments are used in a symphony. Ries used Turkish instruments in only one of his symphonies, his Sixth

Symphony, whereas Wranitzky used them in several.

A simple use of accessory instruments occurs in Ries’s Sixth Symphony, and like his teacher and friend, Beethoven, in his Ninth Symphony, he used the accessory instruments only in the final movement. Ries composed his Sixth Symphony in 1822 while living in London. Little is known about the composition of the symphony other than the autograph is dated 1822 and was

25 There is an excellent recording of the Süssmayr by Concerto Köln on their CD, Dream of the Orient, 66 mins., Archiv Produktion (DG).

119 premiered by the Philharmonic Society on 13 June 1822.26 Peters of Leipzig published the symphony in 1827 with a dedication to Frederick Wilhelm III of Prussia, and a pianoforte duet arrangement of the work prepared by Friedrich Mockwitz followed in 1829.27 In his remarks about the symphony, Cecil Hill regards this as Ries’s most successful approach to symphonic form and technique, and believes it “may have been the most frequently performed of his symphonies and therefore perhaps his favorite.”28

Though he comments on the first three movements of the symphony, Hill does not address the finale and the use of bass drum, cymbals, and triangle. On the surface, the finale from Ries’s Sixth Symphony shares certain similarities with the finale from Beethoven’s Ninth

Symphony, such as: the use of the same accessory percussion instruments in the final movement; the dedication to Frederick Wilhelm III of Prussia; the appearance of the accessory instruments in marches; and the use of the descriptor Turkish instruments for the accessory percussion, as would be expected during this time. Beyond this all comparisons with Beethoven end. The role of the instruments in the finale of Ries’s Sixth Symphony is limited to accenting either the first beat of a measure or the first and third beats of a measure, and only occurs in the tutti forte sections of the movement.

The reference to military music holds true for the finale of Ries’s Sixth Symphony.

Marked Allegro con brio, the finale is a march of pomp and circumstance, making the use of

Turkish military percussion instruments an appropriate selection. Bert Hagels notes that the

26 Bert Hagels, foreword to Sinfonie Nr. 6, by Ferdinand Ries (Berlin: Ries & Erler, 2004), iii.

27 Cecil Hill, Ferdinand Ries: a thematic catalogue. University of New England Monographs I (Armidale, Australia: University of New England, 1977), 149.

28 Cecil Hill, Ferdinand Ries (1784-1838). Three Symphonies. The Symphony, 1720-1840. Series C.; v. 12, Barry S. Brook, editor-in-chief (New York: Garland Press, 1982), xxiii.

120

London correspondent for the Allgemeine musikalisher Zeitung described the 1822 premiere without any mention of Turkish music, but Ries later described the addition of the instruments to the finale in a letter written in 1826.29 Hagels questions whether a performance of Beethoven’s

Ninth Symphony at the Lower Rhine Music Festival in Aachen in 1825 influenced Ries to add

Turkish instruments to the finale of his Sixth Symphony.30

Wranitzky also contributed to the Turkish music tradition with two symphonies incorporating the same accessory percussion instruments, and then some. His Sinfonie con musica turca, P19, contains a side drum, bass drum, cymbals, triangle, and piccolo in the finale.

Like all of Wranitzky’s symphonies using accessory instruments, this symphony was never published and may have been performed at the court of Marie Therese. The piccolo is used in the

B and C sections of the rondo form, where it reinforces the violins on the final return of the principle material. The side drum is first heard in the B section along with the introduction of triplet rhythms to the military march. All of the accessory instruments perform in the C section, again with the appearance of triplet rhythms. They also help bring the symphony to a rousing conclusion.

The second symphony by Wranitzky to incorporate Turkish music and piccolo is his P20.

Like the above symphony, P20 is in D major and both symphonies have the same finale. P20 exists in a version for Prince Johann Franz von Lobkowitz and another version for Empress

Marie Therese, yet the only difference between the two is that the latter has an additional coda.

The finale is unchanged from P19, but Wranitzky uses the accessory instruments in the first movement and two bass drums, a ratchet, and a side drum in the third movement. For the third

29 Bert Hagels, Foreword to Sinfonie Nr. 6, D-Dur op. 146, ed. Bert Hagels (Berlin: Ries & Erler, 2004), iii.

30 Ibid., iv.

121 movement, the two bass drums presumably positioned themselves either in different rooms of the palace or at least at different ends or sides of the room. In the autograph Wranitzky wrote “zum canonieren” for the two bass drums, indicating the two act as canons in a battle.31

Though the uses of additional percussion instruments resulted in a reference to Turkish military music for the most part, additional percussion instruments served other purposes. In his

Symphony in D Minor “La Tempesta,”P30, Wranitzky uses a bass drum in the third and final movement to aid in the depiction of a storm. Like his other unpublished symphonies, the exact date of this symphony is unknown, but since it is largely based on incidental music to the play

Die Rache (1795) we know the symphony was composed around the middle 1790s at the earliest.32 Given that the symphony depicts a tempest, Wranitzky incorporates elements of the

Sturm und Drang and utilizes the bass drum in the finale to depict rolling thunder and lightning strikes. Wranitzky also included cues into the bass drum part of what was being depicted: “A lightning strike . . . quiet rain . . . a lightning strike . . . the (stormy) weather wanes . . . it clears up.”33

The final symphony using accessory instruments is Wranitzky’s Toy Symphony, composed for Marie Therese. Documents from the court indicate the collection of odd and unconventional instruments housed at the palace, including: xylophone, zither, and Rodel to

31 John A. Rice, Empress Marie Therese and Music at the Viennese Court, 1792-1807 (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2003), 150.

32 James Ackermann and Daniel Bernhardsson, Symphony in D minor, “La Tempesta.” The score of the symphony is available for download at http://www.wranitzky.com/works_oo_symphony_tempesta.htm.. Accessed 23 January 2011.

33 “Schlägt ein . . . stiller Regen . . . schlägt ein . . . das Wetter verliehrt sich . . . es heitert sich auf,” trans. Daniel Bernhardsson.

122 name a few.34 In his Sinfone con strumenti Berchtesgadner, P15, Wranitzky uses a five-part string ensemble (yet another symphony of his using divided violas), piccolo, oboes, bassoons, horns, four trumpets, and timpani for the conventional instruments. As for the accessory instruments, he calls for fourteen different types of instruments:

Rodel Ratschen (Ratchet) Trumpette in G (Two toy trumpets in G) Horn in C, F (Toy horns, one in C and one in F) Turkische Trommel (Turkish drum) Tamburo in C (Drum in C) Wachtel in F (Quail) Kuku in G,E (Cuckoo) Gläser in C, E (Glasses in C and E)35 Orgelhenne (Organ-hen) Zimbelstern (Star with hanging bells) Schinellen (Cymbals) Militair Trommel (Military [Side] Drum) Triangle

This is certainly the largest number of forces found in a Wranitzky symphony. Though the texture of the accessory instruments can be sparse, there are times when many perform at once, leading to a noisy and cacophonous effect. For the finale, Wranitzky scaled back the

34 Additional instruments are discussed in Rice, Empress Marie Therese, 140-51. Rice describes the Rodel as, “a composite, percussion-wind instrument. In his mass with Berchtesgadner Instrumente, Wranitzky notated the Rodel part with two notes: A above the treble staff and middle C.” The same pitches are used in this symphony. See Rice, Empress Marie Therese, 146-7.

35 Though no instructions for performing the glasses survive or existed, it is presumed the glasses were struck by the player given that repeated eighth notes and quarter notes are notated. Having to perform these rhythms at an allegro tempo would not be suitable to rubbing the rims.

123 number of accessory instruments by inserting the final movement from P19 and P20, using cymbals, Turkish drums, side drums, and triangle. Given the number of works Wranitzky composed using Turkish instruments and toy instruments, these instruments had to be of particular interest to Marie Therese.36 Rice notes the connection between the use of Turkish and toy instruments within the same symphony, saying that “clearly the line between Turkish and toy instruments was fine: they both appealed to the same taste for noisy effects, and toy versions of percussion instruments were among the easiest to make and to play.”37

From percussion instruments, which routinely appeared as accessory instruments,

Wranitzky turned his attention to an instrument that once had a frequent and stable use in the symphony, the keyboard. He incorporates an obbligato keyboard part in two of his symphonies,

“composed for the personal use and private pleasure of Empress Maria Therese.”38 The first of these is his Sinfonie Grande con Fortepiano, P42. Cast in three movements, the keyboard assumes the role of a continuo instrument in the first movement but serves a more prominent role as soloist in the following two movements. Though there is a lack of evidence to support the claim that the keyboard part was composed with Marie Therese in mind, we do know that she was a skilled pianist, and that she performed a concertino by Joseph Weigl (1766-1846) with her orchestra.39 In the first movement, the keyboard part is reduced to the role of a continuo instrument, simply doubling the bass part. Perhaps this allowed the keyboardist to warm up before the more exposed parts came. The second movement has the title, “Eine Jagd,” and this

36 Rice, Empress Marie Therese, 150.

37 Ibid., 151.

38 Rice, Empress Marie Therese, 28. Quoted from Oesterreichische National-Encyklopädie, 6 vols., Vienna, 1835-7, VI, 190-1.

39 Rice, Ibid., 102.

124 title confirms the performance of this symphony at one of Marie Therese’s concerts given on 22

January 1802.40 In addition to the keyboard, a bass drum is also used in this movement. In the finale the keyboard participates both as a continuo instrument and a solo instrument.

The second symphony to include a keyboard part is the Quodlibet Symphony, which represents a depiction of a standard concert performed at the court of Marie Therese. The keyboard participates both as a continuo instrument and a solo instrument throughout various movements of the symphony. Jan LaRue termed this symphony the “Hail and Farewell”

Symphony, an obvious play on Haydn’s Symphony No. 45 “Farewell.” The “Hail and Farewell” comes from the outer movements where the musicians enter an instrument at a time in the first movement and exit an instrument at a time in the final movement. LaRue researched and analyzed the symphony before its connection with the court of Marie Therese was known.41

The symphony takes about an hour to perform, thereby simulating not only the music typically heard at one of these concerts, but the length of the concerts as well. Table 4.3 details the layout and individual operatic numbers of Wranitzky’s Quodlibet Symphony:

Table 4.3: Movements to Wranitzky’s Quodlibet Symphony

I. Allegro II. Presto III. Ein Quodlibet. Erste Abtheiliung: No. 1. A Schüsserl und a Reindl No. 2. Mama [sic] mia non mi gridate No. 3. Nel cor più non mi sento aus der Molinara No. 4. Le Nozze di Figaro. Non più andrai

40 Ibid., 101.

41 Jan La Rue, “A ‘Hail and Farewell’ Quodlibet Symphony,” Music & Letters 37/3 (July, 1956): 250-9.

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No. 5. Marcia Richard Löwenherz Ende der ersten Abtheilung Zweite Abtheilung: 6. Ouverture von der Zauberflöte 7. Quartetto aus der Palmira. Silenzio faccia si. 8. L’amor Marinaro. Pria ch’io l’impegno. 9. aus Lodoiska. Oh quanto l’anima. 10. aus Lodoiska. Contento il cor nel seno. 11. Minuett von der Venturini. Le Nozze Distubate. Ende des Quodlibet IV. Finale V. Andante

The program of the symphony represents some of the frequently performed composers and opera numbers at the court of Marie Therese. The Presto movement is an overture-like work used to open the program, and the overture to Die Zauberflöte begins the second half of the concert.

As far as instrumentation is concerned, the overture to Die Zauberflöte is almost exactly the same as the original written by Mozart. The only instruments missing are the three trombones. The entrance of the musicians causes Rice to speculate that Wranitzky may have been having some fun at the expense of the musicians of the court orchestra.42 As LaRue points out, the entrance of the musicians in the opening movement occurs irregularly, and more musicians seem to, “run in hurriedly one after another as if they were late.”43 LaRue also suggests personality traits of the musicians based on how long they take to warm up, “a fussy

42 Ibid., 104.

43 La Rue, “Hail and Farewell,” 253.

126 viola needs twenty bars to settle down, while the prodigious first bassoon manages to enter and begin to play in six bars, and a similarly rough-and-ready timpanist tunes in only nine bars of alla breve.”44 Now knowing its connection with the court of Marie Therese, Rice also speculates that the keyboard part was written for her.45

Wranitzky’s unpublished Symphony in G Major, P38 does not contain a keyboard part, but it does share a common thread with the Quodlibet Symphony. In P38 Wranitzky calls for four Papageno flutes and a Glockenspiel, instruments used in Mozart’s Singspiel, Die

Zauberflöte. Mozart’s Singspiel was a favorite of Marie Therese, and Wranitzky recognized its popularity with the Viennese public, along with Le nozze di Figaro and Don Giovanni, and used it as a source for musical material.46 In the manuscript of the symphony, Wranitzky uses three

Papageno flutes keyed in G and one keyed in D. For the first Papageno flute in G and the flute in

D, he indicates that they are to perform in the same room as the orchestra, and the second and third flutes tuned in G are to perform in a neighboring room to the orchestra, thereby including an additional instrument to the symphony, the space of the venue.47 For the glockenspiel part

Wranitzky comments that the instrument should be like the one played by Calender in Gluck’s opera, La rencontre imprévue (1763). Strings in four parts make up the remainder of the orchestra, ensuring that the Papageno flutes and glockenspiel stand out in the orchestral color.

Wranitzky aids in the clarity of the flutes by having them used in various positions around the performance venue. This spatial effect heightens the theatrical nature of the echoes among the

44 Ibid.

45 Rice, Empress Marie Therese, 104.

46 Ibid., 140.

47 This clear indication of using the space of the venue as an instrument in the performance is why I speculate that the two bass drums used in P20 may have been placed in separate rooms.

127 flutes, and references to the offstage effect from Die Zauberflöte as Papageno makes his entrance onto the stage.

The motivation for using accessory instruments may have been the composer’s preference or, more likely, were composed for a specific occasion or to pay homage to a dedicatee or benefactor. Just as the number and types of accessory instruments varied from symphony to symphony, so did the motivation for using them. As the use of accessory instruments adds to the individual color of a symphony, it also allows for a specific and individual understanding of why they are used, and a better understanding for the motivation of the composition as a whole.

Conclusion

While a good number of Wranitzky’s symphonies conform to the idea of the “classical” orchestra (13 in total), Wranitzky held a position that afforded him the opportunity to explore and create unique works using accessory instruments in order to cater to the taste and fancy of his aristocratic employer. His output is somewhat of an anomaly considering the changing market for symphonies at this time, given that private orchestras were often reduced or dismissed altogether. These symphonies represent a small group of his output composed for specific performances at court, and their entry in Postolka’s symphonic catalogue lacks details such as the number of movements, instrumentation, and incipits. Clearly the novelty found in these symphonies gave them a limited shelf life, and the Viennese public never heard or heard of these inventive works because of the circumstances under which they were composed. The instrumentation of these novel, unpublished symphonies did not merely augment the “classical” orchestra with unconventional instruments. His Symphony in G Major P38 does not use any wind instruments, and several lack a second flute and/or pairs of clarinets (P15, P19, P30, P31, and

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P50). The published symphonies of Wranitzky, and the other composers in this study, exhibit instrumentation inconsistent with the “classical” orchestra. Even with the inclusion of the trombone in the early nineteenth century, the instrumentation did not necessarily conform to the

“classical” orchestra. Only two of the symphonies in this study using trombones simply build on the “classical” orchestra; Ries’s WoO 30 and Schubert’s “Unfinished” Symphony.

The results from this study are based on a small sample of composers, but within this small sample of composers it is clear the instrumentation of the Viennese symphony did not reach a “stable and normative” configuration as expressed by Spitzer and Zaslaw.48 Group J from

Table 1 represents the “classical” orchestra, and though it does contain the most symphonies among the groups, the other groups of instrumentations far outnumber that of the “classical” orchestra, and the percentage of symphonies using the instrumentation of Group J is weakened further when symphonies with trombones and accessory instruments are included.

Perhaps the infancy of an emerging canon consisting of Haydn, Mozart, and Beethoven helped propel the historiography of the “classical” orchestra, but as I argued in this chapter, the instrumentation of the Viennese symphony did not become standardized or normalized. From the sparse instrumentation of strings, 2 flutes, and 2 horns of Gyrowetz’s Symphony in A Major to the cacophonous instrumentation of Wranitzky’s Toy Symphony, P15, and everything in between, composers varied the forces for their symphonies throughout the first quarter of the nineteenth century.

48 See pg. 2.

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CHAPTER 5 Orchestration

In the previous chapter, I examined the instrumentation found in the symphonic contemporaries of Beethoven. The examination was strictly limited to the instruments used for the performance of the symphonies. In this chapter on orchestration I will examine how these instruments come together to form common and distinctive sonorities, and how the orchestration aids in the understanding and experience of the symphony. Once a composer had settled on the instrumentation for a symphony, the way in which the instruments are used can aid in the articulation of form, distinction of styles, and denote extramusical associations in the symphony.

By the close of the century, the wind instruments received greater prominence and exposure, and often played thematic material with or without accompaniment by the strings. The use of the winds in this manner did not occur suddenly, but developed over time.

Adam Carse suggests that the development of orchestration over the span of the eighteenth century occurred gradually and steadily, with no one reference point demarcating a drastic change in the approach to orchestration:

No one even slightly acquainted with the evolution of style in musical or other art could possibly imagine that all orchestral music composed during the first half of the century was treated in one way, and that a sudden revolution wrought such a complete change that all music dating from after 1750 was orchestrated according to new principles. Although the change of style has been placed approximately at the middle, it were [sic] more correct to state that the transition covered almost the entire century. No sudden upheaval, no calculated or designed revolution in orchestration took place in the few years which separate the last

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works of Bach or Handel from the early works of Haydn and Mozart.1

The argument Carse makes for an evolution versus a revolution in the practice of orchestration is evident from my examination of the gradual addition, and acceptance, of new instruments into the Viennese symphony, namely the addition of clarinets and trombones, and the increased use of trumpets.

The string instruments, the violins especially, formed the core of the orchestra. Though this remains true through the first quarter of the nineteenth century, the wind instruments experienced a rise in prominence in stating thematic material. Spitzer and Zaslaw describe the role of the winds in the eighteenth-century symphony as, “Oboes and horns were the usual components of the wind organ, because these were the standard orchestral winds during most of the eighteenth century. Later in the eighteenth century flutes, clarinets, bassoons, and even trumpets were added to the oboes and horns of the wind organ. The wind organ is never used alone but always in combination with the strings, usually with the full orchestra.”2 The wind organ served the purpose of providing more volume when the strings presented melodic material, and to sustain harmonies and emphasize harmonic changes.3

From the 1780s on the winds continued participating in the wind organ, but they also served as solo and soli ensembles presenting thematic material, a role perhaps related to

Harmoniemusik, which gained in popularity. Also during this time, trumpets were used on a

1 Adam Carse, The History of Orchestration (London: Kegen, Paul, Trench, Trubner and Company, Limited, 1925; reprint, New York: Dover Publications, 1964), 132.

2 John Spitzer and Neal Zaslaw, The Birth of the Orchestra. History of an Institution, 1650-1815. (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2004), 464.

3 Ibid.

131 more consistent basis, and though they participated as part of the wind organ as well, in certain compositions their participation coincided with celebratory and courtly events and activities. And there are some compositions in which the composer goes beyond conventional instruments and incorporates auxiliary instruments, as I discussed in the previous chapter. Some common auxiliary instruments from this time included additional percussion instruments, like military drums, bass drums, and cymbals, and toy instruments. The use of auxiliary instruments and creative use of the wind instruments yielded a distinct sound, one meant to make a lasting impression on the listener.

In this chapter I describe four aspects of orchestration in symphonies by the composers in my study. I begin with the increasing use of wind instruments and the way in which their use had an impact on sound and articulation. The use of extended solo and soli passages for the winds not only highlighted the talent of the players but also aided in formal articulation in some instances.

Second, I discuss the role of the trumpets and horns in the Viennese symphony. Some of the composers in my study engaged in an Italian and Viennese trumpeting tradition associated with celebratory occasions, aristocratic culture, and military engagements. In addition, I examine the extramusical associations attained through orchestration, specifically the depiction of military battles and the use of auxiliary instruments to represent the Turks, a trend that was waning by the

1790s. Lastly, I illustrate the novel approach to orchestration in the symphonies by Wranitzky, much of which comes from unpublished symphonies with known and probable associations with the court of Marie Therese. Using both conventional and auxiliary instruments, his approach reflects the talent in the court orchestra and the musical taste of his aristocratic employer. Each of the four aspects examined in this chapter not only yield a distinct sound but also have a distinct rationale and meaning for their use.

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Wind Instruments

As discussed in the previous chapter, the backbone of the symphony, and that of the

Viennese symphony, is the strings. By the middle of the eighteenth century pairs of oboes and horns were commonly added to the strings. The string section was largely in four parts by the end of the eighteenth century, with the exception of divided violas discussed in the previous chapter. The composers using divided violas at the end of the century were Bohemian (Gyrowetz and Wranitzky), and Wranitzky also emphasized the increased importance placed on the winds.

Beyond the intentions of composers for a desired sound, other factors influenced the variety in instrumentation and orchestration of the Viennese symphony during the end of the eighteenth century and the beginning of the nineteenth century.

By the close of the eighteenth century the concert culture in Vienna had changed, with fewer performances in aristocratic palaces and more public performances. At midcentury Austria was involved in military engagements such as the War of Austrian Succession (1740-1748) and the Seven Years War (1756-1763). This, coupled with Maria Theresa’s ambivalence towards court ceremony, resulted in the decline of the Hofkapelle during these years. At the close of the century at the Viennese court of Marie Therese, the symphony experienced something of a revival, though Marie Therese tended to favor vocal music over instrumental music.4 Private patrons like the Esterházy family and Prince Lobkowitz commissioned symphonies and held performances at their residences. The decline in symphonic production during the close of the eighteenth century resulted from a number of factors, among them the decline in performances at court and in private patronage. Such patronage became less frequent at the close of the

4 Mary Sue Morrow, “The Symphony in the Austrian Monarchy” in The Eighteenth-Century Symphony, Vol. I of The Symphonic Repertoire, eds. Mary Sue Morrow and Bathis Churgin (Indiana University Press: Bloomington, IN, 2012), 412.

133 eighteenth century, in part due to the expenses involved with maintaining a private orchestra. In conjunction with this, the rise in Harmoniemusik also suggests a preference for smaller ensembles, though the increase in exposed and featured passages for woodwinds in the Viennese symphony also date from this period, as I discuss below.

The various Harmoniemusik ensembles often consisted of wind quartets, quintets, sometime using as many as thirteen instruments, such as Mozart’s Serenade in B-flat Major,

K.361/270a. These works for Harmonie were either original compositions or arrangements of popular works. Arrangements usually came from current or beloved operas, and included the overture followed by the most popular and recognizable vocal numbers from the opera. There were a number of composers who excelled and earned a lasting reputation for their original compositions for Harmonie, including Franz Krommer (1759-1831) and Antoine Reicha (1770-

1836).

Sometimes composers incorporated the Harmoniemusik style into their symphonies so much that it caused confusion and criticism. The reviewer for the Allgemeine musikalische

Zeitung found himself in this predicament when he reviewed the premiere of Beethoven’s First

Symphony. He commented that the wind instruments were used so much that at times the ensemble was more of a wind band rather than an entire orchestra.5 However, Beethoven’s treatment of the winds in his First Symphony did not usher in a new direction for using the winds in a symphony. Similar writing, and even greater exposure for the winds, can be found in the symphonies of Wranitzky, which were composed during the last decade of the eighteenth century and thus predate Beethoven’s first symphonic effort.

5 Spitzer and Zaslaw, The Birth of the Orchestra, 441.

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This study demonstrates that the contemporaries of Beethoven used the winds in various capacities, adding additional character, nuance, and textures to their works. In addition to composing solos for wind instruments, usually in the slow movements, composers utilized the expanded wind section in isolated soli passages to provide varied repetition or as a call and response to material presented by the strings.

It is not unusual to find wind instruments supporting the strings for greater volume or depth of sound color, particularly oboes and horns, which also had their own melodic moments.

As the size of the orchestra grew, composers used the additional wind instruments to enhance the soundscape of their works. The following examples illustrate how composers used the wind instruments in passages that contrast with the strings or feature the wind instruments in isolated passages with little or no accompaniment from the strings.

The first example demonstrates the sonic effect of an echo between the strings and winds.

This effect was used in works such as Mozart’s Notturno in D Major, K.286/269a, which features four orchestras echoing each other, and in Haydn’s Symphony No. 38 in C Major. The echo effect in the latter occurs in the second movement, for strings alone, with the second violins muted and echoing the closing figure of the first violins. Another example of this effect can be seen in the Symphony in B-flat Major, Op. 33, No. 1 by Wranitzky, published by André in

1797/98, in which the echo effect between the strings and winds commences at the beginning of the movement. Separating the orchestra into two separate choirs provides a stark contrast to the full orchestra that closed the first movement. Initially the strings and woodwinds state the antecedent and consequent phrases, respectively for the first eight measures. After measure eight the echo effect is played by the muted horns producing an echo effect that sounds as if it is coming from a distance. The clarinets join the strings in measures eleven and twelve, dissolving

135 the division between the strings and woodwinds, and this statement is echoed for the last time by the horns. These echo effects abound throughout the movement, and even occur between the woodwinds and the horns; the distant echo effect brings the movement to a close.

The second movement of Eberl’s Symphony in D Minor, Op. 34 (1805) opens in a serenade-like fashion with woodwinds, horns, and cello. This is another example of a stark contrast in forces and sound to the unison tonic conclusion of the previous movement by the entire orchestra. Eberl begins the movement with the clarinets stating the P material in parallel thirds, accompanied by the bassoons, horns, and cellos. The second half of the P material is stated by fewer forces with the first clarinet and first bassoon continuing the melody as the horns accompany the cadence.

Passages such as these illustrate the interplay between the winds and strings, one that is not new or revolutionary, but persisted through the last decade of the eighteenth century and the first of the nineteenth. The same can be said for solo passages for winds in the symphony, most often within the slow movement. Before the clarinet became a consistent member of the symphony orchestra, the oboe usually presented the melodic, aria-like solo in the slow movements. But as the clarinet became more widely accepted it began receiving solos once reserved for the oboe.

My first example of this approach comes from the second movement of Ries’s First

Symphony (1809). The movement is a funeral march set in A minor, the minor dominant, and in the B section, set in the parallel mode of A major, the clarinet and bassoon perform a consoling melody supported by a simple accompaniment in the strings. The simple melody doubled by an octave between the clarinet and bassoon, along with the broken accompaniment by the strings, harkens back to the empfindsamer Stil.

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Ries returns to the clarinet as soloist in the second movement of his Symphony in E-flat

Major, WoO 30 (1822). Here he presents the initial statement of P in the strings, which the solo clarinet repeats over a simple accompaniment in the strings. With this solo, Ries relinquishes the strings from the melody as the clarinet overtakes it, and the other woodwinds trade off among each other in later presentations of melodic material. With a tempo indication of Andante con moto, and the dance-like character of the melody, the use of the solo clarinet, and other winds later, lends a brilliant and playful tone to the themes.

Schubert also used the clarinet as a soloist in his slow movements, perhaps the most familiar among these comes from the “Unfinished” Symphony. The solo and accompaniment in measures 66-83 share an affinity with the previous examples by Ries, in that the solo is sentimental and the accompaniment is simple. This string accompaniment not only provides the harmonic foundation for the passage, but also rhythmic dissonance against the soloist.

In addition to serving as soloists, wind instruments constituted a choir that either supported or imitated the strings. However, there are instances where they have extended passages all to themselves without accompaniment from the strings. These passages do not occur as often as solos or the imitation of the strings, but their isolated passages certainly evoke a

Harmonie ensemble. These extensive passages for winds not only provide a contrasting sound landscape, but also aid in articulating the formal properties of a movement.

The first example of an extensive passage for winds comes from the Symphony in D

Minor “La Tempesta” (P30) by Wranitzky. The second movement, in the parallel major, is a simple ternary form with a coda. The second statement of A begins with the strings and a solo flute. The repetition of A features the winds alone for twenty-one measures (measures 94-114), then elides into the coda, joining forces with the strings to bring the movement to a close.

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Previous examples of wind instruments either echoed the strings or had solos with strings accompaniment. This example features the winds presenting P material as a repetition of the strings and solo flute, making the ensuing passage for soli winds a varied repetition of P. In the first movement of his Symphony No. 1 in D Major, D. 125, Schubert uses the winds to transition out of the development into the recapitulation.

For the development, Schubert concentrates on S material throughout, which is uncommon since most developments from this time utilize P material.6 The passage for woodwinds alone beginning in measure 332 sequences down over a dominant pedal A played by the first bassoon (for 30 measures!). The recapitulation includes a return of the introduction with similar scoring and models the recapitulations found in the first movements of Haydn’s

Symphony No. 103 “Drumroll” and Beethoven’s “Pathetique” Sonata Opus 13.7

The final two extensive passages for winds come from Wranitzky. The finales to P15,

P19, and P20 are identical and feature an extensive passage for winds with hammerstroke accompaniment from the strings. The finale to these symphonies includes battle scenes and

Turkish instruments and the fife and drum style represented by the woodwinds announces the approaching military before doing battle with the Turks in the development. The jubilant nature of the military music presented by the woodwinds is matched by the final return of the jovial

Contredanse that concludes the movement (Example 5.1). Wranitzky’s Symphony in C Minor

Opus 31 (P12), features an extended passage for woodwinds and like the finale to P15, 19, and

20 depicts military music with the woodwinds representing the English military, one of the allies

6 A. Peter Brown, The First Golden Age of the Viennese Symphony: Haydn, Mozart, Beethoven, and Schubert, Vol. II of The Symphonic Repertiore (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 2001), 579.

7 Ibid., 578.

138 of Austria during the French Revolution. The twenty-seven measure march for solo woodwinds is set in the parallel major and prepares the close of the exposition in the dominant.

If the reviewer for the Allgemeine musikaliche Zeitung was left pondering and perplexed by the use of winds in Beethoven’s First Symphony, passages like the ones examined in this chapter would certainly raise similar concerns as to whether the work belonged to the genre of symphony or Harmoniemusik. The wind section of the Viennese symphony expanded beyond oboes and horns, and brought with it an expansion in orchestral color. As mentioned in the previous chapter, the “standard” orchestra, one with a full complement of winds in pairs does not represent the majority of the symphonies in this study. For the most part, the inclusion of flutes and clarinets varied whereas the oboes, bassoons, and horns appeared on a more consistent basis.

When composers did use a full complement of winds, as in the examples above, they sometimes expanded the role of the winds beyond that of the wind organ. Much like the wind organ, trumpets and horns were used primarily to bolster the sound of an orchestra and to support and accentuate harmonies. But in some symphonies at the close of the eighteenth century and into the early nineteenth century, the trumpet and horn parts played a greater role, and in certain works echoed a tradition found in symphonies from the early and middle eighteenth century.

Trumpets and Horns

The role of trumpets and horns in the symphony was largely to add volume to sustained harmonies, accentuating the tonic and dominant (sometimes in conjunction with the timpani), and occasionally to reinforce melodic material. By the close of the eighteenth century this role increased in importance and specificity. Earlier in the century it was possible to perform a symphony without trumpets and/or horns, and often these parts were added to a completed symphony. In certain cases it remains uncertain if a symphony containing trumpet parts was

139 performed with trumpets because trumpeters were not listed on the orchestral roster. Trumpeters who served at court were often relegated to outdoor appointments, such as the military and royal hunts. For this reason, it is not unusual to find them missing from orchestral rosters since they served in a different capacity.

Horns, on the other hand, had been regular members of the symphony orchestra since the middle of the eighteenth century. They participated in the wind organ primarily filling out harmonies, adding volume, and orchestral color. Occasionally the horns receive principle themes as a soloist, usually the melodic theme in the slow movement, and less often in faster movements. Two examples from Haydn symphonies demonstrate both of these uses. The second movement of Haydn’s Symphony No. 51 opens with solos in the high and low horn. The high horn states the melody and reaches as high as a written f’’’, followed by an extreme register contrast with the low horn reaching as low as a pedal G. The high horns present the primary material, with a corona fanfare, in the opening movement to Haydn’s Symphony No. 48 “Maria

Theresia.” The figure presented by the horns is appropriate given that the symphony was possibly composed for a visit by the Empress to the Esterházy estate in Kittsee in July 1770.8

Just as earlier in the century, solos for the horn mainly occur in the slower movements of symphonies at the end of the eighteenth century. There are exceptions in which the horns state P material in the first movement, aiding in the formal articulation of the movement. Among the composers studied here, opening with P in the horns occurs only twice and considerably late in the timeline. In his Fourth Symphony (1818), Ries begins the allegro proper with a four-measure horn solo and the second horn joins in the following three measures, both accompanied with eighth-note murmurings from the strings. This passage not only introduces thematic material, but

8 Brown, The First Golden Age, 114-5.

140 also a rhythmic pattern Ries uses throughout the movement. The other prominent announcement of thematic material by a solo horn occurs at the very beginning of Schubert’s Ninth Symphony.

The unaccompanied horns introduce the theme to the massive 77 measure introduction, and the use of this sparse orchestration allows for great growth and development after its initial presentation.9

In addition to using the horn to present P material in a first movement, Ries added trumpets in the allegro of the first movement of his First Symphony (1809). Following the harmonically unstable slow introduction, Ries begins the allegro with a six-measure non-tonic opening leading to the initial statement of P in measure 32. The horns participate in the presentation of P along with the violins and the woodwinds while the trumpets provide harmonic support. The trumpets and horns provide some fireworks in measure 37 with a flourish up and down the tonic triad (Example 5.2). The orchestration of P in the recapitulation (mm. 211-20) is identical to the exposition, but in the coda the trumpets and horns have sole presentation of P

(mm. 337-43). Ries also utilizes the trumpets and horns to bring the movement to a rousing close beginning in m. 359, this time performing a fanfare versus a thematic role. This first movement illustrates trumpets and horns participating in the presentation of the P material at various points throughout the movement, and also reflects a previous symphonic tradition of jubilant and florid writing for the trumpets and horns.

Viennese court composers wrote symphonies, often in the key of C major, with high, florid passages for trumpets, a style known as clarion, and sometimes incorporated multiple choirs of trumpets. Brown reports a decline in this florid trumpet tradition around the middle of

9 Ibid., 632.

141 the eighteenth century that continued throughout the remainder of the century.10 Carse offers an explanation for the disappearance of the clarino style, writing that “The high, florid passages written for trumpets and horns [clarino style] died out because of style change. And performing these older works unaltered continued to cause performance problems.”11

A change in style around the middle of the century and the disbandment of court orchestras by the close of the eighteenth century brought an end to the C major trumpet tradition once so prevalent in Vienna. The Musikalische Trompeter und Pauker, an elite group of trumpeters, had 16 players in 1721, but by the middle of the century the group ceased to exist.12

The decline and disappearance of ensembles like these had an impact on compositional choices.

Though not as florid or as frequent, the trumpeting tradition continued to a certain extent with the use of fanfares and martial rhythms. An aspect that remained constant throughout was the choice in keys for the symphonies. The Viennese favored C major for their celebratory symphonies, but Brown cautions that the choice of key was not so limited in Vienna, certainly by the time of Haydn. He states, “It is a mistake to associate trumpeting and ceremonial music only with the imperial key of C major, for the Italian trumpet key of D major with its own associations is hinted at in [Haydn’s] Symphonies Nos. 70 and 96.”13 In addition to the choice of key, composers faced difficulty with intonation and tuning when writing for trumpets. Carse writes:

10 A. Peter Brown, “The Trumpet Overture and Sinfonia in Vienna (1715-1822): Rise, Decline, and Reformulation,” in Music in Eighteenth-century Austria, ed. David Wyn Jones (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996), 47.

11 Adam Carse, The Orchestra in the XVIIIth Century, (Cambridge: W. Heffer & Sons, Ltd., 1940), 137.

12 A. Peter Brown, “Eightennth-Century Traditions and Mozart’s ‘Jupiter’ Symphony, K.551,” Journal of Musicology 20 (Spring 2003): 162.

13 Brown, “Trumpet Overture,” 57.

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When writing for trumpets, Haydn and Mozart were still more hedged in by limitations of the natural instruments. Crooked only in B-flat, C, D, or E-flat, the range of available notes was necessarily smaller when the music was in other keys. . . The working compass of the instrument was now from G (third open note) to G (twelfth open note). F, the eleventh open note, was, on the whole, avoided on account of its being rather too sharp for the key, but Haydn sometimes made it serve as F-sharp. The seventh open note (B-flat) was similarly avoided on trumpets, and was only rarely used on horns.14

Confronting the limitations of the instruments at their disposal, composers wrote effectively for trumpets and horns in providing the occasional celebratory and ceremonial character desired. But this ceremonial role was not limited solely to the trumpet; composers also used the horns for fanfares and martial passages. Like trumpet players, horn players either specialized on the alto or basso horn, ensuring that the entire compass of the instrument was covered by proficient players, as illustrated in the previous example from Haydn’s Symphony

No. 51. Though the horns often filled in harmonies, sustained harmonies, and added volume to a symphony, they occasionally performed a greater, more important role.

The earlier example of clarino style horn writing can be found in the opening of Haydn’s

Symphony No. 48 “Maria Theresia,” which has a celebratory, and even ceremonial, character.

Though celebratory occasions warranting the performance of a symphony were less frequent by the 1790s, due to the disbandment of court orchestras and symphonies composed for public consumption, a few examples can be found. Certain symphonies by Wranitzky were composed for specific occasions held at or associated with the court of Empress Marie Therese. Among his symphonies composed for celebratory occasions is his Op. 36 (P18) in D major.

14 Carse, History of Orchestration, 192.

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Though no record exists of when and where the symphony was performed, the dedication on the title page of the André publication indicates the specific occasion and an approximate date of performance. David Wyn Jones translates the dedication as “Symphony on the occasion of the high wedding of his Imperial-Royal highness, Archduke Joseph, Palatine of Hungary, with her

Imperial Highness, the Archduchess Alexandra Paulowna, composed and humbly dedicated to the high bride and groom by Paul Wranitzky, first orchestra director of the two Imperial-Royal court theatres in Vienna.”15 Jones suggests that the symphony may have been performed at one of two possible performance opportunities: between the acts of the play Der Tod der Kleopatra on 8 January 1800, or at a court reception.16 Regardless of when the symphony was performed, the use of the horns and trumpets celebrating the royal wedding are heard in both the first and final movements.

In the first movement of Op. 36 (P18), the trumpets, horns, and timpani accentuate the close of the restatement of P in measure 91 of the monothematic movement, and the same figure appears in measure 255 at the beginning of the recapitulation. In measure 342, the trumpets perform one final trumpeting figure (mm. 342-56) and then conclude with a flourish up and down the tonic triad in mm. 364-68 (Example 5.3). For the finale, Wranitzky opens with a fifteen-bar slow introduction scored only for winds. Jones believes this is a gesture to, “the

Viennese practice of serenading.”17 The ensuing allegro rondo is in duple-compound meter and evokes the style of a chasse, an appropriate choice to conclude a symphony for a noble wedding.

The trumpets and timpani begin the opening of the chasse while the winds support the repetition

15 David Wyn Jones, The Symphony in Beethoven’s Vienna (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006), 93.

16 Ibid.

17 Ibid., 94.

144 of the fanfare. Throughout the movement, the trumpets and timpani interject with fanfare motives, culminating in a final fanfare involving the trumpets, horns, and timpani with the rest of the woodwinds doubling for reinforcement.

The “reformulation” Brown discusses occurred beginning in the 1790s and continued through the 1820s, thus encompassing the time period of my study. Brown refers to several C major symphonies by Haydn, Mozart and Beethoven in his illustration of the reformulation of the Viennese trumpet symphony. Perhaps the most overt of these examples comes not from a symphony, but from a celebratory overture by Beethoven. His The Consecration of the House,

Op. 124 overture was composed for the opening of the new Josephstӓdter Theater on 3 October

1822. Though a late work by Beethoven, he harkens back to the earlier Imperial style, complete with trumpet fanfares and counterpoint (including a double fugue at one point). In measures 37-

55, a prominent trumpet fanfare is accompanied by timpani, hammerstrokes from the strings and winds, and a florid passage in the bassoons.

A more common example of this reformulated trumpet tradition can be found at the conclusion of Schubert’s Sixth Symphony (The Little Symphony in C). Here the trumpets play an exposed tutti fanfare passage. In his formal analysis of this movement, Brown labels the coda as a “triumph,” whereas Newbould describes the suddenly rousing conclusion as, “both exciting and colourful, but they are not an inevitable nor even a particularly likely fulfillment of what has gone on before.”18 Whereas Brown suggests a triumph, perhaps over some adversity, Newbould finds the use of the fanfare arbitrary and disjunct with the previous character of the movement.

18 Brown, The First Golden Age, p. 615; Brian Newbould, Schubert and the Symphony: A New Perspective (London: Toccata Press, 1992), 133.

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This fanfare passage does not recall or restate earlier motives or topics, and appears to have been composed so the listener knows the symphony is coming to an end.

In his Symphony in E-flat Major, Op. 33, Eberl provides an exciting conclusion to the first movement with the aid of trumpet fanfares. Unlike Schubert, he allows the fanfares to build and grow, and even includes the horns at one point. Up to this point, the trumpets and horns had served simply as harmonic filler and harmonic (and rhythmic) reinforcement. Their role in the coda, beginning in measure 325, becomes more pronounced as they add energy to bring the movement to a close (Example 5.4). Eberl concludes both the second and the final movement with similar fanfare motives, suggesting overall unity in its use.

The first two movements of Eberl’s Op. 33 are turbulent and lamenting respectively, and it should be noted that he composed this symphony after Napoleon invaded Italy. It also shares certain parallel traits to Beethoven’s Eroica symphony in that: 1) it was premiered in 1803, the same year as the Eroica; 2) it shares the same dedicatee as the Eroica, Prince Lobkovitz; and 3) like the Eroica, it is composed in E-flat major with the second movement in the relative minor in the style of a march. Whether the events of the French Revolution inspired the composition the same way it inspired the Eroica is not known for certain, but it certainly seems plausible. The trumpet fanfares evoke a sense of celebration and hark back to the once flourishing style found in symphonies from decades ago. While the French Revolution serves as a possible motive for the use of trumpet fanfares, another style associated with the military could still be heard. Certain symphonies by Wranitzky and Ries incorporate instruments that commonly refer to the Turkish style. This often includes an additional battery of percussion instruments, and sometimes the addition of the piccolo. In symphonies by the former, colorful orchestrations depict and musically describe combat on the battlefield.

146

Turkish Music and Battlefields

The communicative ability of music lies not only in the melody and accompaniment, but in many other elements (harmony, dynamics, figurations, meter, etc.) as well as orchestration.

The choices the composer makes among the various combinations of instruments can help communicate to listeners in their understanding of musical topics. Though the ability of instrumental music to communicate precise topics can be murky and imprecise, sometimes the orchestration helps guide the listener more closely towards the intended meaning by the composer.

The first topic for examination is Turkish music. On the surface, the representation of

Turkish music occurs largely with the use of triangle, cymbals, and bass drum, with an optional side (military) drum and/or piccolo to achieve a well-known and conventional representation of the Turks. Carse states that the “bass-drum, cymbals, and triangle occur sporadically in opera scores, generally with the intention of giving local colour to Turkish or barbaric scenes, and, at all events, once in a symphony, namely, Haydn’s Military Symphony.”19 The use of these instruments first appears in operas, with Mozart’s Die Entführung aus dem Serail (1782) being the most familiar, and Haydn’s Military Symphony (1794) and Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony

(1824) are the most prominent symphonic examples. Curiously enough, as Table 5.1 indicates, most of the symphonies using a Turkish topic appeared around 1790 or later.

19 Carse, History of Orchestration, 170.

147

Table 5.1: Symphonies Incorporating a Turkish Topic20 Composer Title Date Johann Franz Xaver Sterkel Sinfonia turca No Date Georg Druschetzky Sinfonia turcia c.1770s Michael Haydn Symphony No. 18 in C, MH 188* 1773 Franz Xaver Süßmayr Sinfonia turchesa c.1790 Franz Anton Hoffmeister La festa della pace 1791 No later than 1792 Paul Wranitzky A’ Magyar Nemzet Öröme 1790 Paul Wranitzky Symphony in C, P6* 1790s Paul Wranitzky Symphony in D, P19* 1790s Paul Wranitzky Symphony in D, P20* 1790s Franz Joseph Haydn Symphony No. 100, “Military” 1794 Paul Wranitzky Symphony in c, Op. 31, P12, “La Published 1797 Paix”* Paul Wranitzky Symphony in D, P15 [Toy Symphony]* No later than 1799 Friedrich Witt Sinfonie turque Published 1808 Ludwig van Beethoven Symphony No. 9, Op. 125 “Choral”* 1824 Ferdinand Ries Symphony No. 6, Op. 146* 1822, rev. 182621

Of the fourteen symphonies represented in the table, nine of them date from the 1790s. The date of Sterkel’s symphony is not known, and the Druschetzky is the only symphony with a date prior to the 1790s. After the turn of the century, the use of Turkish instruments dwindled, and even the inclusion of these instruments by Ries was an afterthought.

The historical events occurring in Vienna provides a backdrop for the increased production of symphonies incorporating Turkish instruments. During 1788-91 Austria entered into an alliance with Russia in a war against Turkey. This proved to be one more link in a chain of unfortunate foreign policy decisions made by Joseph II. Austria paid dearly for its engagement

20 The symphonies in this table largely come from the third appendix of Richard Will, The Characteristic Symphony in the Age of Haydn and Beethoven (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2002), 299-303. The symphonies with asterisks are not found in his appendix.

21 The 1822 version of Ries’s Sixth Symphony did not call for additional percussion instruments, but the 1826 revision added triangle, cymbals, and bass drum to the finale. It is speculated that a performance of Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony a year prior to the revision may have inspired the additional percussion instruments (See Stine, “Instrumentation,” p. 25).

148 in the war with a loss of resources, its standing among allies, and a part of Poland in 1793. The war came to an end only when Joseph’s successor, Leopold II compromised for peace in Sistowa in August of 1791.22 Though the war resulted in material hardships for Austria, the Austrian people expressed more indignation over the thought of war rather than any losses that resulted from it.23 However, once the war was underway, there was “much patriotic talk and toasts were drunk to the destruction of the Turks.”24 Not only did the use of Turkish instruments signify the

Other or the exotic, but it often represented the Turks within a militaristic backdrop.

With Austria involved in a war with the Ottoman Empire, it comes as no surprise that a number of symphonies incorporating a Turkish topic appeared during the 1790s. By the 19th century the number dropped sharply, though the public still identified the inclusion of triangle, cymbals, bass drum, side drum, and piccolo as Turkish music, even though the music did not necessarily represent a Turkish style. My study covers only two of the composers in the table,

Wranitzky and Ries. In each of their symphonies incorporating a Turkish topic, the music is set in duple meter (either simple duple or compound duple), and three rhythms frequently appear: 1) the percussion performs on the beat, 2) the percussion performs on the first beat of each measure, or 3) the percussion performs on the first beat of the first two measures, followed by playing on each beat of the third measure, and on the first beat of the fourth measure (Examples 5.5a, b, and c).

22 Robert A. Kann, A History of the Hapsburg Empire 1526-1918 (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1974), 167.

23 Ernst Wangermann, The Austrian Achievement 1700-1800 (London; Harcourt Brace Jovanovich, Inc., 1974), 145.

24 Ibid.

149

Representing the Turks musically began in a simple fashion. Turkish music is monophonic in nature, so composers have used the orchestral unison to represent Turkish music.25 Janet Levy comments on the words writers use to describe the unison as, “’hollow,’

‘ominous,’ ‘powerful,’ ‘stark,’ ‘brutal,’ ‘roaring.’”26 While the unison texture may have been alarming and arresting to listeners during its early years, listeners eventually grew accustomed to the texture. Spitzer and Zaslaw comment, “As the effect of orchestral unison became more familiar, these extra-musical associations with rudeness and barbarism tended to fall away. The unison at the beginning of Mozart’s Paris Symphony does not refer to a Turk or Cyclops but simply to the orchestra itself, the power of 57 musicians who played at the Concert Spirituel in

1778, beginning the symphony as one.”27 The Mozart example points to the use of the orchestral unison as a unifying effect by coordinating the efforts of each orchestra member in a single execution, much like watching a corps de ballet, a sentiment echoed by Levy.28

Though the unison texture may or may not represent the Turkish people, the addition of accessory instruments like the triangle, cymbals, bass drum, side drum, and piccolo strengthen the association. Furthermore, martial rhythms accompany instances where these accessory instruments are used. Koury comments, “The ‘Turkish’ or ‘Janissary’ music had a growing fascination for European composers, and little by little drums, cymbals, and triangle began to be needed as composers include more and more parts for them. Their growing use was evidently

25 Spitzer and Zaslaw, Birth of the Orchestra, 447.

26 Janet Levy, “Texture as a Sign in Classic and Early Romantic Music,” Journal of the American Musicological Society 35/3 (Autumn 1982): 508.

27 Spitzer and Zaslaw, Birth of the Orchestra, 449.

28 Levy, “Texture as a Sign,” 509.

150 spurred on by their presence in military bands.”29 The association between the percussion instruments and their use in military bands in conjunction with representing the Turkish people can also reflect the military conflict between Turkey and Austria.

As discussed above, Wranitzky’s Toy Symphony in D Major, P15, Symphony in D Major

“Con Musica Turca,” P19 and Symphony in D Major, P20 (Lobkowitz and Marie Therese versions) share the same finale.30 Each sonata-rondo finale features a Contredanse as the principle theme, and incorporates Turkish instruments coupled with martial rhythms. Table 5.2 outlines the general form of the movement.

Table 5.2: Form to the Finale of Wranitzky’s P15, P19, and P20 Subject Measure Numbers Key Comments A Contredanse 1-48 D Major B Contredanse 49-83 G Major Solo Flute A Contredanse 84-123 D Major 2nd half of Contredanse replaced with fife and drum march C Development 124-87 D Major—F- False sharp minor—A recapitulation, F- Major sharp minor triplet section, Turkish instruments A Contredanse 188-227 D Major Altered orchestration Coda 227-264 D Major Fanfares in trumpets and drums

29 Daniel Koury, Orchestral Performance Practice in the Nineteenth Century: Size, Proportions, and Seating (Ann Arbor: UMI Press, 1986), 103.

30 Both the Lobkowitz and Marie Therese versions contain the same finale to P20 with one slight difference. The version for Marie Therese contains an additional 31-measure coda. The measure numbers provided in the table refer to the finales minus this additional coda. When needed to distinguish between the two, P20 (Lob.) will refer to the Lobkowitz version and P20(MT) will refer to the Marie Therese version.

151

Incorporating a Contredanse into a rondo finale became a regular occurrence among Viennese composers, particularly for those who wished to express their joy about the end of the war between Austria and Turkey.31 Will states, that “whether real or implied, the eight-measure patterns and what appear to have been the skipping or hopping steps of the ‘Englische’ became the choreography of joy for central Europe.”32 He details Haydn’s use of the contredanse in the finale to several of his London Symphonies as an opportunity “to allow, in many cases, for one or more triumphant arrivals of the main theme toward the end.”33 In his P15, P19, and P20,

Wranitzky takes advantage of the same opportunities.

The first return of the principle Contredanse in measure 84 proceeds as the movement began, but beginning in measure 92 with the repetition of the dance, Wranitzky adds harmonic reinforcement from the bassoons, horns, trumpets, and drums. In addition to this, he truncates the presentation of the dance from eight repeated measures to simply eight measures. But the big alteration comes when he interrupts the Contredanse with what can be described as a fife and drum march in measures 100-124. The military drum and piccolo strengthen the association, but its joyous presentation in the key of D major hardly poses a threat. What follows in the development creates a sense of instability, and allows the Contredanse to return in a joyous manner.

Wranitzky inserts a false recapitulation into the development (mm. 141-56), with the

Contredanse played over a dominant pedal at first (mm. 141-48), then with fanfares added in the trumpets and timpani (mm. 149-56), perhaps foretelling the battle with the Turks. The battle with

31 Will, The Characteristic Symphony, 230.

32 Ibid., 230-31.

33 Ibid., 235.

152 the Turks is represented in measures 157-77 where the key changes to the remote key of F-sharp minor (!), with an unrelenting rhythm of triplets in the upper strings, while the bass drum, cymbals, and triangle are heard for the first time (Example 5.6). The harmonic motion is simple, and the bassoons, horns, trumpets, cellos, and basses provide a loud, firm drone underneath. The insistent triplet rhythm, the numerous doublings, and the use of Turkish instruments characterize an exotic and foreign nature compared to the Contredanse and the fife and drum march that preceded. This texture and orchestration representing the Turkish style bears a striking similarity with a later example from one of Wranitzky’s contemporaries, Beethoven.

Lawrence Kramer examines the exotic nature of the Turkish music Beethoven composed for Kotzebue’s drama The Ruins of Athens in 1811. The most familiar number from this work is the Turkish March utilizing piccolo and triangle, but Kramer focuses on the chorus of whirling dervishes as a better musical characterization of the exotic Turks. Remarking on Beethoven’s musical representation, Kramer notes that it was “accompanied by ‘all noise-making instruments such as castanets, bells, etc.’ Continuous triplet motion in the upper strings depicts a dervish-like whirling while aggressive march rhythms in the brass invoke martial force.”34 The texture and orchestration described by Kramer is similar to the ones used by Wranitzky in measures 157-76.

Kramer further describes Beethoven’s musical characterization as follows, “First, the dervish chorus has not even the most elemental harmony; its tenors and basses sing in a strident, unbroken unison, often abetted by doubling from cellos and basses. Second, the E-minor music of the chorus is almost wholly unrelieved by the major mode, leaving the minor to assume a relentless, motoric, ‘fanatical’ character.”35 In the same passage from Wranitzky’s symphony

34 Lawrence Kramer, “The Harem Threshold: Turkish Music and Greek Love in Beethoven’s ‘Ode to Joy,’” 19th- Century Music 22/1 (Summer, 1998): 86.

35 Ibid., 86-7.

153 unison octave doublings appear in the cellos, basses, horns, and trumpets, and the entire section is firmly rooted in the minor mode with a tenaciously driving triplet rhythm. Nearly twenty years separate the representation of the Turkish styles of Wranitzky and Beethoven, yet this comparison suggests that these common features became standard and accepted practice for representing the Turkish style.

The final statement of the Contredanse beginning in measure 188 features some alterations in its orchestration. The piccolo appears throughout, and in the repeat of the first half of the dance (mm. 196-203) the military drum is used, perhaps harkening back to the fife and drum march and signaling a victory over the Turks. The inclusion of the Turkish instruments beyond this point, beginning in measure 204, points to different meanings. On the surface, their appearance simply adds additional color to the orchestra, and aids in creating a full texture. An alternative meaning is that the Turkish instruments recall the battlefield, yet the listeners know they are part of the celebration rather than the cause of upheaval, an interpretation Will ascribes to the inclusion of the Turkish instruments in the recapitulation to the finale of Haydn’s Military

Symphony.36

Though Wranitzky’s Toy Symphony, P15 contains the same finale as P19 and P20, it is odd that a Toy Symphony would contain such a combative finale given that the Turkish instruments were combined with toy instruments, bird calls, ratchets, etc. in previous movements. However, Rice states that Marie Therese had a “fondness” for both toy instruments and Turkish instruments, which would explain their use in several of Wranitzky’s symphonies in

36 Will, The Characteristic Symphony, 236. The recollection of the battlefield in Wranitzky’s P19 and P20 not only comes from the inclusion of Turkish instruments, but also the trumpet calls heard in mm. 212-19 just before the final statement of the Contredanse where the entire battery of percussion enters.

154 her music library.37 The use of “Turkish” percussion instruments in movements of conflict and movements in a toy symphony displays a commonality between combative and playful effects.

Rice suggests that their appearance in both is because, “toy versions of percussion instruments were among the easiest to make and to play.”38

The D major finales of P19 and P20 not only feature the Turkish style, they each have an unexpected excursion to F-sharp minor. In the case of P20, one could argue for a case of multi- movement unity as the first movement also uses a Turkish style, with piccolo, grace notes, triplet rhythms, and minor keys. The second theme (mm. 54-69) is presented not in the expected dominant but the relative key of B minor. The second half of this section (mm. 62-69) travels to the keys F-sharp minor and the dominant C-sharp major, the same keys used to depict the Turks in the finale. Placed within the context of the movement, this section is surrounded by trumpet calls in the horns, trumpets, and timpani, triplet figures against eighth notes, and quick successions of grace notes. All of this can be interpreted as strife with the Turks, and this is recalled and resolved in the finale.

The triangle, cymbals, and bass drum have a military character in P15, P19, and P20, but their use in the second movement of Wranitzky’s Symphony in C Major, P6 is lighter in nature.

In the B section of the ternary movement, the triangle enters in mm. 46-57, and is joined by the cymbals in mm. 65-74. They accompany the woodwinds and add to the high, light tessitura of the orchestration. The entire battery of percussion is used only in the tutti passages, and even

37 John A. Rice, Empress Marie Therese and Music at the Viennese Court, 1792-1807 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2003), 150.

38 Ibid., 151.

155 these are light-hearted. The use of Turkish instruments in a movement like this displays their jocular side and Marie Therese’s view that Turkish instruments are akin to toy instruments.

The only other composer to incorporate triangle, cymbals, and bass drum into a symphony in my study is Ferdinand Ries in the finale to his Symphony No. 6 in D Major, Op.

146. As mentioned in the previous chapter, Ries did not include Turkish instruments when he composed the symphony in London. As Hagels suggests, Ries added them in 1826 probably after hearing a performance of Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony the previous year. The Turkish participate in the principle theme of the finale and parts of the coda, but they do not appear to add any kind of narrative layer. By this time, the association of the Turkish instruments with war was fleeting.

Though the use of triangle and cymbals does often represent something Turkish or exotic, it also often implies a reference to combat. But there are other examples of war and conflict using additional percussion instruments minus the triangle and cymbals. Battle symphonies, or symphonies containing movements depicting battles, often had only fleeting success in part because a work with such specific depiction or commemoration of a specific conflict inevitably became passé and neglected.39 For this reason, publishers hesitated to print these symphonies, and as Will reports only seven out of about sixteen of these symphonies were published.40 In addition publishers were also hesitant about publishing battle symphonies because they often required larger orchestral forces for performances.41

39 Will, The Characteristic Symphony, 191.

40 Ibid., 190.

41 Ibid., 196.

156

Battle symphonies encapsulated and condensed complicated conflicts into a somewhat formulaic presentation. Will writes that “composers boil down even the most complicated engagements to three or four stages. . .: marches and other preparations, fighting, laments for the dead and wounded, and celebration.”42 Of the two symphonies by Wranitzky that depicts battle, one published and the other unpublished, his Grande Sinfonie caractéristique pour la paix avec la République françoise, Op. 31 (P12), mostly adheres to the formula Will has described. The movements are as follows: 1) The Revolution. English March. March of the Austrians and

Prussians.; 2) The destiny and death of Louis XVI. Funeral march.; 3) English march. March of the Allies. Confusion of a battle.; and 4) Peace negotiations. Cries of joy for the restoration of peace.43

Will does not call Wranitzky’s symphony a battle symphony, but rather, “a history of events leading up to the Treaty of Campo Formio, signed by Napoleon and Emperor Franz of

Austria in October 1797.”44 Wranitzky retells nearly a decade of conflict between France and the

Hapsburg Empire, albeit from a Hapsburgian perspective. Musical references to France are omitted and the funeral march for Louis XVI, who was related by marriage to Emperor Franz, provides the Hapsburgs with “a fantasy of royal martyrdom and military redemption.”45 The funeral march marks a style that eventually fell out of favor later in the nineteenth century.

According to Will, “battle symphonies before 1800 often had lamentation movements, but by

1813 those had disappeared along with everything else that might impede the rush to victory.”46

42 Ibid., 191.

43 Ibid., 206.

44 Ibid., 205.

45 Ibid., 206.

157

The battle in Wranitzky’s P12 takes place in the third movement. The military drum and large Turkish drum, marked as Kanon in the part, appear only in this movement. While the other instruments provide a chaotic depiction of the battlefield through diminished harmonies, rhythmic dissonances, sudden shifts of chord progressions and key, etc., the bass drum does not contribute to the sense of chaos. With only a handful of exceptions, it plays on the downbeat of measures, and often at the beginnings of harmonic changes, beginnings of phrases, or at cadence points. The frequency of cannon shots occurs regularly, often in two or four measure intervals.

Beginning in measure 66 a series of four simulated cannon shots occur at two-measure intervals.

The chance that a battlefield would be so regular and synchronized is highly unlikely. While some of the shots occur in odd numbered intervals, they still sound in accordance with the musical phrasing.

The second Wranitzky movement depicting a battle is in the third movement of his

Symphony in D Major, P20. In this movement, Wranitzky calls for two large Turkish drums and wrote on the parts Zum Cannonieren, indicating that the two drums represent two cannons. It is probably safe to assume that the two drums were situated either across the room from each other, or one of them was possibly in a different room.47 The cannon fire in P20 occurs irregularly, more often, and in quick succession, signifying a more active battlefield than in P12. The oncoming battle is announced gradually with a fanfare begun by four trumpets, with the horns and woodwinds bringing the fanfare to a close (mm. 32-36). The quick and irregular exchange of cannon fire begins in measure 37. Using the two bass drums to depict a battle allows for greater

46 Ibid., 200.

47 This is based on a spatial effect achieved in Wranitzky’s P38 where four Papageno flutes are used, and he indicates two of them to be performed in a separate room from the orchestra. Another echo effect is achieved in P22 through the use of tiered dynamics. These symphonies will be discussed later in the chapter.

158 intensity since the listener does not know when the next cannon shot will come or from whom it will come. The dynamic level of the cannon fire also varies so that the softer shots sound further away and the louder shots place the listener in the midst of battle. The anticipation of cannon shots based on their regularity and proximity added to the dramatic effect of the movement.

The aesthetic philosopher Edmund Burke commented on the effect that such cannon shots have on the body and the result it has on our reception of the music. On the expectation of hearing an exchange of cannon fire, Burke wrote:

When at any time I have waited very earnestly for some sound, that returned at intervals, (as the successive firing of cannon) though I fully expected the return of the sound, when it came, it always made me start a little; the ear-drum suffered a convulsion, and the whole body consented with it. The tension of the part thus increasing at every blow, by the united forces of the stroke itself, the expectation, and the surprise, it is worked up to such a pitch as to be capable of the sublime; it is brought just to the verge of pain.48

Representing cannon shots in a battle symphony is not uncommon, but Wranitzky certainly enhanced the experience described by Burke with having two drums separated from each other in order to simulate a true exchange of fire.

Though symphonies utilizing Turkish instruments and scenes on the battlefield represent a very small percentage of symphonic works, composers incorporated accessory instruments to full effect when appropriate. These works by Wranitzky were small in number and never published because they were composed for specific events and occasions. The specificity of their composition demonstrates how a symphony commented on specific events and celebrated them.

48 Edmund Burke, A Philosophical Enquiry into the Origin of our Ideas of the Sublime and Beautiful (London, 1757), ed. James Boulton (London: Routledge and Kegan Paul, 1958), 140; quoted in Will, The Characteristic Symphony, 199.

159

They also reflect the personal taste of his aristocratic employer, Marie Therese. The final topic of this chapter delves further into the symphonies composed for her court, and the way in which

Wranitzky tailored the material and style of the symphonies to suit her musical taste.

Wranitzky and the Novelty of Orchestration

As discussed above, by the close of the eighteenth century court orchestras were either reduced in size or disbanded altogether. The appeal of maintaining a six or eight-piece Harmonie made more economic sense than maintaining a full orchestra, and some courts may have preferred a Harmonie as a matter of taste. One court that retained its full orchestra was the imperial court of Marie Therese. Her orchestra numbered anywhere from sixteen players to over twenty depending on the works performed.49 To put this in perspective, when Haydn began his employment with the Esterházy court in 1761, the orchestra numbered between fourteen to eighteen players.50 From 1780-1790, the Esterházy orchestra increased in size with twenty-two to twenty-four musicians.51 A little more than a decade later, the premiere of Beethoven’s Eroica

Symphony held at the Lobkowitz Palace featured an orchestra of 27 players, and subsequent performances at the palace ranged from 37 to 41 players.52

By comparison the size of the court orchestra of Marie Therese resembled the size of the

Esterházy orchestra at the end of the eighteenth century more than the Lobkowitz orchestra at the beginning of the nineteenth century. Its size appears to have been modest and on par for a court

49 Rice, Empress Marie Therese, 65.

50 Ibid., 3.

51 Ibid., 13.

52 Ibid., 475.

160 orchestra at the time, and also reflected the preferences of the Empress.53 However, there are several examples of orchestral works in her library that call for additional forces, some of them using unconventional instruments. The orchestra’s talent is apparent from the compositions written for the orchestra. When the Empress asked Paisiello to set the libretto of La corona del merito by De Gamerra, she suggested that, “If you wish to introduce a concertante instrument into some arias or other pieces, keep in mind that we have an excellent cello, oboe, and clarinet.”54 Most of the symphonies by Wranitzky composed for the court orchestra feature virtuosic writing, especially for the wind instruments, and appears to have had an excellent horn player, bassists, and concertmaster (Wranitzky).

As Kapellmeister for Empress Marie Therese, Wranitzky had the opportunity to compose works tailored to her individual taste, including the use of conventional and unconventional instruments found in symphonies. Previous examples in this chapter, and the Instrumentation chapter, detail her preference for “Turkish” instruments either as a signifier of the Turks, or their use as a toy instrument, battle scenes and storm scenes, and virtuosic use of the winds.

In his Quodlibet Symphony (Symphony in D Major P27), Wranitzky depicts a typical concert performed at the court of Marie Therese.55 For this work, he augmented the orchestra with two trumpets, three trombones, timpani, and keyboard.56 Though the symphony does not

53 Ibid., 65.

54 Ibid., 68.

55 For the outline of movements for the Quodlibet Symphony, please refer to Table 4.3 on pp. 126-7.

56 The entry in the symphonic catalogue for the Quodlibet Symphony contains three trombones, but the manuscript copy by a copyist that survives does not contain trombone parts. Their chief use is in the overture to Mozart’s Die Zauberflöte, which opens the second half of the symphony. It is possible if the trombones were only used at this point in the symphony, copies of the trombone parts from the overture may have been used. For the entry in the symphonic catalogue, See Milan Poštolka, “Thematisches Verzeichnis der Sinfonien Pavel Vranickýs,” Miscellenea musicologica 20 (1967): 117.

161 use any unconventional instruments, its format certainly goes beyond convention. The symphony opens with an introduction simulating an orchestra tuning and warming up, then a generic sounding opera overture, followed by elven operatic excerpts and folksongs, concluding with a finale where the members of the orchestra gradually take their leave, as in the finale of Haydn’s

“Farewell” Symphony.

The composers represented in the symphony include Paisiello (No. 3), Mozart (Nos. 4 and 6), Weigl (No. 5), Salieri (No. 7), Simon Mayr (Nos. 9 and 10), and Jakob Haibel (No. 11), all favorites of Marie Therese. A terminus post quem for the Quodlibet Symphony, as suggested by Jan LaRue, is 1798 because Mayr’s Aus Lodoiska was not performed in Vienna until this year. According to LaRue, symphony was likely composed for, “a festive performance in one of the noble houses.”57

It is the bookends of the symphony that led Jan LaRue to give the work the nickname the

“Hail and Farewell” Symphony. The finale to the Quodlibet Symphony is in three parts: 1) a slow introduction; 2) an allegro that resembles an operatic trumpeting overture; and 3) a set of virtuosic variations, in which most of the instruments have a featured solo before departing the concert stage. For example, the piano has a solo beginning in measure 157, and once the solo ends in measure 170 the performer leaves the orchestra (Example 5.7). This movement demonstrates Wranitzky’s virtuosic writing for the orchestra as well as the performer’s abilities.

He allows every instrument to have a featured solo, and such a display of the talent employed by

Marie Therese would certainly be appropriate for a festive performance.

57 Jan LaRue, “A ‘Hail and Farewell’ Quodlibet Symphony,” Music & Letters 37/3 (July 1956): 257-8.

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Just as the performers exit one by one in the finale, they enter one by one in the introduction. The simulation of an orchestra tuning and warming up is apparent from the opening bars with a solo first violin playing on the open strings, then beginning some virtuosic fiddling.

When the second performer arrives, a solo second violin, it begins tuning just as the first violin did before beginning a different elaborate solo. LaRue compares the use of the open-string double stops to a passage (mm. 19-30) in the finale to Haydn’s Symphony No 60 (‘Il distratto’), except that Haydn has the violins tune their G string down to F.58

As the introduction continues, additional performers from enter in a seemingly random fashion, with some of the entrances becoming more hurried. The time to be settled and warmed up is almost over, and the overture is about to begin a fictional court concert. With this increased urgency, Wranitzky directs the players to come rushing. At one point he has the remaining first violins, second violins and violas, three players for each section, three cellos, and three basses to enter and join the orchestra in a hurried fashion. The last instruments to arrive are the two trumpets, who have no time to warm up and make it just in time to sit down and play the final fermata of the introduction. This is perhaps a show of wit and humor since the trumpets were often left off the orchestral roster and only called upon when needed for particular symphonic works.

Highlighting the virtuosic prowess of individual musicians serves as an acknowledgement of the talent Marie Therese was able to foster in her orchestra. While the

Quodilbet displays their talents in a simulated and fictional concert, Wranitzky found other avenues to highlight their talents through more conventional symphonic means. In the finale of his unpublished Symphony in D Major (P22), Wranitzky provides each instrument with a solo.

58 Ibid., 253.

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As I will demonstrate shortly, the virtuosic writing is comparable to that of the Quodlibet

Symphony, suggesting this also highlighted the talent she had in her orchestra for a festive occasion.

Beyond just the virtuosic writing in the finale, there are reasons as to why I believe this symphony may date within a couple of years of the Quodlibet Symphony. First, an excerpt from the solo for horn in the finale is similar to one found in the trio of the minuet movement from his

Symphony in F Major, Op. 33, No. 3 (P34). The only alteration here is the meter, but the musical figure and virtuosic demands for the soloist remain the same.59 Secondly, the Opus 33 symphonies were published by André in Vienna around 1799,60 and its trio features the tune

“Ach du lieber Augustin.” This may indicate that this symphony was performed at the court of

Marie Therese because Wranitzky also composed a set of variations for xylophone based on the tune.61 Thus, based on the use of “Ach du lieber Augustin” and a similar solo passage for the horn, it is reasonable to assume that both P22 and P34 were composed for and performed by her court orchestra. Additionally, given these commonalities between the two symphonies, and the fact that we know P34 was published around 1799, one year after the earliest possible date of the

Quodlibet Symphony, it probably dates from the close of the eighteenth century or the very beginning of the next century.

The finale is in rondo form, but could also be heard as a ritornello form in the style of a symphonie concertante. I provide the form of the movement in Table 5.3:

59 A comparison of these passages can be found in examples 7a and 7b from Chapter 2.

60 See Milan Poštolka, “Thematisches Verzeichnis ser Sinfonien Pavel Vranickýs,” Miscellenea musicologica 20 (1967): 120.

61 Rice, Empress Marie Therese, 141.

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Table 5.3: Form to the Finale of Wranitzky’s Symphony in D Major (P22)

Measures Key Area Soloists Featured Formal Articulation

1-30 I Tutti A

31-67 V Clarinet soli, B Violin solo 68-108 I Flute soli/solo A

109-136 V Cello solo B

137-197 Bassoon solo, Viola Development solo 198-215 I Tutti A

216-253 I Horn solo/soli, B Oboe soli/solo 254-295 I Violins soli, A Bass solo/soli 296-312 I Trumpet fanfare, Coda Timpani solo

I have labeled two statements of A as tutti because they have no solos, and the other two statements of A (beginning in m. 68 and 254) have a brief ripieno statement of the A material preparing for the next solo based on A material. An example of this is the second statement of A with most of the orchestra playing four measures before the flute solo, with the first violins, first bassoon, and oboes playing the A material. Wranitzky begins each statement of B with a solo or solos, and since the development material is based on B, the solo bassoon announces the development section.

Each section of the orchestra receives a solo at some point in the finale, some more virtuosic than others, perhaps reflecting the virtuosity of players cultivated by Marie Therese.

One such solo is the flute solo during the first return of A. Wranitzky reduces the texture featuring a light accompaniment provided first by the bassoons, then trumpets, and finally the

165 violins. This reduced scoring allows the flute solo to be heard easily throughout its register. A comparable solo is given to the viola in the development section, and with light accompaniment from the strings, minus the basses. The horn solo during the final statement of B is remarkable, once again indicating that Marie Therese had not one but two virtuosic horn players in her orchestra. Both the alto horn and bass horn must negotiate a wide range, and on natural horns with a tempo likely around 104-108. The alto horn begins with a three measure solo before the bass horn joins in measure 218 to provide accompaniment. In measure 227 the alto horn is finished and the bass horn performs arpeggiated flourishes as the oboes take up a solo. The sparse accompaniment for the horn solos uses only cellos and allows the soloists to be heard without difficulty (Example 5.8).

Wranitzky fully exploits the talent of the orchestra in this movement. The solos extend to the very end of the symphony. A double bass solo commences in measure 279 accompanied only by the timpani. It covers a wide register and ends with the bassist performing sixteenth-note arpeggios in the tenor clef, alternating between tonic and dominant each measure. Solos for the double basses follow in measure 287, initially with no accompaniment, but joined by the trumpets and timpani in measure 292. These solos by the basses not only display their virtuosity, but also speak to the Viennese bass tradition (Example 5.9). Measure 296 concludes the bass solo and begins triumphant fanfares in the trumpets with timpani accompaniment. The trumpets finish the fanfare in measure 304, and one would presume this would conclude the symphony.

However, the timpani continues on with a solo of its own, unaccompanied, to bring the symphony to a close, a most unusual way to end a symphony (Example 5.10).

The nickname for P22, “Echo,” derives from the echo effect Wranitzky peppers throughout the first movement, often echoing at the end of musical lines several times, each time

166 with a different instrument of the orchestra answering. This technique is heard early in the slow introduction, and continues throughout the allegro. In measure 14 of the slow introduction, the strings conclude the musical line with a descending pattern over the course of a measure from the dominant to the tonic, which is then repeated by the flutes, clarinets, oboes, bassoons, and finally the horns. Shortly after this passage he echoes a single beat starting with the strings, trumpets, and timpani, then echoed throughout the woodwinds. Whereas the first example lasted over six measures, Wranitzky shortens the echoes to two measures in the latter example.

The use of the echo effect also aids in the formal articulation of the movement. In the allegro proper, the echo effect emphasizes the medial caesura. The effect is created both through dynamics and increasingly thinner textures. Beginning in measure 101 the flutes, oboes, and horns repeated dominant chords forte, followed by echoes in the clarinets, bassoons, and oboes at piano. The transition material continues with echoes a hammerstrokes, again at forte but reducing the texture along with the volume. A similar effect is used to close the movement beginning in measure 452. The aural effect of the echo is achieved through multiple recurrences of the same material with each statement presented with smaller forces and a decrease in volume.

Through this device a spatial landscape forms, imitating an echo effect heard in a forest or cavern. While using fewer forces and softer dynamics imitates the effect of an echo, Wranitzky achieved this effect in another symphony strictly through spatial means.

His Symphony in G Major (P38) not only incorporates a true echo effect, it also includes instruments and sonorities from a stage work beloved by Marie Therese, Die Zauberflöte. The two-movement symphony, with an allegro and minuetto with trio, is scored for strings a4, four

Papageno flutes, and a glockenspiel. Three of the Papageno flutes are in the home key of G and the fourth is tuned to the dominant, D. The glockenspiel only performs three pitches (B, C, D),

167 and Wranitzky was specific about the kind of glockenspiel to be used. At the beginning of the symphony he writes that the glockenspiel should be similar to the one performed by the dervish,

Calender from Gluck’s Les pèlerins de la Mecque from 1764, which Mozart used as a model for his Die Entführung aus dem Serail from 1782 (Example 5.11).

Wranitzky plays with spatial aspects for this symphony by placing two of the Papageno flutes in the same room as the orchestra, and the other two in a neighboring room. One of the flutes in the tonic and the flute in the dominant perform in the same room as the orchestra, while the other two flutes in the tonic perform in a neighboring room. Depending on the venue where this symphony was performed, the echo effects could be heightened. One of Marie Therese’s residences was in the suburb of Laxenburg. Called the Haus der Laune, it served as one of several estates away from the Imperial court. The Haus der Laune was typically used for dances, musical performances, and stage works, sometimes with the nobility as performers. The interior decoration of the structure reflected her whimsical and capricious taste, with the walls covered with music title pages, a kettledrum serving as a chandelier, and a double bass that functioned as a music cabinet.62

The Haus der Laune currently lies in ruins, but scale models have been constructed based on iconography and descriptions of the structure. An overhead cross section of a model reveals two main rooms. The music room is located in the rear of the structure, and two side rooms connect large rooms. If this symphony was performed here, it stands to reason that the two flutes performing in a neighboring room to the orchestra could be separated, one in each side room, creating a stereophonic echo effect. As Rice describes it, time spent at Laxenburg by Marie

62 Rice, Empress Marie Therese, 30.

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Therese and her family was, “full of play.”63 A playful work like this suits the whimsical musical taste of Marie Therese and certainly could have been performed at her Haus der Laune.

Several attributes of the orchestration refer to Die Zauberflöte. The home key of the symphony, G major, is the same as the aria, “Der Vogelfӓnger bin ich ja,” performed by

Papageno in the first act. The ascending pattern of tones mimics the sound of Papageno playing his flute in the Singspiel, while the echo effect resembles Papageno’s flute heard in the distance at first, but gradually getting louder until his stage entrance. In the first movement the Papageno flutes sound in ascending order (tonic G to dominant D) except for the last run, which doubles the strings in descending order (dominant D to tonic G). The glockenspiel refers to the second act aria, “Ein Mӓdchen oder Weibchen,” but in the symphony, Wranitzky limits it to just three notes, B, C, and D. In measures 38-42 the flutes, both near to and far from, the orchestra play the ascending pattern with cadential interjections by the strings. This figure corresponds to measures

13-14 from “Der Vogelfӓnger bin ich ja,” except that the strings perform the dominant-tonic cadences in the symphony, whereas the winds perform them in the Singspiel.

In addition to composing works appealing to the capricious musical taste of Marie

Therese, Wranitzky composed works highlighting the talented musicians in her court orchestra, and with one work possibly highlighting the musical talents of the empress. As discussed above, the finale to his Symphony in D Major (P22) afforded every section of the orchestra an opportunity to perform a solo or solos. Wranitzky may have composed his Symphony in G Minor

(P42) with Marie Therese in mind as the soloist. Rice also discusses the Concertino in D by

Joseph Weigl, which contains elements from two Wranitzky symphonies performed at her court.

The concertino incorporates a piano part (similarly to P42) and the finale contains multiple

63 Ibid., 128.

169 soloists from the orchestra (similar to P22).64 The manuscript for the concertino is lost, but other works for piano and orchestra can be found in her music library; works by Wranitzky, Kozeluch,

Kauer, and Pichl. Based on this inventory, Rice presumes either Marie Therese or her brother-in- law, Ferdinand, performed as soloists in these works.65

If Marie Therese was the intended soloist for Wranitzky’s P42, she was an accomplished keyboardist. The minor-mode first movement begins with a storm scene, which played to the fancy of the empress. Within this storm scene there is a reference to Die Zauberflöte with the piano part imitating the Papageno flute. The piano mostly doubles other instruments throughout the first movement, but gains exposure in the following movement.

The strings are tacet during the second movement, which carries the title “Ein Jagd.” The movement combines the slow movement and the minuet (scherzo) movements into one large- scale movement. For the 25 measure adagio, Wranitzky balances the importance of the winds and the solo piano evenly. After a ten measure introduction by the winds, the solo piano continues with an embellished variation of the opening material. For the secondary material beginning in measure 19, Wranitzky begins with the winds again, followed with the solo piano embellishing. The secondary material is balanced evenly with four measures each given to the winds and the solo piano. The adagio is short lived as Wranitzky signals an attacca into the caccia with the horns announcing the hunt. The caccia is an older style, but one with a long tradition and association with nobility. Measure five displays the nimble ability of the bass horn in Marie Therese’s orchestra as Wranitzky asks for some wide-ranging leaps to be performed.

The leaps occur in quick succession, eighth notes on the first beat in 6/8 time. The bass horn

64 Ibid., 102.

65 Ibid.

170 must first descend an interval of a thirteenth and immediately ascend an interval of a seventeenth, c’-g-c’’ (Example 5.12). Following this announcement by the horns, the wind ensemble plays a tonic chord, along with the piano, together with the timpani and grande timpani, which represents a gunshot. From here the dexterity of the keyboard soloist is on display.

Whereas the adagio is a type 2 sonata form, the caccia plays with this expectation only to subvert with a sudden development section. In measures 117 and 118 the horns announce the opening octaves of the caccia, with the expectation being a return of A with no development.

Instead Wranitzky begins a development section, thus making the caccia a type 3 sonata form.

The compact development lasts over sixteen measures with the piano solo as the driving source while the woodwinds provide harmonic support. In measures 135-140 the horns play the opening of the hunting theme, and the piano solo performs arpeggios on the dominant to signal the end of the development. In the recapitulation, Wranitzky foregoes restating the B material, and instead launches into a transition that eventually leads to a reprise of the adagio that began the movement. The return of the adagio lasts sixteen measures and is suddenly interrupted by one last performance of the caccia, simulating the attacca from before.

The finale is also a type 3 sonata form, and as in the first movement there is little exposure for the piano. The movement begins with a lighthearted tremolo in the violins, which soon shifts into the Strum und Drang style the Empress liked. Wranitzky accomplishes this with a bifocal cadence from G major to E minor for the transition to the B material. In this transition area the violins have wide, angular leaps that create dramatic effect. The piano’s biggest role in the finale comes during the second statement of the B material in the exposition and

171 recapitulation. Outside of these areas the piano simply doubles other instruments or provides harmonic support as it did in the first movement.

Wranitzky and other composers whose works were composed for and performed at the court of Marie Therese exude individuality and novelty. After all, these works were often composed for specific events, celebrations, or festive concerts. They also benefitted from the playfulness of the Empress that allowed experimentation using unconventional instruments or conventional instruments in unusual ways. Wranitzky used toy instruments in both a mass and a symphony; he used large percussion instruments to depict canons firing at one another on a battlefield; echoing Papageno flutes to simulate their use in Die Zauberflöte; and he composed in the opera buffa and Viennese trumpet style to suit the taste of his noble employer.

In my chapter on instrumentation, I argued that the Viennese symphony had not quite settled into a “standard” orchestra. There was still plenty of variety when it came to the forces called upon to perform a symphony. For the six composers in this study I identified ten different instrument combinations for their symphonies, though this excludes the unpublished symphonies

Wranitzky composed for Marie Therese that use unconventional instruments. Though the clear leader in number of symphonies for instrumentation was Group I (Strings, doubled winds, and timpani), the other groups combined outnumber this one.

Though various combinations of instruments were still being used at this time, the way in which the composers used the instruments was the focus of this chapter. The wind instruments received a more prominent role in the symphony than in the past. Exposed solos for wind instruments became more commonplace outside of the slow movement, and as I illustrated in this chapter they also performed as an isolated ensemble within the orchestra. The use of trumpets and timpani, especially in symphonies in C major and D major, continued the Viennese

172 trumpet symphony tradition. The trombone slowly crept its way into the symphony during this time, though it did not receive much of a thematic use until Schubert’s Ninth Symphony. The use of bass drum and cymbals continued to denote Janissary, or Turkish, music, though as I demonstrated, these accessory instruments either denoted military strife or a festive occasion.

Political and economic factors also influenced the orchestration of the Viennese symphony.

Some symphonies, like the Op. 31 of Wranitzky, overtly depicted battle, while others, like

Eberl’s Op. 33, could be heard and interpreted as an allusion to military or political conflict.

Court orchestras were reduced or disbanded, the production of symphonies for public consumption declined because of a shift in taste for smaller ensembles like Harmonie. Plus the amount of funds needed to produce a concert played a part in the decline of symphonies (venue rental, orchestra size, rehearsal time [if afforded], and promotion). The orchestration of a symphony represented not just the musical taste of the time but also the changing marketplace and opportunities for composers and musicians.

Conclusion

The historical narrative of the Viennese symphony from the late eighteenth century to the first quarter of the nineteenth century centers largely on the symphonies of Haydn, Mozart, and

Beethoven. The research and analysis performed on their symphonies provides an understanding of musical taste from this period, compositional techniques and experimentation of these composers, and the development of the genre during this period. While this triumvirate stimulates much thought and scholarship, limiting the narrative of the Viennese symphony from this period to the symphonies of three composers also limits a full understanding of the genre. By including some of their contemporaries in the conversation, a better, more informed understanding of the genre is possible.

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While the symphonies of Schubert have received adequate scholarly attention, the remaining five composers covered in this study have received little attention. While this study brings attention to them, more research and analysis of them, and other contemporaries, is warranted. Over the course of this study I have examined how the symphonies of these composers contribute to the existing narrative of the Viennese symphony. From an analytical standpoint, the first movements reinforce the conclusion that the sonata form during this period had many different forms and shapes, as scholarship on the symphonies of Haydn and Beethoven has explored. My discussion of the remote key relationship between first and second movements illustrates this approach beyond the symphonies of Haydn, and demonstrates that these key relationships could be used as a unifying device across the movements of a symphony. The minuet movements of the symphonies in this study reflect a growing change in style as the minuet transitioned from a courtly dance, to a mixture of stateliness and rustic elements, and to a scherzo (even though some of these continued to be labeled as minuet). From a stylistic standpoint, I focused on the instrumentation and orchestration of the symphonies. This examination challenged the notion asserted by general texts that the “classical orchestra” became a stable and standardized ensemble during this period, which saw the reduction in forces of aristocratic orchestras and an increased interest in wind instruments, evidenced by

Harmoniemusik and extensive passages and solos for the winds in symphonies from this period.

Researching and analyzing the symphonies of the composers in this study not only shines a light on the composers, it also contributes to the overall understanding of the Viennese symphony from this time period, the various compositional techniques and approaches used by them, and the historical context in which they were written.

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Appendix: Musical Examples Chapter 2 Example 2.1: Wranitzky, Symphony in A Major, Op. 51 (P44), Mvt. 1, mm. 1-5

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Example 2.2: Wranitzky, Symphony in D Major (P22), Mvt. 1, mm. 4-9

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Example 2.3: Ries, Symphony No. 4 in F Minor, Op. 110, Mvt. 1, mm. 23-28

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Example 2.4: Ries, Symphony No. 6 in D Major, Op. 146, Mvt. 1, mm. 30-35

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Chapter 3 Example 3.1: Wranitzky, Symphony in F Major, Op. 33, No. 3 (P34), Mvt. 2, mm. 79-81

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Example 3.2: Ries, Symphony No. 1 in D Major, Op. 23, Mvt. 2, mm. 10-14

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Example 3.3: Eberl, Symphony in E-Flat Major, Op. 33, Mvt. 2, mm. 16-24

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Example 3.4: Wranitzky, Symphony in C Major (P6), Mvt. 3, mm. 59-65

Example 3.5: Wranitzky, Symphony in D Major (P22), Mvt. 3, mm. 16-22

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Example 3.6: Ries, Symphony No. 6 in D Major, Op. 146, Mvt. 3, mm. 46-53

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Example 3.7a: Wranitzky, Symphony in F Major, Op. 33, No. 3 (P34), Mvt. 3, mm. 41-8

Example 3.7b: Wranitzky, Symphony in D Major (P22), Mvt. 4, mm. 249-51

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Example 3.8: Ries, Symphony in E-Flat Major, WoO 30, Mvt. 3, mm. 1-6

Example 3.9: Ries, Symphony No. 4 in F Minor, Op. 110, Mvt. 3, mm. 2-16

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Example 3.10: Eberl, Symphony in E-Flat Major, Op. 33, Mvt. 3, mm. 180-95

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Example 3.11: Reicha, Symphony No. 3 in F Major, Mvt. 4, mm. 198-213

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Example 3.11, cont.

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Example 3.12a: Wranitzky, Symphony in E-Flat Major (P31), Mvt. 1, mm. 19-26

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Example 3.12b: Wranitzky, Symphony in E-flat Major (P31), Mvt. 4, mm. 1-6

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Example 3.13a: Gyrowetz, Symphony in D Major, Mvt. 1, mm. 205-08

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Example 3.13b: Gyrowetz, Symphony in D Major, Mvt. 4, mm. 1-4

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Chapter 4 Instrumentation Example 4.1: Schubert, Symphony No. 9 “Great” in C Major D.944, Mvt. 1, mm. 199-240 (trombone parts)

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Chapter 5 Orchestration Example 5.1: Wranitzky, Symphony in D Major (P20), Mvt. 4, mm. 111-19

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Example 5.2: Ries, Symphony No. 1 in D Major, Op. 23, Mvt. 1, mm. 32-37 (Horns and Trumpets)

Example 5.3: Wranitzky, Symphony in D Major, Op. 36 (P18), Mvt. 1, mm. 342-48 (Trumpet fanfare)

Example 5.4: Eberl, Symphony in E-Flat Major, Op. 33, Mvt. 1, mm. 333-40 (Trumpet fanfare)

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Example 5.5a:

Example 5.5b:

Example 5.5c:

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Example 5.6: Wranitzky, Symphony in D Major (P20), Mvt. 4, mm. 165-71

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Example 5.7: Wranitzky, Symphony in D Major (P27), Mvt. 4, mm. 165-70 (end of piano solo)

Example 5.8: Wranitzky, Symphony in D Major (P22), Mvt. 4, mm. 216-28 (horn solos)

Example 5.9: Wranitzky, Symphony in D Major (P22), Mvt. 4, mm. 279-91 (bass solo)

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Example 5.10: Wranitzky, Symphony in D Major (P22), Mvt. 4, mm. 303-12 (timpani solo)

Example 5.11: Wranitzky, Symphony in G Major (P38), Mvt. 1, mm. 1-6

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Example 5.12: Wranitzky, Symphony in G Minor (P42), Mvt. 2, mm. 27-33

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