However, the cello sprang into its present importance as a solo instrument largely through the Frenchman Jean Louis Duport (1749-1819), whose understanding of the instrument led him to a discovery of those principles of fingering and bowing which have made modern virtuosity possible. His Essai sur le doigter du violoncelle et la conduite de l’archet was truly an epoch-making work. That a new edition was issued as recently as 1902 proves the lasting worth and stability of his theories.
Frederick William II, King of Prussia, to whom Mozart dedicated three of his string quartets, was a pupil of Duport’s. Mozart’s quartets, written with an eye to pleasing the monarch, give special prominence to the cello. Hence through Duport we approach the great masters and their works for the cello.
Beethoven wrote five sonatas for cello and piano. The first two, opus 5, were written in 1796, while Beethoven was staying in Berlin, evidently with the intention of dedicating them to Frederick William II, and for his own appearance in public with Duport. They are noticeably finer, or more expressive works, than the early sonatas for violin, opus 12; perhaps because the cello does not suggest a style which, empty of meaning, is yet beautiful and effective by reason of sheer brilliance. The violin sonatas, all of them except the last, are largely virtuoso music. The cello sonatas are more serious and on the whole more sober. This may be laid to thoroughly practical reasons. The cello has not the variety of technical possibilities that the violin has, nor even in such rapid passages as can be played upon it can it give a brilliant or carrying tone. By reason of its low register it can be all too easily overpowered by the piano. Only the high notes on the A string can make themselves heard above a solid or resonant accompaniment. Hence if the composer desires to write a brilliant, showy sonata for pianoforte and cello, he can do so only by sacrificing all but the topmost registers of the cello. Even at that the piano is more than likely to put the cello wholly in the shade.
To write effectively for the combination, therefore, and in such a way as to bring out the variety of resources of the cello, limited as they may be, one must not write brilliantly, but clearly, in a transparent and careful style. Of such a style these early sonatas of Beethoven offer an excellent example, though the music itself sounds today old-fashioned and formal.
The best of the first sonata, which consists of a long slow introduction, an allegro, and an allegro vivace, all in F major, is the last movement. This is in mood a little scherzo, in form a rondo. Particularly the chief subject is delightfully scored for the two instruments at the very opening. The second sonata, in G minor, begins like the first with a long slow introduction, in which the piano has some elaborate figuration. There follows an allegro molto, rather a presto, in 3/4 time, the opening theme of which has almost the spontaneous melodiousness of Schubert. The pianoforte has a great deal of work in triplets, which are high on the keyboard when the cello is playing in its lower registers, and only low when the cello is high enough to escape being overpowered. This constant movement in triplets will remind one of the first pianoforte sonata. The final rondo is on the whole less effective than the rondo of the first sonata. Toward the end, however, there is considerable animation in which one finds cello and piano taking equal share. The piano has for many measures groups of rapid accompaniment figures against which the cello has saucy little phrases in staccato notes. Then the cello takes up the rolling figures with great effect and the piano has a capricious and brilliant melody in high registers.
The next sonata, opus 69, in A major, was not written until twelve years later. A different Beethoven speaks in it. The first theme, announced at once by the cello alone, gives the key to the spirit of the work. It is gentle (dolce) in character, but full of a quiet and moving strength. After giving the first phrase of it alone the cello holds a long low E, over which the piano lightly completes it. There is a cadenza for piano, and then, after the piano has given the whole theme once again, there is a short cadenza for cello, leading to a short transition at the end of which one finds the singing second theme. This is first given out by the piano over smooth scales by the cello, and then the cello takes it up and the piano plays the scales. Nothing could be more exquisite than the combination of these two instruments in this altogether lovely sonata, which without effort permits each in turn or together to reveal its most musical qualities. Sometimes the cello is low and impressive, strong and independent, while the piano is lively and sparkling, as in the closing parts of the first section of the first movement. Again the cello has vigorous rolling figures that bring out the fullest sonority the instrument is capable of, while the piano adds the theme against such a vibrant background, with no fear of drowning the cello, as in the first portions of the development section.
The scherzo is the second movement, and here again each instrument is allowed a full expression of its musical powers. The style is light, the rhythm syncopated. There is fascinating play at imitations. And in the trio the cello plays in rich double-stops. There is but a short adagio before the final allegro, only a brief but telling expression of seriousness, and then the allegro brings to full flower the quiet, concealed, so to speak, and tranquil happiness of the first movement.
Finally there are two sonatas, opus 102, which are in every way representative of the Beethoven of the last pianoforte sonatas and even the last quartets. The first of these—in C major—Beethoven himself entitled a ‘free sonata,’ and the form is indeed free, recalling the form of the A major pianoforte sonata, opus 101, upon which Beethoven was working at the same time. In spirit, too, it is very like the A major sonata, but lacks the more obvious melodic charm. The sonata begins with an andante, in that singing yet mystical style which characterizes so much of Beethoven’s last work, and the andante does not end but seems to lose itself, to become absorbed in a mist of trills, out of which there springs a vigorous allegro vivace, in the dotted march rhythm which one finds in the later pianoforte sonatas. After this, a short rhapsodical adagio brings us back to a bit of the opening andante, which once more trills itself away, seems to be snuffed out, as it were, by a sudden little phrase which, all unexpected, announces the beginning of the final rondo.
The second of the two, in D major, is more regular in structure. There is an allegro con brio in clear form, an adagio, and a final fugue, following the adagio without pause. In both these sonatas every trace of the virtuoso has disappeared. Both are fantasies, or poems of hidden meaning. Because of this mysteriousness, and also because the lack of all virtuoso elements seems to leave the combination a little dry, the sonatas are not quite so satisfactory as the opus 69.
Besides the sonatas Beethoven wrote three sets of variations for cello and piano, only one of which—on the air Ein Mädchen oder Weibchen from Mozart’s ‘Magic Flute’—has an opus number. These are early works and are without special interest or value.