aanuaoript

aanuaoript notation,
notation, principles
principles
CHOPIN

THE EARLY ROMANTIC COMPOSERS

Series Editor: Michael Spitzer

Titles in the Series:

Beethoven
Edited by Michael Spitzer

Chopin
Edited by John Rink

Mendelssohn
Edited by Benedict Taylor

Schubert
Edited by Julian Horton

Schumann
Edited by Roe-Min Kok
 Chopin

Edited by
john rink

University of Cambridge, UK
First published 2017
by Routledge
2 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon OX14 4RN

and by Routledge
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Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business

Copyright © John Rink 2017. For copyright of individual articles please refer to the
Acknowledgements.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilised in
any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter
invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or
retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers.

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trademarks, and are used only for identification and explanation without intent to
infringe.

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ISBN: 978-1-4724-4048-8

Typeset in Times New Roman MT by

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 Contents
Acknowledgements ix
Series Preface xiii

Introduction 1

Part I: Historical perspectives

1. Jolanta T. Pekacz, ‘The nation’s property: Chopin’s biography as a cultural

discourse’, in Jolanta T. Pekacz (ed.), Musical Biography: Towards New
Paradigms (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2006), pp. 43–68 17

2. Józef Chomiński, ‘Die Evolution des Chopinschen Stils’, in Zofia Lissa (ed.),
The Book of the First International Musicological Congress Devoted to the
Works of Frederick Chopin (Warsaw: Państwowe Wydawnictwo Naukowe,
1963), pp. 44–52 43

3. Mieczysław Tomaszewski, ‘Chopin’s inspiration from Polish “common

song”’, in Artur Szklener (ed.), Chopin’s Work: His Inspirations and Creative
Process in the Light of the Sources (Warsaw: Narodowy Instytut Fryderyka
Chopina), pp. 43–53 55

4. Barbara Milewski, ‘Chopin’s mazurkas and the myth of the folk’,

19th-Century Music 23/2 (1999), pp. 113–135 67

5. Ludwik Bronarski, ‘La “dernière” mazurka de Chopin’, in Ludwik

Bronarski, Etudes sur Chopin (Lausanne: Editions La Concorde, 1944),
pp. 165–175 91

6. Karol Berger, ‘Chopin’s Ballade Op. 23 and the revolution of the

intellectuals’, in John Rink and Jim Samson (eds.), Chopin Studies 2
(Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1994), pp. 72–83 103

7. Anselm Gerhard, ‘Ballade und Drama’, Archiv für Musikwissenschaft 48

(1991), pp. 110–125 115

8. James W. Davison, An Essay on the Works of Frederic Chopin (London:

Wessel & Co. [1843]) 131
vi chopin

Part II: Source studies

9. John Rink, ‘Playing with the Chopin sources’, in Irena Poniatowska (ed.),
Jan Ekier: artysta stulecia w darze Chopinowi (Warsaw: Narodowy Instytut
Fryderyka Chopina, 2013), pp. 171–185 151

10. Wojciech Nowik, ‘The receptive-informational role of Chopin’s musical

autographs’, in Dariusz Żębrowski (ed.), Studies in Chopin (Warsaw:
Towarzystwo im. Fryderyka Chopina, 1973), pp. 77–89 167

11. Jeffrey Kallberg, ‘Chopin and the aesthetic of the sketch: a new Prelude in
E-flat minor?’, Early Music 29 (2001), pp. 408–422 181

12. Jan Ekier, ‘On questions relating to the chronology of Chopin’s works.
Methods. A few examples concerning compositions from the last period’,
in Artur Szklener (ed.), Chopin’s Musical Worlds: The 1840s (Warsaw:
Narodowy Instytut Fryderyka Chopina, 2008), pp. 169–188 197

13. Charles Rosen, ‘The first movement of Chopin’s Sonata in B-flat minor,
Op. 35’, 19th-Century Music 14/1 (1990), pp. 60–66 217

14. Maurice J. E. Brown, ‘The posthumous publication of Chopin’s songs’,

Musical Quarterly 42 (1956), pp. 51–65 225

15. Christophe Grabowski, ‘Wessel’s Complete Collection of the Compositions of

Frederic Chopin: the history of a title-page’, Early Music 29 (2001),
pp. 424–433 241

Part III: Performance studies

16. Dana Gooley, ‘Between esprit and génie – Chopin in the field of
performance’, in Artur Szklener (ed.), Chopin’s Musical Worlds: The 1840s
(Warsaw: Narodowy Instytut Fryderyka Chopina, 2008), pp. 141–156 253

17. James Methuen-Campbell, Chopin Playing from the Composer to the Present
Day (London: Gollancz, 1981): Chapter 1, ‘The playing of Chopin and his
contemporaries’, pp. 26–44 269

18. David Rowland, ‘Chopin’s tempo rubato in context’, in John Rink and
Jim Samson (eds.), Chopin Studies 2 (Cambridge: Cambridge University
Press, 1994), pp. 199–213 289

19. Thomas Higgins, ‘Tempo and character in Chopin’, Musical Quarterly 59

(1973), pp. 106–120 305

20. Sandra Rosenblum, ‘Some enigmas of Chopin’s pedal indications: what do

the sources tell us?’, Journal of Musicological Research 16 (1996), pp. 41–61 321
 chopin vii

21. Nicholas Cook, ‘Performance analysis and Chopin’s mazurkas’, in Artur

Szklener (ed.), Chopin in Paris: The 1830s (Warsaw: Narodowy Instytut
Fryderyka Chopina, 2008), pp. 121–141 343

Part IV: Analysis, aesthetics, reception

22. Jim Samson, ‘Chopin and genre’, Music Analysis 8/3 (1989), pp. 213–231 367

23. Zofia Chechlińska, ‘Scherzo as a genre – selected problems’, Chopin Studies,

vol. 5 (Warsaw: Towarzystwo im. Fryderyka Chopina, 1995), pp. 165–173 387

24. John Rink, ‘Chopin’s ballades and the dialectic: analysis in historical
perspective’, Music Analysis 13 (1994), pp. 99–115 397

25. Donald Francis Tovey, Essays in Musical Analysis, 6 vols. (London: Oxford
University Press, 1936): ‘Concertos’, vol. 3, pp. 103–106 415

26. Felix Salzer, ‘Chopin’s Etude in F major, Opus 25, No. 3’, in The Music
Forum, vol. 3 (New York: Columbia University Press, 1973), pp. 281–290 419

27. Gastone Belotti, ‘L’asimmetria ritmica nella mazurca chopiniana’, Nuova

Rivista Musicale Italiana 5/4–5 (1971), pp. 657–668, 827–846 429

28. William Rothstein, ‘Phrase rhythm in Chopin’s nocturnes and mazurkas’, in

Jim Samson (ed.), Chopin Studies (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press,
1988), pp. 115–141 461

29. Jean-Jacques Eigeldinger, ‘Chopin and “La note bleue”: an interpretation of

the Prelude Op. 45’, Music & Letters 78/2 (1997), pp. 233–253 489

30. Lawrence Kramer, ‘Romantic meaning in Chopin’s Prelude in A minor’,

19th-Century Music 9/2 (1985), pp. 145–155 511

31. Rose Rosengard Subotnik, ‘On grounding Chopin’, in Richard Leppert

and Susan McClary (eds.), Music and Society: The Politics of Composition,
Performance and Reception (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1987),
pp. 105–131 523

Part V: Epilogue

32. Frederick Niecks, Frederick Chopin as a Man and Musician, 3rd edn, 2 vols.
(London: Novello, Ewer and Co., 1902): ‘Epilogue’, vol. 2, pp. 328–333 553

Index 559
 Acknowledgements

The Publishers would like to thank the following for permission to reprint their material:

Ashgate Publishing for their permission to reprint Jolanta T. Pekacz, ‘The nation’s prop­
erty: Chopin’s biography as a cultural discourse’, in Jolanta T. Pekacz (ed.), Musical
Biography: Towards New Paradigms (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2006), pp. 43–68.

PWN, Polish Scientific Publishers for their permission to reprint Józef Chomiński, ‘Die
Evolution des Chopinschen Stils’, in Zofia Lissa (ed.), The Book of the First International
Musicological Congress Devoted to the Works of Frederick Chopin (Warsaw: Państwowe
Wydawnictwo Naukowe, 1963), pp. 44–52.

Narodowy Instytut Fryderyka Chopina for their permission to reprint Mieczysław

Tomaszewski, ‘Chopin’s inspiration from Polish “common song”’, in Artur Szklener
(ed.), Chopin’s Work: His Inspirations and Creative Process in the Light of the Sources
(Warsaw: Narodowy Instytut Fryderyka Chopina), pp. 43–53.

University of California Press for their permission to reprint Barbara Milewski, ‘Chopin’s
mazurkas and the myth of the folk’, 19th-Century Music 23/2 (1999), pp. 113–135.

Editions La Concorde for their permission to reprint Ludwik Bronarski, ‘La “dernière”
mazurka de Chopin’, in Ludwik Bronarski, Etudes sur Chopin (Lausanne: Editions La
Concorde, 1944), pp. 165–175.

Cambridge University Press for their permission to reprint Karol Berger, ‘Chopin’s
Ballade Op. 23 and the revolution of the intellectuals’, in John Rink and Jim Samson
(eds.), Chopin Studies 2 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1994), pp. 72–83.

Franz Steiner Verlag for their permission to reprint Anselm Gerhard, ‘Ballade und
Drama’, Archiv für Musikwissenschaft 48 (1991), pp. 110–125.

Narodowy Instytut Fryderyka Chopina for their permission to reprint John Rink,
‘Playing with the Chopin sources’, in Irena Poniatowska (ed.), Jan Ekier: artysta stulecia
w darze Chopinowi (Warsaw: Narodowy Instytut Fryderyka Chopina, 2013), pp. 171–185.

Towarzystwo im. Fryderyka Chopina for their permission to reprint Wojciech Nowik,
‘The receptive-informational role of Chopin’s musical autographs’, in Dariusz Żębrowski
(ed.), Studies in Chopin (Warsaw: Towarzystwo im. Fryderyka Chopina, 1973), pp. 77–89.

Oxford University Press for their permission to reprint Jeffrey Kallberg, ‘Chopin and
the aesthetic of the sketch: a new Prelude in E-flat minor?’, Early Music 29 (2001),
pp. 408–422.
x chopin

Narodowy Instytut Fryderyka Chopina for their permission to reprint Jan Ekier, ‘On
questions relating to the chronology of Chopin’s works. Methods. A few examples con­
cerning compositions from the last period’, in Artur Szklener (ed.), Chopin’s Musical
Worlds: The 1840s (Warsaw: Narodowy Instytut Fryderyka Chopina, 2008), pp. 169–188.

University of California Press for their permission to reprint Charles Rosen, ‘The first
movement of Chopin’s Sonata in B-flat minor, Op. 35’, 19th-Century Music 14/1 (1990),
pp. 60–66.

Oxford University Press for their permission to reprint Maurice J. E. Brown, ‘The post­
humous publication of Chopin’s songs’, Musical Quarterly 42 (1956), pp. 51–65.

Oxford University Press for their permission to reprint Christophe Grabowski, ‘Wessel’s
Complete Collection of the Compositions of Frederic Chopin: the history of a title-page’,
Early Music 29 (2001), pp. 424–433.

Narodowy Instytut Fryderyka Chopina for their permission to reprint Dana Gooley,
‘Between esprit and génie – Chopin in the field of performance’, in Artur Szklener (ed.),
Chopin’s Musical Worlds: The 1840s (Warsaw: Narodowy Instytut Fryderyka Chopina,
2008), pp. 141–156.

Gollancz for their permission to reprint James Methuen-Campbell, Chopin Playing from
the Composer to the Present Day (London: Gollancz, 1981): Chapter 1, ‘The playing of
Chopin and his contemporaries’, pp. 26–44.

Cambridge University Press for their permission to reprint David Rowland, ‘Chopin’s
tempo rubato in context’, in John Rink and Jim Samson (eds.), Chopin Studies 2
(Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1994), pp. 199–213.

Oxford University Press for their permission to reprint Thomas Higgins, ‘Tempo and
character in Chopin’, Musical Quarterly 59 (1973), pp. 106–120.

Taylor & Francis for their permission to reprint Sandra Rosenblum, ‘Some enigmas
of Chopin’s pedal indications: what do the sources tell us?’, Journal of Musicological
Research 16 (1996), pp. 41–61.

Narodowy Instytut Fryderyka Chopina for their permission to reprint Nicholas Cook,
‘Performance analysis and Chopin’s mazurkas’, in Artur Szklener (ed.), Chopin in Paris:
The 1830s (Warsaw: Narodowy Instytut Fryderyka Chopina, 2008), pp. 121–141.

Wiley for their permission to reprint Jim Samson, ‘Chopin and genre’, Music Analysis
8/3 (1989), pp. 213–231.

Towarzystwo im. Fryderyka Chopina for their permission to reprint Zofia Chechlińska,
‘Scherzo as a genre – selected problems’, Chopin Studies, vol. 5 (Warsaw: Towarzystwo
im. Fryderyka Chopina, 1995), pp. 165–173.
 chopin xi

Wiley for their permission to reprint John Rink, ‘Chopin’s ballades and the dialectic:
analysis in historical perspective’, Music Analysis 13 (1994), pp. 99–115.

Oxford University Press for their permission to reprint Donald Francis Tovey, Essays in
Musical Analysis, 6 vols. (London: Oxford University Press, 1936): ‘Concertos’, vol. 3,
pp. 103–106.

Columbia University Press for their permission to reprint Felix Salzer, ‘Chopin’s Etude
in F major, Opus 25, No. 3’, in The Music Forum, vol. 3 (New York: Columbia University
Press, 1973), pp. 281–290.

Rai Eri for their permission to reprint Gastone Belotti, ‘L’asimmetria ritmica nella
mazurca chopiniana’, Nuova Rivista Musicale Italiana 5/4–5 (1971), pp.  657–668,
827–846.

Cambridge University Press for their permission to reprint William Rothstein, ‘Phrase
rhythm in Chopin’s nocturnes and mazurkas’, in Jim Samson (ed.), Chopin Studies
(Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1988), pp. 115–141.

Oxford University Press for their permission to reprint Jean-Jacques Eigeldinger,

‘Chopin and “La note bleue”: an interpretation of the Prelude Op. 45’, Music & Letters
78/2 (1997), pp. 233–253.

University of California Press for their permission to reprint Lawrence Kramer,

‘Romantic meaning in Chopin’s Prelude in A minor’, 19th-Century Music 9/2 (1985),
pp. 145–155.

Cambridge University Press for their permission to reprint Rose Rosengard Subotnik,
‘On grounding Chopin’, in Richard Leppert and Susan McClary (eds.), Music and
Society: The Politics of Composition, Performance and Reception (Cambridge: Cambridge
University Press, 1987), pp. 105–131.

Publisher’s note

The material in this volume has been reproduced using the facsimile method. This means
we can retain the original pagination to facilitate easy and correct citation of the original
essays. It also explains the variety of typefaces, page layouts and numbering.
Series Preface

Much of the world's most popular music was composed in the first half of the nineteenth
century. The five composers represented in this series sit at the core of the Western art­
music tradition, and have received an enormous amount of critical and scholarly attention.
Beethoven and Schubert worked at the cusp between the Classical style and Romanticism;
Schumann, Mendelssohn and Chopin formed part of what Charles Rosen called 'The
Romantic Generation', a group of composers born around 1810 who could be said to have
invented musical modernity. Of these five titanic figures, none needs much introduction or
apology, with Mendelssohn being the exception of a once-neglected composer whose time
has come again. Nevertheless, these early nineteenth-century composers do collectively elicit
a kind of cultural re-affirmation on our part: against postmodernity's challenge towards this
tradition and against the blithe assumption- after Musicology's respective analytical, critical
and (now) digital turns- that earlier writers have nothing to teach us about this tradition.
And this is why the five editors of the books in this series have been tasked to throw their
nets as widely as possible, in order to capture not just the latest scholarly perspectives on
this music, but also older, perhaps less fashionable, but arguably still invaluable literature.
Priority has been given to items in English, but a few seminal contributions appear either in a
foreign language or in new, previously unpublished translations. Extended introductions also
situate the contents of individual volumes in broad scholarly contexts. 'The Early Romantic
Composers' intends both to increase access to the published literature and to provide scholars,
students and general music lovers alike with a reliable reference source. It is hoped that
reading and re-reading essays in the series will not only enhance appreciation of Beethoven,
Schubert, Schumann, Mendelssohn and Chopin, the environments in which they worked, and
the musical cultures in which they flourished, but also stimulate further engagement with the
large secondary literature on these five great musicians.

MICHAEL SPITZER
Series Editor
 Introduction

John Rink

Contexts

The task of assembling this anthology proved to be more challenging than I had expected,
partly because of the constraints imposed on all volume editors contributing to the series.
We were told to include ‘a balanced representation of good-quality, important and fre­
quently cited essays … excluding those which have been very widely reprinted and are
generally available in other collections’. Less than a handful of foreign-language texts
could be chosen, yet editors were asked ‘to be mindful of the interests and needs of schol­
ars throughout the world’. Finally, the overall length could not exceed 500 pages, which
clearly ruled out long essays, let alone whole books.
The anthology that has emerged only scratches the surface of a vast literature on
Chopin, which continues to grow in bulk as well as in musical and musicological impor­
tance. This introduction offers some comments on what has not been included, along
with more extensive summaries of the thirty-two items that do feature here. One major
omission is the huge body of material in languages other than English, with the exception
of the four essays that I was able to select (two of them in German; one each in French
and Italian). Alongside these, there is a considerable amount of scholarship in Polish,
ranging from nineteenth-century publications by the likes of Marceli Antoni Szulc and
Jan Kleczyński to later authors such as Ferdynand Hoesick, Janusz Miketta, Zofia Lissa,
Krystyna Kobylańska, Hanna Wróblewska-Straus, Zofia Helman, Dalila Turło, Irena
Poniatowska and Maciej Gołąb, to name but a small cross-section. Other publications
not represented here include those in Russian by Lew Abramovich Mazel’; in French
by George Sand, Eugène Delacroix, Antoine Marmontel, André Gide, Alfred Cortot,
Édouard Ganche and Marie-Paule Rambeau; in German by Robert Schumann, Wilhelm
von Lenz, Hugo Leichtentritt, Maria Ottich, Paul Badura-Skoda, Franz Zagiba and
Franz Eibner; and so on. It has been no less difficult to whittle down the innumerable
English-language publications; some of the authors who are not featured include James
Huneker, Gerald Abraham and Arthur Hedley, as well as more recent scholars such as
Hanna Goldberg and Jonathan Bellman. Other material has been omitted because of my
decision to select only a single item by any given person. (Just one author has two items
– namely, the editor of the volume, who exercised this prerogative with due humility.)
Much of the material that was excluded appears in readily available collections of
essays, among them Chopin Studies, ed. Jim Samson (Cambridge, 1988); The Cambridge
Companion to Chopin, ed. Jim Samson (Cambridge, 1992); and Chopin Studies 2, ed.
John Rink and Jim Samson (Cambridge, 1994). Other ‘collections’ only partly repre­
sented here include a special issue on Chopin of the journal Early Music (August 2001)
2 chopin

and The Book of the First International Musicological Congress Devoted to the Works
of Frederick Chopin, ed. Zofia Lissa (Warsaw, 1963). Readers may additionally wish to
consult Chopin and his Work in the Context of Culture, ed. Irena Poniatowska (Warsaw,
2003); the conference proceedings successively produced by the Narodowy Instytut
Fryderyka Chopina from 2001 to 2009 (see www.nifc.pl); and anthologies by individual
authors such as Jeffrey Kallberg (Chopin at the Boundaries: Sex, History, and Musical
Genre; Cambridge, MA, 1998) and Carl Schachter (Unfoldings: Essays in Schenkerian
Theory and Analysis; New York, 1998).
Readers seeking an even broader range of material about Chopin should consult the
countless monographs that have been produced over the years, including the biographies
by Franz Liszt and Frederick Niecks (the Epilogue of which is provided here); life-
and-works studies by James Huneker and Arthur Hedley, among others; Jim Samson’s
numerous books, such as The Music of Chopin (London, 1985) and Master Musicians
Chopin (Oxford, 1992); ‘handbooks’ on select pieces by G. C. Ashton Jonson, John Rink
and others; studies on performance issues such as Jean-Jacques Eigeldinger’s Chopin vu
par ses élèves (translated into English as Chopin Pianist and Teacher; Cambridge, 1986),
along with his edition of Chopin’s Esquisses pour une méthode de piano (Paris, 1993),
L’univers musical de Chopin (Paris, 2000), Chopin et Pleyel (Paris, 2010), and Chopin:
l’âme des salons parisiens (Paris, 2013); and works by John Petrie Dunn (Ornamentation
in the Works of Frederick Chopin; London, 1921), Gerald Abraham (Chopin’s Musical
Style; London, 1939), Adam Harasowski (The Skein of Legends around Chopin; Glasgow,
1967), and David Branson (John Field and Chopin; New York, 1972). There is also the
Chopin correspondence, published in various original-language and translated collections
including an authoritative multi-volume edition – Korespondencja Fryderyka Chopina –
currently being produced in Warsaw, and Chopin’s Polish Letters (Warsaw, 2016).
Details of the manuscript and printed sources are available in Krystyna Kobylańska,
Rękopisy utworów Chopina: Katalog (Cracow, 1977); Józef Chomiński and Dalila Turło,
Katalog dzieł Fryderyka Chopina (Cracow, 1990); and Christophe Grabowski and John
Rink, Annotated Catalogue of Chopin’s First Editions (Cambridge, 2010; see also www.
chopinonline.ac.uk/aco). The sources themselves can be viewed in online collections
such as Chopin Early Editions (http://chopin.lib.uchicago.edu), Chopin’s First Editions
Online (www.chopinonline.ac.uk/cfeo), the Online Chopin Variorum Edition (www.
chopinonline.ac.uk/ocve), and the websites of major libraries such as the Bibliothèque
Nationale de France in Paris (http://gallica.bnf.fr) and the Biblioteka Narodowa in
Warsaw (http://polona.pl). Other reference material includes bibliographies on Grove
Online and by Kornel Michałowski, among others; discographies by Armand Panigel
and Marcel Beaufils (Paris, 1949) and Józef Kański (Cracow, 1986); and the iconogra­
phies compiled by Léopold Binental (Chopin: dokumenty i pamiątki; Warsaw, 1930);
Robert Bory (La vie de Frédéric Chopin par l’image; Geneva, 1951); Krystyna Kobylańska
(Chopin w kraju: dokumenty i pamiątki, trans. as Chopin in his Homeland: Documents and
Souvenirs; Cracow, 1955); and Mieczysław Tomaszewski and Bożena Weber (Fryderyk
Chopin: diariusz par image; trans. as Chopin: A Diary in Images; Warsaw, 1990).
In choosing the material that does appear here, I have been concerned not only to meet
the general criteria detailed above but to assemble particularly interesting and engaging
work from a range of periods. Although I have tried to select representative examples
 chopin 3

of the main scholarly approaches over the ages, this could not be the overriding priority
with only 500 pages at my disposal. In fact, I have been more concerned to weave a nar­
rative of sorts through the volume and somehow to do justice not only to the research
that has been carried out on Chopin but also to Chopin himself, in the sense of portray­
ing a rounded picture of him as composer, pianist and teacher, of his music, and of his
overall achievement. It goes without saying that the selection is a personal one, although
readers should not assume that I necessarily agree with or endorse all of the material in
the volume or that it is the most authoritative and up-to-date work of any given type on
the composer. On the contrary: even if some of it has been superseded by more recent
research, that does not mean that the notionally ‘outmoded’ essays were of limited sig­
nificance in their day. One such example is Charles Rosen’s article on the first movement
of the Sonata Op. 35: although some of his points are not accurate, the article was highly
influential at the time in respect of both musicological research and musical practice, in
that pianists began to play the repeat of the exposition differently thanks to the author’s
revelatory assertions about where it should begin. Ludwik Bronarski’s interpretation
of one of Chopin’s late mazurkas has been overtaken by a quite different assessment
by Jeffrey Kallberg (as indicated in the survey that follows); Christophe Grabowski’s
‘history of a title page’ is a prototype of the more recent research published in our joint
Annotated Catalogue; James Methuen-Campbell among others was initially reluctant
for Ashgate to reprint his work, given that his views have changed since it was written
several decades ago; and one other author was unwilling to sanction the inclusion of an
article which appeared a decade or so before his definitive book-length study on the same
topic. In other cases, the methodologies that were employed or the approaches taken to
given issues seem dated by the standards of today’s musicology, among them the essays
of Thomas Higgins, Maurice Brown, Felix Salzer and Gastone Belotti; nevertheless, the
first of these constitutes one of the most substantial studies to date of Chopin’s metro­
nome markings, the second explores a little known repertoire which is more than worthy
of close study, and the third and the fourth are elegantly conceived and argued.
I referred above to a ‘narrative of sorts’, and this is defined, first of all, by the four broad
sections in which the material has been organised. The book initially offers complemen­
tary historical perspectives on Chopin’s biography ‘as cultural discourse’ (Pekacz), on the
evolution and origins of his style (Chomiński, Tomaszewski, Milewski), and on the status
of and contexts surrounding given works (Bronarski, Berger, Gerhard). A fascinating (if
dubious) contemporary overview of Chopin’s oeuvre is also provided (Davison). The
seven source studies offer an initial survey (Rink), followed by discussion of the status
and role of Chopin’s notational practices (Nowik), of some enigmatic sketch material
(Kallberg), of issues to do with chronology (Ekier), and of given works (Rosen, Brown).
The section concludes with a companion piece to the Davison essay, namely a history of
the series title page in Wessel’s Complete Collection (Grabowski). Six essays in the field
of performance studies look at the ‘cultural work’ carried out by Chopin’s performances
in the Paris of his day (Gooley), then at Chopin’s playing style and that of his contempo­
raries and students (Methuen-Campbell), tempo and tempo rubato (Rowland, Higgins),
pedalling (Rosenblum), and musical structure as created in performance (Cook). This
paves the way for ten essays on analysis, aesthetics and reception. The first two consider
aspects of genre (Samson, Chechlińska), followed by an overview of some 150 years of
4 chopin

Chopin analysis (Rink) and then a series of contributions on such parameters as form,
tonality, rhythm and phrase structure (Tovey, Salzer, Belotti, Rothstein). The book ends
with three ‘contextualising’ studies (Eigeldinger, Kramer, Subotnik), the last of which
leads seamlessly into the Epilogue (Niecks).
There are innumerable overarching connections across the thirty-two chapters,
including not only Davison/Grabowski but also Pekacz/Niecks, Tomaszewski/Milewski,
Gooley/Subotnik, Rink/Kramer, Nowik/Ekier, and so on. Several of the essays under­
score one of the most important aspects of Chopin’s legacy, namely the paradoxical
manner in which he drew from the past – in particular, certain eighteenth-century
traditions – while stretching inherited conventions and practices to such an extent that
a ‘music of the future’ was heralded. The fact that this combination of constraint and
freedom characterised much of what he did as both composer and pianist becomes
increasingly evident as the book progresses. So, too, does the sense that Chopin’s music
has endured in large part because his artistic voice – though highly personal and utterly
distinctive – has had an extraordinary capacity to speak directly to generations of listen­
ers in a form that they hear, understand and respond to in their equally distinctive ways.
The synopses that follow flesh out the narrative that I have sketched while guiding
readers to the main arguments advanced by the respective authors. These notes should
be especially useful in respect of the four foreign-language items as well as essays that
perhaps should not be taken at face value, either because of the tendentious stance of a
given author (e.g. Davison) or because one or more points have been invalidated by more
recent research (e.g. Bronarski). I have also prepared these summaries with a ‘didactic’
purpose in mind, highlighting the most important features of Chopin’s work, output and
achievement in order to produce the rounded picture to which I referred earlier.

Historical perspectives

In the first essay, Jolanta Pekacz considers biography as a form of ‘cultural discourse’
embodying ‘political assumptions, values, and methodologies specific for the time and
place in which they originated’. She questions the historiographical principles that
informed Chopin biographies produced up to 1910, the centenary of his birth. In doing
so, she aims ‘to loosen the grip of nineteenth-century orthodoxy on our understanding of
Chopin and his music’ in particular by questioning an ‘essentialist view’ of the Polishness
of Chopin and his music, which was often seen as the incarnation of the Polish ‘soul’.
This formed the basis of attitudes towards Chopin which have endured in and beyond
Poland, among others ‘the conviction that foreigners could not comprehend Chopin’
when writing about him or when playing his works.
There are hints in Józef Chomiński’s essay of the essentialising tendency identified
by Pekacz; nevertheless, his study (which was originally presented at an international
congress marking the 150th anniversary of Chopin’s birth) conveys considerable know­
ledge in typically lapidary fashion. He begins by charting three stages of development
in Chopin’s oeuvre – the first ending in 1830, when the composer left Poland to pursue
his career as a composer-pianist; the second lasting from 1830 to 1839, marked by the
‘crystallisation’ of the composer’s unique style; and the third continuing until his death
 chopin 5

in 1849 and featuring a synthesis of earlier stylistic features and innovations that pointed
to future developments in European music. These periods are discussed first with regard
to the principal genres in which Chopin worked, and then in terms of key elements of the
composer’s style.
Mieczysław Tomaszewski similarly alludes to new directions in an essay that both
upholds and calls into question some of Pekacz’s conclusions. He ends by quoting a
letter written by Chopin in December 1831: ‘I so much wanted to feel, and partly suc­
ceeded in feeling, our national music’. Tomaszewski explores the origins of Chopin’s
style in ‘common’ (powszechne) song. After identifying three main types, he highlights
the ‘presence’ of common songs in the composer’s oeuvre, referring to harmonisations,
improvisations, variations, ‘transpositions’, quotations and reminiscences. He concludes
that further research would be needed to gauge the full influence of this repertoire on
Chopin and to test his own hypothesis that common song (along with national dance)
was ‘the original source of Chopin’s compositional output’.
This essay forms an intriguing backdrop to Barbara Milewski’s study of Chopin’s
mazurkas and ‘the myth of the folk’. She too points to the role of folk song in Poland’s
musical history as a result of efforts in the early nineteenth century to construct and
preserve ‘a national identity for Poland through its cultural heritage’. First, however, she
challenges a ‘myth that Chopin’s mazurkas are national works rooted in an authentic
Polish folk-music tradition’, attributing its origins to Liszt’s 1852 biography of Chopin.
Noting that Bartók questioned ‘Chopin’s direct exposure to the music of Polish peas­
ants’, she cites Chopin’s low opinion of contemporary arrangements of ‘native melodies
with decorative piano accompaniments’. Milewski concludes by explaining the prove­
nance in Chopin’s mazurkas of features which resulted not from ‘direct folk influence’
but from second-hand prototypes.
The essay by Ludwik Bronarski focuses on the A minor Mazurka dedicated to Émile
Gaillard, the publication of which was often assumed to be posthumous because for
years the earliest known edition dated from 1855. Bronarski pours scorn on biographers
such as Niecks who regarded the work as inferior because Chopin himself apparently
did not deem it worthy of publication – hence its late release. That the work appeared
in Chopin’s lifetime, however, is evident from a French edition cited by Bronarski, the
date of which has since been confirmed as 1841, thus well before Chopin’s death in 1849.
Bronarski follows a false if familiar path at the end: chiding Ganche for describing this
piece as Chopin’s last composition, he attributes that very status to the F minor Mazurka
brought out in 1855 by Julian Fontana in what amounted to a diplomatic transcription.
In fact, this too was not Chopin’s ‘dernière pensée musicale’, written on his deathbed as
alleged by Bronarski; Jeffrey Kallberg has convincingly argued that the unfinished piece
dates from several years earlier.
The next two essays consider Chopin’s first two Ballades from complementary van­
tage points rooted in 1830s and 1840s Paris. Karol Berger’s study portrays the ‘self-
understanding of the Polish emigration’ in terms of ‘return from exile’, a narrative played
out in the Ballade Op. 23 even if Chopin made no deliberate attempt to convey it in the
music (or indeed in the work’s ‘neutral’ title – see below). Berger raises the important
issue of how any music projects meaning, or rather, how its particular elements invite
us to hear meaning. Citing a long passage from George Sand, he alludes to what I have
6 chopin

called Chopin’s ‘aesthetic of suggestion’, the essence of which is that music implies rather
than states. Anselm Gerhard’s study focuses on the second Ballade, which unlike Op. 23
stems not from a (broadly) Viennese tradition of lyrical piano writing but rather from
contemporary French opera. He considers in particular a ‘narrative gesture’ (erzählender
Gestus) characteristic of the latter – especially the romance genre featured therein – along
with the ‘dramaturgy of contrast’ that informs much of the operatic repertoire. These
factors shaped Chopin’s conception of the second Ballade, he claims, evidenced in the
‘naïve’ opening and the stark changes of mood between successive sections. After dis­
cussing ‘musical dramaturgy’ as opposed to ‘narrative structure’, Gerhard concludes by
casting doubt on Schumann’s claims about the work’s singularity, arguing instead that it
emanated from contemporary dramatic music.
The final essay in this section – by James W. Davison – was brought out anonymously
in 1843 by Chopin’s chief London publisher, Wessel. It is commercial propaganda, over­
flowing with hyperbole but also dripping with irony. Yet there are interesting descrip­
tions of the works, along with taxonomies defined by the level of ‘force’ needed to play
them. Intriguingly, Davison’s comments just two years earlier in The Musical World
– founded by a rival publisher, Novello – spin a quite different line: whereas in 1841
Davison describes Chopin as an ‘expert doer of little things … sullied by extravagant
affectation, and a straining after originality’, this essay proclaims him as ‘one of the
greatest of living composers’. Note, in particular, Davison’s comments on the Ballades –
‘a species of song without words’, which ‘absolutely insist upon a finish of performance,
only attainable by severe study’. The Mazurkas, in contrast, are ‘delicate idealisms’,
‘dear confessions of a bashful mind’.

Source studies

John Rink’s essay surveys the primary source material before defining some prin­
ciples  and  procedures relevant to studying them. His intention is ‘to unlock the cre­
ative potential latent within these sources’ from the perspectives of both scholarship and
performance. Having defined another taxonomy (including sketches, other manuscripts,
proofs, first editions, later prints, and exemplars used in teaching), Rink emphasises the
need for ‘years of study and reflection’ when approaching the sources (which nowadays
are widely available online – see above), as well as ‘a keen awareness of the often conflict­
ing implications of what one discovers’ in them.
Wojciech Nowik focuses on the notational properties of Chopin’s autographs, espe­
cially their semiotic content. He argues that autographs serve two ‘main functions’:
‘receptive’ (presenting a ‘symbolic picture’ of the music’s creative evolution) and ‘infor­
mational’ (providing ‘the text of a given composition’). Although more theoretically
sophisticated work on musical materiality has been done since Nowik’s article appeared
in 1973, this is a thought-provoking and (for its day) pioneering contribution, yielding
a ‘methodological postulate’ whereby the ‘productive ambiguities’ that emerge when
analysing sketches in particular lead to aesthetic realisations about the creative process.
The ‘aesthetic of the sketch’ is considered further by Jeffrey Kallberg with regard to an
‘experimental’ Prelude in E-flat minor. Referring to another sketch for a notionally com­
 chopin 7

plete ‘work’ which was left unfinished, namely the F minor Mazurka referred to above,
Kallberg describes the ‘decidedly constrictive creative endeavour’ and the ‘intensely pri­
vate’ status that distinguish these attempts from improvisations, while also noting that
‘Chopin explicitly put the two sketches aside in favour of other, replacement works’. The
fact that neither of the sketches engaged with the ‘ordinary social contexts’ pertaining to
works does not mean that they ‘lack aesthetic value’ and should be ‘suppressed’: they do
have value, insists Kallberg, even if it is idiosyncratic.
Jan Ekier highlights both the uncertainties surrounding the chronology of Chopin’s
music and the strategies employed to determine the order of pieces when preparing the
Polish National Edition (Wydanie Narodowe). The task in question involved close study
of manuscript and printed sources, related correspondence and publication information
(e.g. publishers’ plate numbers and deposit registers), as well as the (often problematic)
application of stylistic criteria. Close analysis of Chopin’s notation proved to be revela­
tory; indeed, successive periods were discerned in the notation of both downward note
stems and arpeggiation signs in the autographs, thereby making it possible to date given
sources on the basis of how such elements were inscribed by Chopin.
The article by Charles Rosen proposed a radical solution to the awkward repeat of
the exposition in the first movement of the Sonata Op. 35. Although there are mistakes
in Rosen’s descriptions of the sources, he correctly observes that the repeat sign in the
German first edition (published in Leipzig, not Berlin, as Rosen asserts) was a misread­
ing on the part of the engraver; Chopin’s intention here – judging from the surviving
copy prepared by one of his students and the parallel first editions published in Paris
and London – was for the repetition to begin at bar 1, not bar 5. Rosen then shifts the
focus to ‘Chopin’s unsurpassed feeling for a long line’, which he argues is the source of
coherence in this movement. He ends by affirming the close relationship in Chopin’s
music between line and colour – that is, structure and sonority – which is one reason why
Chopin is ‘at once the most conservative and the most radical composer of his genera­
tion’ – a claim implicitly challenging Gerhard’s conclusion about Op. 38 (see above) and
echoing those of other authors represented in this volume.
Maurice Brown looks at a body of music which has generally received little atten­
tion: Chopin’s songs. By surveying a range of manuscripts as well as the posthumous
editions released in Berlin, Warsaw and elsewhere, he demonstrates that the editorial
history of the songs was drawn out and complex, as comparison with Grabowski and
Rink’s Annotated Catalogue of Chopin’s First Editions reveals (see also www.chopinon­
line.ac.uk/aco). Despite some inaccuracies, Brown’s study provides a useful overview
not only of this repertoire but also of the thorny issues surrounding the original and later
sources of Chopin’s music.
As noted earlier, Christophe Grabowski’s ‘history of a title page’ has been superseded
by the Annotated Catalogue, yet his article astutely traces the evolution of Wessel’s
Complete Collection series title page. With no fewer than three ‘presentational formats’
and several dozen versions across them, the series title pages to Wessel’s Chopin editions
demonstrate the entrepreneurial energy and prowess of the composer’s main English
publisher. (Compare Davison’s Essay, described previously.) The conclusions reached
by Grabowski mesh well with those of Ekier, confirming that the sometimes small-scale
changes between successive versions ‘provide invaluable clues as to the chronological
8 chopin

sequence of multiple impressions and play an important role in their identification’. So

too do the innumerable changes made by the likes of Wessel to the music text of later
versions.

Performance studies

The six essays on performance present a cross-section of one of the most important areas
of Chopin research, focusing on his performance aesthetic and technique, the history of
his music in performance, and how today’s pianists might approach the music. Although
Dana Gooley alludes to the richness of this research, his own approach is complemen­
tary: rather than study Chopin’s improvisations, pedagogy, aesthetic ideals and so forth,
Gooley instead assesses Chopin’s performances ‘against the background of the broader
field of cultural performance in his Parisian milieu’. Several questions are addressed,
concerning the cultural ‘work’ that Chopin’s performances carried out for his audiences,
and the social needs and agendas that his style ‘uniquely served’ in the Paris of his time.
Arguing that ‘Chopin’s music did something in the salons that no other artist or visitor
seemed able to do’, he considers Chopin’s ‘transcendence of instrumentality’ (whereby
his performance ‘unmasks a distinctly immaterial realm’); Chopin’s ‘reputation as the
poet of the piano’, which ‘went against the grain of the prevailing image of the poet as a
performer’; and the ‘novel bond between nobles and artists’ in Chopin’s favoured milieu
– the salon – in which his physical presence was ‘essential’ even though his ‘performing
manner seemed to dissolve his body and soul into pure music’. In these ways, Chopin’s
‘performances did cultural work outside the cultural mainstream and against the inertia
of bourgeois modernity’.
The next contribution is taken from James Methuen-Campbell’s 1981 book Chopin
Playing. The passage in question is an example of the more mainstream research cited
in Gooley’s essay, focusing on Chopin’s musical development in Poland, the main fea­
tures of his playing (including rubato, cantabile and ‘communicativeness’), the perfor­
mance approaches of select contemporaries (among them Liszt, Alkan, Clara Wieck
and Henselt), and finally his pupils (e.g. Filtsch, Gutmann, Mikuli and Koczalski). This
accessible overview hints at the extensive research embodied in Eigeldinger’s Chopin vu
par ses élèves and Chopin et Pleyel, the latter of which is a more ambitious study than
the eponymous article published by Eigeldinger in 2001, which nevertheless provides a
fascinating summary (in English) of the ‘distinctive mechanical and timbral qualities’ of
the Pleyel pianos that seem ‘to have been the medium par excellence for Chopin pianist,
teacher, and composer, from his earliest days in Paris until his death in 1849’.
David Rowland investigates Chopin’s tempo rubato in the context of eighteenth- and
nineteenth-century performance practices. He begins by defining broad categories of
rubato, including a general rhythmic freedom, a non-synchronised rubato characteristic
of Mozart among others, and a more ‘expressive’, liberal flexibility that evolved from the
early 1800s. Chopin himself used three types of rubato: namely, the non-synchronised
variety, deriving from the Italian Baroque tradition; a ‘national’ rubato style emanating
from the mazurka genre in particular (whereby bar lengths remained steady, with rhyth­
mic deformations therein); and ‘agogic modifications’ of varying magnitude. Rowland
 chopin 9

cites Chopin’s own comments as well as those of witnesses such as Henry Chorley and
Carl Mikuli. He concludes that although Chopin kept abreast ‘of the latest develop­
ments’, including a freer treatment of rhythm in performance, his rhythmic flexibility
was often contained ‘within the framework of a strict bar-length or beat’, a distinctive
combination which helped to guarantee ‘his unique place in the history of performance’.
It is hard to square that ‘freer treatment’ with the observation of his student Mikuli
in 1879 that ‘in keeping time Chopin was inflexible, and many will be surprised to learn
that the metronome never left his piano’. No doubt intended as a corrective to the arbi­
trary licence that seems to have characterised performances of Chopin’s music at the
time, this observation could have served as a point of departure for Thomas Higgins’
‘Tempo and character in Chopin’, although oddly it does not feature in the article.
Higgins does, however, explore the presence and meaning of tempo markings and, in
particular, metronomic indications in Chopin’s scores (which were included up to the
Nocturnes Op. 27). Some of his comparisons between multiple sources for given works
are instructive, although others are problematic, including his interpretation of the three
discrepant tempo/character indications in the Etude Op.  10 No. 3. Whereas Higgins
attempts to justify all three (‘Vivace’ in a sketch, ‘Vivace ma non troppo’ in a complete
autograph manuscript, and ‘Lento ma non troppo’ in the first editions), I myself see these
as different ways of expressing the same basic tempo – the ‘Vivace’ being relevant when
counting in four (the time signature is 2/4), the ‘Lento’ when counting in two (see John
Rink, ‘Chopin’s study in syncopation’, in Bach to Brahms: Essays on Musical Design and
Structure, ed. David Beach and Yosef Goldenberg (Rochester: University of Rochester
Press, 2015), 132–42). Higgins makes the important point that most of Chopin’s tempos
– however fast they seem ‘for our pulses’ – are ‘entirely credible when combined with
the evidence provided by the sound of the Pleyel grand, and an imitation of the soft and
slender tone which marked Chopin’s performances’. Adaptation in respect of tempo and
other performance features may indeed be warranted when playing Chopin on a modern
instrument.
Sandra Rosenblum refers to such adaptation as a kind of ‘translation’ in her essay on
Chopin’s pedal indications, which she regards as ‘enigmatic’ not least because of certain
‘patterns that help to answer some questions and that raise others – a situation typical
of many aspects of Chopin research’. Like Higgins, Rosenblum comments that under­
standing the Pleyel pianos ‘for which Chopin had a strong predilection … is critical to
understanding the performance of his music’. Her article – which consists of a ‘careful
comparative study’ of multiple sources for select pieces – claims that ‘in performances
today the subtlety and astonishing precision of [Chopin’s pedal] indications are often
ignored’: not only did Chopin seek contrast ‘between pedaled and unpedaled sound’, but
he used different indications in similar passages ‘to shift emphasis’ while also engaging in
‘long-range planning and development of pedal effects’.
A quite different approach is taken in Nicholas Cook’s ‘performance analysis’ of some
of Chopin’s mazurkas. Cook employs computational techniques and, in particular, the
software Sonic Visualiser (www.sonicvisualiser.org) to study the tempo, dynamics and
articulation properties of a range of recorded performances, with the intention of show­
ing that the music’s structure emerges from rather than simply being reproduced in
those performances. This emergence is demonstrated in a series of graphs and diagrams
10 chopin

which are revealing if necessarily selective: indeed, Cook observes that ‘all objectively
generated visualisations … leave out most of the information about the performance, yet
if well chosen can bring critical aspects of it into focus’. However true this is of Cook’s
own study, one must remember in respect of ‘performance analysis’ more generally that
although it is easy to gather data using such software, skilful, subtle interpretation of the
resultant data remains as challenging as ever.

Analysis, aesthetics, reception

The ten essays in this section – which is the longest in the book – include close analyses
of ‘the music itself’ (as embodied in the score, rather than in performance) framed within
broader contextual studies exploring historical, theoretical and aesthetic issues relevant
to Chopin’s music. Jim Samson’s article on ‘Chopin and genre’ begins by noting that
‘genre is a more permeable concept than either style or form, because a social element
participates in its definition, and not just in its determination’. The concept goes well
beyond the use of titles, although the latter can play a significant role in both marking
and masking generic identities. According to Samson, Chopin ‘did not select genre titles
arbitrarily or use them loosely in his mature music. They had specific, though not nec­
essarily conventional, generic meanings, established through an internal consistency in
their application.’ He provides a taxonomy of sorts, presents a case study on the four
Impromptus, and then discusses generic codes, focusing on the powerful role of ‘generic
allusions’. In Chopin’s major extended works, one finds an ‘intersection of … pluralist
tendencies and the integrative tendencies which issue, at least in part, from a controlling
genre’. In his ‘art of synthesis and integration’, Chopin’s ‘discreet counterpoint of genres’
– as much as ‘its harmonic adventure’ – paves the way for ‘a music of the future’.
Zofia Chechlińska draws upon Samson’s conclusions in her investigation of ‘selected
problems’ in the scherzo genre. She first identifies how ‘scherzos were understood within
[Chopin’s] epoch’, citing contemporary definitions that may explain certain features
of the scherzo movements in Chopin’s sonatas as well as his independent scherzos.
At the same time, the exercise reveals distinctive properties of the latter. For example,
Chechlińska observes that ‘all four independent scherzos include similar gestures made
up of contrasting motifs separated either by silence or by long sustained sounds’. These
are ‘not typical of other Chopin works’ in their profusion and structural significance.
Indeed, a ‘play of contrasts’ is at the heart of Chopin’s scherzos, in which elements of
‘surprise and the unexpected’ constitute ‘the specific defining features’ of the genre in
Chopin’s hands.
John Rink’s survey of analytical writing on Chopin’s Ballades ‘allows one not only
to determine how the four works have been variously understood in the literature,
but also to draw conclusions about how analysis has evolved as a discipline’ since the
pieces were written. Three phases are identified: the first was highly subjective in nature,
largely consisting of narratives and extramusical programmes constructed by individual
authors; the second yielded putatively objective structuralist assessments of the Ballades’
‘purely musical values’; and the third synthesised certain tendencies from the earlier
stages, ‘whereby emotion and meaning are defined not simply with regard to inferred
 chopin 11

programmatic/poetic content or supposedly innate, autonomous musical logic, but in a

comparatively rigorous, theoretically grounded hermeneutics linking musical phenom­
ena to particular expressive effects’. Examples from these phases are successively cri­
tiqued, leading to conclusions about the dialectical internal design of each of the pieces
(compare Lawrence Kramer’s essay, described below) and about the quite different dia­
lectic that characterises their reception history. The essay ends by considering possible
developments beyond the ‘reconciliation’ referred to above.
The next four essays analyse aspects of Chopin’s compositional style such as form and
‘design’ (Tovey), tonality (Salzer), rhythm (Belotti), and phrase structure (Rothstein).
Donald Francis Tovey alludes to Chopin’s ostensibly limited control over ‘forms for
which his training had given him no help’. Although he acknowledges the mastery of
a number of mature works, the concertos ‘need more indulgence’. Tovey describes the
tonal plan of the first movement of Op. 11 as ‘suicidal’; in contrast, Op. 21, ‘though not a
powerfully organized work, has no fatal flaw; and its style is the perfection of ornament’.
His analysis of the Maestoso in the F minor Concerto highlights its main themes, their
‘accessories’, and thematic development, and he refers to the retention of the mediant
A-flat major for the recapitulation of the second theme as ‘a singular but not unsuc­
cessful experiment in form’. For the second movement he presents a reduction of the
main theme ‘divested of its ornaments’, suggesting that the ‘mass of detail’ in the score is
difficult for listeners and, presumably, for performers to ‘bring into shape as intelligible
phrases’.
Felix Salzer similarly distinguishes between surface and more remote structural levels
in his exploration of ‘the scope of tonality’ in Chopin’s F major Etude Op. 25 No. 3. First
he presents a digest of conventional ways of understanding the bold B major section at
the centre of the work. Noting that most commentators regard this as a mid-point in a
putatively symmetrical tonal scheme (F–B–F), Salzer offers a contrasting interpretation
based on the Schenkerian tonic–dominant–tonic framework that consistently under­
lies Chopin’s music (hence the latter’s inclusion in Schenker’s pantheon of ‘German’
masters). Salzer elegantly demonstrates that the middle section prolongs the dominant
through a descending circle-of-fifths progression outlining a whole-tone scale; halfway
down, when F-sharp major is reached, Chopin interrupts the progression with an inter­
polation in B major that reinstates the opening material. The progression is then resumed
(returning to F-sharp major but as V of B major) before the dominant C major is restated
prior to the ‘real’ recapitulation. Salzer concludes that structural security at a remote
level allows Chopin to be ‘adventurous with the foreground’s possibilities of surprise
and deception’ – a point recalling other authors’ observations about the combination of
control and freedom at the heart of Chopin’s compositional style.
A similar argument runs through Gastone Belotti’s extended study of rhythmic asym­
metry in Chopin’s mazurkas. Early on, Belotti refers to the challenges that arise when
playing Chopin’s music both in general and, especially, ‘alla Chopin’. These have to
do with the subtlety of its rhythmic material, especially an ‘essential’ rubato (which, in
Belotti’s view, can assume a structuring role in Chopin performance). Citing the first-
hand accounts of musicians who heard Chopin play, he embarks on an analytical survey
of the mazurkas, with particular attention to their characteristic second- and third-beat
deformations (i.e. agogic accents). He argues that these reflect the influence of folkloric
12 chopin

models, which he refers to not in the suspect manner challenged by Milewski (see above)
but with due circumspection. He nevertheless claims that Chopin was ‘the first musical
artist to be so deeply interested in popular music’, the ‘spirit’ of which was assimilated
into his compositions with the potential to shape the performance thereof.
William Rothstein looks at higher-level rhythmic shape – that is, ‘phrase rhythm’ – in
Chopin’s music in an attempt to demonstrate how the ‘tyranny of the four-bar phrase’
was overcome in select pieces from 1830 to 1846. Whereas certain earlier works have a
regular phrase structure, shape is conferred and momentum created through a range
of melodic, harmonic and other devices in the more mature repertoire. For example,
Rothstein claims that ‘no [other] composer so frequently slurred against the phrase
structure of his music, rather than in support of that structure’. In a ‘middle period’ from
c.1835 onward, Chopin ‘seems most addicted to peculiarities of articulation as a means
of transcending phrase and sub-phrase boundaries’, while in later repertoire, ‘idiosyn­
cratic and sometimes frankly puzzling slurs recede somewhat in importance, to be largely
replaced by more organic compositional procedures’. These features are demonstrated
in successive brief analyses, leading to an extended discussion of the ‘endless melody’ in
some of Chopin’s post-1840 works. Intriguingly, Rothstein’s ultimate conclusion recalls
those of other authors included in this collection, among them Chomiński, Rowland,
Samson and Belotti: ‘by 1845 the quantitative accumulation of rhythmic devices pro­
duced a qualitative change’, one pointing ‘forward to the dissolution of those same
conventions that still form the foundation of Chopin’s rhythmic technique’. Here again
we find evidence of the perpetuation of norms on the one hand and the radical reinter­
pretation and purposeful undermining of those norms on the other.
In his ‘interpretation’ of the Prelude Op.  45 – an independent prelude distinct in
nature from the twenty-four pieces in Op. 28 – Jean-Jacques Eigeldinger proposes pos­
sible ‘aesthetic parallels’ between the work and a long text from 1841 written by George
Sand recounting a conversation on line and colour in art between Eugène Delacroix and
Sand’s son Maurice at which Chopin was present; his own contribution took the form of
an improvisation notable for its ‘soft colours’ and ‘suave modulations’, and achieving a
resonance described by Sand as ‘la note bleue’. Although Eigeldinger does not claim that
Chopin’s outpouring was the basis of the eventual Op. 45, he does regard the Prelude as a
‘stylised improvisation’ which he assesses ‘against a possible background of the tradition
of modulating preludes exemplified by Beethoven’. His analysis aims to demonstrate
both this connection and the ‘structural logic’ (intelligence du plan) discerned by Maurice
Bourges as early as 1842. As for the role of line and colour in Chopin’s music, it is inter­
esting to compare the discussion here with that of Charles Rosen (see above).
Lawrence Kramer’s analysis of the A minor Prelude Op. 28 No. 2 is an avowedly ‘criti­
cal reading’. He proposes that the piece can be heard ‘as a many-sided study in dialectic,
taking the term in the precise sense of dynamic oppositions that involve a reversal of
meaning or value’ (compare Rink’s essay on the Ballades). Like Eigeldinger’s ‘interpre­
tation’, Kramer’s study draws heavily on contexts, approaching the work against a back­
drop of Romantic poetry in particular and Romantic aesthetics in general. For example,
he portrays ‘the unresolvable clash between melody and harmony’ in the Prelude as
‘Chopin’s way of staging a larger dialectic between Classical authority and Romantic
innovation’. Kramer asks: ‘what motivates this web of dialectical reversals, this self-
 chopin 13

interfering mesh of ironies?’ The answer lies not only in the location of the piece within
the set but also in the internal workings of the music, in which respect ‘Chopin seems to
be pondering the relationship between the listener, conceived of as an active subject, and
the complex movement of musical time, which is to say of time as harmonized’. In short,
the music’s ‘dialectical design’ is ‘meant to relocate the focus of harmonic action from the
object to the subject’. All of this suggests that Chopin’s Prelude ‘enters into an extensive
Romantic nexus of representational practices, an ever-expanding network of affiliations
that criticism constitutes as the discourse of Romanticism’.
Rose Rosengard Subotnik’s essay similarly explores the tensions between autonomy
and contingency in music. She perceives ‘no fatal contradiction between the acceptance
of autonomy, in the sense of wholeness, as one sort of paradigm for interpreting struc­
ture and the rejection of autonomy as an epistemological ideology’; rather, ‘such con­
flicting concepts’ can be viewed ‘as part of a dialectic that exists not only in art but also
in life’. Her ‘grounding’ of Chopin is based on this premise. Although ‘his music seems to
satisfy criteria for autonomy on a number of levels’, its ‘sensuous distinctiveness … must
give us pause’. Accordingly, she refers to the ‘sensuous identity’ of the A minor Prelude
as being ‘so powerful that it threatens to overwhelm … Chopin’s compositional identity
itself’. In general, we ‘draw meaning’ from Chopin’s music ‘not only from its inner struc­
ture but also from its sensuous qualities and from our knowledge of (and reaction to)
the particular context in which it originated’. Thus, ‘what this music does primarily is to
recognize the reality of the contingent’, and to demonstrate this she surveys a number of
pieces. Chopin’s ‘achievement’, says Subotnik, marked a shift away from metaphysical
beliefs and ‘from confidence in the universal rationality of science’. What would emerge
instead was a ‘fragmented, essentially aesthetic view of human reality’. She ends by sug­
gesting that

perhaps the reason that Chopin’s music succeeded so brilliantly in its own society
and continues to have meaning for ours is that it was able to project something
about the human condition in a civilization which was his and is to some extent,
despite many differences, still ours.

This is because ‘Chopin’s music functions as an archetype of the patterns out of which
Western society makes sense of its experience’.

Epilogue

Although Subotnik’s assessment of Chopin’s achievement could serve as the culmina­

tion of this volume, that task is best left to Frederick Niecks, whose magisterial biogra­
phy of the composer from 1888 (revised 1902) remains the most important of its kind.
Even if his claims about the mismatch between Chopin’s ‘body and soul’ and about his
‘lack of physical vigour’ smack of the myths that the likes of Pekacz and Milewski have
challenged, it cannot be denied that Niecks had extensive contact with those who knew
Chopin personally, and thus it is more likely than not that his claims reflected the ‘real’
Chopin rather than a fanciful latter-day fiction. Moreover, his assertions about Chopin’s
14 chopin

‘importance for the development of the art’ ring true. Anticipating the observations of
Subotnik, Niecks comments, ‘Of universality there was not a trace in [Chopin], but his
individuality is one of the most interesting.’ He continues:

The artistico-historical importance of Chopin lies in his having added new elements
to music, originated means of expression for the communication and discrimina­
tion of moods and emotions, and shades of moods and emotions, that up to his
time had belonged to the realm of the unuttered and unutterable.

Niecks concludes that to understand Chopin’s music, ‘we must have something of the
author’s nature, something of his delicate sensibility and romantic imagination’; more­
over, we must ‘know something of his life and country’.

The essays in this volume may be of use in these respects if not others, even if insight into
the ‘real’ Chopin remains beyond our grasp. Indeed, the best we can hope for is deeper if
imperfect knowledge of who he was, of the music he wrote, and of its ineffable yet unde­
niable effect on us as we listen to it over and over again. That in itself will require further
reflection and research beyond the confines of this book, which nevertheless will provide
a springboard into the ongoing investigations that each reader may now be inspired to
pursue.
 Part I:

Historical perspectives

The Nation’s Property: Chopin’s

Biography as a Cultural Discourse

Jolanta T. Pekacz

If you want to be of service to your homeland, leave it, stay away from it long, longer, as
long as you can . . .1
Karol Kurpiński to Chopin (1830). Adolf Nowaczyński,
Młodość Chopina [Chopin’s youth] (1939).

The veracity of the many biographies of Fryderyk Chopin published since his death
in 1849 has often been questioned on the grounds of their factual errors and interpreta­
tive inaccuracies resulting from these errors.2 However, these biographies have rarely
been analyzed as cultural products embodying political assumptions, values, and
methodologies specific for the time and place in which they originated; it has been
overlooked that biographies are documents that tell us as much about their authors as
about their subjects.3 As a result, new or corrected evidence continues to be presented
within the nineteenth-century paradigm of biography writing because a scrutiny
aimed at correcting factual errors can not by itself seriously affect the assumptions of

1
“Chcesz się ojczyźnie przysłużyć, opuść ją, omijaj długo, dłużej, jak najdłużej możesz
. . .” Unless otherwise noted, all translations are my own.
2
The most comprehensive attempt at a factual scrutiny of Chopin’s biographies published
prior to 1967 is Adam Harasowski’s The Skein of Legends Around Chopin (Glasgow: William
Maclellan, 1967). Harasowski targeted more than forty biographies, biographical essays, and
collections of articles and poetry about Chopin, beginning with Franz Liszt’s essay of 1852,
through biographies by Louis Enault, Marceli Antoni Szulc, Maurycy Karasowski, Frederick
Niecks, James Huneker, Guy de Pourtalès, Edouard Ganche, Alfred Cortot, and a number of
lesser known authors. In more recent times, nearly every new biography of Chopin adds its
own refutation of the previous factual errors or misinterpretations.
3
The historically contingent character of Chopin’s biographies is sometimes addressed in
the context of the reception of his music. See, for example, Irena Poniatowska, “Historyczne
przemiany recepcji Chopina,” [Historical transformations of Chopin’s reception] in Chopin
– w poszukiwaniu wspólnego języka. Materiał z konferencji [Chopin – in search of a common
language. Conference proceedings] (Warsaw: Narodowy Instytut Fryderyka Chopina, 2001),
37–52; Mieczysław Tomaszewski, Chopin: człowiek, dzieło, rezonans [Chopin: a man, his
work, and its reception] (Poznań: Podsiedlik-Raniowski, 1995), esp. section III: “Rezonans
twórczości. Przez lata i kraje,” 735–807.
43
18 chopin

44 Musical Biography

traditional biography and its narrative plots.4 And since many aspects of Chopin’s
biography continue to be assumed after the paradigm set by nineteenth-century biog­
raphers, it keeps shaping the direction and agenda of biographical inquiry.
The lack of analyses of cultural and methodological assumptions of earlier biog­
raphers can be partly explained by the difficulties involved in such analyses, as
these biographers do not state, let alone discuss, critical points of view from which
their works emanate, and thus create an impression of being “objective” accounts
of Chopin’s life and career. And despite a thorough criticism to which nineteenth-
century historiographical assumptions have been subjected, a familiar tendency
toward an objectification of biographical discourse can be found in present-day
biographies whose authors – following their nineteenth-century predecessors –
attempt to establish their credibility by declaring their honesty and truthfulness to
sources, and by emphasizing their minimal interpretative input.
Recent theoretical developments in the humanities encourage us to reconsider
the premises of the traditional biography and open up new avenues for interpreta­
tion.5 The proposition that a biography should be scrutinized in the same way as any
other historical source is now accepted among historians, just as is the perception
of a historian as an active agent in biography writing, rather than a transmitter of
eternal verities. The awareness of the specific political agenda of nineteenth-century
biographers, in particular, has a potentially liberating impact on present-day musi­
cologists as a prerequisite for a fundamental reconsideration of the old interpreta­
tions in musical biographies. In the present essay I examine, in the context of
Chopin’s biographies and biographical essays, one of the fundamental tenets of the
traditional biography – an assumption of the existence of a coherent, essentially
unchanging and unitary self of a biographical subject – and demonstrate that
rethinking this assumption along the lines proposed by recent theoretical thought in

4
Harasowski’s The Skein of Legends around Chopin demonstrates the limitations of
fixing the factual errors in biographies while at the same time leaving untouched the cultural
and political assumptions that informed these biographies. Harasowski himself represented
a specific political position which he never bothered to state, let alone justify, and which
informed his evaluation of the Chopin biographies. In effect, he treated as erroneous inter­
pretations that resulted from political perspectives different from his own. For example, Har­
asowski singled out for criticism Jerzy Broszkiewicz’s biography of Chopin, Kształt miłości
[The shape of love], first published in 1950, on the grounds that it was “a forerunner of
Marxism-Leninism,” but the fact that other biographies he discussed could be questioned on
the grounds of political bias of a different kind appears not to have occurred to him. Nation­
alistic bias, in particular, did not bother Harasowski. In reality, the amount of fantasy in Bro­
szkiewicz’s biography is comparable to other biographies Harasowski scrutinized, but by
making it a product of a hostile political system, he created an impression of objectivity and
purity of intention of the other biographies.
5
I discuss the nineteenth-century paradigm of biography writing, and the ways in which
it should be reconsidered in view of the recent theoretical and methodological developments
in the humanities, in Jolanta T. Pekacz, “Memory, History and Meaning: Musical Biography
and Its Discontents,” Journal of Musicological Research 23, no. 1 (2004): 39–80.
 chopin 19

Chopin’s Biography as a Cultural Discourse 45

the humanities, helps to loosen the grip of nineteenth-century orthodoxy on our

understanding of Chopin and his music, and leads to a more illuminating, more
complex and, eventually, more comprehensive understanding of both.6

The traditional biography assumed the existence of a unified self of a biographical

subject; a core personality that can be “discovered” if only the biographer digs deep
and long enough. This reflected a belief in the essential personality that unfolds in
time, pretty much regardless of the circumstances. And ever since art began to be
viewed in the nineteenth century as a self-expression, biographers have been looking
for a single psychic conflict that can “unlock” the subject’s life and oeuvre. This
approach has been criticized in recent years on the grounds that biography cannot
aim at constructing a unified individual because there is no such thing. Instead, it
has been argued that the perception of the self as unified and coherent is historically
located and can be identified with an enterprise of moral and political renewal that
became known as the “Enlightenment project,” grounded in a belief in a human
agent with a sense of inwardness, freedom, individuality, and embeddedness in
nature. There is, therefore, no essential “self” of the subject that can be discovered
by the biographer. The self is shaped ideologically by its relationship to significant
others, beginning with the family, and by external forces, such as the political
upheavals and economic depressions surrounding it. The self becomes a nexus of
floating discourses which enter it from without, yet it is not controlled by any one
paradigmatic discourse.7 The self, in other words, is culturally constructed.8 Conse­
quently, identities are viewed as multiple and mobile, constructed of current discur­
sive practices, through attributes recognized as meaningful in a particular cultural
setting, constantly in the making in response to outside developments, based on
cultural expectations rather than on any essential characteristics.

6
About the constructed nature of the self and its implication for biography writing, see
ibid., 66–73. The present essay is an extended discussion of the example of Chopin’s complex
identity formation which I gave in that article.
7
See, for example, Charles Taylor, Sources of the Self: The Making of the Modern Identity
(Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1989), 305.
8
It does not mean, though, that the self is necessarily predetermined, incapable of inde­
pendent and innovative action leading to political, social, or artistic change. For example,
Jerrold Seigel views human selves as “heterogeneous entities, more or less stable compounds
of elements that derive from biology, social relations, and their own psychic and mental
activity.” It is the third dimension of selfhood that provides whatever independence human
beings may achieve from physical forces and social relationships. Different ways of concep­
tualizing this third dimension of the self determine whether the self that emerges is character­
ized by complete freedom, total determinism, or a simultaneous potential for both. Jerrold
Seigel, “Problematizing the Self,” in Beyond the Cultural Turn. New Dimensions in the Study
of Society and Culture, ed. Victoria E. Bonnell and Lynn Hunt (Berkeley and Los Angeles:
University of California Press, 1999), 284, 289.
20 chopin

46 Musical Biography

This perception implies that the goals of biography no longer include either the
discovery of a unified self, or a psychic conflict that can unlock the whole personality
of a subject and offer the key to understand his/her creative output. Instead, biogra­
phers aim at explaining how the identities were fashioned and constructed in given
circumstances and how they were negotiated. The subject becomes part of his/her
context, not an external figure standing above it. In the case of Chopin, this implies a
thorough revision of historically contingent interpretative schemes that originated in
the nineteenth century and survived until this day, especially those elaborated and
perpetuated by the Polish authors who typically ignored the enormous challenge
Chopin faced when he moved from Warsaw to the French capital, minimized the
impact of his exile experience, and attempted to appropriate him exclusively as a
product of Polish culture and his music as an incarnation of pure “Polishness.” For
although the rhetoric of nationality permeated the language of musical criticism all
over Europe from the early nineteenth century as a way of dealing with difference,9 I
argue that Polish authors elaborated the nationalistic rhetoric in a specific manner to
create an essentialist view of the Polishness of Chopin and his music. This interpreta­
tion was a product both of traditional premises of biography and of particular political
stakes explicable in the context of the nineteenth-century political situation of Poland
partitioned among Austria, Prussia, and Russia, and lacking an independent state­
hood. This, of course, is not to question that Chopin was Polish by birth and that he
identified himself with his birthplace or with things Polish. Rather, it is to highlight
the complex process of identity formation in his case, especially the impact of his
voluntary exile, and to point out the constructed and therefore changing character of
the notions such as “national” composer and “nationality” in music – as opposed to
an essentialist view assuming the existence of a fixed and “objective” ethnic or
melodic-rhythmic substance of these notions.10
The traditional interpretative scheme in which Chopin has been fashioned by
Polish authors assumed that he arrived in Paris in 1831 at the age of twenty-one,
fully formed, both personally and artistically (the latter reinforced by his refusal to
take piano lessons from Friedrich Kalkbrenner, one of the most reputable Parisian

9
See, for example, the first biographical essay on Chopin published by Franz Liszt in
1852 and written partly by his Polish-born mistress, the princess Caroline Sayn-Wittgenstein.
Fantastic nationalistic elaborations included in the essay are typically attributed to the prin­
cess, who further expanded them in the second edition of Liszt’s essay published in 1879.
See, Edward N. Waters, “Chopin by Liszt,” The Musical Quarterly 47, no. 2 (1961): 170–94.
About the nineteenth-century belief in the “primacy” of the “national spirit,” see, for example,
Carl Dahlhaus, Nineteenth-Century Music, trans. J. Bradford Robinson (Berkeley and Los
Angeles: University of California Press, 1989), 37.
10
A survey of biographic and musical criteria nineteenth- and early twentieth-century
Polish authors used to define Chopin’s “Polishness” can be found in Maja Trochimczyk,
“Chopin and the ‘Polish Race’: On National Ideologies and the Chopin Reception,” in The
Age of Chopin. Interdisciplinary Inquiries, ed. Halina Goldberg (Bloomington and Indiana­
polis: Indiana University Press, 2004), 278–313.
 chopin 21

Chopin’s Biography as a Cultural Discourse 47

piano teachers); that his formative years in Poland determined his personality and
served as a “repository” of mental and psychological resources for the rest of his
life; and that the eighteen years of his French experience had a negligible effect on
his life, if any at all.11 Chopin was thus largely immune to the influence of the
French culture and “reproduced” himself artistically and personally by drawing
exclusively from the resources he owed to Poland. The change of the country,
culture, customs, and language was merely an opportunity for him to continue, in
more favorable cultural and material circumstances, the development that would
otherwise inevitably unfold itself in Warsaw or elsewhere. In effect, his musical
oeuvre formed an organic unity, his life was an undisrupted realization of his per­
sonality, and, most importantly, his Polishness was a leitmotif in his life revealing
itself on both personal and artistic levels. The obvious disruption in Chopin’s life in
1830, when he left Poland never to return, is problematized as a loss of his original
homeland, not as a gain of a new one; that is, in the context of Poland, not of France.
This way, Poland remains the only point of reference; Chopin’s French experience
does not need to be accounted for, as accidental and largely inconsequential in a
bigger scheme of things. And the fact that many Polish exiles after the collapse of
the November Uprising settled in France made it easier to marginalize the role of
France in Chopin’s life – after all, he was among the Poles all his life, even though
physically in Paris. Hence the ideas – none of them supported by sufficient evi­
dence – that Chopin in Paris preferred Polish company to French,12 that the Poles in
Paris through their connections made it possible for Chopin to gain entry to the
cosmopolitan salons of the French capital,13 and that, although Chopin made his
money primarily by giving piano lessons to wealthy Parisian pupils, he allegedly
preferred his Polish pupils.14

11
Early examples of this interpretation include essays by Antoni Woykowski (Gazeta
Polska no. 258, 1849) and Józef Sikorski (“Wspomnienie Chopina” [A recollection of
Chopin] Biblioteka Warszawska vol. 4, 1849). The interpretation was later taken for granted
by nearly every author writing about Chopin, including Stanisław Tarnowski, Marceli Antoni
Szulc, Maurycy Karasowski, Stanisław Przybyszewski, Ferdynand Hoesick, Zdzisław
Jachimecki, and Karol Szymanowski, whose works I discuss in this essay.
12
See, for example, Ferdynand Hoesick, Słowacki i Chopin. Z zagadnień twórczości
[Słowacki and Chopin. On problems of creativity], 2 vols. (Warsaw: Trzaska, Evert i Michal­
ski, 1932), 2:190.
13
For example, Marceli Antoni Szulc, Fryderyk Chopin i utwory jego muzyczne [Fry­
deryk Chopin and his musical works] (1873; Cracow: Polskie Wydawnictwo Muzyczne,
1986), 82–83.
14
Maurycy Karasowski, in his biography of Chopin originally published in German in
1877 (and in Polish in 1882), claimed that Chopin preferred his Polish pupils to his French
ones. Moritz Karasowski, Frederic Chopin. His Life and Letters, 3rd ed., trans. Emily Hill
(Westport, Conn.: Greenwood Press, 1938), 382. This view is dubious for a number of
reasons and not corroborated by Chopin’s Polish pupils themselves. Zofia Rosengardt, for
example, was among those Polish pupils of Chopin who did not experience his preference.
Instead, she suggested a different line of division among Chopin’s pupils and claimed he
22 chopin

48 Musical Biography

Further along the same lines, Chopin’s biographers typically emphasize an alle­
gedly rapid and thorough Polonization of his father Nicholas, who was French and
came to Poland at the age of seventeen, while at the same time they do not admit
any possibility that Fryderyk could have experienced a similar process of accultura­
tion when he arrived in France at the age of twenty-one.15 While for Polish authors
the Polonization of foreigners arriving in Poland has been typically an unproblem­
atically positive process, a Pole embracing a foreign culture and language could be
accused of betrayal of Poland. And an artist who made a name for himself, whether
at home or abroad, became a national and public property.16 Nicholas’s thorough
Polonization was therefore important because it implied that he did not exert any
significant French influence on his son; and even though Nicholas was a teacher of
the French language, he never made Fryderyk master it.17 A possibility that
Nicholas’s Polonization could have been a matter of convenience for him, not a
matter of conviction and emotional identification, does not enter the discourse of
Chopin’s national background.
Nicholas’s attitude to his adopted homeland has never been a subject of thorough
research but the available sources suggest a more complex story than the one typi­
cally told. For example, Maurycy Karasowski writes that, before settling down in
Poland for life in 1806, Nicholas attempted to leave Poland twice and return to

could be quite rude to his non-aristocratic pupils. See, Władysław Hordyński, “Zofia Rosen­
gardt, uczennica Chopina i jej pamiętnik,” Roczniki Biblioteczne vol. 1, no. 4 (1961):
139–58.
15
In order to remove any doubt as to the purity of Chopin’s Polishness, some biographers
claimed that Chopin father’s ancestry was Polish (for example, Henryk Opieński, whose
Chopin was first published in 1909, and an enlarged version in 1925). According to this
version, now entirely discarded, a Polish courtier named Szop was a member of the retinue
of the Polish king Stanisław Leszczyński (1677–1766) who was also the Duke of Lorraine,
and came with the king to France and settled in Nancy. The possessive form of the name
Szop is Szopen and it corresponds phonetically to the French sound of the name Chopin. See
Nicolas Slonimsky, “Chopiniana: Some Materials for a Biography,” Musical Quarterly 34,
no. 4 (1948): 469.
16
The extent of such appropriations is illustrated by an attack that Polish writer Eliza
Orzeszkowa launched in 1899 against her famous compatriot Joseph Conrad, accusing him
of betraying his country for money. Conrad’s emigration to England, his writing in the
English language, and his alleged affluence was, for Orzeszkowa, tantamount to the betrayal
of a Poland that needed talented, let alone famous, people. It did not matter to her that
Conrad emigrated to be a seaman, not a writer, when he was less than seventeen and as yet
unaware of his literary talent, and that at the time she made the attack he was not wealthy.
See, Frederick R. Karl, Joseph Conrad: The Three Lives. A Biography (New York: Farrar,
Strauss & Giroux, 1967), 9–15.
17
It was vital to prove Fryderyk’s Polishness because only Polish Chopin could be a legit­
imate heir of the Polish “national spirit.” See Dahlhaus’s discussion on the change from
nationalism in music as a stylistic option available to all composers regardless of their ethnic
origin prior to the nineteenth century, into nineteenth-century nationalism in music under­
stood as a heritage of the “national spirit.” Nineteenth-Century Music, 39–40.
 chopin 23

Chopin’s Biography as a Cultural Discourse 49

France – in 1793, when he lost his tutor’s job with Mme Łączyńska, and in 1794,
after the collapse of the Kościuszko Uprising – but each time a serious illness pre­
vented him from realizing his plans. According to Karasowski and many other
biographers who repeat the story, Nicholas saw it as God’s plan and stayed in
Poland.18 This decision can hardly be considered a result of an infatuation with
Poland and Polish culture such as Chopin’s biographers (including Karasowski)
typically attribute to Nicholas. Furthermore, the letters Nicholas wrote to Fryderyk
from Warsaw to Paris at the beginning of Fryderyk’s stay in the French capital,
contain unflattering comments about the Poles. As early as November 1831, for
example, Nicholas warned his son against having confidence in “every newcomer”
from Poland.19 In spite of having himself taken part in the Kościuszko Uprising in
Poland in 1794, later in his life old Chopin manifested a decidedly hostile attitude
towards all kinds of political disturbances. “Your letter of 6 [June 1832] made me
happy because I learned that you were not in danger during the riot which occurred
and which was instigated by rascals,” wrote Nicholas from Warsaw after the turmoil
in Paris on the occasion of the funeral of the general Lamarque at the beginning of
June 1832. He continued:

Some papers report that Poles took part and thus abused the [French] hospitality they
enjoy: have they not had their fill of such nonsense? They caused enough trouble here. I
am sure that the number of those participating in the turmoil was small, for who would be
so mad as to share their destructive ideas? Thank God the level-headed section of the
nation has triumphed, and order has been restored.20

On another occasion, old Chopin expressed his concern about the “leeches” sur­
rounding Fryderyk in Paris, meaning Poles asking him for loans.21
The interpretative scheme emphasizing Chopin’s Polishness as the exclusive
source of his personal and artistic identity originated during Chopin’s lifetime, con­
tinued after his death, and reached its high point in 1910 in a wave of publications
produced on the occasion of the 100th anniversary of his birth.22 In the process,

18
Karasowski, Frederic Chopin, 9.
19
Nicholas Chopin to Fryderyk, 27 November 1831. Korespondencja Fryderyka Chopina
z Rodziną [Correspondence of Fryderyk Chopin with his family], ed. Krystyna Kobylańska
(Warsaw: Państwowy Instytut Wydawniczy, 1972), 76.
20
“Twój list z szóstego [czerwca 1832] sprawił mi tę radość, iż dowiedziałem się, ze nie
zostałeś narażony na szwank podczas rozruchów, które miały miejsce i które wywołały
monstra. Gazety donoszą, że Pol[acy] brali w nich udział, pogwałcając gościnność; nie dość
im jeszcze głupstw? A niemało ich tu przecie popełnili. Mam pewność, że liczba uczest­
ników nie była znaczna, bo któż byłby na tyle nieroztropny, aby podzielać ich niszczyciel­
skie poglądy? Jakież to szczęście, że zdrowo myśląca część społeczeństwa zatryumfowała,
że spokój został przywrócony!” Nicholas Chopin to Fryderyk, 28 June 1832. Ibid., 83–84.
21
Nicholas Chopin to Fryderyk, 9 February 1835. Ibid., 101.
22
Zofia Chechlińska writes that Polish writers defined national character as the major
characteristic of Chopin’s music before he left Poland in 1830. That Chopin was Polish cul­
24 chopin

50 Musical Biography

Chopin was entirely appropriated as a “national” composer, dispossessed of other

sources of identity, and made a national property – a product of the Polish nation
and an incarnation of the Polish “national soul.” The emphasis on Chopin’s Polish­
ness rendered whole areas of his life invisible, as they were useless for making
Chopin a national icon. Hence, rather than being influenced by fully-fledged biog­
raphies (which were few in number in the nineteenth century), the perception of
Chopin was shaped primarily by biographical and critical essays focused on dem­
onstrating his organic connection with the essence of the Polish “national spirit”
and his spiritual affinity with prominent Polish artists of the time.
A publication that set the tone for the nationalistic appropriations of Chopin was
an essay published in 1871 by count Stanisław Tarnowski (1837–1917), professor
of literature at the Jagiellonian University in Cracow, who placed Chopin alongside
the three prominent Polish Romantic poets – Adam Mickiewicz, Juliusz Słowacki,
and Zygmunt Krasiński – as the fourth national artist and the greatest of them.23
Chopin was superior, according to Tarnowski, because as a composer he was not
limited by the language and thus could present to the world the Polish spirit in a
manner that the three poets could not. “In fact,” wrote Tarnowski, “only Chopin can
give the foreigners an idea of this original and melancholic inspiration, so promi­
nently indigenous, individual, and patriotic, which characterizes Polish poetry,
because this inspiration enlivens and permeates his music, making it a commentary
to and an explanation of this poetry.”24 By linking the composer with the great
tradition of Polish literary Romanticism, Tarnowski not only included Chopin in the
pantheon of Polish national artists but also appropriated his music as a symbol of
Polishness, along with Polish Romantic literature; as an incarnation of the Polish

tural property was taken as a matter of course, just as his Polishness was taken as the source
of his creativity. See, Zofia Chechlińska, “Chopin Reception in Nineteenth-century Poland,”
in The Cambridge Companion to Chopin, ed. Jim Samson (Cambridge: Cambridge Univer­
sity Press, 1992), 208–209.
23
The essay originated as a series of public lectures Tarnowski gave in Cracow in 1871,
in which he presented the newly found “Stuttgart Diary” of Chopin. According to Tarnowski,
he wrote these lectures at the personal request and under the guidance of one of the most
gifted pupils of Chopin, the princess Marcelina Czartoryska, who also participated in the
lectures by performing Chopin’s compositions mentioned in them. The lectures were first
published in a Cracow periodical Przegląd Polski in May 1871 as “Kilka słów o Chopinie”
[A few words on Chopin]. Later, Tarnowski included them in his 1892 book Chopin i Grott­
ger [Chopin and Grottger]. A loose English translation of Tarnowski’s lectures by Natalie
Janotha was published under the title Chopin as Revealed by Extracts from his Diary, by
Count Stanislaw Tarnowski (London: W. Reeves, 1905).
24
“Istotnie, Chopin tylko może dać cudzoziemcom wyobrażenie o tym natchnieniu orygi­
nalnym, smętnym, a tak wybitnie rodzimym, własnym i patriotycznym, które jest cechą
poezji polskiej, bo tym samym natchnieniem ożywiona i przejęta jest jego muzyka i jest ona
przez to jakoby uzupelnieniem i tłómaczeniem tej poezji.” Stanisław Tarnowski, “Fryderyk
Chopin,” in Chopin i Grottger. Dwa szkice [Chopin i Grottger. Two essays] (Cracow:
Księgarnia Spółki Wydawniczej Polskiej, 1892), 7.
 chopin 25

Chopin’s Biography as a Cultural Discourse 51

national soul. Chopin’s music, according to Tarnowski, “originated from the same
elements as [Polish Romantic] poetry, from the Romanticism and from the political
situation of Poland, and just as with poetry, music is not only aesthetically beautiful
but also wants to have, and does have, patriotic feeling and inspiration . . .”25
Those elements of Chopin’s personality that could not readily be made part of his
Polishness appropriate for nineteenth-century consumption – such as his social
snobbery and socializing in cosmopolitan circles of the Parisian monde, his love of
luxury, and his particularity about being meticulously well-dressed according to the
latest fashion – Tarnowski construed as part of an allegedly typical image of a
Romantic artist, according to which a “real artist” had to have his weaknesses and
oddities. Similarly, Chopin’s physical appearance and his illness were made part of
this artistic image. Thus, the stereotype of a Romantic artist became a convenient
repository to which Tarnowski could consign all those characteristics of Chopin’s
that could contaminate his image as the incarnation of Polishness.
Tarnowski had set the tone that was picked up by other Polish authors in the
nineteenth-century and later. For example, Stanisław Przybyszewski (1868–1927),
Polish essayist, playwright, and poet, wrote an essay Zur Psychologie des Indyvi­
duums. Chopin und Nietzsche (1889) in which he evoked the main elements of Tar­
nowski’s interpretation. Przybyszewski was primarily interested in universal psy­
chological characteristics of a creative individual and believed that creativity rested
in a duality between, on the one hand, hypersensitivity that made creative individu­
als different from ordinary human beings and, on the other, inseparability from
nature that made creative individuals part of the physical world. In the case of
Chopin – who, according to Przybyszewski belonged to two races and two cultures
at the same time – the creative process was a result of a tension between the ele­
ments of his Polish and French heritage.
Przybyszewski soon abandoned his idea of Chopin’s creativity resulting from an
interaction between his Polish and French heritage. In an essay “Szopen
(Impromptu)” published in 1890 in a volume Na drogach duszy [On the ways of the
soul], Przybyszewski declared the lack of relevance of nationality for the creative
process; what mattered instead was artistic originality and individuality:

I do not . . . care what the external course of life of this or that artist was. I leave this curi­
osity up to lackeys who spy on their masters through a keyhole. . . . The fact that one artist
is a Frenchman, the other a Pole makes no difference whatsoever. The only significant
matter is the path followed by the artist’s soul. Thus, the nationality of a creative individ­
ual is not an issue, but his difference from other individuals, his nature and originality.26

25
“. . . ta muzyka powstała z tych samych pierwiastków co ta poezja, z romantyczności i
z politycznego stanu Polski, że jak ta poezja, tak i ta muzyka nie przestaje na samej tylko arty­
stycznej piękności, ale chce mieć i ma uczucie i natchnienie patriotyczne . . .” Tarnowski,
Chopin i Grottger, 44.
26
“Nic mnie . . . nie obchodzi, jakie zewnętrzne koleje życia ten lub ów artysta przechodził.
Tę ciekawość pozostawiam kamerdynerom, co przez dziurkę od klucza swego pana
26 chopin

52 Musical Biography

Despite these declarations, however, Przybyszewski subsequently reinforced the

image of Chopin as a Polish national artist much beyond his earlier essay on Chopin
and Nietzsche, and along the lines established by Tarnowski in 1871: Chopin’s
music became a symbol of Polishness and an incarnation of the Polish soul. Accord­
ing to Przybyszewski, “. . . Chopin took his character and his original form from the
[Polish] people . . . Our land shaped Chopin’s soul and gave it a form that later
could contain all other feelings. . . . Beyond Chopin’s music there is the whole
splendor and charm of our land . . .”27
The interpretative scheme taking for granted Chopin’s Polishness as the sole
source of his creativity and identity appeared also, albeit in a less exuberant form,
in the emerging positivistic biography of Chopin initiated in Poland by Marceli
Antoni Szulc (1873). Szulc compiled his work from previously published materi­
als, including articles that appeared in the Polish press during Chopin’s life and
after his death. And, although he attempted to critically assess the factual and inter­
pretative content of these sources, when it came to the issue of Chopin’s Polishness,
Szulc repeated the whole repertory of nationalistic assumptions initiated by Tar­
nowski in his 1871 essay without questioning them, and added his own portion of
fiction:

[Chopin] was a Pole above all. His every deed, every word was the most evident testi­
mony to his nationality. He expressed his patriotism not only through his generosity, not
only through voluntarily sharing his exile experience with his unfortunate compatriots,
but also through the choice of his friends, preference given to his Polish pupils, without
empty words and useless declarations of love for the country. Despite his French origin,
despite his native-like fluency in the language of his adopted homeland, he distinguished
himself as a Pole far more than many other Poles in France. . . . Chopin loved and valued
the Polish language above all others. . . . He lived only for Poland and he though inces­
santly about it, and after the collapse of the November Uprising he mourned it forever.28

podpatrują. . . . Że ten artysta jest Francuzem, ten zaś Polakiem, to zupełnie obojętne. Jedyną
atoli i istotną rzeczą jest droga, po której dusza artysty kroczy. Nie chodzi zatem o narodowość
istoty twórczej, ale o jej odrębność od każdej innej, o jej organizm i indywidualność.”
Stanisław Przybyszewski, Na drogach duszy, 2nd ed. (Cracow: L. Zwoliński i Spółka, 1902),
8–9.
27
“. . . Chopin wziął charakter i całą pierwotną formę od ludu . . . Ziemia nasza
ukształtowała duszę Szopena, nadała jej formę, w której się później wszelkie inne wrażenia
zlewać musiały. . . . Poza muzyką Szopena tkwi cały niezrównany przepych i czar naszej
ziemi . . .” Przybyszewski, Na drogach duszy, 104 and 119.
28
“Nade wszystko był Polakiem. Każdy jego czyn, każde słowo było najjawniejszym
narodowości jego objawem. Patriotyzm ten okazywał on nie tylko ofiarnością, nie tylko
dobrowolnym dzieleniem tułactwa z nieszczęśliwymi ziomkami, ale i wyborem przyjaciół,
pierwszeństwem okazywanym uczniom i uczennicom-rodaczkom, stroniąc przy tym od
próżnej słow szermierki i czczych rozpraw o miłości ojczyzny. Lubo pochodzenia francus­
kiego, lubo władajacy językiem przybranej ojczyzny jak rodowity Francuz, wybitniej się niż
niejeden Polak w ojczyźnie swą polską odrębnością odróżniał. . . . Język polski miłował i
cenił wyżej nad wszystkie inne. . . . Dla Polski tylko żył, o niej ustawicznie myślał, a po
 chopin 27

Chopin’s Biography as a Cultural Discourse 53

Similarly unproblematic was Maurycy Karasowski’s characteristic of Chopin as a

man and as a composer included in his 1879 biography, originally published in
German and translated into Polish in 1882.29
The extent to which Chopin was considered Polish property is demonstrated by
the reactions of Polish authors to the first critical biography of Chopin by Frederick
Niecks. Published in English in 1888 as Frederick Chopin as a Man and Musician,
and translated into German in 1889, it was critically acclaimed as the best biogra­
phy of Chopin. Ferdynand Hoesick (1867–1941), who wrote one of the most com­
prehensive Polish reviews of Niecks’ biography, made Niecks’ German origin the
focus of his review and the main source of all problems with his biography. While
Hoesick admitted that Niecks created a valuable work, he nevertheless emphasized
that it “is not yet the kind of literary monument Chopin deserves, and which only a
Pole can create . . . For there can be no doubt that Niecks, as a foreigner, . . . can not
be the best judge of questions concerning Chopin’s music – which a foreigner will
never be able to properly understand and feel – and of questions concerning [Cho­
pin’s] life . . .”30 According to Hoesick, “Polish spirit” and “Polish national charac­
ter” were beyond the comprehension of any foreigner, even those most favorably
disposed to Poles.
Niecks’ opinion that the national origin of Chopin’s music ought not to be exag­
gerated and that the composer’s personal individuality should be taken into consid­
eration,31 served Hoesick as evidence of Niecks’ incapability of understanding
Chopin’s music. Even though Tarnowski was not a music connoisseur, Hoesick
evoked Tarnowski’s opinion about Chopin’s mazurkas being an incarnation of the
“Polish soul” and emphasized that only a Pole could understand Chopin’s mazur­
kas.32 Niecks, wrote Hoesick, was by nature “spiritually foreign to us [Poles].”33
Hoesick himself claimed to have access to “the bottom of Chopin’s soul” – his
Polishness, that is – that Niecks could not have because he did not know Tarnowski’s

spełznięciu listopadowego powstania wieczną po niej w duszy żałobę nosił.” Szulc, Fry­
deryk Chopin, 153.
29
Karasowski, Frederic Chopin, esp. ch. XIII “Chopin as a Man” and ch. XVI “Chopin
as a Composer.”
30
“. . . dzieło Niecksa nie jest jeszcze tym literackim pomnikiem, jaki się Chopinowi
należy, a jaki mu wystawić może tylko Polak . . . Albowiem nie może być dwóch zdań w tym
względzie, że Niecks, jako cudzoziemiec, . . . nie mógł tym samym być zawsze powołanym
sędzią zarówno w kwestiach dotyczących muzyki Chopina, której cudzoziemiec nigdy nie
zrozumie ani nie odczuje należycie, jak i w kwestiach dotyczących życia twórcy Mazurków
. . .” Ferdynand Hoesick, “Dzieło Niecksa o Chopinie” [Niecks’ work on Chopin] in Słowacki
i Chopin, 2:160.
31
Frederick Niecks, Frederick Chopin as a Man and Musician, 2 vols. (Neptune City, N.
J.: Paganiniana, 1980), 2:1–2.
32
Hoesick, “Dzieło Niecksa o Chopinie,” 172–73.
33
“obcy nam duchem.” Ibid., 173.
28 chopin

54 Musical Biography

1871 essay – “unconditionally the best work ever written about Chopin as a
man.”34
Other Polish reviewers of Niecks’ biography, for example, composer Władysław
Żeleński (1837–1921), also emphasized the fact that Niecks was a foreigner and
thus unable to grasp the “Polish nature,” let alone feel the “Polish spirit,” of Cho­
pin’s compositions.35 The conviction that foreigners could not comprehend Chopin
became a commonplace among Polish authors. In 1899, the author of an article
“Pamięci Chopina” [In memory of Chopin], commemorating the fiftieth anniver­
sary of Chopin’s death, wrote:

Performing mazurkas and polonaises, these most beautiful pearls of Chopin’s music, is a
serious problem for those who do not know our country and our folk songs – in a word,
for those who are spiritually foreign to us – and the most illustrious foreign talents are not
able to overcome [this problem]. For there has been no single example of a foreigner per­
forming polonaises and mazurkas with proper understanding.36

The nationalistic appropriations of Chopin reached their peak at the celebrations of

the 100th anniversary of his birth in 1910, both in the intensity of their tone and the
extravagance of their rhetoric. Przybyszewski, for example, exceeded the fervor of
his earlier writings in his essay Szopen a naród [Chopin and the nation] based on
the speech he delivered at the celebrations of Chopin’s anniversary in Lwów. Cho­
pin’s Polishness was a projection of Chopin’s soul, according to Przybyszewski; a
mysterious synthesis, in music, of the essence of the nation:

The soul of a genius is a synthesis of the soul of the whole nation and at the same time a
filter through which . . . only the most noble, the purest, the strongest, the invincible part
of the nation have access. And the soul of the genius is the glory and the ascension of the
nation’s soul, especially of a nation without political existence, because [the genius’s
soul] becomes the only guarantee that a nation which incarnated itself in a genius’s soul
can not perish; on the contrary, it takes its inspiration and strength from the genius’s soul,
as well as its hope for a victorious future.37

34
“. . . bezwarunkowo najlepsza rzecz, jaką u nas o Chopinie, jako o człowieku, napisano
. . .” Hoesick, Słowacki i Chopin, 2:192.
35
Biblioteka Warszawska, 1891, after Hoesick, Słowacki i Chopin, 2:160–61.
36
“Wykonywanie Polonezów i Mazurów, owych najcudniejszych pereł muzyki Chopina,
dla tych którzy ani naszego kraju ani naszej pieśni ludowej nie znają, słowem dla obcych
nam duchem ludzi, stanowi poważny szkopuł, o który się rozbijają najświetniejsze zagranic­
zne talenty. Nie było też przykładu, aby obcokrajowiec Polonezy i Mazury Chopina z
należytym zrozumieniem wykonywał.” J. Leszczyc, Tygodnik Ilustrowany, 27 May 1899, as
quoted by Hoesick, Słowacki i Chopin, 2:173–74.
37
“Bo dusza genjusza jest syntezą duszy całego narodu, a zarazem filtrem, przez który
. . . przedostaje się li tylko to, co w narodzie jest najszlachetniejszem, najczystszem,
niezmożonem i niespożytem. I takoż jest dusza genjusza chwałą i wniebowstąpieniem duszy
narodu, a tem więcej narodu bez bytu politycznego, bo wtedy staje się ona jedyną rekojmia,
że naród, który się w takiej duszy objawił, zginąć nie może, przeciwnie w duszy genjusza
 chopin 29

Chopin’s Biography as a Cultural Discourse 55

Chopin’s Polishness, claimed Przybyszewski, was entirely unrelated to Chopin’s

actual biography (that is, the fact that he spent nearly half his life in Paris); it was his
“internal” biography that mattered, constituted by his longing for Poland. (Yet, Cho­
pin’s actual biography did bother Przybyszewski, particularly Chopin’s relationship
with George Sand, that Przybyszewski considered as merely an unfortunate episode
in Chopin’s life.) Przybyszewski heard the national content in Chopin’s music not in
its tonal structure or in specific citations from Polish folk music, but rather in abstract
associations he assumed. Regardless of whether real or imaginary, Chopin’s music
was an incarnation of the “Polish soul”; Chopin’s soul was pure Polishness.
Przybyszewski was not alone in evoking the metaphor of Chopin as an incarnation
of the Polish national soul, familiar since the Tarnowski’s essay. For example, Ignacy
Jan Paderewski, Polish statesman, pianist, and composer, claimed in a passionate
speech he gave in Lwów in 1910 that “through Chopin spoke . . . the Polish soul.”38
Other authors, too, claimed that Chopin was “the soul of the Polish nation.” Only
Poland could create Chopin, other nations can only try to understand him.

Could the Germans produce Chopin? Is Chopin conceivable without Poland? Is it possi­
ble to think of the Mazurka in C-sharp minor without a Polish peasant, without his
cottage, without his tavern, without his soil, without his fate? . . . Are polonaises possible
without the Polish nobility, without a noble manor, without an aristocratic palace, without
lavish banquets, sledging cavalcades, [and] forays? . . . Who can imagine the Polonaise in
A-flat major without the hussars and without all that created them? . . . Where could all
these preludes, etudes, ballads, nocturnes, sonatas be born if not in Poland and through
Poland? . . . [In Chopin] all Poland is focused, the past and the present, from the king to
the peasant . . . It is because we produced Chopin.39

ma i czerpie przeświadczenie niespożytych swych sił i zwycięskiej przyszłości.” Przybyszew­

ski, Chopin a naród, as quoted by Hoesick, Słowacki i Chopin, 2:215.
38
“. . . w Chopinie ozwała się . . . dusza narodu.” Ignacy Jan Paderewski, Obchód setnej
rocznicy urodzin Fryderyka Chopina i pierwszy zjazd muzyków polskich we Lwowie 23 do 28
października 1910. Księga pamiątkowa przedłożona przez komitet obchodu [Celebration of
the 100th anniversary of Fryderyk Chopin’s birthday and the first congress of Polish musi­
cians in Lwów] (Lwów, 1910), as quoted in Kompozytorzy polscy o Chopinie. Antologia
[Polish composers on Chopin. An anthology], ed. Mieczysław Tomaszewski (Cracow:
Polskie Wydawnictwo Mzyczne, 1964), 94.
39
“Ale czy Niemcy mogliby wydać Chopina? Czy można pomyśleć Chopina bez Polski?
Czy możliwy jest Mazurek Cis-moll bez chłopa polskiego, bez jego chaty, bez jego karczmy,
bez jego roli, bez jego doli? . . . Czy możliwe są Polonezy bez szlachty naszej, bez dworu
szlacheckiego, bez magnackiego pałacu, bez biesiad hucznych, kuligów, zajazdów? . . . Któż
zdoła sobie pomyśleć Poloneza As-dur bez husarji i bez tego wszystkiego co ją stworzyło?
. . . Gdzież wszystkie preludja, etiudy, ballady, nokturny, sonaty mogłyby się jeśli nie w
Polsce i przez Polskę narodzić? . . . w nim skupiona jest cała Polska, jak była i jest, od chłopa
do króla . . . Albowiem myśmy Chopina wydali.” Stanisław Pieńkowski, “Dusza narodu”
[The nation’s soul], Gazeta Warszawska, 1910, as quoted by Hoesick, “W setną rocznicę
urodzin Chopina” [On the 100th anniversay of Chopin’s birth], in Słowacki i Chopin,
2:220.
30 chopin

56 Musical Biography

The metaphor of Chopin as the “soul” of the nation implied specific associations
with the dignity, power, and masculinity of Chopin and his music, in obvious con­
trast to the sentimentality, melancholy, illness, salon, and femininity, with which
Chopin’s music was often associated at the time, especially in England and
Germany.40 As one author declared on the occasion of the centenary of Chopin’s
birth, “the tearful, soft, and melancholic Chopin disappeared irrevocably. Instead,
the Chopin predicted by Robert Schumann appeared.”41 The metaphor connecting
Chopin and his music with the “Polish national soul” survived among Polish authors
well beyond its nineteenth-century origins largely because it made it possible to
associate Chopin and his music with the characteristics suitable for a national hero
who was supposed to be both serious in his artistic inspiration and pursuits, and
unambiguous in his gender identity.42 As late as 1931, Karol Szymanowski wrote,
that “the Polishness” of Chopin’s music, “exceeding an uncomplicated exoticism
typical of ‘national music,’ aims at the purest heights of transcendental expression
of the very soul of our nation.”43
The interpretative scheme emphasizing the Polishness of Chopin as the sole
source of his personal and artistic identities was typical of, but not confined to, the
occasional literature produced for the anniversaries of Chopin’s birth and death. It
also permeated the literary and scholarly biographies of Chopin that followed the
first attempt by Marceli Antoni Szulc. Literary biography, such as the monumental,
three-volume work by Ferdynand Hoesick that first appeared in 1910–11,44 was in
a better position to dwell upon the issue of Chopin’s Polishness than scholarly
works whose authors were expected – according to the standards of the newly
established discipline of musicology – to focus on music alone and stay away from
biographical contamination. But even the most scholarly and analytical approaches
to Chopin’s life and work did not avoid the trappings of the scheme assuming
Chopin’s Polishness as the sole source of his inspiration and creativity. Nationalistic

40
See, for example, Andreas Ballstaedt, “Chopin as ‘salon composer’ in nineteenth-
century German criticism,” in Chopin Studies 2, ed. John Rink and Jim Samson (Cambridge:
Cambridge University Press, 1994), 18–34.
41
“Zniknął łzawy, miękki i tęskny Chopin bezpowrotnie. Ukazał się ten Chopin, którego
przepowiedział Robert Szumann.” Franciszek Bylicki, as quoted by Hoesick, “W setną
rocznicę” in Słowacki i Chopin, 2:219.
42
The salon might have been a known phenomenon in early nineteenth-century Poland,
but it did not seem to enjoy a high cultural authority; for example, the term does not appear
in nineteenth-century Polish dictionaries.
43
“. . . ‘polskość’ ta, wznosząc się ponad pewnego rodzaju ludowy, łatwiutki egzotyzm,
właściwy tzw. muzyce ‘narodowej,’ zmierza ku najczystyszym wyżynom transcendental­
nego wyrazu samej duszy naszego narodu.” Szymanowski, “Frédéric Chopin et la musique
polonaise moderne,” La Revue Musicale (December 1931), as quoted in Kompozytorzy
polscy o Chopinie, 138.
44
Ferdynand Hoesick, Chopin. Życie i twórczość [Chopin. Life and work], 3 vol. (Warsaw:
F. Hoesick, 1910–11). Subsequent editions, both reduced to two volumes, appeared in 1927
and 1932.
 chopin 31

Chopin’s Biography as a Cultural Discourse 57

appropriations varied in intensity but never completely disappeared from Chopin’s

biographies. For example, Karol Szymanowski, otherwise very critical of the earlier
attempts to associate Chopin’s music with literary images of Polishness, neverthe­
less emphasized the Polishness of the music as its essential quality:

The “Polishness” of Chopin’s oeuvre is beyond the slightest doubt; it does not consist in
the fact that he wrote polonaises and mazurkas . . . which were often attributed ideologi­
cal and literary content that they did not possess. In an absolute ‘musicality’ of his works
he grew above his time in a double sense of the word: as an artist he sought forms inde­
pendent from the literary and dramatic character of music, typical of Romanticism; as a
Pole, he reflected in [his works] not the essence of the tragic breakdown of the history of
his nation, but he strove, instinctively, to grasp an extra-historical, so to say, the deepest
expression of his race, knowing that only by liberating art from its dramatic historical
context can he ensure its most durable and truly Polish values.45

Similarly, Polish musicologist Zdzisław Jachimecki ended his 1949 biography of

Chopin with the statement, “in Chopin’s music beats the heart of Poland.”46
Not surprisingly, the issue of Chopin’s rapport with France was largely absent in
the writing of Polish authors and appeared only as a political issue of Chopin as a
national property, in defensive reactions to the attempts at interpreting Chopin
outside of the Polish nationalistic context. Typical in this respect was Hoesick’s
statement on the 100th anniversary of Chopin’s birth:

despite his French name and the tradition of his permanent stay in Paris, no educated
Frenchman would doubt today the nationality of the composer of the Preludes. Nobody
who is reputable attempts to annex Chopin. And this is quite an achievement for us [the
Poles], who are so little known to the world and so often forgotten! And Chopin reminds
[the world] about us, and not only reminds but also forces it to take an interest in the
nation that bore such a composer, such music. It is Chopin’s great achievement to intro­

45
“Polskość” dzieła Chopina nie ulega najmniejszej wątpliwości; nie polega ona jednak
na tym, iż pisał on również polonezy i mazurki . . . w które nieraz z zewnątrz wciskano . . .
obcą im treść ideowo-literacką. W bezwzględnej “muzyczności” swych dzieł wyrósł on
ponad swą epokę w podwójnym tego słowa znaczeniu: jako artysta poszukiwał form
stojących poza literacko-dramatycznym charakterem muzyki, cechującym dążenia roman­
tyzmu, jako Polak odzwierciedlał w nich nie istotę ówczesnego tragicznego załamania się
dziejów narodu, a dążył instynktownie do ujęcia ponaddziejowego niejako najgłębszego
wyrazu swej rasy, rozumiejąc że tylko na drodze wyzwolenia sztuki z zakresu dramatycznej
treści dziejowej zdoła zapewnić jej najtrwalsze a prawdziwie polskie wartości.” Karol Szy­
manowski, Fryderyk Chopin (Warsaw: Biblioteka Polska, 1925), as quoted in Kompozytorzy
polscy o Chopinie, 132–33.
46
Zdzisław Jachimecki, Chopin: Rys życia i twórczości [Chopin: a sketch of his life and
works] (Warsaw: Instytut Wydawniczy “Sztuka,” 1949). This was a much enlarged version
of Jachimecki’s 1926 biography of Chopin.
32 chopin

58 Musical Biography

duce Poland to Europe, to inculcate its spirit in the souls of all cultural nations of the
world, even in the souls of our enemies.47

Chopin’s life in France did not have to be critically accounted for in biographical
narratives because, or so it was believed, it was largely irrelevant to his artistic
development, even though Chopin’s biographers agree that his artistic creativity
reached its high point after he settled in Paris. This ambiguity survived until this
day in scholarly explanations of the evolution of Chopin’s music produced by
Polish authors. According to Mieczysław Tomaszewski, for example, the first few
years of Chopin’s stay in Paris (1831–35) did not produce anything significant
musically; even though Tomaszewski admits that, except for publishing the trivia
for salons, Chopin finished and published a substantial number of works he sketched
or wrote earlier, which included completing op. 6, 7, 9, 10, 15, and 17, including
mazurkas, nocturnes, and etudes.48 The peak of his musical creativity comes in the
period 1835–40 as a result of “the maturity and fulfillment of his personal life and
his complete identification with the fate of his fatherland [Poland].”49 While the
“fulfillment of his personal life” appears to be a euphemism for Chopin’s relation­
ship with George Sand, his “full identification with the fate of his fatherland” leaves
no doubt that, after the initial period of fascination with the distractions of Paris,
Chopin was now back to the true roots and true source of his creativity – his identi­
fication with Poland. We also learn that this was the time when Chopin was particu­
larly active in the circles of Polish exiles and when he socialized on a daily basis
with Adam Mickiewicz, Stefan Witwicki, Józef Bohdan Zaleski, and Julian Ursyn
Niemcewicz50 – a generalization that not only sweeps away any hint of the com­
plexity of Chopin’s relationship with each of these persons, but is not confirmed by
historical evidence either.51
The nationalistic appropriation of Chopin by nineteenth-century Polish authors
can be explained in the context of the contemporary political and cultural situation
of Poland. The emphasis on nationality and national tradition became almost an

47
“. . . pomimo francuskiego nazwiska Chopina i tradycji o jego stałym pobycie w Paryżu,
dziś niema już wykształconego Francuza, który by jeszcze powątpiewał o narodowości
twórcy Preludjów. Już go tam nikt szanujący się nie myśli anektować. A zdobycz to dla nas
nielada, dla nas, o których świat wie tak mało, a zapomina tak często! Otóż Chopin wciąż
mu przypomina o nas, a nietylko przypomina, ale mu nawet każe interesować się narodem,
co wydał takiego kompozytora, taką muzykę. Jest to wielką zasługą Chopina że . . . Polskę
wprowadził do Europy, że jej ducha wciąż zaszczepia w duszach wszystkich narodów kul­
turalnych świata, nawet w duszach naszych wrogów.” Hoesick, “W setną rocznicę,”
222–23.
48
Tomaszewski, Chopin, 702–9.
49
“okres dojrzałości i pełni życia uczuciowego oraz pełnej identyfikacji z losami kraju.”
Ibid., 709.
50
Ibid., 715.
51
See Jolanta T. Pekacz, “Deconstructing a ‘National Composer’: Chopin and Polish
Exiles in Paris, 1831–1849,” 19th-Century Music vol. 24, no. 2 (2000): 161–72.
 chopin 33

Chopin’s Biography as a Cultural Discourse 59

obsession among the nineteenth-century Polish elite because an attachment to these

values was considered a condition of national survival in the absence of indepen­
dent statehood. After the partitions of Poland in 1772, 1792, and 1795, both the
cosmopolitanism of the Enlightenment and the Enlightenment cult of the West in
eighteenth-century Poland were perceived as sources of the country’s collapse and
became objects of bitter criticism. The foreign influence, identified with French­
ness, and the Enlightenment were the favorite targets of the moralists’ attacks.52 The
Romantic movement that began in Poland in the 1820s further reinforced the nega­
tive image of Western Europe by criticizing the cosmopolitan heritage of the
Enlightenment and the commercialized, urban civilization of the West. Romantics
believed that the primacy of economic values led to the degradation of the human
soul, nature, and the arts. A negative attitude towards the Industrial Revolution was
not exclusively Polish; only in Poland, however, did that attitude become a criterion
of loyalty to the idea of national survival. “Europe” and “the West” gradually
became synonymous and both lost their neutral meaning indicating a part of the
world or one of many possible patterns of culture, and became ideological
notions.
The collapse of the 1848 revolutions, perceived in Poland as a failure of the
Western elites to come to terms with the liberal and nationalistic pressures that were
mounting against them, further reinforced the anti-Western attitudes among the
Poles. And France became for them the epitome of the fallen West. This political
development contributed not only to Polish authors’ nationalistic interpretations of
Chopin’s music but also to their marginalization of the role of France in his per­
sonal and artistic development. The grip of Russification and Germanization, in the
Russian and Prussian sectors of partitioned Poland respectively, in the period fol­
lowing the collapse of the January Uprising in 1863, further reinforced the tradi­
tional outlook of the Polish intellectual and cultural elite. Nationalism not only per­
meated Polish culture but above all it provided a powerful tool for reconciling the
internal class conflict in partitioned Poland.
The nineteenth-century conflict between ethnocentrism and occidentalism,
between those who believed “native” and “traditional” had the highest value, and
those who advocated the adoption from the West of what might be useful for Poland,
was used in polemics between various political factions, both in former Poland and

52
This was the tenor of the writing of Maurycy Mochnacki, Chopin’s Warsaw friend. On
nineteenth-century debates about the best cultural option for Poland, see, for example, Jerzy
Jedlicki, “Polskie nurty ideowe lat 1790–1863 wobec cywilizacji Zachodu,” in Swojskość i
cudzoziemszczyzna w dziejach kultury polskiej [Homeliness and foreignness in the history of
Polish culture] ed. Zofia Stefanowska (Warsaw: Państwowe Wydawnictwo Naukowe, 1973);
and Jerzy Jedlicki, A Suburb of Europe: Nineteenth-century Polish Approaches to Western
Civilization (Budapest: Central European University Press, 1999). About the Polish complex
regarding Europe, see also Janusz Tazbir, Kultura szlachecka w Polsce: rozkwit, upadek,
relikty [Noble culture in Poland: rise, decline, relicts] (Warsaw: Wiedza Powszechna, 1978),
148.
34 chopin

60 Musical Biography

among the Polish emigrants. Both the opposed political systems advocated for the
future independent Poland – monarchial and republican – were justified as reflect­
ing the “Polish national spirit.” “Foreignness” was the most frequent charge used by
various writers to compromise their political opponents. Speculations about the
political system in the future Poland were typically focused on whether the country
should develop its middle class and bourgeoisie, or whether it should stay agrarian.
Traditionalists referred to the concept of the “division of labor” in Europe and tried
to prove that the weakness of the Polish bourgeoisie was actually good for Poland.
The belief in two different types of civilization, urban and agrarian, was still alive
in the 1860s. It was only in the 1870s that the negative stereotype of the West was
seriously attacked, by both the Warsaw positivists and the Cracow School of Histor­
iography, but it did not end the discussions about which civilization pattern Poland
should follow. The attempts to appropriate Chopin as an exclusively Polish com­
poser were inseparable from these culture wars.

Outside of Poland, associating Chopin with a specific nationality did not take the
same predictable pattern as had been the case in Poland. As stated earlier, refer­
ences to ethnic or national identities was a way nineteenth-century writers dealt
with difference and a way of marketing of difference for the Western music con­
sumers. Ethnic identity was considered the most obvious source of identity but also
the most vague. And just as Chopin’s music was often described in the nineteenth
century in terms of national practice and national characteristics which were
assumed rather than proven,53 Chopin’s “Polishness” as the source of his identity
was an unspecific category that could mean different things to different people.
For West Europeans in the first half of the nineteenth century Poland was part of
a remote Europe located somewhere between Western Europe and Asia. “Polish­
ness” was an unstable cultural construction, an aggregation of various associations
drawn from both fact and fiction, reflecting stereotypes that circulated in western
Europe about its eastern periphery. On the one hand, there were older cultural stereo­
types created by eighteenth-century travelers to Eastern Europe, such as the comte
de Ségur who wrote in 1784, “when one enters Poland, one believes one has left
Europe entirely.”54 The extent to which July Monarchy France was still under the
influence of the formulas and stereotypes established by the Enlightenment and
earlier is evident from one of the most influential travel accounts of the nineteenth
century, Astolphe de Custine’s Russia in 1839. Vague ideas of Poland and Polish­
ness rooted in the old stereotypes survived well into the nineteenth century. For

53
See, for example, Barbara Milewski, “Chopin’s Mazurkas and the Myth of the Folk,”
19th-Century Music vol. 23, no. 2 (1999), 113–35.
54
Louis-Philippe, comte de Ségur, Mémoires, souvenirs, et anecdotes (Paris: Firmin
Didot, 1859), as quoted by Larry Wolff, Inventing Eastern Europe. The Map of Civilization
in the Mind of the Enlightenment (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1994), 19.
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Chopin’s Biography as a Cultural Discourse 61

example, Niecks’ ideas about Poland included in his biography of Chopin (1888)
were a mixture of such stereotypes, descriptions from travel literature, popular
pamphlets, Pamiątki Soplicy [Memoirs of Soplica] by Henryk Rzewuski, Thomas
Carlyle’s biography of Frederick the Great, and other similar sources. The Polish
nation, according to Niecks, belonged in its culture and origin to the East of Europe
and was hardly influenced by West European culture, which affected only upper
classes and only superficially. Foreign culture, mixed with the native, produced
peculiar forms such as a love for luxury and extravagance.55
On the other hand, there were more recent associations of Poland with the
heroism and defeat of the November Uprising of 1830–31. These associations fed
the imagination of Chopin’s contemporaries, such as Robert Schumann and Hector
Berlioz, whose comments have been most frequently quoted in his biographies.
However, West Europeans were much less inclined than were his compatriots to
embrace Chopin as an exclusively Polish composer. As Carl Dahlhaus put it, nation­
alism was expected to nourish composers but they were not supposed “to remain
trapped by their dependence on national identity.” This is why, in his 1836 review
Schumann, although praising the original nationality of Chopin’s music, also added:
“The minor interest attaching to the patch of earth on which he was born was des­
tined to be sacrificed to the Universal [weltbürgerlich]; and true enough, his recent
works have shed their excessively specific Sarmatic physiognomy.”56 Similarly,
Heinrich Heine found it difficult to consider Chopin as an exemplum of a specimen
from Eastern Europe. Heine was convinced that Chopin was born in Poland but of
French parents and that he received part of his education in Germany. Poland gave
him its sense of the chivalrous and historical grief; from France Chopin took its airy
grace and charm, and to Germany he owed his Romantic depth.57 Thus, Chopin
incarnated the most valuable elements of the cultural heritage of these three nation­
alities without being determined by any. Nature, wrote Heine, gave Chopin his

55
“[The Poles] feel happiest in the turmoil of life and in the bustle of society. Retirement
and the study of books are little to their taste. Yet, knowing how to make the most of their
limited stock of knowledge, they acquit themselves well in conversation. Indeed, they have a
natural aptitude for the social arts which insures their success in society, where they move
with ease and elegance. Their oriental mellifluousness, hyperbolism, and obsequious polite­
ness of speech have, as well as the Asiatic appearance of their features and dress, been
noticed by all travellers in Poland. Love of show is another very striking trait in the character
of the Poles. It struggles to manifest itself among the poor, causes the curious mixture of
splendor and shabbiness among the better-situated people, and gives rise to the greatest
extravagances among the wealthy.” Niecks, Frederick Chopin as a Man and Musician,
1:10.
56
Dahlhaus, Nineteenth-Century Music, 37.
57
“La Pologne lui a donné son sens chevaleresque et sa douleur historique, la France sa
grâce légère et son charme, l’Allemagne sa profondeur romantique.” Henri Heine, “Les vir­
tuoses de concerts: Berlioz, Liszt, Chopin,” in Henri Heine, De tout en peu (Paris: Calmann
Lévy, 1867), 307.
36 chopin

62 Musical Biography

genius and it was his genius which placed him beyond any nationality. “[Chopin]
was thus neither Polish nor French nor German; he was of a much higher origin . . .
his real fatherland was the enchanted realm of poetry.”58
Such terms as “mazurka” and “polonaise” were used to indicate genres, commu­
nicative concepts shared by both the composer and his audience, not classificatory
categories located solely in mazurkas and polonaises as compositions. There is no
way of knowing whether Western listeners would hear “Poland” in musical material
not labeled as mazurka or polonaise. And Jeffrey Kallberg’s observation that
Western critics – as opposed to their Polish counterparts – initially heard in Cho­
pin’s mazurkas primarily strangeness, novelty, and eccentricity, and only later pri­
marily “Polishness,”59 does not mean that Chopin’s later mazurkas were more
“Polish” than his earlier ones, but rather that in the course of time mazurkas were
being heard as a genre; their initial “strangeness” became associated with “Polish­
ness.” Indeed, in the course of time, Chopin’s allegedly “national” musical idiom
became increasingly abstract and artistically sophisticated, and further removed
from any discernable elements of folk music.
The process of nationalistic appropriation of Chopin that began in his lifetime
was thus largely, if not entirely, of the making of Polish writers and reflected politi­
cal stakes rather than the allegedly “national” substance of Chopin’s music.
Throughout the nineteenth century and well into the twentieth, only a small portion
of Chopin’s music was known in Poland, primarily his early compositions, and par­
ticularly those based on folk or national dance rhythms such as mazurkas and
polonaises.60 The rhetoric of nationality often used to render specificity or original­
ity in music of nineteenth-century composers, was taken as an indication of specific
musical substance, as though the omnipresence of this rhetoric had the capacity to
turn into verity.61 It can be argued therefore, contrary to the claims of nineteenth-
century Polish writers and their followers, that the “Polish spirit” which these
authors considered as an essential characteristic of Chopin’s music, should rather

58
“Il n’est alors ni Polonais, ni Français, ni Allemand; il trahit une origine bien plus haute,
il descend du pays de Mozart, de Raphaël, de Goethe: sa vraie patrie est le royaume enchanté
de la poésie.” Ibid.
59
Jeffrey Kallberg, “Hearing Poland: Chopin and Nationalism,” in Nineteenth-Century
Piano Music, ed. Larry Todd (New York: Schirmer Books, 1990), 248.
60
See, for example, Chechlińska, “Chopin Reception in Nineteenth-Century Poland,”
206–21. Even the prominent Polish composers in the nineteenth century did not understand
the complexity of Chopin’s music. See, Tomaszewski’s, introduction to Kompozytorzy polscy
o Chopinie.
61
This is what Mieczysław Tomaszewski seems to believe in his Chopin: człowiek, dzieło,
rezonans, 663. To “prove” his point about the national character of Chopin’s music, Tomasze­
wski merely accumulates similar opinions and quotations taken out of context and presents
them without any critical commentary or explanation of the political and/or methodological
views of their authors. Tomaszewski uses this method throughout his monumental work
(nearly 900 pages) to “prove” other points.
 chopin 37

Chopin’s Biography as a Cultural Discourse 63

be viewed as a highly original musical idiom that these writers appropriated as

essentially “Polish,” primarily for political reasons.62
One way to illuminate the fullness of Chopin’s experience that contributed to the
creation of this highly original musical idiom, is to take seriously his experience
after he left Poland and chose his voluntary exile in the Paris of the July Monarchy.
Authors writing on the French capital of that period emphasize its unique cultural,
intellectual and political climate, and the unusual number of prominent foreigners
who lived there. Issac Berlin, for example, wrote that social, political, and artistic
life in Paris in the middle of the nineteenth century was “a phenomenon without
parallel in European history.”63 And although Chopin biographers usually note his
relative aloofness from the literary cénacles and other artistic circles, as well as
from the artistic debates going on at the time, it can not be assumed that he was
immune to what Paris could offer both culturally and intellectually. Chopin was too
open-minded and too attracted to cosmopolitan social life to reject Paris, as did
some of his compatriots such as Adam Mickiewicz. In contrast to Mickiewicz, who
in his Messianic philosophy presented Poland as a critical alternative to French
rationalism and social organization,64 Chopin did not distance himself from things
French and amalgamated, rather than contrasted, his French and Polish experiences.
And while Mickiewicz’s otherness meant strong cultural identity and was identical
with his “Polishness,” Chopin’s otherness was much more complex and can not be
reduced to one aspect of his personality.65

62
Carl Dahlhaus advanced a similar argument when he noted that for all the nineteenth-
century rhetoric of “the ‘primacy’ of the ‘national spirit,’ we cannot say to what extent the
individuality of a composer determines, or is determined by, the musical substance of his
nation. Did Chopin and Smetana lay bare the essence of Polish and Czech music and capture
it in art? Or were the hallmarks of their music declared national property by general acclaim?”
(See, Dahlhaus, Nineteenth-Century Music, 38.) Dahlhaus suggests that nationalism in music
is primarily the result of its function rather than its rhythmic and melodic substance.
63
Issac Berlin, Karl Marx: His Life and Environment, 4th ed. (Oxford: Oxford University
Press, 1978), 61.
64
Adam Mickiewicz first included his influential Messianic system in his biblical prose
Księgi narodu i pielgrzymstwa polskiego [The Books of the Polish Nation and of the Polish
Pilgrims], published in 1832, and then in his lectures at the Collège de France between 1840
and 1844.
65
Although Mickiewicz’s views evolved from polonocentrism to a broader concept of
Franco-Slavonic union, his Messianism had an implicitly anti-Western character and contrib­
uted to further cleavage in Polish–European relationships; not only because of its anti-Western
elements, but also due to its anachronism, religious fanaticism, megalomania, and general lack
of coherence with the political and social processes that dominated Europe at that time. Conse­
quently, the initial support that Mickiewicz received in France (for example, from Montalam­
bert, Sainte-Beuve, Lamennais, and George Sand) gradually turned into indifference and
isolation.
38 chopin

64 Musical Biography

The impact of exile as well as of a metropolis on mental life has long been recog­
nized.66 It has also been recognized that exile challenges social and intellectual
identities, that it requires psychological and mental adjustments in which values
and hierarchies appear more relative; exile also necessitates mental adjustments
because of a specific relationship between language and mentality in which a dif­
ferent linguistic system forces a new mental experience.67 In insightful passages of
his Threshold of a New World, Lloyd S. Kramer points out the uniqueness of the
exiles’ experience in the Paris of the July Monarchy; it was the encounter with Pari­
sian social and intellectual life that forced the reconsideration of their own national
identities on the one hand and identification with France on the other. But it was not
just the July Monarchy that offered a unique exile experience. The starting point for
the recognition of the importance of exile experience is the recognition that per­
sonal and cultural identities are constructed and incomplete, that they always
depend upon interactions with other referents on the outside, and that identities
evolve in relation to some difference.68 As Kramer reminds us,

[t]he experience of living among alien people, languages, and institutions can alter the
individual’s sense of self about as significantly as any of the traumas known to psycholo­
gists. The referents by which people understand themselves change dramatically when
they are separated from networks of family, friends, work, and nationality. Although this
separation affects each individual somewhat differently, the resulting disorientation com­
monly provokes important changes in self-perception and consciousness. Intellectual
exiles frequently respond to their deracination by describing home (idealistically) or
rejecting home (angrily) or creating a new definition of home (defiantly); in any case they
almost always explore problems of national and personal identity in new ways and write
about their conflicts in texts that can become unusually rich revelations of both conscious
and unconscious needs, motivations, and anxieties.69

Kramer writes about the connection between exile and creativity, and exile provok­
ing “new forms of interpretation by defamiliarizing the familiar and familiarizing
the unfamiliar,” and notes that “the creativity of exiles has occurred often enough to
suggest a pattern rather than an accident.”70 He argues that “new interpretative
insights often seem to evolve through specific social and intellectual characteristics

66
See, for example, reflections of sociologist Georg Simmel, “The Stranger” and “The
Metropolis and Mental Life,” originally published in 1908; reprinted in The Sociology of
Georg Simmel, trans. Kurt Wolff (New York: Free Press, 1950), 402–8 and 409–24
respectively.
67
Lloyd S. Kramer, Threshold of a New World. Intellectuals and the Exile Experience in
Paris, 1830–1848 (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1988), 9–10.
68
Ibid., 10–11.
69
Ibid., 9–10.
70
Ibid., 2–3.
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Chopin’s Biography as a Cultural Discourse 65

of the exile experience, an experience of marginality that places self-conscious

individuals both inside and outside two cultures at the same time.”71
In view of what is known about the impact of the exile experience on the process
of identity formation and creativity, Chopin’s life in France appears to have been of
fundamental importance for both his creative process and personal development.
And not because, as the traditional biographies claim, Chopin left Poland and
longed all his life for what he left, or because he missed the reality of living in
Poland. It is more likely that Chopin’s exile experience in Paris forced him to recon­
sider, rather than to reproduce, his “Polishness” as the traditional biography
assumes. But Chopin’s exile experience also forced him to define his attitude to his
new home country, France.
As I argue elsewhere,72 Chopin’s life in Paris illustrates the process and politics
of identity formation in cross-cultural encounters. It developed as a dialectic inter­
action between two worlds – Polish and cosmopolitan, identified by the circles of
Polish exiles in Paris and the world of Parisian salons; between his traditional Polish
upbringing and the radically liberal views of George Sand; between his memories
of Poland (whether real or imaginary) and his attraction to Paris – but also among
opposite factions within Polish circles in Paris: the world of Czartoryski’s coterie
and, occasionally, other circles of Polish political exiles. Contrary to the traditional
views represented primarily by nineteenth-century Polish biographers in which
“Polishness” occupies a central place in the interpretation of Chopin’s life and
work, it appears that he constructed his identities from various heterogeneous rather
than homogeneous elements and “Polishness” was not the most prominent one
among them; neither was “Polishness” most typically associated with Chopin’s
public persona during his lifetime, except perhaps for his early years in Paris. For
example, Stephen Heller, a Hungarian pianist and composer who came to Paris in
October 1838, associated Chopin with cosmopolitan Parisian salons;73 Chopin’s
compatriot, poet Adam Mickiewicz, criticized Chopin for his lack of “Polishness”
and “tackling aristocratic nerves” instead of moving the masses with his music and
definitely did not see him as an embodiment of “Polishness” either in his music or
in his life.74
Chopin fashioned himself in response to specific features of the French capital in
the 1830s and 1840s – musical, social, and political. The lack of a fully developed
system of public patronage in music and his preference for private performance
were behind his decision to give up regular public performances in favor of occa­
sional semi-private concerts; the popularity of piano-playing in private households

71
Ibid., 7.
72
Pekacz, “Memory, History and Meaning,” 71–73.
73
Ludwik Bronarski, “Stephen Heller i Chopin” [Stephen Heller and Chopin], Ruch Mu­
zyczny, no. 20, 1960, 1–3.
74
Władysław Mickiewicz, Pamiętniki [Memoirs], 3 vols. (Warsaw: Gebethner & Wolff,
1926), 1:173–74.
40 chopin

66 Musical Biography

offered him an opportunity to make piano lessons a source of income; higher social
classes offered a potentially more substantial income than other groups. These cos­
mopolitan groups did not seem to be particularly interested in Chopin’s “Polish­
ness” but appreciated his image as a fashionable musician which made an encoun­
ter with him pleasurable and his lessons desirable. Chopin developed such a
cosmopolitan image – he rented an apartment in a fashionable quarter; he wore
fashionable but not extravagant clothes and accessories; he had impeccable manners,
inconspicuous political views, and the diplomacy necessary to retain affluent pupils
and the connections they could offer. As I suggest elsewhere, Chopin owed his
success in Paris to his ability to play down his ethnicity rather than making it a
prominent part of his identity, at least in the salons of the Parisian cosmopolitan
aristocracy and upper class where he most often appeared.75
It is beyond the scope of this essay to discuss the actual impact of Chopin’s exile
experience on his life and creativity. Examination of just one sphere where cosmo­
politan culture appears to have exerted a profound influence on Chopin’s artistic
career, the perception of his music, and his public image must suffice – Chopin’s
involvement with the world of Parisian salons. The topic still awaits its historian but
biographers and musicologists generally agree that the salons were the milieu where
Chopin most frequently performed and socialized, and through which his music
was perceived and evaluated. Chopin’s rapport with Parisian salons, not merely as
their guest but as an embodiment of the salon culture, made him part of the cosmo­
politan social life of European elites that originated from the French cultural tradi­
tion. (This partly explains the problematic reception of Chopin in Germany and
England, and the rejection in Poland of the association of Chopin with salons as
incompatible with his patriotism.) From the beginning of the nineteenth century,
salon sociability came to be associated with the “lost” world of the Old Regime,
much idealized and mythologized after the French Revolution, despite the fact that
under the Old Regime the term salon was never used as a metonym for sociability
or for the people participating in it. During the July Monarchy, salons began to be
construed as lieux de mémoire – memory places – and as an incarnation of French
cultural tradition par excellence.76
When Chopin arrived in the French capital in September 1831, the process of
inventing the salon and grounding it in the Old-Regime tradition of sociability was
well under way. The salon, although a contested and at times ambiguous notion,
was at least to some extent associated with the sphere of exclusivity and with good
company – la bonne compagnie – at least according to contemporary dictionaries

75
Pekacz, “Deconstructing a ‘National Composer.’”
76
I discussed the meaning of the term salon in France both under the Old Regime and in
the nineteenth century, and the invention of the French salon in the nineteenth century, in a
paper, “Memory at Work: The Invention of the Salon in Nineteenth-Century France,” pre­
sented at the 50th annual meeting of the Society for French Historical Studies in Paris in
2004.
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Chopin’s Biography as a Cultural Discourse 67

and usage.77 And although, musically, French salons – especially the upper-class
salons of the July Monarchy with which Chopin has been typically identified – had
no specific content, it was the salon in its idealized meaning that became associated
with Chopin and his music. (That such an association was arbitrary can be easily
demonstrated by the variety of musical tastes represented in salons, even in the
exclusive aristocratic salons, most of which did not excel in musical connoisseur­
ship.) In contrast to other reputable pianists living in Paris during the July Monar­
chy, who typically considered performing in salons a stepping stone for public con­
certizing or merely an opportunity to secure pupils, Chopin identified himself with
the salon milieu more thoroughly.
The process of inventing the salon and making it an emblematic institution of
French and cosmopolitan elite sociability, which was under way at the time Chopin
lived in Paris, was parallel to another process that also began after the French Revo­
lution – the broadening of the musical public and the fear of the debasement of
musical values associated with this process. By not performing in public, Chopin
helped to sustain his image of an elite artist and created an aura that made him part
of the exclusive world of salons. This was the image of Chopin the editors of the
Revue et Gazette Musicale de Paris exploited for their own purpose to curb the
expansion of more-popular musical genres and the commercial materialism of
popular virtuosi such as Henri Herz – the image of Chopin as belonging to a supe­
rior musical domain.78 Chopin became an incarnation of “true” musical values and
his absence from the public concert scene made the association of these values with
the sphere of privacy (salons) almost inevitable. Other contemporary authors, such
as Heinrich Heine, also exploited the image of Chopin as belonging to the exclusive
world of private circles – to la bonne société rather than the general public. In a
process similar to the making of Beethoven by the Viennese aristocracy,79 Chopin
was “made” into a salon composer by the Parisian musical press and contemporary
commentators who located the salon at the opposite end of the social spectrum
from the public, the commercial, and the unsophisticated. Subsequent generations
of biographers perpetuated this image. And the mechanisms that reinforced the
association of Chopin with the world of Parisian salons also reinforced the percep­
tion of Chopin as part of the French and cosmopolitan culture.

In conclusion, Chopin’s biography presents an opportunity for a cultural historian

to study the origins and reception of historical myths; for a musicologist it offers an
opportunity to analyze the impact of such myths on musical analysis and

77
See, for example, Dictionnaire de l’Académie française (1834).
78
Katharine Ellis, Music Criticism in Nineteenth-Century France: La Revue et Gazette
Musicale de Paris, 1834–80 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1995), 145–48.
79
Tia DeNora, Beethoven and the Construction of Genius. Musical Politics in Vienna,
1792–1803 (Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press, 1995).
42 chopin

68 Musical Biography

interpretation. An awareness of both the premises and political agenda of nine­

teenth-century biographers and their followers, is necessary to liberate Chopin’s
biography and the reception of his music from rigid interpretative schemes, and to
conceptualize his exile experience in the process of his identity formation, and the
various stylistic and aesthetic strands in his music.
It can be supposed, for example, that Chopin’s exile experience and his encoun­
ter with the world of cosmopolitan Parisian salons, which became his milieu in
Paris, forced him to communicate in a more universal musical language than he
would have needed to develop had he stayed in Warsaw. It can also be supposed that
Chopin’s exile experience offered him a wider range of options to express his
national identity than the anti-Western brand of nationalism cultivated by the Polish
cultural elites. And while Mickiewicz used his lectures in the Collège de France to
prove to the world Poland’s cultural incompatibility with Western Europe, Chopin
worked to overcome the limitations of such binary oppositions – the labor that was
so deeply misunderstood by the likes of Tarnowski from the nineteenth century
on.
The present political moment appears to be particularly opportune for venturing
new approaches to Chopin. Now that Poland enjoys political independence and has
even formally became a part of Europe by joining the European Union, it is perhaps
time to start shedding the nineteenth-century political stereotypes and look at Chopin’s
biography from a new perspective, without having to prove his “Polishness” or to
reconfirm that Poland has always been a part of Europe.
 2
Prof. Dr. J6ZEF MICHt\1:. CHOlllINSKI (Warszawa)

DIE EVOLUTIO DES CHOPINSCI-IEN TlLS

'Nenn wir llUS über die Entwicklung des Schaffens von Chopin und insbesondere über die stilisti-
schen Eigenheiten seiner ,,"{erke Gedanken machen, drängt sich IIns sofort die Frage auf, ob es in diesem
Fall um den individuellen 'ti! des Komponisten geht oder um elen nationalen und romantischen Slil.
Es unterliegt keinem Zweifel, c1aß diese stilistischen Kategorien sich einander ergänzen. Zweifellos
ist der romantische Stil etwas Übergeordnetes, seine Komponenten jedoch sind e1ie nationalen Stile und
die Stile der einzelnen Komponisten. Alle zusammen schaffen eine große Vielfalt, die nur scll\ver auf
einen gemeinsamen Nenner zu bringen wäre. Besonders der romantische Stil ist schwer definierbar.
Man kann sogar bezweifeln, ob es sich in diesem Fall wirklich um stilistische Kategorien handelt oder
vielleicht nnr nm eine bestimmte Haltung des Komponisten. Doch auch von diesem ß1ickpunkt allS ist die
Erwägung dieses Problems nicht leicht. Im Zeitalter der Romantik1 begegnen wir verschiedenen Haltun-
gen der Komponisten 2 und im Zusammenhang damit verschiedenen, sogar gegensätzlichen Interessen-
bereichen 3 • Das Streben, eine möglichst große Vielfalt der Erscheinungen zu umfassen, ist nichts anderes
als eine Kraft, die deli Menschen zur unaufhörlichen Suche anregt, die Kraft, die die Entwicklung
des Individualismus und Subjektivislllus fordert. Die Gegensätze werden zur Quelle reicher' Erlebnisse
und gleichzeitig zur treibenden Kraft kiinstlerischer Tätigkeit. Die Summe der individuellen kompo -
sitorischen Erfahrungen schafft jenes prächtige Bild, das für die Musik eies romantischen Zeitalters charak-
teristisch ist. Etwas wesentliches ist die nationale Kunst, die zum allgemeinmenschlichen "Vert wird,
und im Zusammenhang damit zu einem der wichtigsten Elemente der Kunst der romantischen Epoche.
Das individuelle Verhältnis zu künstlerischen Problemen, die mit der ungewöhnlichen Mannigfaltigkeit
der Erscheinungen verbunden sind, findet seinen unmittelbaren Ausdruck in der kiinstlerischen Form.
Einerseits beobachten wir das SU'eben nach Konzentration der Form auf einen kleinen Raulll, genaller
gesagt, eine Vorliebe für die vokale und instrumentale Miniatur. Andererseits zeichnet sich die Tendenz
zum Ausbau großer Formen ab. All das scheint gegensätzliche Richtungen zu schaffen; in Wirklichkeit
aber laufen sie in einem Punkt zusammen, nämlich im Streben, die Ausdrllcksmittel zu bereichern.
Die Konsequenz der Entwicklung der schöpferischen Individualität ist die freie Wahl der Interessen-
gebiete im Einklang mit elen eigenen psychischen Neigungen. Damit ist die Konzentration auf gewisse
Gattungen zu erklären und im Fall Chopin sein Interesse vorwiegend für Klaviermusik.
Das Streben der romantischen Komponisten lIach unaufhörlicher ßereicherung der Ausdrucks-
mittel läßt in ihrem Schaffen danernde Spuren zurück. Daher die Anderungen, die im Verlauf der
schöpferischen Tätigkeit erfolgen . Hei den einen geht das langsam und ruhig vor sich, bei anderen
erfolgen die Anderungen rasch lind gründlich. Bei Chopin findet e\ies~r Prozeß im Verlauf einer ver-
hältnismällig kunen Zeit statt. Die Beobachtullg dieses Entwicklungsprozesses ist unerläßlich, weml
man seine schöpferische Tätigkeit erkenuen will und insbesondere, um sich klarl.llmachen, wie die
Entwicklung der Ausdrucksmillel seillen in(Livitlllellen Still und gleichzeitig den nationalen lIlId rOlllanti-
sehen Stil bereicherte.

1 Histoir< glntiralc tlc ['art , Bd. TI L. Haulccocur L. XIX. siecI •. rlnl11mßrioll 1951 , S. 239.
• A. Einstein Music in Ilu Romanlic Ern . Nc\V York 1947, S. +.
• A. Comfort Art anti SociaI Rcsporuibilily. Lolldon 1946, S. 20.
44 chopin

45
•.
. In rler Entwicklung des Schnffcns Cltopins lassen sicl1 drci Entwicklun gsperioden beobachten
Jahr 1830 zuruckgeht , ist der Start, in Anlelmw1g an die Traditione n
D1e erste Periode, die bis auf das
dicser Periode
des :\lilieus, also an nationale Tmclitionen und an die kla.s:'ische Musik. Gegen Ende
t~etcu schon die individuellen i\lcrkmale des Stili ,·on Cbopm zutage. In der
zweiten Periode die auf
che Jahre 1850- 59 cntfallt, vollzieht sich bereits clie endgiiltigc Kristnllisat ion der Individu~litiit des
- sie daucrt bis zu scinem To~c - ist die Synthcse der bisherigen
Komponisten. Die dritte Periode
Musik.
Erkcnmnisse und zugleich die Ankundigu ng ncuer Tendenzen 111 der europai.schen
die
In der erstcn Schaffenspcriode Chopins sehen wir nocl1 eine gewisse Anzaltl von Werkeu
Kompositio ns -Vcrsuche eincs Kindcs sind. Auf Grw~d dicser StUcke knnu man sich ein 'Bild
lediglich
reifen Schaffens
von sciucn Fahigkeiten machen, keinesfalls aber konnen sie als intcgrieren der Teil seines
sich rasch die
angcschen werden. Chopin lerot erst die Welt kenncn, ex ist aufnnhmefahig, eignet
ErrungcnsciJaftcn der europi.iisciJen Musik an. In erster Linie lcniipft er a,n die nntionalen
Traditionc n an.
vor allem dnrauf
Hanptsiichlich interessicren ihn T.-inze: Polonaise und Mazurka. Jhre Bedeutung beruht
fiir ihn zum Wegweiser fiirs gauze Lc~n wurden. Einc bcsonders wichtig~
daf3 dicse ersteu Versuchc
unzerreissbare
Rolle spielt die Mazurka. Sic durcl1dringt scin gnnzes Scllaffen. D1e Mazurkas sind der
nur Vcrsuche.
Faden, der sein Sclmffen zu einem Ganzen verkniipft . Die ersten Mazurkas waren aber it cincr
!I-rst clas Orws G stcllt den Anfang einer allscltigen Emwicklun g dicscr Form als Tanzmusik 111
Gleichzeiti g 'vird sic zur wesentlichs ten Erscheiuun g des nationnlen Stils.
m~iviclucllen Note dar.
D1ese Mazurkas cntstchcn erst in den Jahrcn 1850--31.
Der neifcproze!l dcr kiinstlcrischcn Form der Polonaise s~heint sich bei Chopin anfanglich
d in der Ge­
etwas schneller 1.u vollzichen als bei der Mazurka. Es bestcht aber em gro!ler Unterschic
der Polona. ise. Zu~ Zeit, ~s Chopin_ begnnn, Polon~cn zu _komponicr cn, sognr
~chic~nc dcr 1\fnz:urka und
und irn Zusam­
Jenc Jugendlichen, hane dicser Tanz schon erne gewuse Entw1cklungsctappe hmter Slth,
in der Polonaise
mcnhang dnmit hntte cr schon internntionalen Charakter angenommen. Chopin traf
dagegen beinahe
auf vcrschicclen e Vorbi lciCJr, sowohl polnische als auch ausliindischc. Die ~~zurka schuf cr
von Grund auf, iodcm er an die biirgerlichc n und baucrlich~ Tradiuone n nnkniipftc.
Ein wichtiger Fnktor, der auf die Gestaltung dcr scllOp~enscll~ Besonde~hcit ~hopins aJs
Musiker
ou r die Schule
~nd Komponist cler crstcn Zeit grollen Einflu O hane,. war die klass~e M~JSik. N1cht
an diesc Muster.
hcferte ihm klassischc Muster auch die damaligen polmschcn Kompomsten l11elten sich cn, um
Dcutlichc Einfliisse flaydns ~nd Mozarts schen w~r bei den dru;naligen f>?lniscllcn Komponist
zeigt s1ch auch. Chopm als l\ lus~er vor allem in klassischcn
'!ur Elsner odcr Kurpi1'!ski zu ncnncn. Daher
hcnc Vorliebe
l•ormcu, wic Ronclo Varintionen , Sonatc, Trio, Konzert. Wtr sehen sognr emc ausgesproc
Eigenhciten
fiir die i\ hJSik von NJo7.art. Auch Beethoven intcressicrt ihn, bcsonders die dynam ischcn
dcr Sonaten dieses groOen Komponist en. . .. . .
selbst so
Als Chopin seine erstc Klaviersonate scbn eb, beschiifor c ~n das Problem der Form
1
kcinc Merkmale
sehr, dnO cr till seine Person gnnz verga!l. Aus diesem Gnmdc. tragt die erste Sonnte noch
seines groOen
Chopins, obwohl diese in alldcren Wcrkcn aus ~lcrselben Zc1.t schon z~ttage treten. :rrotz
fUr das europiiisch c Kuostscl1af fen, nut d_em Chopm ~cl10~ m Wa~chau m Beriihrung kam,
In_tcresscs
zu schaffen.
7.etchnct sich hei Chopin scl1on voHkomme n dcutlich dns Bedu~fms ab, natJo~Jale Kunst
£:. bcmiiht sich, einen Weg zu finden, der z:ur Synthese _dcr ldamsch~n For~ mit c!;m Volkstnnz
fUhren
wcrden in die
wurde. So entstcht das ]Iondo a Ia ll1tuur, das Krakowtak-Ron_do. D1e nntJ onal~n fiinze
1Y.klischen Werke, d.h. in die Konzertc aufgcnomm cn. In diesen Fo~~en ZCithnet sich glcichtcitig
I nteresse fUr die
semc iudividucllc Art die Probleme der Fonn und des Ausdrucks zu losen, nb. Das
die Strnktur der
instrument alc Lyrik, bcsonders fiir das Noctumo, w"irkt sich auf den Charakter und
.
Themcn der Allcgri untl dcr Mittclsiitze ~ den Kon~crten aus. .
Dort beginnt sich der individuelle Bettng Cho~ms zur Entwtckl';l"g ~er ~onzertform mit
beson­
offenbarcn . Die Emwz:ipati on der ly:Jschen _Ele1~ente JSt dte Summe des Romantike rs,
derer Schiirfe tu
1 d~r S~ktur des Werkes anzutasten .
d~r die klassischc Form bercichcrt, ohnc jedoch d~ Glelchgewt cht ~
n. Breit ausgc­
Die in jener Zeit so beliebte Form des Con.ccrt b_rillant schnfft dafur gu nstJge ~edingunge
cine gUnstige
bautc Oberleitun gcn, die in \Virklichkeit Figurations· nnd Bravourfragmentc smd, schaffen
Fridailr. Soptn. Mo-
k ' G. Abrnhnm Chopill'l Mrllicnl Style. London 1959, 5. AuOoge 1946. J . Kremlev
1 vn-Lcninrrnd 19+9, 2. AuOogc 1960.
 chopin 45

46

Grundlage zur Ausnutzung der Kontrastmittel, mit dem Ziel, dem 'IVerk groflere Ausdruckskraft zu verll•i ­
hen. Gleichzeitig deutet das auf cine }.ndcrung der Disposition cler Form im Verhiiltnis zur klassi·
schen Musik hin. Andercrse;rs is t Choptin an pianistischen Prohlemen interessiert, clie fiir sein
gesamtes Schaffen von au/3erordentlicher Bedeutung sind 5. Es ist klar, daf! anfiinglich Probleme der
Virtuositat auf die jugendliche Phantasie wirken miissen, abcr der Kern der Sache lic~t vic! Liefer·,
er greift bis auf clas vVesen der klanglichen SLrukl.ur des " ' erkes zuriick. Schon claurals lcgle er sich Rechcu­
schaft ab, dal3 der Klaviersatz die Gruncllage zur Realisierung aller Elenrentc seiner \Yerke bildct,
daf! e r lctztcn Endes iiber die richti ge, ausdrucksvolle \Virkung des Vl'erkes eurschciden mul3. Dall er
sich dariiber im klaren war, zeigen deutlich seine Etiidcn, an clenen cr noch in Polen zu arbeiten bcgann.
Vl'ir konnen zwar mit Hilfe der vergleichendeu Analyse die geuetischen Ket(englieder der einzcluen
pianistischen Mittel dcr Etiiden und Kouzerte von Chopin sowie ihre Vorfonnen bei verschicdeneu
Klavier-Komponisten finden, wie bci Clementi, \•Vebcr, Field, Mosclrelcs, Cramer, aber sofort fiillt uns
etwas ganz Erstaunliches auf: Chopin eignete sich nicht nur in ungemei n kurzcr 7.eit ihre Ernrngen­
schaften an, sondern entwickeltc sic noch.
In der \'Varschauer Periode arbeitet cr sehr gewissenhaft am Klaviersatz, untcrsuclrt seine J\<loglich­
keiten, analysiert die einzelnen teclrnischen Problerne, prii ft die Treffsicherlreit der angcwandtcn Mittel.
In den Etuden stelltc cr die pianistische Problematik in eincr gewisserrnaf3en partikuliiren Weise dar,
d.h. an einzelnen Beispielen. Was die Etiidcnforrn anbelangt, habcn wir \IllS gewohnt, in ihr vor allem
Ausfiihrungsprobleme zu erblicken. Natiirlieh sind diese auclr bei Chopin vorhanden, dcnn sclrlie/3liclr
sind ja diese V\7erke zum Spielen bes tinnn t, und jcde Etude repriisenriert irge ndein Ausfiihrungsproblem,
ja sogar manchmal einen ganzen Komplex solcher l'roblen re. Abcr das Hauptproblcm in den Etudcn
von Chopin sind kompositorische l'roblerne. Die wichtigste Anfgabe des Kompnnisten bcrulrt in dcr
Etude vor allem darauf, solche pianistische Mittel zu schaffen, die dcr geformten Khmgsubstanz gemiill
den lntentionen des Kornponistcn zur Wir kung verhelfen . .lrn Zusammenhang damit entwickelt er
neue Typen von Figurationen°, Kantilenen, cine neue Klavier-AJU<ordik, also Typen, die ci ne ganzc
Skala von Ausdrucksmitteln bilden, angefangen von g rossen dynamischen Entladungen bis zur raf­
finiertes.ten Klangkoloristik.
So schliel3t also Chopin seine ' 'Varsclraucr ?.cit mit keincut geringcn Kapital ab. Um das Jahr
1850 ist er sich seiner schopferisclrcn Arbcit als nationalc r 1\orrrponist bereits voll bewuUt. l;!eiclrzei tig
hatte er sich schon solide Grundlagcn fiir die Entw icklung der Klaviermusik im allgemeinen gcscl raffcn 7•
In der zweiten Schaffensperiode Cho])illS biluet sich cine neue Lage. Vor allem iindert sich das
Verhaltnis Chopins zur klassischen iVlusik. Die klassischen Formcn machen anderen Formen Platz.
J\Js Dberbleibsel des friiheren Interessengebietes miissen <las Rondo Es-dur op. 16 ( 1852) sowie die Varia­
tionen iiber das Thema von Herold <<.lc vcns scapulaire» op. 12 (1855) angesehen werden. Allerdings,
Chopin i.ibernimmt cine gewisse Gattung aus dcr klassischen Periode, verleiht ihr aber eincn neuen
Ausdruckssinn. Es ist das Scherzo, das auch manchc Homantikcr interessiert hatte unci bei ihnen scinen
Charakter iinderte. In jener Zeit entstanden sogar 5 Scherzos, von dcnen jedes ein Zeugnis fiir cine
andere Art der Losung der Ausdrucks-Probleme ist. Eiu charakteristisches Merkmal der ueuen Periodc
ist die 'l,'endenz im Hahmen der einsatzigen Werke Mittel auszuniitzeu , die unterschiedliche, oft gegen ­
satzliche Ausdruckswerte repriisentieren, insbesonucre aus dem Bereich der Dyuamik, Agogik, Rhythmik
und Melodik. Das fi.ihrt zur Entlehnung von Mitteln, die in verschiedenen Typen von ''Verken ausgebildet
sind, und wird znr Ankundigung jener Sachlage, clie flir die clrittc Periode charakteristisch sein wird,
als Chopin besonders deutlich cine Synthesc verschieclener Ausdrucksruittel anstrebte. Im Zusarnmenhang
damit wird das Chopinsche Scherzo ein \'Verk gro/Jer Kontraste. Die auf der Grundlage der Etiide aus ­
gcbildete dynamische Figuration erlaubte es z.B., die 1\andtcile des Scherzos h-moll zu formen, wiihrend
die Entwicklung der lyrischen Formen nicht ohne Einfiull auf den Mittelteil blieb. Auch die dualistische

5 J. Chornir\ski Z zngadnietl faktury fortepianow•j Chopirw (poln. Zur Frage tics Chopirrsclren Kltwicrsntzes,
auch cine kun.c Zusammcnfassung in cngliseh, r ussisch, fnun.Osisch). ,P:racc [nst.ytutu Muzykologii Uuin•crsyte tu
\•Varszawskicgo" (Abhnndlungen d. Musikwisscnsclrnftl. l nstitutcs t!. Unh·crsi tiil Wnrschnu) F.F.C/r.opin 1960, S. 150.
8 H. Bcssclcr Spielji'gurt-11 in tier lnstrrznrcntol musrk. , Dcutschcs Juhrbuch c.lcr i\r
l usik wisse nschnft" fiir
1956, s.
7
55.
L. Hernddi Sty/ Jortcpitmowy Cl&opintJ w oJwictlcniu historyc:nym ( poln. Chopins Klnvierstil in tltr
geschichtlichm Beleuchtrmg) . ,Kwnrtnl nik Mu~yc-tny" Nr. 26-27, S. 560.
46 chopin

47

Konzcptiou der Form fand ucuc Hcalisationsmoglichkcitcn im Scltcr::o b-moll, wo Chopin den thcmati­
schcn JJualismus mit clern dreiteiligen formalcn Aufbau vcrband, cler eiuen kontrastiercnclen :'llittclteil
en thalt. Oiese Einzelhciten erschopfen jcdoch noch nicht das Problem. Ocr l\eichtum an Ausdrucks­
mittcln i111 Chopinschen Schcno offenbart sich vor allcm darin, daB cr sich aus den verschiedenartigen
;\lcthoden crgibt, mit dcnen Chopin an die Gestaltungsprinzipien selbst hcrantritt. Oer Evolutionismus
dcr Form gestaltct sich dort nach verschiedenen Prinzipien. fm Sclter::o It-moll entwickeln sich die
1\andteile aus einem Kleinmotiv, wiilirend llll Sclter::o b-mofl thematische Arbeit Z\1 vVorte komrnt.
[n cincm Fall sind Jnstrumentalliguren der gestaltende Faktor, im ancleren scharf priizisierte Themen­
stntkturen. Und im Schcr::o cis-moll wird die scharfe rhythmische Pulsation zu eincru wiclnigen Gestal­
tuugsfaktor. Zwei Gcstaltungsprinzipien, von denen sich eins auf die E r reichung des Ausdrucks durch
starke Kontraste unci das andere auf die Entwicklung der grundlegenden mclodischen £dee zielt, sind
auch iu den Nocturnos ein entscheidender Faktor. Im Verbaltnis zu den Noctttrnos von Field war das
schou ein grollcr Fortschritt. Chopin bcgniigt sich jedoch nicht mit diescn Moglichkeiten. [u den Impromp­
tus prii ft er iibcrdics das mngekchrte Verhiiltuis der agogischen wul melodischcn Wcrte.
Aile diese Erfahrungen kommen. ihm bei der Arbcit an ciner ncuen Musikform - clcr Hallade
wgu tc. So z.U. cntwirkclt Chopin in der Ballade g-moll das Primip des thematischen Dualism us, wah rend
in der Ballade Jl-dur cine durch grolle dynamische und agogische Gcgensiitze gewonnene Forrncinhcit
dargestcllL win!. Bcitle haben jedoch gewissermaOen einen gemcinsamcn Neuner und einen Zusnmmen­
haug, besonders mit den Schenos. Dieser gemeinsame Nenner ist die Arbeit an der Entwicklung des
Ausdrucksgehalts des Thernas. Wahrend in den friihklassischen Werken das Thema cine kons tnntc Grollc
war, win! sic sp.'iter zur varinblen GroCe, gestaltet sich gleichermallcn nufs Neue in den cinzelnen
Entwicklungsphascn des Werks, unci unterliegt je nach dcr Situation den verschiedcnsten Urnwandlungcn
his zur Gegenwirkung im Verhiiltnis zu ihrer Urform. Darin kann man eben Zusarnmenhiinge zwischen
der literarischen Konzeption der Ballade unci der Behandlung ihrer Form in der htstrumemalmusik
erblicken. ·
Ich miichtc noch einrnal auf die Problematik der Mazurkas zuriickkommen. In der zweiten
SchaiTensperiode Chopins erhielt die Mazurka ihre reifste Ktmstform. In solchen vVerken wie Schenos
Balladcn, Nocturnos uud sogar Polonaisen und Walzer arbeitet Chopin fast mit allen ihm zur Verfiiaung
slehcnder~ Klal{iermiueln. In_ den Mazurkas t:>csch~ii.nk~ er sich auf die unerla_U_lichst~n. Es iSl mo;lich,
daB das stch nus der Natur d!Cses Tanzes eqpbt, vtelletcht sogar aus der Trachtton, che gewisse konven­
tionclle Forntcn der Bcgleitung tmd ilues Verhiiltnisses zur melodischen Linie suggeriert. Diese Un1stiinde
sind jedoch nicht von grollerer Bedeutung. Die Mazurkas von Chopin sind vielrnehr ein Zeugnis eben
fiir die Obcrwimlung clcr Konvcntion. Die Stilisierung von Tanzen set<Gt grundsatzlich keine Schranken
die nicht iiber·schritten werden konnten, sobald es um kiinstlerische Riicksichten geh t. Die spezifisch~
Behandlung der pianistischcn Mittel in den Ma~urkns ergibt sich vor allem nus dem 'Weseu der Pianistik
Chopins sclbst. Der Klaviersatz Chopins ist das unerlaOliche Mittel zur Healisierung der Ausdmcks­
konzeption des \Yerkes und nich t Selbstzweck. Aus diesem Grunde beschriinkte Chopin niemals seine
kornpositorischen Einfalle ansschlielllich auf pianistiscbe Probleme. Mehr noch . In der reifen Periode
seines SchaiTcns schob er sic nicht einmal in den Vordergrund. Besonders klar "tritt clas in den Mazurkas
zutage, also in Werken, die zum Ausdmck seiner pcrsonlichsten Aussage wurden. Chopin bemiihte sich
um cine moglichst reinc Gestalt der Ausdrucks_rnittel, die er. bis in di? ~e~lStcn Details ausfeilt unci
ausarbcitet. Dieses Strcben bcdentet durchaus mcht den Verztcht auf ptrunsllsche Mittel, es ist nnr em
Zeugnis fiir deren weitgehende Selektion. Diese Sclektion ist auf die Wirkwtg der Ausclmcksmittel
it~ anderen Dimensionen bcrechnet, und zwar sowohl in die Bre~t~ als nuch in die Tiefe. Es geht hier
tncht nur 11111 die Beschriinkung des Ausmalles des Werks zur Muuatur, sondern vor allern dnrum daO
jede, auch die kJcinste ELnzelheit des Werkes zu einer.. unerl_aOlichen, nnersetzlichen Kompon~nten
desselbcn wird. In so einem Verhiiltnis zum Problem der kunstlemchen Form erhalten sogar die kleinsten
Elemente geradezn architcktonischen Sinn. Wahr~nd wir in den breite~ ausgebauten Werken irnmer
n~ehr oder wenigcr kondcnsi~rte. Stellen finden, dte dem Interpretet~· wte ~ucl_t dem Borer gleichsarn
~me Atempause gewiihren, smd u~ d~n ~azu.rka~ aile Fragm~nte glerch wtchttg. Aus diesem Gruncle
tst es bei der Auffiihrung so schwteng, dte nchtlgen Proporttonen abzumessen.
. Die Mazurkas von Chopins zeicl_men s~ch, trou ~lrrer auller~chen Ei_nfachkeit durch groOen
Rerchtum der Ausdrucksmittel aus. Chopm openert dort mit allen ngogtschen Mttteln, subtiler Dynamik,
 chopin 47

48

mit koloristischen VVerten, vcrschiedenen Registern des Klaviers und verschiedenen Formcn der Beglci­
tung. Aile diese Mittel gestalten die Klangform der Mclodik uml Harmonik, tragen zur Differenzierung
in der VVirkung des rhythmischen Faktors bei. Die Vielheit der Mittel bewirkt, dal3 der Periodenbau,
der die architektonische Grundlage der Mazurkas bildet, cine neue aullere Gestalt erhalt und das \¥erk
mit neuen vVerten erfi.illt.
Die zweite Schaffensperiode bereitet den Boden fi.ir die grollen Synthcsen vor, die fiir die dritte
Periode charakteristisch sind. Zum Beispiel ist die Entwicklung so einer Form wie das Scherzo der
Ausdruck des Strebens nach einer Synthesc vcrschiedener Elemente und Mittel und zwar ebenso friiherer,
wie auch jener, die erst entstanden. Die Ausni.itzung der agogischen Ko)ltraste wurde aus den architek­
tonischen Voraussetzungen der zyklischen Form auf den Boden der einsatzigen ·werke i.ibertragcn. Die
Aufeinanderfolge des Figural- und Kantilenenteils, bzw. umgekehrt, bedeutet die Ausniitzung der im
Bereich der Etude und des Nocturnos gewonnenen Erkenntnisse. Der thematische Kontrast und die
Durchfiihrungstechnik win! am der Sonate in das Scherzo iibcrtragcn. Analoge Erschcinungcn beobach­
ten wir auch in den Balladen. Ein Ausdruck fiir das Streben, die Erfahrungen aus verschiedenen Formcn
auszuni.itzen und gleichzeitig neue Ausc.lmcksmittel zu entwickeln, ist der Zyklus der Priiludien. VVir
finden dort Werke von Etiiden- und Nocturnocharakter8 , deren Aufeinanclerfolge ein sinnvolles archi­
tektonisches Ganzes bildet. Man kann dort sogar eine melodische Substan.zgemeinschaft in Gestalt
der sich in der Mehrzahl der Priiludien wiederholenden Sekumlwendung erblicken°. Das ist jedoch
nicht wesentlich, obgleich cs von der technischen Disziplin des Komponisten uncl seinem Streben zeugt,
den Zyklus mit Hilfe des gemeinsamen Klangmaterials zu verbinden. Ein vie! wichtigerer Faktor, der
fi.ir die Einheit der Form entscheidend ist, ist die Zusammensetzung der Praludien nach dem Prinzip
des KontrasteslO (schnell, erregt - Iangsam, ruhig). Einen zentralen Phtz im Priilndicnzyklus
nehmen die Nocturn-Praludien ein. Diese Bemerkungen konnen mehr oder weniger i.iberzeu­
gend sein, nichtsdestoweniger es ist einc Tatsache, dal3 Chopin zur zyklischen Form, wenn auch in der
losesten Gestalt, die aber doch aufbestimmten tonal-harmonischen Prinzipien aufgebant ist, zuriickkehrte,
um breiter ausgebaute \'\1erke zu scl!affen, in denen cine Synthese der bisher ausgebildeten Mittel
erfolgen kOnnte. .
Es ist also kein Zufall, dal3 die hervorragendsten \!Yerke von Chopin aus der dritten Periocle
entweder zyklische Formen oder breiter ausgcbaute einsiitzige VVerke sind, oder Miniaturen, die in
neuer Weise behandelt sind. In jener Zeit entstehen seine drei Sonatcn, b-moll, h-moll, g-moll, die
Fantasie j-moll, die Polonaisen jis-moll und As-dur, die Fantasie-Polonaise, die Ballade j-moll und die
Berceuse. Neue kompositorische Problcme fiihren Chopin zu neuen schopferischen Bemi.ihungen. Die
Ausniitzung der Erfahrungen erfolgt nicht durch mechanische Zusammenballung verschiedener Kriifte,
sondern durch Umgestaltung der bisherigen, breiter ausgebauten Formen. Es entstehen dadurch auch
nicht sogenannte Mischformen, die fiir die Durchgangsperioden charakteristisch sind, sondern VVerke,
die stilistisch einheitlich sind. Solche Synthesen sind nur fiir die nllergrof3ten Komponisten charakteri­
stisch wie J. S. Bach, Mozart, lleethoven und eben Chopin.
Die Aufnahme der Arbeit an Sonaten bedeutet die Ri.ickkehr zur klassischen Form. Und in der
Tat, aullerliC'.h entsprechen sie dem bekannten viersatzigen Anfbau. lhrer inneren Konstruktion nach
sind sic jedoch neue \IVerke. Schon der EntstehungsprozeB der Sonate b-moll allein ist cine ganz besondere
Erscheinung. Der Komponist schuf sie von der Mitte, vom Trauermarsch, mit dem er den Heiden in
den Tagen der grollen nationalen Trauer huldigte. Dieser Ausga.ngspunkt im schopferischen Prozell
ist fiir die Ausdruckseigenheiten der zwei ersten Satze entscheidend, und fi.ihrte in der Konsequenz zur
Umwandlung der urspri.inglichen klassischen Mechanik der zyklischen Form. Das Allegro und das
Scherzo bilden, als Ausdruck des Aufruhrs, eiue Einheit und ergiinzen sich gegenseitig. Das Finale
dagegen ist nur noch ein kurzer Epilog, der notwendige AbschluB des VVerkes. Auf diese ·w eise ent­
steht trotz der aullerlichen Ahnlichkeit mit dem klassischen zyklischen Aufbau cine neue architektoni­
sche Konzeption. Chopin hat dort eine neue Art von kiinstlicher Formeinheit geschaffen, indern er die

8 Z. Jachimecki Chopin (poln.). Krakow 1957, S. 215.

• J. Chominski Preludia Chopina (polu.). KrakOw 1950, S. 501.
10 J. Chominski Problem formy w Preludiach Cltopina (poln. Formproblcmc in Chopimcltcn I'riiludicn).
,Kwartalnik Mu~y~ny" Nr. 28, 1949, S. 549.
48 c

hopin

\Vatcrcolor by ~ Iarin \Y_odt.i 1'1 ~kn. Ori~inol i.u t.hc ~nliounl \(us:t~t 1111 in \Ym-snw.
J. Prcdcr•' "k ''I ·
V IOJHII
'
ChoJ>in Society Pholographic Collccllon.
50 chopin

49

sich auf den cin­

Ausclrucksmiltcl nusniitzt, die cr gcsondert pncgte. Ist doch das Fi'nale als Forrn, die
Die cvolulions­
lwitlichcn rhythrnischcn Vcrlauf und lnstrument nlfigurcn sti.itzt, cinfach cine F.tiide.
behandelt, zeigt
miillige Art unci Weise, mit der cr clas u1otivische Material im Hauptthem a des A~os
der mittlere
cbenfnlls Beriiluung spunktc mit dieser Fonn. Die lyrischen Fragmente derSonntc, besonders hange
und in gcwissem Grade sogar dns Gegcnthem a des Allegros ZC'igt Zusammen
Tcil des Schrr::os
auf die Sonaten­
mit dcm ~octurno auf. Die Bedeutung dcr lyrischen Elcmentc ist nicbt ohne Einflull
ng des Hauptthe­
form des .Allegrot und fiihrt zu deren Obergewicht in der Reprise <lurch die Elirninieru
Satz dieses Werkes
rnas. Dicser Pro1ell verticft sich noch mehr in der Sonnte h-moll. Dcr ganze langsarne
als in der Sonate
bcsitzt Nocturnocharakter, und das Gegenthcm a des Allegros zcigt in hohercm Graue
b-moll einc Verwandtscbaft mit lyriscben vVcrken. Nichtsdestoweniger zeicbnen sich
in der SoiUlte It-moll
dynamisch cn
im Verhiiltnis zur friiheren Sonate neue Proportionen ab. Das Fimzle erhii.lt wieder seinen
tr des Themas
Charakter, abcr im Zusnmmen hang damit iindert sich die Rondofonn. Die Wiederkcl
hin. IO::
bzw. der Ritornellen , deutet auf den Pro;r;eB einer unaufhorli chen dynamischen Steigerung
konnen wir das Streben nach einer unte rschicdlich cn Losung des
zyklischen Aufbau der Sorrate g-moll
einzelnen Sitze
F.inheitsproblems feststcllen. Genau so wie in den Priiludien iJt der Faktor, der die
verhinclet, die Substanzgemeinschaft in einigen Siitzen des Werkes.
aus­
Es ist jcdoch schwer, in einern Refernt eingehend die Probleme dcr kiinstlerischen Form und
mull nur ganz im allgemeine n festgestellt werden, dall die Wegc
fiihrlich zu behancleln. Deshalb
wird. In den
:\Jiuel vcnchieden sind, mit deren Hilfe die Synthese der bisherigen Erfahrung cn vollzogen
in der Aus­
Tanzforme n kommt das im Rallmen cines Werkes, gennuer gesagt in der Polonaise fo-moll
zum Aus­
niitznng von zwei der wichtigsten polnischen 1iinze, niirnlich der Polonaise und der Mazurka
lyrischen Pcriodenfo rmen wirken auch Varintion s~uol zusamrncn , wie z.B. im Impromptu
druck. In den
Fis-durll. Manclunnl wirkt die V~triation auch mit dem dynamuch en Faktor als
tektoniscbes Element
ganzen Satzes lu.r
zusammcn, und dann fiihrt die Wiederhol ung des thematiscben Materials, sogar des
c_-moll o;. 48
Umgostnltung12 des Ausdru~s dcr urspriinglichen S?'uktur.w ie zum Beisp~cl.im N_octi.U'IIO Form
Gestalt nunmt das Werk durch dre Verbmdun g der Varratron mrt der lynschen
Nr. I. Eine andere
Ostinato und Omamenti k, wie in der Berawe, zusamrnen wirkenl3.
an, in dem Falle, wenn gleichzeitig
a Uem die
Jl,in charakterislisches Merkmal fUr die dritte Schaffensperiode von Chopin ist vor
In der Bal­
wachscnde Rolle der thematischen Arbeit, die in den verschieden sten Wcrken zutagetritt.
lndc f-nwll z.U. verbindet sie sich mit der VariationSiechnik und in gewissem
Grade sogar mit poly­
phoncn Mittehl. Tn der Polorzaise-F nnlo.SU erfolgt eine Syntbese des TanlCs mit der Mehrthem enform
ten, wie a.gogi­
und Durchfiihrungstechnik. In der Fantas~ f-moll wirken vie~e verschiedene Komponen
sogar dns Terrain
schc und thernatischc Konttastc sowic die Durchfiihr ungstechm k zusarnmen. Sic bett·itt
56 Nr. 3 zeugen.
der Miniaturfo rmen, wovon z.~. di? ftfa::.urA·ns .cis-moll op. 50 Nr. 3 ode~ c-moll op.
bedient,
!£s komrnt auch vor, daD Chopm arch zur Berercheru ng der Ausdrucks mrnel der Polyphonic
kleinen Kanons
msbesondere der Imitation, die in der Mazurka C-dur op. 56 Nr. 2 das Ammall eines
in denen die Ten­
annim111t. Natl\rlich findcn \vir in dcr dritten Periode Wcrke, besondcrs Miniaturen ,
der nllgemcinen
denz znr Synthese verschiedcner Mittel nicht vorhanden ist. Das iindcrt jedoch nichts an
Enl\vicklun gs-Richtun g des Chopinsche n Stils in jener Zeit.
die Grund­
Diese kurze 'Obersicht der Erscheinun gen ware nicht vollstiindig, wenn man nicht auf
erster Stelle die
elementc der Chopinschen Werkc die Aufmerksamkeit lenken wiirde. Wenn ich an
den Vordergru nd
Melodik erwahne, so nicht dcshalb, dall oft bei der Stilanalysc der melodische Faktor in
wird. In der Tnt wird die Melodik bei Chopin zu einem erstrangige n Faktor, dcr fUr das indi­
geschoben
sehr wichtig istl&. D ie Melodik. ist eben jenes Element des Werks
viduelle Gesicht seines Schaffens
d tritt. Soga;
welches sogar bei oberfliichlicher Perzeption der '1Verke von Chopin in den Vordergrun
Mebr noch im
Laien konnen auf Grund der Melodik mit Leicbtigkeit die Werkc Chopins erkennen.
nennen ko~nte
melodischen Faktor fmden wir jenes Element, das man eine konstante, stilistiscbe Grolle
rem Umgan~
die das individuelle Gesicht des Komponisten bestimmt. Und wenn auch im umnittelba
K. Wilkowska Impromptut C!ropina (polo.). " Kwartalnilt Muty<r&~y" Nr.
II
26- 27, S. 155.
S. 186.
1. Chomiruki La maltrisc tit Chopin compotittur. ,.Annales Chop•n" Bd. 2. 1957,
11

'*
H. Leiehtentrit t Anol;rse dtr Chopin'1ehm Klavitrw<rk< Bd. 2. Berlin 1922, S. 279.
" L. Mnt~l 0 mtlodllu Sopmn. K voprosu o tint<tic<1kom tipj• mdodii (ru11.
Obtr Chopiru M<loclik.
.
Zur Frn8< clu •:r11 thttischm Melotlltt;rput). "Annnlet Chopin" Bd. 4. 1959, S. 51.
 chopin 51

50

mit dem Werk von Chopin die individnellen Merkmale der :VJelodik von Chopin Ieicht erfallbar sind,
verursachen sie der wisseuschaftlichcn Analyse die grollten Schwierigkeiteu. Wir konnen ruhig sagen,
daJ3 die Musikwissenschaft bisher nicht auf die gnuullegcndc l•'ragc gc:antworlct ha t: worin stccJ;t das
Individuelle der Melodik von Chopin? Zwar wurden die versch iedensten Anstrengungen in diescr Hich­
tung unternommen 15 . Es zeigte sich jedoch schlielllich, dall trotz allem die Erkennungskritericn, i.iber
die die Analyse des melodischen Stils verfiigt, nicht ausreichcnd sind, obwohl zugegcben werdeu mull,
dat3 bisher auf cine Reihe von wesentlichen E.inzelhciten hingcwiesen wurde. In dieser Lage ist es
schwer, den Entwicklungsprozet3 der Chopin-Melodik prazise danustellen. Vielmehr mull man sich
darauf beschranken, hauptsachlich auf die bereits beri.ihrten Grundprobleme hinzuweiscn und auf­
zuzeigen, wo man die individuellen Merkmale in der Mclodik von Chopin suchen kann.
Es unterliegt also keinem Zweifel, dai3 die Chopinschc Melodik cine schr komplizierte Erschei­
nuug ist. Sie darf also nicht in irgcndein unbewegliches Schema eingczwiingt werdcn. Die Mannigfaltig­
keit der Arten und Formen, die Chopin pflegte, trag• eben zu (liesem Reichtum und zu <Iieser Viel­
fith. bei. Ande'rs gestaltet sie sich in den einzelnen Tanzarten, und antlers in den lyrischen und breiter
ausgebauten vVerkcn, obwohl wir untcr ihnen gemeinsamc Merkmale findcn, bcsonders dort, wo cine
gegenseitige Dmchclringung dcr ciuzelnen Gattnngen erfolgt. Urn sich in dicsem reich_en Material
zu orientieren, ist cine allgemeine Klassifikation der Erscheinungen notwendig, die es erlaubt, Erschci­
nungcn voneinander zu trennen, die diametral entgegengesctzt sind. Da her ist die Teilung auf cine
Figurationsmelodik und cine Kantilenenmelodik gerechtfertigt. Ein wcsentliches Mer.kmal dcr Chopin­
schen Figuration ist vor allcrn die Evolution cler Instrumentalfiguren. Sic bereichert den grundlegenden
mcloclischcn Faden m it Hilfe von vVechsel- und Nebennoten, deren Ausdrnckswirkung vielfach durch
die Chromatik verst.'\rkt wird. Eine andere Eigcnheit der Chopinschen Figuration ist vor allem ihr
schich tenmiHliger Aufbau, in dessen Ergebnis auf dem Grunde der Figuration sich oft cine iibergeordnetc
Linie bzw. deren Elementc absonderu. Aullerdem ist ein wesentliches Merkmal der Chopiuschen
Figuration, ihre Fahigkeit sich in andere Elemente umzugestalten, z.B. in dynamische und koloristi­
sche.
Wahrend man in der l!'igurationslllcloclik auf gewisse konstruktive Mittel hinweisen kann, in
denen individuelle Mcrkmale verborgeu sind, kann man in dcr Kantilenenmclodik nur schwer konstruk­
tive Merkmalc feststcllcn, die nur Chopin eigeu waren, und die nicht bei cinem anderen Komponisten
zu finden sind. Daher lcnkte man die Aufmerksamkeit vor allem auf den am leichtesten erfai3baren
Komponenten der Melo1lik, und zwar auf die Ornamentik16• Es wnrde festgestellt, dai3 im Verhaltnis
zu Field ocler Hummel Chopin in den Ornamenten jeden Schematismus vermeidct, dal3 er sie jedes
Mal anders gestaltet. Soweit es sich jedoch um die reine, nicht ornamentale Kantilene handelt, so mul3
ihre Genese in c!er polnischen und slavischen Volksmelodik gcsucht wercleu. Das ist jedoch nicht die
einzige QueUe, denn die Chopinsche Melodik wurtic noch von tier Harmonik bercichert. Oas ist der
Grund, warum die Chopins Melodik oft von Chromatik durchdrungen ist. Im i.ibrigen sind diese Erschei­
nungen sowohl fiir die Kantilenenmelodik als auch fiir die Figurationsmelodik charakteristisch.
Der Entwicklungsweg der Chopinschen Melodik gc ht in tier Hichtung der Eliminicrung jegli­
cher Art von zweitrangigen Akzessorien. Praktisch kommt das darin zum Ausdruck, dal3 in tier erstcu
Schaffensperiode, als Chopin noch Probleme tier Virtnositat interessiertcn, die Melodik mit ornamentalcn
Mitteln bereichert wurde, und hieraus konnen gcwisse gemeinsame Eigenschaften mit dcm Stil brillant
abgeleitet werden. I n der zweiten Schaffensperiodc dagcgen erfolgt cine Begrenzung dcr ornamentalcn
Mittel, cine ungewoh nliche Sparsamkeit in ihrer Behandlung und cine Beschrii.nkung einzig uud alleiu
auf die eigenen Errungenschaften. Es crweitert sich bedcutcnd auch der Bereich der Melik und zwar
sowohl in der Richtung der Vergrot3erung der Intervalle wie auch in ihrer lleschrankung auf ein Mini­
mum. Ein Beispiel dafi.ir sind die groflen Intervalle in der Nla:zu.rka B-dur op. 7 Nr. 1 oder !lie sich
wiederholenden Sekundwendungen im Priiludium c-moll. Zugleich werden die imlividuelleu Merkmale

•• B. W6jcik-Kcuprulinn Mdodyka Chopina (poln. C/,opins Mclodik), Lw6w 1950; J. i\•likeuu Zc swcliow
nod melodykq Chopina (poln . S tutlim iiber Chopins M~loclik). ,Kwurlnl nik Mu~yc~ny" Nr. 26-27, S. 289; A. Chy­
bir'lski 0 pcwnym motywie w d:itlach Chopina (polu. Obtr ritt ,, Jl1otiv" in Ch.opinsclun /"f/ erkcn). ,.Stuclia iVh1?.y1<olo­
gicznc" Bd. 1. 1955, S. 249.
11 M. Ottich Chopins Xlavil!rornamrntik . , Annales Chopin" Bd . 5. 1958. S. 7; J. P. Dun n Onwmenla tion
in the Works of Frederick Chopin. Londou- Ncw York, 1921.
52 chopin

51

erfolgt vor allem

der Claopinschen Figuration bedeutend bereichcrt. In der dritten Scbaffensperiode
zugnnsten von Nebennote n, die sich vor allem aus der
cine lleschraukung dcr stcn.'Otypcn Vorhalte
ein wichtigcs Aus­
Chromatik ergebcn. Eine andere Saclae ist, dall die Chronaatik sogar in der Mazurka
1lla:::urlta /-moll
drucksmitt el ist und zur tonalen Labilitiit der melodischen Linie win!, z.B. in der
op. 68 Nr. 4.
beniitz.t
Chopin beherrschte verhaltnismiil3ig schncll die harmonischen MitteJI , die zu seiner Zeit
7

wunlcn. In der ersten Pcricxle werden sie his zu einern solchcn (;rade erhalten, dall sic sogar in den
rt Chopin die
Wcrkcn, die wodale Eigenheite n auCzeigen, auftrcten. So zum Beispiel harmonisie
im ondo ala Mamr (1826) mit Hilfo des domimunis chen Wechselak kords. Demgegen ­
lydische Quart R
seines
wirkung. Es muO festgestellt worden, daB Chopin zu Begum
uber neutralisie rt er die Mcxlalitats
dc Tone
Schnffens ein groOes Interesse ftir die Chromatik verriit, daO er ziemlich reichlich akkordfrcm
in die Klavier­
an wendel unci sogar versucht, gewissc Mittel aus der Volksmusik, besonders die Bourdonen
. (Ma::urka F·dur op. 68 Nr. 5 - 1829). Wcrm man die Chopinsche Harmonik und
lllusik zu iibcrtragen
behandcln will, mull man sich klnr macl1cn, dal3 sich in scinem rcifen
ilare Entwicklu ng griindlich
romantiscb e
Sclaaffen zwei E:ntwicklungsst:rOmtmgen bemerkbar machen, die fiir die ganze spaterc
UJtd Parallel·
1\lusik charakteristisch sind. Die eine kommt zum Ausdruck im Ausbau der Dominant-
g vcrliiuft
Bcziolaungen hiihcrer Ordnung sowie der Leittonkliinge. Die zweite Entwicklun gsstriimun
1\iclttung, d.h. in der Richtung der Beibehaltu ng dcr heptatoni.sc hcn Orduung, die aber
iu antlercr
Diatonik verschiede n ist, als sic die harmonisch en Konsequen zen aus den
insofcrn von der bisherigen
den diatonischcn
totanlcn Eigrnhcite n ocr Volksmusik :r.iehen. Im Zusarnmen hang dam it vcrschwinden in
Strukturen direkte Dominam-Be:r.ichungen :r.ugtmsten der Parallel-Beziehungen. crgibt
lJer Ausbau der hnrmonischen Mittel auf der Linic der Beziehungen hohercr Ordnung
. Bei Chopin konnen z.wei Arten von Chromatik festgestellt werden. Die erste
im Effekt die Chromatik
oberdominan­
beruht auf tier mechanischen Anwendun g des chromatischen Verlaufs, in dessen Ergebnis
sich nus det
tischc Zusammen hange entstehcn, wie z.B. im Priiludium e-moll. Die zweite Art ergibt
g vcrschiede ner barmonisch er 1\clationen , d.h. sowohl Ober· als auch Unterdomin ant-lle:r.ie­
Anwemltm
und Leittonklan gbeziehung en. Dieser Prozell beginut schon in der zwciten
lnmgen sowie Parallel·
J.:ndstadium tlieses
Schaffcnsperiode und fmdet seinen Ausdruck zun1 Beispiel im Priiludium E-dur. Das
Pror.csscs stcllt die CellosofUite g·nwll dar.
ng
Wic ich bereits sagtc, ist neben d:r _G~romatik die ~iatonik cin \~ichtigcs ~ttcl zur Bcreicheru
Sic beruht auf der Elurumeru ng der dtrckten Dommant-B cz.xehunge n und sich auf
dcr I larmonik.
Noctumo t:·m~ll
cine Folge von Parallel-Beziehungen lliitzt. Als Beispiel kann das R.cligioso nus dem
op. 15 Nr. 3 angefiihrt wcrden.
die Zahl
Das Mittel, das die Harmonik von Chopin bereichert, sind zweifellos Strukturen die
die mit ciner
dcr Akkorde beschriinkcn. In enter Rcil1e gehoren dazn liegende Stimmen und Ostinatos,'
vor alJcm rein
annlogen Volksmusikpraxis verbunden sind. Eine andere Art von Beschriinkung, die
zusiitzlichen Zu­
klangliche's, sonori~tischc Werte bringt, ist die Farbung des Akkords mit Hilfe von
s B-dtu- der
sammcnkliingen, zum Ueispicl der Sc:~-1: oder Septimc, wie das ina Miueltcil des Prfiludiwn
von Sextakkorden
Fall ist. Aullcrdem ist noch die Pnrall.el-Akkordik z.u crwiibnen, die ofter in Form
50 Nr. 5).
auftritt, obwohl auch Parallelen von Septakkorden auftretcn {IIla::ur4·a ci.r-moll op.
den tonalen
Ein spcziellcs Problem in der rcifen Schaffenspcriocle von Chopin ist scin Verhiiltnis zu
Chopin gab sicb
Eigcnheitcn dcr Volksmusik , in der nicht selten verschiedene Modnlitiiten auftreten.
sogar melodi.sche
Recltcnscl1aft von der nivellierenden Wirkung der Funktionsh armonik, in die er
Strukturcn einschmelz en konnte. Deshalb beschriinkt er in den Fallen, woes ihm um die beson­
modnlc
zu tier gcgebenen
derc Dctonung gowisser Mcx_lnlitiitcn ging, di~ Zahl der. Akkordc, so daO die Tone, die
im SchluO der
Skaln gehiiren, z.ll. zur lydtschen, schr plaswch auf emcm Akkorde anftrctcn, wie z.B.
111a=urlra D..tJur op. 55 Nr. 2, oder iiberhaupt den harmonischen Faktor ausschalter,
weshalb die Melodic
selbst als monophone Struktur anftritt (Mazurka B-moll op. 24 Nr. 4).
Obwohl Bronarsk· e·
•• L. Bronarski llarmonilca Chopinn (polo. Chopim lfarmonilc). Warnawn 1955.
ung1prote0 dcr Chopi.U::h~~
nmfanf"'i<:h es Buch der Harmonik Chopins gcwidmet hat, itt dort dcr Enlwickl
Hannonik nicht dargcstcllt.
II z. Lissn Die Chopimchc Harmoni• a us tl<r Ptrspdtiuc
tl<r i{Jnn8U<hnilc tlu 20. Jh. Dcutsc:hcs Jal b 11
" •r uc
dcr Musikwissenschnft" fiir 1957, S. 68 und 1958, S. 80- 82.
 chopin 53

52

In der 1.weiten Schaffenspcriode bildetc Chopin seine individuellc harmon ische Sprachc hrraus.
Der wesentliche AusdruckswerL der harmonischen Mittel ist bedingt vou gcnan bcstinuntcn Klavicr­
mitteln19. Im Zusarnmenhang dan1it reigt sich der harmonische Faktor in einer neuen Perspektive.
Chopin reguliert ungemein priizis die Ansdruckskraft der hannonischen Wirkung miL Hilfe des 1\la,·ier­
satzes. Die Wirkungsskala ist ricsengroB , denn sic reicht vom Nullpunkt bis zu m Vorran g der llarrnonik
in manchen Fallen. Je nach Bedarf ver1.ichtet also Chopin auf den harmonischcu Faktor zugunslcu nudcrcr
Elemente, wie im Praludium f-moll unci im Fint~lc der Sonate h-moll. Der Schwerpu ukt winl ,·ou rlcr
Harmonik auf die Agogik und die Dynamik iibertragen. Eine andere Sache ist, da!J die Dynamik manclt­
mal zu einem tektonischen Faktor wird und iiber die wesen tli chsten F.igenhcilen der Kunstfonn cnt­
schcidet. Es sind jedoch nur vereinzelte Beispiele, nntcr denen 1las hervorragendste wohl das .Praludium
/-moll ist.
Bei verschiedenen Gelegenheiten habe ich schon oftcr auf die Klangkoloristik hingewiesen.
Sie ist das Resultat des Zusammcnwirkens vcrschiedener .li'aktoren: des Klaviersatzcs, der ~1clodi k , dcr
Rhythmik und Harmonik. Eben im Entwicklungsprozcfi der Chopiuschen Koloristik konnen wir ben bach­
ten, wie sich der urspriinglichc Sinn mancher Mittel iindert. Z.ll. verwandeln sich die Ornamentc, die
in der Anfangsperiodc als virtuosenhafte Akzessorien benutzt wurden, in der letztcn Periode in Farhwerte
(Berceuse). Auch die oft bei Chopin auftretcnden vcrschicdcn<•n kotuplizierlcn rhythmischcn 1\.ombina­
tionen, insbesondere die Polyrhythmik winl in einigen Fiillen zu cinc111 koloristischen F'aktor, wic im
Walzer As-dur op. 42. D ie unge wohnliche .li'einfiihligkeit Chopius fiir dynamischc uud koloristischc
Werte, genauer gesagt fiir Klangwcrte iiberhaupt, das hcil3t fur Sonoristik, ist cine Erscheinung, die
am weitesten in die Zukunft zeigt. Hier eben croffnen sich Perspektivcn, die schon die romautische
Musik iiberschreiten, und auf neuere Zeiten hinweiscn.
Die Einteilung des Schaffens Chopins vom Blickpunkt der Entwicklung der Kunstform in Perioden
bestimmt gleichzeitig die Entwicklung seines romantischen Stils, in dessen I\ahmen als unerliil3licher
und wichtigster Faktor die nationaleu Eigenheiten dcr Musik Platz fmden. Die Entwicklungslinie verliiuft
hier von klassischen Formen in der erstcn Periode, iiber cine verstiirkte Entwicklung dcr einsiilzigen
Formen, die fiir die romantische Musik charakteristisch sind, his znr Wiederkehr der klassischen zykli­
schcn und breiter ausgebauten W erke, die bereits durch die Erfahrungeu der zweiten Periode bereiche rt
wu rden. Die Vielseitigkeit der verschiedenen Mittel in der dritten Periode bereichert einerseits die klassi­
schen Formen und ftihrt andererseits zum Ausbau der einsiitzigen Forme n, so darl aus den Tiim.en
Tanz-Poeme entstehen, wiihrend die Balladen von Chopin in gewissem Sinne zu Prototypen dcr sympho­
nischen Dichtungen werden 20 • Auf diese Weise eroffnet Chopin dcr Entwicklung der europiiischen
Mnsik neue Perspektiven, hesondcrs fii r jene 1\ichtungen, die fiir die neuromantischen Komponisteu
mnUgebend wurden.

11 J. Chominski lla r nronikn a fnktura f orttpianotuo Chopinn (poln. Hnrmonik wul dcr Chopinsclre Klt~~oi«r·
sat~). ,Muzyka" 1959, Nr. 4 (15), S. 5-25.
to E. Bosquet Chopin pricurscur - It pot. me pinniltiqut. ,Au nnlcs Chopin" Bd. 5. 1957, S. 63
 3

MIECZ¥SI:AW TOMASZEWSKI

CHOPIN'S INSPIRATION FROM POLISH

'COMMON' SONG

'' I spent the evening at home, playing and humming songs from
the banks of the Vistula". Thus Chopin informed his family of
how he spent one of his solitary evenings in the Spring ofl847.
"I barely still recall how they sing back home", he rued to Wojciech
Grzymala in the Autumn of the following year.
To what songs was he referring? What songs did Chopin not only play
but also hum to himself on the streets of Paris? What songs was he afraid
of forgetting? There is no doubt that the songs in question were Polish
national songs. Such were they called in contrast to popular songs, or pure­
ly 'peasant' songs, as Oskar Kolberg termed them. They were also known
as 'common' or 'universal' (powszechne) songs, i.e. everywhere, beyond the
boundaries of regions and partitions. Kolberg placed them in a separate
category headed Noble, Courtly and Bourgeois Songs, although he also
included here songs with folk origins, namely those which had risen from
regional isolation to national significance. They brought together in song
those seeking confirmation of their own national identity. Among Polish
exiles, the singing of common songs became a ritual accompaniment for
various types of social gathering.
Improvising on themes from these songs was, as we know, customary
with Chopin. He had lived within the aura of their specific intonation from
his earliest years, and the nostalgia of his final years bid him return to them.
The manner and degree to which the Chopin oeuvre was inspired by com­
mon song remains a question yet to be addressed and considered in research.
The following presentation will provide barely an outline, going no further
than an initial reconnaissance, an initial orientation in the territory for
research, and above all an indication of the very existence of the problem.
56 chopin

Mieczyslaw Tomaszewski

'Common songs', their sources and categories

What should one understand, on closer inspection, by the category of

'common' songs? It is a category distinctly heterogeneous in terms of
provenance and structure, yet uniform from the perspective of the aims
referred to above - uniting certain strata of the population and regions
of the country in a single national entity.
One may distinguish three main sources of common song. The first
comprises songs of noble and bourgeois origins. Although they do have
their authors, these have generally fallen into oblivion, with the songs
being deemed a common commodity. Kolberg enumerates here those
songs which "spread throughout the whole country: to parlours, toilet
tables, pantries, dressing-rooms, the outbuildings of manors and
granges, around the towns, villages, inns (taverns), parks, etc., whence
they even stray (albeit most rarely) into country cottages[ ... ]". He con­
tinues thus: "All these songs (including more than one peasant song),
written into notebooks and some even printed in booklets, spread across
the country by means of travelling, fairs and carnivals".
Their variety is simply huge. They differ principally in terms of sub­
ject matter. Four main currents can be distinguished: patriotic, religious,
love and festive songs. I think it will suffice to name a couple of songs
from each current for it to be clear what category we are dealing with.
The current of patriotic songs includes such numbers as Swirta
mi!ofci kochanej Ojczyzny [Oh Sacred Love of the Homeland
Cherished] and ]eszcze Polska nie zginrta [Poland Has Not Yet
Perished], Wanda lezy w naszej ziemi [Wanda Lies in Our Soil] and Patrz
Kofciuszko na nas z nieba [Ko5ciuszko, Look Down on us from Heaven],
Pod smutnq gwiazdq Kazimierz sir rodzil [Casimir was Born under a
Sorrowful Star], Witaj majowa jutrzenko [Hail, Oh May Dawn] and Oto
dzif dzien krwi i chwaly... [Tis' a Day of Blood and Glory], the songs of
soldiers and insurgents, and historical songs.
In the r e 1i g i o us current, we come across Boie, cofPolskf [God, Thou
who Poland], Kiedy ranne wstajq zorze [When the Morning Lights Arise],
Bog szi rodzi [God is Born] and countless other Christmas songs and carols.
Foremost among 1o v e songs and romances are songs about Laura
and Filon, Doryda, Justyna and Jacenta, Etwin and Klara, Ludmila and
Ludgarda.

44
 chopin 57

Chopin's Inspiration from Polish 'Common' Song

Finally, popular songs of the festive variety include Kurdesz nad

kurdeszami [The Kurdesz of Kurdeszes], Pije Kuba do Jakuba [Sam
Drinks to James] and Siedzi sobie zajqc pod miedzq [There Sits a Hare
Beneath a Ridge].
The second source of common songs consisted of- as emphasised in
the titles of numerous collections- "collected songs and arias from a vari­
ety of operas and comedies... ". Thus, such works led independent lives,
sometimes adapted to a particular place, time or situation. They includ­
ed such numbers as Karol Kurpinski's eminently singable dumka [ele­
giac ballad] Gdy slow1k zanuci [When the Nightingale Sings], from
Zamek na Czorsztynie [The Castle at Czorstyn], and two songs taken
from the two successive versions of Krakowiacy i g6rale [Cracovians and
Highlanders]: Swiat smgi, fwiat przewrotny [A World That's Harsh, a
World Perfidious] and W miefcie dziwne obyczaje [In the Town Strange
Customs]. Chopin is known to have improvised on themes from these
pieces during his second concert at the Teatr Narodowy in the Spring of
1830.
The third source of common song constituted those 'peasant' folk
songs, which were spread throughout the whole country in public and pri­
vate songbooks. One thinks here of such songs as J:fezmr ja kontusz,
wezmr ja iupan [I'll Take my Frock-coat, I'll Take my Mantle], or Ty
p6jdziesz g6rq... [You'll Take the Highroad ... ], Stala sir nam nowina
[Something New for Us Has Happened] and ldzie iolnierz borem, lasem
[A Soldier Walks through Wood and Forest]. Kolberg writes of them
thus: "Some [of those courtly songs] taken, or arising from, the popu­
lace are most felicitously suited or imitated, whilst others, representing
what remains of the old noble culture, possess for us[ ... ] great signifi­
cance, charm and character. . . ".

Repertoire and editions of 'common songs' in Chopin's times

From the end of the eighteenth century onwards, the repertoire of the
songs under discussion here began to be recorded and reproduced in
editions of the most disparate kinds. Whilst we cannot be certain that
Chopin had them all in his possession, there is no doubt that the into­
nations, rhythmic gestures and verbal texts of many such works
resounded in his ears and endured in his memory, since a glance

45
58 chopin

Mieczys!aw Tomaszewski

through the collections and songbooks of his times continually throws

up some kind oflink, some trace of familiarity or proximity.
A song about Laura and Filon can be found as early as the collection
Piefni fwiatowe [Songs of the World], published in Warsaw in 1810. A
wider repertoire of songs originating mostly, though not solely, from the
stage is provided by a publication dating from 1816 entitled Spiewy i aryje
teatralne [... ] z dodatkiem nowych fpiew6w i krakowiak6w [Songs and Arias
from the Theatre [... ] with the addition of new songs and krakowiaks].
Issued in the same year, in Warsaw, was the celebrated Spiewy histo­
ryczne [Historical Songs] ofJulian Ursyn Niemcewicz, featuring music
by a dozen or so composers. Due to its value in terms of education and
a sense of national identity, this rather 'unsonglike' repertoire played an
inestimable role in Polish culture. Two sources relate that Chopin
improvised on themes from this collection in Warsaw and Paris, and his
contemporaries affirm that they entered the bloodstream, as it were, of
the national culture.
The years between 1810 and 1830 are filled with loose editions of
songs, mainly elegies by Kurpinski and idylls by Elsner, which can be
considered as prototypes for the first salon songs by Chopin.
Of particular significance to us here is a collection published in 1828,
in Poznan (in 1848 reprinted and expanded), under the title Piefni i pios­
neczki narodowe [National Songs and Ditties], constituting the song­
book of Kazimierz Reyzner. Among the 22 songs contained in this
collection, at least four are known to have been familiar to Chopin
(Boie, co! Polskf [God, Thou who Poland], Laura i Pilon [Laura and
Philo] and the two songs from Krakowiacy i g6rale referred to earlier).
The remaining items were representative of the love songs of the day,
composed to words by the leading poets of the sentimental era:
Karpinski, Kniaznin and Brodzinski. Reyzner assures us that he includ­
ed in his collection songs that were "universally liked".
A somewhat more specific character is possessed by another collec­
tion, entitled Spiewy bursz6w polskich [Patriotic Polish Student Songs],
to whom it was clearly addressed. As we learn from the foreword, this
collection was compiled in 1820, but not published until 1835.
A turning point in respect to the character of collections of common
songs occurred, as one might expect, together with the outbreak of the
November Uprising of 1830/31. The first songbook of this time bore the

46
 chopin 59

Chopin's Inspiration from Polish 'Common' Song

title Bard Oswobodzonej Polski [The Bard of Liberated Poland]. A key

role was played at this time by the insurrectionary songs of Karol
Kurpinski, which, published as and when they were created, were
linked to the fortunes of the rebellion, and in subsequent years were dis­
seminated in numerous songbooks among the exile community. Of par­
ticular prominence among these songbooks was the collection edited by
Franciszek B[ilinski] entitled Piefni patriotyczne z czas6w Rewolucji
Polskiej [Patriotic Songs from the Times of the Polish Revolution], pub­
lished in 1833. This is the set among which Chopin may have encoun­
tered Litwinka [The Lithuanian], Warszawianka [The Varsovian] and
Bracia, do bitwy nadszedl czas [Brother, to Battle the Time has Come].
The repertoire of common songs of Chopin's day was complement­
ed by religious songs collected and published by the highly industrious
Fr. Marcin Mioduszewski in two important editions: Spiewnik kofcielny
z melodyjami [Church Songbook with Melodies], from 1838, and
Pastoralki i kol;dy z mefodyjami [Christmas Songs and Carols with
Melodies], from 1842.
Also preserved for posterity around this time was the repertoire of
songs with folk origins. At least a few rose to the status of common
songs. I have in mind, here, the celebrated collection ofWadaw Zaleski,
from 1833. Finally, it would be impossible to overlook the particular role
played in this context by Wincenty Pol's Piefnifanusza [Songs ofJanusz]
- a collection not of actual songs but of song texts. If sources are to be
believed, to 10 (or 12) of these texts Chopin improvised music, turning
them into songs. One such work has survived, namely Leci lifcie z drze­
wa [The Leaves are Falling], improvised to a text by the poet-insurgent
on 3 May 1836 - the anniversary of the 1791 Constitution.
Although not a little effort was involved in the compilation of this
list, it is important for our subject, enabling one to become familiarised
with the general character and type of connections that linked Chopin
to the repertoire of common songs.

Types of 'presence' of 'common songs' in Chopin's oeuvre

As regards specific, concrete relations, one may speak of around ten
moments at which Chopin's music encountered the music of common
songs. To put it another way, one may speak of ten moments at which

47
60 chopin

Mieczyslaw Tomaszewski

this repertoire made its presence known in the oeuvre of the composer.
One must add that this 'presence' is sometimes no more than supposed.
Taking account of intertextuality, one may point to at least six differ­
ent types of presence of this music in his music.
The starting point for the presence of common song is constituted by
generally simple harmonisation s, arrangements and elaborations
for piano. The refrain of the songfeszcze Polska nie zginrla [Poland Has
Not Yet Perished] was harmonised by Chopin and written by him (to an
unknown recipient) into an album in 1835, in Karlsbad.
It is not known for whom or for what purpose he arranged for piano
the melody of the original version of Boie, cof Polskf [God, Thou who
Poland] . During his spell as a school organist, he played it once a week
at the end of Mass - the whole church sang, as he himself wrote.
Further, anonymous, harmonisations of this song can be found in all the
songbooks of that time.
Probably more expansive in form were Chopin's piano impro v i­
sations. Besides the two songs (or arias) from Krakowiacy i g6rale
which became the basis for improvisations in Warsaw, we also know that
in Vienna he improvised on themes from Chmiel [Hops], which by that
time had already achieved the status of a pan-Polish song.
A higher form of the presence of common song in the music of
Chopin was represented by variations. The prime candidate here, as
we know, is the Fantaisie on Polish Themes op. 13. One of the three
themes 'variated' in this Fantaisie is of'peasant' origins (the concluding
"oberek od Sluzewa"). The first two themes are from the repertoire of
common song: Jui miesiqc zeszedl [The Moon Now Has Waned], a
romance about Laura and Filon, which was apparently the favourite
song of Chopin's mother; and a song entitled "dumka z Kurpinskiego"
[ADumka from Kurpinski], constituting a separate fragment of the larg­
er whole Elegia na !mien! Tadeusza Kofciuszki [Elegy on the Death of
Tadeusz Kokiuszko] - a cantata composed to words by Kanterbery
Tymowski. Chopin took the fragment from the Elegia literally, then sub­
jected it to variations in a lively and dramatic manner.
Occasionally, Chopin employed a different procedure- one which I
call t ran s position, transformation or dramatisation. This involves
simply the transferral of a given theme to a different dimension. And
that in its entirety, not fragmentarily. This is done in order to lend the

48
 chopin 61

Chopin's Inspiration from Polish 'Common' Song

song that constitutes the prototype and the point of departure not a vir­
tuoso but a more dramatic character. The carol-lullaby Lulajie jezuniu
[Hush Dear Jesus] appears in the Scherzo in B minor with a strictly
defined dramatic function: as a symbol of the family refuge in a hostile
environment. A song about a girl and an uhlan keeping the watch was
indeed transferred to another dimension - drarnatised in a startlingly
terse manner as an expression of nostalgia.
The next category of the presence of this music within the music of
Chopin involves quotations - both open and concealed, allusive,
accessible to only the initiated few. Two examples both relate to one of
Chopin's masterpieces- the Fantaisie in F minor. It was Adorno who
once wrote that readily quoted line about having to have both one's ears
blocked in order not to hear in this work a patriotic message. Of course,
there was no way he could have known that the thematic substance of
the work was strewn with motifs from two insurrectionary songs by
Kurpinski: Litwinka [The Lithuanian] ("Wion'!l wiatr blogi na
Lechit6w ziernit; ... "[The Air Blew Sweet across the Polish Land]) and
Marsz obozowy [Camp March] (Bracia, do bitwy nadszedl czas [Brother,
to Battle the Time Has Corne]), from its second section.
The final category comprises r ern in is c e n c e s, echoes and rever­
berations. What is involved here are reflections - most often uncon­
scious - of music once heard, under the influence of some impulses
appearing on the surface of the composer's consciousness. Music histo­
rians and Chopinologists have suggested in which places these reflec­
tions make themselves heard. Alina Nowak-Romanowicz heard a
reminiscence derived from one of the Spiewy historyczne (from the
Duma o Stefanie Potockim [Elegy to Stefan Potocki]) in the opening sec­
tion of the Ballade in F major. Zdzislaw Jachirnecki was convinced that
the gloomy bass motif which opens the Polonaise in C minor from op. 40
constitutes an irate response on the part of Chopin to the obsequious­
like polonaise song by Kurpinski beginning with the words Witaj K r6lu
Polskiej Ziemi [Hail, Oh King of Polish Lands] . In Chopin's Berceuse
Fryderyk Niecks heard an echo of the melody of Laura i Pilon [Laura
and Philo], and Tadeusz Marek once demonstrated the dependence of
the exceptionally lyrical melody (piu Lento) from the scherzo of the Sonata
in B flat minor on a song entitled Niepodobienstwo [Dissimilitude],
which was discovered among some old papers. The links between the

49
62 chopin

Mieczyslaw Tomaszewski

two items is unquestionable, although until the time and place at which
the song believed to be the prototype was written are revealed, any far­
reaching conclusions must be kept on hold.

Chopin idioms inspired by 'common songs'

A closer contact with the repertoire of common songs leads one to affirm
the existence of a certain link, a certain tie, a certain bond between them
and the 'material' with which Chopin's music was 'strewn'. This bond
is of an idiomatic nature.
By the term 'idiom' is understood here the smallest categorial unit,
endowed with a set of expressive-semantic properties, that can be dis­
tinguished within the flow of the musical narrative. A unit of this type
possesses substantial capabilities of evoking specific forms of realities
beyond the work itself, such as a sacred or a pastoral atmosphere,
marked by eroticism or sublimity. In my opinion, one may speak here of
a kind of equivalent of aesthetic categories - distinguished in the mid
twentieth century by Kurt Huber- connected with a specific 'spherical
experience'.
The traces hitherto discovered of the links between the music of
Chopin and the song repertoire in question allow one to distinguish
seven such common idioms appearing in three groups of songs: love,
patriotic and religious songs.
Within the strand of 1o v e songs, the e 1e g i a c- romance idiom
was represented most fully in common song by the romance of Laura
and Filon. A further romance, about the rifleman and the water-nymph,
followed the same path; the melody of the song Jakii to chlopiec pirkny
i mlody [What a Young and Bonny Boy] flows unerringly to the rhythm
of the song ]ui miesiqc zeszedl, psy sir u!pily [The Moon Now Has
Waned, the Dogs Are Asleep]. Many such romantic elegies appeared on
the threshold of the 'Age of Elation', suffice it to mention Trsknosc na
wiosnr [Yearning for Springtime] and Romans kr6la Teobalda (Gdyby
zapomniec te oczy) [The Romance of King Theobald (Were I to Forget
those Eyes)]. All these pieces can be found in the Reyzner collection. In
the song Gdzie lubi [A Girl's Desire] Chopin attempted to imitate this
idiom, and an echo of the idiom can be heard, as already mentioned, in
the Berceuse.

50
 chopin 63

Chopin's Inspiration from Polish 'Common' Song

The song-lyrical idiom, related to the former, yet distinct from

it, was displayed by the above-mentioned song of unknown provenance
Niepodobienstwo [Dissimilitude]. Sonata and scherzo sections - most
frequently defined by Chopin as sostenuto (sometimes piu lento)- gen­
erally contain a melody of exceptional beauty, wending its way seem­
ingly without end, to an oscillating rhythm, in sequentially recurring
phrases, now running ahead, now standing still.
The third idiom associated mainly with love songs can be termed the
song-dance idiom. A dance style is most often expressed here
through mazurka gestures, which lend the song a sharpness of expres­
sion thanks to the vigour of the motifs from which it is formed. A noble
mazur is concerned here however- not a folk one- with all its musical
background. One example here may be the song of farewell before a
departure to war Jeszcze j eden mazur dzisiaj [One More Mazurka
Today]. In Chopin, this idiom appears in the mazurkas and in a hand­
ful of songs.
This same song-dance idiom can be found in abundance among
songs on patriotic themes. This should come as no surprise, given
that in Poland times of peace and war intertwined with one another
every generation, the alternation bringing a change only in the object of
affections: the lover was alternately a girl or the homeland. One not
infrequently encounters both within a single song. Within the sphere of
the patriotic song, this idiom was most commonly associated with a
mazurka. Suffice it to mention songs such as feszcze Polska nie zginrla
[Poland Has Not Yet Perished] and Witaj majowa jutrzenko [Hail, Oh
May Dawn]. An echo of this idiom can, of course, be found in Chopin's
mazurkas, and also occasionally in his polonaises and instrumental
dumkas. The starting point in this case was the dumka from the Elegia
na fmiercf Tadeusza Kofciuszki [Elegy on the Death of Tadeusz
Ko5ciuszko]. The further presence of this model can be followed in
Chopin's rondos and songs.
A different character was brought to patriotic songs by the e I e g i a c­
march genre and idiom. The model, or point of departure, in this case
was constituted principally by the Spiewy historyczne of Niemcewicz,
and later by the insurrectionary songs of Kurpiiiski, such as
Warszawianka and Litwinka. This is an idiom which became present in
many genres within the C hopin oeuvre, for example in the march sec-

51
64 chopin

Mieczyslaw Tomaszewski

tions of the Concerto in F minor, the Allegro de concert and some of the
nocturnes. It is most fully represented in the Fantaisie in F minor and in
the central section of the song Leci lifcie z drzewa [The Leaves are
Falling] .
ReI i g i o us songs found expression above all in two genres ruled by
a specific idiomatic character. The c h or a 1- hymn idiom is represent­
ed by songs such as Boie, cof Polskf [God, Thou who Poland] (in
Chopin as the Largo in E flat major). Representatives of this type can
also be found in the nocturnes and preludes, as well as in the Fantaisie
in F minor. They take the form of reflective chorals, whose conciseness
gives them their force.
Virtually the opposite can be seen in e I e g i a c -I u II a by songs,
whose most complete interpretation comes in the Scherzo in B minor.
An echo of this type of musical expression- oscillating, hesitating, flow­
ing around a certain axis - can be found in the subdued sostenuto sec­
tions of certain ballades and even waltzes.

* **
Time for a few closing remarks.
Firstly, the situation has been barely outlined. The subject and the prob­
lem demand thorough and systematic research, and not merely a curso­
ry glance. It would appear indispensable to focus attention on the set
(syndrome) of properties constitutive for each of the separate idioms
presented here: firstly in relation to the material of common song and
secondly (and independently) in relation to the material of an analogous
group of Chopin works or- to be more precise- genres from which the
works were c'bmposed. Only then can we proceed to comparisons, to
grasping the differences and similarities. Nevertheless, today -with the
naked eye, as it were - one c~n already perceive the existence of certain
links in the nature of equivalences.
Secondly, the research hitherto carried out into this material allows
one to advance a hypothesis placing common song (together with
national dance, with which it is associated) as the original source of
Chopin's compositional output- a source that is earlier than folk, or
'peasant', music, and probably earlier than musical literature of glob­
al importance. One may surmise that songs about Laura and Pilon,
Jacent and Justyna, Wanda, who rejected a German suitor, Ko5ciuszko,

52
 chopin 65

Chopin's Inspiration from Polish 'Common' Song

and Prince J6zef, carols and historical songs, elegies and idylls reached
the ears of the young composer earlier than the preludes and fugues
of Bach, the sonatas and variations of Mozart and the rondos of
Hummel.
Perhaps it is here that an answer will be found to a question once
posed by Jim Samson concerning the foundations from which this
music arose, which became a point of departure for the young Chopin,
for his musical heritage. It was so-called 'functional' music, written by
Kurpinski, Maria Szymanowska, Lessel and many anonymous com­
posers, consisting of the repertoire of common song and national dance
with which he was surrounded.
Thirdly, and finally, one must surely be hard of hearing not to hear
in the repertoire which I have attempted to outline moments of beauty,
of exceptional melodiousness, ofliveliness and suppleness in the melod­
ic lines, of fine expressivity, of the rhythmic gesture that distinguishes
dance genres, and also of vigour and dynamism in the musical narrative.
Yet one must also be hard of hearing not to perceive many areas of repet­
itiveness, banality and conventionality in this repertoire, which, after all,
was geared towards domestic and social functionality - towards every­
day and 'special day' consumption, but not (at least not primarily) aes­
thetic use.
Hence one's wonder at the way in which Chopin, issuing, as it were,
from this repertoire of means and idioms, succeeded in translating and
transforming it, at times flirting with the boundaries of sorcery and mir­
acle. Hence, too, what emerges as the notional aim of the research that
someone, sometime, will undertake: to show the relationship in ques­
tion as the transition from honest and noble ordinariness, occasionally
illuminated by the hope of possibly higher realms, to the exceptional,
astonishing and captivating music of the mature Chopin.
To end, I shall permit myself to recall that well-known, yet still
thought-provoking, wistful statement of Chopin's: "You know, I so
much wanted to feel, and partly succeeded in feeling, our national
music".

53
 4
Chopin's Mazurkas and the Myth of the Folk
BARBARA MILEWSKI
In 1852 there appeared under Franz Liszt' s name
a seminal monograph, F. Chopin, which con-
tained the notion that prototypical Polish ma-
zurkas played a role in Chopin's pieces:
Chopin released the poetie unknown whieh was only
suggested in the original themes of Polish mazurkas.
He preserved the rhythm, ennobled the melody, en-
larged the proportions, and infused a harmonie ehiar-
oseuro as novel as the subjeets it supported-all this
in order to paint in these productions Iwhieh he
loved to hear us eall easel pietures I the innumerable
19th-Century Music XXIII/2 (Fall 1999) © by The Regents
of the University of Califomia.
A shortcr version of this essay was prcscntcd at the 1998
national meeting of thc American Musicological Socicty in
Boston. I am gratcful to Harry Powcrs, Seatt Burnham, and
Siffion Morrison for their thoughts and guidance on the
carly drafts. Many warm thanks also to Professor Emeritus
Lean Tadeusz Blaszczyk and BIet WeIb tor helpful discus-
sians of things Polish and folk, as well as to Nicole Mannier
for her most careful reading of numerous later drafts.
and so widely differing emotions that exeite the
heart while the danee goes on.!
The gesture was a common Romantic conceit;
by the mid-nineteenth century, the description
of art music in terms of national practice was a
familiar topos in music criticism. This is why
Liszt went to great lengths to paint the charac-
ter of the Polish people when they danced the
mazurka in their native land:
It is essential to have seen the mazurka daneed in
Poland. There are few more delightful seenes
than a ball in that eountry when, the mazurka onee
begun, the attention of the entire room, far horn
obscured by a crowd of persons eolliding horn oppo-
lFranz Liszt, Fnideric Chopin, trans, Edward N. Watcrs
(London, 1963), p. 69. Much 01 the material found in the
original French edition of 1852 was rearrangcd and cx-
pandcd when Breitkopf and Härtel brought out a new edi-
tion in 1879. Waters's translation is that of the original
1852 edition.
113
68 chopin
19TH site directions, is drawn to a single couple, each of
CENTURY equal beauty, darting forth into empty space. And
MUSIC
what varied manifestations there are in the turns
around the ballroom' Beginning at first with a kind
of shy hesitation, the lady tenses like a bird about to
take flight . A long glide on one foot alone and she
skims like a skater over the ice-smooth floor; she
runs like a child and suddenly bounds in the air.
Like a goddess of the hunt, with eyes wide open,
head erect, and bosom high, she sails in nimble leaps
through the air like a boat riding the waves.
Exertion colors her cheeks and brightens her glance,
bows her figure and slows her pace until, panting
and exhausted, she gently sinks and falls into the
arms of her cavalier, who seizes her firmly and raises
her for a moment into the air before they finish the
intoxicating round 2
But while the exotic description of cavaliers
and flushed-cheeked Polish ladies leaping and
gliding wit h abandon was meant t o evoke a
native source for Chopin's mazurkas, it was
never an ethnographic attempt to recover a spe­
cific folk practice important to Chopin's mu­
sic. Rather, positioning Chopin's m azurkas
within a Polish dance music tradition was a
way to raise the status of these works, to el­
evate the actual material of the music through
the suggestive power of Romantic metaphor.
Liszt's image of capering Polish dancers, then,
was a transcendental one; it served as a poetic
device that helped him to articulate the musi­
cal matter of Chopin's pieces.
Interestingly, though, Liszt's original anec­
dote assumed a power far greater than its meta­
phoric value would suggest. Firing th e imagi­
nation of other Chopin critics, it became the
origin of one of the longest-standing myth s in
Chopin criticism-the myth that Chopin's ma­
zurkas are national works rooted in an authen­
tic Polish folk-music tradition.3 In this article,
I explore exactly how the idea of an authentic
folk source for Chopin's m azurkas t ook on a
life of its own and why it has remained compel­
ling for successive generations of Chopin schol-
' Ibid., pp. 66-68 (trans. slightly modified).
3 Appropriately enough, Liszt may not have been respon­
sible for the original anecdote that fed the myth, since
Princess Caroline Sayn-Wittgenstein, his Polish-born lover,
often served as his ghost writer. This authorial obscu­
rity-authorlessness, even-lends the folk story an even
greater mythic quality.
114
ars to the present day. I then examine the types
of music t hat sounded in the Warsaw of
Chopin's youth so as to redirect attention t o
the urban musical culture that may, in fact,
hold some provisional answers to the question
that has led so many writers to search among
the music of the Polish peasants: how is it that
these mazurkas evoke the Polish nation ?
Twenty years after the appearance of Liszt 's
publication, critics began to take his Romantic
metaphor quite literally. The n ational music
Liszt spoke of m etam orphosed into folk music
as writers of music history in Polan d sought to
legitimize their observations in t he more class­
conscious, truth-seeking climate of late-nine­
teenth-century positivism. Marceli Antoni
Szulc, who in 18 73 wrote the first Polish mono­
graph on Chopin, turned to a rustic scene of
fiddlers playing and robust peasants stompin g
their feet in the quintessential village setting
of the k arczma, the Polish country tavern, in
order t o describe the content of Chopin's op.
2.4, no. 2.
The second [mazurka of the op. 24 set[, a lively
obertas (a fast-tempo variant of the mazurka[, is
much like a quickly improvised picture of a country
tavern scen,e. Strapping young farm-hands and buxom
wenches jdorodne parobczaki i ho:ie dziewoie) slowly
gather. The village musicians play with abandon,
pairs of dancers briskly form into circles, and the
gathered party dances until everyone drops from ex­
haustion, all the while beating out the meter with
loud and lively heel stomping and clicking; finally
the jolly sounds quiet, and in the distance only re­
ceding footsteps are heard 4
Such a metaphor, to be sure, was n ot unlike
that of Liszt 's Polish aristocrats dancing in ball­
rooms.' But the shift from ballroom to k arczm a
4Marceli Antoni Szulc, Fryderyk Chopin i u twory fego
muzyczne (Frydcryk Chopin and His Musical Works) (187.3;
rpt. KrakOw, 1986), p. 188. All Polish translations are my
own unless oth erwise in dicated.
5While Liszt never uses the word "aristocrats" in h is dis­
cussion of t h e mazurka, his choice of the words "cavalier"
and (in this context) 11 lady, 11 not to m ention the gallant
behavior he describes, suggests something uth cr than a
peasant scene. This is not simply a case uf Liszt describ ing
the lower classes from a gentleman's point of view. Even

was significant. By relocating the dance to the
countryside, Szulc associated the mazurkas with
an image of a pure and simple Polish folk; un­
adulterated peasants replaced cosmopolitan no­
bility to illustrate better the authentic national
content of Chopin's works. Szulc also found
mimetic explanations for the "Polishness" of
the music, and in suggesting that certain ma­
zurkas in fact imitated the rasping sounds of
village fiddlers, he further blurred the line be­
tween the real and the imagined.
Szulc's most dramatic and influential elabo­
ration of Liszt's original trope, however, was in
relation to op. 24, no. 2, and op. 68, no. 3, two
works that he singled out for their elements
"taken directly from folk music." Szuk was
reacting to the sharpened fourth scale degree
present in the melodic lines of each of these
mazurkas; specifically, to the Bls in the F-ma­
jor section of op. 24, no. 2, and the Els in the Bl.
section of op. 68, no. 3." He thus became the
first writer to apply a general concept of folk
borrowing to specific mazurkas.
Four years later, in 1877, the Polish musi­
cian and music critic Maurycy Karasowski came
out with his own monograph on Chopin in
German. In it, he recounted memoirs and let­
ters that described a young Chopin listening
intently to peasant music. Even more brazenly
than Szulc, Karasowski extrapolated from these
fragmentary accounts that the composer had
not only listened to folk songs on a regular
basis, but h ad also internalized them in order
to incorporate them --<Jr, in Karasowski's words,
"to idealize them"-in his art music. Recalling
Szulc's discussion of direct folk borrowings in
Chopin's op. 24, no. 2, and op. 68, no. 3 ,
Karasowski suggested th at Chopin "frequently
interwove some especial favourite [folk song!
in the "subjects and impressions" he draws from Chopin's
mazurkas-the "rattling of spurs, the rustling of crepe and
gauze beneath the airy lightness of the dance, the murmur
of fans and the clinking of gold and diamonds"-his de­
scription relies on what could only be the accoutrements
of the upper classes. Sec Liszt, Frederic Chopin, p. 78.
6 Szulc writes: "We namely call attention to the jarrin&
but nevertheless cxucmcly characteristic, dissonant B- in
the raised seventh harmony of the third part in F m ajor.
Compare this to the E~ in the B~ Trio of posthumous op.
68, no. 3. T his is taken directly from folk music [iywcem
to wyi~te z muzyki Judowei)" [Szulc, Fryderyk Chopin i
utwory tego muzyczne. p. 188).
chopin 69
into his own compositions," a particularly em­ BARBARA
MILEWSKI
bellished suggestion that would spark the imagi­ Chopin's
nation of subsequent biographers-' Mazurkas
Szulc's discussion of op. 24, no. 2, eventu­
ally found its independent way into two other
publications: Ferdynand H oesick's Chopin
monograph of 1910-11, and Hugo Leichtentritt's
1921-22 analysis of Chopin 's piano pieces. Both
7 Moritz Karasowski, Frederic Chopin: His Life, Letters. and
Works. trans. Emily Hill, 2 vols. [London, 1879), 1, 30-32;
emphasis added. Altho ugh Karasowski does nor often cite
his sources, it is clear that most of his k nowledge of Chopin's
youth derives from not only Chopin's letters but also
Kazimierz Wladyslaw W6jcicki's unusual history of War·
saw citizenry, Cmentarz Pow(l.Zkowski pod Warszaw(l (The
Pow~zkowski Ccmctary ncar Warsaw ) (Warsaw, 1855- 58;
Warsaw, 1974). For an in teresting discussion of the numer­
ous liberties Karasowski took in his interpretations of the
facts of Chopin's life and in his published transcriptions of
Chopin's letters, see Krystyna KobylafLska, Korespondencja
Fryderyka Chopina z rodzin(l (C hopin's Correspondence
w ith Relatives)[Warsaw, 1972), pp. 9-25. Kobylat\ska also
offers a specific example of a change m ade by Bronislaw
Edward Sydow, another editor of Chopin's letters. lt con­
cerns one of the few letters in which Chopin discusses lis­
tening to folk music. Sydow embellished the now lose letter
to read: "wenches sang a familiar song [my emphasis! in
shrill, semi-tonal dissonant voices" (dziewki piskliwym
semitoniczno-fa l szywym glos em z nan(l pi osnk~
wySpievvywaly), whereas Kazimierz WOjcicki, the first au ­
thor to publish the letter (in 1856), and working with the
original in hand, o ffered this version: "girls sang in shrill,
semi-tonal dissonant vo ices" (dziewczyn y piskliwym
semitonicz no-falszywym wySpievvywaly glosem ). Sydow's
transcription constitutes yet another attempt to demon­
strate Chopin's "familiarhy" with t he folk.
It should be further noted that the tendency of muslc
historians to emphasize Chopi n's unmediated contact with
folk music gave rise to another interesting m yth: that of
Chopin's know ledge of Jewish folk m usic. In a letter sent to
his parents from Szafarnia in 1824, Chopin recounted play­
ing a piece he referred to as "The Little Jew" when a Jewish
merchant visited the Dzicwanowski manor where the young
composer was vacationing. WOjcicki, commenting on
Chopin's letter in 1855, correctly interpreted this as a
m ajufes, a degrading song and dance that Polish Jews were
obliged to perform for gentile Poles on request. In the hands
of hisrorians, however, "The Lit tle Jew" was not only mis­
interpreted as a title C hopin gave to his Mazurka op. 17, no.
4, but, more absurdly s till, the offensive prank became evi·
dence of Chopin's firsthand knowledge of Jewish folk mu·
sic. See, for example, Ferdynand Hocsick, Chopin: Zycie i
tw6rczoSC (Chopin: Life and Works),3 vols. (Warsaw, 19 L0-
11); 4vols. (rev. cdn. KrakOw, 1962- 68), I, 76, 82; Karasowski,
Frederic Chopin : His Life, Letters, an d Works, l, 25;
Mieezyslaw Tomaszewski, Fryderyk Chopin: A Diary in
Images, trans. Rosemary Hunt (KrakOw, 1990), pp. 22, 30.
Chopin's letter appears in Kobylanska, Korespondencja
Fryderyka Chopina z rodzinr, pp . .39-40. For an informative
and thoughtful study of the ma;ufes. sec C honc Sh mcruk,
"Majufes," in The Jews in Poland, vaL I, ed. Andrzej K.
Paluch [Krak6w, 1992), pp. 463- 74. I am grateful to Michael
Steinlauf for bringing this article to my attention
115
70 chopin
19TH authors repeated Szulc's bold contention that
CENTURY
MUSIC the sharpened fourths in the F-major section of
op. 24, no. 2, were "taken directly from folk
m usic. " 8 For reasons unknown, analytical in­
terest in op. 24, no. 2, dw indled soon afterward,
whereas op. 68, no. 3, cam e under increased
scrutiny. In 1939, exercising more restraint than
previous writers, Gerald Abraham suggested­
rather than asserted-that op. 68, no. 3 (and
nos. 1 and 2) " might easily be simple t ranscrip­
tions of authentic peasant m azurkas. " 9
Abraham offered this supposition in part be­
cause he found no element of virtuosity in
Chopin's op. 68. But he had other reasons, too:
All three possess the characteristics of the folk ma­
zurka: love of the sharpened fourth (opening of no. 2
and the middle section of no. 3), introduction of
triplets in the melody (no. I), play with tiny m otives
(all three), drone bass (whether stylized into an un­
obtrusive pedal as in the opening of no. 2 or empha­
sized in primitive open fifths as in the m iddle sec­
tions of the same piece and of no. 3), the feminine
ending of the piece (even if only suggested by the left
hand as in no. 2), and of course the characteristic
rhythms and m elodic patterns of the folk mazurkas
throughout_tO
Abraham thus effectively listed the idiosyn­
cratic elements common to any number of clas­
sical renderings of European "folk" music. Ironi­
cally, the only characteristic unique to the ma­
zurka that Abraham singled out-the mazurka
rhythm- is not at all peculiar to op. 68, but
appears pervasively throughout all of Chopin's
mazurkas. Abraham was generalizing: in effect
he claimed that standard features of the ma­
zurka genre as a whole (indeed, common fea­
tures of "rustic" music) were both specific to
Chopin and the result of direct folk borrow­
ingsn Delivered by one of the preeminent schol-
~Ferdynand Hoesick, Chopin: Zycie i twdrczost, IV, 2 18;
Hugo Leich tentritt, Analyse von Chopins Klavierw erk en,
2 vols. (Berlin, 1 92 1~22), I, 223.
9 Gcrald Abraham, Chopin's Musical Style (London, 1939),
p. 24.
"'Ibid., p . 24.
11 Years after Abrah am's study appeared, Carl Dahlhaus, in
his essay "Nationalism and Music," claimed that it is
aesthetically legitimate for something that is common to
all natio nal music to be interpreted as specifically national
as long as th ere is collective agreem ent that certain ch ar­
acteristics are recognized as such: " Aesthetically it is per-
116
ars of British mu sicology, this opinion carried
significant weight.
A case in point is Arthur Hedley's 1947 study,
Chopin, which again isolated op. 68, no. 3,
from t he rest of Chopin's mazurkas. Refuting a
claim made by Bela Bartok that Chopin prob­
ably had no knowledge of authentic Polish folk
music, Hedley described Chopin as a national
composer who had had actual contact with ru­
ral music.12 He also referred his readers to one
of the only th ree letters in which the composer
mentions hearing peasant songs in the coun­
tryside. In order to explain the absence of au­
thentic folk them es in the mazurkas, Hedley
made three observations: (1) that Chopin was a
connoisseur of Polish national music; (2) that
Chopin "chose" not to use folk songs in his
works; and (3) that the folk mazurkas served
only as a point of departure for his imagination.
Lest his readers be dissatisfied with this gloss,
Hedley offered them a small proof: the middle
section of op. 68, no. 3.
Indeed Chopin became a connoisseur of Polish na­
tional music and would not tolerate his less sensi­
tive compatriots' tinkering with it . .. . Nor did he
fectly legit imate to call bagpipe drones and sharpened
fourths typically Polish when they occur in Chopin and
typically Norwegian when they occur in G rieg, even if
som e h istorians are irritated by t he paradox of som eth in g
wh ich is common to nat ional music generally an d yet is
felt to be specifically n<ltional in the consciousness of t he
individual nations. Firstly the national coloring does not
reside in separate, isolated trai ts, but in the context in
which they arc found. Secondly the aesthetic clement, the
validity1 has to he distinguished from t he h istory of the
origin an d growth, the genesis: if there is a class of people
among whom the music is transmitted and who recognize
a body of ch aracteristics as specifically national, regard­
less of the provenance of the separate part s, then those
people constitute an aesthetic authority." This claim is
part of Dahlhaus's ovcrarching argumen t that nationalism
in music is primarily the result of its sociocul tural func ­
tion and only secondarily of its rhythm ic ami melodic
s ubstance. While· Dahlhaus's nonessentialist position is
welcome, it is not without problem s. Who constitutes "the
consciousness of individual n ations"? Who actually speaks
for a 1' class of people, " and are we willing to grant w hom­
ever it may be "aesthetic authority"? What do we make of
an "aesthetic au thority" that resides ou tside the nation
w hose m usic is in question ? C arl Dahlhau s, Between Ro­
manticism and Modernism : Four Studies in the Mu sic of
the Later Nineteenth Cen tury, tran s. Mary Wh it t all
(Munich, 1974; Berkeley and Los Angeles, 1989 1, p. 95.
" Arthur Hedley, Chopin (194 7; rpt. Lon don, 1953), p . 166.
Compare Bela Bart6k Essays, ed. Ben jamin Suchoff (N ew
York, 19761 Lincoln, N eb., 1992), pp. 322~23 .

choose to make direct use of folk themes in his own
works. Among his sixty Mazurkas very few contain
an identifiable folk tune Ithe poco piu vivo of op. 68,
no. 3 [1829], is an exception). The mazurs, obereks,
and kujawiaks (the three main forms of the ma­
zurka), which Chopin heard constantly in his early
days, were no more than a stimulus to his imagina·
tion, a point of departure from which he carried the
basic materials to a new level, where they became
embodied in a highly civilized art-music without
losing anything of their native authenticity13
Two years later, in 1949, the Polish musi­
cologist Zdzisla w jachimecki also identified an
"authentic rustic melody" in the middle sec­
tion of op. 68, no. 3: "In the trio section (poco
piii. vivo) of the F-major mazurka written while
Chopin was still in Warsaw in 1830 (op. 68, no.
3), Chopin allowed himself to use an authentic
rustic melody-with its primitive range and
form, and Lydian mode-above a constantly
sounding open-fifth, bass accompaniment.""
But he amplified the claim, stating that it was
only one example among many in which
Chopin used authentic motives in his mazur­
kas15 Like Abraham, he pointed to the "tell­
tale" folk elements in op. 68, no. 3-and in
Chopin's other mazurkas-as proof of folk bor­
rowing: the use of an open-fifth bass accompa­
niment; short, repeating motives in a restricted
melodic range; and the appearance of sharp­
ened fourths. Jachimecki's unique contribution,
however, was to portray Chopin as a composer
with very modern sensibilities, an empirical
scholar-composer diligently collecting and
studying music of the folk-an image more
akin to Bartok, Kodaly, or Szymanowski than
to his Romantic contemporaries Liszt or
Schumann. "He knew . .. the most authentic
Polish folk music because he drew it straight
from its source, without the aid of middlemen .
. On numerous occasions, in conversations
with friends or in his letters, Chopin spoke of
his efforts to familiarize himself with folk mu-
" Hedley, Chopin. p. l66 (Hedley's emphasis).
14 Zdzislaw Jachimecki, Chopin: rys Z ycia i tw6rczoSci
(Chopin: His Life and Worksj (Warsaw, 1949), p. 164
15For the other instances where Jachimecki mentions
Chopin's use of folk material in the mazurkas, sec ibid.,
pp. ! 64, 165, and !67.
chopin 71
sic and to study thoroughly this folk music's BARBARA
MJLEWSKI
intrinsic features. " 16 Chopin's
By another route, then, Jachimecki, like Mazurkas
Hedley, tried to refute Bartok's claim that
Chopin had probably not known authentic Pol­
ish folk music. The offending claim had come
as early as 1921 in Bart ok 's essay, "The Rela­
t ion of Folk Song to the Development of the
Art Music of Our Time." Here Bartok spelled
out in no uncertain terms his distaste for im­
perfect (read: inauthentic) popular art music.
The outcome of this mixture of exoticism and ba­
nality is something imperfect, inartistic, in marked
contrast to the clarity of real peasant music with
which it compares most unfavorably. At all events it
is a noteworthy fact that artistic perfection can only
be achieved by one of the two extremes: on the one
hand by peasant folk in the mass, completely devoid
of the culture of the town-dweller, on the other by
creative power of an individual genius. The creative
impulse of anyone who has the misfortune to be
born somewhere between these two extremes leads
only to barren, pointless and misshapen works 17
Bartok linked up this negative assessment di­
rectly with Chopin, first by suggesting that
Chopin "probably had no opportunity of hear­
ing the genuine peasant music at any time,"
t hen by stating directly that "Chopin was to a
certain extent influenced by the Polish, and
Liszt by the Hungarian popular art music.
JSoJ much that was banal was incorporated by
them with much that was exotic that the works
concerned were not benefited thereby. " 18 With
t he publication of Bartok's article in England,
Poland, and later the Unit ed St ates, Chopin's
music and his image as a national composer
came under siege.
Why did Bartok's views on national music
become such an important part of the Chopin
16Ibid ., p . 162.
17Bela Bart6.k Essays, p . .322. (How su blimely fortunate for
BartOk to have had an appreciation for peasant music and
the creative power of a genius!)
18lbid. , p. 32.3. BartOk's criticism of Chopin in this essay
was not an isolated event. On at least t hree other occa­
sions Bart6k questioned Chopin 's knowledge of authentic
folk music. It seems that the first criticism appeared in
print a year earlier, in 1920, in his essay, ''The Influence of
Folk Music on the Art Music of Today." But it was · the
1921 essay reprinted in the Polish music journal Muzyka
in 1925 to which Jachimccki was reacting.
117
72 chopin
19TH folk story? At the time of his death in 1945,
CENTURY
MUSIC Bartok was not only considered a major com­
poser, but also recognized for his achievements
as a pianist, pedagogue, and ethnomusicologist.
During his lifetime, he often assumed the role
of reporter, critic, reviewer, musicologist, and
linguist, especially during the earlier part of his
career. Most importantly, his writings, pub­
lished in different languages throughout Eu­
rope and in the United States, established him
as a prominent expert on folk music and its
relationship to national high art music. So in­
fluential was he that by the time a collection of
his essays appeared in English translation in
1976, its editor, Benjamin Suchoff, character­
ized Bartok as a "universal m an of music of
modern times-a twentieth-century Leonardo"
and boldly added "champion of the musically
oppressed" to the already grand list of Bartok's
accomplishments.l9
What was at stake if the great Hungarian
composer's view of Chopin's national music
went uncontested? Mythology. For nearly a cen­
tury historians and scholars had tried to dem­
onstrate the Polish content of Chopin's mazur­
kas and in so doing had come to depend with
ever-increasing persistence on the folk influence
argument. By calling into question Chopin's di­
rect exposure to the music of Polish peasants,
and by underscoring the importance of authen­
tic folk music in the creation of national music,
Bartok threatened to undermine the folk myth
that had been offered as historical truth for so
many years. In response, writers like Jachimecki
and Hedley scrambled to assemble the "proof"
that would preserve the myth.
Also at stake was Chopin's status as a "le­
gitimate" national composer. Behind Bartok's
criticism that Chopin had no contact with genu­
ine peasant music was a more telling preoccu­
pation with the concept of authenticity and the
related ideas of originality and genius, all of
which betrayed an anxiety of influence divorced
from any "genuine" concerns about the role of
folk songs in art music. Chopin had been the
first composer to export successfully to the
West a national music that was linked in the
Romantic imagination with an indigenous prac-
19 lbid., p. v.
118
tice. It was his music that had set the bench­
mark for subsequent generations of national
composers. Bartok, then, was doing battle with
Chopin's legacy. That Bartok's own paradigm
of national music was itself highly constructed
and idiosyncratic seemed to pass unnoticed;
authenticity a la Bartok had now become the
generally acknowledged proving ground.
Thus by the time Maurice Brown set out in
1960 to create a complete index of Chopin's
compositions, he had his work cut out for him.
For almost a century the tale of folk-source
borrowing had passed from one writer to the
n ext. Along the way, it had become attached
first to two mazurkas, op. 24, no. 2, and op. 68,
no. 3, then most firmly associated with the
latter. Yet unluckily for Brown, none of his
predecessors had taken the trouble to produce
in print the precise folk melody supposedly
borrowed by Chopin for the middle section of
op. 68, no. 3. Brown rose to the occasion. In an
act of earnest positivism he included a textless
Polish folk melody entitled "Oj Magdalino"
lex. 1), a tune that would serve as a floating
folk trope in music-historical literature for the
next thirty years. 20
Unfortunately for us, however, Brown did
not cite any source for the tune, and it is not to
be found in the likeliest places: Kolberg's Piesni
ludu polskiego !Songs of the Polish Folk), or
Wojcicki 's Piesni ludu Bialo chroba t6w,
Mazur6w i Rusi znad Bugu !Songs of the
Bialochrobat, Mazur and Ruthenian Folk from
the Bug Region). 21 And while Miketta in his
comprehensive study on Chopin's mazurkas,
20 Mauricc J. E. Brown, Chopin: An Index of His Works in
Chronological Order (rev. 2nd edn. London, 1972), p. 38.
210skar Kolberg, PieSni ludu polskiego, vol. I of Dziela
wszystkie (The Comple te Works) (Krak6w, 1961 );
Kazimierz Wladyslaw WOjcicki, PieSni ludu Bialochro­
bat6w Mazur6w i Rusi znad Bugu, 2 vols. (Warsaw, 1836;
rpt. Wroclaw, 1976). Nor docs it appear in the obvious
twentieth-century sources : JOzef Michat ChomiiJ.ski and
Teresa Dalila Turlo, Katalog dziel Fryderyka Chopina !A
Catalog of Frydery k C hopin's Works ) (Krak6w, 1990), pp.
116-17; Helena Windakiewiczowa, Wzory ludowei muzyki
polskie; w mazurkach Fryderyka Chopina (Examples of
Polish Folk Music in Fryderyk Chopin's Mazurkas)
Wydzial Filologiczny-Rozprawy, vol. 61, no. 7 (Krakow,
1926).1 also consulted twentieth-century folk-song collec­
tions on the chance that "Oj Magdalino" may have come
from a more recent anthology, but was unabl e to find it in
any printed collection of folk songs.

Tl'mpo di ohl'rek ~!
~i~g? 0 p
Example I: Maurice Brown's folk source for Chopin's Mazurka, op. 68, no. 3, in
Chopin: An Index of His Works in Chronological Order (2nd rev. edn. London, 1972), p. 38.
Mazurki Chopina, suggests that the melody of
the middle section of op. 68, no. 3, resembles
one that would be played on a fuiarka (a peas­
ant flute), he gives no indication that Chopin's
melody is a direct folk borrowing. 22 Brown's
"Oj Magdalino," as the folk source for Chopin's
op. 68, no. 3, thus seems rather mysterious.D
But even putting aside the question of the tune's
origins for a moment, what does it have in
common with the poco piu vivo section of op.
68, no. 3? Everything, and yet nothing. While
both melodies circle within a range of a fifth,
Chopin's also fills out an octave at its phrase
endings. And although both melodies consist
of two four-measure phrases, "Oj Magdalino"
has two distinct phrases while the poco piu
vivo melody in op. 68, no. 3, has one phrase
that is repeated, its last measure slight! y modi­
fled for harmonic closure during the repeat. In
fact, beyond Chopin's replication (twice) of the
melodic fragment in m. 6 of Brown's "Oj
Magdalino," no direct correlation exists be-
12 "Statcmcnt Cis some sort of folk fife melody. The char­
acteristic Lydian, augme~ tcd fourth apfcars in it. The
melody is made up of 5 pttches: b 2-c3-d,-e3-f3 wtth end­
ings in which Chopin's 'stylization: expands the scale of
this !;-pitch peasant flute to 3 lower pitches-a 2, g 2, f2- in
order to complete an octave scale for this most modest
instrument" (Janusz Miketta, Mazurki Chopina 1Krak6 w,
19491, p . 409).
!.:lQ£ course the fact that the source for " O j Magdalino"
has not yet been located does not prove that Brown's tune
is spurious. But also m ysterious in terms of the supposed
folk source are the tune's Italian-language tempo marking,
"Tempo di oberck," and the editorially suggested Eqs in
the first four-measure phrase, not to mention the fact that
this "folk-tunc" appears tcxtlcss. Noteworthy, too, is the
fact that Brown provides a. "folk source" for only one other
Chopin composition in his index, the popular Polish C hrist­
mas carol, Lulaii.e fe zuniu, which has an often noted, but
highly questionable, relationship to Chopin's Scherzo No.
1 in B M inor, op. "20
chopin 73
'-1~,.-------------, ,2~
,. ------------- BARBARA
F r M ILEWSKJ
Chopin 's
Mazurkas
tween the tunes. Indeed, "Oj Magdalino" is so
generic that it might bear a resemblance to
virtually any simple (rustic) song or songlike
melody with repeated motives, a narrow m e­
lodic range, and clearly punctuated, four-mea­
sure phrases. In the end, Brown's comparison
boils down to an isolated measure.
What does, howev er, distinguish " Oj
Magdalino" from any other unremarkable tune
is the holupiec gesture found at the end of its
first and second phrases and at the beginning of
the second phrase. In an oberek (a quick tempo
variant of the folk mazur) th is holupiec ges­
ture--a measure of three ei.r;;.hth notes sung or
played on the same pitch in ~ meter-accompa­
nies the heel stomping of dancers that can mark
the beginning or ending of the dance. It is one
of the more recognizable features of indigenous
Polish music because it is inherently dramatic;
its three punctuated, repeated notes at the be­
ginning of a dance signal the listeners and danc­
ers to attention, while at the end of a dance
these same repeated notes articulate closure.
Such holupiec gestures are not only a charac­
teristic feature of contemporary Polish folk
music, but also appear in the nineteenth-cen­
tury dances collected by Kolberg and Wojcicki.
Ironically, op. 24, no. 2, is the only Chopin
mazurka that makes conspicuous use of this
gesture. It first appears in the A section at mm.
16 and 20 as a closing figure (ex. 2a), then again
in mm. 48 and 52. Immediately thereafter (ex.
2b, mm. 53-56), Chopin uses the holupiec re­
peatedly-almost parodically--to signal the end
of the A section, with the repeating pitch cl as
a pivot tone between C major and the new key,
D~ major, in which Chopin begins the B sec­
tion, again using a holupiec. In this new sec­
tion, Chopin plays up the gesture, repeating it
three more times (mm. 61, 65, and 69, each
119
74 chopin
19TH a. Mm. 16-20.
CENTURY
12
j·
~-
MUSIC
......
>
I i
"'"f' ;.
.... /L ~ ~ ....
b. Mm. 51-57.
Example 2: Chopin, Mazurka, op. 24, no. 2.
time repeating the four-measure phrase for
which the holupiec is a beginning), now w ith a
forte marking on the first beat as well as the
staccato marking and accent on the second and
third beats. No less than fourteen repetitions of
this gesture sound by the end of op. 24, no. 2. If
"Oj Magdalino" shares an affinity w ith any of
Chopin's mazurkas, it seems to be with this
on e and n ot with op. 68, n o. 3 .
But not a single scholar disputed the citation
of " Oj Magdalino." Instead, it was integrated
into the op. 68, no. 3, folk story, first by Paul
Hamburger in 1966. Here the tale with all of its
layers intact reached its climax. Hamburger
attempted to reconcile Brown's new finding,
the "proof" that could finally lend the story of
folk borrowings some serious weight, with
Bartok's pronouncements on national music,
authenticity, and folklore. Without a trace of
irony, he incorporated two contradictory con­
cepts-Dne intended to prove the folk authen­
ticity of Chopin's mazurkas, the other, their
artificiality-into a single narrative.
Most of Chopin's dances, to be sure, cannot be traced
to a single, definite folk-model, but arise from a
120
.:rr-:-1
Jl
:=4fd
~ '1
.~--h~
I
~ = F
.,. ;
;. ..... -i.". . .
'::-Lo". ·-===- ...~ '. --
.... -
. ·- .
+---···= ~-
composite recollection of certain types of m elodies
and rhythms, which are then given artistically valid
expression in one o rmore works. In this respect
Chopin's Polish-ness is rather like Dvorak's Czech­
ness. and Bloch's jewish-ness: all t hree composers
distil national flavours from m aterial that is not
strictly folkloristic-in contradistinction t o Bart6k,
Vaughan Williams, and the Spanish national school
who start off from genuine folklore. But in a few
cases a definite m odel is found to exist, such as the
folk-tune "Oj Magdalino" which appears in the Poco
piil vivo of the youthful Mazurka in F major, op. 68,
no. 3 lop. posth.), of 1829 . .. . This example shows
why there are so few direct references to folklore in
Chopin' s dances: special contexts as the above apart,
he felt hemmed in by the primitive rigidity of these
melodies in their entirety. On the other hand, he
readily let himself be inspired by their elem ents: the
sharpened fourth, the drone bass, the sudden trip­
lets, the frequent f eminine e ndings, the repetition of
one-bar motifs_24
24 Paul Hamburger, "Mazurkas, Waltzes, Polonaiscs," in
Frederic Chopin: Profiles of the Man and the Musician,
ed. Alan Walker (London, l 966), pp. 73- 74 (Hamburger's
emphasis).

Almost thirty years later, in 1992, op. 68, no.
3, was again invoked as the classic example of
folk influence in Chopin's mazurkas, this time
by Adrian Thomas: "There can be little doubt
whence came the inspiration for the trio of the
Mazurka in F major, op. 68, no. 3, from 1830.
... A fu;arka melody over an open fifth drone,
it betrays its unadorned oberek origins with an
insouciant ease. " 25 Brown's folk trope did not
disappear either, at least not entirely. A refer­
ence to "Oj Magdalino," though not the music,
makes its way into one of Thomas's footnotes
intended to demonstrate the "unadorned oberek
origins" of op. 68, no. 3. Only in Jim Samson's
most recent publication, his 1996 Chopin, did
Brown's "Oj Magdalino" finally float off the
page. Its only trace is in Samson's mention of
Thomas's description of the op. 68, no. 3, trio,
which Samson uses to make the case for folk
influence in Chopin's music 26
Ultimately, however, op. 68, no. 3, betrays
something else: the regular impulse of writers
and scholars to seek out a national or indig­
enous source for Chopin's mazurkas as a means
of understanding both these works and their
composer. Perhaps more importantly, an ex­
amination of the writings on op. 68, no. 3,
reveals a change in interpretations over time.
While Liszt's metaphor of dancing Polish cava­
liers and ladies was the first attempt to de­
scribe the musical matter of Chopin's mazur­
kas, Szulc later replaced Liszt's image with heel­
stomping peasants in order to bolster his claim
that folk music, not salon music, determined
the national character of these works. In doing
so, Szulc effectively shifted and redefined the
idea of what constituted native Polish music.
Subsequent writers and musicologists not only
maintained Szulc's argument of folk influence
but also came to hear an essential "folkness"
in Chopin's mazurkas. As a result, they be­
came increasingly convinced of the possibility
of recovering an actual source that the com-
25Adrian Thomas, "Beyond the Dance," in The Cambridge
Companion to Chopin. ed. Jim Samson 11992; rpt. Cam­
bridge, !994), pp. !S4-SS.
261' As Adrian T h omas has indicated, a passage such as the
trio from op. 68, no. 3 'betrays its unadorned oberek ori­
gins with an insouciant ease' 11 {Jim Samson, Chopin 11996;
1st American edn. New York, 1997], p. 65).
chopin 75
poser presumably had heard in the countryside BARBARA
MILEWSKI
and had borrowed for his high art creations. Chopin 's
Opus 68, no. 3, became the locus of these Mazurk as
evolving interpretations. But the source that
scholars searched for was-and remains-in­
herently irrecoverable because it in fact never
existed. The essential folkishness that listen­
ers heard in Chopin's mazurkas was a fictional,
mythopoetic folk, animated by stock rustic mu­
sical tropes and placed against the backdrop of
a national genre as it was reconceived by
Chopin. His was a construct that had much in
common with the folk image created by his
Romantic compatriots, an element I shall con­
sider in the next section of this article.
What began, then, with Liszt as a Romantic
conceit was expanded over time into the posi­
tivist notion of a specific and identifiable folk
source. The longer that Chopin's mazurkas sur­
vived the immediate time and place of their
creation, the more resonant became the tale of
folk borrowing until, frustrated by the search,
one scholar eventually came to defend the m yth
by inventing yet another: an improbable folk
source for op. 68, no. 3. Positivism had re­
turned to Romanticism. As if in the spirit of
Chopin's own nineteenth-century Romantic
project, the interpreters of Chopin's mazurkas
in the twentieth century had created an essen­
tial construct, at the base of which was some­
thing fundamentally imaginary.
II
That critics have never been able to estab­
lish direct folk borrowing in Chopin's mazur­
kas does not mean that the composer was un­
acquainted with a "pure" indigenous practice.
Scant as they may be, Chopin's letters on the
subject make it clear that the composer did
have access to the music of the folk. Moreover,
even had not one of these accounts survived,
sociohistorical writings on early-nineteenth­
century Polish culture confirm that in all prob­
ability Chopin-like any other middle-class Pole
of his time-would have had at least a modi­
cum of exposure to peasant traditions. The ques­
tion that remains, then, is not whether Chopin
encountered folk music in its "native habitat,"
but how such a.n encounter may have shaped
his work. The answer is elusive, not least be­
cause critics, as we have seen, have interpreted
12 1
76 chopin
19TH the evidence of Chopin's contact with t he folk
CENTURY
MUSIC as proof of his intimate familiarity with and
appreciation for an "authentic" rural practice,
thereby pJacing undue emphasis on the music
of the Polish countryside as the source foi: his
mazurkas and skewing the historical record.
Chopin's letters from Szafarnia, on which so
many claims have been staked, might more
strongly indicate something entirely different:
that the folk and its music were a novelty for
Chopin, something shocking, altoget her unfa­
miliar, and for these reasons noteworthy." Thus
to arrive at a better sense of the Polish tradi­
tions that may have given form to the mazur­
kas, we need to consider not only the surviving
impressions of early-nineteenth-century rural
musical practice but also the range of national
music that Chopin was hearing in his urban
venues. In other words, how did the broader
musical landscape of Chopin's Poland relate to
his mazurkas?
Among Chopin's biographers, Liszt may have
come closest to the principal inspiration for
the mazurkas with his ballroom scene of danc­
ing Polish gentry. At the turn of the nineteenth
century, the "nation" (nar6d) was a prominent
topic not only among diplomats and revolu­
tionary leaders determined to restore Poland's
lost independence but also among those mem­
bers of the middle and upper classes concerned
with preserving-or more accurately, con struct­
ing-a national identity for Poland through its
cultural heritage: its language, history, religion,
27The novelty of Chopin's encounters with folk culture is
suggested in part by the simple fact that he relates these
"colorful" experiences to his parents back in Warsaw, and
by the conservatory-style language he uses to describe peas­
ant music-making, which ultimately betrays his point of
reference: " We were having dinner, eating our last course,
when from afar we could hear choirs of jarring discant,
now from old crones gabbling through their noses [crossed­
out word!, now again from girls unmercifully squeaking a
semitone higher at the top of their lungs, to the accompa­
niment of one fiddle- a three-stringed one at that- which
answered every sung strophe in an alto voice from the
back. Abandoning our company, Domusz and I got up
from the table and ran outside. . . . Frye's wife brought
over a double-bass even worse than the fiddle: it had only
one string. Grabbing the dusty bow, I started playing the
bass, scraping so forcefully that everyone gathered t o see
the two Fryces- one sleepily[?) on the fiddle, the other on
the single-stringed, monochord-like, dusty [crossed-out
wordJ rasping bass" (Korespondencja Fryderyk a Chopina z
rodzin~. ed. Krystyna Kobylai'tska, p. 42j.
122.
and customs . W arszawskie T owarzystwo
Przyjaci61 Nauk (The Warsaw Society for the
Friends of Learning) played a leading role in
this cultural cause. Founded in 1800, the orga­
nization attracted a wide circle of distinguished
nobles, intellectuals, revolutionaries, poets, and
artists with its engaging programs and its prom­
ise of a mixed milieu (an appealing quality in
Warsaw's atmosphere of social transforma­
tion)." It h eld meetings and musical soirees
and sponsored lectures on a broad range of sub­
jects-from language, literature, and ethnogra­
phy to geography and the natural sciences­
designed to inform members of intellectual
achievements both Polish and European.
Beyond the general promotion of learning,
the Society was specifically concerned with the
cultivation and enrichment of the Polish lan­
guage. Most importantly, it financed and pub­
lished monumental works such as Samuel
Bogumil Linde's six-volume dictionary, Slownik
it:z yk a polsk i ego (1807-14) and Feli k s
Bentkowski' s history of Polish litera t ure,
Historia literatury polskiej (1 814), initiating
what would become a comprehensive effort to
consolidate and standardize a national language
and lit erary canon. Some members, like
Chopin's music teacher J6zef Elsner and the
influential professor and poet Kazimierz
Brodziil. ski, w ere strongly influen ced by
Herder's writings and insisted that language
was the only t rue carrier of national identity.
In the realm of music they argued that Polish­
language vocal composition was the most le­
gitimate form of "national" music and thus
best suited to serving the Polish cause. An­
other member, the composer Karol Kurpiilski,
2 ~'~The Society's formal organization grew out of the infor·
ma l gatherings held in Stanislaw Soltyk's famous Warsaw
salon, where both reform-minded aristocrats and intellec­
tuals from the m iddle class were welcorn e. A uhiversalis t
Enlightenment love of learning and liberty together w ith
the pursuit of rom antic (national) identity rooted in a con ·
cept of the "folk " shaped the Society's work. For brief but
informative discussions of the WSFL, see Jan Prosnak,
"Srodowisko Warszawskie w :i:yciu i tw6 rczoSci Fryderyka
Chopina" (Warsaw 's Role in the Life and M usic of Fryderyk
Chopin), Kwartalnik Muzyczny 28 (O ctober-Decem ber,
19491, pp. 25-29; and Igor Belza, Mi~dzy Oswieceniem i
Romant yzmem : polsk a .kultura muzyczna w pocz{ltk ach
XIX wiek u (Between the Enlightenment and Romanticism :
Polish Musical C ulture at the Beginning of the 19t h Cen­
turyj(Krak6w, 1961j, pp. 13-1S.

who played a prominent role in Warsaw's oper­
atic life," offered the same prescription. In
Tygodnik Muzycmy (Musical Weekly), Poland's
first music journal, founded and edited by
. Kurpiftski himself, the composer devoted a siz­
able number of articles to opera and song, em­
phasizing their important place in the develop­
ment of a distinctively Polish music. In at least
one article Kurpiflski not only asserted that
song alone constituted a national music litera­
ture, but also underscored the positive influ­
ence that performing Polish vocal music had
on national m orality. He even went so far as to
argue that the increasing number of piano stu­
dents at the Warsaw School of Music and Dra­
matic Arts (later the Warsaw Conservatory) was
an undesirable trend for the country in general
and for. the nation's morals in particular; the
piano, he contended, was-. only necessary for
the study of harmony and as an accompani­
ment to singing.-10
29 Kurpiflski was the most prolific opera composer in Po­
land during the first half of t he nineteenth century as well
as the Warsaw opera's musical director for sixteen years
and its conductor for thirty.
·1°Karol Kurpi:fiski, "Kr6tka w iadomoSC o muzyce w polsce"
\A Brief Report on M usic in Poland), Tygodnik Muzyczny i
Dramatyczny l , 'no. 7 !February 1821], 25-28. The privi­
leging of vocal over instrumental music as inherently more
national helps explain wh y many Polish patriots were con­
flic ted about the merits of Chopin's piano compositions,
even as th ey celebrated h im as Poland's must distinguished
an d most "n ational " artist. For these Poles- am ong them
the m ost n otorious was the poet Adam Mickiewicz- it
was incon ceivable that such a nation ally m inded com ­
poser would not recognize his patriotic duty to compose a
Polish opera. Indeed, so unsettling was Chopin's textless
but otherwise "nationaL" m usic that one poet, Kornel
Ujejski, endeavored to " translat e" a selection of Ch opin's
piano compositions into Polish v erse in the late 1850s in
his Tlumaczenia Szopena (Translations of Cho pin!. Al­
though admittedly speculative, one possible explanation
for Ch opin1s "avoidance" of operatic writing while h e was
still in Warsaw couJd be Kurpiflski himself. In tempera·
m ent the t wo com posers could not h ave been m ore differ·
en t, and Kurpifls ki's strong opinion s an d aggressive tactics
as the N ational Theater's director (which ultim ately caused
his codirector, Elsner, to resign in 1824) m ay h ave been a
serious deterrent for the m ore refined Chopin. It is also
possible to glean from a number of Chopin's letters that
while he was able to appreciate Kurpi:fiski's moral crusade
on behalf of national art, h e found the approach irritating.
philistine, and fundamentally self-serving. Regardless, what
truly distinguish ed Chopin from his musical compatriots
w as not an abili ty to (ollow the aesth etic prescriptions of
the day (that is, music plus Polish texts equals Polish
musk - C hopin m ade ligh t of this idea of Polishness from
the start) but rather his insistence that music could tran·
chopin 77
Kurpiftski articulated with respect to music BARBARA
M ILEWSKI
what the Society believed more broadly : that it Chopin's
had a m oral obligation-a cultural-national mis­ Mazurkas
sion- to a waken patriotic feelings among Poles .
Dur ing Stanis law St aszic 's tenure as t h e
Society's president, it formulated the following
mission statement: "T o rescue and perfect our
m other tongue; to preserve and scrupulously
document our nation 's history; to acquaint our­
selves with our native land; . . to propagate
knowledge and art; to collect and save from
oblivion anything related to our nation; and
especially to awaken, maintain and spread an
affection for Poland among our countrymen ."·"
To this end, the Society's m embers embarked
on a "discovery" of popular practice (defined as
"folk" practice) and strove to transform it into
a national tradition. The inspiration, as else­
where in Europe, came largely from Herder,
but also from Rousseau, whose works were
well received among th e Polish intelligentsia.
Convinced that the Polish peasant (both in his
rural and in his transplanted urban form) ex­
pressed a distinct national character through
song, dress, and custom, and that folk culture
could serve as an invaluable source for the cre­
ation of national m usic and literature, the Soci­
ety championed the first efforts at folk-song
collection. It was these early efforts that brought
new status and cultural m eaning to the folk
song precisely (and by no means coinciden­
tally) at a time when th e Polish nation as a
concrete, political reality had vanished from
the m ap of Europe and patriots felt com pelled
to affirm and define the substance of their na­
tion. Thus folk songs and the people who cre­
ated them were the palpable matter of nar6d,
the substance around which one could draw an
imaginary national line in place of the geo­
graphic boundaries that had been erased. For
this reason, homegrown genres such as the
maz ur, oberek , k ujawi ak , pol onez, a n d
k rakowiak became extremely important for
scend the need for texts an d still have nationaJ-cultural
m eaning. For a Jook at the numerous suggestions made to
Chopin that h e com pose a Polish n ational opera, see
Ferdynand Hoesick, Chopin: Zycie i tw6rcz oSi:, II, 106--m>.
"'' Towarzystwo Nouk owe Warszawskie (Th e Warsaw Edu­
Ci!tional Society) (Warsaw, 1932), p. 6, as cited in Prosn ak,
"Srodowis ko Warszawsk.ie w Zyciu i tw 6rczoSci Fryderyka
Chop ina," p. 26.
123
78 chopin
19TH Poles, and Poland's cultural elite came to rely
CENTURY
MUSIC on them as durable aesthetic "markers" for
national perpetuity.
Early activities in the folk-song en terprise
were varied. Hugo KoH~taj initiated a compre­
hensive plan to study folk culture, which was
announced at the WSFL in 1802 but never real­
ized. In 18 13 another member of the Society,
Zorian Dol~ga-Chodakowski, seriously began
collecting Polish, Ukrainian, Russian, and
Belorussian folk-song texts, but the Polish folk
songs were virtually forgotten after the
collector's death and only published in the twen­
tieth centuryn While many members of the
Society, like Joachim Lelewel, Tadeusz Czacki,
and Karol Kurpifiski, collected their own folk
material wherever they came upon it (from peas­
ants who worked as servants and laborers in
town, from farm hands in the neighboring vil­
lages of Warsaw where most of Warsaw's well­
to-do summered, and even from friends and
acquaintances associated with the WSFL), it
was not until 1833 that the first anthology of
Polish (and Ukrainian) folk songs with m usical
accompaniment was actually published. This
was Piesni polskie i ruskie ludu galicyjskiego
(Polish and Ruthenian Songs of the Galician
Folk), whose editor, Waclaw z Oleska (Wadaw
Zaleski) invited Karol Lipinski to create key­
board accompaniments to the melodies he had
collected so that the collection would have
popular appeal and widespread use.33 No one
Dolfga-Chodakowski, whose given nam e was Adam
.'l2
Czarnocki, was born to Polish parents in Belorussia in 1784
and changed his name sometime around lR 13. He first
began taking ethnographic notes .in the form of a personal
journal-diary, which he kept during his exile to Siberia in
HU 0. He titled his journal My Reluctant Journey [Bez cht;!ci
podr6Z mojaJ and in it recorded features of various ethnic
groups such as the customs, language, and song that he
observed on his forced travel to Omsk. Russian authorities
ordered his exile when it was learned that he planned to
st eal into what was t hen called the Congress Kingdom of
Poland in order to join the Polish arm y, someth ing h e
believed was his patriotic duty to do. He did get to Warsaw
and eventually fought alongside Polish troops, but after
N apoleon 's defeat he returned to folk-song collecting,
finding active support for his work in the WSFL. For an
informative account of Dol~ga-Chodakowski' s fascinating
life, see Julian M_aSlanka1 the introduction to Zorian Dnl~ga­
Chodakowski, Spiewy Slawianskie pod strzech{l wiejsk{l
zebrane (Slavic Songs Gathered under the Vi ll age That ched
Roof)(Warsaw, 1973), pp. 9- 44.
-1JWaclaw z Oleska, PieSni polsk ie i ruskie lu du galicy­
jskiego (Lw6w, 1833).
124
seemed to object to Lipinski's artful harmoni­
zations, but what the "purists" of that tim e did
find troubling was Waclaw z Oleska's inclu­
sion of texts written by various minor contem­
porary Polish poets, including those by th e sen­
timental poet Franciszek Karpinski. Many such
poem s became popular as songs, particularly
among the petty gentry, and in this form were
disseminated among the general public.' 4
Kazimierz Wladyslaw Wojcicki, in the preface
to his own collection of folk songs, Piesni ludu
Bialochrobat6w Mazur6w i Rusi znad Bugu
(Songs of the Bialochrobat, Mazur and
Ruthenian Folk from the Bug Region ), published
just three years later in 1836, accused Waclaw
z Oleska of trying to enlarge his collection with
these " corrupting" urban songs, and of being
unacquainted with what Wojcicki believed to
be an " au thentic" (i.e., rural) folk.35 But while
Wojcicki earnestly and energet ically set off
across the Congress Kingdom of Poland and
into Hungarian, Croatian, Moravian, and Czech
lands to expand his collection of " true" folk
songs, he too did not seem to mind simplifying
melodies and adding piano accompaniments to
the songs in his collection. Even Oskar Kolberg,
who spent a lifetime compiling Poland's first
systematic and theoretically based ethnographic
study, first published his earliest collected folk
songs with keyboard accompaniments, which
he himself composed. In all these cases, efforts
at folk-song collection were fairly unsystem­
atic and still coupled with the conventions of
high art .
By 1842, when Kolberg's first anthology,
Piesni ludu polskiego (Songs of the Polish Folk),
with piano accompaniment was published, the
musical aspect of folk songs had come under
closer scrutiny, and critics claimed that the
compiler's harmon izations compromised th e
34 Karpiilski's poem B6g sie rodzi (God Is Born), which be­
came popular as a Christmas carol and quickly lost it s
association with th e author, is but one example. See
Czeslaw Milosz, The History of Polish Literature (Berke­
ley and Los Angeles, 1983 ), pp. 185-86. Richard T aruskin
draws attention to a similar phenomenon of urban "liter­
ary" songs in late-eighteenth-century Russian m usical cul­
ture. See Richard Taruskin, Defining Russia Musically
(Princeton, N. J., 1997), pp. 19-20.
·1 ·"Kaz imierz W-ladys-la w WOjc icki, PieS n i ludu
Bialochrobat6w Maz ur6 w i Rusi znad Bugu, l, 7-12.

authenticity of the folk melodies. 16 In a now
well-known letter to his family sent in 1847,
Chopin judged that "[Kolberg's] labor only dis­
torts matters and makes work harder for the
genius who will one day disentangle the truth.
Until then, all these beautiful things remain
with their noses straightened, rouged, and their
legs chopped off or stuck on stilts, a laughing­
stock for those who do not take them seri­
ously."·" Unlike earlier enthusiasts, collectors,
and critics who saw folk-song collections pri­
marily as a way of propagating a patriotic. sort
of domestic entertainment, Chopin and a hand­
ful of other critics had now come to view an­
thologized folk music as a cultural document,
something beautiful in its own right and with­
out need of translation into high art music to
be comprehensible and valuable to the upper
classes. Chopin's commentary in particular sug­
gests that he found the arrangement of native
melodies with decorative piano accompani­
ments not only ill conceived but also unin­
spired. This is a significant point when one
considers the claim made by so many later
writers that the supposed presence of real folk
tunes in Chopin's mazurkas-not necessarily
the height of his style-distinguished his works
as more richly conceived and authentically Pol­
ish than those of his compatriots.
In response to the criticism of colleagues
and peers, Kolberg worked harder to cast his
expanding folk-song collection as a scientific
record of Poland's indigenous treasures. In 1857
he published a new collection of folk songs
under the same title, Piesni ludu polskiego, but
this time without piano accompaniments. For
the first time, Polish folk songs were presented
in a single-line melodic transcription format in
an attempt to reveal their "pure," unadulter­
ated nature, and this would become Kolberg's
governing principle until the end of his life.
Moreover, Kolberg omitted Belorussian and
Ukrainian songs !not to mention Jewish songs,
which even the earliest collectors did not in­
clude)-songs that existed alongside Polish
·1 ~'~Ludwik Bielawski, "Oskar Kolberg" in Slowni.k muzyk6w
polskich [A Dictionary of Polish Musicians), 2 vols.
\Krakow, 1964), I, 285.
.HKobylafiska, Korespondenc i a Fryderyka Chopina z
rodzinQ, p. 16 1.
chopin 79
musical traditions until the first half of the BARBARA
M ILEWSKI
twentieth century-thereby depicting Poland's Chopin's
musical culture as much more homogeneous M azurkas
than it was in reality.
Yet despite Kolberg's efforts to market an
ideal of Polish folk culture, his new anthology
could not help but be a true Iif for him an
undesirable) record of Polish folk music in a
very inclusionary sense: a record of musical
practice spontaneously shared by both city and
village. Along with the "pure" folk music that
Kolberg "discovered" in the countryside, he
encountered-and inclu ded in his 185 7 collec­
tion-songs that had been broadly circulated
by the earlier, successful anthologies ofWaclaw
z Oleska and Wojcicki, not to mention his own
original collection of 1842. These were songs
whose "essential folkishness" could not, and
cannot, be verified because we can never know
to what degree the pioneering Polish collectors
may have modified-or even created-the tunes
for the songs they collected:"
Example 3 offers a glimpse of one such song,
Stala nam si{! nowina !Hear Ye! Hear Ye!), an
unsettling tale about a woman who murders
her husband and buries him beneath a garden
of meadow rue. The song was made enormously
popular not only by published folk-song collec­
tions but also by Adam Mickiewicz's earlier
poetic retelling of the tale." Here we can trace
the folk song's journey from Wojcicki's ver­
sion, where it is straightforwardly matched up
with an accessible tonic-dominant accompani­
ment, to Kolberg's slightly more inventive ren-
~'8This is to say nothing of the m u sically untrained song
collectors who, w hen they were interested in music at all,
relied on the intervention of professional composers to
compose folklike melodies and piano accompanimen ts (in
other words, classical renderings of "rustic" music) for the
texts they had collected.
:l\l'fhe folk song was reworked into a poem by Mickiewicz
in 1820 and published as Liliie (Th e Lilies) in 1822 in his
first book of poem s, Ballady i rom anse. While the tale's
action takes place in an unspecified time, Mickiewicz 's
poem is set during the period of King Boleslaus the Brave's
successful campaign against Kiev in the early eleventh
century, with the effect that the talc seems at least that old.
This is no small thing if one considers the new emphasis
that Polish nationalists placed not only on the nation' s
h istory, but also on the idea that that history had been
unwittingly preserved by the folk through their songs. T he
poem is reprinted in Adam Mickiewicz, Wiersze [Poems),
vol. 1 (Warsaw, !992), pp. 85- 97.
125
80 chopin
19TH a. Wojcicki's arrangement of Stala n am si~ nowina (Hear Ye! Hear Ye!) (Wojcicki, Pie.§ni Judu Bia!ochrobat6w
CENTURY Mazur6w i Rusi znad Bugu [Warsaw, 1836; rpt. Wrodaw, 1976], vol. 1, Ruta, p,11 5).
MUSIC
\ ~~j§~~~~~i~~~-Joc:;~-cocj===;~cc=~~c~
~ : r~:r=-~~f§i~~~~=-=-=~
Example 3
dering (among other things, he opts for
supertonic chords in mm. 6 and 7 at the dark
textual essence of the song, " a lady killed a
man," and uses open fifths as dominant harmo­
nies, making the tune sound a t once
coloristically "modern" and archaic), only to
see it stripped of its harmonic decoration in
Kolberg' s 185 7 anthology in order that the tune
appear m ore au then tically folklike. If songs such
as Stala nam si{l n owina remind us of the free
exchange between artistic and folk practices
characteristic of early-nineteenth-centu ry Pol­
ish musical life, they also reveal the u nfortu­
nate makings of a utopian Polish folk-song "tra­
dition" that decidedly separated urban musical
creation from the folk.
What Kolberg also found in the countryside
were songs th at were urban inventions from
the start (ex. 4). Written by professional com ­
posers for operas, vaudevilles, and operettas and
intended to sound simple and folklike, t hese
songs had migrated to rural settings because of
their popularity in Warsaw.•o Although a num-
0J.n this context it is interesting to note the related phe­
4 of folk songs akin to Macpherson's Ossian but witho ut the
nomeno n of the folk Mass. A num her of such composi-
126
bi
~F ] -~s--- --=~-=J
ber of sch olars have argued that Polish compos­
ers such as Jan Stefani and J6zef Elsner assidu-
tions were written by Elsner and Kurpiitski during the
first half of the nineteenth century. Unlike stage composi­
tions, which were intended for an urban audience and
only later m igrated to rural localities, folk Masses were
written expressly for use in and by village parishes. Com ­
posed in a simplified style in order that they be " under­
stood" by peasan ts, these folk Masses are perhaps some of
the fi nest examples of how Polish art-music composers of
this period endeavored to create (and determine) a folk­
music style. See Alina Nowak-Romanow icz, "Pogl11dy
estetyczno-muzyczne J6zefa Elsne ra/' in PoglQdy na
muz yk c kompozytor6w polsk ich doby przedchopinowskiej
(" J6zef Elsner's Aesthetic-musical Outlook" in Viewpoints
on the Music of Polish Composers in the Days before
Chopin) IKrak6w, 1960), p. 90.
It should also be noted that the creation of folk songs
was not limited to composers. Kazim ierz Brodzinski pub­
lished a num ber of 11 folk songs" in his classic 18 18 treatise,
0 klasycz noSci i roman ty cz noSci (O n Classicism and Ro­
manticism), while Chopin's close friend Stefan Witwicki
wrote over fifty '1rustic songs," which appeared in print some­
time before 1827 as (straightforward ly enough ) Piosnld
sielsk ie (Rustic Songs). A handful of these songs were set to
music by Chopin and published posthumously as part of the
seventeen songs of op. 74. Importantly, unlike Mickiewicz's
Lilies, t hese were not poetic reworkings of well-known folk
songs but rather poems writ ten in what was thought t o be a
folk-song style and on fo lk themes: soph isticated imitations
m isleading pretense of 1'authenticity."
 chopin 81

b. Kolberg's arrangem ent of Stafa nam si(l n owin a (Kolberg, Pie.fui i melodie ludowe w opracowaniu BARBARA
MILEWSKI
fortepianowym, val. 67, pt. 1 of Dziefa wszystkie [Krakow, 1986] no. 99, pp. 171-72) (first published as Pie.fui Chopin ' s
ludu polskiego, 1842). Mazurkas

rs ~ "r
c! ) accelaando w cakj Posce ::nana
And'"" '""; ••••;, ~~
r ±f =- 7J = :::=;:: g ~it € ~ --~
I [l.] Sta · { a nam Stl.( na,

· ~
--=1
- ·- g j

I •

*
ra.

q;:
bi l a, pa bi

t Jt·· =-t~-c-£=-rf=--=- -=- _£:=-= -= .J

l r t empo l

1b7 E ;J -==r - ~- - ____; - .F.B:__

accelercmdo

'r
j2] W <J · gru · dku gu :;ch o {.1, gr6 - dku go scho

c. Stafa nam si4' nowina (Kolberg, Pie.fui ludu polskiego, vol. 1 of Dziefa wszystkie [Krak6w, 1961] no. 3a, p.
13)(first published in Warsaw, 1857).

pa p<1 bi - {a p;;a ni pa bi {a

Example 3 (conti nued)

127
82 chopin

19TH 461
CENTURY
MUSIC Mazurek iEisneral. z Warszawy iznany powszechni~l

i=:lll-=¥2r=+&t i14-=t . ~ Qf
DwieM ~· ry ·sic, !iipo -tka-·fy sift i m O- wi · 1y so
~- li3
-:--v ·j·· .J
hie al- bo ty mi
V ;,
~.
;=c-!"ii-# -1-- • FF· =
. ~
Sta · sia od · · st~p
.H
al - bo ja go
I
to hie.
Dwie Ma- ry ·sic, spo-tka -.fy Si(\ i mO - wi - 1y lJ tCm jak - to ko . wal so . b~ ru . cha kie -dy hi - je mro .

462
Mazuerk cJI3 tan cerkl Mierzy1~skiej (Da msegol zWarszaw y.
2-do &<' ---

J d J c:rJ e :pa ' li=J ; cr£11cr :

1-mo. ~ l -mo.

~I e:J I I I E1 J JOB I

463
Mazur (Stcfanlcgo) z Warszawy

464

tum 4=t12_..-~-=t:i'1Yc.~ccJ=f:J~ i;=llr=i=J¥'Y-=L=iffi =trJJ aJ

zWarszawy.

w
z Kom edio-Opery: Nowy Rok jDamsego!.

465

z Kom dcio-Opcray: M_!ynarz i Kominiarz iTamowskiegol.

Example 4: Music composed by professional composers included in Kolberg, Piesni ludu

polskiego, vaL 1 of Dziela wszystkie [Krak6w, 1961], nos. 461-{)5, pp. 447-48.

128

ously collected these and other folk tunes from
peasants with an eye (or rather, ear) to authen­
tically reproducing them in their stage works,
it is impossible to know how accurate they
were, since no transcriptions of the tunes exist
for comparison'' Moreover, given even the
fairly common interaction between Polish gen­
try and folk in the rural backwater that was
Warsaw at the end of the eighteenth century,
and the growing interest in peasant culture at
the beginning of the nineteenth century, it is
unlikely that professional composers would
have engaged in the type of "scientific" docu­
mentation of folk music that these scholars
suggest. As we have already seen, methodical
preservation and concerns for authenticity were
simply not important until later in the nine­
teenth century. When these early professionals
did borrow tunes from the folk, it was to add
local color to their compositions and therefore
most likely to be approximate. Indeed, well
into the 1840s much of Poland's cultural and
artistic elite considered peasants less as the
bearers of great artistic truths than as national
subjects useful in spreading Polish patriotism.
It is precisely in this fashion that representa­
tions of Polish peasants made their way onto
the public national stage at the end of the eigh­
teenth century. The composer Jan Stefani to­
gether with Wojciech Boguslawski (noted ac­
tor, theater director, librettist, and leading ad­
vocate for Polish national opera) were the first
to present a theatrical portrait of Polish peas­
ant life as the central theme in their renowned
1794 vaudeville, Cud mniemany, czyli
Krakowiacy i G6rale (The Would-Be Miracle,
or the Cracovians and Highlanders)'' At the
41 Sec Mieczyshw Banaszyfls ki, Siadam i polskiei
Terpsychory (In the Footsteps of the Polish Terpsichore)
(Krak6w, 1962), p. 90; Alina Nowak-Romanowicz, "Pogl~dy
cstetyczno-muzyczne J6zefa Elsnera," pp. 86- 90; Tadeusz
StrumiHo, Szkice z polskiego i:ycia m uzycznego X IX wieku
(Sketches of Nineteenth -Century Polish Musical Life)
(Krakow, 1954), pp. 81-87, 166-67.
42To be sure, there were Polish rustic operas that predated
Boguslawski and Stefani's Krak owiacy i G6rale, appearing
as early as the 1770s. The m ost notable among them were
Maciej Kamicftski and Wojcicch Bogus1awski's Nc-dza
uszczc-Miwiona [Misery Made Happy) of 1778 and Jan David
Holland's 1784 Agatka cz yli Przyjazd pana (Agatha, or the
Master's Arrival). The role of the peasant in these s tage
works, however, was circumscribed in order to fea.ture the
benevolen ce of the country manor h ouse lord and thus
chopin 83
simplest level the work is a love story about BARBARA
MILEWSKI
the young peasants Stach and Basia, set against Chopin' s
the larger backdrop of a longstanding quarrel Mazu rkas
between villagers from the outskirts of Krak6w
and the mountain dwellers of the Tatras. Rasia's
stepmother, who is in love with Stach, con­
spires to keep him for h erself by promising her
stepdaughter's hand in marriage to the high­
lander Bryndas. When Basia rejects Bryndas,
however, the dignity of the highlanders is of­
fended and they seek revenge. Differences are
eventually settled by Bardos, the enlightened
student from Warsaw, who by the "miracle" of
an electric machine manages to teach everyone
(in between lots of simple songs and dances)
the merits of putting old disputes aside and
getting along.
When it premiered at the National Theater
in 1794 on the eve of the Kosciuszko Uprising,
Polish audiences were quick to understand the
story's thinly veiled allusions to Poland's po­
litical situation." Boguslawski, himself a con­
spirator behind the national insurrection, made
certain that the spectacle of a large m ass of
peasants bravely poised to do battle appeared
on the stage just as Kosciuszko was forming his
peasant militia in Krakow. There was little
else Poles could do but interpret the many songs
with suggestive lyrics such as "We must now
was entirely within the scope of conte mporary Europea.n
stage depictions of the folk. Agatka an d Ncdza were "na­
tional" only insofar as they localized Enligh tenmen t -era,
aristocratic attitudes toward t he peasan try in the Polish
countryside. Absent from these works is any attempt at a
realistic portrayal of peasant life as well as the sociomural
an d patriopolitical elements that decided Krakowiacy i
G6rale's key position in the history of Polish national
opera. For an incisive analysis of these and other Polish
operas of the period, see Alina Now ak -Romanowicz,
Klasycyzm [Classicism!, Historia Mu zyki Polskiej, vol. 4
(Warsaw, 1995), pp. 123- 96.
4 ' After the second partition of Polan d in 1793, Polish revo­
lutionaries realized that nothing short of a total national
u prising could m atch Prussian and Russian forces deter­
m ined to prevent Polish in dependence. Abandonin~ hopes
for peaceful reform , the revolutionary Tadeusz KoSciuszko
(whose commitment to the ideal of liberty had earlier led
him to fight in the American Revolution ) launched a re­
bellion that united Polish legions with scythe-bearing peas­
ants and led them in a gallant but ultimately unsuccessful
uprising that resulted in the th ird and final partition of
Poland in 1795. For an informative study of this turbulent
period in Polish history, see N orman Davies, God's Play­
ground: A Hi.< w ry of Poland, 2 vols. (New York, 1982 ), I,
511-46.
I29
84 chopin
19TH bravely defend, Whether we win, or we die"
CENTURY
MUSIC not as ruminations on stolen cattle and clan
infighting, but rather as a rallying cry for revo­
lution, national unity, and independence' ' Un­
fortunately, Russian authorities in Warsaw were
also wise to the work's revolutionary agenda,
and after just three performances Krakowiacy i
G6rale was removed from the theater's reper­
tory. The ban hardly mattered; once the upris­
ing broke out, songs from the show quickly
spread to t he streets, most notably after the
battle at Raclawice when Polish peasants cap­
tured enemy guns and forced the Russians to
retreat. Although the insurrection was eventu­
ally suppressed, in the politically charged at­
mosphere of the capital it seemed as though
nothing short of a real miracle had occurred.
The vaudeville's scripted socionational frater­
nity had left the stage to be realized in the
Polish cities and provinces where the fighting
had broken out.
Beyond playing its propagandist part in the
national revolution, Krakowiacy i G6rale also
inadvertently gave birth to a revolution of a
cultural-artistic sort. The presentation of a col­
lective folk as stage hero was unprecedented in
Poland. By abandoning scenes of the feudal
manor and its attendant gentry, and inflecting
the libretto with the speech patterns of a peas­
ant dialect !albeit from Mazovia, the region
surrounding Warsaw, not from Krakow or the
Highlands), Boguslawski made the concept and
image that much m ore striking. Indeed, the
only nonpeasant character depicted in
Krakowiacy i G6rale is Bardos, the poor, altru­
istic urban intellectual who, in a surprising
reversal of roles for the late eighteenth century,
ends up serving the peasants. Moreover, while
Stefani's music owed much to the stock tropes
of contemporary European musical representa­
tions of rustic characters !for example, simple,
repeating, conjunct melodies arranged in four­
measure phrases and accompanied by straight­
forward, tonic and dominant harmonies), in the
attempt to reflect more realistically the t radi-
44Wojciech Boguslawski, Cud mniemany, czyli Krakowi.acy
i G6rale !Warsaw, 1952), p. 70. [t might be worth noting
that the entire libretto is in rhymed couplets, serving, per­
haps, to underscore the trivial nature of the narrative and
thereby concealing the revolutionary m essage of the texts.
130
tions of Polish folk music it also introduced the
accented rhythms, sharpened fourths, and open­
fifth drones, which from that point on became
inextricably linked with the idea of Polish folk
music. Given the tremendous and lasting suc­
cess of Krakowiacy i G6rale, we can only guess
that such elements had their desired effect in
part because they resonated with the musical
experience of th e Polish audience.
These accomplishments notwithstanding,
with much of its talent either in exile or im­
prisoned, the national stage remained dormant
until the beginning of the next century.
Boguslawski and his troupe were compelled to
leave Warsaw when the insurrection was sup­
pressed in 1794 and did not return until five
years later after a relative calm had settled on
the devastated capital. A number of Poland's
leading writer-revolutionaries were not as lucky
and suffered persecution at the hands of Rus­
sian authorities: for example, the poet and play­
wright Niemcewicz, who had served as aide­
de-camp to Kosciuszko, was taken prisoner and
deported to Russia, where he spent two years
in solitary confinement. On his release he left
directly for America, returning to Poland only
eleven years later, in 1807, after Napoleon
formed the Duchy of Warsaw."
Although Warsaw's National Theater even­
tually did begin to recover from the upheaval,
at first by cautiously resigning itself to a reper­
tory of foreign operas and unambi tious
vaudevilles devoid of political overtones,
Poland's nationally minded composers now also
shifted their activity to the less conspicuous
setting of the salon. It was in this more private
yet still public sphere that during th e first two
decades of the nineteenth century both ama­
teurs and professionals nurtured a national
musical style, primarily by composing a seem­
ingly endless number of Polish dances for pi­
ano that were more or less based on the folk
music then gaining greater attention'' And
45 Mi losz, The History of Polish Literature, pp. 172- 73 .
4 6Tomaszewski lists some 300 composers who published
approximately 1,500 mazurs or mazu rkas and over 700
polonaises du rin g this period: see Wojciech T omaszewski,
Bibliograf)a warszawskich druk6w muzycznych 1801- 1850
!A Bibliography of Warsaw Musical Prints 180 1-1850)1War·
saw, 1992).

Example 5: Oginski, Mazur, around 1810, mm. 33~% .
while such adopted (and adapted) dances as the
m azur, polonez, krak owiak , k u;awiak, and
oberek could be dismissed as merely functional
ballroom pieces (they were, after all, scarcely
more popular than the waltzes, quadrilles, and
contredanses also offered for the amusement of
the Polish aristocracy and expanding middle
class), during this period of political anxiety
and heavy-handed censorship they could not
help but. also play the critical role of national­
cultural memory.
In the Polish parlor-now turned national
art-music laboratory-certain features of the
piano mazurka rapidly became conventional­
ized. What we now recognize as the mazurka
rhythm (shorter note values on the downbeat
followed by longer ones on the second and third
beats of a measure in triple meter) becam e the
most distinguishing feature of the dance. Fur­
ther markers of the mazurka came to include
accents placed on any beat of a measure, and
caden ces stressing the second beat. Occasion­
ally folk-music gestures such as the holupiec
(as seen in the middle section of Oginski's
Mazur, ca. 1810, ex. 5), however loosely inter­
preted, were intended to give an even greater
rustic cast to these urban art pieces. More rarely
(but perhaps most interestingly), m otivically
repetitive, spun-out melodies above a sugges­
tion of open fifths in the accompaniment were
inten ded to evoke (without too much taint) the
"primitive" sounds of peasant fife and bagpipe,
thereby transforming the piano mazurka from
a stylized dance into a mimetic description of
presumptively folklike elements. Yet for all of
these novel native characteristics, Warsaw's pi­
ano mazurkas were still recognizably of a late­
eighteenth-century European Classical dance
tradition. They were m ost often in ternary form
chopin 85
BARBARA
MILEWSKI
Chopin 's
Mazurkas
(or a m odified version thereof), h omophonic in
texture, introduced in the major mode, and
given a contrasting middle section often either
in the dominant or the relative or parallel mi­
n or.47
Only in 1816 did this rather provisional mu­
sic-making give way to m ore daring flourishes
of national art. With th e Congress of Vienna
having established a new and independent King­
dom of Poland a year earlier, a number of public
restrictions were lifted, .including those imposed
on free speech . Emboldened by the political
changes and fueled by a renewed optimism , na­
tionalist composers began creating overtly pa­
triotic works for the Warsaw stage. In particu­
lar, historical operas about illustrious Polish
rulers proliferated. In time, h owever, the opti­
mism proved unwarranted, since Russian cen ­
sors, disturbed by the content and sheer num­
ber of such works, again introduced bans in the
early 1820s on wha t they deemed politically
dangerous material in the National Theater's
repertory. What proved to be the more sustain­
ing contribution of the day was Kurpinski's 1816
comic opera, Z abobon, cz yli Krakowiacy i
G6rale (Superstition, or t he Cracovians and
Highlanders) . In stantly dubb ed Nowe
Krak owiak i (The N ew Cracovians), the opera
appeared to be a fairly innocuous reworking of
Bogu slawski a nd St efani's 1794 vaudeville .
Kurpinski's librettist )an Kaminski jettisoned
the worrisome su bversive couplets that h ad
For a representative su rvey of nineteenth-century Polish
47
mazurkas, see Mazurki kompozytor6w pOl sk ich na
fortepian: Antologia ze z bior6w Biblioteki Narodowej/Pi­
ano Mazurkas of Polish Composers: Anthology from the
Collection of the National Library, ed. Elzbieta W~sowska
(Warsaw, 1995).
13 1
86 chopin

19TH a. Overture fragments.

CENTURY
MUSIC

b. Overture fragments.

c. Obertas, act I, mm. 1-18.

L'istcssotempo
l3 PP mezzo voce
KRAK~WIACY . . _ ... --·
rt-=--~c~~,J_:;;:±=tfr- FJ_ff J=l~V--#-==r=,- · ·:o-- ~,
• -.-
. . . - - -· . . -. .. . pocopiti viVO
=
I

c:r:e:;mgr~=J Example 6: Kurpiilski, Zabobon, czyli Krakowiacy i G6rale.

given sociopolitical force to the original libretto
and instead underscored the satire of the
"would-be miracle. " Kurpiilski for his part chose
to give prominence to the musical "folkishness"
that had only been sprinkled throughout
Stefani's score, dramatically opening the very
first measures of the overture with a violin
melody featuring sharpened fourths above a sus­
tained open fifth in the cellos and basses, and
infusing the rest of the opera with simple, re-
peating melodies played over open-fifth drones
lex. 6a, b, and c). Such musical m aterial was
meant, at least in part, to evoke the sounds of
fife and bagpipe, musical instruments now
firmly associated with the Polish folk.
Far from being an innocent paraphrase of
Boguslawski and Stefani's I 794 original,
Kurpinski's New Cracovians picked up the na­
tional battle almost exactly where the old
Cracovians and Highlanders had left off. The

132

Example 7: Kurpinski and Damse, Wesele w o;cowie, Obertas, finale (without coda).
critical difference was that Kurpinski offered
another undermining strategy for expressing
patriotic sentiment on the stage, one in which
national identity was articulated principally
through the music rather than the text. Folk
music was thereby converted into a coded lan­
guage for national continuity that operated
much like the Polish parlor dances, but now in
the highly public setting of the theater. Thus
while Polish historical operas were regularly
derailed by the authorities on grounds of their
political content, Kurpiflski's comic opera suc­
cessfully advanced a nationalist agenda in plain
view of the censors.
chopin 87
BARBARA
MILEWSKI
Chopin' s
Mazurkas
Following Kurpinski's example, Polish mu­
sical stage works in the 1820s became increas­
ingly saturated with folk music elements. But
it was the finale in Kurpinski and Damse's
fabulously successful 1823 ballet, Wesele w
Oicowie (A Wedding in Ojc6w) 48 (ex. 7) that
codified the musical elements of a Polish folk
48 In the ninet eenth century alone, th e ballet saw more
than one thou sand performances on virtually every Polish
stage. See Jan C icplinski, A History of Polish Ballet: 1518-
1945, trans. Anna Ema Lcsiecka (London, 1983). Like
Karpinski's Z abobon , czyli Krak owiac y i G6rale, Wesele
w Ojcowie also derived from Boguslawski and Stefani's
1794 vaudeville.
133
88 chopin
19TH mazurka to become the prototype for both con­
CENTURY
MUSIC temporary and later Polish composers, includ­
ing Chopin. Thereafter, what was considered a
"real" Polish folk dance for the stage, and re­
ferred to as either an obertas ja variant nam e for
oberekl or a mazur, would have all of the fol­
lowing elements: triple meter; mazurka
rhythms; sharpened fourths in the m elody; open­
fifth drones in the bass; accents on any beat of a
measure; and repeating motives in a fairly re­
stricted m elodic range-in fact all of the very
features that critics have argued point to the
direct folk influence in Chopin's mazurkas.
III
Numerous scholars during the past one hun­
dred and fifty years have invested heavily in
the idea that Chopin's mazurkas were born out
of an unmediated understanding of native ji.e.,
rural) Polish music. 49 The argument has served
49Aside from the already discussed, music-h istorical ac­
counts that mak e this claim, a number of ethnomusico­
logical, style-classification studies have used nineteenth­
century and twentieth-century ethnographic data on Pol­
ish folk music to demonstrate a folk influence on Chopin.
See, for example, Windakiewiczo wa, Wzory ludowej
muzyJ.:i polskiej w mazurkach Fryderyka Chopina;
Wiccyslaw Paschalow, Chopin a polska muzyka ludowa
(Chopin and Polish Folk Music) (Krakow, 1951 ); and Polska
muzyka ludnwa i j ejproblemy {Po lish Folk Music and Its
Problems), ed. )adwiga and Marian Sobicscy (Krakow, 1973 ).
An interesting twist in th e ethnomusicolog¥/Chopin link­
up is Ewa Dahlig's article, "Z badan nad ry nnik~ polskich
taftc6w lud owych: maz u rek, k u jaw iak , chodzon y a
'mazurki' Chopina," (Stu dies on Polish folk -dance rhythms:
m azurek. kujawiak, chodzony an d C hopin's " mazurkas" )
M uzyka 3 (1994), 105~30. Here Dahlig argues that her
statistical comparison of Polish folk-dance rhythms with
rhythms found in Chopin's maz urkas reveals that the
m azur elem ents in Chopin's piano pieces are typical of
the s tylized- m azurka dance and n ot rooted in the folk
m azur. But if Dahlig's findings are unremarkable, her ap­
proach to the data is not; by using th e same twen tieth ­
century folk sources cu stom arily employed by other schol­
ars to sh ow the connection between Polish folk dan ces
an d C ho pin's mazurkas, but to opposite ends, Dahlig dra­
matically calls into qu estion t he "scien tific" legitim acy
that such studies claim . On another level, i t is interesting
to consider the implications of separating C hopin creation
from folk traditions, as Dahlig does, in th e context of a
pos t-Commun ist Poland. In this respect, it appears as
though Com m unism' s fall a decade ago has also brought
an end to a certain emphasis on nawdowoSC. or "national­
ity," in Polish m usic scholarship. Narodowo,~C, as an cle­
m en t of both cultu ral iden tity and socialist realist aes­
thetics in Commun ist-ruled Poland, had sen t many sch ol­
ars running to th e folk to emphasize Po lish n ational dis ­
tinctness, to buttress Marxist-style arguments, or both.
134
as an attempt to explain the unique nature of
his mazurkas, the quality that makes them
highly original, personal, and, ultimately, Pol­
ish. By playing up the role of au th entic folk
music in these works, however, critics have
necessarily dow n played the influence that
Warsaw 's musical life had on the composer.
Yet as I have t ried to demonstrate, this too was
part of the national musical tradition out of
and against which Chopin created his own h igh
art. Like any talented and sensitive young Pol­
ish musician of the time, he could not have
ignored the provocative visual and aural im­
ages of the nation being offered in the city's
different musical venues.
By the 1820s of Chopin's youth, experiments
in folk evocation and the appropriation of folk
imagery- national-style art music for stage and
salon-had already been tried with great suc­
cess by su ch Polish composers as Stefani,
Kurpinski, D amse, and Szymanowska. Polish
operas, operettas, ballets, and vaudevilles, of­
ten on historical themes and infused with folk
dances and son gs for national colorin g, were
performed regularly at the National Theater.
An ever-expanding repertory of national dances
created for parlor piano was likewise promoted
as a patriotic form of entertainmen t and a sign
of national con tinuity. Thus for Chopin to be­
come intimately acquainted with folk elements
such as sharpened fourths, open-fifth bass
drones, or cadences stressing the second beat of
a measure, h e needed to go no further than
Warsaw 's art-m usic offerings. Put another way,
while direct contact with a rural musical prac­
tice doubtlessly made an impression on the
young Ch opin, it was not singularly defining
for his particular evocation of a Polish musical
landscape. so To recognize that the composer
500f course, this is n ot to say that Chopin was naively
con ten t to absorb received musical tradition s, folk or ar­
tist ic. Jeffrey Kallberg has persuasively argued th at Chopin's
persistent struggle w ith the problem of repetition and re­
turn specifically in the m azurkas suggests that the com­
poser regularly sought compositional solutions that wou ld
accommodate both the clem ent of repetition essential to
the national dan ce and h is own aesthetic concern for for­
m al design and closure. By direc ting ou r at tent ion away
from th e usual discussions of m elodic and harmon ic su b­
stance and toward the issue of form, Kallberg brings us
closest to understanding the innovations that actual ly did
separate Chopin ' s m azurkas from those of oth er Polish
 chopin 89

drew on and synthesized a variety of musical
experiences both rural and urban is not, how­
ever, to diminish his achievement in this genre.
composers of the day. See jeffrey Kallberg, "The Problem
of Repetition and Return in Chopin's Mazurkas," in Chopin
Studies. ed. )im Samson (1988; rpt. Cambridge, 1991), pp.
1-23.
Instead, it gives us a richer context for appreci­ BARBARA
MILEWSKI
ating the level of inspiration he brought to his Ch opin's
sonic account of the nation . In the end, Chopin, Mazurkas
like so many of his musical compatriots, was
not interested in recovering rural truths, but in
bit closer to a highly constructed and
desirable idea of themselves.
o
bringing Poles of the urban upper classes a little

IN OUR NEXT ISSUE ISPRING 20001

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SusANNA GARCIA: Scriabin's Symbolist Plot Archetype

BYRON ADAMS: The "Dark Saying" of the Enigma:

Homoeroticism and the Elgarian Paradox

CHARLES McGUIRE: Elgar, Judas, and the T heology of Betrayal

 5

ETUDE VI

La H derniere " Mazurka de Chopin I

Parmi les eompositions de Chopin qui ont trouve

le moins de graee devant les hommes, il faut mettre
la Mazurka en la mineur dediee a Emile Gaillard 2.
Dans les editions des reuvres, eet ouvrage se trouve
habituellement plaee (stil ntest pas tout a fait suppri-
me) a la fin du reeueil des Mazurkas, apres ee1les que
Fontana a publiees parmi les reuvres posthumes; dans
les salles de eoneert les pianistes ne la font guere
entendre. (M. Turezynski fait iei exception, il l'a ;ouee
encore reeemment dans plusieurs villes de Suisse.)
Dans la litterature sur Chopin, on en parte le plus
souvent ineidemment, avec une certaine condes-
cendance, presque avee lnepris; ou bien on nten
parte pas du tout.
I1 se peut que, pour une grande part, cette meses-
time proeede dtune simple erreur. I1 est a peu pres
generalement admis au;ourdthui que la Mazurka a

I Cette etude a paru dans Vie, Art, eite, cl Lausanne, numero

de juillet-aout 1941.
l Ctest celle qui, dans les recueils des Mazurkas de Chopin,

porte d'habitude le numero 51.

92 chopin

- r66-
Gaillard est une reuvre posthume. La conviction que
Chopin nta pas juge cet enfant de sa Muse digne
d'etre introduit dans le monde, qu'il en avait honte,
ou tout au moins n' en etait pas fier, a eu pour conse­
quence que, si ron a pour ce (< cendrillon )) quelque
respect, ct est uniquement a cause des merites du pere,
et non pas a cause des siens propres.
Or, comme cela a ete dtiment constate, la Mazurka
en question ne fait aucunement partie des reuvres
posthumes de Chopin. Dans ses Voyages avec Frederic
Chopin I E. Ganche ecrit a ce propos :
La Mazurka dediee a Emile Gaillard n 'est pas
une ceuvre posthume, ainsi que tous les editeurs et
les biographes Pindiquent. Elle parut a Paris, seule,
sans numero d'ceuvre, chez un petit editeur, nomme
Chahal, peu de temps avant la mort de Chopin. I1
mit une dedicace autographe a Jane Stirling sur
Pexemplaire que nous possedons. Ctest, probable­
ment, la derniere ceuvre publiee par celui dont la
prime publication avait ete une Polonaise.
Ces constatations appellent quelques commentaires.
Ce ne sont a vrai dire pas toutes les biographies et
toutes les editions de Chopin qui classent la Mazurka
a Gaillard parmi les reuvres posthumes. Szulc, par
exemple 2 , un des premiers biographes de Chopin, et
apres lui M. Hoesick, !'auteur de la plus importante
biographie de celui-ci 3 , l'indiquent parmi les ouvrages
1
Paris I934, p. I42·
1
M. A. SzuLc, Fryd. Chopin i utwory jego muzyczne, Poznan 1873,
p. 202.
F. HOESICK, Chopin. Zycie i tworczoiC,
3 2e edit Varsovie 192/ ,
vol. II, p. 796.
 chopin 93

- 167 -
que le Maitre a publies lui-meme. Certaines editions
ne precisent pas que ce soit une << reuvre posthume >> 1 •
Mais il faut relever que deja dans la grande edition
de Breitkopf et Haertel (1878-I88o) la Mazurka en
question se trouve parmi les << Nachgelassene Werke >>,
au vol. XIII. Niecks, le biographe de Chopin, pour­
tant si consciencieux et si exact, la compte aussi parn1i
les reuvres publiees apres la mort de Chopin 2 • Beau­
coup l'ont suivi en cela.
E. Ganche croit que notre Mazurka a paru vers la
fin de la vie de Chopin. Les faits suivants permettent
- semble-t-il - de preciser la date de sa publication.
Dans la collection des reuvres de Chopin que pos­
sedait sa sreur Louise J edrzejewicz, au volume III qui
contient les op. 38-54, la Mazurka dediee a E. Gail­
lard se trouve placee entre la Tarantelle op. 43 et la
Polonaise op. 44· Sur la couverture du cahier nous
lisons le titre suivant :
Mazourka pour le piano dediee a son ami Emile
Gaillard par Fr. Chopin. Op. 43· Prix 4 f. 50 c.
A Paris, chez Chahal, Editeur de Musique, Boulevart
des Italiens, ro. Abonnement de Musique. Depot
de Pianos de Henry Herz.

De deux chases l'une: ou bien E. Ganche n'a pas

remarque le numero de l'opus sur l'exemplaire de
Jane Stirling et il s' est trompe en affirmant que la
Mazurka a paru sans numero d' opus, ou bien il faut
1
Voir par exemple !'edition de Mikuli ou celle de Klindworth.
l F . NIECKS, Fred. Chopin as a Man and Musician, 3e edit. Londres
1902, vol. II, p. 358.
94 chopin

- r68-
admettre que le numero a ete supprime pendant la
publication de 1'ouvrage et, dans une partie du tirage,
ne figure plus dans le titre. Peut-etre se sera-t-on
aperc;u que ce numero etait deja attribue a la Taran­
telle et aura-t-on decide de ne pas mettre de numero
du tout.
L'edition originale allemande de la meme Mazurka
ne porte pas non plus de numero d' opus. Sur la
couverture de cette premiere edition executee en
Allemagne se trouve, au-dessous d'un portrait litho­
graphie de Chopin le titre suivant:

Mazourka pour le piano composee par Fr. Chopin.

Pr. 12 Yz Sgr. Berlin, chez Ed. Bote et G. Bock.
G. Bock, Marchand Editeur de Musique de S.M. le
Roi et de S. A. R. le Prince Albert de Prusse. Posen,
au Marche, No 6. Propriete des Editeurs. Enregistre
aux Archives de ttUnion.

La dedicace a E. Gaillard se trouve en haut de la

premiere page du texte meme. En bas de chaque page
nous voyons les signes B & B. 3359·
D'apres les informations que m'a obligeamment
donnees la maison Bote et Bock, la premiere edition
de la Mazurka executee par ces editeurs porte effec­
tivement le numero 3359 et a paru en juillet 1855,
done apres la mort de Chopin. C' est cette circons­
tance qui nous explique pourquoi la Mazurka a ete
consideree comme reuvre posthume, bien que, d'ail­
leurs, !'edition de Bote et Bock ne contienne aucune
indication de ce genre. Ceux qui ne connaissaient que
cette edition allemande - dont la parution tardive,
 chopin 95

- 169 -
certainement annoncee dans les journaux, ainsi que
la presentation, comportant un portrait du composi­
teur, suggeraient ltidee d'une reuvre posthume - ont
ete facilement amenes a cette conclusion.
Pourquoi ltedition allemande nta-t-elle pas ete faite
simultanement (ou a peu pres - comme cela etait la
regie pour les autres reuvres de Chopin) avec 1'edition
fran<;aise '? Pour trancher cette question, nous semmes
reduits a des conjectures. Une chose est presque cer­
taine : ct est que la parution de notre Mazurka chez
Bote et Bock en r855 doit etre plus ou moins mise
en rapport avec la publication des reuvres posthumes
de Chopin faite par Jules Fontana chez A.-M. Schle­
singer a Berlin, juste la meme annee. I1 parait peu
probable qutil y ait la pure coincidence. Toutefois la
publication de la Mazurka chez Bote et Bock est tout
a fait independante de celle des reuvres posthumes.
Mais quand done cette Mazurka a-t-elle pu paraitre
a Paris'? Puisque la Valse op. 42 a ete publiee en I840
et que !'edition fran<;aise des op. 43 (la Tarantelle) et
suivants jusquta l'op. 50 inclusivement a paru en
r84I, il faut admettre que Ct est egalement a cette
epoque quta eu lieu la publication de la Mazurka a
Gaillard. La Bibliotheque du Conservatoire a Paris
possede un grand nombre de compositions de Chopin
dans !'edition originate fran<;aise; la date de leur
enregistrement permet dtetablir l'epoque exacte de
leur parution. Malheureusement les investigations
aimablement faites a cette Bibliotheque, sur rna
demande, au sujet de notre Mazurka ntont donne
aucun resultat.
96 chopin

- 170-

Des criteres internes permettent d'affirmer que

cette Mazurka a du etre composee en 1840 ou 1841.
Niecks a justement remarque que les Mazurkas d' avant
1' op. 41 (publie en 1840) different nettement de
celles qui suivirent; ces dernieres ont moins de spon­
taneite et de fraicheur; par centre il y a en elles plus
d'art et de reflexion. Or, en comparaison avec les
Mazurkas de l'epoque anterieure les themes de la
Mazurka a Gaillard sont moins incisifs, moins ner­
veux, les rythmes moins caracteristiques (les rythmes
pointes y font completement defaut), les elements de
folklore moins accuses; les phrases en sont plus
larges, plus longues et plus developpees. Tout le
caractere et 1'habitus de la Mazurka indiquent qu' elle
appartient a une periode plus tardive de la vie du
Maitre.
Mais si les Mazurkas des derniers recueils de Cho­
pin sont sous maints rapports differentes de celles qui
ont ete ecrites plus tot, cela ne veut pas dire qu' elles
scient ipso facto moins belles et d'une valeur infe­
rieure. Au contraire, meme parmi les dernieres com­
positions de Chopin dans ce genre il y a de veritables
perles qui comptent parmi les plus precieux joyaux
de ce riche tresor.
En ce qui concerne la Mazurka a Gaillard, il faut
constater que, s'il serait difficile de lui attribuer un
des premiers prix dans le recueil, elle ne doit en aucune
maniere etre consideree comme une creation manquee
ou simplement insignifiante. Elle est meme supe­
rieure a mainte autre Mazurka d'avant 1840. Elle a des
traits individuels ; bref, elle a sa propre physionomie.
 chopin 97

- I7I-

Une simple erreur a propos de la chronologie d'une

reuvre a plus d'une fois deja influence le jugement
des critiques d'art. Le cas qui nous occupe est juste­
ment un cas de ce genre. Niecks 1 considere cette
Mazurka comme un ouvrage tres mediocre, ill'appelle
(< chose faible >>, (( chose mediocre )) (a poor thing)' la dit
tres peu << chopinesque >> ( ce qui est tout a fait faux!).
I1 semble que Niecks aurait ete beaucoup moins severe
s'il avait su que cette <<chose faible >> n'etait pas un
enfant posthume. D'autre part, Szulc et Hoesick ne
parleraient peut-etre pas en termes si chaleureux de
cette Mazurka s'ils avaient cru que Chopin ne l'a pas
publiee. Ils lui appliquerent l'epithete de << superbe,
magnifique >>. C' est - en toute objectivite - un peu
trop.
Mais la Mazurka n'est pas non plus une reuvre
mediocre. La melodie de sa partie principale est
expressive, son dessin est fin, delicat, plein de noblesse.
Elle a des contours polymelodiques qui sont du plus
pur Chopin. La partie mediane contraste vivement
avec la premiere, par sa tonalite majeure, par son
caractere plus accuse de danse (quoiqu'elle ne soit pas
sautillante non plus, contrairement a la grande majo­
rite des mazurkas). Le rythme reste durant ses 36
mesures toujours le meme; malgre cela, point de
monotonie, surtout si on 1'execute dans le tempo
approprie, qui est assez vif.
I1 y a une certaine obstination, du feu, de l'enthou­
siasme, - peut-etre un peu artificiel, un peu voulu

t Ouvr. cite, II, p. 236.

98 chopin

- 172-

- comme un desir de s'etourdir chez ce jeune soldat

que nous montre un emouvant poeme polonais, dan­
sant avec sa bien-aimee le << dernier Mazur>> avant de
prendre conge d' elle et des siens et de partir en guerre.
Au point de vue harmonie, relevons les sonorites
superbes et la basse si originate. La tonalite de do
diese majeur au point culminant est d'un tres bel effet.
Le retour de la partie du debut est prepare avec un
art supreme.
La partie finale (coda) est un des passages les plus
impressionnants et les plus touchants qui scient chez
Chopin. Son long trille nous rappelle les trilles exta­
tiques qui, chez Beethoven, accompagnent sur de
longues distances la substance melodique. I1 y a dans
toute la litterature musicale peu d' exemples d'une
melancolie aussi profonde, aussi navrante, aussi dechi­
rante. Ce sont les adieux du danseur qui, plein de
sombres pressentiments, quitte ceux qui lui sont le
plus chers, pour aller la ou l'appelle un amour plus
haut encore, la ou, a pres la << derniere mazurka >>,
1'attend la danse de la Mort.
Une constatation encore s'impose. C'est que la
Mazurka a Gaillard constitue le <<pendant>> frappant
de celle qui, en 1842, parut comme numero 2 dans
la collection Notre Temps 1 • Ces deux com positions
ont beaucoup de traits communs et elles ont, d'une
etonnante fac;on, partage le meme sort. Elles ont ete
apparemment publiees a la meme epoque, chacune
d' elles isolement, pour elle-meme, tandis que toutes

1
C'est le numero 50 de la plupart des editions des Mazurkas.
 chopin 99

- 1 73-

les autres Mazurkas de Chopin parurent en recueils

de plusieurs pieces groupees ensemble. Elles ont la
meme tonalite: la mineur dans la partie principale,
la majeur dans le trio. Dans les deux, la melodie se
trouve a la basse dans certaines parties, et elle est
doublee d' octaves dans la partie du milieu. Enfin, la
Mazurka de Notre Temps est souvent consideree aussi
comme une reuvre posthume, meme dans des ouvrages
serieux sur Chopin. C' est peut-etre aussi une des
raisons pour lesquelles cette Mazurka a toujours ren­
contre moins d' interet, de sympathie et de popula­
rite que beaucoup d'autres.
La proche parente de la Mazurka a Gaillard avec
cette autre Mazurka publiee en r842 peut servir
d'argument de plus a l'appui de notre these, selon
laquelle la premiere a ete composee en r84o-r84r.
Enfin, un mot encore sur Emile Gaillard, dont le
nom serait probablement depuis longtemps oublie
s'il n'etait lie a une reuvre de Chopin. E. Ganche 1
dit que ce personnage << n' est pas autrement connu
dans la vie de Chopin>> et suppose que c' est le vieil ami
berrichon de George Sand qui portait le meme nom.
Or, dans le journal des Debats du 28 decembre
1934 un petit article a jete quelque lumiere sur la
personne a qui Chopin dedia sa Mazurka. Voici ce
qu'ecrivait 1' auteur du dit article, M. Albert Dechelette:
J'ai connu vers la fin de sa vie un bon eleve de
Chopin, M. Emile Gaillard, banquier a Paris. Pour
le decider a se mettre au piano, le plus stir moyen
1
Ouvr. cite, p. 14~.
100 chopin

- 174-
etait de massacrer du Chopin devant lui: « Donnez­
moi votre place, je vais vous montrer comment il
jouait ~a... » 11 n 'allait plus guere au concert, indigne
par tant de virtuoses qui tapaient a tour de bras ...
<< Frapper n'est pas jouer, avait-il coutume de dire.

Chopin n'ecrasait pas son piano et, cependant, sous

ses doigts, tout ressortait admirablement. Quand un
beau chant, sorti du cceur, sonnait sous sa main
gauche, on eut dit que la droite deroulait negligem­
ment toute la magnificence d'une dentelle sonore. La
virtuosite disparaissait derriere !'emotion et l'on etait
moins ebloui que touche. 11 paraissait caresser le
clavier et c'est son arne, sensible et douloureuse, qui
s'elevait et errait parmi nous. Quand il achevait un
Nocturne, l'on n'avait envie que de se taire pour
ne pas rompre l'enchantement ou l'on se sentait
pris. Lui-meme, un morceau fini, demeurait souvent
devant son clavier, silencieux, poursuivant un songe
interieur. »
C'est ainsi qu'il faut se representer Chopin lors­
qu'il eut acheve de jouer la Mazurka dediee a son
fidele eleve. Avec les derniers sons de cette compo­
sition, avec l'achevement de ce long tri11e qui se perd
dans les regions les plus elevees, l'ame du compositeur,
avide d'une vie mei1leure, semble s'elancer dans un
monde plus beau et plus heureux.
Et pourtant ce n' etait pas la derniere Mazurka de
Chopin! Ayant exprime la supposition que la Mazurka
a Gai11ard a ete la derniere reuvre de Chopin,
E. Ganche dit encore 1 :
Celui dont la prime publication avait ete une
Polonaise, terminait par une Mazurka qui pla~ait sa
1 Ouvr. cite, p. 143.
 chopin 101

- 175-
production artistique entre deux limites aux marques
essentiellement polonaises. Les premiers et les der­
niers efforts de la pensee musicale de Chopin furent
pour son pays.

L' erreur de M. Ganche ne change pourtant rien a

l'etat reel des choses. Car, comme nous le savons, la
derniere pensee musicale que Chopin ait fixee par ecrit
etait effectivement une Mazurka. Mais une autre que
celle dediee a Emile Gaillard. C' est cette infiniment
triste Mazurka en fa mineur qu'il ecrivit sur son lit
de mort et qu'il n' eut plus la force de jouer lui-meme.
Fontana la publia en dernier lieu parmi les Mazurkas
posthumes.
 6

Chopin's Ballade Op. 23 and the revolution

of the intellectuals
KAROL BERGER

Ic goes crescendo, just as I like. 1

The Ballade in G minor Op. 23, completed in 1835, was Chopin's first large-scale
one-movement composition not based directly on classical fonnal models, and his most
ambitious extended work to date, one in which he tried to create a new genre based
on a new kind of compositional technique, arguably the first artistically significant
result in a series of nineteenth-century attempts to provide a viable alternative to the
classical sonata. The narrative continuity in the work depends primarily on the
threads provided by a single sigh motif which with astonishing economy generates
the essential motivic substance of the work, and by the obsessive focusing on a single
pitch, C, which maintains its identity even through the changes of underlying keys,
and which, as the opening pitch of the Unnotiv C-B~, generates the expectation of
the structural melodic descent from the fourth to the first scale degree of the main
key. The expectation is repeatedly frustrated, and the work concludes instead with a
climactic, catastrophic-heroic reversal of the structural melody's direction, that is,
with an ascent from the fourth to the first scale degree in bars 234-50.
In a work of art, formal logic and expressive significance are inseparable. While
describing the musical logic of the Ballade, we have also identified the leading poetic
idea of the work. It is a narrative which proceeds from a weak and open, soft and
moderate beginning, through successive waves of nervous intensification and accel­
eration, to an exceptionally strong and conclusive, frantic and fiery ending, with the
final goal reached in an act of desperation, rather than by means of a logical and orderly
progression, as the expected direction of the structural melodic line is 'catastrophically'
reversed. The ending, while singularly emphatic, is clearly not triumphant, but heroic
and tragic, and - appropriately - it is marked by traces of a funeral march which
allude to Beethoven's two celebrated funeral marches for the fallen revolutionary
hero, those in Opp. 26 and 55.
Chopin's predilection for the contemporary Italian opera comes across clearly in his
correspondence, and the ubiquitous cavatina-cabaletta progression with its vocalistic
fireworks at the end is likely to be one of the very general fonnal models that lie behind
1 Chopin's comment on the success of his Viennese concerts, in a letter from Vienna to his family in
W arsaw, 19 August 1829, in Fryderyk Chopin, Koresponderuja Fryderyka Chopina, ed. Bronislaw Edward
Sydow, 2 vols. (Warsaw 1955), vol. I, p. 96. (All translations in this essay are mine unless otherwise
indicated.)
104 chopin

Chopin's Ballade Op. 23 and the revolution cifthe intellectuals 73

the Ballade, as is the closely related wish of the virtuoso pianist for a dazzling finish.
But the tragic quality of the final conflagration (Presto con fuoco) goes so far beyond
the vulgar desire for applause that it forces us to look elsewhere for appropriate con­
texts for Chopin's creation, beyond the world of vocal and instrumental virtuosity.
The aim of the present essay is to explore the structural homology between the
musical form of Chopin's work and the historical consciousness of the Polish emigre
community in Paris between the revolutions of 1830 and 1848, the milieu of which
the composer was a member. Needless to say, one can posit and explore such a homol­
ogy only if the structures to be considered are in some way comparable. The common
ground between musical forms and forms of historical consciousness can be estab­
lished, I believe, on the basis of the concept of narrative as it is understood here, that
is, as the temporal form in which parts succeed one another in a determined order,
their succession being governed by the relationships of causing and resulting by
necessity or probability. It is this common ground that will allow a comparison between
the temporal structure of Chopin's musical narrative and the temporal structure of
the kind of stories the composer's fellow emigres would tell to identifY themselves, to
find out who they individually and collectively were.

In his celebrated Raleigh Lecture on History (British Academy, 1944), Lewis Narnier
presented a penetrating (and, from a post-1989 perspective, prophetic) interpretation
of the revolution of1848 as 'the revolution of the intellectuals (Ia revolution des clercs)'.
'The revolution of1848', Namier argued,
was universally expected, and it was super-national as none before or after ... The European
Continent responded to the impulses and trends of the revolution with a remarkable uniformity,
despite the differences oflanguage and race, and in the political, social, and economic level of the
countries concerned: but then the common denominator was ideological, and even literary, and
there was a basic unity and cohesion in the intellectual world of the European Continent, such as
usually asserts itself in the peak periods of its spiritual development. 2

The European intellectuals of the pre-1848 period expected that the future revo­
lution would complete the unfinished business of 1789 and universally replace the
principle of dynastic property in certain countries with that of national sovereignty
(hence the centrality of the German, Italian and Polish 'questions'). 'To the men of
1848 the dynastic principle stood for arbitrary rule and autocracy, that of popular
sovereignty for human rights and national self-government . . .' 3 The principle of
national sovereignty implied as its corollaries the right of self-government (that is,
parliamentary democracy) and the right of self-determination (that is, nationalism),
the former fostering unity and constitutional growth, the latter civil and international
strife. 'In the interplay between constitutional and national movements on the
European Continent, which opens in 1848, it is the latter that win .. .'4 'Thus in the
Volkeifriihling, "nationality", the passionate creed of the intellectuals, invades the politics
of central and east-central Europe, and with 1848 starts the Great European War of
2 Lewis Narnier, 1848: The Revolution of the Intellectuals (London 1946), pp. 3-4.
' Ibid., p. 24.
4 Ibid., p. 31.
 chopin 105

74 Karol Berger

every nation against its neighbours.' 5 (It was no wonder, one might add to Namier's
interpretation, that the creed of nationalism was embraced by the intellectuals with so
much passion. Nationalism is a peculiarly modem way oflegitimising political power
as exercised in the name of a nation which, in east-central Europe at least, was usually
defined in terms of its culture. Since culture is the intellectuals' domain, nationalism
confers on this group the enviable role of the legitimising priesthood, the successors of
earlier priesthoods which legitimised the God-derived powers of pre-modem rulers.)
The Polish question, the question of the future of a nation which did not want to
accept the dismantling of its state by the three partitioning powers of Russia, Prussia
and Austria at the end of the eighteenth century, played a central role in the pre-1848
ideological ferment and modulated it in an individual way. The great mass of the
Polish emigration that assembled in Paris in the aftermath of the failed anti-Russian
insurrection of 1830-1 commonly
saw that Poland's resurrection could only come through a war between the Partitioning Powers,
or the defeat of all three (as happened in 1918); that this presupposed a general upheaval, a world
war or a world revolution; that the July Monarchy, which was steadily moving to the Right,
offered no base against the Powers of the Holy Alliance; and that a new revolution was needed,
to mobilize popular forces in France and give the signal to Europe. They waited for 1848. 6

The ideology of the Polish emigration was, of course, far from monolithic, as
different factions envisaged different scenarios which would bring about the desired
liberation and different political and social systems for the resurrected state. A
particularly characteristic and influential version of the revolutionary ideology of the
1830s and 1840s was Polish romantic messianism, a belief widespread among the
defeated emigres that the suffering of the Polish nation would prepare it for the role
of Europe's collective redeemer, one that would bring a salvation and regeneration of
mankind's life oil earth, rather than in heaven, by provoking a pan-European social
revolution.? Adam Mickiewicz, the greatest Polish poet of the period and a figure of
considerable consequence in Parisian intellectual circles, gave expression to this col­
lective messianism in Ksil;gi narodu polskiego i pielgrzymstwa polskiego (The Books if the
Polish Nation and if the Polish Pilgrims), written in Paris at the very beginning of the
Great Emigration in 1832. In the words of Andrzej Walicki, a perceptive student of
Polish messianism, Mickiewicz's was 'a catastrophic vision of history' in which 'the
unilinear Enlightenment conception of progress was replaced .. . by . . . a series of
descents, followed by sudden upward surges which were achieved by means of sacri­
fice and regenerative grace'. 8 T he messianic mission 'was to be fulfilled by the sword,
by means of a revolutionary crusade against the corrupt old world'. 9 Indeed, The
Books conclude with a 'Litania pielgrzymska' ('Pilgrims' Litany') which begins: '0 wojn~
powszechnq za Wolnosc Lud6w! I Prosimy Ci~ Panie' ('For the universal war for the

s Ibid., p. 33.
' Ibid., pp. 47-8.
7 On Polish romantic messianism. see in particular Andrzej Walicki, Philosophy and Romantic Nationalism:
The Case of Poland (Oxford 1982).
s Ibid., p. 248.
9 Ibid., p. 249.
106 chopin

Chopin's Ballade Op. 23 and the revolution of the intellectuals 75

freedom of nations, we beseech thee, 0 Lord!'); and ends: '0 niepodleglosc calosc i
wolnosc Ojczyzny naszej. I Prosimy Ci~ Panie' ('For the independence, integrity
and freedom of our Fatherland, we beseech thee, 0 Lord!') . 10
Needless to say, not every Pole in Paris in the 1830s and 1840s was a messianist.
Chopin himself, much as he respected Mickiewicz, was too mondain and simply too
sober a realist to be able to accept wilder aspects of the poet's messianism, in particular
his involvement in the Towianski circle, without considerable scepticism. The com­
poser's letters show that he observed Mickiewicz's participation in the circle with
interest but also an entirely clear head. Thus, on 11 September 1841, he wrote from
Nahant to his friend and copyist Julian Fontana in Paris: 'Are we still returning to the
country [Poland]!! Have they completely lost their minds?! I do not fear for Mickie­
wicz and Sobanski, they have strong heads and can survive another few emigrations,
without losing their reason or their energy.' 11 A week later, perhaps in reaction
to Fontana's more detailed report on the goings-on in the capital, Chopin wrote
(Nahant, 18 September 1841 to Julian Fontana in Paris): 'Mickiewicz will come to a
bad end, unless he is leading you on.' 12 As late as 23 March 1845, he reported on
quarrels in the Towianski circle and on Mickiewicz's withdrawal therefrom in a
letter from Paris to Stefan Witwicki in Freiwaldau. 13 Chopin clearly kept his distance
from the more feverish manifestations of messianism and probably felt most com­
fortable with the conservative Hotel Lambert wing of the emigre community led by
Prince Adam Czartoryski, with whose family he was linked by ties of friendship
(Princess Marcelina Czartoryska being one of his most gifted students). 14 Liszt's 1852
description of Chopin's political inclinations rings true:

Democracy never won his sympathies, as it presented in his view an agglomeration of elements
too heterogeneous, too restless, and wielding too much brute power. The entrance of social and
political questions into the realm of popular discussion was many years ago compared to a new
and bold incursion of barbarians; and the terror which this comparison awakened in Chopin's
mind made upon him a peculiar and most painful impression. He despaired of defending the
safety of Rome from these modem Attilas; he dreaded the destruction of Art and its monuments,
its refinements, and its civilisation - in a word, he dreaded the loss of the elegant and cultivated
though somewhat indolent ease so well described by Horace. 15

But it is important to realise that even the politically and socially conservative wing
of the Polish emigration waited for a pan-European conflagration as the only plausible
road to their country's liberation. The historical situation of the Polish emigres in Paris
in the 1830s and 1840s turned the great majority of them into natural revolutionaries,
regardless of whether their political and social convictions were of the right or left.
They all shared with the European revolutionary intellectuals of the period a common

10 Adam Mickiewicz, Dziefa poetyckie, 4 vols. (Warsaw 1979), vol. II , p. 265.

11 Chopin, Korespondentja, vol. II, p. 36.
12 Ibid. , vol. II, p. 37.
" Ibid., vol. II, p. 130.
14 See Jean-Jacques Eigeldinger, Chopin: Pianist and Teacher as Sem by His Pupils (hereafter CPT) , trans.
N aomi Shohet with Krysia Osostowicz and Roy Howat, ed. Roy Howat (Cambridge 1986).
15 Franz Liszt, Chopin, trans. John Broadhouse (London 1901; first published Paris 1852), p. 136.
 chopin 107

76 Karol Berger

vision of history and of their place in it, a vision - driven by the ideology of national
sovereignty- of the corning pan-European revolution and war.
Thus it is not surprising to find Chopin writing from Paris in January 1833 to his
friend Dominik Dziewanowski in Berlin: 'I love the Carlists, I cannot stand the
Philippists, and as for myself I am a revolutionary .. .' 16 A most striking and thought­
provoking example of how people of very different temperaments, interests and con­
victions could react similarly to their common historical predicament is provided by
the astonishing affinity of thought and imagery in Chopin's and Mickiewicz's responses
to the tragedy of the failed insurrection of 1830-1. Writing in a private diary in
Stuttgart shortly after hearing of the fall ofWarsaw to Russian troops on 8 September
1831, Chopin made a despairing and blasphemous entry: 'Oh God, Thou art! Thou
art and avengest Thyself not! Thou hast still not enough of the Muscovite crimes;
or, or Thou art Thyself a Muscovite!' 17 This entry in a private diary not destined for
anyone's eyes could not have been known to Mickiewicz when he led Konrad, the
revolutionary hero of the third part ofhis drama, Dziady (The Forifathers' Eve}, published
in Paris in 1832, to the edge ofblasphemy. At the end ofhis 'Improvisation', Konrad
addresses God: 'I shall scream that Thou art not the father of the world, but ... ',
with the voice of the devil completing the thought: 'the T sar!' 18
It would be a mistake to think that these extreme pronouncements of the composer
belong only to the period of despair immediately following the failed insurrection.
Towards the end of his life and at the beginning of the new revolutionary period,
Chopin, the sober conservative at home in the most exclusive salons of the Faubourg
Saint-Germain, wrote to Fontana (now in New York} about the prospects of revol­
ution and war in Europe and their implications for Poland: 'this [revolution and war]
will not happen without horrors, but at the end of it all there is Poland, magnificent,
great; in a word, Poland' .19 Narnier's conclusion stands: in Paris, Poles of most political
persuasions waited for 1848, for a catastrophic pan-European conflagration, so that
Poland and other sovereign nations could be resurrected and regenerated from the
ashes of the old order.
My claim now is this. Personal and collective identities always have narrative
structure: we identifY ourselves by means of the stories we tell about ourselves, stories
about where we have come from, and where we are going. 20 The narrative that
provided the community Chopin identified with most closely, the Polish emigration
in Paris in the 1830s and 1840s, with their sense of who they were was the story of
'Exodus', its fundamental structure of past enslavement, present exile and future

16 Chopin, Korespondenlja, vo!. I, p. 223.

17 Ibid., vol. I, p. 185.
18 Mickiewicz, Dziela poetyckie, vol. III, p. 163. The intriguing similarity between the Stuttgart diary and
the 'Great Improvisation' of Konrad is discussed by Ludwik Bronarski, 'Chopin et Ia litterarure' , in his
Etudes sur Chopin, 2 vols. (Lausanne 1944), vol. I, pp. 19-76, especially pp. 38-9.
19 Letter from Paris, 4 April1848. Chopin, Korespondenlja, vo!. II, p. 239.
20 On the role narrative plays in the establishment of personal and collective identity, see in particular Paul
Ricoeur, Time and Na"ative, trans. Kathleen McLaughlin and David Pellauer, 3 vols. (Chicago 1984-8);
David Carr, Time, Na"ative, and History (Bloomington 1986); Paul Ricoeur, Soi-meme comme un autre
(Paris 1990).
108 chopin

Chopin's Ballade Op. 23 and the revolution of the intellectuals 77

rebirth preserved but modulated to stress the dimension of the future. Like the
European intellectuals of the period who expected a revolution to complete the
project started in 1789, these Poles waited for a universal catastrophe which would
bring the old order down to make room for a new one, and, like Chopin himself,
considered the violence and horrors attendant on revolution and war a heroic price
worth paying. Chopin's G minor Ballade (and, incidentally, most of his major nar­
rative works, in particular the ballades and the Polonaise-Fantasy) is, as we have seen,
a musical narrative which, from a weak beginning, accelerates to a strong and fiery
ending, with the goal reached in an act of desperation and experienced as a tragedy
rather than a triumph. The homology that I am positing between the temporal struc­
tures of Chopin's musical narrative and the historical narrative in terms of which the
composer's contemporaries established their identity is based on the fact that both are
future- or end-orientated, and in both the envisaged ending is fiery and tragic.

In interpreting this homology, we should first clarify what it is not, namely, a case of
programme music. Chopin's distaste for music which illustrates is well documented.21
He gave his works fastidiously neutral generic titles, and was more than annoyed by
the absurd 'poetic' headings under which they appeared in London (Op. 23, for
instance, was given the title of 'La Favorite'). 22 Thus, on 9 October 1841 , Chopin
writes from Nohant to Fontana in Paris: 'if he [Chopin's London publisher, Wessel]
lost [money] on my compositions, this is surely because of the stupid titles he gave
them in spite of my prohibition . . .'23 What the Ballade Op. 23 certainly is not is a
musical illustration of a programme for a future liberation of Poland. But for the
1830s and 1840s the distinction between programme and absolute music should not
be drawn too sharply. Rather, some of the most innovative music of the period is
located somewhere between these two extremes,24 and it is in this 'in-between'
region that a place for the Ballade must be found.
It would be good to know how Chopin himself understood the relationship
between music and other expressive media, or, even more generally, between music
and the world. However, unlike so many of his most interesting musical contem­
poraries, Chopin did not publicise his aesthetic views, and the best we can do is to
catch glimpses of those as reported by Eugene Delacroix and George Sand, who
seem to have been the composer's preferred partners for serious conversations on
general artistic issues. Perhaps the most revealing of those glimpses is offered in Sand's
masterly impression or souvenir, dated Paris, January 1841, though published much
later, 25 in which she describes a half-day spent with Delacroix discussing, or rather
21 See, e.g., Bronarsk:i, 'Chopin et Ia litterature'.
22 In Wessel's 1836 edition, according to the 'Critical Notes' (p. xxi) to Jan Ekier's 1986 Wiener Urtext
Edition of the Ballades.
23 Chopin, Korespondencja, vol. II , p. 42.
24 See Walter Wiora, 'Zwischen absoluter und Programmusik', in Festschrif t Friedrich Blume, ed. A. A. Abert
and W . Pfank.uch (Kassel1963), pp. 381-8; Ludwig Finscher, '"Zwischen absoluter und Programmusik":
Zur Interpretation der deutschen romantisch en Symphonie', in Ober Symphonien: Festschrift Walter Wiora,
ed. Ch. H. Mahling (Tutzing 1979), pp. 103- 15; and Anthony N ewcomb, 'Once More "Between
Absolute and Program Music": Schumann's Second Symphony', 19th-Century Music, 7 (1984), pp. 233-50.
25 George Sand, Impressions et souvenirs (Paris 1873), pp. 72-90.
 chopin 109

78 Karol Berger

listening to him discourse on, his theory of the interdependence of drawing (dessin) and
colour (couleur), as opposed to the theory of their mutual independence, and the supe­
riority of drawing, professed by the followers of Ingres (a late echo of the sixteenth­
century dispute on the relative merits of the Florentine disegno and the Venetian
colorito). The discussion continues at the dinner table chez Sand in the presence of her
son, Maurice, and Chopin. After dinner, Chopin stops listening, sits at the piano and
improvises. It is at this point that Sand makes a comment which, in spite of its length,
deserves to be quoted in full:
The master [Chopin] knows very well what he is doing. He laughs at those who claim to make
beings and things speak by means of imitative harmony. This silliness is not for him. He knows
that music is a human impression and human manifestation. It is a human mind that thinks, it is
a human voice that expresses itself It is man in the presence of the emotions he experiences,
translating them by the feeling he has of them, without trying to reproduce their causes by the
sound. Music would not know how to specify these causes; it should not attempt to do it.
There is its greatness, it would not be able to speak in prose.
When the nightingale sings in the statry night, the master will not make you guess or sense
by a ridiculous notation the warbling of the bird. He will make the human voice sing in a
particular feeling which one experiences listening to the nightingale, and if you do not dream
of the nightingale while listening to the man, that matters hardly at all. You will, nevertheless,
derive from it an impression of delight which will put your mind in the disposition where it
will be, if you fall into a sweet ecstasy for a beautiful summer night, cradled by all the
harmonies of the happy and meditative nature.
It will be so with all the musical thoughts whose design stands out against the effects of
harmony. Sung word is needed to specify their intention. Where the instruments alone take
charge of translating it, the musical drama flies on its own wings and does not claim to be
translated by the listener. It expresses itself by a state of mind it induces in you by force or
gendy. When Beethoven unchains the storm, he does not strive to paint the pallid glimmer of
lightning and to make us hear the crash of thunder. He renders the shiver, the feeling of
wonder, the terror of nature of which man is aware and which he shares in experiencing it.
The symphonies of Mozart are masterpieces of feeling which every moved mind interprets as
it pleases without risking losing its way in a formal opposition with the nature of the subject.
The beauty of musical language consists in taking hold of the heart or imagination, without
being condemned to pedestrian reasoning. It maintains itself in an ideal sphere where the
listener who is not musically educated still delights in the vagueness, while the musician
savours this great logic that presides over the masters' magnificent issue of thought.
Chopin talks little and rarely of his art; but, when he does talk about it, it is with an
admirable clearness and a soundness of judgement and of intentions which would reduce to
nothing plenty of heresies if he wanted to profess with open heart.
But, even in private, he holds back and pours out his heart only at his piano. He promises
us, however, to write a method in which he will discuss not only the skills of the profession,
but also the doctrine. Will he keep his word?26

It is difficult to decide how much here represents Chopin's own views: the skilfully
ambiguous passage might be read either as Sand's own interpretation of the relation­
ship between music and the world, or as her report of the composer's 'doctrine'.

26 Ibid., pp. 86ff.

110 chopin

Chopin's Ballade Op. 23 and the revolution cifthe intellectuals 79

I believe, however, that the views presented may well preserve something of Chopin's
own. For one thing, they agree with what we have learned elsewhere about the
composer's distaste for musical illustration. For another, the reference to the musician
who 'savours this great logic that presides over the masters' magnificent issue of
thought' brings to mind Delacroix' s report of his conversation of 7 April 1849 with
Chopin: 'I asked him what establishes logic in music. He made me feel what counter­
point and harmony are; how the fugue is like pure logic in music, and that to know
the fugue deeply is to be acquainted with the element of all reason and all consistency
in music.' 27 In any case, Sand's essay gets us as close to the composer's own position
on the matter at hand as we are ever likely to get.
Here is the central point of the 'doctrine'. It is silly to use music to imitate the sounds
of the world, to make the world speak through music; only a human being should
speak through music. Music expresses human emotions, states of mind, and induces
them in the listener, without specifYing their worldly causes, and it does not matter
whether the listener discovers these causes or not. The causes may be specified only
in language, when the music is combined with sung words.
The doctrine is reminiscent of, and seems to make reference to, Beethoven's cele­
brated remark on his 'Pastoral' Symphony: 'a matter more of feeling than of painting
in sounds'. 28 In its claim that music is incapable of specifying the causes of the
emotions it expresses, the Chopin-Sand theory also strikingly anticipates an aspect of
Eduard Hanslick's argument in Vom Musikalisch-Schonen of 1854 to the effect that,
since every emotion must have an intentional object (a fear is the fear of a lion, say),
emotions can be expressed only when their objects are represented, and since music
is incapable of representation, it is also incapable of expression. Kendall L. Walton
takes Hanslick's point to be that music can portray only indefinite emotions, not def­
inite ones. 29 An emotion has a cognitive component (a thought which involves the
intentional object) and a component of sensation (a feeling which does not involve
the intentional object). Different emotions may have the sensation in common, while
differing in the cognitive component. Music may be unable to specifY the cognitive
component, while being able to portray the sensation. Thus, for instance , it may
portray what fear and anger have in common, without being able to distinguish
between them. Roger Scruton answers Hanslick differently. 3° Following Richard
Wollheim's distinction between the transitive and intransitive senses in which we may
understand an expression, 31 Scruton reminds us that an expression may be understood
intransitively, that we may experience a musical expression in an act of spontaneous
sympathy, without being able to say what is expressedY In a song or an opera, the
27 Eugene Delacroix, The journal of Eugetre Delacroix, trans. Walter Pach (New York 1937), p. 194.
28 Alexander Wheelock Thayer, Life of Beethoven, rev. and ed. Elliot Forbes (Princeton 1967), p. 436.
29 Kendall L. Walton, 'What is Abstract about the Art of Music?', The Journal of Aesthetics atrd Art
Criticism, 46 (1988), pp. 351-64, especially pp. 356-8.
30 Roger Scruton, 'Analytic Philosophy and the Meaning of Music', in Analytic Aesthetics, ed. R. Shusterman
(Oxford 1989), pp. 85-96.
31 Richard Wollheim, Art and Its Objects, 2nd edn (Cambridge 1980), pp. 41 and 48. Wollheim derives
the distinction from Ludwig Wittgenstein's discussion of the words 'particular' and 'peculiar' in The
Blue and Brown Books (Oxford 1958), pp. 158-60.
32 Scruton, 'Analytic Philosophy', p. 92.
 chopin 111

80 Karol Berger

specific intentional object of the emotion is represented. In purely instrumental music,

it is the listener's, or critic's, task to connect the music with an appropriate context of
human values and interests.
The Chopin-Sand theory seems very close to these modem readings of Hanslick.
The intentional objects (or 'causes', as Sand calls them) of the expressive gestures enacted
in instrumental music may, and should, remain unspecified by the composer. The ges­
tures have sufficient generality to allow for a number of such objects or causes, though
the range of possible causes is never unlimited. The listeners or critics, in so far as they
want the music to be more than a purely formal game and want to make a connection
between the music's significance and their own deep concerns, will propose appro­
priate causes, that is, the intentional objects that fall within the range of the possible
ones. (As Schumann said about Chopin's ballades: 'a poet could easily find words to set
to his music'. 33) But they will remember that the causes or objects they propose, even
if plausible, are no more than exemplifications chosen from a number of possibilities.
An instrumental narrative, then, is not a piece of programme music; it does not
illustrate a specific, particular story. But neither must it remain completely unconnected
with non-musical human concerns. Its temporal form can be expressive of a general
sense of 'how things hang together' , of how life is likely to tum out. An individual
biography or a collective history would then serve as no more than appropriate
exemplifications, the kind of stories this music might illustrate if it were to illustrate
any particular story at all. In short, the Chopin-Sand theory authorises the view of a
musical narrative as an utterance in which individuals or nations may choose to read
the general shape of their own destiny, the kind of prophetic utterance Ernst Bloch
had in mind when, in his 1918 Geist der Utopie, he spoke of the great work of art
as anticipating the homeward joumey,34 and of music as the first settlement in the
holy land.35
It follows that the context of human concern that I have proposed for the
G minor Ballade, the future-orientated revolutionary narrative that provided many
European intellectuals, and in particular many Polish emigres, of the period with a
self-image and self-understanding, should not be taken as a 'private programme'
which Chopin actually had in mind while composing but subsequently chose to
suppress. It should, rather, be understood as one of those contexts the composer might
recognise as relevant to his work.
And not only the composer, but also some ofhis listeners. Chopin is reported by
Wilhelm von Lenz to have described his own aims as a performer thus: 'I indicate, ...
it's up to the listener to complete the picture.'36 This is precisely what many listeners
of the period did, with various degrees of skill and empathy, adducing contexts of
greater or lesser relevance. The Revue et Gazette musicale de Paris of9 September 1838
published an open letter 'To Mr F. Chopin, on his Polish ballad' ('AM. F. Chopin,

33 Robert Schumann, Gesammelte Schriften uber Musik und Musiker, 5th edn, ed. Martin Kreisig, 2 vols.
(Leipzig 1914), vol. II , p. 32.
34 Ernst Bloch, Essays on the Philosophy of Music (Cambridge 1985), p. 90.
35 Ibid. , p. 139.
36 Quoted from CPT, p. 278.
112 chopin

Chopin's Ballade Op. 23 and the revolution if the intellectuals 81

sur sa ballade polonaise') by a minor French poet Felicien Mallefille (who, incidentally,
was the man George Sand was shortly to drop in Chopin's favour). 37 In his letter,
Mallefille describes a recent soiree for selected friends where Chopin played 'this Polish
ballad we love so much' ('cette ballade polonaise que nous aimons tant'), the expres­
sion suggesting that this was not the first time his friends had heard the piece. It is not
entirely clear whether the work in question was the first or the second Ballade. The
Ballade Op. 38 was completed only in January 1839, that is, after the evening des­
cribed by Mallefille. However, since Chopin performed an early version of the work
for Schumann during their meeting in Leipzig in September 1836,38 he might easily
have played something less than the final version for his Parisian friends in 1838. In
his excellent study of how Chopin's works were published, Jeffrey Kallberg quotes a
letter from Heinrich Albert Probst, Breitkopf & Hartel's Parisian agent, to his firm in
Leipzig, in which Op. 38 is referred to as 'a Pilgrim's Ballade [eine Ballade des Pelerins]'
and asks whether this could be the same work as the 'Polish ballad' of Mallefille. 39 (In
a most perceptive aside, Kallberg mentions how important the image of the pilgrim
was to the Polish emigre community in Paris in the 1830s, promoted especially by
Mickiewicz.) Given that, as we shall see, Mallefille explicitly connects his ballade polon­
aise with the theme of the Polish exiles and their peregrination, the identification of
the work with Probst's Ballade des Pelerins seems plausible. For the purposes of the
present discussion, however, the question of which ballade was actually played is
relatively unimportant. The basic shape leading from a comparatively inconspicuous
and tentative, private, domestic or pastoral beginning to a fiery, heroic, tragic and
public ending is, as stated earlier, shared by many of Chopin's major one-movement
narrative works, and the context of the ideology of Polish emigration is equally
relevant to all of them. What is interesting about Mallefille's letter is that it gives us
an insight into the sort of hearing which must have been quite widespread among
the literary circles that formed one kind of Chopin's audience.
On hearing him play, Mallefille writes to Chopin,
we all fell into a profound daydream ... What did we thus dream about, then, all together . . .?
I cannot say it; since everyone sees in the music, as in the clouds, different things. But seeing
our friend the Sceptic [Delacroix?), ... I have imagined that he must have daydreamed of
murmuring streams and of gloomy farewells exchanged in dark tree-lined paths; while the old
Believer [Mickiewicz?), whose evangelical words we listen to with such respectful admiration, ...
seemed to interrogate Dante, his grandfather, about the secrets ofheaven and the destinies of the
world. As for me, ... I wept following in thought the distressing images that you have made
appear before me. On coming back home, I have attempted to render them in my own fashion
in the following lines. Read them with indulgence, and, even if I have interpreted your ballad
badly in them, accept their offering as a proof of my affection for you and of my sympathy for
your heroic fatherland. 40

37 Revue et Gazette musicale de Paris, 5/36 (1838), pp. 562-4.

38 See Gastone Belocti, F. Chopin / 't~omo, 3 vols. (Milan and Rome 1974), vol. I, pp. 571-4.
39 Jeffrey Kallberg, 'Chopin in the Marketplace: Aspects of the International Music Publishing Industry
in the First Half of the Nineteenth Century', Notes, 39 (1982- 3), pp. 812- 13.
40 Mallefille, 'AM. F. Chopin', p. 562. The probable identification of the 'Sceptic' as Delacroix and the
'Believer' as Mickiewicz has been made in Chopin, Korespondencja, vol. I, p. 558.
 chopin 113

82 Karol Berger

There follows a little piece of dramatic prose entitled 'The Exiles. - A Path' ('Les
exiles. - Un chemin') in which the Chorus bids farewell to Poland, 'tomb of our fore­
fathers, cradle of our children'; 41 a Young Man asks his fellow exiles why they should
continue to carry swords which had not succeeded in defending their fatherland from
the enslavement; and an Old Man explains: 'We keep our weapons for the day of the
resurrection.' 42 The Young Man answers: 'Hope is dead and God is sleeping', 43 but
the Old Man asks the young ones to keep their arms and hope: 'The future is rich; it
gives to those who know how to wait.' 44 The Young Man, in his despair, wants to kill
himself The Exiles leave him alone. A Passer-by tells him: 'Let them go; everyone
for himself in this world. But you would be silly to kill yourself now . . .',45 and he
urges him to go to a great city, to enrich himself promptly and to enjoy the pleasures
of life, good table, beautiful women, horses, travel. The encounter is salutary. The
Young Man, shocked to discover that anyone might want to leave his fatherland and
paternal home of his own free will, realises now where his duty lies and goes on to
rejoin his fellow exiles in their common fate, so that they can sing together: 'To you,
Poland! Saint Poland! tomb of our forefathers! cradle of our children, to you always!'46
In a recent analysis of the manner in which Chopin experienced his own exis­
tence, Maria ]anion and Maria Zmigrodzka demonstrated the extent to which the
composer's sense of life was analogous to the experience of existence articulated by
the major poets of Polish romanticism, and fellow Parisian exiles, Adam Mickiewicz,
Juliusz Slowacki and Zygmunt KrasinskiY A central shared motif in their self-image
was that of the 'orphan', a motif clearly resulting from the trauma of separation from
the native realm after the insurrection of 1830-1, but also transcending this particular
historical and political dimension to embrace a more universal condition of existential
uprootedness and homelessness. 'In the biographies of many representatives of Polish
romanticism ... the historical drama of the November [1830] insurrection was
profoundly internalised and it was decisive for their attempts at self-definition and for
the understanding of their own fate' ,48 write ]anion and Zmigrodzka. (It should be
recalled here that the G minor Ballade was completed in Paris in 1835, but, if w e are
to believe some Chopin scholars, it may have been sketched in Vienna as early as May
and June of1831. 49) The trauma induced by history often led the Polish romantics to

41 Mallefille, 'AM. F. Chopin', p. 563.

42 Ibid., p. 563.
43 Ibid., p. 563.
44 Ibid., p. 563.
45 Ibid., p. 563.
46 Ibid., p. 564.
47 Maria Janion and Maria Zmigrodzka, 'Fn!deric Chopin parmi Ies heros de I'existence du romantisme
polonais', Chopin Studies, 3 (1990) , pp. 35- 51.
•s Ibid., p. 37 .
49 See the literature listed in Krystyna Kobylanska, R~kopisy utworow Chopina: Katalog, 2 vols. (Cracow
1977), vol. I, p. 125. Jeffrey Kallberg's scepticism concerning this matter is noted in Anseln1 Gerhard,
'Ballade und Drama. Frederic Chopins Ballade opus 38 und die franziisische Oper um 1830', A rchiv fiir
Musikwissenschqfi, 48 (1991) , p. 111 n. 1. Jim Samson argues that the first Ballade was probably not begun
before 1833 and that it is most likely to have been drafted not long before its publication in 1835
(Chopin: The Four Ballades (Cambridge 1992), pp. 1, 21 and 88 n. 1).
114 chopin

Chopin's Ballade Op. 23 and the revolution of the intellectuals 83

extremes of morbid alienation, to what Krasinski termed 'a monomania of death' .50
'Thus it may happen that despair, the feeling of defeat and of imprisonment in an exis­
tence which tends inevitably towards self-destruction, dominate ... Nevertheless,
our romantics make their heroes exit, more and more resolutely, from the nightmare
of imprisoned existence ... Much more often one rediscovers salvation in the sphere
of the values of collective life, in the union with the destiny of the nation . . .' 51 The
widespread scenario, then, led from the collective trauma, through the solipsistic
delectatio morosa, to the rediscovery of hope in collectively shared values.
Mallefille may not have been a great writer, but he understood this mechanism
remarkably well. It is all there: the trauma of exile; the self-destructive solipsism of
morbid alienation, a twin brother of the extreme alienation from collectively shared
values bred by the conditions oflife in the modern metropolis of the 1830s; and the
return to the national community as the source of hope. Even the blasphemous despair
of Konrad finds its echo here ('God is sleeping'). If it was Op. 23 that Mallefille
heard, the spectre of the thoroughly modern Parisian bourgeois must have been
raised in the poet's mind by the frenetically animated waltz of the scherzando episode
(bars 138-66). 52 (From Berlioz and Schumann to Mahler and Richard Strauss, the
waltz served as the emblem of urban sophistication.) The association of the modern
metropolis with the condition of the essential homelessness of contemporary European
man is telling (recall that Paris was the hub of nineteenth-century modernity, 'the
capital of the nineteenth century', in Walter Benjamin's phrase 53) . But it is the master­
image of the little drama, the image of the exiles on the path that would eventually
lead to armed resurrection, that is of central importance here, since it encapsulates the
self-understanding of the Polish emigration. Mallefille's text shows that a liberal Parisian
intellectual could accept this Polish self-image and hear it expressed in Chopin's music
just as easily as those generations of insurrectionist Poles whose sense of identity this
music helped to mould, for better or worse, for about a century. It is a promise of return
from exile which Chopin's listeners, nationalist Poles and cosmopolitan Parisians
alike, heard in his music.

50 Quoted inJanion and Zmigrodzka, ' Frederic Chopin', p. 45.

" Ibid., pp. 49-50.
52 Jim Samson writes about the episode (The Music of Chopin (London 1985), pp. 178- 9): 'W altz
elements were already implicit in the accompaniment to the main theme ... and now they are
extended into a fully characterised dance episode whose phraseology is the moto perpetuo arabesque so
typical of the independent waltzes.'
53 'Paris, die H auptstadt des XIX. Jahrhunderts', in Das Passagen-Werk, Gesammelte Schrij tet1, vol. V
(Frankfurt am Main 1989).
 7

Ballade und Drama

Frederic Chopins Ballade opus 38 und die franzosische Oper urn 1830*

von

ANSELM GERHARD

Als Frederic Chopin im Jahre 1840 seine zweite Ballade opus 38 publizieren
liel3, riickte er sie mit dem frei gewiihlten Gattungstitel unmittelbar neben die
erste Ballade opus 23, obwohl sich die heiden Kompositionen in erheblicher
Weise voneinander unterscheiden. Nun ware es sicher iibertrieben zu behaup­
ten, die im selben J ahrzehnt entstandenen Stucke hiitten nichts auBer dem Titel
gemein, aber ein Blick in die Chopin-Literatur zeigt, daB die meisten Interpreten
mehr oder weniger irritiert vor den auffiilligen Differenzen stehen. Wo die erste
Ballade mit melodisch ausladender, instrumental gepriigter Gestik einen epi­
schen, wenn nicht so gar bardenhaften Ton anstimmt, mag man den auf syllabisch
deklamierende Vokalmusik verweisenden Beginn der zweiten Ballade kaum mit
Begriffen wie , episch" oder , rhapsodisch" belegen, wirkt diese verhaltene ErOff­
nung doch eher als Ausdruck des Naiven. Wiihrend die erste Ballade von Anfang
an stabil auf ihren Grundton g bezogen ist - schon die das Moderato-Thema
eroffnende Geste weist tiberdeutlich auf den Grund ton- , sind die ersten Takte
der zweiten Ballade vom gleichsam schwebenden Erklingen harmonischer
Nebentone wie der dritten und der funften Stufe gepriigt, und folgerichtig wird
die tonale Orientierung des Horers his zum Schlul3akkord im unentschiedenen
Wechsel von F-Durund a-Moll auf die Probe gestellt. Wo opus 23 sich sogleich im
Largo und ,pesante" manifestiert, unterstreicht Chopin den schtichternen Cha­
rakter der Eroffnung von opus 38 mit der Anweisung ,sotto voce", und auch die
Taktvorzeichnung akzentuiert diesen Unterschied: dort eher schwer zu spie­
lende Viertel mit Akkorden auf allen Ziihlzeiten, hier ein leichtfiiBiger 6/8-Takt,
in dessen Rahmen musikalische Ereignisse auf der zweiten und ftinften Achtel
seltene Ausnahmen bleiben. Andererseits schockiert die zweite Ballade den

* Uberarbeiteter Text eines beim , Second International Musicological Symposium devoted

to the works of Fryderyk Chopin" in Warschau (9.-13. September 1989) vorgetragenen Refe­
rats.

Archiv fUr Musikwissenschaft, Jahrgang XLVIII, Heft 2 (1991)

© Franz Steiner V erlag Wiesbaden GmbH , Sitz Stuttgart
116 chopin

Ballade und Drama 111

Harer mit kaum vermittelten und scharfen Kontrasten zwischen extrem gegen­
satzlichen Abschnitten, wahrend die verschiedenen Teile der ersten Ballade
durch flieBende Ubergange miteinander verbunden sind.
Bei einem Blick auf die Entstehungsgeschichte liegt es nahe, Grunde ftir diese
eklatanten Differenzen nicht zuletzt in den vollig unterschiedlichen Einfliissen zu
vermuten, unter denen die heiden Werke entstanden sein diirften. Wahrend
opus 23 angeblich bereits in Wien im Frtihsommer 1831 konzipiert wurde\ ging
Chopin erst dann an die Komposition seiner zweiten Ballade, nachdem er in
mehrjahriger Erfahrung mit der Pariser Musik der 1830er Jahre vertraut
geworden war. Die These, daB die erste Ballade in ihrer Eigenheit nur aus der
Wiener Tradition, die zweite aber nur a us der Pariser zu verstehen ist, kann hier
allerdings nur in ihrem zweiten Teil prazisiert werden, wahrend fur den ersten
Teil einige Andeutungen gentigen mtissen, denn hier mangelte es mir vor allem
an den dokumentarischen Moglichkeiten, die in Wien, aber auch in anderen
damals unter habsburgischer Herrschaft stehenden Stadten wie Prag, Lemberg
oder Krakau um 1830 entstandene Klaviermusik genauer zu untersuchen.
Im folgenden wird also Chopins zweite Ballade im Mittelpunkt stehen, wobei
in einem ersten Schritt versucht werden soli, das formasthetische Problem in
Worte zu fassen, das sich Chopin bei der Arbeit an seinen Balladen stellen
muBte. Als moglicher Hintergrund muB dabei neben dem lyrischen Klaviersttick
Wiener Provenienz vor allem die franzosische ,Romance" in Betracht gezogen
werden. Auf diesen Zusammenhang hat 1960 schon Christiane Engelbrecht
hingewiesen, allerdings ohne die Stucke in den Blick zu nehmen, die dem in Paris
lebenden Chopin am ehesten prasent gewesen sein ktinnen2 • Nach einigen allge­
meinen Anmerkungen zur Asthetik der ,Romance" soli daher an konkreten
Aspekten herausgearbeitet werden, wie die charakteristischen Besonderheiten
von opus 38 durch einen Vergleich mit bestimmten Stticken aus der zeitgenossi­
schen Pariser Opernproduktion besser im Spannungsfeld zwischen den Traditio­
nen instrumentaler und dramatischer Musik gefaBt werden ktinnen. In einem
letzten Schritt wird schlieBlich gezeigt, wie Chopin in der zweiten Ballade
samtliche Vorbilder durchbricht und so die Voraussetzungen ftir einen neuarti­
gen Umgang mit formalen und asthetischen Problemen schafft, die sich ihm in
der dritten und vierten Ballade erneut stellen.

I Jeffrey Kallberg (Philadelphia) machte mich allerdings darauf aufmerksam, dal3 eindeutige
Belege fiir diese immer wieder behauptete Datierung nirgends vorliegen.
2 Vgl. Ch. Engelbrecht, Zur Vorgeschichte der Chopinschen Klavierballade, in: The book of
the first international musicological congress devoted to the works of Fredrick Chopin, Wars­
zawa 16'h-22nd february 1960, hg. von Z. Lissa, Warszawa 1963, S. 519-521.
 chopin 117

112 Anselm Gerhard

Neue Formen in der Klaviermusik

War am Beginn des 19. Jahrhunderts noch die Sonate unangefochten die
fuhrende Gattung der Klaviermusik gewesen, so war die Generation nach
Beethoven, Clementi und Dussek offenbar nicht mehr in der Lage, ihre kunstle­
rischen Energien auf diese uberkommene Form zu konzentrieren. Zwar verzich­
tete kein Komponist von Rang vollig auf die Sonatenkomposition, auf der Suche
nach neuen Ausdrucksmoglichkeiten geriet jedoch immer mehr das in den Vor­
dergrund, was man unter dem nutzlichen, wenn auch nicht historischen Sammel­
begriff ,lyrisches Klavierstuck" zusammenfassen kann. In den J ahren nach 1810
gelangte John Field mit seinen Nocturnes zu internationaler Anerkennung,
wahrend gleichzeitig Vaclav Jan Tomasek mit den neuen Gattungen der ,Eclo­
gue" und der ,Rhapsodie" experimentierte. Andererseits verlangte ein uner­
sattlicher Musikalienmarkt vor allem nach brillanten Klavierkompositionen, wie
die unzahligen VerOffentlichungen von Varianten-Zyklen oder von etwa ,Intro­
duction et grand rondeau brillant" genannten Stucken beweisen.
In diesem Spannungsfeld muBte sich auch der junge Chopin orientieren, und
so komponierte er neben einer Sonate vor allem Rondos oder charakteristische
Tanze wie Mazurken, wandte sich aber spatestens 1827 mit ersten ,Nocturnes"
dem lyrischen Klavierstuck zu. Wahrend es jedoch seit Haydn und Beethoven
moglich geworden war, eine einzige Sonate - und naturlich auch Variationen
oder ein ,Grand Rondeau" - als isoliertes CEuvre zu verOffentlichen, hatte das
Klavierstuck auch 1830 noch nicht zu solcher asthetischer Autonomie gefunden,
fast ausnahmslos 3 wurde es in Zusammenstellungen von drei, sechs oder gar
zwolf gleichartigen Stticken auf den Markt gebracht.
Wahrend Schumann zunachst an der Idee eines Zyklus von ,klavieristischen
Einzelstticken" festhielt, und nur nach Wegen suchte, diese Zyklen- mithilfe
einer poetischen Gesamtidee etwa- zu ,einer zwingenden Einheit" zusammen­
zuschlie/3en4, tat sich Chopin zur gleichen Zeit ungleich schwerer mit diesen
U sancen. So gelangten seine vermutlich als Einzelstucke konzipierten ersten
heiden Nocturnes in e-Moll und cis-Moll erst nach seinem Tod zur VerOffentli­
chung, und es dauerte bis 1832, bis er einen ersten Zyklus von drei Nocturnes
vorlegte. Als er aber Anfang der 1830er Jahre mit der Komposition dessen
begonnen hatte, was 1836 als erste Ballade erscheinen sollte, ging es ihm offen­
bar darum, ein Klavierstuck zu vollenden, das von Umfang und asthetischem
Rang fUr sich allein stehen konnte.

3 Als charakteristische Ausnahme ware jedoch die 1802 erschienene Rhapsodie pour le
Pianoforte composee par W. Robert Comte de Gallenberg, oeuvre 5 zu nennen, die allerdings -
trotz der anscheinend erstmaligen Verwendung des Titels ,Rhapsodie" fur ein Klavierstiick­
kaum der neuen Gattung des lyrischen Klavierstiicks, sondern vielmehr der alteren Fantasie
angehiirt; vgl. W. Salmen, Geschichte der Rhapsodie, Zurich 1966, S. 56-57.
4 Vgl. A. Edler, Robert Schumann und seine Zeit, Laaber 1982, S. 123.
118 chopin

Ballade und Drama 113

Vorbilder dafur gab es kaum. Zwar hatten Komponisten wie Tomasek und
Voffsek gezeigt, daB nicht nur der lyrische, dem Nocturne eigene Ausdrucksbe­
reich der Klaviermusik erschlossen werden konnte, sondern auch andere Tonla­
gen der Dichtung: In seiner Autobiographie verwies Tomasek ausdriicklich
darauf, er habe ,Zuflucht zur Poetik"5 genommen, und wahrend bei seiner
Charakterisierung der ,Eclogues" als idyllische Pastoralen das implizite Vorbild
der bukolischen Dichtung Vergils unausgesprochen bleibt, spricht er in seinen
Anmerkungen zu den von ihm erstmals 1810 verwendeten Gattungsbegriff
,Rhapsodie" ausdriicklich vom klassischen Modell: ,Ich wollte mich auch an
solchen Tonstiicken versuchen, in denen vorherrschend Ernst mit Kraft und
Energie gepaart ist. Da trat die Vorzeit mit ihren Rhapsoden, wie durch einen
Zauberschlag lebendig vor meine Seele; ich sah und hOrte, wie sie ganze Stellen
aus Homer's Iliade declamieren und Alles begeistern"6 •
Wenn Chopin in Tomaseks Rhapsodien also asthetische Prinzipien verwirk­
licht finden konnte, die den epischen Ton seiner ersten Ballade ebenso beeinfluBt
haben diirften wie das von Robert Schumann in das Schlagwort vom ,Legen­
denton" gefaBte Konzept einer narrativ-poetischen Instrumentalmusik 7 , so
hatte der Prager Komponist doch auch in seinen avanciertesten Klavierstiicken
daran festgehalten, sie in Gruppen von drei oder sechs Nummern zusammenfas­
sen. Aber nicht nur diese Relativierung des Eigenwerts charakteristischer
Kompositionen muBte der Generation Chopins und Schumanns hOchst unbefrie­
digend erscheinen, sondern auch das konservative Formmodell, an den Tomasek
fur seine aufregenden Stiicke festgehalten hatte. Alle ,Eclogues" und Rhapso­
dien sehen einen in sich geschlossenen B-Teil vor, an den sich der A-Teil in einem
unveranderten Da Capo anschlieBt. Asthetische Einheit im Sinne des 19. Jahr­
hunderts konnte dieses Verfahren ebensowenig garantieren, wie es den dynami­
schen Formprinzipien zuganglich war, die Beethoven zu einer radikalen Drama­
tisierung der Instrumentalmusik gefiihrt hatte.
An einer einheitlichen Form war aber Chopin in seiner ersten Ballade offen­
sichtlich besonders interessiert, und so faBte er seine musikalischen Gedanken in
eine Struktur, die von den meisten lnterpreten als freie Ankniipfung an das
Modell des Sonatensatzes mit zwei unterschiedlichen Themen beschrieben wor­
den ist8 • Der Kontrast zwischen dem erzahlenden ersten und dem eher kantablen
zweiten Gedanken war zwar so nicht besonders deutlich ausgepragt, dafiir

5 V. J. Tomasek, Selbstbiographie, in: Libussa, Jahrbuch fiir 1846, S. 327; zit. bei W. Kahl,
Das lyrische Klavierstuck Schuberts und seiner Vorgi:inger seit 1810, AfMw III, 1921, S. 61.
6 Ebd., S. 346 (Kahl, Klavierstuck, S. 67).
7 Vgl. J. Daverio, Schumann's ,Im Legendenton" and Friedrich Schlegel's ,,Arabeske", in:
19th-century music XI, 1987/88, S. 150-163.
B Vgl. die ausfiihrliche Diskussion der Sekundarliteratur bei G. Wagner, Die Klavierballade
um die Mitte des 19. Jahrhunderts ( = Berliner musikwissenschaftliche Arbeiten IX), Miinchen
1976, S. 7-31; vgl. aber auch das differenziertere Urteil in: C. Dahlhaus, Die Musik des
19. Jahrhunderts (= Neues Handbuch der Musikwissenschaft VI), Wiesbaden 1980, S. 122.
 chopin 119

114 Anselm Gerhard

wurde die gesamte Komposition von einem flieBenden Ineinander zusammenge­

halten, das der Idee eines rhapsodischen Deklamierens durchaus entsprach.
Thematische Arbeit im Sinn Beethovens oder gar auf das Ende des Satzes
gerichtete Strukturprinzipien spielen in dieser hOchst eigenwilligen Anverwand­
lung iiberkommener formaler Modelle dagegen keine Rolle; wie Serge Gut iiber­
zeugend ausgefiihrt hat, UiBt sich die eigentiimliche formale und harmonische
Disposition dieser Komposition nur aus einem symmetrischen Formprinzip
begreifen 9 , das noch in der Wiederaufnahme des fiir die Einleitungstakte charak­
teristischen neapolitanischen Kadenzschritts as-g-fis in den T. 216-219 und
224-227 der Coda akzentuiert wird. Mit der rasanten Beschleunigung zum Pre­
sto confuoco dieser Coda, in der die ganze ,Kraft und Energie" der Komposition
zu einem hOrbaren Hi:ihepunkt gelangt, sah Chopin aber gleichzeitig ein Ereignis
vor, daB dem erzahlerischen Gestus der scheinbar in formaler Symmetrie ruhen­
den Komposition noch eine dramatische Pointe verlieh.

Erzahlender Gestus in der franzosischen Oper

Ein ganz anderer Umgang mit dem Spannungsverhaltnis zwischen erzahleri­

schem Gestus und dramatischer Zuspitzung muBte sich dem in Paris lebenden
Chopin jedoch bei der Betrachtung einiger franzosischer Opern erOffnen. Wenn
die Oper zweifellos als dramatische Gat tung ,par excellence" bezeichnet werden
darf, so bedarf doch auch jedes Drama erzahlender Elemente. Denn offensicht­
lich ist es kaum mi:iglich, samtliche fiir das Verstandnis einer Biihnenhandlung
erforderlichen Ereignisse sichtbar zu machen, und nur die wenigsten Schau­
spiele und Opern verzichten darauf, nicht sichtbare Ereignisse in einem Bericht
oder einer Erzahlung zusammenzufassen. In der Oper und ihren verwandten
Formen waren solche Abschnitte in aller Regel dem Rezitativ oder dem gespro­
chenen Dialog vorbehalten, in einigen Fallen experimentierten Komponisten
und Librettisten aber auch mit einer Musikalisierung von erzahlten Partien. Zu
einer regelrechten Konvention wurde dieses Verfahren in der asthetisch nach­
rangigen Gattung des musikalischen Dramas mit gesprochenen Partien, das in
Frankreich als ,opera comique" und spater in Deutschland als Singspiel bezeich­
net wurde. Nach einem ersten Experiment in Rousseaus Le Devin du village von
1752 setzte sich die ,Romance" als einer Erzahlung vorbehaltener Haltepunkt
innerhalb einer ,opera comique" allgemein durch, wie Pedrillos Romanze in
Mozarts Die Entfiihrung aus dem Serail oder Blondels ,Romance" in Gretrys
Richard Coeur-de-lion als zwei heute noch bekannte Beispiele bezeugen 10 •

9 Vgl. S. Gut, Interferences entre le langage et la structure dans la Sallade en sol-mineur

op. 23, in: Chopin studies, in Vorbereitung.
IO V gl. D. Heartz, The beginnings of the operatic romance: Rousseau, Sedaine, and Monsi­
gny, in: Eighteenth-century studies XV, 1981182, S. 149-178.
120 chopin

Ballade und Drama 115

Wodurch sich diese ,Romances", die nicht notwendigerweise, aber doch sehr
haufig im 6/8-Takt standen, vor all em anderen auszeichneten, geht tiberdeutlich
aus dem wahrscheinlich von Grimm verfaBten 11 Artikel in Diderots Encyclope­
die hervor: ,N ai:vete est le caractere principal de la Romance" 12 •
Beispiele fur solche N aivitat lieBen sich in Fulle find en, von besonderem
Interesse ist in diesem Zusammenhang aber ein recht spater Vertreter dieser
Tradition, ein Einlagelied, das der 1833 uraufgefiihrten opera comique Ludovic
des kurz zuvor verstorbenen Herold zu besonderer Popularitat verhalf. Zwar
lieB der Bearbeiter Halevy, der die von Herold vollstandig konzipierte Melodie
lediglich instrumentiert hatte, diese Nummer nicht als ,Romance", sondern als
,Couplets avec Choeur" betiteln, im leicht schwebenden 6/8-Takt und dem naiv
erzahlenden Gestus der Melodie schlieBen sich diese Couplets aber ebenso offen­
sichtlich der Tradition der Opern-, Romance" an wie im Hinblick auf ihre drama­
turgische Funktion. Ohne direkten Zusammenhang mit den bis dahin sehr
Schnell aufeinanderfolgenden Ereignissen der Exposition erzahlt eine weibliche
Nebenrolle von ihrer Tatigkeit: Nice, ,jeune paysanne" in einem Bergdorf bei
Rom, verdient sich ihren Lebensunterhalt durch den Verkauf von Devotiona­
lien, die als Souvenir an eine nahe gelegene Eremitage dienen.
Herolds Einlagelied mit dem Textanfang ,,Je vends des scapulaires et de pieux
rosaires" ist nun deshalb von besonderem Interesse, weil Frederic Chopin diese
Melodie zum Thema seiner Variations brillantes opus 12 machte, die nur wenige
Monate nach der U raufftihrung, im Dezember 1833, auf dem Pariser Musikalien­
markt erschienen. Nun konnte man nattirlich dieses opus 12 als wenig aussage­
kraftiges Gelegenheitswerk abtun, das sich moglicherweise eher kommerziellen
Rticksichten auf Chopins wichtigsten Verleger verdankte als ktinstlerischer
Notwendigkeit, brachte Maurice Schlesinger neben Chopins Variationen doch
mit Klavierkompositionen von Adolphe Adam 13, Jacques Simon Herz14, Franz
Htinten 15 und Johann Peter Pixis 16 mindestens vier weitere Titel heraus, die den

11 Vgl. ebd., S. 156 und Anm. 9.

12 Artikel Romance, in: Encyclopedie ou Dictionnaire raisonne des sciences, des arts et des
m etiers, Band XIV, Neufchastel1765 (Reprint: Stuttgart-Bad Cannstatt 1967), S. 343.
13 Quatrieme enfantillage. Trois petits rondinos tresfaciles et soigneusement doigtes pour le
piano-forte sur les themes favoris de ,Ludovic" d'Herold et d'Halevy, par A. Adam, Paris:
Schlesinger (1833) [M.S. 1440].
14 Grand rondo brillant pour le piano-forte sur deux themes favoris de ,Ludovic" d'Herold et
d'Halevy dedie aMademoiselle Elisa Schneider par Jacques Herz, oeuvre 25, Paris: Schlesinger
(1833) [M.S. 1530].
15 Fantaisie pour le piano sur trois motifs favoris de l'opera de ,Ludovic", composee par
Franr;ois Hunten. Op. 57, Paris: Schlesinger (1833) [ohne Platten-Nummer].
16 Second caprice dramatique pour le piano sur des motifs de ,,Ludovic", par J .-P. Pixis,
oeuvre 125, Paris: Schlesinger (1833) [M.S. 1501].
 chopin 121

116 Anselm Gerhard

Absatz der von ihm zu einem Rekordpreis von 12000 Francs gekauften 17 Oper
Ludovic beleben sollten.
In Anbetracht der Tatsache, daB sich Chopin - zumal nach 183018 - nur
erstaunlich selten der Mode-Gattung Variationen zuwandte und uberdies diesem
Werk im Gegensatz zu anderen Gelegenheitsarbeiten eine opus-Nummer
zuwies, scheint mir aber eine solche Sichtweise etwas kurzsichtig, zumal ein
Vergleich von Herolds Melodie und Chopins zweiter Ballade zu interessanten
Parallelen fuhrt: Neben dem 6/8-Takt und dem naiven Charakter der Melodien
ist dabei vor allem der harmonisch unentschiedene Beginn auf der funften Stufe
zu nennen, aber auch die Ausweichung in eine verwandte Moll-Tonart. Zwar ist
Herolds Melodie weit entfernt von dem fast als ,bitonal" zu bezeichnendem
Nebeneinander von F-Dur und a-Moll in Chopins Ballade, aber wenn eine
Kadenzbildung nach d-Moll im 18. Takt von Herolds Couplet noch als konventio­
nell betrachtet werden kann, ist die Ausweichung nach g-Moll, die den ersten
Achttakter beschlieBt, durchaus ungewohnlich. Und mehr noch: In seiner The­
menfassung von Herolds Melodie verzichtet Chopin zwar auf den Chor-Refrain,
fugt aber an die harmonisch sehr stabile SchluBkadenz des Couplets einen
Viertakter (T. 59-62 in Chopins Fassung) an, der bei Herold das Orchester­
Vorspiel und- im AnschluB an den Refrain- die ganze Nummer beschlieBt, im
Zusammenhang eines Variationen-Zyklus aber eher irritiert. In den absteigen­
den Achteln dieses Viertakters stehen aber auf ganz ahnliche Weise B-Dur und
g-Moll nebeneinander wie an einer charakteristischen - einen motivischen
Zusammenhang mit den eri:iffnenden Sechzehnteln des Presto confuoco hervor­
hebenden19- Stelle von Chopins zweiter Ballade (T. 112/113 und 137/138).
Wenn solche Ubereinstimmungen auch vermuten lassen, daB Chopin an
Herolds Melodie mehr gereizt hat als nur ein verlagspolitisches KalkUI, so kann
doch nicht ubersehen werden, daB dieser spate Vertreter der franzosischen
,Romance" nur auf sehr beschrankte Weise ein Modell fUr Chopins Balladen
abgeben konnte. Zwar lieB sich Chopin vom naiven Charakter solcher Stucke
offensichtlich inspirieren, und auch vom erzahlerischen FluB, der fUr seine
Balladen charakteristisch ist, mag man hier etwas erkennen; trotz der Auswei­
chungen in verwandte Moll-Tonarten fehlten aber einer derart unpratentiosen
Melodie aile Moglichkeiten zur Entwicklung schlagkraftiger Kontraste. Auf die
Verwendung kontrastierender Elemente konnte aber kein Komponist verzich-

17 Vgl. die Notiz: ,La partition de Ludovic vient d'etre vendue aM. Schlesinger 12,000
francs; jamais opera en deux actes n'avait ete paye aussi cher. ", in: Revue musicale XIII, 1833,
S. 127 (n°. 16 vom 18. Mai 1833).
1s Vgl. J . .J. Eigeldinger, Les premiers Concerts de Chopin a Paris (1832-1838). Essai de
mise au point, in: Music in Paris in the eigtheen-thirties!La Mu sique a Paris dans les annees
mil huit cent trente, hg. von P. Bloom (=Musical life in 19th-century France/La Vie musicale en
France au XIX• siecle IV), New York 1987, S. 289.
19 Freundlicher Hinweis von John Rink (Newcastle-upon-Tyne).
122 chopin

Ballade und Drama 117

ten, der in einem als autonomes Einzelwerk konzipierten Klavierstuck ,Ernst

mit Kraft und Energie" paaren wollte, und dies umso weniger, wenn er in einer
Stadt und fur ein Publikum schrieb, das sich in den Darbietungen der popularen
Theater und der Dioramen, aber auch in den Auffuhrungen der Opera und den
Romanen eines Victor Hugo an immer scharfer zugespitzten Kontrasten er­
gotzte.

Dramaturgie des Kontrasts

Dieses Problem hatte sich aber auf ganz ahnliche Weise in der Opernkomposi­
tion gestellt, und es ist gewiB kein Zufall, daB die ursprunglich aus der Malerei­
Asthetik stammende Kategorie des Kontrasts erstmals von einem Opernkompo­
nisten so gefaBt wurde, daB deren weitreichende Entwicklungsmoglichkeiten
fur die Musik des 19. J ahrhunderts deutlich wurden. Wo Rousseau den Kontrast
noch auf die recht harmlose Gegeniiberstellung langsamer und schneller Bewe­
gung, von laut und Ieise oder von hohen und tiefen Tonen beschrankt hatte,
wahlte Gretry in seinen 1794 verfaBten Memoires den schrecklichen Gegensatz
Iustiger Tanze im 6/8-Takt und der Massenhinrichtungen auf der Guillotine zum
Beispiel fur Kontrast 20• Musikalische Konsequenzen aus dieser neuen Sensibili­
tat ftir Kontraste, die einer klassizistischen Asthetik nur als hii.Bliche Regelver­
letzung erscheinen konnten, zog zwar- wenn man von der Ausnahme-Erschei­
nung Beethoven absieht - in groBerem MaBe erst eine Generation, die wir als
,romantisch" bezeichnen, aber im Gebiet der franzosischen Oper erfaBte die
Suche nach wirkungsvollen Kontrasten bald samtliche Bereiche, vom Gegensatz
einzelner Akte bis zur musikalischen Anlage geschlossener Nummern.
Ein herausragendes Beispiel dafiir, wie sogar einfachste musikalische For­
men dieser Kontrast-Dramaturgie unterworfen wurden, findet sich in Meyer­
beers erster groBer Oper Robert le diable. Indem er- wie iibrigens spater auch in
den ersten Akten von Les Huguenots und Le Praphete - die bis dahin der ,opera
comique" vorbehaltene Form des mehrstrophigen Einlagelieds in die groBe Oper
iibernimmt, kann er den Zuschauer im erzahlenden Text fur das Verstandnis
notwendige Details aus der Vorgeschichte erfahren lassen und gleichzeitig den
unaufhaltsam vorwartstreibenden Charakter einer umfangreichen Exposition
mit einem ersten Ruhepunkt kontrastieren. Im konkreten Fall singt Raimbaut,
ein ,paysan normand", die Geschichte vom Teufel, der einst in der Normandie
mit einer Prinzessin einen Sohn namens Robert gezeugt hat. Der melodramati-

20 Vgl. A. Gerhard, Incantesimo o specchio dei costumi, Un'estetica dell'opera dellibrettista

di ,Guillaume Tell", in: Bollettino del Centro Rossiniano di studi 1987, S. 53- 56; zusammenfas­
send auch: A. Gerhard, Die Verstddterung der Oper. Rossini, Meyerbeer, Verdi und die
Auspragung modernen Musiktheaters in der Pariser ,Grand Opera", im Druck.
 chopin 123

118 Anselm Gerhard

sche Gegensatz zwischen Gut und Bose, zwischen den teuflischen Seiten von
Roberts Vater und der gutmiitigen Naivitat seiner Mutter wird von Meyerbeer
musikalisch tibersetzt, indem er auf jedes der drei Couplets einen scharf kontra­
stierenden Refrain folgen laBt. Wahrend die Couplets mit ihrer terzenseligen
Melodie im 6/8-Takt und ihren den engeren Bereich von C-Dur nie verlassenden
Harmonien an charakteristische Eigenschaften der ,Romance" ankntipfen, ist
der Refrain, in dem die teuflische Identitat von Roberts Vater enthiillt wird, von
diisterem c-Moll, aufgeregten Sechzehntel-Triolen und mysteriOsen Instrumen­
tations-Mischungen aus Piccolo-Flote und Oboe, aus Paukenwirbeln und Kontra­
baB-Schleifern gekennzeichnet.
Nicht nur mit diesem Kontrast geht Meyerbeer weit tiber die Tradition der
,Romance" hinaus, die zwei Jahre spater noch die Couplets in Herolds Ludovic
bestimmte, sondern auch, indem er Raimbauts Auftrittslied einem konsequen­
ten Dynamisierungs-ProzeB unterwirft. Schon im zweiten Couplet werden Text­
worte wie ,satan" von chromatischen Erweiterungen in Piccolo-FlOte, Flote,
Oboe, Fagott, Hornern und Solo-Posaune hervorgehoben. Und die dem dritten
Couplet vorbehaltene Mitteilung, daB diesem ,hymen epouvantable" gar ein
Sohn entsprungen ist, ist zu furchtbar, als daB sie ohne musikalische Konsequen­
zen bleiben konnte, und so wird die im ersten Couplet von einem Horn-Quartett
eingefiihrte naive piano-Melodie im sforzato auszufiihrenden Unisono von Oboe,
Klarinette, Horn und Trompete verfremdet, wahrend Singstimme und Orche­
ster-Begleitung sich nicht mehr von charakteristischen Floskeln des heftigen
Refrains freimachen konnen: ,Presque parle" deklamiert Raimbaut den Text der
dritten Strophe und verwendet dabei dieselben abgerissenen Sechzehntel-Trio­
len, die mit dem Text ,Funeste errreur" den Refrain eingeleitet batten, wahrend
im Orchester tiber den Tremoli der Streicher dieselben verminderten Septak­
korde erklingen, die im Refrain das ,fatal delire" bezeichnet batten.
Bezeichnet hat Meyerbeer diese aufsehenerregende Nummer aber nicht als
,Romance", obwohl er diese Gattungsbezeichnung an anderer Stelle, namlich im
schon erwahnten Auftrittslied Raouls in Les Huguenots und der ,Romance a
deux voix" in Le Prophete durchaus verwandte, sondern als ,Ballade". Damit
tibernahm er - zwolf Jahre vor der heute allein noch bekannten Ballade in
Wagners Der Fliegende Hollander- einen Gattungsbegriff, den anscheinend
Meyerbeers bevorzugter Librettist Eugene Scribe und Boieldieu mit J ennys
,D'ici voyez ce beau domaine" in La Dame blanche (1825) ftir Erzahlungen von
tibernatiirlichen Erscheinungen in die Oper eingefiihrt hatten21 •
DaB Chopin Meyerbeers erfolgreiche Oper gut gekannt hat, steht auBer
Zweifel. So auBerte er sich am 12. Dezember 1831 in einem Brief an Titus

21 Freundlicher Hinweis von Hugh Macdonald (Glasgow/St. Louis).

124 chopin

Ballade und Drama 119

Woyciechowski begeistert tiber dieses ,chef-d'amvre de l'ecole nouvelle"22 , und
wenig spater legte er zusammen mit dem Cellisten Auguste Franchomme eine
Komposition vor, in der einige der popularsten Melodien aus Meyerbeers Oper
verwoben sind, das Grand duo concertant pour piano et violoncelle sur des
themes de ,Robert le diable". Nicht nur wegen dieser dokumentierten Affinitat
Chopins zu einen der wichtigsten musikalischen Ereignisse der 1830er Jahre
scheint mir aber die ,Ballade" aus Robert le diable einen Schliissel zum Verstand­
nis von Chopins Klavierballade zu geben, sondern auch im Hinblick auf offenkun­
dige Ahnlichkeiten beim Umgang mit musikalisch-formalen Problemen, die sich
einer vergleichenden Betrachtung der Komposition Meyerbeers und der Ballade
opus 38 erschlieBen.

Chopins Vorbilder

Dabei kann die Frage offen bleiben, ob der entscheidende AnstoB zur Verwen­
dung des Begriffs ,Ballade" in Chopins <Euvre von der deutschen Tradition der
von Reichardt oder Tomasek komponierten gesungenen Balladen eines Gottfried
August Burgers, von den so bezeichneten Gedichten des polnischen Dichters
Adam Mickiewicz oder aber - was mir durchaus naheliegend vorkommt - von
Meyerbeer herriihrt. Und auch die immer mit einem gewissen MaB der Unsi­
cherheit behaftete Suche nach Vorbildern fiir die Gestaltung einzelner musikali­
scher Details des Andantino ist in diesem Zusammenhang zweitrangig. Wah­
rend sich die Gemeinsamkeiten zwischen Maria Szymanowskas 1828 publizierter
Mickiewicz-Vertonung Switezianka23 und Chopins Ballade meines Erachtens in
dem fiir Kompositionen im 6/8-Takt typischen Duktus und der gemeinsamen
Tonart F-Dur erschOpfen, scheint mir allerdings die Ahnlichkeit zwischen der
SchluBwendung von Chopins Andantino (T. 37--44) und dem SchluB des Mittel­
teils (T. 75-81) von Clara Wiecks ,Nocturne" d-Moll, das 1836 in deren Soirees
musicales contenant: Toccatina, Ballade, Nocturne, Polonaise et deux Mazur­
kas pour le Pianoforte opus 6 erschien24, auffaJlig: iiber den genrebedingten 6/8-
Takt hinaus verwenden beide Komponisten Quartsextakkorde auf der ersten
Zahlzeit als Durchgangsharmonien und eine Kadenzbildung nach F-Dur, in der
nach einem nach g-Moll aufgeli:isten verminderten Septakkord mit Fis im BaBin
genau derselben Lage a' als Vorhaltton iiber einem Dominantseptakkord zu F-

22 Brief vom 12. Dez. 1831 in: F . Chopin, Correspondance recueillie, revisee, annotee et
traduite par Bronislas Edouard Sydow en collaboration avec Suzanne et Denise Chainaye.
Edition definitive, Band II, Paris 1981, S. 46.
23 Freundlicher Hinweis von Jean.Jacques Eigeldinger (Genf).
24 Den Hinweis auf die Existenz dieser nun in C. Wieck Schumann, Selected piano music.
Introduction by P. Susskind, New York 1979, zuganglichen Komposition verdanke ich Jeffrey
Kallberg (Philadelphia).
 chopin 125

120 Anselm Gerhard

Dur erscheint. DaB derartige Anklange nur auf zufalligen Ahnlichkeiten bern­
hen, ist schon allein deshalb unwahrscheinlich, weil verbiirgt ist, daB die heiden
Komponisten sich zur selben Zeit die in Frage stehenden Werke gegenseitig
vorgespielt haben. Wahrend Chopins zweitem Leipziger Aufenthalt im Septem­
ber 1836 spielte Clara Wieck dem verehrten Pariser Kollegen unter anderem aus
ihren Soirees musicales vor25 , deren einzelne Titel mit Ausnahme der eroffnen­
den ,Toccatina" geradezu als Reverenz vor Chopins Werk erscheinen, und
Chopin spielte nach Robert Schumanns spaterer Aussage bei der gleichen Gele­
genheit seine zweite Ballade26• Dabei handelte es sich aber offensichtlich nicht
urn die uns heute uberlieferte Fassung, denn Schumann prazisierte 1841 aus­
driicklich: ,Die leidenschaftlichen Zwischensatze scheinen erst spater hinzuge­
kommen zu sein; ich erinnere mich sehr gut, als Chopin die Ballade hier spielte
und in F-dur schloB"27 • Die Mitteilung, daB opus 38 im Jahre 1836 nur in einer­
allerdings auch noch urn 1850 verbreiteten28 - Fassung existierte, die als unfertig
bezeichnet werden muB, verleitet aber zur Spekulation, daB diese Komposition
in einer improvisatorischen Situation in lockerer Anknupfung an Clara Wiecks
neueste W erke entstanden sein konnte, und erst spater zu der mehrteiligen
ausgefeilten Form gelangte, fiir die der anspruchsvolle Titel ,Ballade" angemes­
sen erschien.
Eine Ausarbeitung dieser ersten Idee zur groBen Form war aber gewiB keine
Sache der Improvisation, und wesentlich wichtiger als alle bier angedeuteten
Spekulationen scheint mir, den Bezug zu Meyerbeers ,Ballade" wieder aufzu­
greifen und in der bereits angekundigten vergleichenden Betrachtung zu erken­
nen, daB Chopin dort kompositorische Verfahren vorfand, die ihm einen neuen
Umgang mit den asthetischen Problemen erlaubten, die sich ihm schon bei der
Komposition der ersten Ballade gestellt batten. So hatte Meyerbeer im Gegen­
satz der Couplets mit dem Refrain seiner ,Ballade" einen Kontrast ausgepragt,
der grundsatzlich tiber das Verfahren in den K.lavierstiicken Tomaseks und
Vofiseks hinausging, wo die Abfolge eines rahmenden A-Teils und eines iiber­
deutlich auf die Tradition des barocken ,Alternativo" zuruckweisenden B-Teils
kaum mehr als verschiedene Facetten eines einheitlichen Grundcharakters aus­
pragte. Neben der Entscheidung, in opus 38 zwei scharf kontrastierende
Abschnitte kaum verbunden nebeneinander zu stellen, denke ich vor allem aber
an die Dynamisierung des musikalischen Geschehens, die auch in Chopins opus

25 Vgl. B. Litzmann, Clara Schumann. Ein Kunstlerlebe:n. Nach Tagebuchern und Briefe:n,
Erster Band: Madchenjahre 1819-1840, Leipzig 8 1925, S. 105; N. B. Reich, Clara Schumann:
the woman and the artist, New York 1985, S. 236.
26 Vgl. R. Schumann, F. Chopin, Zwei Notturno's. Werk 37.- Ballade. Werk 38.- Walzer
fur Pianoforte. Werk 42, in: NZfM XV, 1841, S. 141; auch in: Schumann, Gesammelte Schriften
uber Musik und Musiker, Band IV, Leipzig 1854, S. 57.
27 Ebd.
28 Vgl. J.-J. Eigeldinger, Chopinvuparses eleves. Textesrecueillis, traduits et commentes.
Nouvelle edition entierement remaniee, Neuchatel1979, S. 102 und 201, Anm. 151.
126 chopin

Ballade und Drama 121

38 dazu ftihrt, daB an einer bestimmten Stelle die unveriinderte Wiederholung

des naiven ersten Abschnitts nicht mehr moglich ist. Wo Meyerbeer jedoch erst
das dritte Couplet verfremdete, fragmentiert Chopin schon die erste Wiederho­
lung des Andantino (T. 83). Eine erste Wiederaufnahme von ftinf Takten aus
dem Beginn verlischt ,slentando" in einer Pause mit Fermate, und im folgenden
wird in der 6/8-Melodie die N eigung zur Moll-Tonart a-Moll immer deutlicher, die
schon im ersten Abschnitt angelegt war, vor allem aber als Rtickbezug auf das a­
Moll des Presto confuoco geh6rt werden kann. Dartiber hinaus wird die einfache
Andantino-Melodie in ein Gewebe dissonanter Harmonie-Bildungen verwickelt,
deren Akzentuierung der weit entfernten Bezugstone As (T. 98-101) und Des (T.
104-107) wiederum als Anknupfung an die in as-Moll stehenden Takte 67 bis 79
am Ende des Presto con fuoco erscheinen muB.
Umgekehrt entwickelt Chopin aber in dieser modulierenden Passage aus dem
punktierten 6/8-Motiv des Andantino eine im Tl-itonus-Raum absteigende
Variante (erstmals T. 96/97, dann im forte T. 108/109), die er leicht verandert in
der ersten Wiederholung des Presto con fuoco wieder aufgreift (T. 156-162), dort
aber von einer tremolo-Bewegung der rechten Hand tiberlagert und - ganz
ahnlich der Blaser-Mel odie hinter den Streicher-Tremoli bei Meyerbeer- in eine
Reminiszenz an das Andantino mundend (die linke Hand in T. 162-164 ent­
spricht transponiert der Melodielinie in der rechten Hand von T. 12-14 und
28-30). Nun konnte man beim ersten Horen diese Ruckfuhrung der absteigenden
Motiv-Variante aufihren Ursprung als Vorbereitung einer dritten und letzten
Wiederholung des Andantino begreifen. Solche Horerwartungen werden von
Chopin aber mit aller Entschiedenheit durchkreuzt, eine Kette von unisono­
Trillern mundet in ein Agitato, das zunachst nichts mit bisher Gehortem gemein
hat.

Musikalische Dramaturgie oder narrative Struktur

Die schrittweise Dynamisierung der musikalischen Ereignisse, die dem

ersten Anschein nach der traditionellen ABABA-Form verhaftet bleiben, fuhrt
Chopin bier zu einem Ergebnis, das weit tiber samtliche Vorbilder hinausweist.
Meyerbeer konnte es sich nicht nur erlauben, die untergrtindige Dramatik des
dritten Couplets in Raimbauts Erzahlung ohne Konsequenzen fur das Ende der
,Ballade" zu belassen und sogar in einer wortlichen Wiederholung des Refrains
aufzuheben, diese Entscheidung hatte sogar ihre dramaturgische Notwendig­
keit, wies doch diese musikalische Nummer, mit der die Titelfigur der Oper
indirekt eingeftihrt wurde, weit tiber sich selbst hinaus, und hatte es doch die
Wirkung aller folgenden Akte entscheidend geschwacht, wenn der bier nur
angedeutete Konflikt Roberts zwischen Gut und Bose bereits zu einer Konse­
quenz gefuhrt worden ware. In Chopins isolierter Klavierkomposition muBten
 chopin 127

122 Anselm Gerhard

die vorwartstreibenden dynamischen Energien dagegen in irgendeiner Weise

aufgefangen werden: Nach einem Verlauf, in dem die beiden kontrastierenden
Teile zunehmend miteinander verwoben und die harmonische Orientierung des
Hikers angesichts des unentschiedenen Wechsels zwischen F-Dur und a-Moll
immer mehr irritiert wurde, war eine einfache Wiederholung des naiven, in F­
Dur stehenden Andantino nicht mehr moglich.
Insofern kann auch der ungewohnlichen Agitato-Coda ein tieferer Sinn zuer­
kannt werden. Denn so hartnackig sich deren muskalisches Material der Suche
nach motivisch-analytischen Bezugen zu anderen Formteilen verweigert, so
offenkundig scheint im Rahmen einer von musikdramatischen Vorbildern ausge­
henden Konzeption die kompositorische Notwendigkeit einer solchen ,Stretta".
Die im scharfen Kontrast unvereinbarer Gegensatze angesammelten dynami­
schen Energien kommen hier zum endlichen Ausbruch. Mit den martellato­
Figuren dieser Coda wird aber nicht nur der erzahlerische Gestus des Andan­
tino, sondern auch seine tonale Basis endgtiltig zerstort: Indem die extrem
einfachen und insofernjeglicher harmonischen Dynamik entbehrenden BaBfigu­
ren immer wieder den Grundton A akzentuieren, ist das Nebeneinander von F­
Dur und a-Moll endgtiltig entschieden, in einer fiir Chopin und noch mehr fur
dieses quasi bitonale Werk h5chst ungewohnlichen Weise wird a-Moll als Zielton­
art befestigt.
Diese Klarung der harmonischen Verhaltnisse ermoglicht aber einen letzten
Ruckbezug zum fast schon aus dem ,Horfeld" geratenen Andantino-Beginn. Im
pianissimo greift Chopin nochmals vier Takte aus diesem Teil auf, die - nun
uberdeutlich in den Repetitionen auf a- unverriickbar auf a-Moll bezogen sind,
und in dem breiten Arpeggio der SchluBkadenz wird zum ersten Mal im Verlauf
dieser Ballade auch ein Element zitiert, das den rhapsodischen Gestus erzahlen­
der Musik anklingen laBt.
In diesem neuen Kontext erscheint die zur ,~dee fixe" werdende Reminiszenz
an den Andantino-Beginn aber in einem vollig neuen Licht, und so erreicht
Chopin mit den avanciertesten kompositorischen Mitteln der 1830er Jahre eine
Wirkung, die schon Rousseau als Qualitatsmerkmal einer gelungenen
,Romance", definiert hatte: ,Une romance bien faite, n'ayant rien de saillant,
n'affecte pas d'abord; mais chaque couplet ajoute quelque chose a l'effet des
precedents, !'interet augmente insensiblement, et quelquefois on se trouve
attendri jusqu'aux larmes sans pouvoir dire ou est le charme qui a produit cet
effet"29 • Nur erreicht Chopin in seinem opus 38 die unmerkliche Steigerung des
Interesses nicht durch die Abfolge gleicher Couplets, obwohl auch sein Andan-

29 Vgl. J.-J. Rousseau, Dictionnaire demusique, Paris 1768, S. 427. Diese Definition war urn
1830 durchaus noch aktuell; vgl. F . H. J . Blaze, dit Castii-Blaze, Dictionnaire de musique
moderne, Paris 1821 (Reprint: Geneve 1991), Band II, S. 235, wo Rousseaus Artikel wortlich
plagiert wird. (Den Hinweis auf die Herkunft von Castil-Blazes Formulierung verdanke ich
Jean-Jacques Eigeldinger.)
128 chopin

Ballade und Drama 123

tino zunachst nicht als besonders ,saillant" gel ten kann, vielmehr ergibt sich der
,effet" seiner neuartigen Komposition aus einer komplexen, die Konventionen
der ,Romance" radikal durchbrechenden Konzeption.
In diesem avantgardistischen Umgang mit formalen Modellen kann man
sicher auch einen entscheidenden Grund dafur sehen, daB Chopin Stucke wie
opus 23 oder opus 38 mit dem vor ibm in der Instrumentalmusik offenbar nicht
verwendeten Begriff ,Ballade" belegte. Der traditionelle Titel ,Romance" hatte
sich fur den hochgreifenden Anspruch dieser Kompositionen kaum geeignet, und
es ist gewiB kein Zufall, daB dieser Satztitel in Chopins <Euvre nur ein einziges
Mal erscheint, im Fall des langsamen Satzes des ersten Klavierkonzerts einen
lyrischen Ruhepunkt bezeichnend, dessen asthetische Daseinsberechtigung an
die Existenz der umrahmenden schnellen Satze gebunden bleibt. Zwar fuhrt eine
Untersuchung der Begriffsgeschichte zwangslaufig darauf, daB sich die Grenzli­
nie zwischen den Bezeichnungen ,Romance" und ,Ballade" immer wieder im
Unscharfen verliert 30, im Gegensatz zu der Position Christiane Engelbrechts31
ist aber daran festzuhalten, daB in fast allen Belegen der Gattungstitel ,Ballade"
einen hoheren Grad an dramatischem Gehalt und asthetischem Anspruch impli­
ziert.
Genau urn diese von hOchsten Anspruchen getragene Einbindung dramati­
scher Elemente in die ursprunglich eher von lyrischen Vorstellungen gepragte
und in einfachen Formen verhaftete 32 Gattung des Einzelstiicks fur Klavier ging
es aber Chopin bei der Komposition aller seiner Balladen. Mit epischen Struktu­
ren, wie sie in Schumanns poetisierender Asthetik evoziert und in Richard
Wagners Phantasmagorie des Musikdramas zu einem Hohepunkt gefuhrt wur­
den, hat Chopins <Euvre allerdings wenig zu tun. Insofern wurde bier konse­
quent auf den problematischen Begriff ,narrativ" verzichtet, der im Frankreich
des 19. Jahrhundert zwar auch den erzahlerischen Tonfall bestimmter Werke
bezeichnen konnte, heute aber uberdeutlich an Neologismen wie ,narrative"
oder ,narratologie" und formalisierte semiotische Theorien anklingt. Inwieweit
diese Theorie fiir die Analyse musikalischer Werke des friihen 19. J ahrhunderts
fruchtbar gemacht werden kann, ware zwar noch zu klaren, der allgemein
verbreitete und in seiner Anwendung auf Chopin kaum reflektierte Gebrauch
des Begriffs ,narrativ" impliziert jedoch eine fundamentale Bedeutung der ,role
of theme in musical narrative" 33 und einen strukturellen Umgang mit ,narrative

30 Vgl. W. Frobenius, Ballade (Neuzeit), in: Handworterbuch der musikalischen Terminolo­

gie, hg. von H. H. Eggebrecht, Stuttgart 1987.
31 Vgl. Engelbrecht, a.a.O.; zur Kritik an deren Umgang mit historischen Begriffen vgl.
Wagner, a.a.O., S. 44-45.
32 Vgl. C. Dahlhaus, Zur Problematik dermusikalischen Gattungen im19. Jahrhundert, in:
Gattungen der Musik in Einzeldarstellungen. Gedenkschrift Leo Schrade, hg. von W. Arlt, E.
Lichtenhahn und H. Oesch, Bern 1973, S. 848.
33 A. Newcomb, Schumann and late eighteenth-century narrative strategies, in: 19th­
century music XI, 1987/88, S. 166.
 chopin 129

124 Anselm Gerhard

strategies", die fur Chopins Kompositionen schlechthin nicht gegeben sind. So

nutzlich das Konzept des ,Narrativen" fur die Auseinandersetzung mit Kompo­
nisten ist, die wie Robert Schumann ganz offensichtlich auch strukturell an
literarische Modelle des Romans anknupften 34 oder wie Richard Wagner eine
originare Spielart des Epischen schufen, so sehr verstellt es im Fall Chopins den
Blick auf eine Tradition, die im romantischen Deutschland schon fast verschwun­
den, in lateinisch gepragten Landern wie Frankreich und vor allem Polen dage­
gen noch sehr lebendig war: Die traditionelle, vor allem von J esuiten uberlieferte
Lehrbuch-Rhetorik spielt zwar fUr Werke wie die Ballade opus 38 sicher eine
geringere Rolle, ist aber in ihrer Bedeutung fUr ein besseres Verstandnis von
Chopins Formdenken kaum zu uberschatzen, auch wenn solche Konsequenzen
von Detlef Gojowy35 und Mieczystaw Tomaszweski36 gerade erst angedeut et
wurden.
Angesichts der - im Detail noch zu beweisenden - Verwurzelung Chopins in
rhetorischen Traditionen mullte auch die oft diskutierte Vermutung, seine Balla­
den seien von den Dichtungen von Adam Mickiewicz beeinflullt, neu uberprlift
werden, zumal die Quelle fUr diese Behauptung, Robert Schumanns Rezension
von opus 38 in der Neuen Zeitschrift fur Musik von 1841, gewisse Zweifel
offenlallt. Denn so zentral konkrete poetische Anregungen in Schumanns litera­
risierender Kompositionsasthetik waren, so offensichtlich ist es, daB sie bei
Chopin - auBer im umstrittenen Fall der Balladen - keine Rolle spielen. Und
wenn man berucksichtigt, daB F riedrich Niecks unt er Berufung auf Chopins
Bekannten Teofil Kwiatkowski berichtet, Mickiewicz babe Chopin gedrangt,
,ein groBes Werk zu unternehmen und seine Kraft nicht mit Kleinigkeiten zu
zersplittern" 37, dann liegt die Spekulation nahe, Schumann babe als Gefangener
eigener poetischer Ideen einen gleichartigen Hinweis Chopins mehr oder weni­
ger unbewuBt miBverstanden.
Aber selbst wenn Chopin , zu seinen Balladen durch einige Gedichte von
Mickiewicz angeregt worden" 38 sein sollte, ist es unverzichtbar, die Untersu­
chung ihrer konkreten Erscheinungsform nicht auf eine motivische und formale
Analyse im Sinne der sogenannten , absoluten Musik" zu reduzieren. Nicht nur
im Falle der Balladen, sondern auch bei anderen Werken Chopins muB ein
interpretatorischer Zugriff in die Irre fuhren, der stillschweigend die Nahe zur
motivisch-entwickelnden Sonatenform eines Beethoven zur MeBlatte fur kompo-

34 Vgl. ebd., S. 169.

35 Vgl. D. Gojowy, Im Konzertsaal gehOrt: Frederic Chopin , Fantasie !-Moll op. 1,9, NZfM
CXXXXVI, 1985, Heft 6, S. 30-31.
36 Vgl. M. Tomaszweski, Die Fantasie f -Moll Op. 1,9. Genese, Struktur, R ezeption, in:
Chopin studies, in Vorbereitung.
37 F . Niecks, Friedrich Chopin als Mensch und als Musiker . Vom Verfasser vermehrt und
aus dem Englischen iibertragen , Band I, Leipzig 1890, S. 287.
3S Schumann, Chopin, a.a.O., S. 141 (Schumann, Schriften, a.a.O. , Band IV, S. 57).
130 chopin

Ballade und Drama 125

sitorische Qualitat macht, und neuerdings seine Abhangigkeit von asthetischen

Maximen der deutschen Romantik allenfalls durch Begriffe der modernen
Semiotik kaschiert. Besonders augenfallig ist dies bei opus 38, wo ein unreflek­
tiert germanozentrischer Ansatz Kritiker wie Gottfried Wilhelm Fink39, Schu­
mann und Busoni40 , aber auch Leichtentritt und Abraham entweder zu astheti­
schen Verdammungsurteilen verleitet hat oder bei hOchst unbeholfenen Versu­
chen Zuflucht suchen lieB, auch deren Konzeption fiir die sakrosankte Sonaten­
form zu retten41 • Im bewuBten Widerspruch zu Schumanns Werturteil, Chopins
zweite Ballade sei ,als Kunstwerk unter jener ersten stehend "42 , sollte hier aber
gezeigt werden, daB eine Ausleuchtung des Pariser Hintergrunds von Chopins
Schaffen in vielen Fallen zur Erkenntnis fiihren diirfte, daB die Werke des
polnisch-franzosischen Komponisten in entscheidendem MaBe von asthetischen
Prinzipien bestimmt sind, die nur der dramatischen Musik entlehnt werden
konnten.

39 Vgl. G. W. Fink, Friedrich Chopin [Besprechung der opp. 38 - 41], in: AMZ XLII, 1840,
Sp. 1043-1044.
40 Vgl. A. Rawsthorne, Ballades,fan tasy and scherzo, in: Frederic Chopin: profiles of the
man and the musician, hg. von A. Walker, London 1966, 2 1978, S. 42.
41 Vgl. H. Leichtentritt, Analyse der Chopinschen Klavierwerke, Band II ( = Max Hesses
Handbiicher LVIII), Berlin 1922, S. 12; G. Abraham, Chopin's musical style, London 1939,
S. 56-57.
42 Schumann, Chopin, a.a.O., S. 141 (Schumann, Schriften, a.a.O., Band IV, S. 57).
 8

AN ESSAY
ON

THE WORKS
OF

FREDERIC CHOPIN.
THE 1Lppeo.rance of a great light in this 11ge of music&!
quackery, is an event worthy the ~~otteutiou of all reflecting
follow~:rs of art-an incident not to be passed over, by those
whose task it may be to chronicle irnport.wt matters ere they
merge into obli'l"ion. The prevailing tone of the most popular
piano-forte cusic of tho present day is unhealthy and vicious
in the extreme. Morbid stmtimentalit~ bas usurped the pre­
rogatives Clf tcnderneRs and of passion, while passages of mere
finger-dexterity preside over what wa!l once the d'IYelling­
place of pure melody aull ingenious coqtrivance. The love of
beautiful and unaffected hormony seems wholly dea_d. in the
bosoms of modern composers, who, influenced by tho cleYer
tricl,ery deYeloped in the music of M. M. Thalberg, Czemy,
Herz, Dobler, tmd a host of others (the bare mention o(
whom is, to us, li ru ntter of infinite distaste,) think of nothing
but new modes of showing how an idea, in itself absolutely
phanta..<mul, shall be presented in new forms of clap-trap-shall
be arpeggioed into fresh showers of triviality. With the ex­
ceptions of FeliJo: Mendelssohn Bartholdy, Henri Reber, Steph81l
H eller, Adolph Honselt, Charles Mayer·, William Sternda.le
Bennett, and the subject of tho present essay, there i11 scarcely
an existing piauo-fc.rtc composer who does not repeatedly mis­
take and sub!ltitute inflation for energy-maudlin mock sentiment
for true feeling-vapid roulades, for natural brillhmcy.• The
abo~e are indeed honorable exceptions, and, ht>reafter, we pro­
pose to analyse thdr several compositions-to dilate upon their
styles-to e:r.plore the metaphysical tendency of their writings­
and to measure how far they intiuence the age which they ao
eminently adorn.
To begin then with Frederic Chopin, an illustrious instance
of pure and unworldly genius, of true and artistic intelligouce­
unbending to the polyhedric wand of motley fashion-despising
the hollow popularity awarded by an ill-judging and unre1locting
mob-laughing at the sneers of shallow critics, who, unable to
comprehend "the subtle-souled pschychologisms" of .real genius,
lay bare to the public their plenary ignorance, and, ill fitted to
appreciate the wtTitiated motiYes of exalted merit, e~ose the
dullness of their feeble capacity to the contempt of the ill­
natured and the pity of the wise. On surveying the enti~ works
of Frederic Chopin, we find their grand characteristic to be­
a profoundly poetic feeling, which inTolves a large degree of
the transcendental and mystic-is essentially and invariably of
• Moschelea himself, who some years ngo wrote a considerable quantity
of music that was at lt>a.st rt>~pel:tabll', and, if not clasalcal, was fully ln­
tt>nded to be w-hM fallen_,. from hi1 little hillo>ek down intc> the awamvy
and f01tid marabea of the Thalberg.t)obler achool;-but Mneclaele• ey~
•wlma with the Ude.
132 chopin

pueionate tendent:y, of melancholy impression, aud metaphy­

•ical colouring. Chopin does not carry oft" your feeling& by
ltorm, and leave you in a mingled maze of wonder and dismay;
he lulls your senses in the most delicious tepo!!e, inot.xicates them
with bewitching and unceasing melody, clad in the richest and
most e:xquisite harmony-a harmony "·hlch abounds in striking
and original features, in new and une::s:pectcd combinations. The
first works which Chopin presented to the world, though, of
course, not endqwed with the decisi¥e and indivuido.l chatacter
of his now perfected style, cle<- rly pronounced themselves the
offspring of a vigorous intellect-of energetic origaintive genius,
untrammeled by conventionalities, unfettered by l)Cdantry. As
he bas progressed, his style has grown up and expanded like
some goodly tree, which casts the shadow of exubenmt foliage
over a labyrinth of untrodden paths; a refuge for all beautiful
and fantastic a~apes--<:hildren of his etherial fancy, of his pliUltic
and glowing imagination. The extent and nriety of his works,
which are almost wholly devoted to the piano-forte, plainly indi­
cate the unequalled fertility-the o'·er1lowing luxuriance of his
invention-tae endless diversity-the unprecedented abundance
or his reSOUTCOI.
His CoNCERTOs-only surpassed, if indeed they be surpassed,
by those of the great Beethoven-are vast in their conception,
bold in their outline, rich in their motivos, minutely and dexter­
ously finished in their details. The first, in E minor, Op. 11,
(dedicated by Chopin to his friend and fellow-arti ~t, Kalkbrenner,
whose enthusiastic admiration of him and his works is as well
known, as it is frequently and ardently expresaP.d,) combines all the
passion and intense excitement of the great modern schools, with
the distinct plan, a.nd clear development, of the old masters; the
l<'arnin8 ol a Sebastian Bach is joined to the ideality of~ Men.
delssohn, the •ntiring melody of a Rossini, the mystic grandeur
of a Weber, and the dreamy restlessness of a ~temdale Bennett­
the whole coloured with the delicious peculiarities of Chopin's
own piquant and channing manner, seasoned with the infinite and
captivating grace& which distinguish and place him apart from, and
beyond &he reach of all other modern composers. This concerto
has been made known to the amateurs of music in England, by
the artist·like performance of Messrs. W. H. H olmllS, F. B.
Jowaon, H. B •. Richards, R. Barnett, and other distinguisped
memben of the Royal Academy, where it is a stock piece, a com­
plete cktVGl tk bataiUe, a last test of perfect execution and elaborate
expre88ion. The second Concerto,• in F minor, bas, in addition
to the above-named enviable characteristics, an originality so
marked, as to place it beyond the pale or all ordinary compo­
sitions ol the kind. Ha difficulties, though enormous, are amply
compensated ~v the fascination of its melody, the. richness of its
harmonies, aud the ingenious management . of its orchestral
accompaniments. This Concerto has been made :widely known
of late by the clever performance of that trul' little prodigy,
Demoiselle Sophie Bohrer, at the concert of Herr Anton Bohrer, on
which occasion its extraordinary merits received due appreciation.
• Fira•performe<ll.n England, aa ont< of the trlall for the King'• Scholar.
s!Up, at \he Royal Academy of Mu•ie, by Mr. Frederlo Bowen Jew•on, whG
ralnefl ..,. !leholan..ip OD the Ctll'UiOD.
 chopin 133

Next in importance to the Concertos, must be ranked those in­

imitable STOJ.IBS, which have effecteJ more for the rapid advance­
mont of piano-forte playing to the uttermost limits of perfection,
than a.ny elementary works that are extant. The universal recep­
tion of these, at all the great musical schools throughout EuropE',
is an irrefutable argument in favour of their intrinsic excellence.
They comprehend e,·ery modification of l\tyle necessary for the
attainment of a thorough mastery over the piano-forte; from tho
grand to the playful-from the grave to the gay-from the elaborate
to the simple-from the sublime to the beautiful-every shadow of
sentiment is depicted-every mood of passion-every divt!rsity
of phrase-is not merely touched upon, but thoroughly and effec­
th·ely accomplished. To obtain an entire cornman:t over these
splendid studies, (which command inYolves an undoubted mas­
tership over e,·ery ditficully that modem or ancient piano-forte
music pres~nts,) it is advisable to commence with a careful prac­
tice of the twenty-four PRELt;DES, through all the keys, (Op. 28,)
~·hich are evidently intended by th_ e composer as a preface to
his more elaborate work. These charming sketches might be
easily mistaken for some of the lighter effusions of Sebastian
Bach, from the remarkable adherence to the severe diatonic
school of progression:>, (smacking so strongly of the manner of
the old masters,) for which they are distinguished-suggesting
one proof among a hundred, of the largo range of Chopin's
musical reading, which eYidently has been directed to the works
of every composer whose labours are worth knowing. One thing
is certain, viz.-to play with prt>pcr feeling and correct execution,
the preludes and studies of Chopin, is to be, neither more nor less,
than a finished pianist- an <I, moreover- to comprehend them
thoroughly, to give a life and a tongue to their infinite and mos~
eloquent subtilties of expression ·- involves the necessity of
being in no less degree a poet than a pia.nist-a philosoplucal
thinltn than a musician. Common-place is instinctively avoided
in all the works of Chopin- a stale cadence, or a trite pro­
gression_: a. hnm-dnna subject, or a worn-out passage-a -vulgar
twi11t of the melody, or a hackneyed sequence-a meagre har­
mony, or a.n unskilful counterpoint-may in vain be looked for
throughout. the entire range of his compositions-the prevailing
characteristics of which, are-a feeling, as uncommon as beau­
tiful-a treatment, as original as felicitous-a melody, a.nd a
harmony, as new, fresh, vigorous, and striking, as they are utterly
unexpected, and out of the ordinary track. In taking up one
of the works of Chopin, you are entering, as it were, a
fairy-la.nd, untrodden by human footsteps-a path, hitherto un.
frequented, but by the great composer himself; a.nd n. faith ILnd a
devotion--a desire to appreciate, and a detenninatioR to urulerstand­
are absolutely necessary, to do it any thing like adequate justice.
As Coleridge remarks, in reference to the inspired truths of
Holy Writ,-"1'here are more beautiful things that .find us, (rather
than are found by us), more great ideas that come to us, (rather
than we go to them)," in tho com_positions of Chopin, than in those
uf almost a.ny other author existing or dead, if we except, per­
haps, Bach, BeethoYen, and Mendelssohn Barthuldy!
· Among the lesser compositions of Chopin, the" MAZl'Rtus,u
-those " cabinet pictures," as Liszt ha1 happily designated tbem
134 chopin

-those green ipOts in the deBert-those quaint ID&tohes of

melancholy aong-thoae outpourings or ll.ll unworldly and tristrul
soul-those musical doods of tears, and gushes of pure joyfuln~s•
-those exquisite embodymenta of fugitive thoughts-those sweet
complaints of unacknowledged genius-stand alone and unri \'alled.
These are wholly and individually creations of Chopin, which
none have dared to imitate, (for who, indeed, could aspire to
imitate that which is inimitable?) pourtraying in vivid colours the
patriutism and home-feeling or the great Polish composer, (we
neeu hardly remind our readers that Polo.ncl boasts the houor of
having given birth to Chopin,) affording Yent in passionattt elo­
quence, to the beautiful and secret thoughts of his guileleaa
heart. Of these there are eight sets, all of the rarest loveliness­
sparkling with genius- redolent with fragrant thought- very
nosegays of sweet and balnty melody. If we have a preference,
where all is beauty unsurpassed, it is for the first and sixth sets,
which for quaint and happy melody, rich and delicious harmony,
ingenious and novel treatment, are unrivalled since music was an
art. How otlen have we turned our laughter into tears-our tears
into laughter (for some are merry, some are sad) by the aid of tht>se
delicate idealisms, these sweet glimpses of a world far from our own,
"\Vbere music, and muon light, and beauty are~··-

these dear confessions of a bashful mind-retiring within the

mantle of its own loYcliness, from very modesty of its rare
deserts! How often have we soothed an anxious hour-healed
a mental grief-:tlattered a despairing lo·ve-raised up dreams of
EuoENIE, and all that is most heaven-ful-tro.nsported ourselves
to a di~tant realm of happiness-lost sight of this world and all
that it contains-by the simple administering to the desire of our
hearts, of one of these loveliest etfusions-gentle-oonsolatory­
melancholy-caressing-blooming, and fragrant buds or mingled
joy and sadness, which, on the ear,
" Sleep like the melodies of early days,"
and act a.s reposeful opiates to the embitt~red mind-as balm
to the wounded heart-as sweet ointment to the suffering sptrit­
as delicate reproval to excess of grief or merriment; -little
rivulets, which sport unseen, amidst the mountains and deserts­
laughing, or weeping, as they fiow along-innocent as childhood
-tranquil as unborn de11ire! H death were to summon us
to-morrow to our last home, we should be happy in its embrace,
could our soul but be soothed into eternity, by the balmy breath
of these breeze-like melodies,
•• As fair aa tbe f~bulous Aephodele,"
touching as the complaint of a love-lorn maiden-thrilling as th"
reciprocated ~pip3'gchoris of heart-gushings, bewitching as the
smile of Eugenic ! ! ! These channing bagateUes have been made
widoly known in England, through the instrumentality of Mr.
Moscheles, :M:r. Cipriani Potter, Mr. Kiallmark, Madame de Bel­
le'\;lle Oury, Mr. Charles Salo.man, Mr. W. Aspull, Mr. ·w. H .
Holmes, Mr. Henry Field (of .Bath), Mr. Werner, n.nd other
eminent pianists-who enthusiastically admire, and universally
recommend them to their pupils .
.Another intereating feature among the miacellaneoua worka of
 chopin 135

Chopin, ia comprised In the NocTt:RNES, a 1pecies of composition

which he bas carried out to a greater degret! of perfection thau any
other author. Ou these elegant sketches, all the finesse, all the
coquetry, all the infinitesimal delicacies, all the minute and ba1·ely
perceptible graces, which, conglomerated into a whole, foTID what
is termed STYLE, must be lavit;hed, in order to interpret fairly
tbt!ir infinite meaning-to develop completely their manifold
beauties." They are triumphant answers to the asperser.~ of Chopin,
who, from inability w seize his intentions, by reason of their in·
tense subtlety-who, from incapability of bringing out his phrases,
owing to a lack of the legato quality iu their plnying, are bold
enough to accuse him of a. deficiency in melody-a n'quisite,
which, strange to say, he pc>ssesses in a more ren1arkabl.:- degree
than any other living composer for the piano. To bear one of
these eloquent streams of purtl loveliness delivered by such
pianists as Edonard Pirkbert, William Holmes, or H enry Field,
a pleasure we have frequently enjoyed, is the very transcendancy
of musical delight. Every and each of these is a perfect gem­
we would not disparage the rest by giving a. preference to any
one of them-they are, without an exception, veritable chef(Ca:<~.vres
of their kind, and would ha~·e placed Chopin in the first rank of
modem compt>sers, hacl he indited nothing else. There are four­
teen of them, all of which are as dear to us as close relationship
can make them, and were we to be three days deprived of any
one of them, we should be ab~olutely melancholy, feeling toll·ards
them the sort of affection that li'C are apt to nttuch to such objects
as are fa.miliar and necessary to our well-being o.ud happiness.
In his PoLONAISE& too, of which be hn.s written seven, of
various lengths and forms, Chopin ha.s marched many strides
beyond tho vulgar track of the generality of such things. These
are remarkable for a boldness of. phraseology, a decision of cha­
racter, a masterly continuousness of purpose, and a sparkling
brilliancy of pa..,sage, which are entirely out of the reach of
second-rate thinkers-as is amply manifested by the failur11 of
one and all the attempts to ape tht~ir peculiarities, which are daily
issuing from the hands of the engravers, and die as soon as thoy
are born, causing the shelves of the publishers to groa.n undflr
excess of corruption and decay. Chopin, in his Polonaises, and
in his Mazurkas, has aimed at those characteristics wbich distin­
guish the national music of his country so markedly from that <Jf
all others-that quaint idiosyncracy-that identical wildness and
fantasticality-that delicious mingling of the sad and the cheer­
ful, which invariably and foreibly individualize the music of
those northern countries, whose languages delight in com­
binations of consonants, n.vcdf-hlzwrbms-wise, such as the
Russian and the l'olisb. As mere pieces of display, they are
equal, if not superior, to those noted compositions of the same
class, which bavtl proc.:Jeded from the inspired pet? of 'Weber- ·
and from the marked effect they always produce· on a. mixed
auditory, are. admirably calculated for drawing-room display, and
would most benefidally occupy the place now too oft.cn fiiled up
by the contemptible puerilities, blasphemed into importance, by
reason of their enormous assuruptlou, wiU1 which such musical
Ramo-Samees-such harmonic kni fe-swallowers-su('b crotcbettv
turnen of ·somersets, as Measieurs Thalberg, Dobler, and their
136 chopin

detestable tribe of empty followers, • belabour the ears, and dulleD

the understandings of the votaries of music.
Tht: W .lLTZES of Chopin are distinct from those of any other
composer, by reason of their more fluent melody-their b'l'~ater
length-their llllperior elaboration-their ampler resources of bar·
mony-and other charactrristics of an elegant and culti'"ated mind.
0 flhcse there are fi \·e, all of extrrrue bc11ut_v, and singnlar originality
-and far snperior to auy thing else of the class, extant. If we
ma.y be allowed to t:ntertain a prP.ference, we should select tha.t
exquisitely pla.intive morceau in A minor, {No.2 of "Trois Grand
Valses," Op. 34) which, from the first bar to the last, is of the
most unspotted loveliness-or that animated torrent of exultation,
"L' Invitation p()Ur la danse," which fur continued and energetic
brilliancy, for n·esh aud iuvigor~tting melody, bft.ll scarcely a parallel.
Besides the~e, there are the BALLADES (three of them), a
species of song withuut words, equal in their way to those of the
t·elebrated Mendelssohn, though in no way whatever, be it under­
atood, an imitation of them. They require an infinitude of varied
expression in their performance-a delicacy of touch-a surenesa
in the execution of passages-and a &inging tone, of which only
intellectual pianists can boast, but which a.re stringently imperative
in order to their entire appreciation. They will not endure a
alovenly, scra.mbling, uncertain mode of playing; tho performer
must think as a poet, and possess the power of giving a reality w
his impulses, lhrough the medium of rema.rkable manual dexterity.
We have fr::quently met with instances of very admirable !mn­
sicians, who have been excluded from the comprehension of
Chopin's music, simply from inability to render it exactly accord­
ing to the intentions of the composer, by r~&.!lOn of a want of those
finger-requisites, which are, at least. half the battle in the forma­
tion of a perfect pianist; labouring under this deficiency, they
have rashly denied Chopin that rare distinction 'With which the
first authorities in Europe have endowed him, until, chance
favouring thr.m to the hearing of one of hi11 compositions, correctly
and thoroughly mastered by some piani&t fk la premitfl j()J'ce,
they have immediately, and with the ready franlmess and liberality
only appertaining to real talent, owned the error of the impression
underwhicb tbeyhad been labouring,aud rankedthemsehes thence.
forward among the crowd of hie most enthusi11.11tic admirers. We
mention this especially, beca.use the BALLADES, more so almost than·
any others of the works of Chopin, absolutely insist upon a finish of
performance, only attainable by severe study, and a strong desire
to "read, mark, learn, and inwardly digest." "He tbat hath care
to bea.r let him h ear."-He who ente~s upon the study of Chopin's
poetical music with the heartlessness of an infidel, or the indiffer­
ence of a sceptic, 'Will be at a discount for his trouble; let him erase
his endeavours to attain, what, to him, FRO)f LACK OF FAITH, ie
unattainable; let him descend from the loftiest . clouds of ideal
• 1'\P.•e charlatans would never be tolerated in this country, were It not
for the mpport affordPd them in the press, by such inttati'f'e epouw.n of
h)'Perbole and r~nk n11osense, 811 the music~! critic of the •• Atheeneotn,"
who. "ever returning to his v<>mit," rnonotonously moutbe it, 8.11 though
Cloacinn vouchsafed him hl'r special and distinctive favor (Donciad, b. 2,}
Md ner re-coll~·cted his bygonu begt>ttinga from lbelr nearest goal.
" .Renewed by ordure'a aympathetlc forc.e.''
 chopin 137
7

sublimity1 und grovel amid the mire of the mindl••• mpmm•y

of the paptda·r .;omposers, and the unmythiclll in a.rt-Chnpin i•
beyond him. He, on the other hand, who approaches him with
a veneration, and a faith, and a love, pre-createrl by.the couplins
of anticipation and desire, will find, to his delight, his most extra.
vagant preconceptions realized, and will at once declare, that Chopin
is by far the most poetical, by many degrees the most purely
intellectual of modem piano-forte writers.
P erhaps one of the most extraordinary of' all the works of
Chopin, both on account of its exceeding originality, and its
strangely fantastic structure, is the grand SoNATA. , in the sullen
and moody key of B ~at minor. This wild and gloomy rbap·
sody is precisely fitted for a certain class of enthusiasts, who yould
absolutely revel in its pbantasmagorial kaleidoscope. At its first
setting off, it hurries you irresistibly into regions moontainoo•
and dreary, wht>re n o presence but that of the vulture reigns­
where the storms aro asleep, wro.pped in the embraces of the
clouds, and wrrible evon in slumber-where the torrents, tor­
men~ into a thousand conrsell by the jutting, and jagging, a-ad
twisting, and twirling, and rising, and falling, and smiling, and
frowning of the rocks-rush here and there, with a gush ins sound
of despair, aa of unburied ~pirits, or fretful maniacs in their cells,
submitting to fatality with a groaning and a gnashing that
licken the 1! .!art, and
" Make men tremhle who never weep"-
ao awful is the in(luence of their etornal plaint. _/As you proceed,
the scene beceoms darker and more terrible-the ruines are
peopled with distorted and grim-visaged figures-em bodied f'rights
-personified vices-crimes made manife11t in shape; the storms
awake-the clouds unlock their clasp and let them loose-the
fretful watflrs IU'e lashed into million-fold fury-the rocks cry out
with a hollow sound of inward pain-fires peflp from out the
mouths of the volcanos, o.nd make grimac-es at the warring ele­
ments-the thunder rolls down with a lazy but Tociferous bel­
lowing, pursuing with hopeless precipitation the S\fin. lightning,
whose course i11 felt, not seen, its presence in all space being
immediate-the sceno become11 one of mingled sublimity and
horror, and just as the imagination is to the highest pitch excited,
& silence suddt>n and deep-

A pool of treacherous and tremendous calm:._

comes over you as a dre!lm, and envelops you in ita soft embrace
-anon the silence is killed-new storms arise, and wage a
boisterous warfare, and the scene closes in elemeatal turmoil.
Such are the impressions to which we are subject under the
induence of this wonderful work-a very triumph of musical
picturing-a conquest over what would seeru it pe unconquerabl41
-viz.-the mingliug of the physical and metaphysical in music
-the sonata representing a dual picture-involving ltoth an
exoterical and an esoterical meaning-the battle of the actual
elements, and the condict of human passions-the first for the
multitude, the lu.st for the initiated.
In his Taw, for piano-forte, violin, and violoacello, Chopin
haa bad to contend against the popularity of the ligbar eft'u~ion!
of Reisaiger, wlticb are almost the life and soul of' the great
138 chopin
8

body Of amateun-and-a harder task still-against thf gor~t'OUI

imagination of a Beethoven, the earnest intensity of a Mend.,).
asobn, and the flowing facility of a Hummel ;-yet, we feel
bonnd to say, he bas succeeded in pl'oduciug a work which
steers clear of the peculiarities of each of the schools-the
tl.imsy, the poetical, or the strictly classical, as abo,·e eminently
represented-a. work of a mixed kind, that, were it more gene­
rally known, would be bailed with deli~ht by th~ lorers of this
most interesting and thoroughly domestic ~pecies of chamber
music. Its superior attractlou to the trios of Rcissiger depends
mainly on the higher beauly of the mat~rials of which it is
composed-sine(\, as a matter of mere execution, it is perfectly
within reach of the gt·~:at ma.~s of trio players. Its profonnJ
thoughtfulness will conduc,e t.l the elevation of the common
feeling for music of the g13neral amateur, and raise him in his
own estimation, by the mere consciousness o( his being · able
to feel and appreciate music of so grave and lofty a character­
while, on the other hand, it will facilitate his powers of execution
from the novelty of its form» of passage, and the ft·esl:ness of
its combination", which place it wholly apart front any work of
the kind hitherto produced. It is by no means so abstruse as
the Trios of BeothoTen, (the great oneR), still less does it tlmulate
the deeper intricacy o! those of Mendelssohn, and ful'lher ofT
than ever is it from the enormous complexities of the Trio in .E
minor, of Spohr-tbe only work of the kinll which ha.~ procecdt>d
from the fertile pen of that great mii.Ster. A tolerablt> pianist­
~ good second-rate Tiolinist-a!ld a. n10derntely-skilful vit>lou­
cellist-may easily mast€r this Trio, with satisfaction to them­
eelves, and pleasure to the bearers; and itA e:xcessin• beauty
cannot fail of conducing to its extended popularity, when once it
ehall become known. In regard to 3('Jle, it rcst·mbles neither
M ozart, nor Beethoven, nor Rummel, nor Weber, nor Mendelssohn,
nor Spohr, nor B.cissiger-but simply, it ill Chopin all over; and
to the admirers of Chopin-to the lO\'Cl'!! of his dl!licious captiva·
tioneofstylo-hisarchplayfulness-bishealthy11aivete-his happy
melancholy-his tender passion-his brilliant passage writing­
his quaint harmonization-his ingenious contrivance-n.nd hh;
fresh, tiower.like, balmy, inspiring, delic11te, subtle, pas,oionate,
and soulful melody-an ever-tlowing stream, which falls into
Mme far ocean of infinite sound, where all divinest strains are
tl.oating, like naiads, on the bosom of the waters-to these, it will
be a draught of veritable nectar-a heart's feast of passion and
beauty, with which their souls will be filled as with an atmosphere
of luscious breezes-refreshing-fragrant-bracing-exhilarating
and contentful-to these it will be a real lovc.gift.
We must next speak of the ScsEa.zos of Chopin, of which there
are three, each (lesorving indh;dua.l notice, both on account of
rare merit and distinct character. The first, in B minor, known
in England a.s "Le Banquet Infernal," has 11. wildness and a
grotesquerie about it, which, in addition to its immense difficul­
ties, will pn!vent its immediate 1\pprcciation by an.v but thorough
musicians. A careful investigation, however, of the m att;> riah; of
which it is composed, cannot fail of' inducing a r.omprchen~ion of
what, at first, might have app~'~tr~d almost incompreh ensible, and
''"'' once obtnined, the p11th is open to the hearty admiratior,
 chopin 139

which must inevitably follow. With Chopin's mush,, it ia often

that tho ~t.ellect must be satisfied before tho heart can bo touched;
but onee obtain the sanction of the intelligence- once render
clea.r the artful labyrint,l.l which the philosophical composer baa
imagined-once catch a sight of his design and encompass his
meaning-and enthusiasm immediately usurps the place of frigid
analysis-the heart sits on the throne but n ow occupied by tho
judgment. Wo know no better instunce of what we have
often as&t!rted to our musical friends- viz.- that in Chopin'11 music,
who.t frequently appears dryest and most unimiting on a first
and superfi cial acquaintance, becomes, on a. closer intimacy, mat­
ter of surh evident and undeniable beauty, 'that you are astonished
how you c!luld ever ho.ve pre!'lumcd to question its supremRcy, or
doubt of its transcemlaut C:i:cellence. Aud L!o, this Schorzo in
D minor, · which at first appears crude aud obscure, in process of
time t'omes out as clear as the noon, without 11 specl' or fla.w,
without, in fact, l l single blemish of any kind; and we vtmture to
predict, that. those, who aL .first will hardly be persuuued to look
into it, terrified by its seeming vagueness and complexity, will, in
the end, make it a stock-pieco for performance, eithc1· at home or
abroad. The second Scherzo in D 1lat, though not a whit less
mystic~\! and abstruse, is infinitely less sombrll than its predcr.cssor,
and is likely to encouuteralargernumberof admirers, bolh on a tirst
acquainta'Rce and after a longer intimacy. I t is in l.he brilliant
style, and for pure effect is ~>qual to an y of the most. popular
pieces of Thalberg, besidt:s being imm easurably superior, in a
musical point of view, to any tbiug which that over-rated composer
has ever produced. The third Scherzo in C sharp minor, is tho
most rtcMrchls of the three, a.nd altogether ono of the roost
extraordinary of the works of Chopin. For wild and unearthly
E(randeur, it may vie '1\ith the best movements of tl1e same kind
that have proceeded from the pen of Beethoven, aud though ex-.
travaganUy rhapsodical in its outline, and almost catachrestical
in the strangeness and rude texture of its motives, it lacks n one
of the essentials of classical and fine music, being symmetrical
iu its wandering, appropriate in its oddity, (for it will be admitted
that n. grott>sqne l!ubject must require grotesque handling-and
here both subject and handling are grotesque,) continuous in its
mysticism; exemplifyiJ1g in short roost admirably, the gold.m
precept of Horace-
" SIB I CONBTET,"

which invaluable and eternal muim, the Tery super-quintessence

of all artistic truth , per!Uits men of real genius to roam al1out in
regions, with safety and consistency, where the less gifted, must
inevitably flounder, and becom e sport for the laughtt'l' of the flc'o rn­
ful, and the pity of the philosophic few. There at•; here and there,
scattered throughout this Scherzo, uncouthnesses of h~Lnnouy,
and false l'l'latio n~<hjps, 'vhich hyperclitical furri,ers-out of
blemishes might perhaps carp at, but which we pass uy respect­
fully, 1\S the idiosyncracies of a great man, pulling iu old H orace
once more to om ni<l with one of his oracular and immortal sayings,
"-Ubi plum oitent in carmine, oon ego pauMa
Otfcodar l!laculis."
Who shall say that the sun is lC's!' bright, because, forsooth, there
hAvP. be~>n spr t<.: di!ICOYt'rcd on its s urfact.·, hy PlJ!le ro11lo-liko·
140 chopin
]II

vi1 i l·; ·" 'l' Ill' :-~, w Ito (t<. 11 ••· 1Ji,· s:t : i ri.: td .. hsP.rrativn of \ 'oltllire in
hi.; ' ' Microm. · ~;~ s" l•.•vdl•:•l at J•OM Fontcndlc) 011l pris Ia 11aturl'
sur le fait. ])u any nf the"c "P'•t-st.•ekers coml'rchend the sig.
nifi,·at i••n o f the sput,; auy mor•· tlulll of tl1e liJ.(ht it~elf :• \Vu
cnn ~af,·l~- a11-owcr ~ <J. LPt thPm then .cen<;e tt> imitate Yaninus,
(who, het'au~•· hC' Ct •mpr,·hl' w\·~,1 not, und railed, was burnt ll'J an
Athci;-;t by thC' wrr t..:!Jcd J, •ctnrs of the Sorbonne, though literally no
Inli,i<·l, but a simple srcf•lic)-let them csc.hc;" their pryings into
th•~ eJ!igirs rerum, tutil kc•cp their e~·es steadily directed to tht1
on111iprcst' t1t ii;:ht, xud they will find, that, as tho sun's brightness
can be !'.eeu thn.mgh tlhJ bodirs of tloc dark ,;potR on its sm·face
(whit'h though dark, are transparent) M) the inspiration or Chopin,
oozrs thr<>ngh, and covers with gl.>ry, the few ~pecks that lloat
upon it!; vao; t t'xpnnse uf light..
'Ve now cowe to thto 'L\RAl'ITELJ.A, Op. 4:3, which, for sparkling
animation antl u:·liciClt•' 1Y characteristi c gaiety, has no cowprtitor
nmong the !'i ruallcr W(l rks of Chopin. WI.' can liken thi!! ('harm·
ing ~ketch to nothing so appropriatoly as to one of the delica.~
pictures of our English Uwins, by whose p<'n<:il the Tarantella
ha<: been so often r•' n•lerrd poetical, in t.ht• purest ;-;ense. As we
pro.-.' ed ·w ith the Tarantella of Chopin, we are gazing all the
while, mentally, on the canvag of lh·in!!, and our doubt is solely
with whom to adju.-lgl' the preference-a doubt which, merge~
into a certainty or the ab!-'olute and entire equality of painter
and musician, n grratcr c•,mplimt>nt than which could scarcely
b•) paid to either. This piece is in the key of A flat mojor,
of itsdf a new f<·ature-ft~r, till now, we never heard of n Taran­
tclln in otb~r than a miuor kt·y. However, Chopin shows us that
bo can render the major n'ode n~ supple and brndablc as the
mit!Or-as Tarantellish an•ltwist-a.b ont-ablc- as mournfully gay
and sparkling!~' melancholy- the true characteristics of that
singular national dance. The time is presto, ann the thcmP., in
lll!·I•Jdy ns !>imple as the first n;xiom in mathematics, is rendered
pit1uant and apician by the asr;ist.a.nce of the most tar;tcful,
sn.vour_v, and palate-tickling hnrmonietS conc.eivu ble. 'l'hf. course
or this siurplc motivo liPs through a world of e>olving prob'l'Cssions
- among th e intricacies or which it is conductt:<l on the !>ttpple
l:!houlders of a rolling accompaniment of light-footed triplets,
which bear away their delicious burden, with all the deliJ:(ht or a
lo,•er carrying his mistress to the world's end-nnon caressing
it,. and kil'sing it teudl'rly-anon co4uetting with it, au,! leaving
it to its owu guiuancc- anon ru~hing back to it as rapidly
"As comds to the eun"-
!liiOil embracing it, and hugging it with dose ampl t!ctilude, ex ­
emplifying mystically the arcana or psychical anasto111osis-the
f!ynarthrics of intP.llectual romprehension- till joyfully and
tleetly they bear it to thC' end of its j o urney, on the wings of an
irresistible and imflammable p<'dnl jM$Sago, l>hich is ,.nougb to
lift you off your feet with bare excitement. Wo could play this
Tarantella for c,·er, and yet-ongbt we tlot to be ashamed to
conies.~ it-until we hcRid it interpn•ted b_v tho master linger of
Mr. Henry Field (of Bath)-we di!;trusted ond miscomprchended
it! All bail to thee, llenry Field !-If thou hadst efl'e eted
nothing el!:!e to win our regard, th e commentary which thou hast
given us 011 this Yivid flash or lightning-like g<:uius, would have
11ufliced to awaken ~~11 onr eympntbies in thy favM ~
 chopin 141
11

The I~PRO.MPTUii of Chopin, ot which thoro are two, are

remarkable for the laustT allcr, which ahould invariably oharac­
terize com~ositiona partaking in a great measure of the essentiel
of improvtsa.tion. They also presP.nt, in an eminent degree,
another featuN, no less necesl'ary in the strncture of such pieces,
viz.-a continuity of feeling, distinguished from monotony by
the skilful manner in which the at tist develo-p s his resources.
Thus a certain subject is given out, and is diversified, traus­
mogrified, modified, beautified, abstrusified, simplified, &c·. &..:.
ad infinitum-not through th~ medium of fugal treatmt-nt, but
simply by the artful management of its progressions, and the
varied contrivance of its harmonics. N othingca.n be more delicately
playful than the first impromptu, in A fiat, with its graceful
episode in F minor, wherein Chopin, by the happy usage of the
OT1klmental, sh1ws _himself a perfect mastt>r of this, as of all
other modifications of style-and nothing more glowing and
impre~sive than tho second-in F sharp major, an unusual key,
but rendert>d wonderfully effective in tbe band!! o ~ Chopin.
Of tho RoNnos and lighter effusions of Ct>opin, i~ the purely
brilJi,mt style, we shall merely state, that tbey possess all the
requisites for effective display, which are thr prt-posscssing charm
of the great m~(lrity of the writings of Herz and his sehoul, in
audition to those more solid qualities that appeal to the under­
standing, and afford that improvement to the mind, which in such
music is ordinarily confined to the fingers. The R ondo, in C
minor, Op. l, (known to us in England as the" ..drlieu a Varsovie,")
is an admirable specimen o{ the brilliant and solid styles most
felicitously combined, a.nd, in the bands of a tolerably skilful
pianist, can hardly fail of producing a powerful effect; since, in
addition to the brilliant flow of its pas11ages, it possesses a most
exquisite and ceaseless vein of melody which pervades the entire
composition-directly in the motivos-indirectly (but not the les.s
apparently) in the passages, The R ondo ala Mazurka, in F
major, Op. 5 (known in England as " La Posiana") is remarkable
for the most picturesque and striking character - and the
"Krakowiak," or Grand .Rondeau de Concert, in 'tho same key,
Op. 14, is one of these surprising feats of digital agility, which,
in the bands of Chopin, are rendered so piquant and enticing, as
to induce ~ most scrutinizing critic to lay aside his cynism, and
listen with unfeigned delight. The Bolero, in A minor, which
has been somewhat aptly christened" Sotwmir de rAndalousie," is a
delicious specimen of that meUe of the sad and cheerful, in which
none have so frequently and so happily indulged as the subject
of this notice. The motivo is rife with the peculiar feeling of that
quaint national da.nce, and in its treatment the thoughtful
composer n ever once loses sight of the character which is indicated
by the first eight bars of his work, continuing it to the close with
masterly ingenuity and untiring fancy. How few there are happy
enough to possess this en~iable power of continuity, those who
do posse!ls it best know; ond those who do but knc•w, provided
thtly also know the works of Chopin, must admit, withnut hesita.­
tion, his supremacy in this, the highc~t attribute of the musician.
Among the mi scellnn ~ou~ pieces of Chopin which wo have
not individualized in detail, none han~ nff<•rded us morH gratifi­
cation than the "GR .\ND :FANTAsu," in A fiat maj or, Op. 49,
142 chopin

dcdicllted to the Princesa de Sonzzo,one or the hut or the pu blishe<i

work.- of Chopin. Tbis is a complete l·oncert piJ..:c, and ita
elf~ct under the hands of a finished viauist must be tran11cenuant.
AU t.he covete•l, c:onn~ntional, cato.cbrcstical, concurrcntial, coinci­
dent., and convolutionarv crudities, which can be classed under
the C>\put of modem difficulties, are here in rife abundance-are
here exemplified, and consummated to perfection-are here in­
creased and multiplied, &..'1 the locust.<~ unrler the rod of Moses.
Thalbcrg himself, the licensed conrocl<'r of passages unplayable,
may hide his diminishotl head ;-Liszt, his giant riYal, may cry pec­
cw:Jvi I for one and the other are fairly beaten at their own weapons.
If the i!Uellectual bo the highellt order of music-if the J>Octiccd
be an e<JSential in art-then it must be allowed, by all who
know enough of the works of Chopin, that, among modem
writers of piano-forte music, he reigll.8 pre-eminently without a
rival. The pre3ent '·itiated hankering after mere mechanic11l
difficulties cannot by any possibility last-it must of necessif¥
wear itself out, for it has nothing substantial enough in its
r~WUriel to preserve it from decay-nothing tough enough in it"
texture to be endurable. Tht:J popularity, once so widt~ly ex·
tended, of Herz-i!l now only a name-a thing which wa~, bot is
not-a mere memory of the past. Thalbcrg is at present where
Herz wus of vore-at the heacl or the" manual dexteritv school;'"
-his music baa little to recowmend it, beyond a new inethod o(
passage-twisting, which, v.ith its hundred modifications, comes
out into what may be wrmed a manneri.!m, liable to imitation,
C10m its excotv>ive grossierte, and monotonous sameness. This
mannerism has imitators, whose name is "legion," and whose
lucubrations are quite as good as those or Thalber@", the original.
But r~ally fine mu11k cannot be imitated-muc.h les!l t!qualled by
those who attempt to mimic its character. :For example, who ever
heard of an attempt to imitate the P<utoralt, or a.ny one of the
symphonies of Beethoven; and 11rbo ever dreamed of an imitation
of one or them equalling its model in merit1 And so it It! with
the music of Chopin-to endeavour to equal which, by aping it~
most manifest characteristics, were an utterly profitless expt~ri ­
ment. Chopin is a vigorous and original thinker, and to write
like Chopin involves the necessity of being endo,.·ed with the
invention and impulses of Chopin, without v; hlch, a mere effigy­
a mere pluter-of- Paris imitation of life is the result. In fine,
Chopin is a composer or decided and individual genius, and
cannot be mimicked by the children of mediocrity.
The strange delight we bavt~ experienced from the music of
Chopin, may in part oo traced to the melancholy which invests
it aa a garment-and which is mysticnlly sympathetic with our
own peculiar temperaments. It m~~okes us dream of a happy past­
mourn oYer a sad present-and yt>arn for an undefined futuro!. h
lays, as it were, our entire life before u11 1 in a tripartite picture.
It depict.s all the most comprehensive feelings of the three ages
of man-IN•·ANCY, with its innocent sports, and vivid starts of
evanescent pain and anguish-with it.s put, present, and fnture,
all combined within tho Umits or an hour-with its loves, its
hates, and indilferences, 110 fleeting and un!ltable u to merge into,
and become confounded one with the other-"·ith itt smilea
about notbin:g, its eight about nothing, its tl'ars about nothing-
 chopin 143
IS

.nth its ro!y cheeks, ancl cherub looke;-h~&ppy, h&ppy, infancy!­

YotJTB, with Hs passions, qnick with newly obtained life-it'
yearnings after, and its worsbippings of the indefinite-its pinings
for a mate, a EuGEI'iiE 1 to pour out its soul to, and idolize, as a
God of its own creation, the dr.spair of exile or of satiety;­
burning, burning, youth !-MANHOOD, l\itb itS philosophy, and
its scepticism- its iuuifference to all but itaelf-its cares for ex­
stence-its sluggish apathy- its habitl of resen-e-itl contempt
for the ideal- its DERISION OF THE PAST-anu ita religious hopes
of futurity ;-fri~oid, frigid, manhood !-every phase of this triad
of our sublunary existence bas .found eloquent utterance in the
music of Chopin, the poet-philosopher, who rea.Us men's hearts
as in a book-interprets their bidden thoughts as a sage-and
raises up images of transceuclant loveliness, us with tht~ wand of
an enchanter!
Chopin bas the peculiar git\ (so rarely granted to muaicians)
of attracting the attention and exciting the admiration of philoso­
phers and poets, as well as of the votaries of his own art; it would
be difficult. to name a writer of any note in Paris, that is not an
lnten11e worshipper ofhia geuius; indeed, one can hardly tum to a
romance !>f the present day, without finding some allusion to him
or his works. In the fine roman de Provi11ce, "Ursule Mirouet,"
one of the latest works of the celebrated De 'Balzac, the creator
of the Ra.stigna.cs, the Gosbecks, the De Maraays, the De 'l'railles,
those types of distinct races, all true, though all idf'al; the master
or French fiction, whose " Peau de Chagrin," " Pere Goriot,"
" Eugenic Grandet,'' " Maitre Cornelius,.. "Cesar Dirotteau,"
and other chef d'reunt>s, ha;e gained for him so lol\y a place in
modem literature-in "Ursula Mirouet,.. one of those exquisite
pictures of provincial life, which only De Balzac can draw, we find
the following highly complimentary allusion to Frederic Chopin:­
"n eziste m tCfllte musiqve, outre Ia pen•k du compositeur, l'&me tie
r tzecul4nt, qui parun privilege acqvu uukment a cet ort, ptul donner
du urtl et dt Ia poefie a dt' phraus 1an1 graNde valeur, Chopin prouv8
oujourtfhui, pour fittgrat piano, la veriU dt ce jau tfeja tkmontre
pur Poganini pou1' k r.iolon. CE BEAU GENIE EST :MOINI UN
:MUSICIEN QU'tli'1E A'ME QCI SR REND SENSlBLE BT QUI SE COM·
MtJNlQliER.UT PAR TOtJTZ ESPBCE DE MUSIQUZ, MEME PA1l DBI
IIIMPLB8 ACC01lDs." This from such a writer aa De Balzac, one
of the most chary of mentioning his compatriots in any of hie
works, and withal the first poetical authority in France (if we
except, perhaps, :Victor Hugo), is worth a thousand times more
than all we could say of Chopin, ho"ever enthusiastically we
might feel, and h owever hyperbolically we might clothe our feel.
ingsln words. A compliment from De Balzac is so rare a thing,
and De Balzae is so rare a man, that bad we not alrea.dv formed
our con;iction wi4h regard to the superlative merit or Chopin, we
ahould have been highly curious to dive into the depths of a
genius which bad so struck the imagination of a poet like De
Balzac. Chopin himself is, to our knowledge, the most modest
and retiring of beings; though fully conscious of his superiority
over the great majority of his contemporaries, by bii exct!saive
reserve and marked retirednees of demeanor, h e hu won the
suffrage of all his brother artists, who look up to him as a star for
wiae men to follow, a.e an idol for univerealwoubip.
144 chopin
14

The philoaophical and poetical tendency of the writinga of

Chopin is so manifest, and its consideration, in pa.o;sing judgment
on them critically, so enticing, that we are apt to forget, what, to
the multitude, is of infinitely more importance-viz.-thcir use­
fulness in the development of the band, and iu the production of
ths.t finished execution necessary for the formation of a perfect
pianist. First, then, it is an admitted fact, even by such as dis­
pute his supremacy a~ an intellectual composer, that tho 'vorks
of Chopin effect more for the enhancement of pure finger dex­
terity-do more towards producing equality of touch-lend more
n:;:;istance towards the attainment of flexibilitY of the wrist, it
stndied with undin.iuished assiduity-than th-ose of any other
Ul&.:!ter whatsoever. Thns they are emineutly St'rviceable, even
to inexperienced performers; while to the finished and well-read
vianist, from the startling novelty of their progressions, and the
<ttiginal toumurc of their passages, they pre~ent a totally new
fi eld for practice-au altogether unexpecLed channel for the
development of powers hithertn latent aud unexercised. It is
yuitc certain that auy one who possesses sufficient command ovor
thll instrument, 10 enable him to e-xecute the works of Chopin
properly, and with the feeling intended by their composer, bas it
in his power to play whatever else, of whatsoever difficulty, of
nny other author, that may chance to be placed before him. The
compositions of Chopin leaYe no species of difficulty unprovided
for-no peculiar figure of passage unexplored-no cunning twist­
ing of an antique cadence untried-so that in matter of execution
their utility i:; universal, and. a careful practice of them is of con­
summate importance. To shew bow various is their tendency,
and bow general their applicability to the purpose of attaining
universality of style ll.pd infinite diversity of executh·e power, we
will, merely for the convenience of our readers, endeavour to
throw them into classes and sections, so that those wedded to
peculiar species of music may all know wh('re to find something
to their taste, and that something, of the highest order. of merit.

CLASS I.-FOR PIANISTS OF THE FIRST FORCE.

SECTION THE FIRST.
TBI BRILLURT AlfD Dli.Al'URA ITYLI.
"Homm~~ge a Mozart" (vnriationa on " La ci Darem ") ••••••••.• Op. 2.
Flnt ConcPrto, in E mloo'r, dediCRted to Kalkbrenner ••.••••••••• Op. 11.
Fantasie Brillante, sur ties llirs NationauJO: Polonais ••• ••• ..•.•..•• Op. 13.
•• Krako"iak." Grand Rondo de Concert, in F major .............. Op. 14.
Second Concerto, in F minor .......... . . .. ........... . .. . ....... Op. ~J.
"Grande Polonai!e BriiiMte," in E 6at . .••• ..•••••.•.•..•....• .. Op. 2~
These have all Orr.heetral Ar.cornpaniment&; the re10ainder of this
Sedion nre Solos.
Second Grand Polonaise, in F eharp minor ... .. •.. ....••..... .... . Op. 44.
AUegro de Coucert, in A mJ\jor • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •• • • • • . • • ...... Op. 46.
SECTION THE SECOND.
THE METAPHYSICAL AND POETICAL JITYL&.
Firat Scllen:o. in B minor ..................................... . .. Op. 20.
(Known in England aa " I,e Banquet Infernal.")
Serond S!'berzo, in D tlat ......... ................ . ........ . ..... Op. 31.
Third St'ht•rzo, iu C shnrp minor ...... .... ......... . .... ..... ... Op. 39.
Grnnd Sonata, in B flat minor .•.•.......•..........•• . •..•...... Op. 3b.
Grnnd }'antrv<ia,ln A Oat ••.••.......••. • ..•...••...• . •••. : ••..•. Op. 49.
1'1u~ee are not a whit IPe& difficult than the precedln8" Ser.tion, bot are
,,( t1 morl\ '!'ravP. and thonjlhtfol r.h:uacter, addreesing themaelvea
prini'Jpnlly to the imlls-inatiom and tbe intellect.
 chopin 145
16

CLA~~ n.-J'OR PU'NIITI OF THB IXCOND rORCE .

(Still difficult, though much leas so than the First Clasa)
SECTION THE FIRST.
IN TR B BR~ Vt>RA 8TYL1l.
"Adieu 1 Varsovl{'.'' Rondrau, in C minor •.•......•.• ••.• . •.... Op. I.
"La Poslana,'' Rondeau a Ia Mazurkn, in F ml\ior ....•.....• ••• .. Op ~.
Rondeau ElegiUlt. in E fiat, dedicntt>d to Mile; Hartmann ...•...... Op. Ill
Firat .3all&de,ln 0 minr,r . • . . . . .• •• .. •• . . . . .. . . . . . . . . . . ........ Op. 23.
(Known in England as "La Favourite.'')
Deux Polonalsts . .............. .. ..... .......................... Op. 26.
Deux Nocturnes (Fourth Set of Notturoos) ..•.............••.... Op. 27.
(Known in Eugland as "Lea Plaintlves. '')
First Impromptu, in A flat .................. .... . ... ....... ..... Op. 2!1.
Firat Grand \Vnltz, in A flat •. •• ....•.....••.•• •.• •••• • .••••. .. Op. 34.
Seoond Impromptu, in F sharp ml\ior.. • .......................... Op. 36.
Second Balladc, in F major .................................. . . .. Op 38.
(Known in Eu~lanrl as '' La GradeU6e. ")
Deux Polonaise&, dedicated t.n Jules Fontana ... . .......... . ....... Op. 40.
Third Ballade,ln A flat ............................. ... ......... Op. 47,
Nocturne, in C minor • . . . .................................. Op. 48.
SECTION THE SECOND.
IN THK SXPR£SSI'I'& AND LEGATO 8TYL&. ·
Trois Nocturn~;:(First and Second Sets of Notturuoa) .•••.•.•.••• Op. 9.
(Known in Eugland as "Les Murmurea de Ia Seine'')
Trois Nocturnes (Third Set of Notturnos) ........................ Op. 13.
(Kown in England as "Les Zephyrs.")
Dena Nocturnes (Fifth Set of Notturoos) .................... .... Op. 32.
(Known In England u "II Larntnto," and "La CoiiSOlazione.'')
Deux NocturJlt:S (Sixth Set of Notturuos) ....................... Op. 37.
(Known in England as "Les Sonpirs. ")
Tht'Se last two Sets of Norturrocs are more difficult than IUIJ other
Items in this section, requiring intense expreaaloo, united to gTeat
tommaod over the Instrument. Their ditliculty Is not howeYer
anftlricntly remarkable to admit of our placing them in the 1st Clua.
Prelude, In E ml\ior .............................................. Op. 46.
Nocturne, in F minor ................... ... ...... .... ............ Op. 48.
SECTION THE THIRD.
. Jlf TUB CBAB~CfBBIIITJC DBAN~T~C ITYL&.
Tarantelle, In A fiat ............................................ Op. 43.
First Set of Mazurkas ................................ ........... . Op. G.
Serond ditto ........................... . .......... . ............. Op. T.
Third ditto ........................................ .... .......... Op. 17.
Fourth ditto ... ..... .................. .......................... Op. ~
Fifth ditto ...................................................... Op. 30.
Sixth ditto ............................... ... .......... . ......... Op. 33.
Seventh ditto .................................................... Op. 41.
Eighth ditto ........... .. ....................... ...... .......... Op. :10.
Theee are all known In England under the denomination of •• S01nenir
de Ia Pologne;" the Sevt>nth Set le wore abstruse and tlifticult than
the rest. and the Eighth is comparatively easy.

CLASS III.-FOB. PU.NISTS OF ORDINARY I'OllCB.

SECTION THE FIRST.
IN TUB BRILLI~NT STYL&,
IJltroduction and Polonaise, in C meJor .•........••.••••••••••••• Op. 3.
(Known in England as "La Ga!U. ")
Bolero, in A minor ....... . ...... . ............. .. .. ........ ...... Op. 19.
(Known in England as "Souvenir del' Andaloll8le.")
Grande Valr~e, in A fiat ......................................... Op. 4ll.
SECTION THE SECOND.
IH TUB LlOBT AIID A!IIU811'10 lrTYLB.
"L'lnvitatlon pour la Danee." (Grande Valse Brillaute,,ln E fiat) .• Op. 18.
Grande Valse, In ·A minor (No. Z of 3) ........................... Op. 34..
Granda Valao, in F mlljor (No.3 of 3) ..................... . ..... Op. 34.
146 chopin
16

The TwEI'TT-Foua GRAND Pa•Lonn,Op.28, through all the

keys,and the Twt.:MTT -FOUR GRA.MD STUDIES, Ope. 10, 24, 2.'i,
form a COJOplete class of themselves, of gnat utility, nay ot
absolute importance to pianists of t>very calibre, as being thf'
most perfect "chool of execution and c:rpression in existenc«'.
They illustrate evr.ry conceivable difficulty, and besides embracing
all that had been previously (but much less comprehensively)
enforced, in the studies of Cramer, Steibelt, Woeltl, Clementi,
Mosoheles, Hummel,Czemy; Herz, Bertini,-and later-in those
of Tbalberg, Dobler, Liszt, Hiller, Henselt, Mayer, Kessler, Woltl~
Dreyschock, Moscheles, and Stemdale Bennett-they touch npo: 1
peculiarities, which have since become embodied In moder.t
piano-forte playing; bat were unthought of until the appearanc'
of tht' studies of Chopin. In short, we think few will be incline l
to deny the unequivocal supremacy of the studies of Chopin over
all others that have preceded or succeeded them.
:Many of the best of the works of Chopin have been ably
adapted for two performers on one piano-forte by himself anti
and others, and in this form the greater part of., them are easil~
accomplishable by pitlll!sts of moderate pretensions. These mo.)
be divided into two dl\~ses-the difficult, and the moderately
difficult. They are as follow:-

CL_-\SS I.-THE DIFFICULT.

"Ad~u ~ Varsovie," Rondeau. inC minor ........ o....... o.... oo.Op.
"La Gaile.'' lutruduction and pnlunai:u~ brillaote, iu C w11jor Op. 3 0 ... ..

"Rondeau el ~gRnt," in E flat major ..... o..... oo .. •o .. o.... oOp o 16

0 0 .. .

"Souvenir d'An<lalusie," Bo!rro, In A minor .......... .. ooo ... o•• •Op. 19

"Grand Polonaise," in G mejor Oo o... o•o • o........
0 0 .. . o... Op. 22 0 °0 ..

Twclve grolOd Studio•&, lu two books (II!Tanged by J. W. Davison).•• Op. 10

Twelve grand Studies, in two books ........ (ditto ditto) ............ Op. 25
.,. Bl\llade" (Firat) in 0 minor ............ (ditto ditto) ............ Op. n
"Ballllde" (Second) in F ml\ior .......... (ditto ditto) ............ Op. 98
"Ballade" (Third) in A flat wejor .. (ditto ditto) ...•..•..... Op. 47
o •• o • •

CLASS H.-THE )IODER.&.TELY DIFFICULT.

Two Notturnoe, in B mejor and A flat m:ijor ...... (ht set) ........ Op. Sl
Notturnos, ln B mejnr. o .............. (2nd aet) ........ Op. Sl
.... .......

Two Notturnos, in B flat minor and Ell.at~or... . (3rd set) •..•• • •• Op 15

Two Notturnos ........... o ...................... (4th Ael) ........ Op 27
Two Notturnoe .............. o ...................(:Ot.h set) ........ Op. 3ll
Pint aet ol Nasurkas .. o............... o..... . oo..... o......... ooOp. I)
Second set of Mazurkas .......................................... Op. 7
Tbird set o( Mazurkas ............. • o .. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Op. 17
Fourth set of Munrk.u .......... oo..... o• o......... 0 Op. 24
............

Fifth eet of l\Jaztukae ..... o...... (arranged by J. W. Davlaon) .... Opo 30

Sixth set of Ma:r.urkaa ............. o..... o ........... o.. Op. 33
0 ...... . 0 •

Seunth set of Ma7:nrkaa.......... (arr11oged by Jo W. Davison .... Op. -'1

Eighth set ot Mazllrkae .................... (ditto ditto) ....... Op. SO o o ...

•• L ' lnvltatiou pour Ia Daoae," Grande Valse briUante, in Edatllll\lor Op. 18

Two Notturno• (6th set) •... ••.•.• (arranged hy J. W. Dayieon) .... Op. ~
Notturno, InC minor .......... .... ...... .(ditto ditto) ............ Op. 48
o

Notturno In F sharp minor ................ (ditto ditto) .. -.... Op. 49 o ....

Grande V11lee, in A ftatJill\ior .............. (ditto ditto) ............ Op. 84

Gnonde Valse, ln A minor .......... ...... (ditto ditto) Op. 3•
o ...........

Grande Valae, In F mejor .................. (ditto dltw) ............ Op. 34

Grande Valae., in A lint ml\ior .............. (ditto ditto) ............ Op. C2
or the extraordinary merit of these compositions we have
already spoken so profusely, that it is unnecessary here to add
anoilier word; aimply ll'le muat premiae that they loae not a pa.r-
 chopin 147
l'i

tide of their etr'ect, or an atom of their interest, in their present

ahape of plano-forte duets, and, to a couple or intelll'ctual execu­
tants, will be a delicate and intellectual repast.
Tho brilliant polonaise, in C major, (known in England as
•• La Gaite,'' is so popular, that an·angt>ments of every description
have been eagerly demanded by the public. Among the most
attractive we may mentio n that for piano-forte and flute, by
1\1. Sedlatzek, a most able and judicious adaptation, in which the
powers of both instruments are displaye(! to ample ad""autage,
that for piano. forte and violoncello not less deserving praise;
and last, though not least, an admirable arra.ngement for piano­
forte aud violiu, which is played with enthusiasm and delight by
almost every amateur of the violin who bas the merest particle
of discriminative appreciation of the b eautiful in music, and the
humblest qualities of execution, to gratify his mental ynarnings.
Moreover, Chopin, ever anxious to bestow pleasure on all,
even the humblest p11rtisans of art, bas condescended to compose,
with the assistance of M. Franchomme, the eminent violonist, a
popular duet, for piano and violin, on themes from the" Robert"
of Meye1beer, which is also arranged for piano and violoncello,
and is very generally admired.
The estimation in which Chopin is held on the continent may
be tested-firstly, uy the enormous demand for his works (espe­
cially in Germany)-secondly, by the unanimous and enthusiastic
testimony in his favor of the most celebrated living mnsicio.ns,
literati, and men of general learning, including among them
artists of.auch various opinions and opposite characteristics, as the
fantastic and headstrong Barlioz, the despiser of all systems, past
present, and to come ;-the wealthy Meyerbeer, whose celebrity ·
is a paradox ;-the ignus fatuus, jack-a.-lantern, salamander, feu
follet-like Liszt; -the respectable John Cramer, whom all
musicians consent to· admit " as a light to lighten the Gentiles,"
provided they be not obligated to become acquainted with hiscom­
positicn<~, unnumbered and unknown ;-the mystical Robert
Schumann (the well-known "Eusebius," critic, and composer, of
triune celebrity), with his charming and talented wife (late the
beautiful admired, o.nd universally wooed, Clara Wieck) ;-the
careful Moschcles, who is ever on the rlghtside;-the abundantly
prolific Czerf)';-the epbemeric Herz-
" \Vhose path Ia the llght'nlng'e"-
and whose faille is as a shooting star ;-the laborious Onslow, .
prurient of quintets ;-the animated and sparkling Auber, the
prince of musjc "light and airy;"-the Amalekitish Halevy .>­
the gorgeous 'and lazy Rossini, who, in the oily fatness of
his green maturity,
" Lull'd with the a"eet nepenthe or a court,"
has taken to the compositions of sleeky anthems, and adipose
"Stabat Materst~'-tbe classical Henri Reber, in whom claa­
aicality is a merit ;-the · unclassical Adolph Adam, in whom
unclassicallty is a virtue ;-the lengthy Fetis, a mountain in
labor;-the studious Stephen Heller ;-the vivacious Schlesinger,
whose gill is ubiquity ;-the sbo"'Y H enselt ;-the well-known
Kalkbrenner, who has flung a atone at the hull's eye of two op­
poeite sehoola, the "aterling" and the ••tlimsy," and hu gone over
148 chopin
18

t.be oue, and uu,ler the otlu:r; -the uaeful Bertini ;-tba bo1nbasti•
W olff';-thtl aolid a.ud i~usible M11.yer;-the ponderous Thalberg,
whose m•mcal position is a riddle for an <Edipus to solve ;-tha
industrious Hiller ;-t.he quiet Dreyschock, whose very soul is
"" octaw ;-the Liszt-like Litollf;-the Thalberg-like Dohler;­
the self-opinionated Guhr, who ejaculates, "I am Guhr !" and is
satisfied, that to be" Guhr," is to be all that to be is worth;-t..be
imaginative and gifted Mendelssobu;-the poetical and melodious
Sterndale Bennett, a disciple, whose light bums with sarcely loss
brilliancy than that of his master ;-the modest Rosenhain;-the
Dutch Verhulst;-tbe mighty and metaphysical Spohr, and a
host oi others we could mention, without alluding to the literati,
with tho wordy .Julas Janiu;-the philosophical De Ba.lzac;-the
fiery Victor Hugo, whose motto is- ·
"Le lai~'ett le beaul"-
the parado~-supporting Gustave Planche ;-the devilish Soulie,
at whose expensr his moral countrymen have made this epigram-
" P.relierit: Souli;_ sot!ILLP. fotu uti li",-e•"-
the double -dramatic; 1Ju01as ;-the pseudo-sophical Chorley, whose
lucubrll.tions are of pa·renthetical importance ;-th6 Janus-visaged
So<>, of whom it. wn~ " ·ittily said-
" EugeJU~ SUB ltlft{{ et eau"-
the hArdy Jules Maurel ;-and the passionate George Sand, at
their head-all of whom, a dmdal throng with opposedly dis­
cordant principles - with various and opposite feelings -
with diverse and multiplex degrees of merit-with complex and
irreconcilable opinions on most points of art- all of whom,
we say, unite in the unmodified, decided, reiterated, unmitigated,
and unanimous opinion of the musical supremacy of FREDERIC
Csol'IN. When then, men of such high celebrity, such ''ast
attainments, and such various principles, co-think entirely with
regard to the transcendant merits of our composer-and more­
over, when, as we know, they all of tbem are fully cognizant
of every note that he has published, and much that unfor­
tunately for art, he preserves y~t unpnblished in his portfolio­
which cognizance, combined with their own undoubted merits,
renders them judges fit and competent--and more moreover, when
we are tol(. that these gifted men consider the works of Chopin
as a Koran for true believers, as a Talmud to enlighten the
dullness and opacity of infidels in art-all this considt}red, what
argument, that prejudice, or ignorance, or carelessness, or interest,
or ENVY, or all of them mingled and jumbled together into a
paradoxical potpourri of art-prejudicing malignity-stirred up in
the tureen of folly, with the ladle of ob&lina.cy-poured iuto the
dish of fatuity-and thence down the throat of incredulity-what
argutuent tbu11 creatpd, what abortion .from such a weed-producing
womb, can have sufficient preponderance with the unprejudiced
and calm observer, to shake the firm basis of our confident asser­
tion, that FREDERIC CHOPIN is one of the greatest of living
composers, and, Beethoven and Mendelssohn excepted, TBB
KOST A.CCOMPLI8RBD PU.'NO-FORTE COMPOSER THJ.T EVER
BJ:lSTED?
 Part II:

Source studies

John Rink 171

John Rink
[Cambrid ge]

Playing with the Chopin Sources

Never before have musicians and musicologists had such easy access to the man­
uscripts and first editions of Chopin’s works1. For decades it was necessary to
order microfilms, photocopies or photographs from the libraries or other institu­
tions that held these sources, and quite apart from the resultant expense and de­
lay it was often difficult to discern the finest details because of the poor quality of
reproduction. Facsimile editions of the manuscripts were better in that respect,
but they too were not widely available, nor did they extend to the full range of
extant sources; moreover, the standard of reproduction remained variable until
recently2.
These difficulties have largely been resolved thanks to the advent of the World
Wide Web. For example, the Chopin Early Editions site hosted by the Univer­
sity of Chicago Library provides high-specification digital images of ‘over 400
first and early printed editions of musical compositions’ by Chopin3. Two further
web resources – Chopin’s First Editions Online (CFEO)4 and the Online Chopin
Variorum Edition (OCVE)5 – make available an even wider range of primary
material, including early impressions of the first editions for the vast majority of
Chopin’s works (CFEO), and both manuscripts and early as well as subsequent
impressions of the first editions of select genres (OCVE). There is also the (rather
motley) collection available on the Petrucci Music Library website6, not to men­
tion other online repositories of varying standards. All of these sites are free of

1
This essay is offered to Professor Jan Ekier in grateful recognition for his extraordinary insight and exper­
tise with regard to the issues set out in this study.

2
In contrast to the series Faksymilowe wydanie autografów F. Chopina published by Polskie Wydawnic­
two Muzyczne, the volumes in the Wydanie faksymilowe dzieł Chopina produced by the Narodowy Instytut

Fryderyka Chopina offer remarkable likenesses of the original sources, as do select volumes published by

Henle Verlag, Universal Edition, etc.

3
http://chopin.lib.uchicago.edu/

4
http://www.chopinonline.ac.uk/cfeo/

5
http://www.chopinonline.ac.uk/ocve/

6
http://imslp.org/wiki/

152 chopin

172 Źródła, analiza, interpretacja

charge and simple to use. In addition, CFEO and OCVE offer a great deal of in­
formation about the constituent sources and the compositional and publication
histories surrounding them. Much of this information is drawn from a recently
published ‘annotated catalogue’, which is generally viewed as the most compre­
hensive and systematic study of the first editions to date7.
Two interesting questions arise from these developments:
• Is there now too much access to these sources?
• Is ‘immediacy’ of this kind all that desirable?
Some scholars would respectively answer ‘Yes’ and ‘No’, although my own views
are rather different. I nevertheless accept that the increasing availability of the
Chopin sources presents unprecedented challenges, not least because they are
often difficult to understand both in themselves and within Chopin’s output as
a whole, as well as in the context of early nineteenth-century compositional and
publication practices more generally. Nothing would be worse than an explosion
of misapprehension and false confidence arising from widespread contact with
the original sources. So perhaps the next question to ask is whether the users
of online Chopin resources have any responsibilities when investigating what the
composer wrote and in tracing the subsequent history of his music in his own
hands and in the printed editions that emerged over the years. Such responsibili­
ties could entail simply ‘doing one’s homework’ about how given sources evolved
or what particular notational habits Chopin might have employed in such and
such a passage. But to fathom the manuscript and printed material alike requires
extensive knowledge that can be gained only through years of study and reflec­
tion, coupled with an awareness that the ‘right answers’ may never be found be­
cause of lacunae, inconsistencies and ambiguities in the sources.
This essay explores some of the issues surrounding the primary source ma­
terial before outlining a number of principles and procedures relevant to their
study. The aim is not only to acquire a more informed understanding of ‘Chopin’s
intentions’ (which remains a problematic notion, however much we pay lip ser­
vice to it)8 but also to unlock the creative potential latent within these sources.
Our first step is to survey the latter and to present some case-study examples
from which general principles will be drawn.
7
Christophe Grabowski and John Rink, Annotated Catalogue of Chopin’s First Editions, Cambridge,

Cambridge University Press, 2010. See also http://www.chopinonline.ac.uk/aco/.

8
For discussion see John Rink, ‘Work in progress: l’oeuvre infini(e) de Chopin’, in Interpréter Chopin,

ed. Jean-Jacques Eigeldinger, Paris, Cité de la Musique, 2006, 82–90.

 chopin 153

John Rink 173

The primary sources

Chopin’s genius for invention meant that his music experienced continual
change from the moment of conception onwards, whether in preparing or copying
his manuscripts, in subsequent performances, during lessons with students, or even
in his thoughts. It will be useful to consider the different types of source material
that this ongoing evolution engendered. Chopin left behind relatively few sketches,
although it is fascinating to pore over those that do survive. That is also the case
with so-called ‘rejected public manuscripts’, which were intended for a publisher
or another party but which Chopin either abandoned or withheld from circula­
tion. There is a significant body of Stichvorlagen (literally ‘print models’ – i.e. man­
uscripts intended to be used by publishers in preparing their editions), likewise
a  small number of proofs for the first editions, either corrected or uncorrected.
The first editions themselves pose major challenges because of their diversity and
complex interrelationships. The fact that Chopin tended to bring out multiple first
editions in France, England and the German states in order to maximise copyright
protection is well known9, and the differences between both the earliest impres­
sions of these editions and those that followed are now more fully understood.
Other autograph sources include presentation manuscripts (which generally were
intended as gifts or keepsakes, and often were notated with fewer performance in­
dications than one would find in a Stichvorlage) as well as Chopin’s annotations in
the scores used by his students. Non-autograph material includes glosses in the stu­
dent scores which cannot be attributed to Chopin (and which therefore may have
less authority, although this should not always be assumed) and partial or complete
copies of works which may have been prepared with or without the composer’s au­
thorisation. Finally, first editions of pieces for which no other source material sur­
vives may be regarded as primary material, among them the Nocturne in E minor,
published posthumously in 1855 as Op. 72 No. 1. Table 1 presents a typological
summary of these sources.

9
For further discussion see Grabowski and Rink, Annotated Catalogue, xxiiff.
154 chopin

174 Źródła, analiza, interpretacja

Table 1. Chopin: primary sources

1) sketches
2) rejected public manuscripts
3) Stichvorlagen
4) proofs
5) first editions – first and subsequent impressions
• French
• German/Austrian
• English
• other (Polish, Italian, etc.)
6) other autograph sources
7) other non-autograph sources
8) editions of pieces for which no other source material exists
The range and number of sources will vary with the individual piece, as do
the relationships between them. Two contrasting ‘source lists’ – for the Concerto
in E minor Op. 11 and the Polonaise-Fantasy Op. 61 – will suffice in this context,
although innumerable other cases of interest and relevance could be cited.
No sketch material can be located for the E minor Concerto (composed in 1830
and first published in 1833), nor does the earliest complete manuscript survive10.
It is likely that the latter served as the Stichvorlage of the French first edition, of
which multiple proofsheets were sent to Leipzig and London for use in engraving
the German and English editions respectively. These proofsheets – which Cho­
pin would have corrected, however carefully or consistently – no longer exist. We
do have access to most of the reprints that were produced of the three first edi­
tions11, the music text of which remained largely unchanged except in the case of
the English edition, where numerous editorial alterations were made in a revised

10
The only surviving autograph manuscript is Chopin’s reduction of the first tutti (bars 1–138) for solo pia­
no, which Schlesinger used as the Stichvorlage for this passage when preparing the French first edition. For
further details of the sources for this work see Fryderyk Chopin, Concerto Op. 11, ed. John Rink, London,
Peters Edition, 2008.
11
Two subsequent reprints of the French first edition appeared during Chopin’s lifetime, followed by
six posthumous ones; Kistner produced three reprints of the German edition of Op. 11 before Chopin’s
death, the last of which remained on the market until 1858, when a second edition came out; and at least
four posthumous reprints of the English first edition were released. For details see Grabowski and Rink,
Annotated Catalogue, 80–85 as well as http://www.chopinonline.ac.uk/aco/catalogue/concerto-opus-11/.
 chopin 155

John Rink 175

impression dating from c.1856–1860. Glosses can be found in a number of scores

used by Chopin’s students; some can be attributed directly to Chopin, while oth­
ers are in a different hand but may reflect his teaching.
A  quite different body of source material exists for the Polonaise-Fantasy
(composed 1845–1846; published 1846), including nine pages of sketches along
with two of the three autograph manuscripts that Chopin ended up preparing for
respective publishers as he had no reliable amanuensis at the time. Those serving
as Stichvorlagen for the French and German editions survive, whereas the one
used for the English first edition cannot be located. For these editions, there was
no need for publishers to exchange proofsheets as each had access to a distinct
autograph manuscript. It seems that no reprints of any of the first editions ap­
peared during Chopin’s lifetime, which is not altogether surprising as they were
published just three years before his death in 1849; however, each was reissued at
various stages thereafter, and with changes to the music text in later impressions
of the German and English first editions, whereas the one reprint of the French
first edition from 1873 was unaltered in this respect12.
A number of conclusions emerge from these examples. First, a unique crea­
tive history exists for each and every piece by Chopin, to the point that it can
be difficult to define common publication scenarios as so many variants on the
basic patterns can be observed13. Secondly, to privilege one source without taking
into account all of the others that exist may lead to false conclusions about Cho­
pin’s intentions and about the status of the source in question. For example, the
third beat of bar 20 in the Polonaise-Fantasy is quite different in the two surviving

12
For further information see ibid., 426–429.

13
In a paper entitled ‘Chopin: On paper, in sound’ presented at the Guildhall School of Music & Drama

on 25 October 2010 I outlined the following:

1) three discrete variants of the ‘Op. 11 scenario’ described here;

2) a second scenario (of which several variants also exist) whereby a scribal copy of Chopin’s autograph
manuscript was sent to the German publisher, while proofsheets of the French first edition were used
as a Stichvorlage for the English first edition (e.g. Ballade Op. 38 – 1840);
3) a similar scenario (again with variants), except that Chopin’s autograph manuscript was sent to the
German publisher whereas the scribal copy was used as the basis of the French first edition, a revised im­
pression of which then served as a Stichvorlage for the English first edition (e.g. Ballade Op. 47 – 1841);
4) the ‘Op. 61 scenario’, in which three autograph manuscripts were produced, with the earliest one typi­
cally serving as the Stichvorlage for the French first edition.
These scenarios only hint at the full complexity surrounding individual sources and the filiations between
them. Furthermore, this is by no means an exhaustive list of the routes to publication that Chopin followed:
others were adopted at different stages of his career.
156 chopin

176 Źródła, analiza, interpretacja

autograph manuscripts. In the one used to prepare the French first edition (and
presumably also the lost manuscript used for the English first edition, which is
virtually identical to its French counterpart in this passage), the left-hand chord
includes the root of the harmony – a low D-sharp – while the semiquaver échap­
pée at the end of the bar is a B-sharp. In contrast, in the German edition and the
respective Stichvorlage the chord on beat 3 has no root in the bass while the sem­
iquaver échappée is a B-natural14. A traditional interpretation of these discrep­
ancies might be that the contents of the Breitkopf manuscript and the edition it
gave rise to are definitive, representing Chopin’s ostensible ‘final intentions’. On
the other hand, the harmonically simpler version in these sources might reflect
either a (regrettable?) change of mind away from a bolder ‘first inspiration’ or,
conceivably, inattentive copying on Chopin’s part. But rather than think in terms
of either ‘first inspirations’ or ‘final intentions’ – categories which ultimately
prove restrictive if not downright simplistic – it is better to understand the dis­
crepant readings as multiple creative possibilities that emanated from Chopin’s
musical imagination at different times. Thus, neither earlier nor later is neces­
sarily ‘better’: each version has its place and, depending on the pianist’s wishes,
each may be used in modern-day performances though ideally with some sort of
explanation (possibly in a programme note) about the choice that was made out
of the various options. It goes without saying that the implications of this for our
understanding of the Chopin work are vast: here we find evidence not of a fixed
conception but instead of the musical work ‘in progress’, flexibly conceived by
the composer and susceptible to further shaping by us.
Before conclusions can confidently be drawn from one or more sources within
the nexus that may exist for a particular piece, it is necessary to ask a series of
questions, all of which must routinely be addressed by those preparing editions
whether of Chopin’s music or that of another composer:

1. What is the ‘status’ of a given source?

‘Status’ can be interpreted in several ways. First of all, one must determine
which categories in Table 1 are relevant to the source in question. For instance,
if the source is a score used by one of Chopin’s students, it is important to know
not only the particular edition but also the impression thereof. The scores of the

14
The two Stichvorlagen and the French, German and English editions of Op. 61 can be compared at
http://www.chopinonline.ac.uk/ocve/; for the editions see also http://www.chopinonline.ac.uk/cfeo/.
 chopin 157

John Rink 177

Etudes Op. 10 used by Jane Stirling and Camille Dubois contain markings arising
from their lessons with Chopin, but in the former case it was the fifth impression
of the French first edition and in the latter the seventh impression. This may not
matter with regard to the music text of these two impressions, which remained
unchanged between their respective publication dates, but it is significant in
a broader context in that changes to the music were introduced in the second
and third impressions, hence the need to regard the Stirling and Dubois scores
not as the original version of the French first edition but as reprints containing
revisions from a previous stage of development.
Status also has to do with the quality of the source in terms of the clarity and
legibility of the notation – whether printed or handwritten – as well as the musi­
cal content itself. By way of example, a given first edition may have been system­
atically copy-edited prior to publication, despite which its content could para­
doxically be less authoritative than that of a relatively sloppy counterpart which
nevertheless reflects Chopin’s intentions to a greater extent. This is often the case
with the English first editions, in many of which such features as accidentals,
slurrings and pedallings are more consistently presented than in their French and
German counterparts, although the French edition may have an edge because of
the composer’s greater input to the publication process, including the ability to
make changes at proof stage or beyond. In such cases the apparent advantages of
a ‘cleaner’, more consistent source should be regarded with circumspection not
only in general but particularly by anyone preparing an edition of Chopin’s music
according to a ‘best text’ approach15.

2. Under what conditions was it produced?

I have already alluded to different conditions of production, the full range of
which ideally should be borne in mind when studying a particular source. For
instance, special care may be needed in interpreting the music text of multiple
autograph manuscripts, not only to determine the order of production but also
to avoid taking at face value apparent innovations which may simply be copying
errors rather than intentional changes. In the last of the three autographs that he
produced of the Barcarolle Op. 60, which eventually served as the Stichvorlage for
the Breitkopf edition, Chopin seems more or less consistently to have shifted to

15
For discussion of the latter see James Grier, The Critical Editing of Music, Cambridge, Cambridge Uni­
versity Press, 1996, 65 and passim.
158 chopin

178 Źródła, analiza, interpretacja

the right markings such as pedal releases as well as the ends of descrescendo and
crescendo hairpins16. As a result, the long hairpin following the forte sign in bar 1
of this manuscript should probably not be taken literally, in that the earliest sur­
viving complete autograph, which was used to prepare the French first edition,
features not a diminuendo hairpin but a ‘long accent’ after the forte (this combi­
nation being typical of Chopin’s notational praxis)17. Compare too the English
first edition – based on an intermediate autograph, now lost – where the hairpin
extends further to the right but less so than in the Breitkopf manuscript. In short,
the extended descrescendo hairpin in the last of the three autographs is almost
certainly the result of a copying mistake on Chopin’s part – a conclusion which
arises from comparison of all the relevant documentation18.
The French first editions published by Troupenas provide another example of
the need to take conditions of production into account when reviewing sources.
The contents of these editions show various signs of haste:

Chopin’s strained relations with Schlesinger and Pleyel left him in the awkward posi­
tion of having no French publisher just when he needed one in order to keep pace with
the German editions of several works then being prepared in Leipzig. Under pressure of
time he turned to Troupenas, ceding the rights to Opp. 35–41 in March 1840 and to the
Tarantella Op. 43 a few months later. It is hardly surprising that in these circumstances
the French editions of Opp. 35–37 were hastily produced; indeed, Troupenas barely had
time to engrave the music text between signing the contract in late March and depositing
a copy of each in mid-May. His solution was to deposit uncorrected proofs of Opp. 35 &
37 rather than finished copies, while Op. 36, registered at the same time, was in a more
advanced state but still far from definitive. The fact that Opp. 38, 40 & 41 were also de­
posited at proof stage is harder to explain, given that in principle Troupenas had more
than five months to prepare these editions – unless Chopin was late in submitting his
manuscripts to the publisher19.

16
For discussion see John Rink, ‘Chopin copying Chopin’, in Chopin’s Work: His Inspirations and Creative

Process in the Light of the Sources, ed. Artur Szklener, Warsaw, NIFC, 2003, 67–81.

17
See John Rink, ‘Les Concertos de Chopin et la notation de l’exécution’, in Frédéric Chopin, interprétations,

ed. Jean-Jacques Eigeldinger, Geneva, Librairie Droz, 2005, 69–88.

18
For discussion of other copying errors in the Breitkopf Stichvorlage see John Rink, ‘The Barcarolle:

Auskomponierung and apotheosis’, in Chopin Studies, ed. Jim Samson, Cambridge, Cambridge University

Press, 1988, 208–209 notes 12 and 13.

19
Grabowski and Rink, Annotated Catalogue, xli.

 chopin 159

John Rink 179

Knowledge of these circumstances is helpful if not essential when viewing the

Troupenas scores in the online resources described earlier. For example, compare
the versions of the third movement of the Sonata Op. 35 shown in the CFEO and
Chopin Early Editions (hereafter ‘Chicago’) resources. The French first edition
in CFEO is in fact the uncorrected Troupenas proof that was provided to ful­
fil the requirements of the dépôt légal20; the third movement here lacks a tempo
indication but it does have the sub-caption ‘Marche funèbre’, the title by which
the Sonata as a  whole has been known for generations. In contrast, in one of
the corrected reprints of the Troupenas edition on the Chicago site21, the tempo
is ‘Lento’ while the sub-caption is simply ‘Marche’ (the expressively suggestive
‘funèbre’ having been expunged). These are the result of changes made in an in­
termediate impression: that is, in the second published impression22 the ‘Lento’
was added and the ‘funèbre’ was removed23. Viewing either the CFEO or the
Chicago scores in isolation would engender a false understanding of the music’s
creative history and risk overlooking a significant change of mind which almost
certainly can be traced to Chopin himself – an attribution which is likely to be
more reliable in this case than with the routine corrections of typographical er­
rors made in successive reprints of the French first editions24. Note that this dis­
cussion has as much to do with the ‘status’ of the respective sources as with their
conditions of production: the questions in this checklist are not mutually exclu­
sive or easily separated.

3. Who prepared it?

Even when a given source was prepared by Chopin himself, one needs to con­
sider when this was done and what his notational habits were at the time (quite
apart from the specific conditions of production relevant to the source). Despite

20
See http://www.chopinonline.ac.uk/cfeo/. This score is identified as 35–0-TR in Grabowski and Rink,

Annotated Catalogue, 288.

21
See http://pi.lib.uchicago.edu/1001/dig/chopin/004. This score is identified as 35–1c‒BR in Grabowski

and Rink, Annotated Catalogue, 289, where the publication date is given as ‘between 10/1850 and c. 1860’

versus Chicago’s ‘1851?’.

22
Identified as 35–1a‒TR in Grabowski and Rink, Annotated Catalogue, 289.

23
Compare the separate second edition of movements 3 and 4, published by Troupenas in late 1849 after

Chopin’s death. (See http://www.chopinonline.ac.uk/ocve/.)

24
Nevertheless, it is striking that the music text in the French first editions in particular underwent suc­
cessive refinements during Chopin’s lifetime, whereas after his death in 1849 only one of the editions was

modified. Compare this to the German and English first editions, where almost the reverse occurred. For

discussions, see Grabowski and Rink, Annotated Catalogue, xxxiii–xxxv.

160 chopin

180 Źródła, analiza, interpretacja

the endurance of certain notational tendencies, among them discontinuous bar

lines across the two staves, the hand of the young Chopin was not identical to
that of the composer in his mid to late thirties25. A case in point is the positioning
of downward stems on the right or left side of noteheads, likewise the shaping of
arpeggiation signs26.
As for those who made copies of Chopin’s manuscripts, it is important to
know how reliable they were as scribes (to the extent that their identity can be
determined in the first place) and also the degree to which their own notational
habits may have influenced the appearance of the music text in the first editions
or other derivative sources. Consider, for example, the Prelude in E minor Op. 28
No. 4. In Chopin’s autograph (used as a Stichvorlage for the French first edition),
the second right-hand note in bar 11 is a ‘long appoggiatura’, without a diagonal
stroke, whereas in Julian Fontana’s copy (which served as a Stichvorlage for the
German first edition), this note has a stroke, suggesting that it should be played
as a grace note rather than on the beat and as the first of two successive quavers,
in the manner of an eighteenth-century long appoggiatura27. It is interesting to
ask whether Fontana was intentionally modernising Chopin’s notation; this is
unlikely, however, given that he was one of Chopin’s most trusted and faithful
amanuenses. Instead, did he regard his ‘grace note’ as equivalent to the compos­
er’s ‘long appoggiatura’? Possibly, but to be certain one would have to conduct
a comprehensive comparison of other Fontana copies and the counterparts on
which they were based. Or was the stroke a mere slip of Fontana’s pen, arising
from notational habit rather than intention? That is my own hunch, but whatever
its motivation might have been, the grace note made its way into the German first

25
See Jan Ekier, ‘On questions relating to the chronology of Chopin’s works. Methods. A few examples’, in

Chopin’s Musical Worlds: The 1840s, ed. Artur Szklener, Warsaw, NIFC, 2008, 178–182.

26
Ekier (ibid., 178) distinguishes ‘three periods in the notation of downward note stems […] in the auto­
graphs’:

• all on the left – 1821;

• mixed stems, i.e. on left and right – until 1829;
• all on the right – from 1829.

A similar scheme is proposed for arpeggio signs (ibid., 181):

• wavy lines – to 1837;

• mixed signs, i.e. wavy lines and vertical curves – to 1843;
• vertical curves only – from 1843.
According to Ekier, it may be possible to determine the chronology of given sources on the basis of the
manner of notating elements such as these.
27
All of these sources can be viewed at http://www.chopinonline.ac.uk/ocve/.
 chopin 161

John Rink 181

edition and in that context has come to influence innumerable performers as well
as editors28.
Not only is the identity of certain scribes unknown, but most of the engrav­
ers who prepared the plates of the first editions have never been identified, nor
the professional correctors involved at different stages of production, both be­
fore and after initial publication. It is possible that the ‘copy-editing’ referred
to earlier was carried out by the engravers themselves, who may also have been
responsible for the pencilled annotations (known as Stechereintragungen) found
in many surviving Stichvorlagen to indicate the division of the music into succes­
sive systems on the page. Engravers at the time tended to reproduce rather than
interpret notation – hence the incorrect positioning of the pedal markings in bars
18–20 of the Prelude in D major Op. 28 No. 5 in all three first editions, which re­
sulted from Chopin’s ambiguous notation in the French Stichvorlage29.
An interesting counterexample may be found in the Prelude in E major Op. 28
No. 9, in that both Chopin’s autograph and Fontana’s copy thereof align the
right-hand dotted quaver/semiquaver figuration in bar 1 et seq. with the triplet
below, whereas in all three first editions the right-hand semiquaver is positioned
after and thus separated from the last triplet quaver. It is uncertain who took the
decision to treat the right-hand parts like this in both the French and the German
editions30: the fact that these resulted from distinct filiations makes their con­
sistency in this respect all the more remarkable.
Nor is it certain who introduced a flat sign before the final right-hand e1 in
bar 3 of the C minor Prelude Op. 28 No. 20 in both the German first edition from
1839 and a corrected reprint of the English first edition from c. 1858. The fact
that the German Stichvorlage – i.e. the copy by Fontana – follows Chopin’s man­
uscript and thus lacks the flat sign means that either at the copy-editing stage
or when proofs were corrected a conscious decision to include it must have been
taken – but by whom? The change made to the English first edition in c. 1858
may have been intended to align it with its German counterpart – but, again, we

28
See for example the Preludes volume edited by Ewald Zimmermann in the Henle Urtext series, Munich,

1969.

29
For discussion see John Rink, ‘Authentic Chopin: history, analysis and intuition in performance’, in

Chopin Studies 2, ed. John Rink and Jim Samson, Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 1994, 233–234

note 54.

30
The English first edition, which was based on a corrected reprint of the Catelin edition, follows the latter

in this respect.

162 chopin

182 Źródła, analiza, interpretacja

do not know who decided this. Ultimately, the identification of the individual
‘actors’ in these scenarios is less important than the realisation on the part of
those consulting these and other sources that the music reflects the decisions and
interpretations of one or more people, which is to say that sources such as these are
neither ‘neutral’ nor independent.

4. For what purpose(s) was it intended?

One needs to understand whether Chopin prepared a given manuscript for
his own use (as a result of which it may contain obscure abbreviations, scrawls
and scribbles, along with purposeful omissions), for a publisher (in which case
the manuscript may have been notated in the knowledge that minor deficiencies
– e.g. missing clefs or accidentals – would be eradicated during the publication
process), for a friend or associate (which could explain a lack of detail or relative
‘incompletion’ in other respects), and so forth. As for copies, these too may have
had either a private motivation – perhaps as performance scores intended for the
copyist’s own use, as keepsakes, or even as hagiographic tokens – or an intended
public use such as Stichvorlagen, presentation manuscripts and so forth. As for
the first editions, the very existence of three for most of Chopin’s mature music
itself reflects the need to protect against loss of revenue from piracy, while the
subsequent impressions that appeared also had an avowedly commercial raison
d’être. This explains why changes were made in numerous German and English
first editions after Chopin’s death, both of which remained on the market for
many decades because of longer periods of copyright protection compared to
the French first edition. An especially entrepreneurial approach was taken over
some sixty years by Chopin’s principal English publisher and his successors, in­
cluding a ‘systematic process of renovation’ starting in the 1870s, which was but
one phase of an ‘extraordinary amount of revision and refinement of [the firm’s]
original editions, virtually all of which were modified at some point’31.

5. How does it relate to other sources?

I have emphasised throughout this discussion that determining the relation­
ships between the sources of a given work that survive as well as those that can
no longer be located is of the utmost importance. Not only is it the case that
‘a Chopin first edition cannot be reliably identified until each of its components

31
Grabowski and Rink, Annotated Catalogue, xxxv.
 chopin 163

John Rink 183

has been thoroughly scrutinised’, but ‘rigorous and comprehensive comparison is

required of all surviving impressions of the edition in question, given that revi­
sions typically were made over several decades if not longer’32. The same holds for
manuscript material as well.

As a final example, consider the Mazurka in C major Op. 24 No. 2. A surviv­

ing autograph manuscript served as a Stichvorlage for the German first edition,
which was published by Breitkopf & Härtel in December 1835. Although it might
be tempting to regard the music in this manuscript as definitive, that is not the
case – nor, as I have suggested, should one assume that any Chopin source nec­
essarily has such a status33. It so happens that the German edition was prepared
according to a variant of the ‘Op. 11 scenario’ described above, although here
Chopin gave his manuscript not to his French publisher but to Breitkopf & Här­
tel, which engraved the piece and apparently then sent at least two sets of proof-
sheets to Chopin in Paris. After returning one of them to Breitkopf – presumably
with corrections – the composer made some changes to bars 98, 102 and 103 in
the remaining set of proofs, which he then handed over to his French publisher
Schlesinger, such that the revised version appeared in the French first edition as
well as in the English first edition, which was engraved on the basis of the latter.
As a result, the comparatively simple version of these bars in both the autograph
Stichvorlage and the Breitkopf edition should be regarded not as definitive but
simply as reflecting Chopin’s intentions at one stage. On the other hand, he never
intended another feature found in all three first editions – the metronome mark,
crotchet = 108 – which the German engraver erroneously took from the first
mazurka when engraving the second, whereas the marking on the surviving au­
tograph manuscript of No. 2 is the much faster crotchet = 192.
The point of this example and the others that have been adduced is that view­
ing any single manuscript or first edition without regard to the full range of rel­

32
Ibid., xxxv.
33
In any case, it is better to avoid simplistic attributions of ‘definitiveness’ to either early, intermediate or late
versions of pieces. As I have already noted, Chopin’s conceptions of a given work were susceptible to continu­
al change, and therefore one should regard each version as representing his musical thoughts at the moment
in question rather than necessarily for all time. This point tends to be forgotten by musicians and musicolo­
gists alike who attach inordinate weight to specific readings without taking into account the broad contextu­
al considerations that might be relevant. For further discussion of relevant issues see Jeffrey Kallberg, ‘The
Chopin “Problem”: simultaneous variants and alternate versions’, in idem, Chopin at the Boundaries:  Sex,
History, and Musical Genre, Cambridge, Mass., Harvard University Press, 1996, 215–228.
164 chopin

184 Źródła, analiza, interpretacja

evant source material could lead to significant misunderstandings or false attri­

butions. Only when the status, provenance, conditions of production, purposes,
relationship to other sources, and contents as well as omissions have been fully
considered can one start to draw more robust conclusions. Even then these may
remain elusive.

Principles and performances

From this discussion emerge four key principles:

1. No source should be viewed in isolation.

2. The contents of sources should not be taken at face value, but instead must
be interpreted with respect to their provenance, motivation, instrumental
inception, relationship to other sources, and so on.
3. In reaching decisions about musical content, a consensus-based, ‘law of
averages’ approach may be inappropriate.
4. Multiple interpretations of the contents of a  source may be legitimate,
even if only one can be adopted on a single performance occasion.

The third principle requires a  brief explanation. It may be that a  particular

feature appears in, or indeed is absent from, all primary sources of a given piece
except one. Despite this broad consistency, it should not be assumed that the
feature or lack thereof reflects Chopin’s intentions. For instance, the reading
in question could have stemmed from the earliest of the sources – possibly an
autograph Stichvorlage – and then been transmitted into all other sources except
for, say, a  separate autograph manuscript or one of the first editions in which
a revision was carried out at the composer’s initiative or that of the engraver or
professional corrector. A simple example can be found in bars 3 and 85 of the
Impromptu in A-flat major Op. 29, where a flat sign to the final right-hand note
is absent from all sources (including the scores of Jane Stirling, Camille Dubois
and Ludwika Jędrzejewicz) except for the German first edition, which is uniquely
‘correct’ in respect of this essential accidental. A  more complex case is that of
the right-hand flat sign in bar 3 of the C minor Prelude, discussed above. This is
absent not only from Chopin’s autograph Stichvorlage, Fontana’s copy thereof,
and early impressions of the French and English first editions, but also from
a presentation manuscript prepared by Chopin in 1840 as well as the Dubois and
 chopin 165

John Rink 185

Jędrzejewicz scores. In contrast, the flat sign is present in the German first edi­
tion and a revised, posthumous reprint of the English first edition, as previously
noted, in addition to the Stirling score (where it appears to have been pencilled
in by Chopin, judging from the handwriting), another presentation manuscript
that Chopin produced in 1845, and a  copy in George Sand’s album, probably
dating from the early 1840s. Here a merely quantitative consensus would prove
inadequate, as would black-and-white assertions about which of the two read­
ings is ‘right’ or ‘wrong’.
By way of conclusion, it would be useful to consider how an individual per­
former might approach the primary sources in view of this discussion, not to
mention the welter of complexities surrounding Chopin’s manuscripts and the
first editions as a whole. Elsewhere I have made the seemingly obvious point that
because the score is not the music, nor is the music fully represented by the score,
the work undertaken by performers extends well beyond mere interpretation34.
In short, playing music is a matter not of ‘reproducing’ a piece and remaining
faithful to composers’ intentions as a matter of absolute priority, but of engag­
ing in a creative practice which involves making the music one’s own, thereby ex­
tending the very boundaries of the piece in question. Nevertheless, the potential
influence on creative performance of the score – or more specifically of musical
notation – should not be underestimated. For those keen to perform Chopin’s
music with greater insight and inspiration, the primary sources that are now
available in such profusion may yield new insights into the ways in which he con­
ceived and perceived his music, but to achieve this enlightenment will require not
only the years of study and reflection referred to before but also a keen awareness
of the often conflicting implications of what one discovers in the sources, along
with an ability to make decisions about those implications which are compatible
with one’s overall conception of the music. In other words, contextualisation is
continually required if the end result is to cohere and persuade, yet in the full
knowledge that different decisions might have worked equally well and indeed
might be adopted on another occasion. Thus we see that performance in general
– and any playing that we do with or in response to the sources – is, like the music
itself, a matter of ‘work in progress’.

34
See John Rink, ‘Analysis and (or?) performance’, in Musical Performance: A Guide to Understanding,
ed. John Rink, Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 2002, 35−58.
 10

- 77 -
IVOJCIECH NOWIK

THE RECEPTI VE- INFORMATIONAL .aOLE

OF CHOPIN' S MUSI CAL AUTOGRAPHS

To t al k about covering paper wi th dots and lines maJ ' seem

a s s t range a s, f or i ns t ance, about t r ansmi t ting• the _ela ctric
potential b3 wire. However, both t hose activities, though
concerning matter s of no appSrent si ~i fi c anc e, convey a much
deeper sense; random games wi t h wi r e l a i d f oundations f or t he
t heory of information , and the· analysis of dots and ~ines within
different collections of signs gave birth to semio lo~. The
c onsequences of the t heory of information are ver3 well kn~wn
and the theory it self, apart from its pr ac tical implications,
has evolved original investigation methods of interest to
all humanists. All these methods have subsequently been adopted
by Tarious sciences, one of them being semiologJ - the branch
of science dealing with different methods of ocmmunioation and
with signs;· their types,· characteristics and functions within
particular sign.systems 1 • Because of t he Tary f ac t t hat the,7 are
oomposea of dots and line s, all Chopin's musical autographs mQ1
be. considered as systems of signs. Hence it is fairly obvious
t hat when undertaking their investigation one sho~ld consider the
possib1lit3 of adopting the methods of both semiology and the
t heory of 1nformation2 •

Almost froa the moment of their creation, Chopin's autographs

have been treated as the main source of information about the
struct ure of his · compositions and methods of their interpre­
tation. Various source editions of Chopin's works prepared on
the basis of his manus cripts provide the best evidence in favour
of the great value of the information conveyed in them. It must
be remeabered, how.e ver, that the!Se editions were UsU$lly
restricted to a rather narrow group of autographs selected from
among a number of 'fair-copies, since on the one hand some of the
manuscripts were and still are inaccessible to editors(-they are
either ' included in collections scattered all over the world or
lost 1rretr1evably)~and on the other hand tho se to which access .
168 chopin

- 78 -
is possible frequently require laborious and often unsuccessful
reoonstru~tional measures , Consequently the outcome of the
differe~t 1~terpretat1ons of the autographs has not proved as

fruitful as could have been expected, This was, first of all,

the r~sult of inexact analytical methods involving the intuitive
application of a restricted range of reconstructional measures,
The investigations have also been influenced by general analytical
tendenc ies that point in two main d1reot1ons: functionalistic and
!or11al1stic.

~epresentatives of the former treat autog~aphs as a sort cf

r&cipe for the proper execution of a given piece of music. That
is wh,y they tend rather to choo.se such autographs, or their
fragments, in which the conventional graphic shape is sufficiently
clear and explicit, and thay show no interest in autographs that
do not always allow accurate definition of the musical structure
of a given composition and , consequently, of in strucions how to
play.

The second approach resembles that whioh previously ev~lved

in the field of linguistics, from the grammar of language in
reference to sentences. Its main assumption was as follows: in
orde r to study a sentence one should be first of all well
acquain~ed with all the rules of syntax. Here, 1n turn, no
attention is paid to individual features of utterances which, as
is generally known, are of particularly great significance 1n art,
As a result,the extremely significant notion of individual style
is lost . If in the case of functionalists the material of
investigation is restricted mainly ~o explicit musical manuscripts
for reasons strictly connected with their execution, . tha formalists,
on the other hand,expand . th~ analytical material by such autographs
that can be completed according to traditi~nal harmonic or melodic
schemes. Here again the composer's utterance is devoid of its
individual features. There can be no doubt, then, that in order to
assure the proper and complete interpretation of the messages
conveyed in autographs it is not enough to concentrate investigations
merel1 on their informational r~le. Various difficulties to be
overcome in the proceaa of stud1ing Chopin's manuscripts have their
 chopin 169

- 79 -
source not only in specific, individual features of the compDser's
notation but also in the very heteromorphi c nature of musical
signs themselves) . Musical autographs comprise information about
the music itself as well as about its composer. The latter i s
conveyed in all kinds of denotati ons 1n the manuscript • Apart from
the variety of musical and non-musical signs, it is also composed
of a whole . sat of "symptoms" that can be defined only on the
basis of functions and connections Letween these denotations and
the created syntagma_tic s tructures . This being so, autographs ma,y
be said to perform two main functions:
1 ) receptive - as a symbolic picture of a composer• s creative
activities and, 2 ) 1n.format1onal - because they contain the
primary aim of these actiVities, namely the text. of a given
composition.
In order to study both these functions it has become indispensabl e
to make use of research methods created on the basis of both psy­
chology and semiology.

T~ere are two trends in psychology that maJ be considered

of special interest, since they best. characterize the attitude
of this ·s~ience towards signs and symbols : the first defines
them as a spacial kind of stimulus, the other - as a special
kind of reaction4. The psychological approach enables us also
to define and describe Chopin'~ autographs as a result of
extremely complex symbolic reactions which, at the same time,
c onstitute material manifestations of the inner process of his
creation. The autographs are, thus, one of the main analytical
subjec t s in "Chopinology": they contain the denotations which
may be considered as the most authentic and reliable information
devoid of various distor'tions which usually aocompatcy transfor­
mations and copy ing. They also contain a real store of knowledge
about the intimate sphere w~oh is for the most part entangled
by time in a web of legends and inventions. That is why he who
undertakes to investigate this area often has to cope with a
number of di ff iculties which, by the mere fact of their existence,
revealthe complexity of the process of creation itself as well as
the complexity of the not always successful methods created by
170 chopin

- 80 -

psychol0&7 to study its inner nature and individual exemplifi­

cation. One of those difficulties is the barrier of signs to
be decoded and understood in order to define the main phases,
structure, and specifics of Chopin's process of creation.

The result of the composer's complex symbolic reactions­

his autographs - also form a set of musical messages, the
primary aim o~ Chopin's creatiTe activities. Their proper
deciphering is to a great extent facilitated b1 the specific
approach of semiology, which treats a work of art as a kind of
aesthetic message composed of signs ,different usages and
comprehension of which are r egulated by the applied codes. From
this standpoint Chopin's autographs constitute unique analyti­
cal ~~~at'erial - mess_a ges which re-nal dif~erent degreas of
arrangement ( entropy ) and different s1stems of signs ( codes and
repertoires ) • I t also happens that particular groups of
autographs conta~n transpositions of indiTidual signs and codes
into conTentional ones, and this. in ~urn, enables us to
define the relations between signs and denotations, and between
individual and editional notation. It must be remembered,
howeTer, that these interrelations are not always explicitly
defined b1 the composer-and this results in m&nJ difficulties
wh1.le interpreting text•.

The abtTt considerations on the receptive-informational

role tf the autographs regarded as colleations of sign-structures
which create aesthe.tic messages re-nal thea ontological status,
which is easier peroeiTtd thanks to the assistance of psychology
and semiology. The standpoint of these sciences allows a more
efficient classification of the autographs - a faotox o~
extreme .s1gnificance in the w~ole process of inTestigating
both Chopin'a oreatin process and 1-ts result - his compositions.
Classification is based on two main oriteriat graphic-spatial
and semiotic-musical.
Within the graphic-spatial criterion ·there are: a> ductus,
b) olarit1 o~ notation and oJ eoono~ of notation.
Within the semioti9•musioal criterion we 11&1 distinguisht
 chopin 171

- 81 -

a) types of signs, sign-structures and codes, b) the degree of

inadequac;, in defining and determining the structures, c)· i'unotions
and interrelations of structures within particular codes and
d) phases of conye~tionalization ot messages.

The identification of particular signs, structure~, and

codes involves th{ simultaneous classifioation of particular
factors of composition (melo~ic, harmonic, rhYthmic, formal,
dynamic, e to~
Furthermore , the anal1sis should be completed b;, means of
defining all interstructural and funotienal dependences of codes.

Application of these criteria to particular Chopin autograph~

allows us t~ distinguish their following kindsz eketchee,rough­
copies, fair-copies with correotions, fair-copies, composer's
copies, non-composer's copies with his corrections, authorized
copies an~, finall;,, autographs functioning as transitionale
between the above. Thus both criteria perform extremal;, signifi­
cant cognitive and t1pological functions. Their closer inspection
ahould be started from an outward!J commonplace statement, i.e.
that the shape of notation 1a ,-! par(lmount iaportance 1n further
deo~phering the authographe.

The diatinctio~ into· the signifiant (that whic.h signifies,

quod eignificat) and th' sign1fia ~hat which is signified, quod
signifioatur) made
... by VitrUTius as- tar back as the first centur1
B.C. allows us tod~ to formulate the following terse statement:
"If the signifiant has not been decoded the signifie can not be
fully comprehendeP. Musical signs fo_r m certain "t1pes" or "model s"
to which particular meanings have been arbitrarily attributed.
These models must be respected w~atever the means of notation.
Very simjlarly the invariant features of signs must be preserved
regardless of the different .variants and mannerisms of notation,
which create a specific graphical style (for example~ the st;,le
ot Chopin's notation) 6 • Untortunately,it frequently happens with
Chopin's sketches .that these features become obliterated (for
instance the difference between a sharp and a ~tural, or between
a natural and a flat when these. signa a~pear acoidentall;,). Thia
is in turn followed by difficulties in distinguishing the posi-
172 chopin

- 82 -

tion of particular nDtes - a factor very important in defining

pitch, eto. Besides, t he notation very often contains the
composer's individual annotations the meaning of which were
clear onl1 to him. There oan be no doubt then, that this
t1pe ot notation must prove h~shl1 informative since it con­
tains extremel1 valuable information about the sketcb1
character of musical ideas, about the relative quickness of
their projection, and about the primary and secondary
elements of the noted ideas. ~ue to this information an
as,mptotio reoonstuction of Chopi.n 's creative process is
made possible.

Ver1 similarl~ the eoono~ of notation, revealed 1n the

pla.n ning of the material on paper, in observing spaces which
guarantee the legibilit1 ot particular signa, and in applying
ab~reviations or redundant marks, is of great help when a
precise qualification ot the type ot autograph and the phase
ot the creative process is involved. It must be remembered
however, that in the stud1 ot Chopin's autographs we should
not confine ourselves only to the application of the graphic­
spatial criterion, since such an approach ma, etten lead to
erroneous oonolusions7. The semiotic-musical criterion must
also be made use ot. I f we expect it, however, to bring
unambiguous results, we must proTide some explanations. We
should first of all distinguish relevant features of signs
and discover connotations of individual notation, which, as a
rule, deviate from generall3-accepted forms of graphical
notation; then we must define oppositional values and
tacul tat1ve variants ot signs and sign-structures ( it necessary
the structures m&1 be completed according to the preTtously
set-up model~)and the last p~int is to distinguish the
contextual meaning which performs a function of a "resultant"
ot the codes.
A musical text is capable of being communicated due to
the functioning of a tonal prae-oode and a notational code.
In his autographs, Chopin employs the traditional 19th
c.&ntury code of notation as well as his own, individual marks.
 chopin 173

- 83 -

Musical structures of autographs are also based: 1) on the

harmonic_ code - generall~ regarded as one of the grammars
of music, 2) on its derivative - the melodic code and 3) on
a specific regions+ vocabulary (which contains elements of
folk tonality) • It is enough to consider all this to reaJize
the qomplex interdependence between particular musical
elements.
Each of them imposes its own- rules of utterance whereas their
proper combina-tions (a result of connecting particular
elements) give the final product - an individ~l utterance
far from all the formalized st'r uoturee in which these elements
primarily existed •

The traditional musical notation used by Chopin is that

of an analytical type: it divides the so~d-plane into el6ments
and arranges particular mueioal factors according to a
conventional scale (for example - dynamics) into a distinct
hierarobl • Pitoh, for instance, is determined in absolute
terms and the time of duration relatively, by rblthmical
determination of a note, its position within a bar, and the
time of its pl811nf; other factors are usuall~ defined in an
analogue - likeway , It is nothing strange, then, that this
hierarc~ has been preserved 1n Chopin's notation. Sometimes,
in his sketches and rough copies, together with oonventio~al
signs Chopin uses his own marks (abbreviations, simplifications,
graphical representations, etc~9; he also frequently changes
the meaning of conventional notation. Furthermore the
sketches often reveal the composer's attitude to particular
elements of traditional notation (the diatonic arrangement
of white keys, for example, is reflected by the staves, each
of which, treated autonomically, is provided with a ole!;
1 •1
~hopin uses a set of 11 lines, 5 + 1/c I+ 5, where o functions
as a transitional sound between the lower and upper staves). It
happens also that in order to avoid the addition of extra lines,
the composer marks the "bass" notes on the "violin" etaves and
vice versa - regardless of their texture. The tonality of a
composition is treated individ~ality as a . "fair~oopy", by the
frequent application of letters while the eounds inside the
174 chopin

- 84 -
text are proT1ded with chromatic signs. Yet Chopin is very
~tten inconsistent in his notation and this results 1n maDJ
aabigui ties. 10

There is oonsidersble Tariation in the compose~ treat­

ment ot the essential factors ot a composition. The melodic
l1ne, tor instance, is as a rule noted with greatest care,
but once it ceases to be a foreground element it is only brieflJ
sketched, ( in progression, aixture, or ornament). Here Chopin
l1a1ta himself onlJ to suggesting the main direction but
neglects &n1 further development of the melodic line. The
h~monio structures of sketches and rough-oopies are marked
eit~er by abbreT1ations or only fragmentarily. Very scrupulous

notation is, on the other hand, proT1ded 1n cadences, closings

of phrases, periods and parts, in progressions and fragments of
a codal and transformational character(this type of notation
proves the form-creating role of harmonics in Chopin's
compositions). The lacking consonances ~ be ooapleted in
accordance with ~he principles of functional harmonics (first,
to define · & function of a particular chord and then to
complement the lacking elements), and in accordance with
Chopin's 1ndiT1dual manner of its application and deTelopment
(to choose the arrangement of a chord typical for a liven
Chopin context).

8xpressed by the composer in the notation, the arrangeaent

of elements into a hierarcb1 ia carried o~t froa the standpoint
of texture and fora. This arrangement is differently manifested
in particular ausic toraa, the representatiTes of which -
separate autographs - are proT1ded with an indiT1dually-def1ned
hierarchy of elements, conditioned by the shape ot the musical
ideas. There is nothing whioh can better demonstrate this
hierarohization than a obronological arrangement of the
autographs, beginning with the initial rough sketches and
ending with the final fair-copies. Here, in the process of
verification, the ooaposer's ind1T1dual notation undergoes
ooDT&ntional1zat1on. This gradual transformation of notation
~· aoooapliahed as a result of careful selection of auaical
 chopin 175

- 85 -
structures, which thus establish a complete aesthetic mesease.
such seleot1on is carried out in accordance with the musical
rules characteristic of. a g1Ten ooapoaition, and with the
seneral rules of p•roept1on, or which uniTersal sense has beat
be~ rendered in Aristotle's principles of poetics. Ita main
aaawaption is this: a plot ab.oal.d contain eTenta that would
astound the reader and so fa~ be1ond his baldest expectations,
thus beins •para t~n d6xan• (contradictor,J to general
conTiotiona) • In order,howeTer,to haTe such &Tents accepted
and to proapt the public to 1dent1t1 with thea, the1 .ust,
without ceaains h be incredible, fulfill certain conditions of
ored1b1l1t1 - in other words the1 should possess at least some
tea turn or probabili t1 and be lib ta t~ eik6a •( in con:fo:rmi Q
with senerall1 accepted noraa) 11 • The selection of structures
is accoapanied b1 the ccnTentional.izat1cn of signs as well as
aeseagea. The aesaap 1S USU&ll1 completed in accordance with
oblisatcr1 harmonic, aelodio, faotural. and dynamic principles,
and .th1a is etten followed b1 an tbl1terat1cn of the ooaposor's
P1'iaar1 1de• ·and ita characteristic features. Soae of the ideas
are thus elilllinated and rtll&in in the backgl'ound as a residue
ofte.n known to the anal1st alone. This residue is no leas
1aportant t~ f~ instance, the uterial which 1.a finall1
accepted. It :trequent11 happens that an idea rejec.ted at first
later becomes a st~ulus for creating others, seneticall1
cenneoted with it, though &tn'prisinsl1 fresh in their Dew shape.
It is eT1dellt, then, that a . atric·tly P1'&'0t1cal approach con~Siderab­
~1 restricts the wealth . of aaterial contained 1n the unuscripta.

The conclusions drawn froa the abaTe conaideratiens on ·the

reoeptiTe-1nter.at1enal role of Cho~'s autegraphs are a
methodological postulate, the t..ediate purpose of which is to
aodif1 the techniques ef innatiption h u b thea not onl1
reach the superficial traits of particular phen...na• but also
te penet~ate 1nto the internal, often hidden, but significant
't eatlU'ea. The ~plication of these aethods 1n the ana11s1a of
a auaical terl cenaiderabl1 ;broedena the Mte~ial of studies,
and at the aaae ttae it allows a clear-out distillot1en of
eleaenta •• tar unknewn, er ef .these that uaaall1 escape
176 chopin

- 86 -
traditional methods of inquiry. It also facilitates mutual
coaplementation and the Terifioation of conclusions drawn from
the analysis of the proo.eaa of creation and of its result -
a musical text. Concentration ot studies on musical autographs,
and particularly en the oomposer'a sketches, ia indispensable
and extreme~ useful in spite of their enigmatic character and
the amb1gu1t~es resulting from this. They, are, howeTer, pro­
duotiTII ambiguities which stimulate further interpretational
efforts, thanks to which it ie possible to diseoTer aany
indioat1ens as to ways of deciphering the aesthetic message.
We are also able to disooTer, in the outtrard disorder of
aanuaoript notation, principles defining an order auoh mere
perfect than could 'baTe been -presupposed ' . As a result we can
describe the pesaible final forma of a g1Ten piece of ausio.

aanuaoript notation, principles

 chopin 177

- 87 -
ANNOTATIONS
1. The lexical definition of aemiologJ referred to Ba1t because
of ita a7nthetio character, impl7 a oonsidorabl1 restricted
and eliminated field of research delimited by those aign­
syatema, tho usage of which conTentional and justified b7
trad1t1'n ia generally recognized. A much broader cognitive
aspect ia ascribed to aemiolcgJ by Umberto Eoo 1n his Pejzat
aomiot7cznz (Seaiotic ~dscape), Waraaw, 1972, p; 29. He
asserts thatz•semiolog, investigates all the phenomena of
culture aa ~ the7 constituted s7atoma of signa - acceP­
ting tho b1pothu1a that all phenomena of culture are, 1n
fact, a7atema of signa and consaquentl7 phenomena of
communication". This assumption baa alroadJ gained partial
and positiTe rocosnition and h&a follewora in contaapor&rJ
aeaiolog1oal research.

2. I do not mean the direction of semiotic inTeatigation which

is concentrated aolol7 on the olaaaical anal7ais of muaicai
notation; nor do I aean tho one that, froa the analysis of
olaaaioal notation and· tho~ through ita oritlo18a led T.
W6joik to tho presentation of tho optimal semantic ayatea
in ~he shape of isomorphic notation. What I am aiming at
ia auch a dof~tion 1n which signa funot~on aa a carrier
of tho aeathotio meaaage and are, at the aame time, ita
essential factors. This approach- is close to investigations
carried out in France b7 Bat1os, J.J, Macho F.B, and
Schaeffer P.

3. Problema connected with theolasa1~al s7stam o! notation

have alreadJ been developed b7 !.W6joik 1n hia Prakaooaemio­
tlka - Zar1s teorii opt1malnago znak~(Praeoaemiotioa· - An
Outline of the Theor7 of the Optimal Sign) , Warsaw, 1969. ·
The ambiguities concealed in the _transpoaitional oharacte­
riatioa of this a1atem are expressed aa followaz WMuaiciana
are uauall7 unaware of the fact that tho present notation
includes theor~ticall7 as m&n7 as 225 different staves and
about 1000 different eigne for the 12 sounds in all the
eight regions. All this ~ be very easily counted if we
178 chopin

- 88-

assuae that eTer1 staTe is a different stave in each of

the nine ke1•• In pianoforte music these numbers acquire
aomewh&t different proportiens and undergo a considerable
reduotion, but the problem, though on a smaller acale,does
not cease te exist.

4. The directions referred to have their origin, on the one

han~, in t~e theor~ of -meaning put forward in the twenties
b1 Osden and Richards, and ~n the ether in PaTleT's achie­
vements in the field of the theor1 of signals. The1 we_re
aftertr&l'ds deTeltped mainl.J b1 Sortet and .AIIItrican PS1-
choleg1sts. Here the works of Skinner, Morris, and Osgood
beleng to the b•st ~~ contemporar1 scientific descriP­
tions of these two trends.

5. Similar problema connected with semiotic logic were.

developed b1 Prato, Luis J ., in Znaki i s;umal:.t (Signs and
Signals), warsaw, 1970.

6. Problems of notation have froquentlJ been taken up b1

theeretioians -a nd oompesers. From ampng aany that have b~en
created in this field, the works of C.Dahlhaus, P.B.Kache
and B. Schiffer ~ be considered as the •oat interesting
achievements of recent 1ears.

1. A geed example here is the erroneous defining ef the chrone­

logJ of the Mazurka in A f1at majer op. 7 ~· 4. I attempted
to aolTe this problem 1m ~ Autegraf.t muZ,Jozne Frzder~ka
Chopina jako podstawa badan ir6dlow.Jch w chopinolosii ,
(Chopin's Musical Autographs - the Basta for Seurce Studies
in Chopinology), in"KUZIKA No 2, Warsaw, 1971.

8. Thia term~ created en the baaia ef the theor1 of information,

111&1• :tor our needa,be briefl1 defined as the degrees of a
scale, which are stated approx1aatel1 acoerding to the
formula "mQre or leaa".

9. AbbreTiati-ns appeuing in Chopin' a autographs have bun

described in my paper referred to in note 7.
 chopin 179

- 89 -
1 o. The incomplete sketch o! the !la.curka 1il F minor op.68 No 4,
partly deciphered b1 A.Franchomme.may serTe as the best
example o! the T&gueness of the composer's notation. For
over 100 1ears, it was believed to be Chopin's own. New
reconstructions ot this oompostition done b1 L.Bronarski,J,
Ekier, A. Hedle1 and the author o! the present paper di!!er
oona1derabl1•

11. Quoted aooording to Sinko, T., Trzz p•etlki k1as1ozne (The

Three Classical Poetioa), Wroolaw, 1951, p. 60.
 11
•!• CHOPIN AS EARLY MUSIC •!•
Jeffrey Kallberg
Chopin and the aesthetic of the sketch:
a new prelude in E~ minor?
H ow, m Chopm's Pans of the 1830s and I84os,
might we measure the relationship between the
aesthetic categories of 'sketch' and 'work'? The
meaning and importance of a sketch-and more
broadly the process of composition-in relationship
to a finished work was a charged topiC among
creative figures at the time. Their aesthetic positiOns
provide an instructive framework for the Interpreta­
tion of a remarkable sketch that Chopm drafted
around the time he was completmg the Preludes,
op.28, in Majorca. This, hke only one other extant
sketch of a composition that Chopin did not fimsh
and publish, preserves the skeletal remams-or the
embryonic beginnings-of a 'complete' piece, With
a beginning, middle and end.' Notationally ambi­
guous, the sketch will here for the first time be
published both in transcnption and m realization.
Will the result thereby yield a hitherto unknown
work by Chopin? What kmd of sense are we to make
of the B minor sketch?
Debates about the aesthetic ments of sketches
and, more generally, pieces that display somethmg
of the 'unfimshed' about them were particularly
acute in the visual arts. According to Charles Rosen
and Henn Zerner, the canvases of such artists as
Constable, Delacroix, Corot and Courbet helped
promote a taste for the seeming spontaneity of the
'unfimshed', a quahty that stood in stark contrast to
the 'hcked fimsh' of the academic artists known as
pompters-so stark, in fact, that by 1855 John Ruskm
could claim that the questiOn of sketch versus fin­
ished work divided all the artists of Europe! Those
who preferred the supposedly spontaneous sketches
408 EARLY MUSIC AUGUST 2001
of artists perceived in them something of the ongi­
nality that lay behind artistic inspiration, whereas
'finished works' conveyed such values as probity,
professionalism and discretion.
DelacroiX, we know from his diary, worried often
over the relative merits of the 'sketch' and the 'fin­
ished piCture'. His appreciation of the heightened
aesthetic potential of an artistic sketch gained some
force from his admiration of spontaneity m litera­
ture, with Byron serving as his emblematic impro­
visatory figure. But even more important to him was
the idea of extemporized musiC, and here none other
than the example of Chopin stimulated his thoughts.
That Chopm's activities at the keyboard might affect
the way Delacroix thought about pamting should
come as no surpnse, for an important element of
their friendship revolved precisely around efforts by
both men to grasp and somehow translate into their
own creative endeavours expressive effects attained
m the other's domain. Thus one evening at Nohant
m I841, after listening to a conversatiOn between
Delacrmx and Maurice Sand about Delacrmx's
understandmg of reflection and colour, Chopin
responded at the piano with an improvisation that
produced the celebrated 'note bleue' (as George
Sand emgmatically termed a mystiCal effect that
arose out of Chopin's modulatory playing).3
And Delacroix in turn continued even after the
composer's death to ponder painterly dimensions of
the spontaneous element in Chopin's musiCal art. In
an entry in his diary dated 20 Apriii853 he recorded
the gist of a conversation with Chopin's old friend
Wojciech Grzymata:
182 chopin
We spoke of Chopm. He told me that hts tmprovtsatwns
were much bolder than hts fimshed compositions. It ts the
same, no doubt, wtth a sketch for a pamtmg compared to a
fimshed pamtmg. No, one does not sp01l the piCture m fin­
tshmg tt! Perhaps there ts less scope for the tmagmatwn m a
fimshed work than m a sketch. One feels dtfferent tmpres­
swns before a bUJldmg that ts gomg up and m whiCh the
details are not yet mdJCated, and before the same bUJldmg
when tt has recetved tts remamder of ornamentatiOn and fin­
tsh It ts the same wtth a rum that acqUires a more stnkmg
aspect by the parts that tt lacks. The details are effaced or
mutilated, JUSt as m the bUJldmg gomg up one does not yet
see more than the rudtments and the vague mdtcatwn of the
moldmgs and ornamented parts. The fimshed buddmg
encloses the tmagmatwn wtthm a Circle and forbtds tt to go
beyond Perhaps the sketch of a work only pleases as much as
tt does because everyone fimshes tt to hts hkmg 4
For Delacroix, the power of onginahty m a sketch
essentially elevated it to the status of a work. (Many
creattve figures of his day, Baudelaire perhaps most
notable among them, seconded this positJOn.) 5 The
inconsistency in Delacroix's statement (he defended
the finished work by describing why the sketch
pleased more) IS, for the present discussion, less
important than h1s hkening of Chopm's Improvisa­
tions to painterly sketches. (Curiously, Delacrmx,
who had heard Chopm Improvise often and who
possessed a refined ear, offered Grzymata's opinion
on the boldness of Chopin's improvisatiOns rather
than his own, as If somehow his own hearing were
not to be trusted.) Chopin's Improvisations, we may
deduce from Delacroix's remarks, provided listeners
with even more profound insight into h1s powers of
imagination than d1d his finished works.
But would Delacrmx have made this same claim
of a wntten sketch by Chopin? M1ght Chopin's
sketches reveal some of the same spontaneous spark
that gave life to his improvisations? What was the
relationship between these two domains of 'impro­
VISatiOn' and 'sketch'? To begin to answer these
questiOns, we might first recall George Sand's oft­
cited testimony about the profound difficulties that,
for Chopm, attended the transition from inspira­
tion, either at the piano or m h1s head, to written
notation:
Hts creatlvtty was spontaneous, mtraculous He found tt
without seekmg tt, wtthout expectmg tt. It arnved at hts
pmno suddenly, completely, sublimely, or tt sang m hts head
dunng a walk, and he would hasten to play tt to htmself,
castmg tt down on hts mstrument. But then would begm
the most heart-breakmg labor I have ever wttnessed. It was
a senes of efforts, mdeClslOn and tmpatlence to recapture
certam detatls of the theme he had heard. What had come
to htm all of a ptece, he now over-analyzed m hts desue to
transcnbe It, and hts regret at not findmg tt agam 'neat', as
he satd, threw htm mto a kmd of despatr He would shut
htmself m hts room for days at a time, weepmg, pacmg,
breakmg hts pens, repeatmg and changmg a bar one hundred
ttmes, wntmg tt and erasmg tt wtth equal frequency, and
begmnmg agam the next day with meticulous and desperate
perseverance. He would spend SIX weeks on a page, only to
end up wntmg tt JUSt as he had done m hts first outpounng. 6
Although Sand's remarks concern specifically the
composer's last year or two in Nahant (and perhaps
thus tell us more about the decline of h1s powers
dunng h1s late period), they may well only describe
an extreme instance of what was always a troubled
process. Far from representmg any ideal of creative
spontaneity, the written sketch, by Sand's account,
would stand instead for the cramped suppressiOn of
Chopm's natural artistic mchnatwns. Sand, then,
would appear to deny an ontological relationship for
Chopin between improvisation (or msp1ration) and
written sketch in the sense that Delacroix might
seem to imply it.
Yet the possibility remams that the 'rough edges'
of one of Chopin's sketches might have held some
aesthetic value to his associates, just as, m the 183os,
fnends of Theodore Rousseau preferred his sketches
to h1s finished canvases/ We might detect these sorts
of sentiments lurking behind the decisions made by
Julian Fontana and Auguste Franchomme to tran­
scnbe and (in the case of Fontana) pubhsh as op.68
no-4 a sketch of an F mmor Mazurka as part of the
'authonzed' posthumous compositions. (We will
return below to the specific relatiOnship of the sketch
for the Mazurka to the H minor sketch.) Fontana in
fact devoted particular attention to Chopm's Impro­
visational skills in the wntten commentary he
attached to the posthumous pieces:
From the most tender age he astomshed by the nchness of
hts tmprovtsatwn. He took good care however not to parade
tt, but the few chosen ones who have heard htm tmprovtsmg
for hours on end, m the most marvellous manner, wtthout
ever recallmg a phrase from any other composer, wtthout
even touchmg on any of hts own works-those people Will
not contradtct us tf we suggest that hts finest composttwns
are only the reflectwns and echoes of hts tmprovtsatwn.
EARLY MUSIC AUGUST 2001 409
 chopin
Th1s spontaneous msp1rat1on was hke a boundless torrent of
precwus matenals m turmOil From t1me to time, the master
would draw out of It a few cups to throw mto h1s mould, and
1t turned out that these cups were full of pearls and rub1es 8
Fontana published these remarks in 1855, in the
same year that Ruskin clatmed that artistiC debates
about the relattve merits of sketches versus fimshed
works were at thetr peak. In this context, then,
Fontana's words should be read not as a curious
detour from the task of the rest of the commentary
of JUStifying the publicatiOn of pieces that Chopin
himself did not see fit to pubhsh, but rather as pre­
osely part of this very validation. By borrowing an
argument stmtlar to the sorts of posittons espoused
m the world of art by proponents of the aesthetic
value of sketches, Fontana lent credence to his inclu­
SIOn of what he elsewhere styled Chopin's dermere
pensee muszcale, a piece transmitted only in the form
of a sketch.9
I
N order to relate these aesthetic debates to the B
mmor sketch, we need more closely to consider tts
peculiar physiCal state and its musiCal contents (see
illus.1). Jean-Jacques Eigeldinger's hypothesis that
the contents of the leaf and its paper type indicate a
MaJOrcan provenance allows us to make sense of
several unusual material features of the sketch. 10 The
prominent tear at the lower left-hand corner of the
leaf is consistent wtth the manuscript having been
drafted on Majorca: in normal Circumstances, with
Parisian suppliers of paper close to hand, Chopin
would presumably have discarded a npped page
rather than saving it for sketching purposes (and
physical evidence confirms that the tear preceded
the drafting of the B minor sketch). 11 But the tear ts
not the only matenal feature of the sketch that sug­
gests that the composer was conserving paper: so too
does the physical layout. Chopm appears to have
folded the leaf vertiCally in half, and to have drafted
most of the sketch ( untiltts very last bars) to the left
of the fold. From this we may deduce that the tonal
planning on the nght half of the leaf (whereby, as
Eigeldmger has mgemously demonstrated, Chopm
established which of the op.28 Preludes remained to
be written) preceded the draft on the left half. 12 The
need to sketch a prelude in B minor arose prectsely
from this tonal plan (m other words, the abbrevia-
410 EARLY MUSIC AUGUST 2001
183
tion '3 o' [= 'terzo'] attached to the tonality of 'es
moll' on the right half of the page told Chopm that
the Prelude in B minor was the third of those that
still needed to be composed). And the presence of
thts tonal plan on the page prevented h1m from
sketching m his normal fashion, using the enttre
page. Lastly, and because Chopm confined himself
to a relatively small portion of the leaf, he drafted the
majonty of the systems in four-bar units. 13 The
exceptions to this pattern (in the first, fifth and sev­
enth systems) point to compositiOnally fraught
moments of the piece.
Chopin viewed his sketches as private documents
whose notation need make sense only to him, and
thts particular draft displays some of the scnbal
shortcuts that he habitually used m such circum­
stances. Striving to transfer the sounds conceived at
the keyboard onto paper, he seldom wasted time
wnting down aspects of the ptece that were obvious
to him. Thus he did not take speoal care with clefs
and accidentals, since he knew what the notes were
supposed to sound like. And when a pattern of some
sort repeated itself, he d1d not fully write out what to
h1m was a self-evident design. Hence in our sketch
Chopin plainly intended the triplet pattern
announced in the first bar (and reiterated in the
fourth and fifth systems) to repeat m every bar of the
piece save for the last three, and obviOusly intended
tnlls to sound continuously m the left hand.
But, now in the public eye, this pnvate document
furtively cloaks some of its readings. To a certain
extent the determmate aspects of the sketch are less
striking than tts mdeterminate features. Many
aspects of the piece resist definitive interpretation;
pttches, rhythms and voice-leadmg fall onto the page
with maddening imprecision. In some places,
Chopm essayed more than one versiOn of a given
passage, and failed to leave any obvious s1gn as to
which of them (if any) he preferred. Hence we dis­
cover three separate versions of the first part of the
closural gesture (over the trilled dominant pedal),
and two further versions of the very ending of the
ptece. And the opening four bars of the piece pose
their own, very different, mterpretatJve puzzles.
Here the absence of clefs augments the customary
ambiguttJes that arise from the inexact notatiOn
of pttch and the omission of implied acctdentals.
 184
chopin

m
,....>
-<
:::
c
vo
n
>
c::
Cl
c
vo
-!
....
0
0

.l;>.

1 Sk<•tch for a Prelu de in E> minor (The Robert Owen Lehman Collectio n , on deposit at The Pierpont Morgan Library, New York )

at University of Pennsylvania Library on February 25, 2015

 chopin 185

Ex.1 Five mterpretatwns of bars 1-4 of the B mmor sketch

© 2001 Jeffrey Kallberg. All nghts reserved

412 EARLY MUSIC AUGUST 2001

186 chopin
Ex.I shows five Interpretations of Chopm's hasty
scrawl (more readings of these bars are certainly
possible); what 1s mterestmg is that some measure
of dissatisfaction attaches to every one of them,
since none includes every p1tch that Chopm wrote
at the level at whiCh he apparently wrote it. Thus
the accidentals m the top staff would seem to 1m ply
that the first two bars (and perhaps the next two as
well) should be read m the bass clef (see versions
3-5 in ex.1); such an Interpretation results m an
ungainly overlap between the right and left hands,
an overlap that can only barely make sense if we
assume that the pitches in the lower staff represent
successive, rather than simultaneous readings, with
the upper m replacing the lower B. Moreover, as
important as a lower register seems to have been for
Chopin's general conception of the key of B minor
Ex.2 Register and Chopm's conceptiOn of the key of H minor (a) Etude, op.10 no.6; (b) Polonaise, op.26 no.2;
(c) Prelude, op 28 no.14
(compare the Etude, op.IO no.6, the Polonaise,
op.26 no.2, and of course the Prelude, op.28 no.I4-
see ex.2), it would be peculiar for him to place the
opening two or four bars of a piece in a register
below middle C when the rest of the p1ece clearly
unfolds one to two octaves above th1s starting
pomt. But every plausible version with the nght
hand in the treble clef also requires a certain sus­
pension of disbelief with respect to the composer's
notational habits. The solution I have opted for
takes note of the absence of a brace at the begmnmg
of the first system (compare the following three
systems), and mterprets it as a s1gn that Chopm
may have intended that the musiC he mitially
notated in the bass clef be read two octaves h1gher,
or in the register of the music found on the Imme­
diately followmg systems with braces.
EARLY MUSIC AUGUST 2001 413
 chopin 187

Exx.3 and 4 use th1s solutwn m order to offer,
respectively, a relatively literal transcnptwn of the
sketch and a 'reahzatwn' of what Chopm's rumc
scrawl may have 1mphed mus1cally. I have no illu­
sions that this reahzatwn offers the nght solution
for the opening (or indeed for other interpretative
deta1ls), or that there can even be such a thing as the
nght solution. For a composer who so customarily
allowed mult1ple versions of h1s published works
to appear m pnnt at the same t1me, 1t would be
surpnsmg if one of h1s sketches displayed a more
determinate nature than h1s finished works. 14
Indeed, I mtend the sense of 'realization' preCisely
to mmor the process by which a keyboard player
renders a continuo part mto sound: different rendi­
twns of the B minor sketch will reveal at once the
adherence to a common source and the individual­
Ity of the vanous interpreters. In this light we m1ght
recall Delacroix's words: 'Perhaps the sketch of a
work only pleases as much as it does because every­
one finishes it to h1s hking.'
Desp1te the blurred edges of the beginnmg and

Ex 3 Relatively hteral transcnptwn of the B mmor sketch

414 EARLY MUSIC AUGUST 2001

188 chopin
end of the sketch and the hazmess of many of tts
internal details, we can nevertheless garner a sense
of what sort of H mmor Prelude this sketch repre­
sents. Or, put another way, we can understand what
led Chopm to undertake the sort of compostttonal
labours on paper that George Sand so evocattvely
described in her mem01rs. For undoubtedly it was
the innovative ttmbral and textural surface, the
mtnguing posstbihty of building a prelude around
unremittmg torrents of tnlls densely enchamed
beneath melodtc tnplets, that impelled Chopm to
take up paper and quill. This timbral gesture can be
understood in one sense as experimental: Chopm's
tmpulses here led him down a path (wtth respect to
the unprecedented tethered trills) that he would not
allow htmself to tread in a pubhshed work unttl the
reprise of the Nocturne in B major, op.62 no.l­
and even there the appearance of the tnlls in the
melodic line produces a less radical effect (ex.s). In
another sense the ttmbre sounds dtsturbing, even
grotesque: there is somethmg disqmetmg m the
prolonged turbulence of the trill, an effect perhaps
© 2001 Jeffrey Kallberg. All nghts reserved
EARLY MUSIC AUGUST 2001 415
 chopin 189

Ex.4 Reahzatwn of the H mmor sketch

© 2001 Jeffrey Kallberg. All nghts reserved

416 EARLY MUSIC AUGUST 2001

190 chopin
Ex.s Repnse of Nocturne m B maJOr, op 62 no.1
*
not too surpnsmg when we recall the rhetoric of
distress that Sand used m her memmrs to descnbe
Chopin's compositiOnal activities on Majorca:
The clmster was for him full of terrors and phantoms, even
when he felt well. He did not say anythmg, and I had to
guess. When I would return from my nocturnal exploratwns
in the rums with my children, I would find him, at ten m the
evemng, pale at his piano, his eyes haggard, his hair standmg
almost on end It would take him some moments to recog­
niZe us
He would then make an effort to laugh, and he would play
us the sublime thmgs he had JUSt composed, or, better,
the ternble and harrowmg Ideas that had seized him, unwit­
tingly, m that hour of solitude, sadness and terror
It IS there that he composed the most beautiful of those
bnef pages that he modestly entitled preludes ''
Perhaps, too, the sound of the prelude shows
Chopm imagmatively evoking music of the past, for
the massed trills bnng to mmd more the sound of
such clavecinistes as Franc;ms Coupenn and Rameau
than any model chronologically proximate to
Chopin's time. To my ear, Coupenn's style seems
most apposite to that of Chopin's sketch. Readers of
this JOurnal are better placed than most to conJure
up their own associations with specific pieces. For
myself, the conjomed tnlls of the sketch call to mmd
the repetitive intensity of a work such as the B mmor
Passacazlle (Pzeces de clavecm, 2e lzvre, se ordre)--see
ex.6. Yet it IS difficult to ascertam preCisely when and
how Chopm might have come into contact with
music from this earher epoch. Jean-Jacques
Eigeldmger has argued that Chopm would hkely
have been fam1har with some of the music of
Franc;ois Couperin. But E1geldmger's evidence
points to this knowledge as developing after the
draftmg of the a minor sketch: the fundamental
source by which a musiCian in Pans could have come
to know the musiC of Franc;ois Couperin, Jean­
Joseph-Bonaventure Laurens's anonymously edited
anthology of 38 Pzeces de clavecm par F Coupenn,
was published m 1841, more than two years after the
putative date of the sketch.' 6 The Revue et Gazette
muszcale de Pans d1d print, at vanous times dunng
1839, an Archzves cuneuses de Ia muszque that
included compositions by Louis Couperin and
Rameau, but It IS not clear whether Chopin would
have had access to even the earliest issues of this
newspaper while away on MaJorca. But to worry
over a speCific source for Chopin's knowledge may
well miss the point, for vanous of Chopin's musical
acquamtances with strong antiquanan tendenCies
EARLY MUSIC AUGUST 2001 417
 chopin
Ex.6 Fran~ms Coupenn, Passacazlle (Pzeces de clavecm, 2' liVre, 8' ordre)
r
(Charles-Valentm Alkan, for example) could have
served as informal conduits for the sound of the
clavecmzstes.'7
And it IS possible, too, that an entirely different
sort of 'anCient music' might have inspired Chopin,
who with this sketch may have pondered crossing
mediUms and conceiving a sort of 'Devil's tnll' pre­
lude for the piano. Tartim's 'Le trille du diable' first
saw pnnt in Jean-Baptiste Cartier's famous violin
treatise of 1798 (illus.2). Although the Cartier treatise
remained well known m Chopm's time, we need not
suppose that Chopin spent time thumbing through
vwlm methods in order to explain how he might
have come to know the Tartim piece. For in a foot­
note attached to the first page of the Tartmi sonata,
Cartier thanked 'BaJllot'-Pierre Baillot-for having
loved Tartini's music enough to convince him to
mclude the 'Devil's tnll' in his treatise.' 8 This same
Baiilot, three decades later, was one ofChopm's first
musiCal contacts upon his arnval m Paris (he par­
ticipated in Chopin's first concert on 26 February
1832). Baillot contmued to nourish a fondness for
Tart1m's music (he cited some of it-though not the
418 EARLY MUSIC AUGUST 2001
191
'Devii's trill'-m his own Art du vzolon of 1834). If
Chopin had not encountered the Tartini piece
before he moved to Paris, he perhaps would have
had good opportunities to hear It while m Baillot's
presence. And what is most important, the affect of
the sketch-the dark timbre produced by the B
minor tonality and the piercmg, unsettling tnlls­
certamly fits well with the 'diabolical' topic explored
m Tartim's piece.'9
But in this sketch, at once experimental, disturb­
ing and evocative of a distant ornamental past,
Chopm yoked innovative timbral gestures to gener­
ally conservative phrase and tonal structures. With
respect to the phrase structure, there is a correspon­
dence between the predominance of four-bar sys­
tems m the sketch and the actual phrase structure of
the music. In other words, the material shape of the
sketch reveals somethmg notable about its rigid
phrase structure. (The left-hand scalar runs that end
the first three phrases do little to mitigate the rigidity
of this scaffoldmg.) In this instance, Chopin turned
extenor constraints into positive compositional
virtues. That is, the stable phrase structure and the
192 chopin

2 Tartmi, 'Devii's tnll ' Sonata, as first pnnted m Jean-Baptiste Cartier, L'art du vtolon (Pans, I798) , after the facsimile of

the Pans [l8o3 7 ] editiOn (New York: Broude Brothers, I973)

EARLY MUSIC AUGUST 2001 419

 chopin
largely unremarkable harmomc stratum cast the
t1mbral and textural expenments into greater relief.
They provide the ground agamst whiCh may be
JUdged the 1magmat1ve flutterings m the left hand.
Now, while the sound-world of the B minor
sketch differs sharply from that of the work pub­
lished as the B mmor Prelude, op.28 no.14, th1s does
not mean that the latter work does not contain any
trace of the sketch. In movmg from the sketch to the
published work, Chopin remained wedded to two
ideas (see ex.2c). FlfSt, he wanted this B mmor Pre­
lude to feature an atypical texture: the conjoined
trills in the sketch, the 'crabbed' octaves m op.28
n0.14. 20 And second, he wanted it to highlight
repeatmg tnplets.
That conceptual echoes of the B minor sketch
should contmue to resonate in the published Pre­
lude, op.28 no.14, figures Importantly in our attempt
to determine the ontologiCal status of the sketch. For
m th1s function, as m others just as significant, the
'Es moll' sketch resembles only one other sketch by
Chopm: indeed, the most famous of all Chopm
sketches, that for the F minor Mazurka published
Ex.7 Transcnpt1on of the opemng bars of the sketch for a Mazurka m F mmor, published posthumously as op.68 no-4
420 EARLY MUSIC AUGUST 2001
193
posthumously by Fontana as op.68 no.4 (ex.7).
These are the only two surv1vmg sketches for 'com­
plete' pieces-'complete' in the sense that they dis­
play some semblance of a beginmng, middle and
end-that do not relate in basic thematic substance
to works that Chopin himself fimshed. Both sketches
display a significant degree of uncertainty with
respect to the details of voiCe-leading and form, and
both represent early attempts at p1eces that
he d1d publish: respectively, a Prelude for op.28, and
(I have contended) a Mazurka for op.6}. 21 And
although he abandoned both sketches, the1r stylistic
fingerprints remain in both of the replacement
works. (In the published Mazurka a passage m the
first contrasting section mimics an IdiOsyncratic
harmonic progression in the sketch.)
Hence whatever ontological status one grants to
the music in the sketch for the F mmor Mazurka
should also attach to the musiC of the B minor
sketch. If Fontana's implied logiC IS correct, then
the sketch for the F minor Mazurka, apparently one
step removed from improvisatiOn, reveals evidence
of an unconstrained master on the job. It would
194 chopin

therefore transmit to us a genume work-the cup
dipped mto the torrent of creativity drew forth a
pearl. (The Mazurka's near canomcal status, espe­
cially among critics, suggests a widespread accep­
tance of this logic.) And 1f the F mmor Mazurka
enjoys the status of a work, then the early H minor
Prelude too ought to be welcomed as a proper work
by Chopin, a 'previously unknown prelude',
perhaps, or, to adapt a marketmg philosophy
current m the mid-19th century, Chopin's premtere
pensee mustcale.
But this logic IS false. Fmt, if Sand's testimony IS
to be believed, it ignores the distinction in Chopm's
own psyche between Improvisation and sketch,
between a relatively spontaneous outpounng and a
decidedly constrictive creative endeavour. Second, It
obscures another important distinction that follows
from the divide between improvisation and sketch,
namely the difference in Chopm's mind between
music for public consumption and music for h1s
own private domam. To be sure, Chopin must have
Improvised privately (though we do not know tf he
considered such private Improvisations genmne
compositional activity; It is quite possible that he
constdered the activity at the keyboard that led to the
birth of a piece to be a very different pursmt from
' ImprovisatiOn'). But Cho pin, like nearly every key­
board artist of his time, plamly considered improvi­
sation primarily a public activity (if he believed
otherwtse, we would not have testimony from the
hkes of Grzymata and Fontana about h1s Improvisa­
tional sk1lls). 22 Sketches, on the other hand, were for
Chopin intensely pnvate documents (witness h1s
concern that any sketches in h1s portfolio be
destroyed after h1s death, and prectsely because what
he termed his 'respect' for the public made the Idea
that any 'imperfect' compositiOn would appear
before them utterly repellent to him)!3 Third, and
once agam drawing on the importance to the com­
poser of the difference between the public and pri­
vate domams, Chopm explicitly put the two sketches
aside in favour of other, replacement works. Neither
sketch ever engaged with-indeed they were explic­
Itly demed-any of the ordinary social contexts that
might have elevated their contents to the full status
of a work. In this way they would seem to be very dif­
ferent from the sort of sketch valorized in the visual
arts. These musiCal drafts did not represent the elan
of the composer's creative passion, but rather the
detntus of his most agonizing labours.
Yet to argue thus IS not to claim that the sketches
lack aesthetic value, and that they must be somehow
suppressed (as if that would be possible). Placed m
the proper context, the sketches would permit per­
formers and scholars both to understand better the
compositional contexts from which the respective
works emerged and to choose to perform the 'pn­
vate' readings if they felt that Chopm (like other fig­
ures of his generation) denied a more radiCal Initial
creative impulse. And, more importantly perhaps,
the sketches would also demonstrate that textual
instability was as fundamental to the early stages of
Chopm's compositional process as to the final
stages.
But m addition to these more broadly conceived
aesthetic values, the sketch for an Eb mmor Prelude
possesses aesthetiC value on its own terms. It allows
us, for only the second time, to understand how a
complete piece that Chopm did not publish might
have sounded at one stage in tts conception, and
thus in turn better to grasp how he went about mak­
ing his creative decisions. Even more particularly,
the sketch provides a glimpse into Chopin's work­
shop during one of the most noteworthy-and
fraught-penods m his life, the fabled sojourn to
Majorca. It brings vividly to life the images of a
stramed and stressed composer toihng to complete a
set of pieces-the Twenty-four Preludes-of signal
importance to the history of music. Transcnbmg
and realizing the Eb mmor sketch may not yield a
hitherto unknown work by Chopm, but what it does
y1eld is thoroughly mterestmg m Its own right.

I w1sh to thank jean- jacques E1geldmger,
Murray Perahw, fohn Rmk and Carl
Schachter for comments and suggest1ons
that proved most helpful m the comple­
twn of th1s art1cle jonathan Bellman
deserves specwl accolades, not only for
h1s w1se counsel on the content of th1s
art1cle, but also for hzs fine performance
of the Prelude, wh1ch enltvened an oral
presentation of thzs paper at the annual
meetmg of the Amerzcan Muszcolog1cal
Soc1ety m Toronto (November 2000)
1 The formulation 'fimsh and pubhsh'
thereby separates mto a distmct
category the sketch for the Nocturne
m C mmor, a work that Chopm d1d
'fimsh' (to the extent that he prepared
a fa1r copy of the piece), but d1d not

EARLY MUSIC AUGUST 2001 421


pubhsh. (The work was first pubhshed
InI938)
2 C Rosen and H Zerner, Romanti­
CISm and real1sm the mythology of mne­
teenth-century art (New York, I984),
pp 226-7
3 Sand's account appears m her
Impresswns et souvemrs (Pans, I873),
pp.72-90 For an tmportant dtscusswn
of the relatwnshtp between thts tmpro­
vtsatwn and Chopm's Prelude, op.45,
see j -). Etgeldmger, 'Chopm and
"Ia note bleue". an mterpretatton of
the Prelude op 45', Mus1c and letters,
lxxvm (I997), pp 233-53
4 Eugene Delacr01x, Journal, 1822-I863,
ed A. )oubm (Pans, I93I-2; rev edn
I98o), p.330, translatiOn adapted from
M. Hannoosh, Pmntmg and the
'Journal' ofEugime Delacrmx (Pnnce­
ton, I995), p 72.
5 Baudelatre most notably defended
the aesthetiC worth of the 'unfimshed'
art work m hts Salon de 1845, as part of
hts valonzatton ofCorot's landscapes,
see Charles Baudelatre, Curwsnes esthe­
tlques, /'art romant1que, et m1tres ceuvres
cntzques, ed H. Lemattre (Pans, I962),
p 61.
6 George Sand, H1sto1re de rna v1e,
m CEuvres autob1ograph1ques, ed G.
Lubm, 2 vols. (Pans, I97I), 11, p 446.
I have shghtly modtfied the Enghsh
translatiOn pnnted m Story of my lzfe
the autobwgraphy of George Sand, a
group translatwn, ed T. Jurgrau
(Albany, I99I), p no8.
7 See Rosen and Zerner, Romant1c1sm
and realzsm, p.228
8 CEuvres posthumes de Fred Chopm,
ed ). Fontana (Berhn, I855), p 2 I have
modtfied the translatiOn pnnted m j -j
Etgeldmger, Chopm pwmst and teacher
as seen by h1s pupzls, trans N Shohet
wtth K Osostowtcz and R. Howat, ed.
R. Howat (Cambndge, I986), p 282
9 On the F mmor Mazurka as
Chopm's dermere pensee, see).
Kallberg, Chopm at the boundanes sex,
h1story, and mus1cal genre (Cambndge,
MA, 1996), ch 4 'Chopm's last style',
pp 89-I34
10 See J -). Etgeldmger, 'L'achevement
des Preludes de Chopm documents
autographes', Revue de mus1cologLe,
lxxv (I989), pp 229-42
422 EARLY MUSIC AUGUST 2001
chopin
n The descendmg stem of the first
note on the tenth staff was wntten
over the Jagged edge of the torn paper,
whiCh suggests that the wntmg of the
sketch followed the teanng of the
paper
I2 Etgeldmger, 'L'achevement des
Preludes', pp 230-42
I3 The four-bar umts perhaps also
served Chopm as a kmd of vtsual archt­
tectomc scaffoldmg He very occasiOn­
ally used thts procedure m sketches
where he was not (as m the B mmor
sketch) constramed for space. Seem
particular hts 'ketch for the Berceuse,
op 57 (Warsaw, Towarzystwo tmtema
Fryderyka Chopma, MI2I65), and also
the first etght bars of the sketch for the
Nocturne m C mmor, op post
(Warsaw, Towarzystwo tmtema
Fryderyka Chopma, M/300)
I4 On the meanmg of the mustcal
vanants m Chopm's 'stmultaneous'
first edttwns, see Kallberg, Chopm
at the boundanes, ch 7 'The Chopm
"problem": simultaneous vanants and
alternate verswns', pp 2I5-28
I5 ·Sand, H1sto1re de rna v1e, 11,
pp 4I9-20, Sand, Story of my llfe, p I09I
(translatiOn modtfied)
I6 'Chopm et Coupenn: affimtes
selecttves', Echos de France et d'Italze
lzber am1corum Yves Gerard, ed M -C
Mussat, J Mongredten and J -M.
Nectoux (Paris, I997), pp.175-93.
17 On the general pathways Chopm
mtght have followed m Pans to learn
about musiC before Mozart, see j -j
Etgeldmger, 'Placmg Chopm. reflec­
tions on a compostttonal aesthetic',
Chopm studzes 2, ed j Rmk and j
Samson (Cambndge, 1994), pp n9-22
I8 L'art du vzolon (Pans, 1798),
Cartier's footnote (the text of whiCh
reads 'Cette Ptece est Tres rare; je Ia
dots a BAILLOT, Son amour Pour les
belles productiOns de TAR TIN 1, L'a
dectde a m'en fatre Je sacnfice')
appears on p.262, 'Le tnlle du dtable'
on pp 268-9. In the facstmt!e verswn of
1973-denved from a pnntmg of
1803-the footnote appears on p 307,
and the 'Devtl's tnll' on pp 312-13, see
j -B. Cartter, L'art du vwlon (Pans,
1803, R/New York, 1973).
195
19 Chopm's teacher )6zef Elsner tells
us that Chopm had already once
before, m a fl1rtatwus moment m
Pohsh soctety, mustcally brought to
mmd devt!s· 'you nonchalantly (but
because beautiful eyes asked you to)
amphfied an tdea of a few notes for a
dtabohcal Chorus mto an angehc
Song'; letter of Elsner to Chopm, 13
Nov 1832, Fryderyk Chopm, Korespon­
denc;a Fryderyka Chopma, ed. B E.
Sydow, 2 vols (Warsaw, 1955), i, p 22I
(my translatwn)
20 The reference to 'crabbed' octaves
borrows from Chopm's own evocative
descnptwn of the umson octave
texture of the finale of the Sonata m m
mmor, op.35 'a short httle finale,
perhaps about 3 of my pages; the left
hand crabs [ogadu;q] umsono wtth the
nght after the march' (letter to Juhan
Fontana, 8 Aug I839, m Chopm,
Korespondenc;a, 1, p 353, emphasts m
ongmal; my translatiOn) The standard
Enghsh translatiOns of the letter gener­
ally render the verb m the last clause as
'gossip', whiCh Ignores the more biting
resonances of the Pohsh word, whiCh
carnes two meamngs. (I) 'to crab, to
pull to pieces, to cry down', and (2)
'to talk over, to speak (1ll) of: see j
Stamslawski, The great Polzsh-Englzsh
d1ctwnary, 2 vols. (Warsaw, I978), 1,
p 634
21 Kallberg, Chopm at the boundanes,
pp.I26-32.
22 Chopm doubtless distmgUJshed
between at least two types of 'pubhc'
ImprovisatiOn that whtch took place m
front of a larger, anonymous, paymg
audience, and that wh1ch took place m
the more comfortable and mtimate set­
tmg of a salon peopled by acquam­
tances Certamly the latter venue nour­
Ished the most famous and ethereal of
Chopm's Improvisatwns, but we
should not forget the Importance of
the first category m partiCular to
Chopm's early career as virtuoso
p1amM
23 See the letter from WoJCtech
Grzymara to Auguste Leo wntten
shortly after Chopm's death (before h1s
funeral), Chopm, Korespondenc;a, 11,
p 324 (my translatwn).
 12

JAN EKIER

ON QUESTIONS RELATING TO THE CHRONOLOGY

OF CHOPIN'S WORKS. METHODS.
A FEW EXAMPLES CONCERNING COMPOSITIONS
FROM THE LAST PERIOD

I t is hard to overestimate the importance of research into the

chronology of the writing of a composer's works. Establishing the
correct chronology conditions our knowledge of his oeuvre as
a whole, its development and deviations (slumps and peaks) and the
presentation of these phenomena in a periodised form. If the compos­
er himself furnished his works with opus numbers, then this number­
ing usually coincides with their succession over time, although
irregularities do occur (one salient example is the numbering of
Chopin's two concertos in relation to the order in which they were
written; we encounter a similar case in the oeuvre of Beethoven: the
earlier Concerto in B flat major is termed the 'second', as Op. 19, the
C major Concerto, finished at a later date, is the 'first', as Op. 15).
Things get more complicated when we take into account the addition­
al numbering made by editors of works not published during a com­
poser's lifetime. In the case of Chopin, this relates to the numbering of
the Oeuvres posthumes prepared by Julian Fontana.
If a composer's oeuvre is used in teaching, then the chronological
ordering of his works may be of additional assistance to the pedagogue
in grading difficulty.
In the Chopin literature, as far as I am aware, the questions of
chronology have yet to be treated to a complex study, taking account of
all the aspects of research and Chopin's entire creative output. This
does not mean that there are no lists of his works in supposed chrono­
logical order. We find such lists in biographies, guidebooks and themat­
ic catalogues. Yet their ordering is based on sources of varying

169
198 chopin

Jan Ekier

reliability, from the entirely secure to the highly dubious. The origins of
some dates can be difficult to ascertain.
The last half century has seen a noticeable increase in interest
among Chopinologists in the problem of chronology in its more gener­
al aspect. Well-documented studies have been prepared concerning
particular works, periods or forms. 1 I am not aware, however, of any
attempts to bring some order to the sources for chronology, with the
degree of their reliability and the degree of certainty to the conclusions
to which they give rise being specified, and their different symbolism
being distinguished in tabular presentations. These problems have
already been signalled in the Wstfp do TfYdania Narodowego [Introduc­
tion to the Polish National Edition].l
In the present paper, I wish to outline the essential issues relating to
the chronology of Chopin's works, in particular those questions which
- to my mind - have yet to be thoroughly investigated. This paper will
certainly not exhaust the subject, but it may add a few new perspectives
on the clarification of the issues involved.

* **
I. The sources for the chronology of Chopin's works should be
considered according to two values: their reliability and their preci­
sion. Priority in terms of reliability is given to author i a I sources.
Foremost among these are the dates placed by the composer on the
autographs of his works. It is a matter of course that the composer
does not wish to mislead anyone; hence the maximal degree of relia­
bility to his dates. However, the degree of precision of his markings
may differ.
Here are a few selected examples:

1 Hieronim Feicht, 'Ronda Fryderyka Chopina' [The rondos of Fryderyk Chopin],

Kwartalnik Muzyczny 23 (1 948), 23- 28. H . Feicht, 'Dwa cykle wariacyjne na temat ,Der Sch­
wcizerbub" F. Chopina i J. F. Marcksa' [Two variation sets on the theme of 'Der Schweizer­
bub', by Chopin and Marcks], in F. F. Chopin, ed. Zofia Lissa (Warszawa, 1960), 56-58. Teresa
Dalila Turlo, 'Z zagadniet\. chronologii pierwszych utwor6w Chopina' [On questions relating
to the chronology of Chopin's first works], Rocznik Chopinowski 19 (1987), 145-150.
2 Jan Ekier, Wstrp do Wydania Narodowego [Introduction to the Polish N ational Edition]

(Warszawa, 1974), 42-46, 61-64.

170
 chopin 199

On questions relating to the chronology of Chopin's works. Methods. A few exemples

Example I. Waltz in A flat major, NE 47 (pour M11' Marie) 'FFChopin I Drezno Sept. 1835'.

Example 2. Waltz in A flat major, NE 47 'a Mm' Peruzzi hommage de FFChopin 1837'.

Example 3. Waltz in F minor, NE 55 'a Mademoiselle Marie de K rudner I Paris, le 8 fuin 1841.
FChopin'.

171
200 chopin

Ja11E_kier

Example 4. Waltz in F minor, NE 55 'a Madame Ou1y I Paris 10 Decembre 1842'.

Example 5. Wiosna [Spring], version tor piano, NE 52a. 'Paryi 3 Wrz. 1844. w pol do 3"''
po p61nocy' ['Paris 3 Sept. 1844 half past 2 a.m.'].

Example 6. Largo 'Paris le 6 Juillet'.

172
 chopin 201

On questions relating to th e chronology of Chopin's works. M ethods. A few exemples

Example 7. Impromptu inC sharp minor, NE 46. 'Paris Vendredi I 1835'.

As we can see, the dates give the year, month, day and sometimes
even hour of a work's composition. At the same time, however, we
notice several inconsistencies. Examples 1 and 2 concern the same
work, yet they show two different years. The same applies to exam­
ples 3 and 4, with two different months. This is due to the fact that
these compositions were dedicated to different people at different
times, not as works, but as individual autographs. In such cases, let us
adopt a general rule: we determine the date of a work's composition
from the date of the earliest source presenting the composition in its
completed form. This may concern, not only autographs, but also
copies based on lost autographs and first editions.
The next group of authorial sources comprises the composer's pri­
vate correspondence. ' ... as I already have, perhaps unfortunately, my
ideal [... ] who inspired me to write that little waltz this morning, the
one that I send you', 3 wrote Chopin to Tytus Woyciechowski on the
subject of the posthumously published Waltz in D flat major, or
'Today I completed the Fantasy',4 as he wrote about Op. 49 to Fontana.
These sentences, associated with the date of the letters, give us the
exact day on which a smaller-scale piece was written or a larger work
completed.
Some extracts from his correspondence, whilst not giving absolute
dates of particular compositions, indicate the relative times of their
composition. On the subject of his first lithographed mazurkas,
Chopin wrote to Jan Bialoblocki: 'I send you my mazurka, about which

> Letter to Tytus Woyciechowski, 3 October 1829, Korespondencja Fryderyka Chopina [The
correspondence ofFryderyk Chopin] (herafter KCh), ed. B. E. Sydow (Warszawa, 1955), i, 107.
4 Letter to Julian Fontana, 20 October 1841, KCh, ii, 45.

173
202 chopin

Jan E~r

you know; you may receive another one later, as it would be too much
pleasure at once. Already let out into the world; meanwhile my Rondo,
that I wanted to have lithographed, which is earlier, and so has the
greater right to travel, I smother among my papers.' 5 Or this excerpt
from a letter to Julian Fontana: 'I'm writing here the Sonata in
Si~ mineur, which will include my march that you know'. 6 For a long
time, the expression 'that you know' pointed only to the fact that the
March was written earlier than the rest of the B flat minor Sonata. Only
since the publication by Jeffrey Kallberg in 2001 of a dated album entry
of the opening of the D flat major section of the March do we know
that it is at least two years older than the rest of the Sonata.

Example 8. Sonata in B flat minor, Op. 35 - beginning of the D flat major section
of the March, Paris 1837.

Further sources with the composer's participation comprise his cor­

respondence with publishers. The importance of these letters for estab­
lishing the chronology of works needs no explanation.
Sources from other parties must be checked in respect to
other aspects of reliability: the age of the person from whom we have

; Letter to Jan Bialohlocki, 8 January 1827, KCh, i, 75.

6 Lener to J. Fontana, 8 August 1839, KCh, i, 353.

174
 chopin 203

On questions relating to the chronology of Chopin's works. Methods. A few exemples

the source, his/her presence during the composing of the work, any
sources from which this person takes his/her information, the distance
in time between a work's composing and its dating, and the degree of
his/her musical professionalism. These additional criteria are necessary
in respect to this group of sources because the differences in the datings
given by persons close to Chopin can be up to four years!
The most trustworthy dates in this category are those which are
given together with the temporally established circumstances sur­
rounding the composing of a work. Such dates include excerpts from
the correspondence of Oskar Kolberg, concerning the first mazurkas
for dancing, the Funeral March in C minor, the Polonaise in B flat
minor for Wilhelm Kolberg and the Polonaise in G flat major/ or the
date given by those close to Chopin for the composing of the last
mazurka, the F minor. 8
Next in line are dates given by the editors of the composer's works
(e.g. those marked in Fontana's Oeuvres posthumes), followed by lists of
works (e.g. Ludwika Jc;:drzejewicz's 'Unpublished compositions'9 ).
Sources from publishers: plate numbers, often available in
specialist catalogues, depot legal (the date a mandatory copy of a French
publication was submitted to the Bibliotheque Nationale in Paris). 10
Such catalogues usually determine the terminus ante quem - the date
before which a work was written.
Various sources: mentions in the press, concert bills and pro­
grammes.
Recently, attempts have been made to apply additional methods for
clarifying the dating of Chopin's works. These include analysis of the
paper and ink of a manuscriptY There is continuous development of
non-invasive techniques for examining works of art (used with paint-

7 'I learned that it was written for a friend on Christmas Eve, or a couple of days before

his leaving Warsaw for Vienna, and so it was essentially a farewell polonaise'. Cit. after Kore­
spondencja Oskara Kolberga [The correspondence ofOskar Kolberg], ii (Warszawa, 1969), 376.
8 See below.

9 J. Ekier, Wstrp, illustrations 11-14.

10 KrzysztofGrabowski, 'Francuskie oryginalne wydania dziel Fryderyka Chopina' [Orig­

inal French editions of the works of Fryderyk Chopin], Rocznik Chopinowski 21 (1995),
115-155.
11 Jeffrey Kallberg, '0 klasyfikacji r<rkopis6w Chopina' [On the classification of Chopin's

manuscripts], Rocznik Chopinowski 17 (1 985), 86-96.

175
204 chopin

Jan_Eia.cr

ings is radiation in various spectra with a resolution of up to 240 million

pixels). These might also be useful in analysing manuscripts, thereby
giving considerable hope of new discoveries in Chopin's autographs. All
of these I call materia 1 (or real, measurable, objective) sources.
Developing parallel to the use of material sources is research into
stylistic criteria that may support a particular dating of a work's com­
position. Early efforts in this area were of the character of intuitive
judgments, often of a general, aesthetically-orientated nature.
Progress in the research methods employed by contemporary musi­
cology in respect to the changes in Chopin's style is considerable;12
these methods may help to specifY the time his works were written,
although in my view they are of an auxiliary, rather than conclusive,
character.

* * *
II. Additional methods for establishing chronology. In the Polish
National Edition, chronology is the overriding principle governing the
ordering of Chopin's works. However, from the very beginning of my
work, I encountered gaps in this chronology and difficulties with estab­
lishing the order of works. In seeking ways to render this chronology
more precise, I discovered a number of additional criteria immanent in
Chopin's musical text and hitherto seemingly unnoticed: features
showing the development of Chopin's pianistics, features of his musi­
cal orthography and features of his musical calligraphy. These will be
considered here in turn.
1. Clear features of Chopin's pianistic development can be noted, of
course, in his childhood years. I made use of these features in relation
to his earliest works, e.g. in establishing the order of the first two polon­
aises (a report on this subject was presented to one of the Chopinology
conferences). I can add that it is not difficult to discern the gradual
introduction in this genre of the young Chopin's pianistic 'discoveries',
which may help to ascertain the order of the polonaises, such as the
spans employed in a single hand (e.g. the first Polonaise in B flat major
does not yet have a single simultaneous octave; the second does), the
expansion of the keyboard compass used in a work, the crossing of

12 Maciej Gol~b (cd.), Przemiany stylu Chopina [Changes in Chopin's style] (Krakow, 1993).

176
 chopin 205

On questions relating to the ch ronology of Chopin's works. Meth ods. A few exemples

hands (this also occurs from the second polonaise), the gradation of
double notes in the right hand, etc.
2. One of Chopin's biographers, fascinated by the beauty of the
Nocturne in E minor published posthumously by Fontana, questions
the accepted date of its composition and shifts it from the Warsaw peri­
od to the Paris period, or even - hypothetically - to the final period. 13
However, the criteria of the orthography of this nocturne's notation, in
which we find a chromatic error that is characteristic of Chopin's early
school works, confirm it to be his first nocturne. (The autograph is lost;
the error was, however, reproduced by the Fontana edition.)

Example 9. Nocturne in E minor, NE 23, 1827(?)-30, ed. J. Fontana.

ll>l

{~ i!f·
~ ~.
I Ill'

fu. t • ~ t - *~.

Example 10. Polonaise in A flat major, N E 3, 1821.

We also find in this same nocturne a certain peculiarity of notation,

bordering on error, involving the writing oflonger values in the melody
by tying over smaller values of the same pitch.

13 Tadeusz A. Zielinski, Chopin - Zycie i droga tw6rcza [Chopin. His life and creative path]

(Krakow, 1998), 640; notes to pp. 608- 609.

177
206 chopin

Jan Ekier

Example II. Nocturne in E minor, NE 23.

I l I l I j ,.._

I L.-..-...:J I 'I
p
,...--..._ 3
• ~
• ~

*
:;t
Tro.
- 3
Tro.
3 3 - I:--
Tro.
* *
Example 12. Andante dolente from L. J~drzejewicz's list of incipits, c.l854 (dated by her to 1827,
the same year to which Fontana dates the Nocturne in E minor).

3. Variable features of the appearance of Chopin's musical script.

It is no secret that the features of one's handwriting change over
the course of a lifetime. This also applies to musical writing.
Changes have also been noted in Chopin's script, but no further con­
clusions have been drawn from them. Comparing all the autographs
to which I had access, I came across certain variable elements of
script that could be grouped in time. I shall give the most important
of them here, dividing them into the periods of their use by the com­
poser.
a) Downward note stems
Three periods in the notation of downward note stems may be dis-
tinguished in the autographs:
• all the stems on the left - 1 8 2 1
• mixed stems - on the left and the right - to 1 8 2 9
• all the stems on the right- from 1 8 2 9
Here are some examples:

178
 chopin 207

On questions relating to the chronology of C hopin's works. Methods. A few exemples

Example 13. Polonaise in A flat major, N E 3.

179
208 chopin

Jan Ekier

Example 14. Mazurka in A flat major, Op. 7 No.4, original version (1824).

Example 15. Mazur for Vaclav Hanka, NE 17a, 1829.

Making use of this phenomenon required laborious calculations

of the percentage of stems on the right, both in autographs of works
for which the dating is certain (Sonata in C minor, Variations, Op. 2,
Trio, Op. 8, Rondo a Ia krakowiak, Op. 14, Mazur for Hanka) and in
those we are seeking to date (e.g. Polonaise in F minor (first redac­
tion), Variations in D major for four hands, Rondo in C major for
one piano). The rising curve of the percentages of stems on the right
in works of certain dating constitutes a point of reference. Plotted on
this curve, the percentages of positions in the works being sought

180
 chopin 209

On questions relating to the chronology of Chopin's works. Methods. A few exemples

project onto the time axis, indicating the date the sought autographs
were written.
This statistical criterion of the notation of sterns is only of auxiliary
significance, however, due primarily to the uneven length of the works
we are seeking to date; the longer the work, the more accurate the results.
Nevertheless, this method has helped in several cases to establish the ear­
lier/later relationship between works, and also to move a composition to
the Paris period (where all the stems are on the right) instead of its erro­
neous attribution to the Warsaw period. (Such a case concerns, for exam­
ple, the posthumously published Nocturne inC minor.)
b) The shape of arpeggio signs
Three periods can also be distinguished in the notation of this orna-
mental sign in the autographs:
• arpeggio signs in the form of wavy lines - to 1 8 3 7
• mixed arpeggio signs (wavy lines and vertical curves)- to 1843
• arpeggio signs exclusively in the form ofvertical curves - fro rn 1 8 4 3
The analysis of the ways of notating the arpeggio sign is also of an
auxiliary character.

Example 16. Etude in E flat major, Op. 10, 1829-32. Arpeggio signs in the form of wavy lines.

181
210 chopin

janE_l<i~

Example 17. Prelude inC sharp minor, Op. 28, 1839. Mixed arpeggio signs.
Marked are arpeggio signs in the form of wavy lines.

Example 18. Nocturne in B major, Op. 62, 1845--46. Arpeggio signs in the form of vertical curves.

182
 chopin 211

On questions relating to the ch ronology of Chopin's works. Methods. A few exemples

***
The symbolic representation of the chronology of Chopin's works
employed in the Polish National Edition.
(numbers and dates are examples)
18 1 7 -certain date of a work's composition (possibly with
the month or the day and month added);
1828 -probable date, possessing convincing arguments in its
favour;
1826 (?) - hypothetical date with weaker argumentation;
1827/ 28 - around the turn of two years;
1822-24 -the most probable date of a work's composition falls
between the beginning of the former and the end of
the latter year;
1829-1832 -in larger opus sets, the former date signifies the com­
position of the earliest work in the set; the latter, the
date of the latest;
1830, 1829 - the dates of the composing of particular movements
or sections of a work written in different years;
? 1825 - in 1825 or slightly earlier;
1828 ? - in 1828 or slightly later;
c.1829 - in 1829 or slightly earlier, or slightly later;
before 1832- in 1832 or at some undetermined earlier time;
after 1830 -in 1830 or at some undetermined later time.
This slows clearly the degree of certainty to the dating of a given
work; it also helps to correctly determine the temporal relationship
between works of different categories of certainty, including series
A and Bin the Polish National Edition.

* **
III. Examples from the last period. In order to relate to the subject area
of this year's conference, I would like to draw attention to two works
from the last period in the Chopin oeuvre from the point of view of
their chronology.
The Nocturne inC minor, not published during Chopin's lifetime,
was discovered by Ludwik Bronarski in 1938. In the foreword to its first
edition, Bronarski writes: 'The N octurne inC minor was written- as

183
212 chopin

its style would appear to indicate- prior to Chopin's leaving the coun­
try. It is most probably the earliest of the master's nocturnes known to
us [... ].' 14 Bronarski did not retreat from this position in either 1948, in
the Kwartalnik Muzyczny (although he did moderate it somewhat),
or 1949, in the Commentary to the Complete Works. Let us see how
this problem looks in the light of material criteria.
Ferenc Liszt writes in his biography of Chopin: 'From the winter
of 1848, Chopin could no longer work properly. Although from time to
time he finished off something already begun, he could no longer
organise his thoughts suitably. These fragments were, according to his
wishes, to be burned after his death [... ] Of his last works there
remained a completed Nocturne and a Waltz [... ] .' 15 Liszt was not pres­
ent at Chopin's death, and so he must have drawn this information
from the direct witnesses to the composer's last days. This information
is lent credence by the association of a Nocturne with a Waltz: the
sketch of the Waltz in A minor is written on the back of the sketch of
the Nocturne in C minor.
In 1849 Chopin wrote to Grzymala: 'I've not yet started to play­
compose I cannot' . 16 The state of his health caused such a great loss of
physical strength that it had a tangible effect on Chopin's creative
forces. This manifested itself in an impoverishment of expressional
means, especially of melody, harmony and form, in his efforts to com­
pose that were these two connected works.
The autographs of these two works come from the collection left to
the Bibliotheque du Conservatoire in Paris by the Rothschilds, with
whom Chopin was acquainted during the Paris period.
The notational features of the autograph - the downward stems on
the right- are permanent traits of Chopin's script after 1829, and the
manner of writing the arpeggio sign in the form of a curve is a fixed trait
from 1847.

14 Fryderyk Chopin, Noktum c-moll, Largo Es-dur, ed. Dr L. Bronarski (Warszawa, 1938),

foreword.
15 Ferenc Liszt, Chopin, trans. Maria Pomian (Lviv, 1924), I ll.

16 Letter to Wojciech Grzymala, 18 June 1849, KCh, ii, 298.

184
 chopin 213

On questions relating to the chronology of Chopin's works. Methods. A few exemples

Example 19. Nocturne inC minor, NE 62, second page, 1847- 48.

Example 20. Nocturne in C minor, NE 62, enlargement of the last bar.

All the above material criteria confirm unequivocally that the Noc­
turne in C minor is not the first, but the last Chopin nocturne.
Let us move on from the last nocturne to Chopin's last mazurka. Up
until the 1960s, the Mazurka in F minor was known only from Fon­
tana's edition of the Oeuvres posthumes, in which it was reproduced
without the middle section in F major, considered impossible to read.
But it always appeared as the 'last' mazurka. This position was ques-

185
214 chopin

tioned in 1985 by Jeffrey Kallberg, who, after the Chopin Society in

Warsaw purchased the sketch of this maz urka and made it available to
scholars, dated it, on the basis of stylistic evidence (including certain
similarities to the Mazurka in F minor, Op. 63 No. 2), to the years
1845-46. I find this dating unconvincing. Above all, it contradicts the
testimony of the composer's peers. Both Auguste Franchomme and
Jane Stirling, who always referred with the utmost piety to everything
connected with Chopin, identified this mazurka by means of the
expression: 'written in Chaillot'. This association with the place in
which the work was composed proves the reliability of their testimony.
Chopin's stay in this district of Paris, known as a place for rest and
recreation, can be dated exactly to June-August 1849. Equally reliable
is Fontana's remark accompanying this mazurka in the Oeuvres
posthumes: 'This mazurka is the last inspiration cast onto paper by
Chopin shortly before his death; he was by then too weak to try it on
the piano' Y Fontana was not in Paris during the last years ofhis friend's
life, and so he could only have received the information from 1849 from
those close to Chopin. One could hardly suspect him of mystification in
respect to the living witnesses of Chopin's final illness.
The differences in the dates put forward for the sketch of the F
minor Mazurka would appear to be attributable to a differing relation­
ship between the criteria employed to determine the date of this work's
composition. Kallberg uses stylistic criteria to substantiate material
arguments; I proceed conversely, using the material criteria to examine
the features of style.

* **
The National Edition's chronological tables do not pretend to be
the final word in this area. Proof to this effect are minor alterations to
datings in relation to the first edition of the Introduction, particularly
in the first half of Chopin's oeuvre, which in several cases led to
a change in numbering. A question mark may remain next to some
items from the list of Chopin's works forever.

17 J. Fontana, Oeuvres posthumes pour le piano de Fred. Chopin ... (Paris, 1855).

186
 chopin 215

On questions relating to the chronology of Chopin's works. Methods. A few exemples

* **
rv. Postscriptum. At the beginning of this paper, I presented a few
phrases in Chopin's own hand relating to the time his autographs were
produced. In some places, these were lacking certain elements specifY­
ing the date. Was this due to haste and absent-mindedness, or perhaps
to different ways of sensing the 'colour' of the moment in which the
composer wrote a work? This will probably never be ascertained. But
perhaps it is worth quoting a few of Chopin's thoughts which show
that the category of time- from the Greek word chronos- and the phe­
nomenon of passing were always in his mind. Please treat this as a sort
of postscriptum to the discussion of issues relating to the chronology of
his works.

'Time lost today you'll never regain' .18

'I have three new Mazurkas; I don't think that with the old holes
[... ] but for that time is needed to judge well. When it's being done, it
seems good - otherwise nothing would get written. Only later does
reflection descend and reject or accept. Time is the best censor, and
patience the most excellent teacher.' 19
'It'll work out somehow. Anyway, time flies, the world rolls on, death
is at our heels, and my manuscripts at yours.'20
'We are old boobies, on whom time and circumstances have played
out their wretched little trills. Yes, old boobies, although you'll defend
yourself against such company.' 21
'This world is somehow passing me by, I forget myself, I have no
strength; ifl raise myself a little, then I'll fall that much lower. I'm not
complaining to you, but you asked, and so I'm explaining [... ].'22
'Today I completed the Fantasy - the sky is beautiful and my heart
is heavy- but this does not matter. If it were otherwise, then my exis­
tence would have been of no use to anyone.' 23

18 Words addressed by Chopin to his pupil Paul Gunsberg.

19 Letter ro his family, 11 Ocrober 1846, KCh, ii, 175.
20 Letter to J. Fontana, 27 October 184 1, KCh, ii, 47.
21 Letter to Fontana, 18 August 1848, KCh, ii, 259.
22 Letter to W Grzymala, 30 October 1848, KCh, ii, 285.
23 Letter to Fontana in Paris, 20 October 1841, KCh, ii, 45.

187
216 chopin

Jan Eki~r

This last utterance is perhaps Chopin's most profound personal

reflection, a sort of summation of his life. Perhaps, after writing the
final chord of his opus 49, after setting aside his pen, he glanced out of
the window and noticed the existence of the outside world ('the sky is
beautiful'), sensed the state of his inside world ('my heart is heavy') and
drew from this a conclusion regarding the point of his existence. But let
us remember that the impulse behind this confession was the exact date
of the completion of one of his greatest masterpieces.
 13
Rehearings
The First Movement of Chopin's
Sonata in Bb Minor, Op. 35
CHARLES ROSEN
In almost every edition (and consequently most
performances I oi Chopin's Sonata in Bb Minor,
op. 35, there is a serious error on the first page
that makes awkward nonsense of an imponant
moment in the opening movement. The repeat
oi the exposition begins in the wrong place. A
double bar beiore the beginning of a new and
faster tempo in m. 5 is generally decorated on
both staves with the twO dots that indicate the
opening of a section to be played twice.
A glance at a photograph 01 the manuscript in
© 1990 by Charles Rosen.
60
Warsaw 1 will assure us that these dots are an en-
graver's embellishment. The mistake was made
in two of the early editions. Chopin's works
were almost always published simultaneously
in three cities, Paris, Berlin, and London, and
both the French and German editions are
wrong. Unfortunately modern editors rely
mostly on these two editions-somewhat irra-
tionally, as Chopin did not like to read prool and
lThe manuscript is not autograph, but it has corrections in
Chopin 's hand. A facsimile of the first page is printed in the
notorious "Paderewski" edition (Fryderyk Chopin. Gem ·
plete Work s 6 Sonatas for Piano, ed. Ignacy Paderewski,
Ludwik Bronarski, .nd j6sef TruczyD.ski [Wars.w, 1949[1.
218
a.
Example l: Sonata in Bo Minor, op. 35, first mvt.
Reproduced from edition of Wessell London, 1840).
often left the correction of even the Paris ver­
sion to friends and students. The London edi­
tion is, nevertheless, correct lex. la). All twenti­
eth-century editions, however, are wrong. One
other nineteenth-century edition !reprinted in
the twentieth) gets it right: the critical edition
published by Breitkopf & Hartel in 1878-80 and
edited by Liszt, Reinecke, Brahms, eta!. The so­
natas were revised by Brahms, who was too in­
telligent to perpetuate the misprint 1
We should not, however, need to glance at
the documentary evidence. The indication in
2The edition of Ignaz Fri edman, published by Breitkopf &
Hartel in 1913lrpt. 1984), is also correct at this place, but it
was evidently based on that of Brahms, as it perpetuates an
error in the last movement oftwo extra bars.
chopin
REHEARINGS
most editions is musically impossible: it inter­
rupts a triumphant cadence in Do major with an
accompanimental figure in B> minor, a har­
monic effect which is not even piquant enough
to be interesting, and merely sounds perfunc­
tory. The repeat is clearly intended to begin
with the first note of the movement: the open­
ing four bars are not a slow introduction but an
integral part of the exposition. The perfor­
mances I have heard that do not perpetuate the
foolish misprint have omitted the repetition al­
together. This makes the movement too short,
but better that than musical nonsense. I am
sure, however, that there are pianists who have
discovered the right version either from the
manuscript or the old Breitkopf edition.
The opening is a shock, beginning with a sug-
61

19TH
CENTURY >riten.
~:-----
MUSIC -
[V --........-+
p oo-
( J. e:-i'r .1_;:-~J: /rr1'-r
l:
t
'"
' ~
. >-. > ·
"r ~"'---
.
~-
.. .,.
Example 2: Scherzo in B Minor, op. 20.
gestion of the wrong key of Db which turns
quickly to Bb. When it comes back, it is now the
right key, as the exposition has closed in D b Iex.
lb). The opening four bars have a double func­
tion: a dramatic beginning, and a transition
from the end of the exposition back to the tonic.
The left hand, unharmonized, resolves the
cadence a measure before the right. This is a de­
vice used with equally astonishing effect by
Chopin a few years before the sonata, in the
Scherzo in B minor, op. 20, written in 1832. It
occurs in m. 569 at the beginning of the coda Iex.
2). The effect here is perhaps even more star­
tling because it is not prepared rhythmically as
in the sonata.
The opening of the sonata is exactly twice as
slow as the rest of the exposition. (Chopin's
direction for the new tempo is D oppio m ovi­
mento, and the usual concert performance of
the first four bars as three or four times as slow
is absurd, a thoughtless attempt to make the be­
ginning more pretentious.) Two bars of the
quick tempo equal one of the slow (marked
Grave), and at the end of the exposition Chopin
returns to the original slow tempo with long
notes two bars in length so that the transition is
wonderfully smooth.
A phrase that is both an initial dramatic
motto and a modulation from the secondary to·
nality of the exposition back to the tonic is are·
62
chopin 219
-
rallenrand
-1 ...----:: :----- 1.---------,J.
ate~~ -
/ >
~ "¥: ~ r ~.:sc.
.,.~ .,. .,.
• •
p-
riroluto eJt'IHJ!f!' piii animutv
- ~ --------
I ;: I
[erne.
~ I fi I I I.J. I J I
.,. .. .,.
.,;
f.,. r ~
~ r
.. .,.f •
markable conception : even more significant is
the carefully worked-out realization in terms of
the rhythm, harmony, and texture. When we
reflect that the misprint in almost all editions
has gone not only uncorrected but seemingly
unnoticed for m ore than a century, I think we
may reasonably decide to give very little weight
to the standard critical opinion that Chopin's
treatment of the sonat a form is uninteresting.
The Sonata in C Major, op. 24, of Carl Maria
von Weber, one of the few composers of his time
that Chopin admired, provides a precedent, if
not a model(ex. 3a). The first movement starts,
like Chopin's, with a four-bar motto that begins
outside of the tonic harmony and then resolves
into the tonic. On its return when the exposi ·
tion is repeated (ex. 3b), the motto now appears
as a clear extension of the final bars of the expo·
sition. Chopin's version is tighter and more dra·
matic, as the beginning of his motto is the reso­
lution of an unfinished cadence at the end of the
exposition. Weber's movement has a further af.
finity with Chopin's work, as the opening tonic
harmony returns in the recapitulation not with
opening bars, or even with the main theme atm.
5, but with the new material of m . 20.
In his three mature sonatas-those for piano
in Bb minor and B minor, and the undervalued
masterpiece that is the late cello sonata-Cho­
pin found a scheme that compromised neither
220
Example 3: Weber, Sonata inC Major, op. 24, first mvt.
his sense of style nor the energy of the form. He
returned to an older eighteenth-century tradi­
tion of eliminating most of the first group from
the recapitulation and placed the definitive mo­
ment of resolution with the return of the second
group. In compensation, he made the develop­
ment section largely an elaborately contrapun­
tal working-out of the first theme alone. The de­
velopment is the traditional place for chromatic
harmony, but Chopin outdoes any previous
composer in richness, complexity, and an al·
most bewildering variety of surface change.
chopin
REHEARIN GS
What holds this variety together is Chopin's
unsurpassed feeling for a long line. This is
shown by the development of the Sonata in B~
Minor, the most tightly organized of the three
sonatas (ex. 4). The Wagnerian character is eas­
ily remarked, and it is due not only to the har­
mony but to the treatment of rhythm and motif.
In 1838 Chopin has anticipated the creation of a
web of Leitmotivs that Wagner was to find only
with the Ring (Lohengrin in 1848 associates
Leitmotivs with characters and ideas, but does
not combine them into a complex network).
63
 chopin
19TH
CENTURY
MUSIC
Example 4: Sonata in B~ Major, op. 35, first mvt., development.
Reproduced from edition of Breitkopf & Hartell Leipzig, 1880).
The development of the sonata uses two mo­
tives, both from the first group of the exposition
Iex. 5), and there is hardly a measurefrom 105 to
160 that does not use one or both of them. lA
correct reprise of the exposition with the open­
ing motif is clearly an aid to comprehending
this development.) The motives begin by alter­
nating and finally combine in a relentless se­
quence.
ExampleS
The unity of the different textures is provided
by a chromatic line that rises from m . lOS to m.
13 7 and then falls back to a pedal point on the
dominant. The structural skeleton is skillfully
transferred from voice to voice lsee ex. 6, in­
tended not as a Urlinie but as an attempt to indi­
cate the voice leading). This large-scale rise and
fall clarifies the rhythm. The phrase structure
seems irregular at the opening-three bars,
64
221
three bars, five bars, three bars, two bars. Not
only, however, does this add up to sixteen, but
the basic harmonic line enforces the sense of a
four-bar structure with a downbeat at mm. lOS,
109, 113, 117, and 121. The underlying har­
monic movement not only organizes the com­
plexity of texture, it also overrides the melodic
symmetry. Measures 121-24 are apparently
parallel to 129-32, but the first phrase has a ris­
ing tenor over a pedal G, and the second a dy­
namic bass line that rises from E to A with a
much greater energy.
Measures 121-24, freely derived from the
second group of the exposition, round off the
Tristan-like harmonies of the opening with a
melody that recalls to our ears the music of Am­
fortas in Parsifal. The change in phrasing as the
development proceeds is remarkable: the ir­
regular movement of the opening gives way at
m . 121 to distinctfour-barphrases, and then to a
lengthy and stormy climax of two-bar se­
quences lmm. 137-52), in which both motives
are combined throughout. This is the apex of
the form : the chromatic line has reached the
tonic B~, but is harmonized as a G-minor six
222
~.
145
'"
Example 6 : Sonata in Bb Minor,
op. 35, first mvt., development,
voice-leading reduction.
chord, and it is the beginning of the descent.
This climax on a Bb bass note but not on a Bb
harmony demonstrates the preeminence of con·
trapuntalline over harmony in Chopin's art.
The two-bar phrases come like a series of
waves of continuously renewed force. It is inter·
esting, however, that Chopin's deployment of
his motives is subservient to the harmonic and
contrapuntal structure (as it was to be later with
Wagner): the first motive disappears from the
bass line in mm. 149-50 at the only place where
the bass is forced to move within the two-bar
group in order to establish the arrival at the
dominant F. After this arrival, Chopin broadens
the rhythm, dovetailing the phrases in mm.
153-61, so that each phrase finishes within the
beginning of the new one. Frommm.151 to 169,
Gb is suspended over F and then resolves into F
repeatedly: this is the grandest dominant prepa·
ration in all of Chopin.
What makes this development so powerful is
the sense of line that organizes the changing
rhythm, the supple phrasing, and the radically
chopin
inventive chromaticism. The line controls the REHEARINGS
climax, and on it are hung the incessant appear·
ances of the motives. The foundation for the
technique is Chopin's ability to shift line and
motif from one voice to another over the entire
range of the keyboard (note the way the D# in
the tenor of m. 135 is transferred up to the Eb m
the alto which then guides the harmonic move·
m ent).
The development may make one of Chopin's
most disconcerting statements less paradoxi­
cal. Delacroix, in his diary, reported that Cho­
pin protested against the school of musicians
who believed that the charm of music lay in its
sound its sonority 3 This was evidently aimed
at corr:posers like Berlioz, but it upset DeJacroix
who took it almost as an attack on himself: he
copied it out twice and tried to answer it. It is
true that Chopin admired Delacroix personally
but disliked his painting. In the contemporary
battle in the visual arts over the importance of
line as opposed to color, Delacroix was seen as
the leader of the colorists. He tried weakly to
answer Chopin in the diary by commenting that
Chopin wrote only for piano and was not inter·
ested in orchestral color. Nevertheless, Cho­
pin's mastery of tone color is incontestable: his
works reveal a range of sonorities unsurpassed
before Debussy.
The opposition between structure and sonor­
ity in music is almost as misleading as that be­
tween line and color in the visual arts. Baude·
laire insisted correctly that Delacroix was one
of the three greatest draftsmen of the century
and emphasized his m astery of line. In the same
way, a study of Chopin demonstrates the inti·
mate relation between line and color in mustc.
In a Bellini opera, the sentiment that brings
tears to the eyes of listeners depends on the
composer's mastery of the long sustained line.
Th e poetic force of Chopin depends similarly on
his control of all the lines of a complex poly­
phonic web. On this was based the subtly shift·
ing phrase accent and the astonishing expen ·
ments in harmony. The wonderful sonorities of
Chopin's writing- the exquisite spacing, the
JEntry of 16 May 1857; see The Journal of EugeneDelacroix,
ed. Herbert Wellington, trans. Lucy Norton (Ithaca, 1980),
pp. 363-64.
65
 chopin 223

19TH vibrant inner voices-spring from an abstract
CENTURY structure of lines. The listener is conscious, as
MUSIC
he is in Bach, both of the way an individual line
is sustained and of the passing of the melody
from one voice to another. It is not only in small
details that Chopin displayed this art but in the
general outlines of the larger forms. The lyri-
cism and the dramatic shock in his music are
equally indebted to this craft. This is the true
paradox of Chopin: he is most original in his use
of the most traditional technique. That is what
made him at once the most conservative and
the most radical composer ~(':}
of his generation. ---

IN OUR NEXT ISSUE [FALL 1990)

ARTICLES TIMOTHY jACKSON: Bruckner's Metrical Numbers

ALLAN ATLAS: Crossed Stars and Crossed Tonal Areas

in Puccini 's Madama Butterfly

ELAINE R. SISMAN: Brahms and the Variation Canon

joHN RoEDER: Pitch and Rhythmic Dramaturgy

in Verdi's Lux a?terna

REVIEW ESSAYS RICHARD KRAMER: Posthumous Schubert

LEON BoTSTEIN: Brahms and Nineteenth-Century Painting

We regret that in Dolores Pesce's article, "Liszt'sAnnees de Felerinage, Book 3: A 'Hungarian'

Cycle?", in the Spring 1990 issue [XIII/3), some measure numbers were misaligned over chords
in example 6[p. 215). We reprint that example here as it was originally intended.

earlyva5ion

Example 6: Aux Cypres dela Villa d"Este /, melodic and tonal reduction.

66
 14

THE POSTHUMOUS PUBLICA1~ION

OF CHOPIN'S SONGS
By MAURICE J. E. BROWN

N INETEEN songs by Chopin survive from the larger number

that he composed. All are to Polish texts, and the composer's
intention in writing each of them was clearly to throw off a short and
pleasing piece for a sociable occasion - for the gloomy nature of a
few of them did not preclude performance in a 19th-century drawing­
room, where a touch of tristezza was relished rather than otherwise.

The poems are by five of Chopin's compatriots and all five poets
were his immediate contemporaries. They, like him, were exiled from
Poland. Their poetry is full of a nostalgic worship of an idealized Poland
and it fostered the spirit of the loyal and bereaved exiles from that un­
fortunate country, exiles who assembled in the various capitals of Europe,
chiefly in Paris, creating wherever they went a society that was, in minia­
ture, Poland. Eleven of Chopin's poems are by Stefan Witwicki ( 1800-
1847), a poet with a modest lyrical gift, but a minor figure in Polish
literature. Of all the five poets, he was most intimate with the composer,
and fully appreciated his fellow-countryman's genius. He died in Rome
of a spinal disease two years before Chopin. The songs of the Chopin­
Witwicki partnership, with their dates of composition, are given below,
with, if necessary, the literal English meaning of the title; the English
and German titles of the standard editions of the songs are subjoined.
These details will also be given in the songs to words by the other four
poets.

1. Zyczenie ("The Wish") ....................... .......... . ...... . . .......... .. 1829

The Maiden's Wish
Madchens Wunsch
2. Gdzie lubi ("There where she loves") ....... ·········· ...... 1829
A Maiden's Love
Was ein junges Madchen liebt

51
226 chopin

52 The M usical Quarterly

3. Pose[ ......................... .................................... .............. ......... ........................... 1830
The Messenger
Der Bote
4. W ojak ("The Warrior") ----------------· ....................... ........... . -· . 1830
Before the Battle
D er R eiter vor der S chlacht
5. Hulanka ("The Carousal") ... _.. ... . .... _ ....... .......... . ............... _... 1830
Drinking Song
Bacchanale
6. Czary ("Charms") .. .... ....... ........ .. ........ ........ ..... 1830
Liebeszaub er
7. Smutna R zeka ("Sad Stream" ) 183 1
T roubled Waters
Trilbe Wellen
8. N arzeczony ("The Bridegroom" ) .... . . 183 1
The Return H om e
Die H eimkehr
9. Piosnka Litewskal ..... 1831
Lithuanian Song
Lithuanisches Lied
10. Pierscien .................. .. _... ...... ... .. .. ............ ...................... Dresden, 1836
The Ring
D as Ringlein
11. Wiosna .... 1838
Spring
Frilhling

All these poems were included in the poet's Piosnki S ielski ( "Pastoral
Songs"), published in Warsaw in 1830, but as can be seen from the dates
of composition, Chopin knew some, if not all, of them in manuscript.
This explains why, in the song Czary ( "Charms" ) , there is an extra
stanza at the end of Chopin's autograph of the song which is not to be
found in the " Collected Edition" of Witwicki's printed verses, published
in Paris, 1836.

There is a group of four songs to words by Bohdan Zaleski ( 1802-

1886 ), nicknamed the " Ukrainian Nightingale," whose poetry has " the
wild charm, the mystic music, of the steppes." They are these :
12. Dumka ......... .. ............ ... .. 1840
13. Sliczny Chlopiec ("Handsome Lad") 1841
M y Beloved
M ein G leiebter

1 I find since writing the above that the text o f the Lithuania n S ong is not by
W itwicki. It is a tra nslation of a genuin e Lit huanian folksong made b y Ludwik
Osinski c. 1806. Witwicki gave the poem to Chopin, but never claimed it as his own.
 chopin 227

The Posthumous Publication of Chopin's Songs 53

14. Dwojaki Koniec ("The Double End") . ... . . 1845
United in Death
Zwei Leichen
15. Niema Czego Trzeba ("I want what I have not" ) ----- ------· _____ --- --- -- 1845
M elancholy
M elancholie

The poet Adam Mickiewicz ( 1798-1855) towers above his con­

temporary figures in the Polish literary world as Goethe does over his
German contemporaries. He was in close touch with Chopin in Paris
during the 1830's, although their association produced only two songs:

16. Precz z moich oczu! ("Out of my sight!" ) " -- - ----- -·- -·· --- -·· -- ··-· " --- - 1830
Remembrance
M ir aus den Augen!
17. M oja Pieszczotka ("My Darling" ) ·- ---- -· 1837
M y Delight
M eine Freuden

From the work of each of two Polish poets Chopin selected a single
poem for musical treatment, and these settings form the final two songs.
Count Zygmunt Krasinski (1812-1859), a friend of Mickiewicz and a
poet whose patriotism was tinged with mysticism, is the author of
M elodya ("Melody"), which Chopin composed in 1847, and wrote out
in the album of Delfina Potocka. Under the title of the song he added
Dante's famous words Nella m iseria. When the song was published for
the first time, as part of Op. 74, the poem - a striking one - was
strangely labelled "Author unknown." The nineteenth, and last, song is
to words by Wincenty Pol (1809-1876), a Pole whose patriotism was the
more straightforward kind of the soldier's. It is called Spiew Grobowy
("Burial Hymn"), published in the English editions as Poland's Dirge,
in German editions as Grabgesang or Polens Grabgesang. Chopin com­
posed the music in 1836; he may have composed it for the 3rd M ay
(the anniversary of the founding of Poland's constitution, and one of
that country's solemn days), but the suggestion that he composed it on
the 3rd May of 1836 is not worth serious consideration.

The composer had written out seven of his songs for Emily Elsner,
of Warsaw. They include the first six of the Witwicki settings, together
with the setting of Mickiewicz's poem Precz z moich oczu, and were
228 chopin

54 The Musical Quarterly

copied into her "album," a type of keepsake2 much affected in the first
half of the 19th century; this fact enables us to fix a "downward" date
of 1830 (when Chopin left Warsaw) for the composition of these seven
songs. The existence of the Elsner manuscripts was not discovered until
1901; the fact will be mentioned again later.

An autograph manuscript of Piosnka Litewska is in the Memorial

Library of Music, Stanford University, California. The pages of this
Chopin autograph also contain two of his ecossaises (in G major
and D-flat major, Op. 72, No.3), which were composed in 1826. The
fact suggests the possibility that the Piosnka Litewska is of an earlier
date than 1831. An early, undated sketch for the song is preserved in
the Musee Adam Mickiewicz, Paris. A further autograph manuscript
of a Witwicki song is extant: that of Pose[, in the possession of Mr.
Artur Rubinstein.

Eight of his songs were written by the composer in the album he

devised for the young Maria W odzinska in 1836, as a kind of love
offering. She wrote him a cool letter of thanks in the spring of 1837,
when their affair had come to nothing. Maria's group is exactly the
same as that which he had written out for Emily Elsner; he added
simply the Piosnka Litewska to Emily's seven. Both albums were formerly
in the possession of the Chopin Society ("Towarzystwo im. Fryderyka
Chopina") of Warsaw, but Emily Elsner's has unluckily been destroyed.
The song Pierscien ("The Ring"), probably inspired by his growing
interest in Maria Wodzinska, was composed at Dresden on 8 September
1836. The date is inscribed on the autograph manuscript, which is in
the possession of the Chopin Society. The Society also owns the manu­
script of the last of the Witwicki songs, Wiosna ("Spring"). It shows
that the four-measure prelude, which is given in some editions, is not
authentic. No fewer than three arrangements of this song for piano solo,
made by Chopin himself, are in existence. The earliest dates from 1838,
the last from 1848. The arrangements are extremely simple; nothing
in the least like Liszt's elaborate fantasias.

The fair copy of the Mickiewicz song Precz z moich oczu, in the
possession of the Chopin Society, is not an autograph copy, and was
probably made by the composer's friend Julian Fontana. The song had
also been written by Chopin in the two albums already mentioned, so

2 The very word "keepsake" was used in Poland in those days for this type
of album.
 chopin 229

The Posthumous Publication of Chopin's Songs 55

that one authentic copy from the composer's hand is extant. A sketch
for the second Mickiewicz song - Moja Pieszczotka - is written in
A-flat, and carries on it the composer's own direction for transposition
into G-flat - "w Ges trzeba spiewac." This sketch passed from the
ownership of the painter Theodor K wiatowski to Marcellina Czartoryska.
Both have signed their names on the manuscript. There is a facsimile in
Leopold Binental's Chopin: Documents and Memorials (Polish and
German, 1930).

There are no autograph manuscripts extant for any of the songs

to words by Zaleski, Krasinski, or Pol.

* *
*
Julian Fontana, the abovementioned friend of Chopin, was the
man eventually authorized by the composer's family to publish the
posthumous works, and in 1855 those for the piano appeared from the
firm of A. M. Schlesinger, Berlin, as Opp. 66-73. Fontana's preface to
these piano works is dated "May 1855" and in it he states that the
sixteen (sic) Polish songs will be published later. A few months after­
wards he gave in Paris a concert of Chopin's works, including six Polish
songs. On the program, dated 14 January 1856, he states that the six
songs are still unpubl~shed. 3 The evidence of his preface and his program
disposes of the date usually given for the publication of the songs of
Op. 74, namely, 1855. In addition, Fontana's preface, and later issues
of the first Thematic Catalogue of the composer's works, which were
published by Breitkopf & Hartel, Leipzig, all make it clear that Op. 74
consisted originally of sixteen songs. Before discussing the constitution of
this Op. 74 it would be useful to review some of the correspondence
that passed between Chopin's sister, Louise, in Warsaw, and the two
friends of Chopin, Jane Stirling and Fontana, in Paris, concerning the
songs and their publication.' These letters are summarized, but not
quoted in full, by Mieczyslaw Karlowicz in the invaluable book he
published in Warsaw in 1904 usually known by its French title: Souvenirs
inedits de Frederic Chopin. Jane Stirling broaches the subject of the
songs for the first time in her letter of 21 June 1850 to Louise. She

3 The program is reproduced in Robert Bory's La vie de Chopin par l'image,

Geneva, 1949.
4 There is an article by Bronislaw Sydow, in Polish, published 1931, Kores­
pondencja w posmiertnego dziel Chopina, which deals, presumably, with this cor­
respondence in full. I have not been able to obtain a copy.
230 chopin

56 The Musical Quarterly

writes that some of the song manuscripts are entrusted to Auguste Fran­
chomme (a famous French 'cellist and an associate of Chopin; the
association was close in the last years of the composer's life). The follow­
ing month, on 16 July 1850, Jane writes that only a few of the songs
are in a fit state to be published; some more have turned up owned
by Albert Grzymala, but both his manuscripts and those of Franchomme
consist for the most part of the vocal line only: there are no accompani­
ments (the fact tends to confirm the "sociable" intention of their com­
poser - he had memorized the accompaniments ) . Not till more than a
year has passed does she refer to the subject again. In September 1851
she informs Louise that Franchomme is still busy with the songs, but
that he is reluctant to add accompaniments to the voice part in order
that they shall be published. She adds that Delfina Potocka is said to
possess a number of songs written by Chopin in her album. Six months
later, in March 1852, she writes that Franchomme wishes to know if
Louise has the originals of the four songs for which copies have been
sent to Paris: they are full of questionable passages. She asks Louise to
have these four songs expertly copied at Warsaw. We first read of
Julian Fontana in connection with the songs, in Jane Stirling's letter of
18 June 1852, where she tells Louise that she is awaiting his return from
America to discuss corrections of the copies. Meanwhile she and Fran­
chomme have "deciphered" the songs, and the third and fifth are de­
licious (Zyczenie [?] and W ojak [?]).

Two letters reached Louise in the following July, both written on

the same day ( 2 July 185 2), and they indicate that a certain acerbity has
been aroused by Fontana's advent in Paris. The first of these two letters
was from Fontana himself. He urges his claims as the only fit and
proper executor, as it were, of Chopin's musical will and testament. It is
clear that Franchomme's association with the songs and the idea of his
publishing them have nettled Fontana. He informs Louise of his col­
laboration with her brother, over the years, in the matter of transcripts
and dispatch to publishers. He points out that only a Pole, who under­
stands the language of the song-texts, should be concerned in the matter.
He then turns to the songs that he possesses, complaining, incidentally,
of the illegible state of some of them, and of the fact that some (he
doesn't specify which) are unfinished. This last statement is important,
and for this reason. Chopin's autographs for a few of the songs in Op. 74
are no longer extant. \Vhere, then, it is impossible to check Fontana's
edition of the songs in Op. 74 against extant manuscripts of the com­
poser's, the possibility must always be taken into account that they have
 chopin 231

The Posthumous Publication of Chopin's Songs 57

been partly composed by Fontana himself. The matter will be referred
to again.
To return to his letter: he gives Louise a list of the songs he has and
it is impossible to decide whether the "copies" are in Chopin's own hand
or another's. There are, he states, the six copied in Warsaw:

Zyczenie ("The Wish")

Hulanka ("The Carousal")
Pose/ ("The Messenger")
Gdzie lubi ("There where she loves" )
Wojak ("The Warrior")
Precz z moich oczu! ("Out of my sight!")

He also has three other manuscripts:

Smutna rzeka ("Sad Stream")

Narzeczony ("The Bridegroom")
Pierscien ("The Ring")

Finally he adds that Jane Stirling has two songs - Sliczny Chlopiec
("Handsome Lad") and Dwojaki Koniec ("The Double End"), which
make eleven songs. If he could find the manuscript of Chopin's setting
of Mickiewicz's M oja Pieszczotka ("My Darling") he could publish
a dozen songs.
Jane's letter to Louise of the same day stresses the strong feelings
aroused in Fontana by the suggestion that anyone else should be con­
sidered in the matter of publishing Chopin's songs. She writes that she
has given Fontana the copies of the songs sent from Warsaw: Pierscien,
Sliczny Chlopiec, Zyczenie, Gdzie lubi, Wojak. He already had the last
one and has corrected Louise's copies. He wishes, she writes, to be en­
tirely responsible for their publication, and adds " ... a vrai dire qui
en est plus capable que Fontana?" She has shown him an autograph
copy of W ojak in D minor, but refused to let him copy it. She begs
Louise to settle who shall publish the songs and says that since she is
leaving Paris she will deposit all her "precieux manuscrits" with Mme.
Veyret. 5
In the January of the following year, 1853, Fontana writes to Louise
that Delfina Potocka has only one song in her album; it was written to

5 Mme. A. Veyret (first name unknown) was a mutual friend of Chopin and
George Sand, to whom the composer d edicated his Polonaise-Fontaisie in A-flat,
Op. 61.
232 chopin

58 The Musical Quarterly

the words of Krasinski - "From the mountains they bore the terrible
crosses" ( M elodya). From Mme. Veyret he had received seven songs
and five copies. Most of these he already possessed - only Sliczny
Chlopiec (not quite complete) and Dwojaki Koniec are new to him.
As for That God Is, The Philosophy, and Charms: he does not consider
them worthy of Chopin (the first two songs, incidentally, have dis­
appeared without a trace). He adds that some of these songs are melo­
dies only and will not be published! He requests a letter of authorization,
signed by the mother and sisters of Chopin. He concludes with the
statement that he reserves for himself the matter of translating the song
texts, and that he will see to the publication of the piano pieces as soon
as the songs are printed. Here we have again a mention of the unfinished
state of some of the songs; but Fontana's expressed decision that these
will not be published was later abandoned.

During December of 1853 his plans for the posthumous publication

of Chopin's works were announced in the Parisian press, and the news
aroused surprise and resentment. It had been generally known amongst
the composer's friends and acquaintances that he wished his unpublished
compositions to be burnt. Jane Stirling wrote to Louise on 11 December
1853 and told her of the general resentment in the Parisian musical
world, but she herself evidently favored publication. She went on to say
that all the songs were sung publicly while Chopin was alive and so, in
one way or another, they had become public property. Her words are
confirmed in many ways. One of the songs, Zyczenie ("The Wish"),
perhaps the most immediately attractive of all of them, had, for example,
been transcribed by Liszt for piano solo during Chopin's lifetime ( 1847)
and published by Kistner of Leipzig, in 1849, as Melodie Polonaise in
the suite Glanes de W oronince. Liszt was not aware that the song was
by Chopin; he thought it was a Polish folksong (see below) .

Fontana was manifestly unperturbed by the fuss. Late in 1853 (his

letter is not dated, but the date can be thus approximately deduced),
he writes to Louise that he now has seventeen songs. (He has clearly
acquired Mickiewicz's Moja Pieszczotka, since he arranged for Pauline
Viardot to sing both the Mickiewicz songs to the Paris publisher
Brandus). But, he writes, Chopin detested the number 7 and viewed it
with superstitious dread; so he has decided to omit either N arzeczony
("The Bridegroom") or Czary ("Charms"). He finishes by informing
Louise that he is negotiating with Breitkopf & Hartel of Leipzig, and
Wessel & Co. of London. It is interesting to see that amongst these
 chopin 233

The Posthumous Publication of Chopin's Songs 59

seventeen songs in Fontana's possession there is clearly no copy of
Spiew Grobowy ("Burial Hymn"); the song eventually discarded to
make the total into sixteen was Czary.
The negotiations with both firms broke down. He reports his failure
to the composer's sister on 14 March 1854. Breitkopf & Hartel pointed
out that Chopin was known in Germany only as a composer for the piano;
Wessel replied in similar terms - the songs, said the British publisher,
would not do at all there. It is clear that the German and British pub­
lishers, who were, in those years, both engaged in pouring out a flood
of songs without too great discrimination, were reluctant to accept this
group of Chopin songs only because Fontana's intention was to publish
them with Polish text alone. 16 Polnische Lieder ("16 Polish Songs")
is the title of the first edition of Op. 74.
And there, for the time, the matter rested. Fontana evidently de­
cided that, if Chopin were known in Germany only as a composer for
the piano, the pieces for the piano must be published first, without
more delay. He had, by then, received the letter from Warsaw authoriz­
ing him to go ahead with the publications ( 16 July, 1854); it was signed
by the composer's mother, Justina, and his sisters, Louise Jedrzejewicz
and Isabella Barcinska. In the following year, 1855, the piano pieces
were, as already said, published as Opp. 66-73 by the firm of Schlesinger
in Berlin, known as Schlesinger'sche Buch- und Musikhandlung, and
this firm eventually agreed to publish also the collection of songs.
Its final form as it reached the firm of Schlesinger from the hands
of Fontana was as follows:

1. Zyczenie (Witwicki )
2. Wiosna (Witwicki)
3. Smutna rzeka (Witwicki)
4. Hulanka (Witwicki)
5. Gdzie lubi (Witwicki)
6. Precz z moich oczu (Mickiewicz)
7. Posel (Witwicki)
8. Sliczny chlopiec (Zaleski)
9. Melodya (Krasinski )
10. Wojak (Witwicki)
11. Dwojaki koniec (Zaleski)
12. Moja Pieszczotka (Mickiewicz)
13. Niema cziego trzeba (Zaleski)
14. Pierscien (Witwicki )
15. Narzeczony (Witwicki)
16. Piosnka Litewska (Witwicki)
234 chopin

60 The Musical Quarterly

Fontana's arrangement of the songs is no arrangement at all, but a hap­
hazard throwing-together. He shows here the same indifference to the
chronology of composition as he does in the grouping of the mazurkas
and waltzes of Opp. 67-70. He does not even assemble the songs
according to their poets, which is an obvious alternative.
Before these sixteen songs appeared in Berlin, however, two of them
were published in 1856 by the firm Anton Kocipinski of Kiev (Ukraine).
These were Wojak and Zyczenie, published as 2 Spiewy ("Two Songs").
It is not known how the manuscripts reached the publisher Kocipinski,
but that they were not mere copies of Fontana's is shown by the slight
variants between them and the versions in Op. 74. It is more than pos­
sible that this issue was a reprint, under Chopin's name, of an anonymous
publication of the two songs by the firm during the composer's lifetime. 6
In September 1835, Maria Wodzinska wrote these words to Chopin in
a letter sent from Dresden: "I ask you to reply 'Yes' or 'No' to the
question: 'Did you compose Gdybym ja bylam [the opening words of
ZyczenieJ?' I received it the other day and am afraid to sing it (if it is
yours) in case they have altered it, as they did W ojak." The Polish word
she uses for "receive" is regularly used for getting newly published music.
Her words "in case they have altered it" cannot, surely, mean other than
that the publishers have done so. Then, what publishers? Moreover, Liszt
heard Zyczenie for the first time at the residence of the Princess Carolyne
von Sayn-Wittgenstein in Woronince, near Kiev in 1847. This suggests
that a copy of Kocipinski's anonymous publications may have been at
W oronince. Liszt thought that the song was a folksong and used it as
such. There is, too, the rather surprising statement of Fontana, in 1853,
to Jane Stirling, that he already possessed Wojak. Was this, perhaps,
a copy of the Kiev 1835 publication? No copies of the publication are
now extant.
At length, in 1857, the songs were published by Schlesinger's as
Op. 74, and entitled Zbior Spiewow Polskich, ulozeny z manuskript6w
oryginalnych i widany prezez [sic] ]. Fontane ("Collection of Polish
Songs, arranged from the original manuscripts and published by J. Fon­
tana") . For the edition, as for the edition of the piano works, Fontana
wrote a short preface.
The engraved plates of the German firm were sent to Warsaw, and
shortly afterwards the songs were printed and published by the Warsaw

6 For this suggestion, a nd others in this article, I am indebted to Mr. Arthur

Hedley, the foremost living authority on Chopin.
 chopin

The first edition of Chopin's songs 1n Grabgesang was not a dd ed to Op . 74 until

German, 1859-1860 fift een years after the fir st appearance
of the opus
235

236 chopin

The Posthumous Publication of Chopin's Songs 61

firm Gustave Gebethner (later, c. 1875, Gebethner & Wolff). The Polish
edition was called Zbior Spiewow Polskich and appeared in the late
summer of 1858. It was reviewed on 1 October 1858 in the Warsaw
journal Ruck Muzyczny, and in that journal, in 1859, appeared a famous
appreciation of the songs by Josef Sikorski. The title page of the Polish
edition is reproduced in Bory's La vie de Chopin par !'image. The firm
of F. Volkmar, Leipzig and Paris, mentioned in the imprint of the edition
was merely an agency; no songs were published in France at that time.

A little later Schlesinger's decided to publish the songs with German

texts. The translations - more in the nature of close paraphrases -
were undertaken by a popular song-composer in Germany of those days,
Ferdinand Gumbert. The edition was called 16 Polnische Lieder von
Witwicki, Zaleski, Mickiewicz etc. fur eine Singstimme mit Begleitung
des Pianoforte componiert von Fr. Chopin in deutscher Bearbeitung von
Ferd. Gumbert. The songs were issued in separate numbers, the first
four in December 1859, the remaining twelve in the spring of 1860. The
Polish texts did not underlie the German versions in this edition. Six of
the songs were transcribed by Liszt for piano solo (Zyczenie, Wiosna,
Pierscien, Hulanka, Moja Pieszczotka, Narzeczony ) and Schlesinger
published these transcriptions in 1860. Neither of Schlesinger's song­
volumes, Polish or German, nor Gebethner's Warsaw edition, had its
counterpart in other foreign capitals, as had been the case with the
posthumous piano compositions.
Schlesinger's firm passed into the ownership of Robert Lienau in
1864, and the name of the new owner was added to the publications of
the firm in 1865. In 1872, three years, that is, after the death of Fontana,
a seventeenth song, excluded out of respect for Chopin's superstitious
avoidance of the number 7, was almost surreptitiously added to the
opus by the new publisher! It was not, however, Fontana's rejected
Czary, but a song that had not stemmed from him at all, the Spiew
Grobowy. Under its German title, Grabge·sang, it was called No. 17 in
the opus, and the "16" was dropped from the title, which now appeared
simply as Polnische Lieder ... (see the illustration).

The odd fact is that thi<> very song had been published a few years
previously by the Schlesinger-Lienau firm in a piano arrangement - a
transcription after the nature of Liszt's - made by Rudolf Hasert and
given a title and an opus number: it was called Chant de Tombeau,
Op. 75. Whether deliberately or not the impression created was that here
was another of Chopin's posthumous piano works. Moreover, it was
 chopin 237

62 The Musical Quarterly

evidently not an unpopular item, since a simplified version for piano
solo was re-published at a later date (c. 1870) by the same firm in a
volume of miscellaneous piano pieces, mazurkas, and waltzes, all by
Chopin.
Eventually the set of songs became known as "Op. 74: Seventeen
Polish Songs," and the last one was finally entitled Polens Grabgesang.
In 1874 Schlesinger-Lienau published Op. 74 in two transpositions, for
high (soprano or tenor), and low (alto or bass) voice, which seems
to indicate a fair demand for the songs.
The firm of Breitkopf & Hartel, twenty years after their rejection of
these songs, published them, in 1874, with new German translations.
These were made by Hans Schmidt, a professor of the piano at the
Vienna Conservatoire, who had published a catalogue of Chopin's piano
works arranged "stufenweise," i.e., in order of difficulty. Gumbert's
original titles, although not literal, were retained by Schmidt, since obvi­
ously under these German titles the songs had become known. In the
same year the London firm of Stanley Lucas, Weber & Co., published
Op. 74. The English translations were by the Rev. J. J. Troutbeck, not,
however, from the original Polish, but from the German texts of Gum­
bert. There is a certain gentility in Troutbeck's versions and in his English
titles, which often take us even further from the Polish originals. Thus
Witwicki's Wojak becomes Before the Battle, and Mickiewicz's Precz z
moich oczu is Remembrance.
The seventeenth song was not added to the Warsaw edition until
1880, when Gebethner & Wolff re-issued Op. 74 in connection with their
new edition of the composer's piano works. It is of interest to note that
as late as 1887 there was yet another issue of Op. 74, with fresh German
translations, from the Leipzig firm of Peters. The translators were Wil­
helm Henzen and Max Kalbeck, and the publication is notable in that
it rejects the last song and recognizes only the original sixteen. It is, of
course, a possibility, that the S piew Grobowy is spurious. In Peters's
edition, again, the original German titles arc retained.
And there, for over 30 years, the completed Op. 74 remained as
Chopin's legacy of song to a public, on the whole, largely indifferent.
Various unknown piano pieces of Chopin, brought to light from family
papers at the death of their owners, appeared at intervals from publishing
houses in Poland and Germany. But no more of the many songs that
Chopin had written saw the light.
In 1901 Ferdinand Hoesick, the great Polish student of Chopin, an-
238 chopin

The Posthumous Publication of Chopin's Songs 63

nounced the discovery of unpublished Chopin manuscripts amongst the
posthumous papers of Josef Elsner, the first principal of the Warsaw
Conservatoire, and Chopin's tutor for composition. The pieces were con­
tained in one of the ubiquitous "albums" of the day; this one, as already
mentioned, belonged to Elsner's daughter, Emily. Two waltzes (A-flat
and E-ftat) and a version of the A-minor Mazurka, Op. 7, No. 2, with
a slow introduction in A major, were published in Warsaw, in 1902,
and the pieces were also published at the same time by Breitkopf &
Hartel as a supplement to their Gesamtausgabe of the composer's works.
In Emily's album, there was also, of course, the song Czary ("Charms" )
to words by Witwicki. Fontana, it will be remembered, considered the
song "unworthy" of Chopin, and discarded it. Presumably Hoesick, too,
considered it unworthy of Chopin, for this seems to be the only way
to account for the fact that he did not publish it at the same time as
the three instrumental pieces. And so he, also, discarded it. Even when
it was eventually published it was in a facsimile version, so that one
might say it was made public rather than published. This publication
took place as follows. It happened that ten years or so after Hoesick's
discovery, Maria Wodzinska's album, sent to her by Chopin in 1836,
was also brought to light. Maria had died in 1896 and her album passed
into the possession of her husband's niece, Mme. St. Orpiszewska. In
1910 the album was reproduced in facsimile by Breitkopf & Hartel. The
publication was in the nature of a "stunt." Maria's album, bound in red
morocco with her name on it in gold letters, was carefully imitated, and
the book entitled:

MARIA
Ein Liebesidyll in Tonen.
CHOPIN
an Maria Wodzinska.

There is a flowery, pseudo-poetical introduction by the editress, Komelia

Pamas, who was given permission by Mme. Orpiszewska to publish
the album. But her notes at the conclusion are more practical and use­
ful. Maria's album consisted of a prepared volume of blank music paper:
the opening four pages with staves braced in pairs for a piano piece, the
rest of the pages ruled for vocal pieces. In the "piano" pages Chopin
wrote out his unpublished early Nocturne in C-sharp minor (Lento
con gran espressione), and then eight songs, the last of which is Czary.
With the reproduction of the Maria album, the song was made generally
available; at least it was no longer a private possession. Its publication
 chopin 239

64 The Musical Quarterly

in the real sense took place in 1951. This was in the new Polish Complete
Works (Dziela Wszystkie) of Chopin, which was edited jointly by Pader­
ewski, Bronarski, and Turcynski, and published by the Polish Musical
Association in twenty-six volumes. Volume XVII is devoted to the songs
of the composer and includes Czary in its first printed form. The German
translations made for Breitkopf & Hartel by Hans Schmidt were used
again in the Maria volume, and Schmidt cast into verse form a transla­
tion of Czary made by Komelia Pamas, and entitled Liebeszauber.
Maria was shortly afterwards published in France by Costallat et Cie,
as Maria. Une idylle d'amour en musique. Chopin a Maria Wodzinska.
The texts were translated into French by Gaston Knosp. The earliest
publication of any of Chopin's songs in France is the strange one in the
short-lived Paris periodical journal de Musique in a number more or
less devoted to Chopin and George Sand. In this number, dated 22 July,
1876, there is a version of Zyczenie, in B-flat major, provided with fresh
words by George Sand beginning "Quand la lune se leve, Dans un pale
rayon" and entitled La Reine des Songes. Three years after this appeared
the first full publication of Chopin's songs in France. It was the Recueil
complet des Melodies Polonaises de Chopin, Op. 74, from the publisher
J. Hamelle, Paris, in June 1879. The translations, very free, were by the
Belgian poet Victor van Wilder, well known as the French translator of
Wagner's Ring operas and Die Meistersinger.

Chopin's calligraphy in the songs of the Maria album, written out

for a girl with whom he was supposedly in love, is extraordinary. Both
the piano piece and the songs are hurriedly scribbled, put down on to
paper by a man who palpably hated his task. Mistakes abound. No
wonder that Franchomme, in the words of Jane Stirling, was "still busy"
with similarly scribbled copies, and that Fontana had to edit them rather
heavily. But it is pretty clear that Fontana made a few "improvements"
(in his view) to the songs, which hardly come under the terms of editing.
He knew nothing of Maria Wodzinska's manuscripts. Here, for example,
are the openings of the song Zyczenie from Fontana's version in Op. 74,
No. 1 and from Maria's album:
240 chopin

The Posthumous Publication of Chopin's Songs 65

Chopin's nineteenth extant song is called, for convenience, Dumka.
This is to distinguish it from another of his songs to words from the
same poem by Zaleski Niema czego trzeba ("I want what I have not").
The song was discovered in 1910 by Stanislaw Lam in yet another
album: this one belonged to the poet Stefan Witwicki. The setting, in
A minor, is short, only eight measures long, and it was printed and pub­
lished in the Lwow journal Slowo Polskie on 22 October 1910, in an
issue devoted to the centenary of Chopin's birthyear. The printed song
was reproduced by Maria Mirska in her book Szlakiem Chopina,
published by W. Galster, Warsaw, 1949.
Like Czary, this song Dumka is included in Volume XVII of the
Warsaw edition of the Complete Works of Chopin. The song-volume,
having editorial notes (in Polish only), and showing some attempt to
collate the various manuscript sources (such as they are) and printed
editions, assembles at last, and for the first time, all the nineteen extant
songs of Chopin in a not unworthy manner.
 15

•!• CHOPIN AS EARLY MUSIC •!•

Christophe Grabowski

Wessel's Complete Collection of the Compositions of

Frederic Chopin: the history of a title-page

C OPIES of Chopin's first editions were thought

to be extremely rare until quite recently, but
bibliographical research, particularly during the past
25 years, has encouraged a fundamental revision in
our knowledge and understanding of these import­
ant sources. Although only a single copy of some
prints has survived to this day, first editions of the
vast majority of Chopin's compositions can readily
be found in the collections of European and Ameri­
can libraries.
It is well known that, in order to ensure maximum
copyright protection, Chopin published his compo­
sitions simultaneously in France, England, and Ger­
many or Austria. Before he settled in Paris in late 1831
some of his early works were published in Warsaw,
which at that time was under Russian domination.
In total, 26 publishing houses collaborated with the
composer during his lifetime.
After their initial publication, modifications to the
title-pages and/or the musical text were made to
many first editions of Chopin's music, as house
editors-and in some cases the composer himself­
took the opportunity to 'improve' an edition or to
correct earlier errors. Changes also affected the phys­
ical makeup of these editions, including the number
of pages, the location of blank pages, the presence of
loose sheets and excerpts from publishers' cata­
logues. Despite the steady progress that has been
made in identifying the status of a particular 'first
edition' (whether an original or later impression), it
is still very difficult to know where some prints
belong in their respective filiation chains. The com-
plexity and variety of this large output mean that
only rarely are two copies of a given 'first edition'
truly identical.
This article will describe the evolution of the title­
page used for the important series Complete Collec­
tion of the Compositions of Frederic Chopin, which
was brought out by Chopin's principal English pub­
lisher, Christian Rudolph Wessel & Co., and would
eventually include almost all the works of the Polish
composer. Since it was widely available for many
decades, the series title-page was subjected not only
to numerous modifications, but also to three differ­
ent presentational formats.
The inclusion of Chopin's works in different
series was particularly common in England, at least
until the end of the 1840s. Indeed, before their incor­
poration into the Complete Collection, some works
already formed part of L'amateur pianiste (opp.1,
6-7, 9, 15-20, 23-4, 26-7), Le pianiste moderne
(opp.5, 29-34), Album des pianistes de premiere force
(opp.2, 11, 13-14, 21-2) and Les agrtimens au salon
(opp.35-6, 38-9, 41). In addition to the title of the
series to which they belonged, Chopin's mazurkas
also appeared with the subtitle 'Souvenir(s) de Ia
Pologne'. Transcriptions for piano four hands
(opp.l, 3, 6-7, 9, 16-19, 22, 24, 29, 32-4, 42-3)
appeared in the Collection of Piano-Forte Duets
introduced at the beginning of the 1850s, while the
Trio, op.8, belonged to the Series ofModern Trios.
The Complete Collection was launched in June
1840, at the same time as the publication of the
Waltz, op.42. The first version consisted of 45 titles

Christophe Grabowski is a Research Fellow at Royal Holloway, University of London, where he is

engaged in a four-year research project on Chopin's first editions, funded by The Leverhulme Trust.
He is also Editorial Consultant to The Complete Chopin-A New Critical Edition.

EARLY MUSIC AUGUST 2001 425

242 chopin

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N!67. Frith Street. Comrr of Sobo Square .

1 First presentational format (version 1) of the series title-page ofWessel' s Complete Collection

424 EARLY MUSI C AUGUST 2001

 chopin 243

and represented aU of the works, whether published
or still in press, in W esse!' s hands at that time (see
illus.1). Op-42 was in fact the first work released with
the series title-page alone. It was soon followed by
the BaUade, op.38, Scherzo, op.39, Polonaises, op.40,
and Mazurkas, op-41, which were published in Octo­
ber and December 1840. Before being assimilated
into this collection, all the compositions preceding
op.38 had individual title-pages. Thereafter, as the
number of Chopin's works released by the London
publisher grew, the list of works on the series title­
page became increasingly long, reaching a total of 72.
Fourteen principal versions of this title-page can be
distinguished from Wessel's time, while five addi­
tional versions can be attributed to W esse!' s succes­
sors Ashdown & Parry I Edwin Ashdown. The fact
that 11 of these title-pages exist in variant forms
brings the total number to no fewer than 37 different
versions--a truly colossal number, and one with sig­
nificant implications.
Table 1 summarizes the most obvious modifica­
tions to have occurred during this evolution.' Most
of the dates in the 'Date' column are those registered
at Stationers' Hall. The dates proposed for versions
8, 10 and u (whose lists of works end with unregis­
tered titles, i.e. Mazurka from Album de La France

Table 1 Versions of the series title-page of Wessel's Complete Collection

Version Date Publisher No. Contents Nature of modifications

ofpieces
30.6.1840 Wessel 45 opp.1-3, 5-7, original version of title-page
&C~ 9-11,13-42
2 20.1.1841 53 + opp.43-9 expansion oflist; no price of op.46; dedicatees of opp. 46 and
49 missing
2a addition of price of op.46
22.7.1842 54 + op.so expansion oflist; op.so lacks dedication; chanje of prices of
opp. 6-7; addition of keys of opp. 38, 44-9 an of dedicatees of
opp. 46 and 49
3a addition of dedication for op.so ('ded. toM~ Henry Field of
Bath'), whose price was moved down one line; change of price
ofop.15
3b change of price of op.27
JC change of price of four-hand version of op.19
3d 7·4·1843 change of prices of opp.16-17 and 34 no.t; removal of subtitle of
op.31
4 55 + op.51 expansion of list
43 change of price and correction of key of op.31; removal of
subtitle 'cENT-et-uN' of op.42
4b change of price of op.2o
1.3.1844 60 + opp.52-6 expansion oflist; no prices of opp. 55-6
sa 22.4.1845 addition of prices of opp. 55-6
6 23.6.1845 62 + opp.57-8 expansion of list
7 8.12.1845 63 + op.59 expansion oflist; removal of ' I NFERNAL' in subtitle of op.2o
8 19·5·1846 64 +'Cracow expansion of list; opus no. of 'Cracow Mazurka' unspecified;
Mazurka' change of publisher's address
Sa opus no. of'Cracow Mazurka' included as 'Op-59 bis.'
9 7.10.1846 67 +opp.6o-62 expansion of list
10 26.1.1848 68 + op.63 expansion of list
11 20.9.1848 71 +op.64 expansion of list

426 EARLY MUSIC AUGUST 2001

244 chopin

musicale, published by Wessel with the title 'Cracow
Mazurka', the Mazurkas, op.63, and the Waltzes,
op.64) were marked on the copies deposited at the
British Museum. Dates for the Berceuse, op.57,
Sonata, op.58, and Mazurkas, op.59, were similarly
inscribed on British Museum copies; registered at
the same time as the Nocturnes, op.55, and
Mazurkas, op.56, they were in fact published either
two months later (opp.57 and 58-version 6) or six
months later (op. 59-version 7), and for these works
the actual date of publication is given in table 1. The
dates of versions 13 and 15 are based on changes of
address or proprietor. The exact point at which this
series ceased to be commercially available is not alto­
gether certain; the last of the catalogues would indi­
cate a date as early as 1882,' but it is clear that the
Complete Collection was on the market for much
longer, since the last version of its title-page did not
appear for some time.3
One means of determining the sequence of the
different versions is by tracing the evolution in
prices. For example, the title-pages lacking a price
for op.46 (version 2) or opp.55 and 56 (version 5)
clearly pre-date those on which prices are provided.
When differences in price do exist, title-pages with
higher figures can be assumed to be later, since

Version Date Publisher No. Contents Nature of modifications

ofpieces
na [Wessel 71 removal of prices of four-hand versions in column 'Duet.' on
&C~] right
12 1853 reworking of title-page: removal of two columns indicating
prices offour-hand versions, of heading 'Solo & Duet', and
of', Duet' at bottom; correction of key of op.36
12a removal of 'IDEM' for second book of op.28, and of'in' from
line with opp. 6o and 62
13 1856 change of publisher's address
14 'CopyriJht' in singular; new presentation of details of firm;
remov of'(by special Appointment) to, H. R. H. the Duchess of
Kent.'
15 186o Ashdown change of proprietor
& Parry
15a change of prices of opp. 2, 31, 46, 49
15b change of prices of opp. 1, 2, s, 11, 13-14, 16, 19, 21-2, 26, 52-4, 58,
60-61
15c correction of key of op.35
15d correction of key of op.13
16 new (second) presentational format
16a change of price of op.3
17 72 + Trois Nouvelles expansion of Jist; addition of 'THE ORIGINAL ENGLISH EDITION
Etudes de Ia Methode PUBLISHED BY WESSEL & C~ UNDER THE IMMEDIATE
des Mtthodes SUPERINTENDENCE OF THE COMPOSER'
17a change of prices of opp. 9, 15, 27, 55
18 1882 Edwin change of details of firm
Ashdown
18a change of prices of opp. 24, 30, 33, 41, 56, 59, 63; correction of
keyofop.45
19 new (third) presentational format

EARLY MUSIC AUGUST 2001 427

 chopin 245

Table 2 Price changes on the series title-page of Wessel's prices never decreased while the series was commer­
Complete Collection cially available. As table 2 reveals, the publisher fre­
quently made other corrections to the title-page in
Op. Price Versions Price Versions Price Versions addition to changing the price. For versions 2a, 3b/c,
4b and 16a, minor modifications in price are the only
4/- 1-1sa s/- 15b-19
feature distinguishing them from others with the
2 6/6 l-IS 7/- 15a 8/- 15b-19
same general characteristics. Table 2 summarizes the
4/- 1-16 s/- 16a-19
increases in price that occurred throughout the life
5 4/- 1-1sa si- 15b-19
of this collection.
6 2/6 1-2a 31- 3-19 The removal of prices for the four-h and versions
7 2/6 1- 2a 31- 3-19 also helps to arrange the different verswns m
9 2/6 1-17 3/- 17a- 19 chronological order; it resulted from the decision to
11 10/6 1-1sa 12/- 15b- 19 separate solo-piano versions from transcriptions,
13 s/- 1-1sa 6/- 15b- 19 which amounted to a fundamental reorientation of
14 6/- 1- 153 7/6 15b-19 this series. Indeed, a separate collection containing
15 31- l-3 3/6 }J-17 41- 173-19 four-hand arrangements of Chopin's works was
16 4/- 1-JC s/- 3d-15a 6/- 15b-19 launched in january 1853.4 This led to two modifica­
tions of the original series title-page: initially, the
17 3/- 1-}C 316 Jd- 19
prices in the right-hand column ' Duet.' were
19 4/- 1-ISJ sf- 15b-19
removed (version na), and later, every trace of the
19 4/- 1-}b s/- 3c- ua
arrangements for four hands disappeared (the head­
(4 hands)
ing 'Solo & Duet', the two small column headings
20 4/- 1-4<1 5/- 4b-19
'Duet.', the two-column format for prices, and the
21 10/- 1-15a 12/- 15b-19
indications 'Solo' and ', Duet' at the bottom which
22 6/- 1-153 7/- 15b-19
were used for prices entered by hand, as discussed
24 }/6 1-18 4/- !Sa, 19
below). In addition to these changes, the key of the
26 41- 1-153 sf- 15b-19 Impromptu, op.36, was also amended (version 12),
27 }/- l- 3J 316 }h-17 and, soon after, another variant of the series title­
30 3/6 1-18 4/- 1Sa, 19 page occurred, characterized by the removal of three
31 5/- 1-4 s/6 4a-1s 6/- 15a-19 features of minor importance. Due to space restric­
33 4/6 l-18 sf- 18a, 19 tions, it was impossible to specify the keys of
3411 3/- l-3C 316 3d-19 the Nocturnes, op.62; consequently, the publisher
41 }/6 1-18 4/- 18a, 19 decided to omit the redundant 'in' found in versions
10-12. This was also carried out with regard to the
46 5/6 2a-15 6/- 153-19
6/- 153-19
Barcarolle, op.6o, not because of insufficient space
49 5/ 6 2- 15
but because of the decision to stop indicating the key
52 4/- 5- 15a s/- 15b-19
of each piece. Finally the word ' IDEM ', referring to
53 3/6 5-15a 4/- 15b-19
the second book of Preludes, op.28, was also
54 sf- 5-15a 6/- 15b-19
removed (version 12a).
55 3/6 sa-17 4/- 17J-19 The firm Wessel & Co. moved twice during the
56 4/6 sa-18 5/- 1Sa, 19 time that this series was commercially available. The
58 10/- 6- 15J 12/- 15b-19 address given on version 1 of the series title-page
59 41- 7-18 s/- 18a, 19 (illus.1) was changed to ' 229, Regent Street, Corner
60 }/6 9-153 4/- 15b- 19 of Hanover Street.' (version 8) and then to '18,
61 4/6 9-153 s/- 15b-19 HAN OVER SQUARE.' (version 13). Numerous other

63 31- lo-18 4/- 18a, 19 modifications characterize the final version (no.14)
of the title-page before the firm changed hands: the

428 EARLY MUSI C AUGUST 2001

246 chopin

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~-------------------·-------------------

Lon<lou.
ASHDOWN&. PARRY. HANOVER SQUARE.

2 Second presentational format (version 16a) of the series title-page of Wessel's Complete Collection

EARLY MUSIC AUGUST 2001 4 29

 chopin 247

No.€
TB:II ORIGINAL IINGLISB BDITION PUBLISHED BY WBSSBL & 00., 'D'KDD THE IllKllDU.TII
SUPBlUNTIIKDBNOII OF TKB OOJU'OIIB&

THE COMPLETE COLLECTION

OP

THE COMPOSITION S
OF

FRED ERIC CHOP IN, FO.R THB

PIANOFO RTE.
... • I. ... .. d.
1. ..._a.,..,...._ ~ ........................ laC Niaor ......... Op. I 0 . . ~ ~ ...-. No. ......................... Ia A MiiM)I' .........Op. J4... I 0
I. ....... a Jl..n. c;--.-. brill., oa Lad tlanml, lroa1 IT. l'l'llil ~ - . .. No. J ... ...... .. ... . -: ·· ..... Ia F ... . :..... .. .... .. Op. )4... I

1.-.. _ . ._
"O.OioftAIII" .......................... .... ... ... I• Blat .•.........•Op. I e •• .,...__.. ..................................... ;.... Ia Btlat Mli!I«......Op. J6... 0
a. r. pbe. lalr. a JIOioaoi- trinante ............ r. c ..................Op. J. .. 1 o . _ - -............... ..... ......... ............ In fohorp ......... Op. J6... I
l.r. ........ ...._.ai&.-Q............ ... I•Jf ..................Op. S· ·· I I to. LII...,U.. 6th-=tolnott•raa. ................... .................... ... Op. 37... I 0
.. ~ ... ......., .... or ..... lil.a ...... ........... .. ........ o.,. 6... a o ts. ta ......... ado .U...Ie ......................... .111 , .................. Op. Jl... • 0
&.....- ............ ..t..tol cUuo ........................... Op. 7... I 0 & 'llllrt ............... ... ........... .... .................. IDCWrpMinor Qv. J9... I 1t
f.- .. Ia..., ••lltol.ou•,.. .... ,... ,..................Op. 9··· I o tl. 1M
aad~etof tlilto
.ftli.._ Dnx poloDt.ils (let a) ... .. .............................Op. 41(11.. . t 0
....... ....... ..... ........ Op. 9··· I 0 ... ...._. .. 1a ......._ 7tklelfA&UU\u ...... .. ...................or.. •• ···
t. .._ ~ ..... Book I ...•.• , .......... . ............. .......... . ~ 10 ... I tl. llllll6t ...a. ............................................. JaA liM ..... .......Op. .... .
II..._~....._ Book a ..........................................Op. 10. .. I t1. 1UWt.1U1 ...... ........ ......................... ........ . Ia A ILM ............ Op. 4l· .•
lL lb.- p..a _ . . .................. ,....,......... In E Minot ..... , .. ,Op. II ... 11 I tT....... ~ ....................................... Ia F tMrp Minor Op. 44 .. .
II. ....... ww..... Sur ..... •tklalltlJC l'oloaois ............... Op. lJ... . a,...,_...................................................... laCWrpMioor 0p. 45· ··
11. ..........._ GaM~. eoDCett........... Ia F ..................Op. 14... T • . , . . . .. - ....................................loA .................. Op. 46 .. .
lt. ' - . . , . , . , Jftl•ot•t.r~K~a ..........- .........................- ...ap. •s... ' • 10. llbC W.... .. ................... ..... ..... ..... ..... ... .In A lit ............Op. 47.. .
U. - ................................................!• E bt ............Op. 16... I 0 IL ~- ....,_. .................................!• C Minar ......... Op. .... ..
• ......., .......... ;pdtllot-u.. .............. .............Op.l7 . . . . . ._ _ .. - - ................................. lo Fohorp lllaoo Op. .... .
17. ~ ,.... Ja....._ Grude .,.._ ......... la 1: lat ............Op. 11... I I A. era.l . ...._ ........ ..... .... ............ .......... IDAI&I ............Op. 4f...

1.1........ ,.. ......._ . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

IL...._.,I,..........., Boltto ..................... laAMioof .........Op.rt
lt.
. . ..._.__.~ .. .......... .. ............ ... .... JaPMiour ......... O)._ 11
...

...
I

11
0

0
H.

II.
.... ._.

.......
.. J& , . . _ IUuelof'~~to~~uku ...........................Op. JO. .. t
In B Minot .. .. .....Op. .,,.. I 0 N. ftlrt ................................ .. ......... ... .Ia G a..t ............ Op. 51 ...
...._ .......................................... Ill F MII'IGI' ........ .Op. SJ.. .
II . . . . . . ~ ~"· PracetWe d'•n Andaatc Stliaftato rr. Sfc'Ul ~ ....................................... 111 A flat ............ o1, 53 ... •
laEitat ............OJl. aa .. T 0 M. :r....a ..._ .............. .. ...... In 1!: ............. .....Op. 54·.·· t
& Z. a--. WM11: ............................... :.1n G Minot ...... .. .Op. JJ... t 0 If. 1....... 1.......,..._ .................. In )o' NUtorand E lat ...OJ'- ss ... t
a 11t1ntU1 " Ia ....... 4th 1Ct al ~MAJku...........................Op. a..... 4 0 . . . . ....., 4e Ia . . . . . gth Itt fA IMNikU .......................... .Op. Sfi ...

_,__ Dou<-.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
. . ..,_ ....... Book J.............................. : .......................... ()r. .,... • 0 t1. r. ........_ Aadantc .... .......... ....... ......... Ia D t1at ............ <>,;,. S7 .. .

---- -o . . . . . . . . . . . . ..
a ..... ~. Book ........................................................... op. •s· .. • o & ......_put-a ................................ .Inn MIDOI' .........OJ'- Jl... 11
Op. 16 ... I 0 a.._... .... Pelept. loth let ol mu.rka ...........................Op. Jt... J 0
IT. ' - ,W.tl..., 4tb11tolM1ttun01 ......................................Op. 17... t I M. GII;Mw. N....ka...... .... ............................ .Ja A NiDQI' ......... Op. 59... I 0
Op.ol ... I 0 ... ~Je .............................................................. ..........Op.6o.••••

·---- - ... ...................... ........... .O,•ol ... I I a

r.Jaa~~t.rue.w. ....................................Ja A Oat ............Op. 61... a o
a~~n&.....- ...................................... JaAillt .... .Op. .,.. , I I " · 11-..... 1.... . . .. . _ ................................................ Op. .s. ... ' 0
11. ...wm .. 1a ~ stb ... or
_.r~tu.. . ..... Op. 30... t o a .. wmr •• 1& r.a..., utb
ld fA . . . .w ........................ Op. 6J... t o
._ ...... . . . _ ...... ... ................................. I•Diat.Ii.or ...Op. Jl ... I 0 • • %flU ~ No. J .............. ................... In D Jat ............Op. 64.. . I 0
a u --... • 1a ............. s"• ot . ...,._ ... ............... 0p. Ja... ao ft. 'bill ftiMI. N'o. a .... ........... .......... ...... .. Ia C tbarp ~~~ Op. 64 ... I 0
........... Ia .._... • • ot ..............................Op. JJ.... . n . TrW .U... No. 3 .. ........................ ....... Ia A s.t ............Op. 6,.... I 0
N. ~ ....... . . - , Ko. 1 .....................IDA dat ............ Op. 34... I I ft. '111111 .... . _ ...,._ (0. Ia . . . . del m4dlodel) ........................... I 0

LONDON: EDWIN ASHDOWN, HANOVER SQUARE, W.

3 Third presentational format (version 19) of the series title-page of Wessel's Complete Collection

430 EARLY MUSIC AUGUST 2001

248 chopin
word 'Copyright', used in the plural in previous ver­
sions, now appears in the singular; at the bottom of
the page, the details of the firm are differently
engraved; and '(by special Appointment) to, H.R.H.
the Duchess of Kent.' has been deleted. Wessel's
successors, Ashdown & Parry I Edwin Ashdown,
remained at 18 Hanover Square until the series
ended. Their first five versions (15-15d) kept the for­
mat of the original title-page, which was over 20
years old and had already been modified numerous
times, although the details of the firm were emended
and '(SUCCESSORS TO WESSEL & C~)' was added.
Two sets of price changes and two corrections of key
(for opp.13 and 35) also occurred at this time.
The use of a single series title-page for all copies of
a given print-run made it impossible to print the
price of individual works at the bottom of the page.
Such prices were added by hand, just to the right of
the small indications 'Price, Solo' and ',Duet' (ver­
sions 1-ua) or 'Price,' (versions 12-15d). The increas­
ing use of lithographic reproduction caused the last
of these to disappear in versions 15c and 15d. Indeed,
nearly all the prices on the title-pages of these two
versions were added with a stamp distinguishable by
the larger size of the italic or roman font used for the
word 'Price' and the following number. This practice
was used exclusively after a new format of the series
title-page was introduced (no.16), in which the word
'Price' was abandoned once and for all in favour of
the stamp. Version 16 is distinguished by four other
changes: the heading 'N?', centred at the top in pre­
ceding versions, now appears on the left; the left­
hand column lists 35 works, not 34; '18' disappears
from the publisher's address in Hanover Square; and
'Copyright', which became obsolete when Chopin's
works entered the public domain in England, is no
longer present.
This second format of the Complete Collection's
title-page exists in six versions, nos.16 to 18a (version
16a is shown as illus.2). Apart from the usual price
increases, changes were also made to the series head­
line, the number of works, the details of the firm,
and the key of one piece. The already impressive list
of compositions was further expanded as of version
17, which contains 72 works in total, including the
Trois Nouvelles Etudes de la Methode des Methodes
(previously published by Chappell in 1841).5 It was in
version 17 that the headline 'THE ORIGINAL
ENGLISH EDITION PUBLISHED BY WESSEL & C~
UNDER THE IMMEDIATE SUPERINTENDENCE
OF THE COMPOSER' first appeared; it had no basis
in fact, however, given that almost every piece in the
series had been revised and corrected numerous
times since Chopin's death.6 The name of the firm
was changed to ' EDWIN ASHDOWN' in 1882 (ver­
sion 18), after one of the associates, Henry John
Parry, withdrew from the business. Shortly after
(version 18a), several prices were raised yet again. At
the same time the key of the Prelude, op.45, was
rectified.
The final format of the series title-page-version
19 (illus.3)-differed only in layout from the imme­
diately preceding version. The series number was
moved above the headline 'THE ORIGINAL ENG­
LISH EDITION .. .'; the words 'Ent. Sta. Hall' were
removed; and the position of the 72nd work in the
list was changed to the bottom of the right-hand
column. Finally, the publisher's name and address
were united on the same line.
Attention should be drawn to a few differences
between the three presentational formats used for
this series title-page. The first two formats use the
same fonts-roman, italic, pseudo-gothic and deco­
rative-although in different ways. In the first, italics
predominate, giving it a 'handwritten' appearance
but at the expense of legibility. The second format
has a more modern appearance, its well-balanced
use of the four fonts effecting a clearer image. As for
the third format, it employs only one font, making it
very legible but also rather monotonous.
The series title-page bears testimony to a moment
of tension between the Polish composer and his Eng­
lish publisher. In two letters to Julian Fontana dating
from 18 September 1841 and 9 October 1841, Chopin
expressed profound dissatisfaction with the 'ridicu­
lous titles' attached to his compositions by Wessel
(whom he called 'a fool and a traitor'), excoriating
him for not having stopped this insidious practice
despite Chopin's strict ban and numerous harsh rep­
rimands/ As a result, Chopin instructed his friend
Fontana to reprove the recalcitrant Wessel yet again
in the strongest possible terms and in writing. On
this occasion, Fontana's action had an immediate
effect which can be seen in all the series title-pages
EARLY MUSIC AUGUST 2001 431
 chopin
following the first version. In fact, from the Taran­
tella, op.43, onwards, Wessel kept his imagination in
check, apart from two insignificant 'relapses': the
'Cracow Mazurka' and the 'Souvenirs de Ia Pologne'
(the latter subtitle being maintained for opp.50, 56,
59 and 63). Otherwise, he added only the relatively
neutral 'Grand' on occasion.
The changes to three titles in particular might
have directly resulted from this shift in Wesse!'s
policy, the first of which concerns the Scherzo, op.31.
In early 1843 the subtitle 'LA MEDITATION' was
replaced by'sECOND SCHERzo' on the title-page of
version 3d; the first page of the music itself was sim­
ilarly changed in an impression from the same
period. The second correction relates to the subtitle
of the French edition of the Waltz, op.42, which
Chopin had kindly offered to the Parisian publisher
Pacini, whose music shop was ravaged by fire in early
1838 and who was helped out by 101 (cent un) corn­
posers, among them Chopin. In gratitude, but with­
out giving it much thought, Pacini ensconced the
number of his benefactors in the title of his series,
which of course was incomprehensible to anyone
ASCANIO TROMBEITI
motets in 6 to 12 parts
Ascanio Trombeni (1544-1590) was a Bolognese
cornetto player and singer, who published a
remarkably fine set of motets in 1589. Many of
these seem to be designed for a mixture of
voices and instruments, to judge (a) by the
r.mges of some of the parts and (h) the
occ:1sion:tl heading "Ua concerto". Although the
lar!(er pieces (H-part upwards) arc polyd1<>ral, the
compose r is not concerned with facile e{_~ ho
e ffects. :\!any of h is pieces are remarkably
expressive, yet at the same time rather solemn.
And as one would expect from a cornetto player,
they fit very weB on wind instruments.
We have published seven of these fine motet.o; so
far: all are available in a flexible format: scores
and parts, and/ or multiple scores. You have hten
warned.
LONDO!\ PRO MUSICA EDITIO:'\i
15 Rock Street BRIGHTON BN2 1NFIGB
fax+44 (0)1273622792/te/+44 (0)1273692974
432 EARLY MUSIC AUGUST 2001
249
unfamiliar with the events in Paris. Wessel's edition
of op.42 was based on French proof-sheets contain­
ing this subtitle, and it was mechanically copied not
only onto the musical text but also onto the title­
page of versions 1-4 of the Complete Collection (as
'cENT-et-uN'). Some time later, most likely towards
the end of 1843 (version 4a), Wessel decided to
remove this enigmatic and bizarre subtitle which
was inconsistent with his own inventions.
The third modification dates from December 1845
and concerns the subtitle of the first Scherzo, op.2o,
'Le Banquet Infernal'. This was more imaginative
than Wessel's cloyingly sentimental subtitles for the
Nocturnes, op.9 ('Murrnures de Ia Seine'), op.15
('Les Zephyrs'), op.27 ('Les Plaintives'), op.32 ('11
Larnento e Ia Consolazione') and op.37 ('Les
Soupirs'). Motivated by a desire to toe the line, but
without much reflection, the publisher decided to
remove 'Infernal' from the series title-page, leaving
the abridged and rather banal 'Banquet' (version 7),
thus destroying the fantastical character of one of his
most imaginative subtitles, which for once had cap­
tured the spirit of the composition to which it
referred. Fortunately, this correction affected only
the title-page: the original subtitle, printed on the
first page of the musical text, remained unchanged.
The final modifications that reveal the chronolog­
ical order of the successive versions concern correc­
tions to the keys indicated on the title-page of the
Complete Collection. These reveal the limited musical
knowledge or downright incompetence of the pub­
lisher and his various advisers and proofreaders. The
errors that occurred in assigning keys to composi­
tions were not always obvious, however, and this
may explain why Wessel and his successors noticed
them only eventually. For reasons of presentation
and due to space restrictions, the keys of works in
multipartite opuses (i.e. with two or more con­
stituent pieces) were not individually detailed. The
Waltzes, op.34, and Nocturnes, op.48 (which were
separately listed), are exceptions to this rule, as are
the Nocturnes, op.55. In versions 1-2a the key of the
Ballade, op.38, was missing, and the same applies to
opp.44- 49 (versions 2 and 2a). Whether this resulted
from an oversight by the engraver or from the pub­
lisher's indecision or confusion is unclear. Two
changes concern parallel major and minor keys: the
250 chopin

key of the Scherzo, op.31, was modified from 'D''
(versions 1-4) to 'B1 min.' (version 4a onwards),8 and
that of the Prelude, op.45, from 'E' (versions 3-18) to
'C#MINOR' (versions 18a and 19). Three other errors
were more blatant, affecting the Fantasy on Polish
Airs, op.13, changed from 'D' (versions 1-15c) to 'A'
(version 15d onwards); the Sonata, op.35, changed
from 'D 1 min.' (versions 1-15b) to 'B1 min.' (version
15c onwards); and the Impromptu, op.J6, changed
from 'Cf' (versions 1-na) to 'Ft (version 12
onwards). Only one 'error', also related to parallel
major and minor keys, was never corrected: 'Grand
Fantasia', op-49, 'in A 1' .9
T HIS article has traced the history of a title-page
through the various stages in its evolution. The
changes that distinguish each version might seem
minimally significant at first glance, yet they reveal
much about the practices of one of Chopin's prin­
cipal publishers and the means by which his music
was disseminated to the British public both during
his lifetime and after his death. Furiliermore, such
changes provide invaluable clues as to the chrono­
logical sequence of multiple impressions and play an
important role in their identification. Even so, the
many changes to the series title-page are only one
facet of the evolution in the English editions of
Chopin, given that the most profound modifications
affected the musical text itself. The latter experi­
enced a similar evolution throughout the many
versions that make up the Complete Collection: the
corrections to the series title-page are by no means
as numerous, or as musically essential, as those
within the score. This essay therefore serves only
as an introduction to an area of research which
has the potential to reveal how Chopin's music was
received in England from the very first editions
until the beginning of the 2oth century, and how
our own understanding of it may ultimately have
been affected.

I am grateful to Nathalie Froud and
john Rink for translating this article,
and to the latter for his editorial efforts.
1 The presentational differences
between versions 1, 16 and 19 are not
detailed in table 1, but they will be
touched upon later and can be
discerned by comparing the
illustrations.
2 See). M. Chommski and T. D.
Turl'o, Katalog Dziel Fryderyka
Chopina (Krak6w, 1990), p.252.
3 Information in the plate book held
at the London Metropolitan Archives
(Ace 1911l13, pp.2.41-3) suggests that the
Complete Collection continued to be
marketed well into the 2oth century:
the annotation 'Melted' accompanies
the four dates 'Apr. 1/oo', 'July 1l18',
'Apr. 1/27' and 'Mar. 1/34'.
4 This is the acquisition date marked
on the deposit copy of the Impromptu,
op.29 (London, British Library,
h.473.(9) ), which contains the title­
page specific to this collection. Judging
from their number, arrangements for
four hands seem to have been most
popular in the German marketplace.
In fact, nearly all Chopin's works were
published in this format, even such
pieces as the Grand Duo sur les themes
de Robert le Diable (originally for piano
and cello) and the Cello Sonata, op.65,
which were difficult to transcribe.
Chopin regarded this abundant
'musical literature' with outright
contempt, although he was not
opposed to the publication of the
Sonata, op.35, in Julian Fontana's
four-hand transcription (second and
third movements), and of Auguste
Franchomme's arrangement for piano
and cello of the Nocturnes, op.55.
5 It is odd that Ashdown & Parry
chose not to publish the Variations,
op.tz-one of few works by Chopin to
have escaped Wessel-which would
have made their Chopin series almost
complete. Op.12 was instead released
by Cramer, Addison & Beale in 1834.
6 The introduction of this headline
was intended above all to generate
publicity and to distinguish Ashdown
& Parry's collection from all the
competing editions-both domestic
and foreign-that were beginning to
flood the British market. It parallels
the inclusion from 1859 of an almost
identical headline on the title-page
of the IEuvres completes de Chopin
published in France by G. Brandus &
S. Dufour: Seule edition authentique,
sans changements ni additions, publiee
d'apres les epreuves corrigees par !'auteur
lui-meme. In this case, the heading was
accurate and not a mere publicity
stunt.
7 Selected correspondence of Fryderyk
Chopin, trans. and ed. A. Hedley
(London, 1962), pp.208-9.
8 This change is ironic, in the light of
recent analytical arguments that op.31
is in m major.
9 This is an 'error' in the sense that
op.49 is habitually referred to as in F
minor, although, as in the case of op.31
(see n.8 above), analysts these days
regard it as in the parallel major.

EARLY MUSIC AUGUST 2001 433

 Part III:

Performance studies

 16

DANA GOOLEY

BE1WEEN ESPRIT AND GENIE

- CHOPIN IN THE FIELD OF PERFORMANCE

C hopin's performances have been scrutinized by scholars from

many angles: the programs are documented, the improvisa­
tions catalogued and the reactions of critics analyzed. 1 His stu­
dents and acquaintances have meticulously reconstructed aspects of his
performing technique and pedagogy - pedallings, fingerings, tone pro­
duction, ornamentation and rubato - and these aesthetic ideals have
been set into historical perspective.2 My goal today is not to shed new
light on these issues, but to assess Chopin's performances against the
background of the broader field of cultural performance in his Parisian
milieu. What kinds of cultural 'work' did Chopin's performances carry
out for his audiences? What social needs and agendas did his style

1 Frederick Niecks's biography Frederick Chopin as a Man and Musician, 2 vols. (London:

Novello, Ewer & Co., 1888) remains a valuable documentary source for Chopin's concerts.
Much more precision and detail is found in Jean-Jacques Eigeldinger's 'Les premiers con­
cert publics de Chopin a Paris (1832-1838)', from his essay collection Lunivers musical de
Chopin (Paris: Fayard, 2000). The same collection includes two valuable studies of contem­
porary reception: 'Chopin et Berlioz face a face' and 'Liszt rend compte du concert de
Chopin ( 1841) '. An exceptionally valuable collection of contemporary reactions to Chopin's
playing is Eigeldinger's Chopin: pianist and teacher as seen by his pupils, trans. N. Shohet with
K. Osostowicz and R. Howat, ed. R. Howat (Cambridge University Press, 1986). A thorough
documentation of Chopin's activities as improviser is found in Krystyna Kobylanska, 'Les
improvisations de Frederic Chopin ?, in Chopin Studies 3 {Warszawa: Frederick Chopin Soci­
ety, 1990), 77-104.
2 The indispensable resource here for these matters is Eigeldinger' s Chopin: pianist and

teacher {hereafter Pianist and teacher). Recent research into Chopin's pianistic style and legacy
is gathered in Artur Szklener (ed.), Chopin in Performance: Histoty, Theory, Practice {Warszawa:
Narodowy Instytut Fryderyka Chopina, 2005).
254 chopin

uniquely serve in the context of Paris in the 1830s and 1840s? These
questions bear a special relevance to Chopin because he was himself
the main medium through which his music was disseminated in
the 1830s and 1840s. His contemporaries barely acknowledged a con­
ceptual separation between his compositions and his playing, and this
fusion itself may have something important to reveal about his position
in French culture.
There are considerable methodological difficulties in the attempt to
read Chopin's performances as a sort of ritual performing significant
cultural work. First, in reconstructing his performing presence, we rely
primarily upon accounts by contemporaries that can rarely be treated as
transparent reports of what actually happened. Second, since there was
no reflection on the 'meaning of performance' as such in Chopin's
time, we are compelled to make interpretative claims that elude posi­
tive documentation. And finally, the social character of Chopin's salon
milieu - the principal framework of his performances - is currently
under revision in the work ofJolanta Pekacz. 3
Yet the project oflinking a performance style to broad social patterns
is hardly a lost cause. It has been carried out confidently and vigorous­
ly for Liszt. Liszt's concerts clearly organized some sort of ecstatic or
orgiastic ritual for audiences, though the ultimate meaning of this rit­
ual has been interpreted in different ways. 4 Why should Chopin be
immune to an interpretation along similar lines? His orbit of perform­
ance was narrow, but we cannot measure cultural relevance by the size
of the audience alone. If anything, the scarcity of Chopin's performanc­
es seems to have intensified their significance. The principal contexts of
his performances - salons of aristocrats and gatherings of artists -were
not public, but this does not mean they lacked all the characteristics of
public experience. Like concerts, the salons were structured by codes of

3 See, for example, Jolanta T. Pekacz, 'Deconstructing a "national composer": Chopin

and national exiles in Paris, 1831-49', 19'h Century Music 24/2 (2000), 161-72.
4 Lawrence Kramer, for example, sees in the Lisztian concert a channeling of carniva­

lesque energies comparable to the popular masked balls of the same period. Richard Sennett
more pessimistically sees the Lisztian concert as a compensation for the bourgeoisie's neurotic
inability to express emotion in public spaces. See Lawrence Kramer, Musical meaning: toward
a cn'tical history (University of California Press, 2001), 68- 99, and Richard Sennett, The fa ll of
public man (New York: Knopf, 1977) .

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 chopin 255

Between esprit and genie - Chopin in the field of performance

etiquette and self-presentation, by patterns of collective audience

behavior, and by conventional demonstrations of appreciation. Parisian
salons were, in other words, scenes of performance - of wit, erudition,
fashion, conversation, poetry, theater and music- and Chopin's play­
ing forms an integral part of this performance economy. It may be that
Chopin's music in some respects mirrors the tone of the aristocratic
salon, but my more immediate goal is to identifY agencies of his per­
formances that were unique to his performance medium and style:
Chopin's music did something in the salons that no other artist or vis­
itor seemed able to do.

Chopin: performing against performativity

The performative perspective I am adopting here resists exclusive
attention to musical works as aesthetic objects by attending to the per­
former 's appearance, physical gestures, and interaction with the spec­
tators. Yet viewing Chopin by these criteria presents something of
a paradox, since audience, appearance and interaction are all conspic­
uously missing in accounts of him at the piano. The only recurrent
impression of his performing body points to hands gliding delicately
over the keys. 5 Far more often, Chopin's performance effaces the body;
it transforms him into an angel or, in Berlioz's image, a Trilby- a trans­
parent, disembodied conduit of pure sentiment. Sophie Leo's recollec­
tion that 'He appeared hardly to touch the piano; one might have
thought an instrument superfluous'6 was echoed by the Marquis de
Custine in a letter to Chopin: 'You do not play on the piano but on the
human soul.' 7 Balzac took this apparent short-circuiting of commu­
nicative mediation to its climax: 'This beautiful genius is less a musi­
cian than a soul manifesting and communicating itself through all
manner of music.' 8

5 See, for example, Henriette Voigt's recollection in Pianist and teacher, 269.
6 Sophie Leo, Erinnerungen aus Paris (1817-1848), quoted in Pianist and teacher, 279.
7 Letter from the Marquis du Custine to Chopin, 27 April 1841. Selected Correspondence

of Fryderyk Chopin, cd. and trans. A. H edley (London: Heinemann, 1962). Quoted in Pianist
and teacher, 286.
8 H onore de Balzac, Ursule M irouet , in L a Comidie humaine, 10 vols., ed. M. Bouteron

(Paris: Gallimard, 1937), iii, 384. Q uoted in Pianist and teacher, 285.

143
256 chopin

Dana (;ooley

Chopin's performance, then, is a material and bodily practice, yet

strives to put materiality and corporeality under erasure. This phe­
nomenon is not unique to Chopin. Liszt, too, was praised for his
capacity to absorb the piano into his ego and make it an unmediated
mouthpiece of expression .9 The key difference is that for Liszt the
transcendence of instrumentality is a process, wh ereas for Chopin it is
a given: Liszt's performances establish a dialectic between performer
and instrument, a tension between subject and object, and part of the
drama of the performance is the dramatic reappropriation of the
object by the subject. A parallel dialectic governs Liszt's relationship
to the audience. As he performs and begins to move the audience, it
shouts out occasional bravos; these bravos in turn reinspire the per­
former and accelerate the frequency of applause, leading to a climac­
tic finale wh ere Liszt's ecstasy and that of the audience are fu sed.
Chopin's performances do not even let such a dialectic get underway.
His audiences are small and quiet; the bond of understanding
between performer and listener is not a product of the performance,
but the minimal condition of the performance: by preference he plays
for people who already understand his aesthetic. The applause of the
audience is rarely described: their appreciation is taken for g ranted.
Schumann found a beautiful phrase to characterize this virtuosity
without dialectics, calling it 'a mastery that seems quite unaware of
itself' . 10
Accounts of Chopin's playing, in sum, assimilate it to a kind of
prelapsarian moment, where the diverse m edia and temporally­
bound contingencies of the performan ce network - facial expres­
sions, gestures, cheers, sighs, musical sound - dissolve into one
another. Contemporary writers differ in how they characterize this
undifferentiated whole: for some it is an inner soul revealed, for oth-

9 A representative example is from Balzac's novella Gambara: 'a masterly fantasia, a sort

of outpouring of his soul after the manner of Liszt. It was no longer the piano, it was a whole
orchestra that they heard; the very genius of music rose before them '. B alzac et Ia musique:
Charges, Gambara, Massimilla Doni, Sarrasine, ed. Pierre-Albert Castane (Paris: Michel de
Maule, 2000), 376.
10 Letter from Schumann to Heinrich Dorn, 14 September 1836, Robert Schumanns Brief e,

Neue Folge, ed. F. G . Jansen, 2nd edn (Leipzig: Brctikopf & H artel, 1904 ), 79. Quoted in Pian­
ist a nd teacher, 269.

144
 chopin 257

J3e\w_eef1lsprit_af}d~eni'-=t:;_h_<Jpin in tlle_fielc!_<Jf£er_fo':_m:lll"':

ers it is the universe of fairy spirits, for others, pure music. In all cases
Chopin's performance unmasks a distinctly immaterial realm,
a space of non-division that supposedly precedes representation and
is potentially violated by performance. This idealization of a per­
formance without performativity, which crystallized only around
Chopin, is radically out of sync with the early nineteenth-century
French culture of 'spectacle, skill and self-promotion', where chess,
cooking and sleuthing all became performed public discourses that
attracted mass attention. 11
One highly individual register of Chopin's music holds up a sonic
mirror to this prelapsarian wholeness: the tonic pedals in which all
sense of harmonic progression is suspended. The Berceuse, Op. 57 is
the epitome of this register, and the piece's title hints at an element of
infantile regression occasioned by its uninterrupted tonicity. The mid­
dle section of the B minor Scherzo, Op. 20, bathes in warm sonorities
and static harmony a melody that is directly derived from a Polish cra­
dle-song for the child Jesus ('Lully, baby Jesus, lullaby lully/And thou,
dear mother, soothe him to sleep')Y The opening of Chopin's Andante
spianato also portrays a pure harmonious world, though in this case the
harp-like arpeggios suggest a scene ofbardic narration (cross-bred with
bel canto) . Chopin's Polonaise in C minor, Op. 40 No. 2 shapes the
regressive psychic movement of the tonic-pedal narratively. Its opening
period develops a uniformly funereal theme (ex. 1). The second period
stays in this moody C minor and builds up a dramatic climax on the
dominant, but at the climax the G major dominant is suddenly turned
into a temporary tonic, and thirteen measures of pure G major harmo­
ny offer solace and relief (ex. 2). The figuration throughout this passage
keeps the right hand from stretching, crossing fingers or leaping, thus
choreographing a repetitive caressing motion that seems uncannily
suited to the tone of the music.

'' This aspect of French culture is documented in Paul Metzner, Crescendo of the virtuoso:
spectacle, skill and self-promotion in Paris during the age of revolution (University of California
Press, 1998).
" Chopin 's letters, ed. H. Opienski, trans. E. L. Voynich (New York: Dover, 1988), 264.

145
258 chopin
 chopin 259

Pianist as poet
When writers came to the point of forging a retrospective image for
Chopin at the piano, they returned repeatedly to the figure of the poet.
Anton Schindler summed up this master trope of Chopin reception by
dubbing him 'Poetry in person at the piano'. Who has ever questioned
the rightness of the poet image, or thought of it as a historically contin­
gent metaphor? It has become so pervasive, so naturalized, that we
might easily forget it is a metaphor at all. Yet when writers began apply­
ing the term to Chopin in the 1830s, it was hardly taken for granted
that music could be characterized as 'poetic' - still less that this term
would apply specifically to the lyrical, contemplative register of instru­
mental music. It was the mission of Schumann and Berlioz, among
others, to forge an alliance between poetry and music, and they did so
by borrowing tropes from German Romantic aesthetics.
Chopin was much more than a passive recipient of the metaphor of
music as poetry; he was a central figure in its cultural dissemination,
especially with regard to performance. Heinrich Heine wrote: 'he is not
only a virtuoso but also a poet; he can reveal to us the poetry that lives in
his soul [... ] nothing can equal the pleasure he gives us when he sits at
the piano and improvises. He is then neither Polish nor French nor Ger­
man: he betrays a much higher origin [... ] his true fatherland is the
dream realm of poetry.' 13 Many ofHeine's comments, responding specif­
ically to performances, link Chopin and the world of poetry to the har­
monious, non-alienated condition I described earlier. Heine privileges
improvisation as a form of creative production in which inspiration and
realization are fused, and which also precedes national differentiation
(a polemic gesture in a discursive context where Chopin was constantly
being associated with Poland). Heine's claim that Chopin's true home­
land is a realm without bounds or borders, the 'dream realm of poetry',
bears a sharp irony. In attempting to denationalize Chopin, he imports
a plainly German conception of poetry as transcendental ether.
To some extent, this construction of poetry had already transplant­
ed itself into France. In Paris, the late 1820s were a period of the accel-

13 Heinrich Heine, 'Uber die franzosische Biihne, Zehnter Brief' (1837), in Siimtliche

lterke, 10 vols. (Leipzig: lnsel Verlag, 1910- 15), viii, 125- 26. Quoted in Pianist and teacher, 284.

147
260 chopin

Dana (jooley

erated diffusion of German Romantic literature and philosophy, most

notably through translations of the works of Goethe, E. T. A. Hoff­
mann and Shakespeare (the latter was viewed as a sort of honorary
German). Berlioz taps this 'Nordic' vein in one of his descriptions of
Chopin as poet: 'It was ordinarily toward midnight that he delivered
himself with the most abandon; when the big balloons of the salon had
parted, when the political question of the moment had been discussed
[ ... ] all perfidies consummated, when one was quite tired of the prose,
then, obeying the silent wish of some intelligent and beautiful eyes, he
became a poet and sang the Ossianic loves of heroes and their
dreams.' 14 Ever the scenic thinker, Berlioz here depicts the gradual exit
of the public sphere from the salon-stage. The public sphere, divided
by political opinions and rivalries, and disturbing the ease of salon con­
versation, gives way to the scene of the poet-pianist, who restores social
harmony with musical harmony. Berlioz sets the scene at the beginning
of deep night, a standard Romantic trope of the infinite and boundless.
Through the allusion to Ossian, Berlioz feints toward a construction of
Chopin as a bardic, narrative poet rather than a spontaneous-genera­
tive lyric poet. Yet the phrase 'the Ossianic loves of heroes and their
dreams' is deliberately vague, a stand-in for any sort of fantastic anti­
realistic poetic effusion. It almost certainly derives from Ingres's 1813
painting Le songe d'Ossian, in which phantoms of armed warriors and
their naked lovers appear above the sleeping poet.
Heine and Berlioz's portraits of Chopin as pianist-poet can stand in
for many others. In all cases, the metaphor articulates an anti-perfor­
mative stance typical of one strain of Romantic aesthetics: a privileging
of contemplation over action, inspiration over utterance, solitude over
audience-boundedness. 15 But this construction of the poet-figure was

14 journal des debats, 27 October 1839. Quoted in J.-J. Eigeldinger, I.:univers musical de

Chopin, 120-2 1. The original quotation reads: 'C'etait vers minuit d'ordinaire qu'il se livrait
avec le plus d'abandon; quand les gros papillons du salon etaient partis, quand Ia question
politique a l'ordre du jour avait ete longeument traitee, quand tous les medisants etaient au
bout de leurs anecdotes, quand tous les pieges etaient tend us, toutes les perfidies consummees,
quand on etait bien las de Ia prose, alors, obeissant a la priere muette de quelques beaux yeux
intelligents, il devenait poete et chantait les amours ossianiques des heros de ses reves.'
15 On the anti-performative stance of Romanticism, see Angel Esterhammer, 'The cosmo­

politan improvvzsatore: spontaneity and performance in Romantic aesthetics', European

Romantic Review 16/2 (2005), 153-65.

148
 chopin 261

not necessarily the prevailing or 'natural' one in French culture of

the 1830s. Consider, for example, that Liszt too was often called a poet.
During his 1844 tour of the French provinces, Alberic Second wrote
from Angouleme: 'He is an eminent poet; his soul is filled with inex­
haustible treasures of science, fantasy, verve, inspiration, harmony and
melody that he generously gives away, throwing it to anyone who
comes.' 16 The poetry that Second describes here is all rhetorical sweep
and phatic surge: Liszt's poetry abounds, overflows and rushes out
toward an audience (he 'throws it toward' them) .
This rhetorical, public-oriented model of the poet, which contrasts
starkly with the inward lyric model ascribed to Chopin, had particular
force in the Paris of the 1830s and 1840s, where the most famous poets
were engaged in politics and public affairs. Victor Hugo was capable of
oriental poetic flights, but he was also preaching manifestos of aesthet­
ic revolution engaging with contemporary life in his lyric output.
A French critic, writing in 1837, drew the musical parallel: 'Liszt is
a pianist-poet whose manner, if I may, can be compared to that of Vic­
tor Hugo; he is a Titan of audacity and power.' 17 The other pillar of
French romantic poetry, Lamartine, filled his influential Meditations
poetiques with enthusiastic exclamation points and rhetorical prayers
directed at the divine 'toi', and mobilized his oratorical powers to make
him an influential statesman as well. Mickiewicz and Byron, further­
more, were lionized in France for linking their poetic identities with
the pursuit of republican or anti-authoritarian causes.
In the context of French Romanticism, then, Chopin's reputation as
the poet of the piano looks more unusual: it went against the grain of
the prevailing image of the poet as a performer. Writers such as Heine
and Berlioz appropriated Chopin to transplant to French soil the Ger­
man-derived aesthetics of poetic inwardness, dreaminess and transcen­
dent immateriality. To call Chopin 'the poet of the piano' was not only

16 Alberic Second, 'Franz Liszt a Angouleme', L e Monde musical, 17 October 1844, 1434.

'C'est un poete eminent; son arne est toute pleine d'inepuisables tresors de science, de fantaisie,
de verve, d'inspiration, d'harmonie et de melodie qu'il distribue a pleines mains, qu'il jette a
to us venans.'
17 Glissons 15 (21 Feb. 1838), 58-59. Quoted in Luciano Chiappari, L iszt a Como e Milano

(Pisa: Pacini, 1997), 253. 'Liszt e un pianista-poeta Ia cui maniera, scsi vuole, puo paragonar­
si a quella di Vittorio Hugo; e un Titano d'audacia e di potere.'

149
262 chopin

to shape an identity for Chopin, but also to reshape the identity of poet­
ry as a discourse of contemplation, beyond performance. The fact that
the poet image took root so firmly among Chopin's associates and
patrons suggests that it responded to some submerged need, mandate
or cultural impulse. What was there to be gained, in the Paris of
the 1830s and 1840s, from embracing and disseminating this relatively
novel and narrow construction of the poet?

Virtue in the margins

To answer this question we need to consider that many people in
Chopin's milieu- the aristocrats and Romantic artists in the salons he
frequented - felt alienated from the public sphere that was taking
shape after the 1830 Revolution. The nobility, humbled by its loss of
political and social authority, was in retreat from Offentlichkeit. By the
end of the 1830s this class had regained some confidence, but its
increasing irrelevance to the affairs of Offentlichkeit made it self-con­
scious about its marginality. One strategy for coping was to form bonds
of solidarity with the circles of Romanticism, which likewise felt alien­
ated from the juste milieu and expressed it in tirades against the newly­
empowered bourgeoisie. In her memoirs, Marie d'Agoult described this
novel bond between nobles and artists as one of the better conse­
quences of the 1830 Revolution: 'we felt ourselves delivered from a sur­
veillance that had not until then permitted us to open our salons to new
people, to men of a lesser condition, bourgeois, the newly-ennobled,
writers, and artists, whose celebrity had begun to pique our curiosity.' 18
The salon of the Marquis de Custine, to take another example, closed
its doors to political figures associated with the juste milieu, but opened
its doors to the Romantic literati and lionized Chopin.
This recharged axis of Romantic-noble association, then, made the
salons a milieu of opposition to the bourgeois public sphere. The post-
1830 salons were in a critical and defensive relationship with moderni­
ty and the new order. A historical precedent can be found in the
German-speaking salons of the early nineteenth century, where the

' 8 Mimoires, souvenirs et journaux de la comtesse d'Agoult, ed. Charles F. Dupechez (Paris:
Mercure de France, 1990), 260.

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 chopin 263

J3e~etC11_tS£rt/_and genie - Chopin in the field of performance:

institution of the salon was likewise mobilized in opposition to the

public sphere. In a study of the literary salons of Berlin, Weimar and
Vienna, Peter Seibert shows that early German Romantics reinvented
the salon as a privileged site ofliterary production by featuring the oral
performance of poetry. Celebrities such as Goethe, de la Motte Fouque
and Theodor Korner were not only narrating their stories but occasion­
ally even improvising them on the spot. Whereas the eighteenth-centu­
ry French salon performed conversation to produce esprit, the Romantic
salons performed poetry (and eventually music) to unveil genie. The
goal of such literary oralization, in Seibert's view, was to restore poetry
to its 'original' condition as oral folk performance. It was an implicit
critique of the Enlightenment, which rationalized literature in the
form of print and therefore delivered poetry to the public sphere,
devoid of the charms of performance. In Seibert's words, the Romantic
salon served a 'decoupling from the [Enlightenment's] literature sys­
tem and the restoration of its undifferentiated state' . 19
The most notable French descendants of these salons appeared in
the 1820s. Charles Nodier became particularly famous for an irresistible
manner of recounting his own eccentric and fantastic narratives, whose
fairy worlds filtered the influence of German Romanticism. Alexandre
Dumas recalled one ofNodier's readings thus:

No one applauded- no, you don't applaud the murmur of a river, the song of
a bird, the perfume of a flower. But once the murmur was extinguished, the
song vanished, the perfume evaporated, you listened, you waited, you desired
more. But Nodier slipped discreetly from the mantelpiece of the chimney to
his large armchair; he smiled and turned his head toward Lamartine or Hugo:
'Enough of this prose, he said - verses, let's have verses! And without being
asked, some poet, from his position, the hands resting on the back of an arm­
chair or the shoulders against the paneling, let the harmonious and rushing
stream of poetry fall from his mouth. 20

Dumas avoids mentioning discrete poetical works so he can describe

the scene of performance: we do not know whether Lamartine and
Hugo are improvising, but their poetic production flows forth sponta­
neously and effortlessly - a creation before differentiation like the

19 Peter Seibert, Der literarische Salon (Stuttgart: Metzler, !993), 266.

20 A. Jal, 'Les soirees d'artiste', in Paris, ou lescents-et-un (Paris: Chez l'advocat, 1831), i, 140.

151
264 chopin

'murmuring of birds'. By painting details such as Nodier's rapt audi­

ence, the hands, shoulders and mouth of the lyric poets, Dumas sup­
plements the performative element missing from printed poetry:
a sense of the tone and feel of the event.
In the salons of the 1830s, Chopin's playing begins to take on the
performative function that Nodier's oral poetry had at the Arsenal in
the 1820s. Charles Halle hinted at this performative economy when he
wrote of Chopin's playing: 'you listened, as it were, to the improvisa­
tion of a poem, and were under the charm as long as it lasted'. 21 Liszt
went so far as to make a direct comparison to Nodier: 'the style and the
imaginativeness recalled that ofNodier, by the purity of his diction and
by its affiliations with La Fee aux miettes and Les Lutins d'Argail'. 22
The analogy Liszt makes between Chopin's music and the conte fan­
tastique genre indicates yet another German Romantic lineage for the
construction of Chopin as performer. More unusual here is the sugges­
tion that Nodier's lucid, crisp oral delivery has an analogy in Chopin's
precise execution.
In 1830s Paris, the performance of verbal poetry or pianistic poet­
ry in salons was no longer (as Seibert has it) the battle against
Enlightenment rationality that it had been in the German salons. The
new enemy was bourgeois philistinism, which thejuste milieu did not
create but appeared to sanction. This period was bursting with entre­
preneurial and democratizing energies that threatened to trivialize
the dignity of art and the sanctity of aristocratic elegance through
excessive diffusion into the public sphere (the publication of music
journals and lithographs grew suddenly and astronomically after
1830). To the denizens of the salons, Chopin's performances offered
a unique solace: a music so closely tied to the performer's person that
it cannot be co-opted for the public sphere. Liszt's music, of course,
also appeared inseparable from his persona and virtuosity, but he had
opted definitively for the public sphere, and his jangling, lurching
concert pieces echoed it. The adulatory tone that we find in all
accounts of Chopin's performances is directed not at compositions

2 ' Life and letters of Sir Charles Halli, being an autobiography (1819-1860) with correspon­

dence and diaries (London: Smith & Ekderm, 1896), 34. Quoted in Pianist and teacher, 271.
22 Franz Liszt, Life of Chopin, trans. J. Broadhouse (London: W illiam Reeves, 1913), 86.

152
 chopin 265

Bet\\'een esprit an<l gt'/1~ -:-_Cho{'in in the field_ofpe!:form":nce

alone, but also at the live presence of an artist who made good on
a renunciation of the public sphere. Even though Chopin's perform­
ing manner seemed to dissolve his body and soul into pure music, his
physical presence at the piano, and in the room, was essential. He
refused to differentiate composer and performer, musician and audi­
ence, sounding piece and score, at a time when the public sphere was
splitting these roles apart.
The tension between the Parisian salons of Chopin's milieu and the
public sphere made his rare public concerts at once special and risky.
When La France musicale reported on his benefit concert of 184 2, at the
Salle Pleyel, it adopted a tone of almost ritual solemnity. The concert
setting is a commercial display room for pianos and an audience of pay­
ing customers, but the reviewer makes all efforts to convert it into an
aristocratic salon:

Chopin has given in Pleyel's hall a charming soiree, a fete peopled with
adorable smiles, delicate and rosy faces, small and well-formed white hands;
a splendid fete where simplicity was combined with grace and elegance, and
where good taste served as a stai rway to wealth. Those ugly black hats which
give to men the most unsightly appearance possible were very few in number
[ ... ] The first success of the seance was for Madame George Sand. As soon as
she appeared with her two charming daughters, she was observed of all
observers. Others would have been disturbed by all those eyes turned on her
like so many stars; but George Sand contented herself with lowering her head
and smiling.23

Although it is Chopin's day, this public concert features a salon host­

ess: George Sand. She enters the room not as a cigar-wielding bas-bleu,
but as a modest, elegant aristocratic lady: with 'lowered head', a 'smile,'
and 'two charming daughters'. Elegance and luxury are found every­
where: in the fashionable costumes, perfumes, flowers, smiles, nice
hands and sparkling jewelry. Nothing, it seems, could surpass the har­
monious perfection of this soiree, where 'simplicity was combined with
grace and elegance, and where good taste served as a stairway to
wealth. It sounds like an ideal occasion, yet there is something dishar­
monious in the last phrase, where 'good taste' leads to 'wealth'. It
reminds us of something the whole tone of the review seems designed

23 La France musicale 1842, as quoted in F. Niecks, Frederick Chopin, ii, 93.

153
266 chopin

to make us forget: that this is a public event raising income for Chopin.
The mention of ugly black hats, however, conceals the public context
far less successfully. There are bourgeois in the house, and they are
wearing top-hats, a key symbol of the juste milieu bourgeoisie from the
moment Louis-Philippe decided to make it part of his public dress.
Whether this review is accurate reporting or retrospective invention, it
expresses a dream that the alienated nobility might regain its leadership
position in modern Paris, and that the public sphere might cease to be
a place of division and competing interests. Chopin's performance
makes that dream seem real.
Nostalgia of this kind was in fact pervasive among the noble salon­
nieres who had thrived during the Restoration. In the 1830s, precisely
as Chopin's reputation was burgeoning, the leading salon hostesses of
the Restoration were producing a vast literature of memoirs looking
back to their golden days. The title ofVirginie Ancelot's 1835 memoir
strikes the nostalgic note perfectly: Les salons de Paris: foyers eteints [The
salons of Paris: faded foyers]. These memoirs tended to pile on high­
lights of elegant and intelligent verbal conversation, which is the prin­
cipal performative activity of the salons. According to historian Marc
Fumaroli, this elegy to the art of conversation was truly a lost cause,
a 'myth of the nineteenth century': 'The political and industrial nine­
teenth century will try hard to reconstitute "society", to renew conver­
sation, but with an irrepressible measure of doubt, of sorrow, of "why
bother?"'24 The ancien regime aesthetic of conversation as cheerful,
prompt, intelligent, brief and spontaneous cannot hold its own against
the onset of bourgeois style and ethics: 'The bourgeois nineteenth cen­
tury [ ... ] is not at all given to leisure. The conventions of "comme il
faut" darken it and weigh it down. Grace escapes it completely. The
sense of play, and of equality in play, is difficult to find in a society
teeming with egalitarian sentiment.'25 The most significant part of
Fumaroli's argument, for my purposes, is that at mid-century the func-

24 Marc Fumaroli, 'La conversation', in Les lieux de mimoire, ed. P. Nora (Paris: Galli­

mard, 1984-92), 3 vols., iii, 3651.

25 Ibid. This comment is particularly interesting in light of the fact that Liszt once made

an unflattering remark about Chopin's 'habits of moral and social "comme il faut"'. See F.
Niecks, Frederick Chopin, ii, 148.

154
 chopin 267

tions previously held by conversation get transferred to art: 'the sense of

pure leisure and the contemplative essence of conversation [ ... ] take
refuge in the arts, once an adjunct of the supreme art [i.e. conversa­
tion], now its last recourse'. 26
In the context of 1840s Paris, where conversation of quality was
becoming an endangered species, Chopin's music may have furnished
a locus of refined, articulate utterance that compensated for the awk­
ward decline of free and easy effusions of esprit. As early as 1829,
a Viennese critic had written of Chopin: 'he accentuates only gently,
like a person conversing in the company of cultured people'.V In
Chopin reception, such direct references to salon conversation are rare,
but the image of the pianist-poet nevertheless displaces verbal utter­
ance onto music, with the result that linguistic metaphors recur. Mau­
rice Bourges wrote in the Revue et Gazette m usicale: 'the seductive
pianist[ . .. ] manages to speak a prestigious language with his fingers'.28
The nostalgic register of Chopin's music, most often figured as longing
for the homeland, might further have dovetailed with the nobility's ide­
alization of Restoration sociability after 1830. Chopin's music, as
a medium without distinct signification, escaped the politics and party
warfare that kept creeping back into conversations from the public
sphere, at the expense of salon tone.
In the field of performance, to conclude, Chopin's playing stood out
for its apparent circumvention of the physical and semiotic mediations
of performativity. His advocates mapped onto him a model of the poet
that accented subjective absorption and the flight into the immaterial
spirit realm, a model that rejected rhetorical and audience-directed
conceptions of poetic utterance that were strong in France. In the wake
of 1830, progressive artists and the nobility could find in this 'rejection'
a mirror of their opposition to the forces of modernity and bourgeois
Offentlichkeit. Artists of Romantic persuasion celebrated Chopin's per­
formances as a direct line between inspiration and dissemination that

26 M. Fumaroli, 3657-58.
27 Wiener Theaterzeitung, 20 August !829. Quoted in Pianist and teacher, 288.
28 Maurice Bourges, 'Soiree musicale de M. Chopin', Revue et gazette musicale, 27 Febru­

ary 1842, 82. 'Le seduisant pianiste qui sait faire parler a ses doigts un prestigieux langage, qui
epanche toute son arne brfilante dans cette execution vraiment comme poete.'

155
268 chopin

Dana_(;()ol'}'

the conditions of bourgeois Offentlichkeit threatened to compromise

through popularization and the democratizing influence of print cul­
ture. For noble patrons, his performances offered a sound-world that
seemed whole, self-sufficient, untroubled by the prosaic and the exter­
nal, free of aporia and critical self·reflection: a sound-world comme il
faut, rather than of the modern world of competing interests from
which one must heroically recover, a la Liszt, a sense of subjectivity and
feeling. Later in the century Chopin's music became far more widely
disseminated and was integrated into the rituals and symbols of bour­
geois domesticity and femininity. 29 But in the 1830s and 1840s, when
his music was heard primarily in his presence, his performances did
cultural work outside the cultural mainstream and against the inertia
of bourgeois modernity.

29 See especially Andreas Ballstaedt, 'Chopin as 'salon composer' in nineteenth-century

German criticism•, in Chopin studies 2 (Camhridge University Press, 1994), IR-34.

 17

The Playing of Chopin and his Contemporaries

MANY MUSIC-LOVERS have a vision of poor Chopin simpering in the

la.shionable salons of Paris, propped up by pillows and occasionally
venturing to play a few pieces on the piano in a delicate and effeminate
manner. This image is far from accurate. Chopin.was consumptive, and
it could not be said that for most of his life his health was strong, but he
was not constantly plagued by illness. It was not until the fateful visit to
Majorca in 1838 that his health was permanently impaired - he
overstrained himself when battling against a violent wind, and the effects
were heightened by the primitive conditions in which he was living at the
Carthusian monastery at Valdemosa- but even then he often enjoyed
adequate health until the last two years of his life. During his last years,
when his strength was waning, he played a good deal more delicately
and with less animation than in his years of tolerable wellbeing, but
his physical condition was less important a component in his playing
than his mental constitution, and the available evidence suggests that
once he had reached maturity, his piano playing underwent few
changes.
Born in Warsaw in 1810, Chopin did not come from an outstandingly
musical family. His father, who was a French emigre and had come to
Poland to seek his fortune, was a fairly cultured man; his mother, who
was Polish, could play the piano well, and one of his sisters had some
talent, if nothing out of the ordinary. The boy showed his genius from
the earliest age, and when he was six he began lessons with an able musi­
cian, Adalbert Zywny. Zywny was of Bohemian origin, and gave Chopin
a training centred around the German keyboard classics of Bach and
Mozart, rather than current favourites such as Clementi and Cramer.
Zywny was principally a violinist, and knew little about the development
of virtuoso keyboard technique, but since Chopin was eager to learn and
full of intelligence, his master probably had little to do other than
demonstrate the basic principles of fingering and allow his pupil's
natural aptitude to develop. From a very early age the boy could im­
provise well, and Zywny equipped Chopin with the knowledge of Bach's
contrapuntal style that was to play such an important part in his com­
positions.
Chopin first appeared in public when he was eight, playing a concerto
by Gyrowetz; he had already written some polonaises by the age of
26
270 chopin

The Playing rif Chopin and his Contemporaries

twelve, when he began three years of private study with the composer
Jozef Elsner, while attending the High School in Warsaw. Elsner was a
very sound musician of real creative ability, and he recognized Chopin's
genius at an early stage. He was principally a composer of reiigious
music and opera (he had been appointed head of the Warsaw Conser­
vatory with the special task of reviving Polish stage works), and he gave
Chopin some valuable ideas about the use of melody in composition.
But Chopin was not at all typical of Elsner's pupils who, following in his
tootsteps, wrote masses, string quartets and the like; from an early age
he slipped into writing in a particular medium from which he virtually
never strayed. Although he had a basic knowledge of orchestral writing
and other forms, none of his mature compositions feature instruments
other than the piano. (The Cello Sonata, one of his last works, was
written jointly with his friend and confidant Auguste Franchomme.)
Elsner was sensible enough not to impede Chopin's musical growth by
attempting to divert him from keyboard composition, and he continued
to encourage him after Chopin left Poland to live in Paris in 1831.
At the time of Chopin's musical development, Europe had just
'discovered' the piano and its capacity for brilliance. Many composers
who were virtuoso pianists turned to writing works which would il­
lustrate their capabilities, and they were so popular that the com­
positions of genius by Bach, Mozart, Haydn and Beethoven were
neglected in favour of shallow studies and bravura pieces by Clementi,
Moscheles, Kalkbrenner and the like. Some of the latter group of com­
posers wrote a few works of quality, but those oftheirpieces that became
most popular were of a lower creative level. Two Polish composers
whose piano works achieved some popularity at this time were Prince
Michael Ogiiiski (1765-1833) and Maria Szymanowska (qgo-1831), a
friend of John Field and a professional pianist who was favourably
compared with Hummel. She wrote some Mazurkas, Rondos and Noc­
turnes (the latter deriving from Field, but not nearly so well-written), and
Oginski produced some attractive Polonaises. These composers' works
have been recorded by the Polish pianist Regina Smendzianka for Muza
Records, and although they contain moments of considerable
sophistication, they are for the most part of fragmentary value.
However, Chopin had been brought up on the music of Bach and
Mozart, who remained his models throughout his life, although he also
loved Italian opera. The fourth influence in forming his compositional
style was the folk music of his native country. Chopin's early bravura
works show that he used the writing of Hummel, Field and Weber in
finding the tools with which to express himself. In his two piano concer­
tos, written when he was about twenty years old, there are piano
figurations similar to those which occur in Hummel's works in the same
 chopin 271

Chopin Playing
form, and there are particularly striking similarities between the first
subject of the first movement of Chopin's E minor Concerto and
Hummel's A minor Concerto, and the piano part of the slow movement
of these two concertos is also very similar. Much has been written about
the relationship of Chopin's Nocturnes to those of the Irish composer
John Field. Although Chopin may have picked up something of the idea
of the Nocturne from Field's works in this form, his aims were very
different- Field's music has a great deal of charm and considerable
originality, but it was meant for the salon; Chopin achieved a much
higher goal. From Weber, Chopin learned some of the exuberant effects
that could be achieved in piano writing, and Weber's influence can be
detected in his early Polonaises and in the alia polacca variation from the
'Li ci darem Ia mano' Variations for piano and orchestra which Chopin
wrote in 1827.
The most profound influence on Chopin's compositional style was
indubitably Bach. The great Polish piano teacher, the late Mme
Trombini-Kazuro, told me that she aimed to teach her pupils to make
their Bach 'sing' and their Chopin 'contrapuntal'. This statement may
sound somewhat facile, but it correctly emphasizes that side of Chopin's
writing that many pianists and musicologists have neglected. When
Zywny inculcated the young boy who was his pupil with the music of
Bach, he sowed a seed that came to fruition in works as diverse as the F
minor Concerto, the C sharp minor Nocturne, Op. 27 No.1, the Barc­
arolle and the F minor Ballade. Chopin's contrapuntal style was one of
the most important characteristics of his compositions. Many com­
posers of his day used counterpoint merely as an exercise to add variety
to their writing; in Chopin, as in Bach, the different voices have a life of
their own, and counterpoint is employed to achieve emotional contrast
in the Preludes, Etudes, Nocturnes and Mazurkas, as well as the large­
scale works. In the C sharp minor Nocturne, Op. 2 7 No. 1, for example,
the entry of a middle voice at bar 20, to be played with the thumb of the
right hand in the alto range, adds an unearthly quality to the music. This
is no mere academic exercise, and when played by a master like Cortot,
the effect is emotionally startling.
Elsner's influence on Chopin was also important, because he in­
troduced him to Italian opera, showing him how he adapted the aria to
feature in his Polish stage dramas. Zywny had earlier trained him to
study Mozart's compositions, and Chopin grew up with a natural and
unfussy approach to melodic writing. Like Dvorak later, Chopin had an
extraordinary gift for conceiving melodies of great length and immense
subtlety, and it is his accomplishments in melodic writing that have im­
mortalized many of his compositions, such as theE major Etude, Op. 1o
No. g, the E flat Nocturne, Op. g No. 2, and the trio section of the
Fantaisie-Impromptu.
272 chopin

The Playing of Chopin and his Contemporaries

In respect of the fourth element in Chopin's musical style- the folk
music of Poland - it would be absurd to think of the young Chopin
consciously planning to set a phrase of a song he might have heard in a
particular way: had he done this, the effect would have been merely con­
trived. It is more probable that the boy naturally absorbed the melodies
and rhythms he heard around him in the countryside where he was
born, and later in the towns and villages; they were instilled in him from
childhood. The combination of this image with an idea of the piano
works being performed in Warsaw, and the influence of his teachers in
respect of harmony and melodic line, can give one some understanding
of Chopin's early musical development.
Most composers have taken up and developed existing modes of ex­
pression in a novel and original manner, but Chopin was among those
great writers who have created something entirely new, something so
original as to defy comparison with existing forms (Stravinsky's Rite of
Spring is an obvious example). He both extended current forms and, es­
pecially in his large-scale works and the Mazurkas, broke new ground.
One striking aspect of Chopin's creativity is that his style was fully
developed by the time he was about twenty-five years old, and
afterwards changed very little. It is almost uncanny that from the time he
wrote the G minor Ballade and the 'Revolutionary Study', the Etude No.
12 from Op. 10, at the age of twenty-two, Chopin wrote nothing that was
not a masterpiece for the rest of his life- or, rather, did not allow any of
his works other than masterpieces to be published. It is as if having once
chosen his medium, Chopin found no other modes of expression
necessary, and whereas other composers have 'peaks' in their musical
development, Chopin attained in his twenties a level of creative ex­
cellence from which he never faltered.

It can be assumed that Chopin's own playing reflected his admiration

for Bach and Mozart. This is not to imply that he would have been deter­
mined to maintain a classical poise to the detriment of the free expres­
sion of the romantic ideas embodied in his writing, but that in his
playing the overall contrapuntal and melodic structure of his com­
positions would have always taken precedence over virtuoso effect;
Chopin never set out to stun his listeners with brilliant passagework for
its own sake. Although he was capable of rising to the technical heights
of Mendelssohn, Kalkbrenner or Herz, his aims did not lie in ever­
accelerating pianistic display. He relished the more gentle sonorities of
the piano, the soft nuances that one finds in compositions such as the
Berceuse, the Barcarolle, and the D flat Nocturne, Op. 27 No.2.
Chopin never played with a great volume of sound, and his style was
therefore better suited to an intimate circle in a salon than to a large
audience at a public concert, although he said on some occasions that he

29
 chopin 273

Chopin Playing
needed the stimulus of an audience to play at his best. He did of course
object to the habit of audiences at that time of talking during a perform­
ance- in the salons, the ladies could be heard discussing the pianist's
appearance while he was playing, and in general audiences at that date
were far less attentive and silent than they are now. Although early in his
career Chopin played at public concerts in European cities, notably
Vienna, he preferred, from the time he settled in Paris, to play to a
select group of people who would readily appreciate his delicate
touch and who were sympathetic to his nationalist ideals. He is said to
have told Liszt that he disliked playing before people he did not know,
or among whom he could sense hostility, and he envied Liszt's natural
aptitude for winning public acclaim. 1
Chopin's piano playing was largely self-taught, and he displayed
some unconventional methods of fingering. He won great praise for his
performances, and Cramer, whose reputation was based on his excellent
studies, and who played throughout Europe for many generations,
commented on the 'correctness' of Chopin's playing. 2 Others were
deeply impressed by his unique musicianship and the extreme beauty of
his touch, and he was praised not only for playing his own music but that
of other composers, though he preferred only to play his own works in
public. On his arrival in Paris, Chopin played to Friedrich Kalkbrenner,
the most esteemed piano virtuoso of the day, renowned for the extreme
accuracy and brilliance of his style. Kalkbrenner suggested that Chopin
should undergo three years of study with him; he was an able teacher
whose excellent pupils included Arabella Goddard, Marie Pleyel, Marie
Blahetka, Edouard Silas, Camille Stamaty and Ambroise Thomas, and
Chopin's playing probably lacked the finish that a methodical training
in virtuoso technique might have provided. However, he did not aim to
make his career as a pianist, and a course of training such as
Kalkbrenner suggested would undoubtedly have wasted both his time
and talent. Chopin's playing was based on natural ability rather than
methodical tuition. He approached the piano in a spontaneous and im­
provisatory manner entirely different from the style of the French
pianists of his time. One of the most revealing descriptions of his playing
was written by Charles Halle, himself a pianist of note who later
achieved fame as a conductor and founded the Halle Orchestra:

In listening to him, you lost all power of analysis; you did not think
for a moment how perfect was his execution of this or that difficulty­
you listened, as it were, to the improvisation of a poem, and were
under the charm of it as long as it lasted. A remarkable feature of his
playing was the entire freedom with which he treated the rhythm, but
which appeared so natural that for years it had never struck me. 3
274 chopin

The Playing of Chopin and his Contemporaries

The rhythmic freedom of Chopin's playing which so impressed Halle
was also remarked on by Ignaz Moscheles, the famous pianist and
teacher, who commented that if most pianists were as free in their use of
tempo and rhythm, the works they played would degenerate into dis­
order, but that Chopin could create anew whatever he played, and
convince the listener of the overall discipline of the music- this paradox
lies at the heart of the problem of tempo rubato. 4
Few have agreed on Chopin's rubato, but more than one of his pupils
(including Mikuli, Pauline Viardot-Garcia and Georges Mathias)
described it as meaning that the left-hand accompaniment should keep
strict time, allowing the right hand freedom in shaping the melodic line,
along with all its ornamentation, above this. 5 It was this that must have
impressed the fussy Moscheles - there was order in the freedom of
Chopin's playing, with a sure foundation as regards tempo. When asked
about Chopin's rubato, Liszt was said to have pointed to a tree blowing in
the wind, another example of movem ent over a solid base. 6 This style of
playing was very different from that of the German piano composers of
this time, such as Mendelssohn, whose music in the main part requires a
very disciplined approach to tempo, though in Field' s Nocturnes there
is a precedent for Chopin's use of the right-hand reverie around the left.
Chopin's remarkable touch commanded the immediate attention of
his audience, and Mikuli described his tone as 'immense in cantabiles',
and believed that only Field could equal him in this respect; 7 Chopin's
tone was particularly remarkable because of the nature of the pianos of
his day. Ferdinand Hiller, later a close friend of the composer, described
one of Chopin's early performances in Paris in 1834 : Hiller himself
played, and was followed by Mendelssohn. Then came Chopin, the new­
comer, and the audience was immediately enraptured by the delicacy
and other-worldly quality of his playing. 8 Even when his health began to
fail, Chopin could still command the closest attention, for if his playing
lacked the energy remarkable in his early performances, he compen­
sated for this with the most exquisite nuances. Halle described a public
recital in Paris in 1848, when, two years before his death, Chopin played
the Barcarolle. Rather than allowing the music to reach its climax in the
last pages through increasing the dynamics and momentum, he played
pianissimo at the final return of the opening theme, thus altering all the
markings in the text to suit his state of health; Halle was nearly con­
vinced that this version was preferable to the original !9
Another musician who acclaimed Chopin was Robert Schumann,
then a young music critic, in his famous article, 'Hats off, a genius!' This
was written after Schumann had heard Chopin play his Variations on
'L;i ci darem la mana' for piano and orchestra, Op. z. These are typical
of Chopin's youthful compositions - zestful, happy and brilliantly
31
 chopin 275

Chopin Playing
extrovert, revelling in the Weber-like dash which was then so popular.
They are not, however, representative of his mature style, nor do they
rank among his finest works. However, Chopin played them with such
spontaneity and wit that they were considered highly original, and
Schumann's article reflects the fact that Chopin's playing obviously
possessed a rare authority. He captured his audience not merely
through the charm with which he executed the filigree ornaments, but
through a powerful force that captivated his listeners, and this is one of
the characteristics that makes his music so exceptional.
Chopin's pupil Georges Mathias described his master's playing to
Frederick Niecks, the composer's biographer, as 'absolutely of the old
legato school, of the school of Clementi and Cramer. Of course he had
enriched it by a great variety of touch; he obtained a wonderful variety
of tone and nuances of tone ... he had an extraordinary vigour, but
only in flashes.' 10 In the preface to an edition of Chopin's works,
Mathias wrote another interesting description of his playing:

Chopin pianiste? D'abord ceux qui ont entendu Chopin peuvent bien
dire que jamais depuis on n' a rien entendu d 'approchant. Son jeu etait
comme sa musique; et quelle virtuosite! quelle puissance! oui, quelle
puissance! seulement cela ne durait que peu de mesures; et !'exalta­
tion, et !'inspiration! tout cet homme vibrait! le piano s'animait de
Ia vie Ia plus intense, c'etait admirable a donner le frisson. Je repete
que !'instrument qu'on entendait quand Chopin jouait n'a jamais
existe que so us les doigts de Chopin; il jouait comme il composait. 11

Although we can only guess at what Chopin's playing sounded like,

we know from many written accounts that in everything he performed
there was elasticity and communicativeness, but also a super­
refinement, and a slight reserve. For sixty years after his death, any
pianist who had studied with him claimed some 'secrets' of how his
music should be played, but contemporary accounts show that Chopin
himself did not play his pieces the same way twice, and there was never
any fixed interpretation representing the composer's last words on the
subject. His practice of adding ornaments and variants to the printed
text is well-documented.
Chopin apparently disapproved of the liberties that Liszt took with his
music, although he could admire interpretations of his compositions
radically different from his own. Adolf Gutmann, for example, had a
huge hand and could play very loudly (von Lenz said that Gutmann
'could knock a hole in the table' with a left-hand chord in the sixth bar
of the C sharp minor Scherzo); 12 his style was entirely in contrast to
Chopin's own, yet he was said to have been the composer's favourite
276 chopin

The Playing of Chopin and his Contemporaries

pupil. Chopin could not have intended that his compositions should be
played in any one particular way; he was not nearly as precise as Debussy
in his manuscript markings, although what directions he gave are always
adequate for the interpreter. The enormous divergencies in the manner
of performing his works since his death might have appealed to his wit,
though he might have found some renderings astonishing.

Chopin's Contemporaries
There was never a time when Chopin's music lacked advocates and ad­
mirers, and many pianists played his works in public during his lifetime.
Moscheles, who was nearly twenty years older than Chopin, admired his
compositions and used them for teaching purposes, and among
Chopin's contemporaries, the pianists who played his music included
Henri Herz, Anna Caroline de Belleville-Oury, julius Benedict, and
George Osborne (all born between 18oo and 181o). Among the leading
pianists born between 1810 and 1820 who played Chopin were Liszt,
Alkan, Thalberg, Halle, Clara Schumann, Adolf von Henselt, Marie
Pleyel, Marie Blahetka,Jacob Rosenhain, Alexander Dreyschock, Ferdi­
nand Hiller, Ambroise Thomas, Robena Laidlaw and Henri Litolff­
and the composer's pupils.
When Chopin died in 1849, the prevalent image of the pianist was not
the romantic figure with long hair and eccentric lifestyle - this was
chiefly the later invention of the Liszt circle. In the 183os there were two
distinct schools of piano playing - the German and the French; the
Viennese tended to favour the French school, and the English the
German. Those pianists who had passed through the exceptionally
rigorous German system, or through the French training, laid great
emphasis on finger technique and were equipped to tackle their instru­
ment with the great bravura style that was the order of the day. However,
keyboard technique was then in its infancy compared with the heights
later reached by Liszt and Tausig and their successors. Moscheles,
although a great technician for his time, was dumbfounded by the
revolutionary fingering that Chopin's writing required, and took some
time to assimilate this into his technique; a work such as the A minor
Etude, Op. 10 No.2, presented unprecedented problems.l 3
The greatest pianist of the time, apart from Chopin himself, was of
course Franz Liszt, who had studied with Beethoven's pupil Carl Czerny,
but was in all musical matters a law unto himself. Liszt represented a new
breed of virtuoso who saw the piano as having a much wider range than
that conceived by his lesser contemporaries such as Field, Kalkbrenner
and Hummel. Their contribution to the development of piano-writing
had been largely the creation of highly-ornamented figurations which
achieved pleasant and graceful effects. (Weber had probed deeper, but

33
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Chopin Playing
his music was not very widely known at the time and it was Lenz who in­
terested Liszt in Weber's sonatas in the 184os. 14 As a pianistLisztwas not
content just to please - he wanted to startle, to frighten, and to move
people deeply by his playing. He had little in common with Felix
Mendelssohn, whose piano music became so popular in Germany and
England. Although feted in the Paris salons, Liszt as an interpreter
began to look for something more substantial, and he found much of
what he was seeking after in Chopin. There were hints ofjealousy in their
personal relationship, but Liszt saw in Chopin the perfect marriage of an
artistic personality- genius and its potent expression- and he idolized
his music. He transcribed some of his songs for solo piano (the Chants
polonais), dedicated the second version ofhis Berceuse to Chopin's friend
and pupil, the Princess Marcelina Czartoryska, and his high regard for
the composer is demonstrated in his flowery biography of Chopin
(much of which was written by his mistress, the Princess Sayn­
Wittgenstein), and is also described by H. R. Haweis in My Musical Life.
Problems usually arise when one great creative artist tries to interpret
the music of another, because the performer has a tendency to make the
music his own. Chopin is known to have objected to Liszt's tampering
with his works, but he also praised some of Liszt's conceptions highly,
since they revealed dimensions of the music he himself had not en­
visaged. He once wrote while listening to Liszt play, 'I should like to steal
from him the way to play my own Etudes.' 15 It is obvious from Liszt's
own style of composition that he could rise to the heroic side of
Chopin's writing, and that Chopin would have admired this can be
infeqed from his approval of Gutmann's powerful treatment of the C
sharp minor Scherzo. There have been many instances of composers
who were themselves great pianists, preferring the interpretations of
others to their own, like Rachmaninov and Horowitz, Debussy and
Viiies.
Liszt found in Chopin's works the appropriate vehicle for his own
pianistic aspirations, and he had no scruple in adapting them to achieve
the effects he wanted. Chopin's influence on him was profound;
Sacheverell Sitwell went so far as to suggest that Liszt 'was not free to
assert his own individuality until Chopin was dead.' 16 This may be an
overstatement, but Sitwell perceptively emphasizes Liszt's quick ap­
preciation of Chopin's 'masculine strength' and of ' the architectural
quality of his later works', which helped free him from the influence of
Bellini. Liszt assimilated much of Chopin's poetic and communicative
style into his own compositions, but in his more serious works he also
showed an appreciation of Beethoven which Chopin lacked.
Liszt' s appreciation of the subtlety and variety of Chopin's writing can
be illustrated by his remark to the composer that it was necessary 'to

34
278 chopin

The Playing of Chopin and his Contemporaries

harness a new pianist of the first rank' to play each of the Mazurkas;
Chopin replied, 'Liszt is always right. Do you imagine that I am satisfied
with my own interpretation of the Mazurkas? I have been satisfied a few
times in those early concerts, when I could feel the appreciative at­
mosphere of the audience.' 17 Liszt's pupil Alexander Siloti recounts in
his memoirs Liszt's description of an occasion when he challenged
Chopin that he could play the F minor Etude, Op. 25 No.2, better than
he. The two played the work one after another in an adjoining room,
and Liszt played first, but when the audience were asked which of the two
was Chopin, 'they unanimously decided that Chopin had played first' . 18
It must be assumed that Liszt did not play with the reserve that was so
often noted of Chopin's performances, and his playing on this occasion
might well have been more overtly communicative than the composer's.
As a transcriber, Liszt seldom interfered with the original if he deeply
admired its composer, as is witnessed by his transcriptions of Schubert's
songs for piano, of his Waltzes as Soirees de Vienne, of the 'Wanderer'
Fantasy for piano and orchestra, and of Bach's organ works for piano.
Liszt held Chopin's music in the highest reverence; he may have
departed from the printed text in playing Chopin's works, but he would
have wished to maintain their original character. Lenz recounts that
although when playing the Mazurkas, Liszt altered their harmonies and
ornaments, he took the matter very seriously and never changed the text
in a random manner. 19 As Liszt grew older, he very seldom played in
public, and his style became more mature and less openly sensational,
while still retaining its extraordinary inner conviction and spiritual
quality. His appreciation of Chopin's works never diminished- Chopin
remained for him the per-fect model of the poet at the piano- and at the
end of his life, when he agreed to play to an audience, Liszt would always
turn first to Chopin's music.
Liszt's Chopin was, above all, re-creative; he made Chopin's music
his own. This meant that he played Chopin with a greater degree of self,
revelation than the composer himself would have allowed. Chopin's
inner turbulence, which was only hinted at in his own playing, was given
full vent in Liszt's, as the Hungarian virtuoso could express the facets in
the composer's character that Chopin himself was too reserved a man to
let loose. This is perhaps the reason why his playing made Chopin
envious, but also drew his admiration: it confronted him with areas of
his personality he did not realize he had revealed in his writing, and
could not express in his own playing. Liszt's interpretation did not
reflect the sick and negative side of Chopin's nature, but brought out its
brave, nationalistic and boldly imaginative aspect. Liszt revealed all
Chopin's creative energy, for he could project the music in a way that the
composer could not.

35
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Chopin Playing
Another member of Chopin's circle in Paris was the composer and
pianist Alkan (Charles Henri Valentin Morhange). One of the most in­
triguing musical figures of his epoch, Alkan was a brilliant pianist, but
played very little in public and lived the life of a recluse, writing some of
the most original and fiendishly difficult piano music ever penned. A
Hebraic scholar and a devout jew, one would have expected him to have
had little in common with the almost non-religious Chopin, but they
became friends and were at one time neighbours. Ronald Smith writes
in his excellent biography of Alkan :

It is doubtful ... if any musician was more familiar with Chopin's

playing or more fully qualified to comment on it than Alkan
himself. ... 'Not only did Alkan answer my countless questions about
Chopin's playing,' wrote Alexandre de Bertha (in Igog), 'but he
played me all his immortal friend's masterpieces. He initiated me into
most of the secrets of Chopin's playing which were lowered into the
grave with him sixty years ago .... They compel one to the conclu­
sion that Chopin should never be treated as a romantic or a
revolutionary, but, on the contrary, as a staunch classicist who had
involuntarily opened up new frontiers of his art which had lain
dormant until his arrival. . . . Alkan would repeat again and again
Chopin's own axiom that the left hand must act as conductor,
regulating and tempering any involuntary inflictions [sic] of the right
hand. 20

This extract shows how sensitive Alkan was to the preservation of

Chopin's musical intentions. When he emerged to give recitals in the
mid-187os, he included much of Chopin's music in his programmes:
Polonaises, Ballades, Mazurkas, Nocturnes, the B flat minor Sonata and
the Larghetto of the E minor Concerto in solo piano form. 2 1 Alkan
shared Chopin's admiration for Bach and Mozart, although he also
played a good deal of Beethoven, for which Chopin had a limited ad­
miration; it is reasonable to suppose that his approach to the piano was
essentially disciplined, both as regards regular tempos and the lack of
blatant emotionalism- Alkan' s piano works also have very few passages
of indulgent writing.
It is difficult to trace whether Alkan was successful in passing on his
thoughts about Chopin to either his pupils or other pianists: he com­
municated very little with the outside world. One of his pupils, Jozef
Wieniawski, the brother of the famous violinist Henryk Wieniawski,
later went on to play a great deal of Chopin in recitals, and was widely
admired, but the most likely inheritor of Alkan's precepts would have
been Elie Miriam Delaborde, who was supposed to be his illegitimate
280 chopin

The Playing of Chopin and his Contemporaries

son, and who was a well-known pianist and teacher. Amongst
Delaborde's pupils who played Chopin were the American pianist, Olga
Samaroff-Stokowski (Miss Hickenlooper), and the child prodigy Aline
van Barentzen, who also had lessons from Leschetizky.
If Alkan's influence on the way that Chopin's music was played was
negligible, that of Clara Schumann was enormous. The acceptance of
Chopin in Germany was largely due to her advocacy, later cemented by
Hans von Bulow, and she played his music from a very early stage. In
1833 she performed the first movement of theE minor Concerto at a
Leipzig Gewandhaus concert, and in May 1834 gave the whole work and
some Etudes. 22 In 1836 Schumann wrote to a friend from Paris:
'[Chopin) played a number of new Etudes, Nocturnes and Mazurkas­
everything incomparable. You would like him very much. But Clara is a
greater virtuoso, and gives almost more meaning to his compositions
than Chopin himself'.23
Clara Schumann heard Chopin himselfplay, 24 and her interest in his
music was encouraged by her husband, who had acclaimed Chopin as a
genius as early as 1831. She managed to blend a very finished technique
with real emotional response, and was obviously a much deeper and
more intellectual pianist than virtually every other female (and most
male) pianist of the day. She included Chopin in her performing reper­
toire right up to her last concerts in the early 18gos, and her conceptions
were always highly praised. Her playing contained a great deal more
variety than that of most other German pianists of her time. Schumann
contrasted her with another great lady pianist of the day, Anna Caroline
de Belleville-Oury:

They should not be compared. They are different mistresses of

different schools. The playing of the Belleville is technically the finer
of the two; Clara's is more impassioned. The tone of the Belleville
caresses, but does not penetrate beyond the ear; that of Clara reaches
the heart. The one is a poetess; the other is poetry itself. 25

Belleville, eleven years Clara's senior, had studied with Czerny for four
years, and this was probably the origin of her technical mastery. Her
style was eminendy suited to the fashionable salons, and she spent much
of her long life in England, where she taught and composed salon music.
As early as 1830 she had performed the 'La ci darem la mano' Variations
at a semi-public gathering, 26 and thus she was probably the first pianist
of consequence other than the composer to play his works in public.
Very few of Clara Schumann's pupils ever centred their repertoire
around Chopin. In later life Clara had a much greater affinity with her
husband's music than with Chopin's, and a few critics complained that

37
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Chopin Playing
she played the works of the Polish composer too fast. Her influence on
German pianists will be further discussed in Chapter Four.
Marie Pleyel also played Chopin's works during his lifetime; her
husband Camille was a friend of the composer, and supplied him with
his favourite pianos. The Op.g Nocturnes, published in 1832, are
dedicated to Marie, and one can therefore assume that she was familiar
with Chopin's compositions and would have played them in the salons
from about this date. Antoine Marmontel, in Les Pianistes celebres, gives
this description of her Chopin playing:

Ses doigts legers, souples improvisaient, pour ainsi dire d'eux-memes

et sans !'effort de Ia moindre reflexion, ces traits aeriens, aux allures
vives, d 'une tenuite transparente, qui Chopin aimait a placer dans ses
Nocturnes, ses Ballades et ses ImpromptusY

This is a picture of a sensitive pianist with all the attributes of the French
school at its best; Marie Pleyel's performances had little emotional
depth, but her style was ideally suited to artistic renderings- perhaps her
studies with Kalkbrenner had determined her priorities as a musician.
Another lady who came into contact with Chopin and played his
music was Marie Leopoldine Blahetka. The exact contemporary of
Marie Pleyel, she was also a pupil of Kalkbrenner, and had some lessons
with Moscheles. Although not in the same class as Clara Schumann, she
was a brilliant and well-finished, if shallow, artist. She was generally
liked and Chopin, on his visit to Vienna in 18 29, was much struck by her
charms. (On the same visit he also met Carl Czerny, the great
pedagogue, of whom he wrote, ' He is a good man, but nothing more.')
Blahetka's career as a concert pianist did not last long, for she settled in
Boulogne as a teacher and remained there until her death in 188 7.
Although Thalberg and Herz, two arch-technicians, played a little
Chopin, they mainly chose works that had a purely pianistic attraction.
In the C sharp minor Waltz, Op. 64 No. 2, Thalberg is said to have
played some of the single quaver notes of the piu mosso section in oc­
taves. 28 Both Thalberg and Herz are reputed to have played the B flat
minor Prelu_de, Op. 28 No. 16, with the utmost brilliance and effect, but
the former was the greater artist of the two, as his own compositions
show. Thalberg's music had a capacity for superficial communication,
but lacked intellectuality, and his Chopin interpretations would have
leaned heavily on the pianistic aspect of the writing for effect. Neither he
nor Herz played the large-scale works, apart from theE minor Concer­
to. 29
The German pianist Adolf von Henselt, a few years younger than the
composer, and known as 'the German Chopin', played a great many of
282 chopin

The Playing of Chopin and his Contemporaries

his works, but seldom in public. 3°Coming from the school of Hummel,
he was intent on increasing the range of piano technique, and for many
years his compositions were very highly regarded; pianists as recent as
Godowsky and Moiseiwitsch used to play them. His F minor Piano
Concerto, Op. 16, which has been recorded by the American pianist
Raymond Lewenthal, has been much admired by Claudio Arrau, and is
a work. that taxes the capabilities of the most adept virtuoso. Henselt was
renowned for his eccentric behaviour, but had a genuine skill for poetic
writing. In 1838 he settled in St Petersburg as a teacher, and was ap­
pointed court pianist to the Czar.
Henselt's method was to develop a finger legato touch to the highest
degree of perfection. He spent much time doing daily exercises to
increase the stretch of his hand, so that he could play wide-ranging
chords and swift arpeggios. His method yielded startling results; he ex­
celled in powerful and brilliant passages, and had a unique depth of
tone. He visited England in 1867, and the critic Alfred Hipkins, a
Chopin enthusiast, wrote : 'His playing was glorious, faultless. For a
German, Chopin is difficult ... yet Henselt was a German, and Chopin
never had a finer interpreter. ' 31 Perhaps Henselt's interpretations were
very diH'erent from Chopin's, because of his training and musical sym­
pathies, but when he played a work that suited his technique, he was in­
fallible. Lenz wrote in the 187os:

How I would have enjoyed watching Chopin's ecstasy could he have

heard Henselt thunder, whisper, lighten through his A minor Etude.
This rendering of Chopin by Henselt is so indescribably grand, so in­
finitely idealized, as if touched by the wand of Oberon, that I can find
no words to adequately describe it. 32

However, Lenz found Henselt's rubato in the Mazurkas inept, and

thought his piano tone too great for these miniatures. 33 Henselt took
Hummel's method to its zenith of technical accomplishment; although
he taught a great deal, few of his pupils achieved fame, and the only
other great pianist of a later generation to adopt the same technical
methods seems to have been Tausig, although he was in all other
respects much influenced by his teacher, Liszt. Both Henselt and Tausig
used an abnormally high finger position, which was one source of their
tone- they knew little about the relaxation of the wrist and forearm.
Few of the pianists who played Chopin's works in the mid-nineteenth
century had much respect for the printed notes; Thalberg, Henselt and
Herz had no hesitation in adding octaves and ornaments to the text.
Apart from Liszt and Clara Schumann, there were few of Chopin's con­
temporaries who understood his genius, and the other pianists of this

39
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Chopin Playing
generation were of relatively little importance as interpreters. They were
the products of the fashion of their time, which was for works which ex­
ploited the brilliant possibilities of the piano at a superficial level, rather
than aiming to grasp the musical and intellectual avenues opened up by
Chopin's works.

Chopin's Pupils
Chopin taught a great deal while he lived in Paris - he preferred to
compose at George Sand's house at Nohant- but an exact list of his
pupils is impossible to compile.* About 12 5 pupils' names are nearly
certain, but of these only a small fraction became professional
musicians. Chopin seems to have enjoyed teaching pupils of mediocre
ability; it is possible that he did not feel secure or well enough to meet
the challenge of one highly receptive pupil after another. Amongst the
names of his pupils there are five princesses and about twenty other
titled ladies. Many of these 12 5 may have only had a few lessons, though
some stayed with him for four years or more.
Of all these pupils, the only ones who can be considered of any
musical consequence were Charles Bovy-Lysberg, Otto Goldschmidt
(jenny Lind's husband, who bore the same name as Sarasate's secretary),
Ignace Leyback, Georges Mathias, Karol Mikuli, Thomas Tellefsen,
Anton Ree, Emile Decombes (who may only merit the description
'disciple'), Carl Filtsch, Friedericke Streicher (nee Muller), Lindsay
Sloper, Brinley Richards, the Princess Marcelina Czartoryska (nee Rad­
ziwill), Mme Peruzzi (nee Eustaphiew), Kazimierz Wernik, Adolf
Gutmann, Mme Dubois (nee O'Meara), Mme Rubio (nee de Kologrivoffi,
Mme Antoinette Maute de Fleurville, and the shadowy F.-Henri Peru,
who caused considerable interest after the First World War. None of
these pupils ever achieved international fame; some settled down as
teachers, and a few played occasionally in public (Tellefsen, Mikuli,
Princess Czartoryska, Mme Dubois, Mme Streicher, Gutmann, Wernik
and Peru). The chief importance of those who taught is that their pupils,
several of whom made discs, might have been the recipients of a style
which had its foundation in Chopin's own playing.
There was one of Chopin's pupils whose talent might have blossomed
- this was Carl Filtsch, of whom Liszt said, 'When this little one goes on
the road, I shall shut up shop.'34 Filtsch died in 1845 at the age offifteen,
having made a sensation in London and Vienna. He was a phenomenal
prodigy: when he arrived in London to play Chopin's F minor Concerto
he discovered that the orchestra did not have their parts, and, according
to the music critic J. W. Davison, Filtsch wrote out all of them from

• See Appendix I, page 233·

284 chopin

The Playing of Chopin and his Contemporaries

memory. 35 Lenz recorded: 'He understood, and how he played
Chopin! ... Filtsch also played the E minor Concerto, which Chopin
accompanied himself at the second piano, and insisted that Filtsch
played it better than he.' 36 The boy became a friend ofLeschetizky, who
was his contemporary, and gave him an autograph copy of one of
Chopin's Impromptus.*
After Filtsch's early death, it was the much less substantial talent of
Adolf Gutmann that, among his pupils, pleased Chopin most, although
Gutmann's approach to the piano was so different from his own.
Gutmann began lessons with him as early as 1834, but made only one
concert tour- at Chopin's recommendation- in 1846. Many years later
Frederick Niecks, Chopin's biographer, sought out Gutmann in the
Tyrol, but there was no piano at hand, and Niecks had therefore to rely
for a description of Gutmann's playing on the information of Dr A. C.
Mackenzie, who had heard him in Florence in the late 18 70s. According
to this source, Gutmann's performance was not~ble for 'beauty of tone
combined with power'. 37 He taught a certain amount, but none of his
pupils achieved a high reputation.
Chopin may have picked out Gutmann as his favourite pupil because
he was attracted to a personality so different from his own, rather than
because of his talent. But another pupil whose great ability has never
been questioned was Princess Marcelina Czartoryska, Chopin's most
faithful friend and confidante. Niecks somewhat ungraciously suggests
that the acclaim she received owed more to her social status than to her
pianistic talent, 38 but from two other sources there are accounts of her
prowess. It is related in Alice Diehl's memoirs that Princess Czartoryska
played the Polonaises 'with a startling, yet most beautiful originality,
which the auditors who had heard the master himself declared to be the
most perfect of all readings of the composer', 39 and Sowinski, in Les
Musiciens polonais, describes her highly successful performance of the F
minor Concerto at a charity concert in the early 185os. After Chopin's
death, Princess Czartoryska led a secluded life, and only played in public
occasionally for charity, but a few pianists (the most famous being
Nataliajanotha and Sigismund Stojowski) benefited from her advice. 40
More influential were two pupils of Chopin who, while not startlingly
talented pianists, were very successful and highly influential teachers -
Georges Mathias and Karol Mikuli. Mathias, who was of German
origin, was Professor at the Paris Conservatoire for twenty-five years,
and was proud of his claim to be able to pass on some of Chopin's inter­
pretations to his pupils. He began lessons with Chopin in 1840, when he
was fourteen, and his descriptions of his master's playing have already
~ This copy of the F sharp major Impromptu, Op. 36, is now in the Museum of the
Chopin Institute in Warsaw.

41
 chopin 285

Chopin Playing
been quoted.':' Mathias described Chopin as a classicist, 41 and this idea
may have been the foundation of the rather cold approach to Chopin's
music that has been characteristic of the French school.
Mathias himself played in a manner which showed that his priorities
were in the realm of delicate and sensitive nuances, such as had
characterized Chopin's playing, and he told his American pupil Ernest
Schelling at the end of the century that he thought modern pianos had
less sonority than those of Chopin's day. Among Mathias's pupils,
Ernest Schelling, Teresa Carreno and Raoul Pugno became noteworthy
Chopin players; James H uneker wrote a biography of the composer and
was assistant to the great Chopin player Rafael J oseffy; and Isidor
Philipp became the most eminent piano teacher in France after the
death of Louis Diemer in 1919. Mathias thus forms a link between
Chopin himself and the modern French school.
Another such link was the pianist Emile Decombes, who may not have
had lessons from Chopin, but was one of his disciples, and heard the
composer play many times; he also played in a concert together with
Chopin's pupils during the composer's lifetime. He was for many years
in charge of the Infants' Class at the Paris Conservatoire, and through
his hands passed Alfred Cortot (who was later taught by Diemer),
Edouard Risler, Reynaldo Hahn, and Ernesto Berumen (who went on to
have lessons with Leschetizky)_42
Karol Mikuli was Polish, and had lessons from Chopin from 1844
until 1848. He toured in Russia, Rumania and Galicia, and settled in
Lemburg (Lw6w) where he was head of the Conservatory for thirty
years; in 1888 he founded his own music school. His pupils included
Moriz Rosenthal, Aleksander Michalowski, Jaroslaw Zielinski and
Raoul Koczalski, all of whom were influential exponents of Chopin's
music. Mikuli's edition of Chopin's works was widely used for many
years, although it was strongly criticized because of its awkward finger­
ing. Musicians have assumed that Mikuli was trying to reproduce
Chopin's own fingering, particularly in the Etudes, but Aleksander
Michalowski said that Mikuli never professed to do this because he con­
sidered Chopin's fingering too individual and wayward to be used by
other pianists. 43
The playing of all those of Mikuli's pupils who made recordings
shows a beauty of tone and refinement of phrasing that may well bear
the imprint of Chopin himself. The late Arthur Hedley, the leading
English Chopin scholar, once said at a congress in Warsaw that Mikuli's
knowledge of the composer was incomplete, since in his edition of the
works he had failed to distinguish the manuscripts originating from
Chopin's own hand from those of a copyist. 44 But it should be borne in
'' See page 32 above.

42
286 chopin

The Playing of Chopin and his Contemporaries

mind that Chopin's copyists often tried to imitate the composer's hand
when writing out a score, and that if this was well done, identification
would have been difficult for anyone, however intimate with the com­
poser. Mikuli's priorities were the accurate transmission of Chopin's
ideas and pianistic style. He was himself a fine pianist, and three of his
pupils- Koczalski, Michalowski and Rosenthal- were regarded as being
among the most admirable and communicative Chopin-players of their
time, an additional testimony to Mikuli's fidelity to Chopin's spirit and
the authority of his interpretations. 45
Koczalski made a disc of theE Hat Nocturne, Op. 9 No.2, as passed
down to him from Mikuli, with the variants Chopin had used in his per­
formance and pencilled into his pupil's copy. 46 This interesting evidence
confirms that Chopin followed the nineteenth-century practice of in­
troducing variants when he played his own works, and furthermore in­
dicates that he was willing to pass these variants down in writing, so that
he did not envisage that his pieces should always be played to the letter
of the printed text. However, to a modern ear these 'improvements'
make the work over-elaborate, and detract from its melodic form.
Two rather more obscure pupils of Chopin also demonstrate certain
facets of the master's playing. Mme Antoinette Maute de Fleurville,
mother-in-law of the poet Verlaine, was Debussy's first teacher, and had
a great influence on his piano-playing. Debussy later told Marguerite
Long, author of Au piano avec Claude Debussy, that Chopin was his prin­
cipal model and that the only two really fine pianists he had heard were
Mme de Fleurville and LisztY Debussy made an edition of Chopin's
works (published by Durand) which although interesting is of no great
original value, since it was based largely on the ideas of the pianist Saint­
Saens which emanated from the singer Pauline Viardot-Garcia, a friend
and pupil of Chopin.
The figure of F.-Henri Peru, Chopin's last-surviving pupil, is one of
greater historical than musical interest. He emerged in 1914 as 'a pupil
of Chopin', having never come to prominence before. With the excep­
tion of Mme Roubaud de Cournand, all the other Chopin pupils were
dead by then, so that there was no one to refute his claim. Edouard
Ganche, President of the Chopin Society in Paris, was unimpressed by
Peru's claim; in his book Dans le souvenir de Frederic Chopin he describes
Mme de Cournand as Chopin's 'last pupil' and adds a footnote: 'From
1914 to 1922 there was a certain man who had the effrontery to call
himself a pupil of Chopin, so as to gain charity from the public. ' 48 Peru
gave interviews to various magazines during these years and one of his
pupils, Ludwika Ostrzynska, wrote a pamphlet about him.49 She knew
him for eight years, and Peru told her that as a pupil of Kalkbrenner he
had been so much struck by Chopin's music that he had sought lessons

43
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Chopin Playing
with him; Kalkbrenner (who had found him an impossible pupil) had
readily agreed. Peru used to say that pianists of the early twentieth
century generally played Chopin's work too fast- a criticism also made
by Artur Rubinstein of Saint-Saens's performances.50 Peru gave a
number of somewhat nebulous descriptions of Chopin's lifestyle, and
played in public a little during the First World War, but he was by then
very old and had stiff fingers and a bad memory. He continued playing
until his death in 1922, and it was in his very last years that the New
Zealand-born pianist Esther Fisher, a pupil of Philipp, heard him play
some Nocturnes. She has recorded that Peru played with great
aristocracy of phrasing, and that his performance left her with a
favourable memory of a sensitive pianist. According to Jean Jacques
Eigeldinger, author of Chopin vu parses eleves, Peru was born in 182g, and
so was still performing at the age of ninety- three!
Although few of Chopin's pupils were of more than mediocre talent,
men such as Mikuli and Mathias were very influential as teachers, and
were sufficiently able pianists to have been able to understand and com­
municate Chopin's style to their pupils. The relationship between
teacher and student is usually of greatest interest when both have sub­
stantial musical talent and natural sympathy, and the quality of
Chopin's pupils made them a less influential group of interpreters than
might otherwise have been the case. But at the time of Chopin's death,
there were many able pianists who had heard him play in the salons. It
was chiefly through them that Chopin's style was transmitted to other
musicians, and among Chopin's admirers the most influential and im­
portant was Liszt, the figure who dominated late nineteenth-century
p1amsm.

44
 18

Chopin's tempo rubato in context

DAVID ROWLAND

Tempo rubato has been defined in many different ways during the last two hundred
and fifty years. Its broadest definition concerns the practice of speeding up and
slowing down within a passage. Riemann, for example, specifies that 'Tempo rubato is
the free treatment of passages of marked expression and passion, which forcibly
brings out the stringendo-calando in the shading of phrases, a feature which, as a rule,
remains unnoticed.' 1 Some definitions such as Fuller-Maitland's restrict the rhythmic
ebb and flow in order to give each bar exactly the same length:
RUBATO, lit. 'robbed' or 'stolen', referring to the values of the notes, which are diminished in
one place and increased in another. The word is used, chiefly in instrumental music, to indicate a
particular kind of licence allowed in order to emphasise the expression. This consists of a slight ad
libitum slackening or quickening of the time in any passage, in accordance with the unchangeable
rule that in all such passages any bar in which this licence is taken must be of exactly the same
length as the other bars in the movement, so that if the first part of the bar be played slowly, the
other part must be taken quicker than the ordinary time of the movement to make up for it;
and vice versa, if the bar is hurried at the beginning, there must be a rallentando at the end 2

Others go further still, insisting that the accompanying part should keep strict time
while the melody anticipates, or lags behind, the beat, causing non-synchronisation
between the two parts. This technique, vitally important to a discussion of Chopin's
rubato, was described in a number of eighteenth- and nineteenth-century sources:
the English translation (1742) ofTosi's singing treatise (1723) is a frequently quoted
example which refers to the use of this type of rubato in both instrumental and vocal
music ('Mr G', the eighteenth-century translator, glosses Tosi's comments):
The stealing of time, in the pathetic, is an honourable theft in one that sings better than others,
provided he makes a restitution with ingenuity.

Hugo Riemann, Musik-Lexicon (Leipzig 1882), trans. John Shedlock as Dictionary of Music (London
1893-7), s.v. 'Rubato'.
When published translations are cited as well as original titles, the text and page (or dictionary
article) references pertain to the translation.
2 J. A. Fuller-Maitland, 'Rubato' , in A Dictionary of Music and Musicians, ed. George Grove (London
1883), vol. Ill , p. 188.
290 chopin

200 David Rowland

Mr. G. Our Author has often mentioned time; the regard to it, the strictness of it, and how
much it is neglected and unobserved. In this place, speaking of stealing the time, it regards par­
ticularly the vocal, or the performance on a single instrument in the pathetic and tender; when
the bass goes an exactly regular pace, the other part retards or anticipates in a singular manner
for the sake of expression, but after that returns to its exactness, to be guided by the bass.3

Recent literature on performance practice uses these categories to distinguish the

rhythmic flexibility of different performers,4 and two important conclusions emerge
from this approach. First, certain types of rhythmic flexibility have gone in and out of
fashion at different stages of performance history. A striking example of this is the
decline in the use of the non-synchronised type of rubato in our own century, at
least in the 'classical' instrumental repertoire.5 Secondly, amongst performers of the
same generation, but perhaps from different performing traditions, there are conflicting
opinions concerning the appropriateness of one or other type of rubato. As Niecks
observed: 'Above all .. . we have to keep in mind that the tempo rubato is a genus
which comprehends numerous species. In short, the tempo rubato of Chopin is not
that ofLiszt, that ofLiszt is not that ofHenselt, and so on.' 6
In the light of these two conclusions, it is important to evaluate the various accounts
of Chopin's rubato in the context of the performing traditions in which he was
schooled, the different styles of playing current in his mature years and performance
trends during the lifetimes of his commentators.

Rhythmic flexibility in eighteenth-century performance styles

Rhythmic flexibility of various kinds was intrinsic to eighteenth-century performance.
C. P. E. Bach's Versuch, for example, mentions a number of instances where the per­
former should not play in strict time:
Figure 178 [see Example 11.1) contains several examples in which certain notes and rests should
be extended beyond their written length, for affective reasons. In places, I have written out these
broadened values; elsewhere they are indicated by a small cross. Example a shows how a retard
may be applied opportunely to a melody with two different accompaniments. In general the
retard fits slow or more moderate tempos better than very fast ones. There are more examples in
the opening allegro and the following adagio of the B minor Sonata, No. 6, of my second
engraved work [the Wiirttemberg Sonatas); especially in the adagio, where a melody in octaves is
transposed three times against rapid notes in the left hand. Each transposition can be effectively
performed by gradually and gendy accelerating and immediately thereafter retarding. In affettuoso

3 Pier Francesco Tosi, Opinioni de' cantori antichi e modemi (Bologna 1723), trans., with additions, by John
Ernest Galliard as Obsewations on the Florid Song (London 1742; ed. Michael Pilkington, London 1987),
pp. 7()-1 (1987 edn).
4 See, for example, Sandra P. Rosenblum, Peiformance Practices in Classic Piano Music (Bioonjngton 1988),
chapter 10, and Robert Philip, Early Recordings and Musical Style (Cambridge 1992), part 1. Jean-Jacques
Eigeldinger adopts these categories in his cliscussion of Chopin's rubato in Chopin: Pianist and Teacher as
Sem by His Pupils (hereafter CPT), trans. Naomi Shohet with Krysia O sostowicz and Roy H owat, ed.
Roy Howat (Cambridge 1986), p. 120.
5 See Philip, Early R ecordings, part 1, chapter 2. Non-synchronised rubato remains common in j azz and
'popular' styles.
6 Frederick Niecks, Frederick Chopin as a M an a ndMusician, 3rd edn, 2 vols. (London 1902), vol. II, p. 101.
 chopin 291

Chopin's tempo rubato in context 201

Figure 178

IIQJ

Example 11.1 Figure 178 from C. P. E. Bach's Versuch (Eng. trans., p. 162)

playing, the performer must avoid frequent and excessive retards, which tend to make the tempo
drag. The affect itself readily leads to this fault. Hence every effort must be made despite the
beauty of detail to keep the tempo at the end of a piece exactly the same as at the beginning, an
extremely difficult assignment . . . Passages in a piece in the major mode which are repeated in
the minor may be broadened somewhat on their repetition in order to heighten the affect. On
entering a fermata expressive of languidness, tenderness, or sadness, it is customary to broaden
slightly. This brings us to the tempo rubato. Its indication is simply the presence of more or
fewer notes than are contained in the normal division of the bar. A whole bar, part of one, or
several bars may be, so to speak, distorted in this manner.7

Bach's words are echoed in a number of sources, notably Tiirk's Klavierschule of

1789,8 which belongs to a similar performing tradition (Tiirk was associated in vari­
ous ways with the Bach family). Other eighteen.th-century authors are more guarded,
however. Leopold Mozart, for example, takes pains to stress a strictly rhythmic
manner of performance, 9 and his son, Wolfgang, seems to have followed suit,
allowing for a non-synchronised type of rubato but otherwise stressing the need for
strict time in performance. A letter dated 24 October 1777, written in Augsburg,

7 Carl Philipp Emanuel Bach, Versuch iiber die wahre Art das Clavier zu spielen, 2 vols. (Berlin tt53, 1762),
trans. William J. Mitchell as Essay Ml the True Art of Playing Keyboard Instruments (New York 1949),
pp. 16Q-1.
8 Daniel Gottlob Tiirk, Klavierschule (Leipzig and Halle 1789; 2nd edn, 1802), trans. Raymond H.
Haggh as School of Clavier Playing (Lincoln, Nebraska and London 1982), esp. chapter 6, part 5.
9 Leopold Mozart, Versuch einer griindlichen Violinschule (Augsburg 1756, with several subsequent editions),
trans. Editha Knocker as A Treatise on the Fundamental Principles of Violin Playing (London 1951), pp. 223-4.
292 chopin

202 David Rowland

describes Wolfgang's encounter with the daughter of the piano maker Stein and the
pianist Beecke, both of whom were regarded as accomplished performers. Wolfgang's
cutting remarks about their playing may reflect certain technical deficiencies, but
perhaps they also reveal his feelings about a school of playing with which he had little
sympathy:
She rolls her eyes and smirks. When a passage is repeated, she plays it more slowly the second
time. If it has to be played a third time, then she plays it even more slowly . .. Further, she will
never acquire the most essential, the most difficult and the chief requisite in music, which is,
time, because from her earliest years she has done her utmost not to play in time. Herr Stein and
I discussed this point for two hours at least and I have almost converted him, for he now asks my
advice on everything. He used to be quite crazy about Beecke; but now he sees and hears that I
am the better player, that I do not make grimaces, and yet play with such expression that, as he
himself confesses, no one up to the present has been able to get such good results out of his
pianofortes. Everyone is amazed that I can always keep strict time. What these people cannot grasp
is that in tempo rubato in an Adagio, the left hand should go on playing in strict time. With
them the left hand always follows suit. 10

The non-synchronised rubato that Mozart described was referred to in a number

of eighteenth-century treatises, many of them (such as Leopold Mozart's) discussing
the performance of soloists accompanied by an orchestra. The precise extent of its
use by solo keyboard players is uncertain, however. Some performers evidently did
employ this style, such as the Countess von Hatzfeld ('one often hears her tempo
rubato, which is not at all unsteady in its time' 11 ) . But the rhythmic independence of
the two hands in this manner is considerably more demanding on the performer than
the rhythmic independence of a soloist and orchestra, suggesting that its use may
have been unusual in solo keyboard performance, and perhaps explaining why the
audience was apparently so 'amazed' at Mozart's performance.

Non-synchronised rubato after 1800

There are some indications that the non-synchronised style of rubato practised by the
Mozarts and others was declining in popularity by the beginning of the nineteenth
century, possibly in favour of other types of rubato. In 1808 Koch described
that manner of performance of this or that cantabile passage of a solo part, in which the player
intentionally digressed from the assumed movement of the tempo and from the usual distri­
bution of note values, and executed the melodic line as if without any fixed division of time,
while the accompaniment played on absolutely strictly in tempo. Among others, Franz Benda
often made use of this manner of performance as a special means of expression in the Adagio
movements of his concertos and sonatas. Although there are .. . virtuosos who ... occasionally
make use of a similar manner of performance ... still there is usually only a far less noticeable
deviation from the tempo than previously, so that one can ,!!Uintain that kind of execution . ..

10 The Letters of Mozart and his Family, ed. Emily Anderson, 3rd edn (London 1985), pp. 339-40, my
emphases.
11 Carl Friedrich Cramer, Magaz in der Musik (Hamburg 1783), pp. 387- 8, trans. Rosenblum, Performance
Practices, p. 380.
 chopin 293

Chopin 's tempo rubato in context 203

to be obsolete nowadays. The neglect . .. may well be far more advantageous than detrimental
for the art ... in part because modern composers work out fully the melody of the Adagio
movements of their concertos ... 12
With the growth in the music publishing industry, there was indeed a tendency for
composers to write out ornamented melodic lines in full, yet Koch may be drawing
exaggerated conclusions from music notation when he suggests that non-synchronised
rubato was a dying art: several sources indicate that the tradition continued into the
nineteenth century, albeit among a limited number of performers. At about the same
time that Koch was writing, Dussek, one of the most influential pianists in Paris,
evidently used a non-synchronised style of rubato:
Dussek greatly liked Rubato, although he never wrote the word in his music; Dussek had tried
to render it visibly by means of syncopations; but if one were to render these syncopations
exactly, one would be far from playing in his sweet and delightful manner. He did away with
them, and contented himself with writing espressivo. Lucky those who heard him play his
music like that! Even more lucky those who could imitate it! 13
Some of Dussek's pupils in Paris cultivated this tradition. One of them, Helene
Montgeroult, wrote a three-volume piano treatise in 1822 which includes studies for
various aspects of piano technique. One of these has a simple right-hand melody
without complex sub-divisions of the beat, accompanied by the left hand. Part of the
preface to the piece reads:
The left hand should be completely independent of the right. There are moments when the
expression demands that the top part lengthen the value of certain notes a little; the accompa­
niment should never have to be altered. The anticipation or slackening within the bar often
serves the expression; but it only produces a disagreeable ensemble problem if one hand fails to
maintain a constant poise. This anticipation is what is known in Italy as TEMPO ROBATO.t 4
Just over a decade later, a similar technique was described in Baillot's violin treatise. 15
It was also mentioned outside Paris in, for example, Hummel's pianoforte tutor, which
appeared simultaneously in Vienna, Paris and London in 1828. Unlike M ontgeroult's
example, however, in which the right-hand part has relatively long note values, and
where the effect of non-synchronisation will therefore be pronounced, Hummel's
examples contain embellishments using faster note values with complex subdivisions
of the bar or the beat (groups of fifteen, seventeen, nineteen, etc.) above a simple left­
hand accompaniment in triplets. The rubato, in other words, will be less immediately
obvious to the listener. Nevertheless, the general principles of independence of the
hands and strict time in the accompanying part are spelled out:
Observations. In such passages it must be remarked:
1. that each hand must act independently

12 Heinrich Christoph Koch, 'Ober den technischen Ausdruck: Tempo rubato', Allgemeine musika/ische
Zeitung, 10/33 (1808), cols. 518-19, trans. Rosenblum, Peifonnance Practices, p. 376.
13 Le Pianiste, 115 (1 834), p. 78, my translation.
14 H elene Montgeroult, Cours complet po11r l'enseignement du fortepiano , 2 vols. (Paris ca 1825), vol. II,
p. 92, my translation.
IS Pierre Baillot, L'art du violon (Paris 1834), pp. 136-7.
294 chopin

204 David Rowland

2. that the left hand must keep the time strictly; for it is here the firm basis, on which are
founded the notes of embellishment, grouped in various numbers, and without any regular
distribution as to measure.t6
The non-synchronised rubato described by Hummel, which depends on fast note
values irregularly grouped, appears to have been more widely practised than the type
that occurs in Montgeroult's tutor, judging by the number of composers who
notated textures similar to Hummel's, in contrast to the relatively rare indications of
the more extreme form.
It is interesting to compare Czerny's comments with Hummel's. Czerny discusses
passages like those in Hummel's tutor (with florid but irregularly grouped right-hand
parts), and implies that there will be a degree of non-synchronisation within the main
beats of the bar. But he also discusses instances where the left-hand accompaniment
should follow the right-hand part in accelerating or slowing down, so that the two
parts coincide on the important beatsY In so doing, he was arguing for a style of
playing which was fundamentally different from Mozart's or Dussek's, but which was
almost certainly more representative of the pianism of his time.
The non-synchronised form of rubato was often described as an extremely
difficult technique which was highly challenging to the solo performer. [n its most
extreme form it was practised by a very select group of pianists, but it lived on
through the nineteenth century into the twentieth in the playing of pianists such as
Paderewski, Pachmann and Rosenthal. IS Only relatively recently has it seemed to fall
into disfavour.

The development of rhythmic flexibility in the nineteenth century

Whilst non-synchronised rubato continued to be popular with at least a few pianists
from the late eighteenth century onwards, significant changes in performers' approaches
to rhythm in general were occurring around 1800, especially, but not exclusively, in
France.
Paris at the beginning of the nineteenth century was becoming an important
centre of pianistic activity. Developments in performance and in the writing of
keyboard textures happened there which were only later adopted by pianists
elsewhere in Europe. 19 One of the new trends in performance was an 'expressive'
mode of performance in which a strict beat was not adhered to. Louis Adam, an
important but somewhat conservative figure during these years, spoke out against
these developments in his highly influential tutor of 1804:

16 Johann Nepomuk Hummel, Auiflihrliche theoretisch-practische Anweisung zum Piano:forte Spiel (Vienna
1828), trans. as A Complete Theoretical and Practical Course of Instructions on the Art of Playing the Pianoforte
(London 1828), part 3, p. 53.
17 Carl Czerny, Vollstiindige theoretisch-praktische Pianoforteschule Op. 500 (Vienna 1838-9), trans. James
Alexander Hamilton as Complete Theoretical and Practical Pianoforte School (London 1838-9), part 3, pp.
31-50.
18 Philip, Early R ecordings, part 1, p. 47.
19 See, for example, David Rowland, 'The Nocturne: Development of a New Style', in 1he Cambridge
Companion to Chopin, ed. Jim Samson (Cambridge 1992), pp. 32-49.
 chopin 295

Chopin's tempo rubato in context 205

Some people have tried to start a trend of playing out of time, playing all genres of music like a
fantasy, prelude or capriccio. It is thought to enhance the expression of a piece, while serving in
effect to distort it beyond recognition. Naturally, expressivity requires certain notes of the
melody to be slowed or quickened; however, these fluctuations must not be used continually
throughout the piece, but only in places where the expression of a languorous melody or the
passion of an agitated one demands a slower or a more animated pace. In this case it is the
melody that should be altered, while the bass should strictly maintain the beat. 20

The trend that Adam described was not altogether confined to Paris: hints of a
similar approach can be found, for example, in Beethoven's playing at about the
same time. Ferdinand Ries recalled that around 1800 Beethoven 'in general . ..
played his own compositions most capriciously, though he usually kept a very steady
rhythm and only occasionally, indeed, very rarely, speeded up the tempo somewhat.
At times he restrained the tempo in his crescendo with a ritardando, which had a
beautiful and most striking effect.'21 Newman argues that the tendency to vary the
tempo increased in Beethoven's later style. 22 Weber also seems to have espoused a
flexible approach to tempo: 'the beat, the tempo, must not be a controlling tyrant
nor a mechanical, driving hammer; it should be to a piece of music what the pulse
beat is to the life of a man'.23
Amongst pianists of the Viennese school, however, there were many who remained
conservative in their approach to tempo flexibility. Chief among these was Hummel,
who had much to say on the subject:
In the present day, many performers endeavour to supply the absence of natural inward feeling
by an appearance of it; for example,
1. by distortions of the body and unnatural elevations of the arms;
2. by a perpetual gingle [sic], produced by the constant use of the Pedals:
3. by the capricious dragging or slackening of the time, (tempo rubato), introduced at every
instant and to satiety ...24

N evertheless, even Hummel advocated some flexibility, within certain limits:

The Allegro requires brilliancy, power, precision in the delivery, and sparkling elasticity in the
fingers. Singing passages which occur in it . . . may be played with some little relaxation as to
time, in order to give them the necessary effect; but we must not deviate too strikingly from the
predominating movement, because, by so doing, the unity of the whole will suffer, and the piece
degenerate into a mere rhapsody ...
The player must not waver in the time in every bar; but whether in passages of melody or
of mere execution, even from the first bar, he must catch firmly hold of, and preserve equably
the precise time . . .25

20 Louis Adam, Methode de piano du Conservatoire (Paris 1804), p. 160, translated in CPT, p. 119.
21 Franz Gerhard Wegeler and Ferdinand R ies, Biographische Notizen iiber Ludwig van Beethoven (Koblenz
1838), trans. Frederick Noonan as Remembering Beethove11, with foreword by Christopher Hagwood
and introduction by Eva Badura-Skoda (London 1988), p. 94.
22 WilliamS. N ewman, Beethoven on Beethoven (London and N ew York 1988), chapter 4.
23 Carl Maria von Weber, 'Tempo-Bezeichnungen nach Malzl's Metronom zur Oper Euryanthe' ,
Allgemeine musikalische Zeitung, 5018 (1848), col. 127, trans. Newman, Beethoven, p. 112.
24 Hummel, Instructions, part 3, p. 40.
25 Ibid., part 3, p. 41.
296 chopin

206 David Rowland

All relaxation of the time in single bars, and in short passages of melody, in pleasing and
intermediate ideas, must take place almost imperceptibly .. .26

Czerny underlined Hummel's conservative performing style by remarking that

'Hummel himself performed his compositions in such strict time, that we might
nearly always have let the metronome beat to his playing'.27
Meanwhile, Paris continued to become the centre of a more 'expressive' and liberal
school, following the trend at the beginning of the century observed by Louis A :lam.
Kalkbrenner was one of the most influential performers and teachers in Paris during
the 1820s and his keyboard tutor suggests that he was in sympathy with these
developments. The text of his treatise mentions that 'all terminations of cantabile
phrases should be retarded . . . when a frequent change of harmony occurs, or
modulations succeed each other rapidly, the movement must be retarded' ,28 and the
musical examples that conclude the tutor contain several instances within each piece.
Significantly, however, these musical examples contain no indications to accelerate
the tempo - a notational feature which was to emerge, but never to the same extent
as markings for slackening the speed.
Of all the virtuosos from the second quarter of the nineteenth century who estab­
lished themselves in Paris while continuing to tour Europe, Liszt was the pianist most
noted for his flexible approach to rhythm. In 1842, for example, he played to a large
audience in St Petersburg which included Glinka, who proclaimed that 'Liszt sometimes
played superlatively, like no one else in the world, but at other times intolerably, fal­
sifying the expression, stretching the tempi, and adding to the works of others . .. ' 29
Flexibility of tempo formed an important part of Liszt's teaching, and hence
shaped the performing styles of many pianists from the following generation. Hans
von Billow reported to his mother: •
After frequently hearing Liszt, I have now made a special study of what was particularly defective
in my playing, namely, a certain amateurish uncertainty, a certain angular want of freedom in
conception, of which I must completely cure myself; in modern pieces especially I must cultivate
more abandon, and, when I have conquered the technical difficulties of a piece, I must let myself
go more, according to how I feel at the moment ... 30

Bulow made a similar point in correspondence to his father a few years later: 'My
piano-playing has latterly made substantial progress; I have gained in elasticity and a
certain virtuoso chic, which was formerly entirely wanting. ' 31 Another pianist, William
Mason, observed:
Evidently I had been playing ahead in a steady, uniform way. He [Liszt] sat down, and gave the
same phrases with an accentuated, elastic movement, which let in a flood of light upon me.

26 Ibid., part 3, p. 47.

27 See note 42 below.
28 Friedrich Kalkbrenner, Methode po11rapprendre le pian'!forte (Paris 1830), trans. Sabilla Novello as Method
'![Learning the Pian'!forte (London 1862), p. 12.
29 Vladimir Stasov, List, Shuman i Berlioz v Rossii [Liszt, Schumann and Berlioz in Russia] (St Petersburg
1896), p. 11 , trans. Adrian Williams, Portrait '![ Liszt (Oxford 1990), p. 187.
30 H ans von Bulow, The Early Correspondence, trans. and ed. Constance Bache (London 1896), p. 35.
31 Ibid., p. 116.
 chopin 297

Chopin's tempo rubato in context 207

From that one experience I learned to bring out the same effect, where it was appropriate, in
almost every piece that I played. It eradicated much that was mechanical, stilted, and unmusical
in my playing, and developed an elasticity of touch which has lasted all my life ... 32

So concerned was Liszt to ensure flexibility of tempo in performance that he

struggled to find a means of notating it. In 1870 he wrote:

With regard to the deceptive Tempo rubato I have setded the matter provisionally in a brief note
(in the finale ofWeber's A~ major Sonata); other occurrences of the rubato may be left to the taste
and momentary feeling of gifted players. Metronornical performance is certainly tiresome and
nonsensical; time and rhythm must be adapted to and identified with the melody, the harmony,
the accent and the poetry ... But how [to] indicate all this? I shudder at the thought ofit. 33

Yet as early as the Album d'un voyageur (composed 1835-6), Liszt had invented sym­
bols to indicate subtle, rhetorical pauses, slight slackenings of the tempo and (much
less frequently) small increases in tempo. His influence can also be seen in the flexible
approach to rhythm in, for example, Billow's heavily marked edition of Beethoven's
piano sonatas.
Not everyone adopted Liszt's style of playing. Mendelssohn is reported to have
had 'the greatest dislike to any modification of the time that he had not specifically
marked' ,34 and he disparaged 'the Parisian tendency of overdoing passion and
despair'.35 Another German, Friedrich Wieck, was perhaps the most outspoken critic
of the modern, fluid, approach to rhythm. In Clavier und Gesang he ridicules the
latest pianistic fashions from,Paris- namely, the virtuoso who lacks all good taste and
restraint, who over-pedals and gesticulates wildly in performance. An essential part of
this histrionic performance style as condemned by Wieck was flexibility of tempo.
In a particularly sarcastic passage, he asks of one such virtuoso (the hypothetical Herr
Forte), 'where did he learn to play?', to which he replies:

he didn't learn at all. He is a genius. It all comes naturally. Instruction would have chained his
genius, and he would then play distincdy, correcdy, naturally, and in time. That would be dilet­
tantish. This unrhythmical and indisciplined hubbub is what is called 'inspired pianistic genius'.
(Herr Forte thunders through a sequence of exotic chords at top speed with sustaining
pedal down and, without pausing, goes into the Mazurka in F# minor, accentuating heavily.
He stretches one measure out by two quarters, robbing another measure of a quarter, and so
he proceeds until, highly pleased with himself, he comes to the end ...)36

Elsewhere, Wieck criticises another imaginary pianist who uses 'this affected and
sweetly languishing manner, this rubato and distortion of musical phrases, this rhythmic
license, this vacuous sentimentality' .37

32 William Mason, Memories'![ a Mr;sical Life (New York 1901), pp. 99-100.
33 Letters of Franz Liszt, ed. La Mara, trans. Constance Bache, 2 vols. (London 1984), vol. II, p. 194.
34 Fuller-Maitland, 'Rubato', p. 188.
35 Felix Mendelssohn-Bartholdy, Briefe aus den]ahren 1830 bis 1847, ed. Paul Mendelssohn-Bartholdy,
9th edn (Leipzig 1882), vol. II, p. 41, translated in CPT, p. 267.
36 Friedrich Wieck, Clavier und Gesang (Leipzig 1853), trans. and ed. Henry Pleasants as Piatro and Song
(New York 1988), p. 140.
37 Ibid., p. 100.
298 chopin

208 David Rowland

Wieck was by no means the only critic of this growing rhythmic 'anarchy'. In
1856, three years after Clavier und Gesang appeared, Hanslick reviewed a performance
by Wieck's daughter, Clara: 'As compared with the common misuse of rubato, she main­
tains, almost without exception, a strict conformity of measure. ' 38
It would be unfair, however, to portray Wieck and others as pianists who allowed
no rhythmic flexibility whatsoever. Like Hummel, Wieck permitted it within strict
limits, criticising yet another hypothetical pianist who was 'too pedantically concerned
with technic and strict time'. 39 Elsewhere he recommends: 'This passage I would play
a bit hesitantly, but without any conspicuous ritard, that passage a bit faster.' 40 In this
respect, Wieck's teaching was similar to Czemy's, who detailed a number of circum­
stances where the tempo might be slackened, 41 but who nevertheless had harsh
words for those whose performance he considered unruly:
we have almost entirely forgotten the strict keeping of time, as the tempo rubato (that is, the
arbitrary retardation or quickening of the degree of movement) is now often employed even to
caricature. For instance, how frequently are we constrained to hear, in modem days, even the
first movement of HUMMEL'S Concertos (which should consist but of one time) played thus:
the first few lines Allegro, the middle subject Andante, the ensuing passage Presto, and then again
single passages needlessly protracted,- whilst HUMMEL himself performed his compositions in
such strict time, that we might nearly always have let the metronome beat to his playing.42
Despite his cautious approach, however, Czerny could not quite bring himself to
criticise Liszt: 'The very frequent application of each kind of tempo rubato is so well
directed in LISZT'S playing, that, like an excellent declaimer, he always remains
intelligible to every hearer.'43 As Liszt's former teacher, Czerny was unlikely to fault his
illustrious pupil; yet there is more in these remarks than mere deferential politeness.
Czerny dearly indicates that Liszt's use of rubato was appropriate to the rhetoric of the
music being played. Similar concerns had been voiced by earlier authors in both the
eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, and they are summed up well in Georges Mathias's
comments on rubato: 'its essence is fluctuation of movement, one of the two principal
means of expression in music, namely the modification of tone and of tempo, as in the art
of oration, whereby the speaker, moved by this or that emotion, raises or lowers his voice,
and accelerates or draws out his diction' .44 It was those pianists who could be accused
of'empty rhetoric' who were most harshly judged by the likes ofCzerny and Wieck.

Chopin's rubato
The performing milieu in Paris that Chopin entered in 183 1 was one in which
rhythmic licence was increasingly cultivated. This trend inevitably spread throughout
38 Eduard Hans!ick, Music Criticisms 1846-99, trans. and ed. Henry Pleasants (Baltimore 1950), p. 50,
my emphasis.
39 Wieck, Piano and Song, p. 100.
40 Ibid., p. 133.
41 Czemy, Pianoforte School, part 3, pp. 33-4.
42 Carl Czerny, Supplement (oder vierter Theil) zum grojJen Piamiforte Schule (Vienna ca 1845), trans. as
Suppleme11t to Czerny's Royal Pianoforte School (London ca 1845), p. 29.
43 Ibid., p. 28.
44 Georges Mathias, Preface to Isidore Philipp, Exercices quotidiens tires des reuvres de Chopin (Paris [1897]),
p. 5, translated in CPT, p. 49.
 chopin 299

Chopin's tempo rubato in context 209

Europe, and by the middle of the century a performance style in which rhythm was
treated with considerable flexibility was by far the most common style amongst
pianists. Yet Chopin had grown up in a more conservative environment, and it is clear
from numerous sources that certain rhythmic aspects of his playing remained distinct
from those of his contemporaries. Moscheles observed, for example, that 'the ad libitum
playing, which in the hands of other interpreters of his music degenerates into a constant
uncertainty of rhythm, is with him an element of exquisite originality'. 45 But precisely
which rhythmic features of his playing were different from those of his contemporaries,
and to what extent? In order to answer these questions, we need to discuss the dif­
ferent sorts of rubato in Chopin's performance. Eigeldinger distinguishes three types:
The first type of rubato [equivalent to the non-synchronised rubato defmed above] descended
from the Italian Baroque tradition ... [and] occurs principally in works with broad cantilenas.
The second, more common type consist~ of fleeting changes of pace relative to the basic tempo;
these agogic modifications may affect a whole section, period or phrase, slowing down or
accelerating the flow depending on the direction of the music . . . [T]he third component of
Chopinian rubato is derived from the mobile rhythm of the Mazur4 6

We shall examine these three types, though in a different order, beginning with the
general practice of slowing down or accelerating over a few bars in order to give a
phrase a particular character or a moment of structural importance greater emphasis.
It appears that Chopin's playing was indeed flexible in this manner, though per­
haps not so much as that of many contemporaries. In the music itself, Chopin specifies
many instances of ritardando, accelerando and their equivalents - more so than in
the works of some particularly conservative composers such as Mendelssohn. Mikuli
recalled Chopin's flexible approach in a passage reminiscent of Czerny's comments
quoted on p. 208 above, on the playing of Liszt ('an excellent declaimer . . .
intelligible to every listener' 47):
Chopin was far from being a partisan co metric rigour and frequently used rubaco in his playing,
accelerating or slowing down this or that theme. But Chopin's rubato possessed an unshakeable
emotional logic. It always justified itself by a strengthening or weakening of the melodic line, by
harmonic details, by the figurative structure. It was fluid, natural; it never degenerated into
exaggeration or affectation. 48

These remarks seem to contradict others by the same author, however. In the preface
to his edition of Chopin's works, for example, Mikuli stated that: 'In keeping time
Chopin was inflexible, and many will be surprised to learn that the metronome never
left his piano.' 49 Here, however, Mikuli was endeavouring to correct what he saw as
a disturbing trend. A 'false' tradition of Chopin playing had evidently grown out of

45 Aus Moscheles ' Leben, ed. Charlotte Moscheles, 2 vols. (Leipzig 1872-3), trans. and adapted by Arthur
Duke Coleridge as Life of Moscheles, 2 vols. (London 1873), vol. II, p. 52.
46 Eigeldinger, CPT, pp. 120 and 121.
47 See note 43 above.
48 Quoted in Aleksander Michalowski, 'Jak gral Fryderyk Szopen?', Muzyka, 917- 9 (1932), pp. 74-5,
translated in CPT, p. 50.
49 Carl Mikuli, Vonvort to his edition of Chopin's works (Leipzig 1880), trans. as Introductory Note in
Schirmer's edition (London 1949), p. i.
300 chopin

21 0 David Rowland

the more 'progressive' style of the mid nineteenth century, characterised above all by
a high degree of rhythmic licence:
According to a tradition- and, be it said, an erroneous one - Chopin's playing was like that of
one dreaming rather than awake - scarcely audible in its continual pianissimos and una cordas, with
feebly developed technique and quite lacking in confidence, or at least indistinct, and distorted
out of all rhythmic form by an incessant tempo rubato! 50

References to this tradition can be found in earlier sources, for example, Hanslick's
review of Clara Schumann's performance in 1856:
Some may have been surprised by her metronomical playing of the middle movement of
Chopin's J:>l, [sic] Impromptu, sharply marked even in the bass. Nobody can object to it, but
whether Chopin's music gains by the dispersal of its misty nostalgia is open to question. 51

Exaggerated affectation in performance was clearly something which Chopin himself

avoided, however: '[Chopin] required adherence to the strictest rhythm, hated alliin­
gering and dragging, misplaced rubatos, as well as exaggerated ritardandos. 'Je vous prie
de vous asseoir" [Pray do take a seat] he said on such an occasion with gentle mockery.'52
What exactly did 'the strictest rhythm' mean to Chopin? The answer appears to
have varied according to the music's genre. In the mazurkas, the length of the bar
was uniform, but within those confines, a considerable degree of distortion took
place, as Chorley noted:
the delicacy of M. Chopin's tone and the elasticity of his passages are delicious to the ear. He
makes a free use of tempo rubato; leaning about within his bars more than any player we recollect,
but still subject to a presiding sentiment of measure, such as presently habituates the ear to the
liberties taken. In music not his own we happen to know he can be as staid as a metronome;
while his Mazurkas, etc. lose half their characteristic wildness if played without a certain freak
and licence, - impossible to imitate, but irresistible if the player at all feels the music. This we
have always fancied while reading M. Chopin's works; -we are now sure of it after hearing him
perform them hirnsel£ 53

Chorley states that Chopin's distortion of the rhythm in the mazurkas was more
extreme than any other pianist's of the time, a claim which is reinforced in the writings
of others. Lenz compared Chopin's playing to Henselt's: 'Henselt's priority when
playing the Mazurkas is the beat and the barline ... His rubato is not Chopin's: it is a
shifting of accents within a maintained tempo, rather than a radical readjustment of
the whole field of vision to view the piece in its entirety as if seen through reversed
opera glasses.' 54 So extreme was this 'radical readjustment' that Halle and Meyerbeer
thought that Chopin was playing his mazurkas not in the 'correct' 3/4 but (respectively)
in 4/4 and 2/4, much to Chopin's constemation. 55

5o Ibid., p. i.
51 Hanslick, Music Criticisms, p. 50.
52 Friederike Streicher's comments, related in Niecks, Chopin, vol. If, p. 341.
53 Henry Chorley, The Athenaeum, no. 1079 (1 July 1848), p. 660.
54 Wilhehn von Lenz, Diegroj3en Pian<!forte- Virtuosen unserer Zeit (Berlin 1872), p. 102, translated in CPT, p. 72.
ss See CPT, pp. 72-3.
 chopin 301

Chopin's tempo rubato in context 211

The mazurkas were a special case, however: Chopin was not normally so
rhythmically pliant. In certain circumstances he was very strict in his adherence not
only to the length of the bar, but also to the beat, which brings us to the third sort of
tempo rubato - the rubato in which the accompanying part keeps strict time while
the melodic line anticipates or drags behind the beat, causing non-synchronisation of
the hands. Mikuli described this in the following terms: 'the hand responsible for the
accompaniment would keep strict time, while the other hand, singing the melody,
would free the essence of the musical thought from all rhythmic fetters, either by
lingering hesitantly or by eagerly anticipating the movement with a certain impatient
vehemence akin to passionate speech' .56 This was the rhythmic characteristic of
Chopin's playing that seems to have attracted most attention, presumably because of
its rarity among other pianists of the time, or because in Chopin's hands it was used
in an extreme form, or both.
We have already seen how some eighteenth-century pianists used non-synchronised
rubato, and that there existed an unbroken tradition of this among pianists in the
nineteenth century before Chopin. Non-synchronisation in passages with simple
melodic lines (i.e. with relatively long note values) was a particularly specialised tech­
nique, and its use seems never to have become widespread. This was emphasised in
earlier accounts, but was also noted in some of those associated with Chopin:
This way of playing is very difficult since it requires complete independence of the two hands;
and those lacking this give both themselves and others the illusion of it by playing the melody in
time and dislocating the accompaniment so that it falls beside the beat; or else - worst of all -
content themselves with simply playing one hand after the other. It would be a hundced times
better just to play in time, with both hands together. 57
It was not just the difficulty of the technique that dissuaded pianists from using it,
however. Even those who undoubtedly had sufficient technical ability to perform in
this way chose not to, such as Liszt:
On this occasion [Liszt gave us] an important insight into the Lisztian rubato, consisting of subtle
variations of tempo and expression within a free declamation, entirely different from Chopin's
give-and-take system [Eilen und ZOgem] . Liszt' s rubato is more a sudden, light suspension of the
rhythm on this or that significant note, so that the phrasing will above all be clearly and
convincingly brought out. While playing, Liszt seemed bacely preoccupied with keeping in time,
and yet neither the aesthetic symmetry nor the rhythm was affected.58
The non-synchronised type of rubato in Chopin's playing is described as appro­
priate in textures with both a melodic line and an accompaniment. It follows,
therefore, that it has limited application, a point made by Kleczynski, who adapted
Liszt's metaphor for Chopin's rubato ('the wind plays in the leaves, stirs up life
among them, the tree remains the same' 59):

56 Mikuli, Vonvort, translated in CPT, p. 49.

57 Pauline Viardot's comments, related in Camille Saint-Sacns, 'Quelques mots sur !'execution des
reuvres de Chopin', I.e courrier musical, 13/ 10 (1910), pp. 386-7, translated in CPT, p. 49.
58 Carl von Lachmund, Mein Leben mit Franz Liszt (Eschwege 1970), p. 62, translated in CPT, p. 122.
This description is reminiscent of Czemy's remarks - see note 17.
59 Niecks, Chopin, vol. II, p. 101.
302 chopin

212 David Rowland

Some of Chopin's students have assured me that in the rubato the left hand ought to keep
perfect time, whilst the right indulges its fancy; and that in such a case Chopin would say, 'The
left hand is the conductor of the orchestra' ... It is, nevertheless, my belief that this means can
only be employed in certain particular cases ... There are passages in the works of Chopin, in
which not only do the leaves tremble (to continue the comparison of Liszt), but the trunk
totters. For instance: the Polonaise in c# minor (Op. 26 No. 1), 3rd part, measures 9-14
[=58-63]; Nocturne in AJ, (Op. 32 No.2), the middle part [bars 27-50] . We may quote also the
Impromptu in AJ, [Op. 29]; here everything totters from foundation to summit, and everything is
nevertheless so beautiful and clear!60
The term 'rubato' was specified by Chopin in only a limited number of passages,
all of which are detailed by Eigeldinger. 61 These markings occur in works first published
in the years 1832-6 with the exception of the G# minor Polonaise and the Mazurka
Op. 67 No. 3, both of which appeared posthumously. After 1836 Chopin aban­
doned the term, evidently because it was not understood by his contemporaries, as
Liszt noted: 'as the term taught nothing to whoever already knew, and said nothing to
th9se who did not know, understand, and feel, Chopin later ceased to add this expla­
nation to his music'. 62 Perhaps we should not be surprised, therefore, that recent com­
mentators have found it difficult to agree on its meaning. 63 Despite the difficulties in
interpreting Chopin's use of the term, however, a number of important points can be
made, and questions asked, even if the answers are more tentative than we might wish.
Eigeldinger argues that in the Nocturne Op. 15 No. 3 and the Mazurkas Op. 24
No. 1 and Op. 67 No. 3, where the term 'rubato' occurs in the first bar, an 'agogic'
rubato is intended, which is characterised by 'fleeting changes of pace relative to the
basic tempo'. In the case of the Nocturne Op. 9 No.2, the Trio Op. 8, the Rondo
Op. 16 and the Concerto Op. 21 , however, he argues for the non-synchronised type
of rubato described first by T osi, and used by pianists such as Mozart and Dussek. 64 In
addition, Eigeldinger notes that out of all the works in which the term occurs, 'a good
three-quarters ... are genres connected with Polish folk music' , in almost all cases the
mazurka. In such instances, the kind of rubato which maintains a regular bar-length,
but in which certain beats of the bar are 'stretched', seems appropriate. Eigeldinger
also admits the likelihood of some overlap between the various types of rubato.
Most of Eigeldinger's observations are well made. On occasion, however, the
evidence seems a little strained. This is particularly so in the case of the Nocturne
Op. 15 No.3 and the Mazurkas Op. 24 No. 1 and Op. 67 No.3, where Eigeldinger
argues for 'fleeting changes of pace'. Chopin was in the habit at the time of indicating
minor tempo fluctuations in his music by other means such as the terms 'stretto' ,
'ritenuto' , 'piu mosso', etc. Indeed, terms like these occur in the nocturne and
mazurkas in question. Why should Chopin wish to duplicate his instructions by
including 'rubato' in bar 1, and why should he use the term in this manner in just
three works when it is clear from performance indications in other pieces, as well as from
60 Jean Uan] Kleczynski, How to Play Chopin, trans. Alfred Whittingham, 6th edn (London (1 913]), p. 57.
61 CPT, p. 121.
62 Franz Liszt, F. Chopin, 6th edn (Leipzig 1923), p. 115, translated in C PT, p. 51.
63 Some of the arguments are outlined by Eigeldinger in C PT, p. 121.
64 Ibid., p. 121. See also notes 3 and 14 above.
 chopin 303

Chopin's tempo rubato in context 213

contemporary accounts ofhis playing, that he frequently required a flexible approach

to tempo in common with almost all pianists of his day? Other factors suggest that the
term rubato may mean something else in these three works. In particular, in all the
passages in which Chopin specified rubato, including the three mentioned above, the
configuration of parts could be described as 'treble melody with accompaniment
lower in the texture'. (In all cases, the melody is in single notes, with the exception of
the Rondo Op. 16, where it is doubled, predominandy in sixths.) Moreover, in all these
instances, the melody comprises simple note values: Chopin never applies the term
rubato to passages of decorated melody which use irregular groups of faster notes. In
each case, therefore, at least an element of non-synchronised rubato is almost certainly
intended. Eigeldinger is nevertheless correct to draw attention to the high instance of
the term in genres connected with Polish folk music. Where this is so, it seems likely
that the non-synchronised style of rubato should be combined with that which keeps
the bar-length regular, but stretches certain beats- a possibility suggested by Eigeldinger.
Another important point is raised by Eigeldinger's categorisation of the instances of
the term rubato in Chopin's music: by far the most common use of the term is at the
repetition of a phrase or half-phrase. This suggests that Chopin thought of rubato as
an aspect of ornamentation, according to the principle whereby the repetition of a
melodic phrase is amended in some way. By implication, earlier renderings of the
phrase should be played 'straight', without any such rhythmic distortion.
Finally, do the markings for rubato in the years 1832-6 represent the sum total of
occasions in music from this period on which one or other of the rhythmic effects
described above should be used? This is, of course, impossible to ascertain. Yet the
extent to which Chopin's commentators remarked on the use of rubato in his playing
suggests that it might have been a more widespread feature of his performance than
the markings alone imply. Perhaps these early indications relate to passages where a
particularly extreme form of rubato was intended.

Conclusion
Chopin belonged to an era in which excesses of all sorts were becoming fashionable in
performance, especially in Paris. To a certain extent, he followed this trend, keeping
abreast of the latest developments. As far as rhythm is concerned, it seems that he was
content to modifY the tempo in the middle of a performance for expressive effect, and
in common with most of his contemporaries he notated some of these changes in his
music. Many of his Parisian contemporaries went much further than he did, however:
it is clear from the literature that many pianists developed a style which lingered over
certain notes and upset the regular length of the bar. This tendency persisted into the
later nineteenth century and beyond, and at its most extreme, in the hands of lesser
pianists, it degenerated into performances which to some observers seemed rhyth­
mically chaotic. It was against this trend that Chopin's playing stood out. In particular,
his ability to create an impression of rhythmic flexibility within the framework of a
strict bar-length or beat was a rare quality which prevented his critics from labelling
him rigid or austere, and guaranteed his unique place in the history of performance.
 19

TEMPO AND CHARACTER IN CHOPIN

By THOMAS HIGGINS

F EW symbols in musical notation direct their precise interpreta-

tion. Even a note on a particular line or space represented only
an approximate pitch in the mid-nineteenth century, but earlier
than that composers had a device for the measurement of tempo.
Maelzel's metronome was constructed in 1816, and the instrument
has been in use ever since. Beethoven was the first great composer to
seize on the mechanism, and Hummel wrote in the 1820s that all
composers and performers should have one, that (metronomic)
tempos be printed on all compositions, and that students and schools
should adhere to them. If this takes place, added Hummel, the price
of audible metronomes could be brought within reach of even small-
town musicians of limited means. 1
Chopin placed metronome rates in the autographs of a number
of compositions written before he left Poland in 1830. He continued
to do this for a few years after settling in Paris, but took to the
practice of adding them to the manuscript in pencil. Finally, in
1836, they stop altogether. It is interesting to speculate on Chopin's
experience with the device: both his use and his avoidance of it are
instructive. In the former case he left an exact measure, for on ce and
all , of many particular allegros, prestos, or lentos, and from these
rates we can establish a range of limits that is useful in deducing
allegros, prestos, and lentos of his later works.
Autographs having metronome rates include the Variations in

1 J. N. Hummel, Austü'hrliche theoretisch-practische Anweisung zum Piano-Forte-

Spiel, vom ersten Elementar-Unterrichte an, bis zur vollkommensten Ausbildung (2nd
ed.; Vienna: Tobias Haslinger, 1828), p. 455. This edition is identified as a second
printing, but is in reality a second edition; there is in it additional material not
present in the EngHsh and French translations of the first edition.

106
306 chopin

Tempo and Character in Chopin 107

D for four hands; 2 the Variations on the Swiss Boy;3 the Variations
on "La ci darem Ia mano," Opus 2; the sonata Opus 4; Krakowiak
Grand Concert Rondo in F major for Piano and Orchestra, Opus
14; the Trio for Piano, Violin, and Cello, Opus 8; the Concerto in
F minor, Opus 21; 4 seven of the studies of Opus 10 (Nos. 2, 7, 8, 9,
10, 11, 12); the Nocturne in D-flat, Opus 27, No. 2; Four Mazurkas,
Opus 24; and the studies Opus 25. 5 In Opus 24 and all but No. 2 of
Opus 25 Chopin added the rates in pencil on the otherwise com­
pleted manuscripts. In Opus 25, No. 2, the metronome rate was
written in ink by the copyist. No doubt this is not a complete list:
to mention only one example, early editions of the nocturnes Opus 9
to Opus 27 bear metronome rates, which suggests that at least some
of the autographs of these compositions also bore them. Autographs
still existing from Chopin's early years not having metronome rates
include the very early Polonaise in A-flat (April 23, 1821), dedicated
and presented to Zywny, an early version of the Mazurka in A-flat,
Opus 7, No. 4, presented to Wilhelm Kolberg, the Waltz in A-flat
from the album of Emelia Elsner, the Rondo in C major (original
version for one piano), the Mazurka in B-flat, Opus 7, No. 1, and
the Nocturne inC-sharp minor.
The principal difference between these two groups of autographs
is that those having metronome rates were, except for the very youth­
ful Variations in D for four hands, prepared for a publisher's eye.
The autograph of the work which brought Chopin early fame, the
Variations on "La ci darem la mano," Opus 2, was in fact loaded
with directions beyond the point of redundance by the earnest youth

2 The Variations in D for four hands on a theme by Moore is a very youthful com­
position, evidently not intended for publication. The ten-page autograph (the first
and last pages of the composition are missing) is in the Jagiellonian Library, Cracow.
3 The Variations on the Swiss Boy, thought by Maurice J . E. Brown (Chopin: An
Index of His Works in Chronological Order [London, 1960], p. 12) to have been written
in 1826 and by Krystyna Kobylanska in 1830, was also not given an opus number.
Brown's date is too early for the Cracow autograph. The handwriting of the page
reproduced in Kobylanska's Chopin in His Own Land, trans. Claire Grece-Dabrowski
and Mary Filippi of Chopin w kraju: Documenty i pamiatki (Cracow, 1955) is
definitely post Opus 2.
4 A partial autograph: the piano part is in Chopin's hand; the metronome rates
appear also to be.
5 In the complete manuscript of Opus 25 only Nos. I and 8 are autographs. Nos. 4,
5, 6, and 12 are copies by Fontana, the remainder by another copyist. All of the
copies have autograph elements, having been edited by Chopin. An earlier autograph
of the Study in A minor has the rate of 'I = 120 in ink, but this was changed to
'I = 160 even before Chopin edited Fontana's -later copy of the work.
 chopin 307

lOS The Musical Quarterly

who would risk nothing to a chance misinterpretation. In contrast,

none of the autographs in the latter group was meant for a publisher.
The text of the Mazurka in B-flat, Opus 7, No. 1, shows this auto­
graph to be an earlier version than the one eventually published.
The Rondo is a detailed early autograph. Its first page especially is
packed with symbols, mostly words (sostenuto e legato, ten., rallen.,
a temp., scherz., stacatiss., legatiss.), and on succeeding pages there
are fingerings and pedals. Yet the autograph does not have the hand­
some appearance of a manuscript meant for publication, and, in­
deed, we know that Chopin abandoned this version, immediately re­
casting the material into a piece for two pianos. Chopin always made
quite a distinction between the music he considered publishable and
that which he did not; therefore, the existence of the latter category
of autographs is no proof that Chopin did not consider the metro­
nome rate a necessary detail of instruction on music that was meant
for the public.
The evidence suggests that while Chopin was using the metro­
nome, he used it wherever he could, which was, even in his pre-Paris
days, not quite everywhere. For example, the autograph of the
Waltz in E-flat, Opus 18, written in Vienna in 1831 and later pub­
lished by Schlesinger, has only the word Vivo at its head. The infer­
ence is that the different sections of the waltz would require different
metronome rates, and that Chopin did not wish to be specific about
them. The Waltz in A-flat, Opus 34, written in 1835, likewise carries
only the word Vivace at its head. By then Chopin was nearing the
point of dropping metronome rates from his compositions, yet the
Nocturne in D-flat, written a short time later, has a numbered rate.
If the rates in the first editions of all the earlier nocturnes (having
opus numbers) and in the earlier mazurkas were authorized by
Chopin, as seems likely, one can conclude that Chopin saw radical
differences in the genres of waltz, nocturne, and mazurka that are
often overlooked by performers. Some early mazurkas, notably the
two in A minor in Opus 7 and Opus 17, are frequently begun too
slowly, and in the latter case with different tempos in its various
sections. But at its prescribed rate of J = 152 it remains a dance
and no adjustments of tempo are necessary in the succeeding theme.
In many works one cannot know at what point in the composi­
tional process Chopin decided on a tempo, or when he placed this
instruction on an autograph. But in several others there is evidence
that it was one of the last symbols to be written. In at least one case
(the study Opus lO, No. 2) where the first edition has a metronome
308 chopin

Tempo and Character in Chopin 109

rate, Chopin's corrected proof sheets do not yet include the rate.
Since these are the only proof sheets of Chopin's music to have sur­
vived, one cannot know whether Chopin habitually waited this long
to change a tempo, or to supply one where none existed in the auto­
graph. It is interesting to review through sources the chronology of
the composer's tempos in this piece. The manuscript of November 2,
1830, the day of Chopin's departure from Warsaw, contains no
tempo designations of any kind. An autograph which must be pre­
sumed to have been written later has Vivace Cl 6 = 69. The printed
proof sheet has no indication of tempo, and internal evidence sug­
gests it was prepared from a source earlier than the known autograph
-either the copy of November 2, 1830, or another manuscript, now
lost. The meter is now common time, whereas it had been alia breve
in the earlier sources. On the proofs the composer corrected anum­
ber of pitches and added rests, staccatos, a contour of dynamics, and
very thorough fingerings. At the head he wrote Allegro. It was at
even a later stage that ., = 144 must have been added. Evidently
when Chopin canceled the alla breve he abandoned his earlier num­
bered rate of '1 = 69 (or its equivalent, 'I = 138), deciding he
had to deal afresh with the question of tempo.
A comparison of the sources of the studies Opus 10 is instruc­
tive in the matter of Chopin's tempos and his attitude toward them.
There are fourteen separate manuscript sources for the studies Opus
10: copies of Nos. 1 and 2, without dynamics, fingering, pedal, or
tempo; the above-mentioned autograph of No. 2 in which the meter
is alla breve and the tempo is Vivace 'I = 69; two autographs of
No. 3: the early version,7 Vivace and a detailed autograph, Vivace
ma non troppo; an autograph of No. 4,8 in which meter is alla breve
and tempo is Presto con fuoco; detailed autographs of Nos. 5 through
12: No.5, no tempo; No.6, no tempo; No.7, Vivace .,. = 88; No.8,
alla breve Allegro 'I = 96; No.9, A-llegro Molto Agitato 'I" = 92;
No. 10, Vivace assai 'I"= 80; No. 11, Allegretto 'I = 76; and
No. 12, alla breve Allegro con fuoco '1 = 76.
The highly detailed and very attractive autographs of No. 3 and

6 Chopin's characteristic way of writing a note (stem on the right and descending)
is retained in this paper when autographs are referred to. When printed editions are
cited the note is thus: d
7 Dated August 25, 1832. After the fine in Chopin's later autograph, he wrote
attacca il presto con fuoco. Here then, besides the major-relative minor relationship,
which exists as well in other pairs of studies in Opus 10, there is a firm cohesion.
s Dated August 6, 1832.
 chopin 309

110 The Musical Quarterly

Nos. 5 through 12, no doubt copied from earlier versions (although

only the earlier version of No. 3 has been found), are in certain
respects the most informative and valuable of all Chopin auto­
graphs, filled with precise directions of all kinds: long and short
sforzato wedges in No. 6, varied articulation in No. 10, slurs, pedals,
and fingering throughout, and a great number of words denoting
character of mood or quality of touch. Yet it appears from the
spacing and thickness of strokes that most of the tempo designa­
tions were added to these autographs after they were otherwise
finished. One deduces that Chopin frequently puzzled- one might
say agonized- over tempo and character designations, and many
autographs show decisions that were made and rejected. Unques­
tionably he knew the character of his music, but frequently had to
search for the notational mot juste, and perhaps for a more pre­
cisely felt tempo, so that other players would discern it. In the
studies Opus 10, Nos. 7, 8, and 9, Chopin wrote, or began to write
Presto, then crossed this out in favor of something else which the
player would find more exact or more informative. No. 7 became
Vivacej No. 8, Allegroj No. 9, Allegro molto agitato. No. 12 was
originally Presto con fuoco and this presto was reduced to Allegro
with the con fuoco retained in the heading. All four of these designa­
tions were retained in the first editions, but the metronome rates
accompanying them were adjusted: No. 7, one metronome incre­
ment slower than the autograph; No. 8, two degrees slower (but still
very fast); No. 9, a degree faster, and No. 12 the equivalent of a de­
gree faster (in the first edition the meter was changed from ¢ to C) .
The rates were adjusted in two other studies in this opus as well.
No.2 became C, Allegro, ; = 144, the equivalent of a degree faster,
and No. 10 was lowered one degree to J, = 152. In No. 11, Alle­
gretto J = 76 was retained. Since, except for No. 8, the differences
in metronome rates between the autographs and first editions are
the slightest the device can measure, one can accept either and know
he is close to Chopin's ideas of tempo in these pieces.9
In the otherwise highly detailed autographs of Opus 10, Nos. 3,
9 The tempo and metronome marks are those found in the first German edition
of Kistner in Leipzig, who, according to Ewald Zimmermann, worked in dose coopera­
tion with Schlesinger of Paris, publisher of the first French edition in 18!1!1. Chopin
was reported by Zimmermann and Zofia Lissa to have corrected the proofs of this
Paris edition very carefully (see Chopin, Etilden, ed. Ewald Zimmermann [Munich:
G. Henle, 1961], preface, p. 6) . In the Kistner edition, Opus 10, No. 2, was mis­
takenly rated a quarter-note at 114, but this obvious printing error was corrected to
144 in a later printing.
310 chopin

Tempo and Character in Chopin Ill

5, and 6, there are no metronome rates and, for that matter, no tempo
designations at all in Nos. 5 and 6. The famous "black key" study
has, at its head, Legieriss. et legatiss., and No. 6, con molto espres­
sione. Chopin simply had not made up his mind, yet these studies
may have been all but completed as much as two years earlier than
these autographs were prepared. We have already seen evidence of
Chopin's changes of mind about tempo; rather than write a word
that might be misleading, he would delay. When the rates were
finally added is not known; perhaps even after the correction of
proofs, as in Opus 10, No. 2. Does this not suggest that Chopin
might have preferred to omit metronome rates for these three
pieces, and that their presence in the first editions may be owing to
a variety of possible reasons: a reluctance to change old habits, a
compulsion to make all twelve studies consistent in this respect, per­
haps even at the behest of a publisher? The likeliest reason is
Chopin's sense of responsibility to his purpose. Tempo is of the
essence in a study; if a performer mistakes it, the piece not only
is of less value technically, but loses in character as well. All the
many other directions a composer might take pains to include­
articulation, fingering, and dynamics- have genuine relevance only
at the tempo he has in mind. And if the composer does not tell him,
will the player discern it by himself? (The majority of performances
of these studies proves that not only would he not discern these
tempos by himself, but that even with all the specific help Chopin
has given him he fails to discern it, and all too frequently goes
through great contortions to convince himself that Chopin must
have been wrong.) Chopin must have known he was giving some­
thing new to the world in Opus lO; he would make his meanings as
explicit as possible.
The case of Opus 10, No. 3, is a special one. It is believed to
have been the last of the twelve studies to be composed, and unless
Chopin's attacca il presto con fuoco at the end of the later auto­
graph was only an afterthought, it was planned as a contrasting
study to Opus 10, No. 4, composed earlier in the same month, the
only one which kept its presto. It is the only study in Opus lO which
has a middle section of a contrasting character to the opening and
closing theme. This middle part, beginning in measure 21, is not
static and "classical," but develops some dynamism which culminates
in a con bravura passage (Ex. 1) . There is a foretaste of this con
bravura in the earlier double note passage- the thirds and seconds
in measures 32-33 and 36-37 (Ex. 2) and the wider spaced double
 chopin 311

112 The Musical Quarterly

notes from measure 38 (Ex. 3). In the later autograph Chopin

wrote before the con fuoco in measure 45 the words sempr.[e] piu.
But in the first edition these words were not retained. The con
fuoco leaves no doubt of the changed character in this middle part,
but I believe Chopin finally favored a subito con fuoco, and this
interpretation only makes sense if the whole middle section is
already fast enough, which will happen only if the opening is fast
enough. An eighth-note at 100, which is the designation in the first
French edition, startles today's listener as the piece opens, but seems
natural by the time the piece ends. The tempo of the transition to
the return is always a puzzle to pianists who have begun the piece
adagio in the manner of present-day fashions. It seems logical that it
be taken at the tempo of the ritenuto of the con bravura passage;
in this eight-measure transition no intemperate adjustment will take
place in the return to tempo primo. This composition has become
so familiar that we find it difficult to realize how new this dynamic
style was to Chopin or how different it is from the rest of Opus 10.
One can easily believe that, had he saved the E major Study for a
future opus, there probably would have been no metronome rate in
it at all.
312 chopin

Tempo and Character in Chopin 113

Of the autographs we have, the earlier is marked Vivace, the

later, Vivace ma non troppo. Neither has any indication of change
in measure 21. The first edition reads Lento ma non troppo Jl =
100 ( J = 100, in the first German edition, is an obvious mistake),
and in measure 21, where the middle part begins, poco piu animato.
In my dissertation I theorized that when Chopin wrote Vivace and
Vivace rna non troppo in the autographs he was thinking of his
middle sections, because to my pulse this seemed right at the time.
The change in the first edition to Lento ma non troppo was surely
more descriptive of the beginning of the composition, but the change
was probably only a slight one in Chopin's mind. In the early
mazurkas Vivo ma non troppo and Lento ma non troppo are about
the same. Opus 17, No. 4, in A minor, is Lento ma non troppo, J
= 152. Vivo ma non troppo in Opus 7, No. 2, is only one notch
faster, and, as already mentioned, both are usually played too slowly
today.
Chopin's notation in the Study in E major may not be entirely
complete. Had he prepared another autograph or corrected another
proof, we would perhaps now have an ideal blueprint of his inten­
tions, as we have in the admirable notation of the first two studies
of Opus 25, compositions which Chopin played frequently, having
brought his thoughts to perfection both at the keyboard and at his
desk. But early autograph versions of these two studies are not so
fine: in the A-flat Study one sees that at first the melody was written
in quarter-notes; the F niinor Study was in sixteenth-triplets with
the tempo presto agitato, hardly in keeping with his playing of this
piece that Schumann described: "so charming, dreamy and soft, just
as if a child were singing in his sleep." 10 How could Chopin even at
first append the word agitato to this calm and untroubled music?
Perhaps he was searching for a verbal description of cross rhythm:
agitato in Chopin almost always is found in passages having, as
this one, cross rhythm or syncopation. 11 In noting such examples
one may conclude that the strain Chopin suffered getting his ideas
down was not only in recapturing his melodies and harmonies, but
in finding, often by trial and error, the notation that would leave
the player with no doubt of his meaning. In this respect he tried to

10 ArthurHedley, Chopin (London, 1957), p. 121.

11 Thepreludes in C major, F-sharp minor, and G minor; the nocturnes in C·sharp
minor, Op. 27, No. I, beginning measure 53 and in E major, Op. 62, No. 2, begin·
ning measure 40- these are a few examples.
 chopin 313

114 The Musical Quarterly

give the player everything he could. In the case of descriptive tempo

terms the evidence of many autographs shows that he did not arrive
at his decisions easily or quickly; as for metronome rates, one can
see even more hesitation. But if Chopin, as he matured, was reluc­
tant to supply them, he continued to do so out of conscientiousness;
when he abandoned them, there was probably some regret on his
part that he couldn't continue to provide such specific help for the
player.
As for an assessment of Chopin's metronome rates, let each
pianist decide for himself whether he is surprised by the speeds they
demand. One is struck by the rapidity of some autograph versions:
Opus 10, No. 8; the second variation of Opus 2, "La ci darem la
mano," which has eight notes at 96 arranged in groups of four, a
special articulation for the first tone in each group. Under this very
fast direction, the seventeen-year-old Chopin charmingly wrote
Veloce ma accuratamente. The very difficult Opus 10, No. 10, with
its off-the-beat placing of accents and slurs, and its variety of articula­
tion, has six notes at M. 80. Even if it is played at the one-degree­
less, published tempo of J. = 152, one can see why von Biilow
wrote that it is perhaps the most difficult piece of the entire set: "He
who can play this study in a really finished manner may congratulate
himself on having climbed to the highest point of the pianist's Par­
nassus."12 The penciled metronome rates accompanying Chopin's
lentos in the autographs of two studies in Opus 25 are not really
slow: No. 7, ~· = 66 and the middle part of No. 10, t.j• =
42. As
mentioned before, the autograph evidence of the Andante, Op. 10,
No. 6, is lacking, but the first edition rate of J. = 69 is faster than
one expects. Did Chopin make a mistake here? Was a mistake made
by someone else in the process of publication? Or is the J. = 69
exactly what Chopin wanted? The fact that a number of tempos
seem too fast- the nocturnes Opus 15, No. 3 (first edition), and
Opus 27, No. 2 (autograph and first edition), the studies Opus 10,
Nos. 3 and 6 (first editions)- and that none seem too slow, is
vexing. Either mistakes were made all on the side of excessive speed,
which is unlikely, or else it is additional evidence that Chopin
understood the specific terms of Lento and andante as representing
faster tempos than are generally taken today. This should come as

12 Hedley, Chopin, pp. 121-22, and Chopin, Klavier-Etuden, ed. Hans von Biil<>w,
trans. Constance Bache (Leipzig: Jos. Aibl, n.d.), p. 41.
314 chopin

Tempo and Character in Chopin 115

no great surprise, since changes of concept with respect to tempos

are part of the history of music.
Is it to be thought, then, that Chopin's tempos were revolu­
tionary? Unquestionably, Chopin's music and playing ushered in
a new age of piano virtuosity. His Opus 10 studies were the first
great works in this age, inspired in part by Paganini's ten concerts
in Warsaw between May and July, 1829. On the other hand,
Chopin's earlier music was anything but tame in the matter of
tempos, as the Opus 2 variations, mentioned above, show. Chopin's
understanding of the notational terms he inherited- allegro, an­
dante, etc. -probably reflected his own time, and in some tempos
at least, an earlier generation. One recalls that the word presto was
also not much used by Mozart in keyboard works.
If a few of Chopin's tempos seem too fast for our pulses, the
great majority are entirely credible when combined with the evi­
dence provided by the sound of the Pleyel grand, 13 and an imitation
of the soft and slender tone which marked Chopin's performances.
On some modern instruments- those with broad and heavy timbres
-some of Chopin's left-hand arpeggiated accompaniments cannot
be played at the rates marked without distorting their character. On
a light-sounding instrument, or even an average one, almost all of
Chopin's tempos can be made to sound entirely right at this rate if
the tone is kept soft. In the first published nocturne, Opus 9, No. 1,
in B-flat minor, the word Larghetto is surely appropriate for the
melody in the middle section at this rate, and there need be no
change in basic tempo in moving from the opening through the
middle to the return. The Nocturne inC-sharp minor, Opus 27, No.
I, is marked larghetto J =42 (first edition). Here the melody moves
in a true larghetto pace, but unless the accompaniment can be kept
soft, the whole will seem too fast. The melody in the famous Noc­
turne in F-sharp major, Opus 15, No. 2, another larghetto ; = 40
(first edition), moves ideally at this pace; the middle is marked
doppio movimento, which should be read literally. Chopin had only
to choose a different metronome rate here if he meant otherwise:
witness other middle sections in nocturnes with their tempos de­
fined by metronome rates. 14 This composition's shape is often dis-
IS This subject was explained and demonstrated in my paper and tape, "Chopin
Interpretation and a Pleyel Grand of 1842," presented November 12, 1971, at the
annual meeting of the American Musicological Society in Chapel Hill, North Caro­
lina.
14 Opus 15, No. 1, beginning meas. 25; Opus 27, No. 1, beginning meas. 29.
 chopin 315

116 The Musical Quarterly

torted by virtuosos who, for the sake of a meretricious effect, take

this doppio movimento too fast!
A final word or two on the metronome: first of all, one must
have faith that the composer's metronome was accurate! This is not
meant facetiously: Schumann's metronome possibly did not work
right. 15 Second, in order that precise communication exist between
composer and player, the two must be using the metronome in the
same way. We cannot know how Chopin used the device. One way
of setting a rate is to time the entire composition or section, and
then make the calculations that measure the duration of the single
beat. This method gives the exact average of movement, hesitation,
natural slackenings at the end of phrases, etc., of a particular per­
formance - everything thrown together and averaged out. The re­
sulting rate is useless as a guide to the player who wants only the
composer's measure of the rate of movement when the flow is in
course and fairly constant. No player wants to play faster than the
metronome at the beginning of a poetic phrase so that the instru­
ment can catch up to him at the end of it! It is therefore very doubt­
ful that Chopin, who was an eminently practical musician and a
teacher, calculated his rates by the above method. It would seem
more reasonable to suppose that when the time came to set the
tempo, he simply began to play the piece, and then measured the
basic pulse. If this is the way Chopin used the metronome, then the
player makes a mistake to set the device and try to match its rate
over long stretches. In the B-Aat minor Nocturne, Opus 9, No. 1, the
pick-up measure and the first full measure- nine beats, in other
words- are quite steady, but at the end of the poetic phrase, in
the first half of measure two, one senses a slight slowing down in
the music, just as in the natural reading of a line of poetry. If a
player observes this natural slackening, he will fall behind the
mechanism. In almost all of Chopin's music where he used the
metronome, the basic pulse is felt as steady and constant; this is what
should be measured; on the contrary, phrase endings, natural punc­
tuation, and the charming hesitations that marked Chopin's own
playing- all should be sensibly excepted as beyond the scope of the
metronome.
As for his reasons for giving up the metronome altogether, one

15 Hedley, Chopin, p. 121 , and Schumann, Klavierwerke, Vol. I (Munich: G. Henle,

1959), preface by Otto von lrmer, p . 6. Hedley averred (on what evidence he did not
say) that Chopin's metronome worked reliably.
316 chopin

Tempo and Character in Chopin 117

can only speculate. Earlier in this essay I have suggested a reason

why metronome rates are not present in the waltzes Opus 18 and
Opus 34, at a time when almost all his other published music bore
them. In another place I suggest that the character of much of his
music would undergo a change, and that the middle section of the
Study in E major, Opus 18, No. 3, offers an example of dynamism
that is alien to the idea of a steady beat. For this reason it may be
no accident that the very flexible Nocturne in B major, Opus 32,
No. 1, andante sostenuto, was the first of the published Nocturnes
to have no metronome rate. No artist could play measure 28 any­
thing but slower than measure 27, or 30 anything but slower than
29. To see these measures side by side one recalls Beethoven's in­
junction in the autograph of his song Nord oder Siid: "100 according
to Maelzel -but this must be held applicable only to the first
measures, for feeling also has its tempo and this cannot entirely be
expressed in this figure." 16 In the B major Nocturne the proportion
of change among these measures must remain free to the player or
Art herself is poorer.
On the other side of the question one can see the metronome as
an apt tool for the measurement of much of the later music. How
many of the Preludes spring to mind: the G major, the F-sharp
major, the C-sharp minor, the B-ftat minor, the E-ftat major, the
F major. But Chopin did not leave rates for these with us, and the
omission was consistent with a growing economy in the use of direc­
tions from the beginning of his career to the end.U One can com­
pare the first variation of Opus 2, "La ci darem la mano" with the
long finale of the Sonata in B minor, Opus 58: the former shows a
metronome rate, the words mezza voce, marcato (for the highest
part), sempre legato (for the lower right hand part) and crescendo
-all before measure 2; the latter has hardly any directions at all.
Undoubtedly, in both cases Chopin set down what he deemed
essential at the time, no more, no less. 18

16 Thayer's Life of Beethoven, rev. and ed. Elliot Forbes (2 vols.; Princeton, N . J.,
1967), II, 687-88.
17 See my dissertation, "Chopin Interpretation: A Study of Performance Directions
in Selected Autographs and Other Sources" (University of Iowa, 1966); University
Microfilms #67-2629, pp. 93-96.
18 The original version of this article was a paper read at a meeting of the Midwest
Chapter of the American Musicological Society in Bloomington, Indiana, May, 1971.
The final version was produced with the advice of Professor Edward Lowinsky.
 chopin 317

118 The M usica1 ~uarterly

APPENDIX
A Comparison of Tempos of Autographs and Printed Editions
Work Autograph Editionl9

Variations, "La ci darem Schlesinger, Paris

la mano" for piano Introduzione: Largo Largo J = 63;
with orchestral accom­ "' = 63; poco piu poco piu
paniment, Op. 2 mosso 'I = 80 mosso ; = 80
(I827)
Thema 'I =58 Tema: Allegretto
J =58
Var. I Brillante 'I = 76 Var. I Brillante
Var. II Veloce ma Var. II Veloce
accuratamente ~ = 92
'I = 92
Var. III Sempre soste­ Var. III Sempre sos­
nuto 'I = 63 tenuto J = 63
Var. IV Con bravura Var. IV Con bravura
'I = 92 (pencil) J = 92
Var. V Adagio 1J = 69 Var. V Adagio
; = 69
Alia Polacca 'I = 96 Alia Polacca J = 96
Trio for Piano, Violin, Schlesinger, Paris
and Violoncello, Op. 8 V[ivace?] ~ = 66 Allegro con fuoco
(I828-29) J = 152
Scherzo 'I' = 63 Scherzo, Vivace
d· = 69
Adagio 'I =54 Adagio sostenuto
~ = 63
Allegretto 'I = 96 Finale: Allegretto
J = 104
Twelve Studies, Op. IO Schlesinger, Paris
(I829-32)
No. 1 ......... . (copy) Allegro ~ = 176
No. 2 ......... . (copy) Allegro ~ = 144
Vivace 'I = 69
No. 3 (I) Vivace Lento ma non
(2) Vivace ma non troppo } = I 00
troppo2o
No. 4 .... . ... . . Presto con fuoco Presto con fuoco
J = 88

19 The editions cited are those Chopin taught from and bear many of his penciled
corrections. The list includes only compositions published in Chopin's lifetime of
which autographs or copies still exist.
20 (1) early autograph; (2) later autograph.
318 chopin

Tempo and Character in Chopin 119

Work. Autograph Edition

No. 5 . . . . . . ... Vivace brillante

=
J 116
No. 6 . . . . . .. con molto espressione Andante con molto
espressione J = 69
No. 7 . . . . .. .. Vivace ~· = 88 Vivace J. = 84
No. 8 ... 0 ...
0 0 Allegro '1 = 96 Allegro d = 88
.. . . . . ...
•

No. 9 Allegro molto agitato Allegro molto agitato

,. = 92 J. = 96
No. 10 . .. •• 0.... Vivace assai ~· = 80 Vivace assai J. = 152
No. II .. .. .. ... Allegretto 'I = 76 Allegretto J = 76
No. 12 .. . . . . . . Allegro con fuoco Allegro con fuoco
'I= 76 =
J 160
Krak.owiak., Grand Con­ Schlesinger, Paris
cert Rondo for Piano Introduzione 'I = 92 Introduzione
and Orchestra, Op. 14 Molto animato 'I"= 69 J = 104
(1828) Allegro ~. = 69
Rondo 'I = 116 Rondo J = 104

Second Concerto for Schlesinger, Paris

piano with orchestral Maestoso 'I = 138 Maest[osJo J = 138
accompaniment or Larghetto 'I = 56 Larghetto J = 56
with quintet, Op. 21 Allegro vivace 'I" = 69 Allegro vivace
(1829) J. = 69
Four Mazurkas, Op. 24 Schlesinger, Paris
(1934-35)
No. I ......... . Lento 'I = 108 (pencil) Lento J = 108
No. 2 ......... . Allegro non troppo Allegro non troppo
'I = 19221 (pencil) J = 138
No. 3 Moderato 'I = 126 Moderato con anima
(pencil) J = 126
No. 4 Moderato 'I = 132 Moderato J = 132
(pencil)

Twelve Studies, Op. 25 Schlesinger, Paris

(1832-36)
No. I ......... . (I) no tempo indicated Allegro sostenuto
(2) Allegro sostenuto J = 104
'I = I 04 (pencil)

21 1 = 192 appears in pencil in Chopin's hand in the autograph and I believe it

is the correct tempo. Possibly (a sheer guess) Chopin wished to change Opus 24,
No. 1 from 108 to 138 and the publisher mistakenly changed No. 2 - the wrong
mazurka - to 1!18.
 chopin 319

120 The Musical Quarterly

Work Autograph Edition

No. 2 .......... . (I) Presto agitato Presto J= 112

(2) (copy) Presto
'I = 112
No. S (copy) Allegro Allegro J = 120
.. = 120 (pencil)
No. 4 Agitato 'I = 120 Agitato J = 120
(copy) Agitato 'I = 160
(pencil)
No. 5 ......... . (copy) Vivace 'I = 184 Vivace ~ = 184
piu Iento 'I = 168 piu Iento - = 168
(both pencil)
No. 6 ...... .. (copy) Allegro ti = Allegro d= 69
69 (pencil)
No. 7 .. . . .. ... (copy) Lento ~ = 66 Lento J= 66
(pencil)
No. 8 •••• 0 •••• Vivace q = 69 (pencil) Vivace d = 69
No. 9 ... • 0 •••• (copy) Allegro assai Allegro vivace
.. = 112 (pencil) J = 112
No. 10 .. . . . . .. (copy) Allegro con fuoco Allegro con fuoco
tj = 72; d = 72;
Lento 'I· = 42 (both Lento J. = 42
pencil)
No. II ......... . (copy) Lento; Allegro Lento; Allegro con
con brio Cf = 69 brio cJ = 69
(pencil)
No. 12 ......... . (copy) Allegro molto Allegro molto con
con fuoco 'I = 80 fuoco d = 80
(pencil)
Nocturne in D-fiat, Op. Breitkopf and Haertel,
27, No. 2 (1835) Leipzig22
Lento sostenuto ,. = 50 Lento sostenuto
~.=50
Grand Duo in E on Schlesinger, Paris
themes from Meyer­ lntroduzione: Largo Introduzione
beer's Robert le Vi­ J = 112
able for Piano and Allegretto (Fran­ Allegretto j · = I 00
Violoncello (1832) chomme's hand)
Andante cantabile Andante cantabile
J. = 63
22 According to Brown, op. cit., the German edition came out in May, 18!16, the
Paris edition in July, 1836. I cite this edition because I am certain that the dot was
printed in it. Printers were often careless in the matter of including the dot, yet I
have found no Chopin autograph in which the handwritten note value does not con­
form to the meter.
 20

Some Enigmas of Chopin's

Pedal Indications: What
Do the Sources Tell Us?
SANDRA P. ROSENBLUM

Nineteenth-century comments on Chopin's use of the damper pedal range

from Adolph Kullak's unusual opinion that he "unquestionably uses it
too often" 1 to Saint-Saens's observation that the autograph of the Ballade
Op. 38
shows us with what reserve Chopin used the pedal .... The reason it is frequently indicated
in his works is that he did not wish it to be used when not indicated. To dispense with this
help is no easy matter; for many it would even be impossible, so general has the abuse of
the pedal become. 2

In the twentieth century it has commonly been stated, even by the editors
of the Fryderyk Chopin Complete Works-Paderewski, Bronarski, and
Turczynski-that where Chopin did not notate signs for the damper pedal,
"the pedaling required is very simple, and is therefore self-evident; or, on
the contrary, ... it is so subtle as to be too complicated, if not impossible,
to indicate. " 3 This widely held belief is often interpreted to mean that
Chopin generally intended continuous use of the damper pedal. Very little
present-day playing sounds as if the performers have considered the pos­
sibility that Chopin sometimes desired the contrast of pedaled and unped­
aled sound. This contrast may occur at many dimensions, from part of a
beat to an entire section of a piece.
Although his pedalings are essential to a full realization of his music,
there exist few reliable reports from his contemporaries that give us any­
thing beyond a general poetic notion of how Chopin himself used the
damper pedal. Antoine Fran~ois Marmontel, a brilliant pianist and teacher
who heard Chopin play often from "the first year of his sojourn in Paris,"
is among the more specific. Chopin used the pedals in a "completely
individual" way and with a
322 chopin

42 SANDRA P. ROSENBLUM

... marvelous sensitivity. He often coupled them to obtain a soft, veiled sonority, but more
often still he used them separately for brilliant passages, for sustained harmonies, for low
bass notes, for forceful, dazzling [stridents, ec/atants] chords; or he used the soft pedal alone
for those light murmurings that seem to surround in a transparent vapor the arabesques that ·
adorn the melody and envelop it as delicate lace. The timbre [produced by] the pedals of
Pleyel's pianos has a perfect sonority.... 4

Elsewhere, after remarking on the sensitivity of Chopin's pedaling, Mar­

monte! wrote that "with the majority of modern virtuosos, excessive con­
tinuous use of the pedals is a major short-coming .... " 5 According to
Arthur Hedley, "it was often observed that [Chopin's] foot seemed literally
to vibrate as he rapidly pedaled certain passages." 6
The great importance of color in Romantic music and the role of the
damper pedal in creating that color· for the piano mandate an ·effort to
better understand, insofar as we can, what Chopin meant to convey with the
extraordinary number of pedal indications that he took the trouble to write·
out, sometimes with astonishing precision. Although there was nothing
routine about pedaling for Chopin, his pedal marks have so far not been the
subject of a study that includes critical use of all the available sources. Such
research is very much complicated by the lack of a single Urtext-'-a Fassung
letzter Hand-for many of his compositions. The differences that exist
between his autographs and the corrected copies of his pieces, even be­
tween his duplicate autographs, between the French, German, and English
first editions, and in some cases between the annotations in the copies of
his students, demonstrate Chopin's bent toward improvisatory changes in
performance directions as well as in the notes themselves. This pluralistic
attitude towards his own music precludes the possibility of a single Urtext
for the majority of Chopin's pieces. However, precisely because of these
circumstances, a careful comparative study of the sources ought to yield
more meaningful information than the frequently heard generalizations.
This paper will discuss a few aspects of the pedal indications in two late
works from genres important in Chopin's oeuvre: the Mazurka in A-flat,
Op. 59, No. 2, and the Nocturne in E-flat, Op. 55, No. 2.7
1\vo completed autographs for the Mazurka in A-flat major, Op. 59, No.
2, 8 along with the three first editions, offer some interesting comparisons
and valuable information about Chopin's concepts of pedaling in the latter
years of his life. Autograph 2, the first one completed for this piece, went
to Stern, a new publisher in Berlin. 9 Of the close to a dozen differences in
directions for performance between the autograph and Stern's edition,
three concern pedaling: the engraver overlooked a pair of pedal marks on
the climactic chord at the end of m. 34 and added pedal release signs at the
 chopin 323
SOME ENIGMAS OF CHOPIN'S PEDAL INDICATIONS 43

ends of measures 26 and 80 that Chopin did not notate. Chopin did· not
proofread the German editions of his works.
Chopin's letter of 9 October 1845 from Nohant to Auguste Leo in Paris
directed that the "manuscripts" for Op. 59 be sent to Stern and to the
publisher Wessel in London. 10 Based on a number of changes in the English
edition that look toward the French edition and Aut. 3, and on Chopin's
description of the source that went to Stern as a "manuscript," I believe that
Wessel, too, was sent an autograph, though that one is lost. There are more
changes in the French edition, published by Brandus, successor to M.
Schlesinger in Paris. 11 Finally, Chopin responded to an earlier request from
Mendelssohn for something for his wife's Stammbuch. 12 Generally
Chopin's presentation copies have relatively few performance directions,
but for the Menoelssohns he prepared a carefully written and complete
autograph of this Mazurka (Aut. 3). It is very close to the Brandus edition,
but still there are differences.
Collation of all the pedalings in Aut. 2, the Wessel and Brandus editions,
and Aut. 3 reveals patterns that help to answer some questions and that
raise others-a situation typical of many aspects of Chopin research. Figure
1 shows mm. 1-10 from Aut. 2 (1a), the Wessel edition (1b),l3 and the
Brandus edition (lc). Figure 2, which also includes Aut. 3, has the pedal
indications for mm. 1-8 across the top and on the left side it has the pedal
marks for all the returns of mm. 1-4 (mm. 9-12, 23.;....26, 31-34, 69-72, and
77-80.) As was Chopin's wont, every return is varied to some degree.
The accompaniment for mm. 1-10 is consistently a bass note followed by
two chords enough higher so that the bass note cannot be sustained by the
left hand. The vast majority of pianists today believe that such an accom­
paniment calls for the damper pedal at least for two beats if not for all three
in every measure. However, Figure 2 shows that Chopin consistently omit­
ted pedal in m. 6. Did he mean exactly what he wrote?
Figure 2 also shows that in Aut. 3 Chopin crossed out his (still visible)
pedal indications in m. 3, where no other source has pedaling either. Since
Chopin was writing out this Mazurka probably for the fourth time and
possibly for the fifth (if Brandus also received an autograph), he was most
likely moving along quickly. His crossing out of the pedaling in m. 3 in a
gift copy to a colleague's wife 14 lend.s strong support to the argument that
at least sometimes Chopin wanted this kind of oom-pah-pah accompani­
ment played without the help of the pedal, even when it was surrounded by
similar pedaled measures. The only other pedal mark crossed out in Aut.
3 is in m. 30, where he was also being consistent in not wanting pedal with
this type of accompaniment.
324 chopin
44 SANDRA P. ROSENBLUM

At'tt,...H-.
rJ:1~ Fl :-- · L:
rt'·'~~~1.,
--I .:::---......
. . , '*·E= 1-B" i:ftl±.L]' :::~ -~=·;E:·-=-..r.t~-:?-.~:;:=--==c.=t
. . :;.c~:-:
_.1
... .c:-1-:.::-::- - .......~F-tJ·t'l:-::=.,t _--=.::I::;:,~==~~=~=r

l~\"~:~~~1:l;::1~fi-~1ln:J j ···1~_.-4-i:-t @i·$31::~ff~~~~~}f-~~:~~\t

....[;! .... ·)~----~ ,. .... 'i
~ ..- - - -44-----~~ r" +'~ t- ;., --:j:'rJ f" '

a. Autograph 2 used by Stem. By permission of B. SCHOTI'S SOEHNE, Mainz.

b. Wessel edition (exemplar in The British Library, h.472).

By permission of The British Library, London.

IQ::J:; ~J ,d ! 1; :.;· r-;: I:.::;1ffi

r~. • . ~ •
c. Brandus edition
r.... r..t. r~. 11t'

Figure 1. Three Sources for Chopin's Mazurka in A-flat, Op. 59, No.2, mm. 1-10.

This variation of pedaling for an oom-pah-pah accompaniment was not

new in Chopin's works of the middle 1840s. It had occurred as early as the
Mazurka Op. 7, No.1 (composed ca. 1831) in m. 10, then again in m. 33
of Op. 24, No. 2 (composed in 1833). It appears several times in the A
theme and its repetitions of Op. 24, No. 4, and then not infrequently in the
successive groups of mazurkas. 15
Figure 3a shows mm. 13-20, with an oom-pah-pah accompaniment, as
they appear in the Wessel edition with all measures pedaled. Here among
four sources the pedal indications are inconsistent in two measures. Mea­
sures 16 and 18 lack pedal in Aut. 2 and in the Brandus edition, but have
pedal marks in the Wessel edition an" in Aut. 3. Curiously, the first pedal
mark of the very few in Aut. 1 was entered in m. 16 and then crossed out.
Clearly Chopin vacillated about the sound of that motive from the start.
Yet, when the material of mm. 13-20 returns in a more climactic presen­
tation at min. 35-42, he never entered pedal in any source for mm. 38 and
40 (Fig. 3b), which are the equivalent of mm. 16 and 18. 16
 chopin 325
SOME ENIGMAS OF CHOPIN'S PEDAL INDICATIONS 45

II IZ.

IA""Reefisel q, 7'1- 75 .,
A~~ ~--~~~-.~~--1-~
and
'vi~ puntal

Figure 2. Mazurka Op. 59, No. 2. Pedaling of Selected Measures in Four Sources.
326 chopin
46 SANDRA P. ROSENBLUM

Pod: * l'rd: *. Pod: * P..d: *M: *11-d: *N: !if N: *

a. mm. 13-20

b. mm. 37... 40

Figure 3. Mazurka Op. 59, No.2, Wessel edition.

By permission of The British Library, London.

On the other hand, among the four sources there are three different
right-hand slurrings for mm. 38 and 40, which might indicate a search for
articulation that is effective with the combination of the lack of pedal and
the changed right-hand texture. Of the three, the Wessel slurring allows the
greatest articulative color and-incidentally-is the most convenient to
playP
Should the unpedaled accompaniment in such measures be played with
a different touch than is used in the surrounding pedaled measures? Since
Chopin left no directions for touch for the left hand in any of those
measures in this Mazurka, an answer can only be based on the timbre of.
the instrument at hand-contemporary or modern-on some idea of the
kinds of movements and steps in the mazurka, on the tempo chosen, on the
size and acoustics of the room, and on our own musical imagination and
taste. On many modern instruments and sometimes on those contemporary
to Chopin, this type of accompaniment pattern without pedal will sound
more interesting with a distinctly detached touch on the bass note and
sometimes on the chords, too, depending on what is happening in the right
hand.
. The next three returns of mm. 1-4 raise other questions about pedaling
that recur frequently in Chopin's music. On the left side of Figure 2 there
are pedal signs in mm. 9 and 10 only in Aut. 2; in the other sources only
in m. 9. In mm. 23-26 Aut. 2 has the only pedal sign after m. 23. In mm.
31-34 the first three sources have pedaling-albeit slightly different-in the
 chopin 327
SOME ENIGMAS OF CHOPIN'S PEDAL INDICATIONS 47

first and last measures, while the Brandus edition has pedaling in the first
two measures. The lone sign in the next measure may have been meant for
the last measure but was perhaps placed prematurely by the engraver.
Figure 4 shows mm. 1-4 and all of its varied reappearances as they are
in the Brandus edition. Did Chopin expect that a pianist would follow these
pedal indications literally, leaving two or even three measures without
pedal? Were the pedal signs in the first measure of each return a suggestion
to pedal as he had shown us in mm. 1-4? Or"was he leaving the pedaling
to the pianist's discretion? Mm. 23-26 and 31-34 have a thicker texture
than the earlier measures, with bass octaves on the first beat of each
measure and an alto part that moves as a duet with the melody. 18 For the
most climactic statement, in mm. 77-80, just prior to the coda, Chopin
notated pedal throughout to ensure the fullest sound. Perhaps he did not
want earlier statements fully pedaled, allowing for a gradual metamorphosis
of the tone color coincident with changes in texture and dynamics.
Before addressing this dilemma it is important to consider the Pleyel
grand pianos for which Chopin had a strong predilection when he lived
in Paris. Understanding these instruments is critical to understanding the
performance of his music. In addition to a number of other nineteenth­
century pianos, including Erards (rival to the house of Pleyel), I have
played two Pleyels of the 1840s: the piano that was in Chopin's possession
from about 1848 to his death, now housed in the Towarzystwo im. Fry­
deryka Chopina in Warsaw; and an instrument probably built in early 1845,
now in the collection of Edmund M. Frederick of Ashburnham, Massa­
chusetts. For reasons of size, materials used, and construction, Pleyel's
instruments have a lighter (although easily controllable) action and a less
powerful sound than the contemporary Erards. But Pleyels produce a more
lyrical tone that is malleable .and responsive to subtle variations in touch­
aided by that builder's loyalty to a single escapement action. Erard's
instruments, which represent a different aesthetic, speak aggressively with
their own full sound. 19
Like others of the first half of the nineteenth century, Pleyel's grands
produced tones rich in harmonics, with changes in timbre among the
registers. In the two instruments I know, the sound is transparent and bright
in the upper half of the keyboard, rich but still clear in the lower half.
The bottom 'octave sounds robust, the next two octaves to middle C are rich
and warm, the two octaves above middle Care more penetrating, and from
approximately c3 to the top the sound becomes silvery. The quality of the
top register is brought about both by the needle-like shape of the wooden
hammer core in the treble, which emphasizes the upper partials, and by the
328 chopin
48 SANDRA P. ROSENBLUM

-
All··on-t•n • ..-------------..:..~
+
t-7' L,,
- t==z,·· -

{
I" l I

dn1,,..
~ ~ ~
..,. ~ l::l:
I
~~
~;p~
+
.
..... l
rnt.
a. mm. 1-4

t ....
b. mm. 9-12

c. mm. 23-26

ci. mm. 31-34

Figure 4. Mazurka Op. 59, No.2, Brandus edition.

 chopin 329
SOME ENIGMAS OF CHOPIN'S PEDAL INDICATIONS 49

Figure 4. continued

change of the striking point from a ninth at c3 to beyond a thirteenth at g4.20

Modem instruments produce sound with more fundamental and far fewer
harmonics, and have a homogenous tone quality throughout the registers
but with a thick, less well-defined bass. Finally, the light dampers on the
Pleyels leave a slight after-sound that does not exist on twentieth-century
pianos. The characteristics of Pfeyel's instruments support Chopin's ped­
alings.21
To return to our question: how are we to understand the varying pedal
indications for the returns of mm. 1-4? I regard the indications in mm. 9
and 23 (Figs. 4b and 4c) as reminders to pedal as above or·, considering
Chopin's pluralistic approach, perhaps something like the above. Similar
reminders appear elsewhere, as early as the Mazurka Op ..6, No. 1, m. 9
(composed in 1832, according to Chominski and Turlo), although more
often there is no reminder. The pedaling notated in Fig. 4a, mm. 1-4, works
for Figs. 4b and 4c on the Pleyels that I have played.
On a Pleyel the clarity and color of the tone and the after-sound give life
to these measures, but on a modem piano, with its rather muddy, colorless
bass, leaving the octaves in Figs. 4c and 4d unpedaled sounds awkward and
flat to me when there are no additional notes between the beats. Therefore,
in my translation of this Mazurka to a modern piano I leave m. 24 unped­
aled since it has eighth notes in the right hand, but add some half pedal
330 chopin
50 SANDRA P. ROSENBLUM

just for the octaves in mm. 25 and 26. Since the pedal sign in m. 33 of the
Brandus edition may have been meant for m. 34, where all the other
versions have pedal for a climax before the quiet B. section, I pedal m. 34
but also add half pedal to the octave in m. 33.
The last two returns of this phrase have their own special sounds and
pedaling. Measures 69-72 have a new keyboard setting with the melody in
the tenor and a light accompaniment above. The only pedal indicated, in
m. 69, seems to emphasize the relationship of the pivotal left-hand fifth on
beat 1 to the following phrase by cloaking the whole measure in pedaled
sound. For the most climatic statement, just prior to tl;le coda in mm. 77-80,
there is pedal throughout.
It is also interesting to notice the ways in which Chopin changed his mind
about the dynamics and pedalings in mm. 31 and 77 (Fig. 2). Those
measures begin climactic sections and are virtually the same but for the
"stamping" sixteenths in m. 77. In Aut. 2 the placement of ff in m. 31 is
somewhat ambiguous (Fig. 5). Since Chopin tended to put performance
indications slightly ahead of the notes to which they refer, since there is no
space for the ff closer to the chord on beat 2, and since that second beat
is emphasized by its context, I read the ff as being on beat 2, which is where
the engraver for the Stern edition put it. The. fresh pedal and the change
in register of the chord also add tq the accentuation of that beat. In Aut.
3 the ffin m. 31 is clearly on beat 1, along with a pedal that lasts through
the measure (Fig. 2). Thus Chopin diminished somewhat the emphasis on
beat 2 and made a stronger connection of the chord on beat 1 to the coming
phrase.
In m. 77 the ff is on beat 1 in all sources but the Stern edition, which is
the editor's misreading; yet only in Aut. 3 and the Brandus edition did
Chopin support that emphasis with pedaling on the first beat. In Aut. 2
he had notated pedaling on beat 1 but then crossed it out. Perhaps with
the varied pedalings in mm. 31 and 77 Chopin was hearing subtly altered
relationships of the chord on beat 1 to the preceding and following phrases.
In this consideration of the pedaling in Op. 59, No.2 the existence of two
completed autographs has given us some crucial information from the
composer's hand. It is not common to have two such autographs for a single
work from nineteenth-century composers. However, when Julian Fontana
left France for the United States in 1841, Chopin was left without a regular
copyist. As a result there are several late works for which he himself made
the manuscripts necessary for simultaneous publication in more than one
country. From the work that I have begun, it seems that a close reading of
all aspects of these non-identical "twin autographs" will provide us with
 chopin 331
SOME ENIGMAS OF CHOPIN'S PEDAL INDICATIONS 51

Figure 5. ·Mazurka Op. 59, No. 2, m. 31, Autograph 2.

By permission of B. SCHOTI'S SOEHNE, Mainz.

better information about Chopin's attitudes toward composition, perfor­

mance directions, and the performance of his music.

***
Although there is only one extant autograph for the Nocturne Op. 55,
No. 2, the nature of the piece and its detailed pedal indications make it an
unsurpassed example of the sophistication of Chopin's pedaling in general
and particularly of his use of subtly spaced pedaled and unpedaled sonor­
ities. Composed in 1843, Op. 55, No.2 is unique among Chopin's nocturnes
for the combination of an almost seamless melody in some of its sections,
a high degree of contrapuntal interest often within a relatively thin texture,,
and a bass line of broad range and distinctive melodic qualities, as shown
in Figures 6 and 7. (Its predecessors in development of this bass-line type
are the Nocturnes Op. 27, No. 1 and 37, No. 2, with more than a hint as
far back as the Nocturne in E minor, composed in 1827 but published
posthumously as Op. 72, No. 1.) In Op. 55, No. 2 the bass sometimes
approaches or mingles with the intermittent alto counterpoint (mm. 9-12
and 35-38) or even with the right-hand melody. The unusually meticulous
pedal indications keep the bass line clear, keep the texture clear when the
parts are close, prevent the sound from becoming too full in delicate places,
and avoid certain combinations of dissonance while creating other colors.
The three appearances of the first four measures of the A theme are
shown in Figure 6. In mm. 1-2 (Fig. 6a) the three-octave range of the first
bass arch lends it immediate registral coloring on a Pleyel. The fresh pedal
on the penultimate eighth note of m. 1 avoids mixing A-flat, C, and B-flat
and lightens the sound to bring out the color of the seventh at the peak of
the arch. At the end of m. 2 the bass seventh is left bare at the top of its
arch, an event that will echo back further on. The pedaling in m. 3 changes
 332
U1
N

CJ)
)>
z
c
:rJ
)>
:iJ
:rJ
0
CJ)
m
z
OJ
r
c
s:
chopin

Figure 6. Chopin, Nocturne in E-flat, Op. 55, No. 2, Autograph. By permission of Bibloteka Narodowa, Warsaw.
 chopin 333
SOME ENIGMAS OF CHOPIN'S PEDAL INDICATIONS 53

with the harmonies in the "usual" way. In m. 4 under beat 4 Chopin crossed
out his original pedal sign (still visible under the ink in the autograph),
changing the color of the unexpected secondary-dominant chord and the
ninth in the bass that start the consequent phrase. Here a pianist can
prolong the bass C through the beat with the finger.
After the four-measure consequent group, the opening four measures
appear in varied form (Fig. 6b) with an intermittent alto voice and a largely
different bass that nevertheless roams widely and contains the same promi­
nent sevenths at the ends of mm. 9 and 10. There is even greater motivation
to remove the pedal for these sevenths to keep the now three voices clear,
especially since the top note of each seventh crosses the alto. In m. 11
Chopin shuns pedal again where the alto voice enters in sixteenth notes,
probably because of the proximity of alto and bass with their stepwise
motion; but he pedals the last two eighth notes where the skip in the bass
is ·now an octave. Finally, in m. 12 he removes the pedal before the bass
peaks at the end of beat 2, perhaps both to avoid having theE-flat, D, and
F of the left hand in one pedal and to keep the texture clear. 22
Changes in pedaling between mm. 9-12 and 35-38 (Fig. 6c), the second
variation and last appearance of mm. 1-4, relate to differences in the part
writing and to desire for variety of color. Especially interesting is the
comparison between the initial B-flats in mm. 12 and 38. The lower B-ftat,
followed by the octave and fifth of the harmonic series in m. 38, increases
the amount of stepwise activity and dissonance in the alto that can be
absorbed comfortably into the pedal that lasts through two beats.
The three appearances of the first six measures of the B theme in this
Nocturne (Fig. 7) contain additional sensitive issues of pedaling. Exami­
nation of the actual autograph reveals that the indication crossed out at the
start of m. 13 had been a sign for a fresh pedal. By choosing to continue
the previous pedal to the D-natural, Chopin linked the end of the A section
with the beginning of the B section by pedaled sound, as he had done
frequently in earlier works. The new pedal in m. 13 starts promptly at the
end of beat 1 in order to catch the root of the chord, and is released on or
just after the start of beat 4, leaving a short unpedaled space. This cross­
metric pedaling colors the measure in an unexpected way. It also provides
a more mellifluous sound by starting with the chord root in the bass rather
than G, which would form a tritone with. the melodic D-flat, immediately
followed by a bass D-natural and then a half step.
The pedaling form. 14, beat 3, m. 15, beat 3, and .m. 16, beats 1 and 3
is similar to that in m. 13: the pedal starts at the end of the beat to avoid
the D-natural to E-flat and the E-natural to F half steps, and in all but
 334
~

(/)
)>
z
0
~
:-o
::0
0
(/)
m
z
[1]
r­
c
s:
chopin

Figure 7. Nocturne Op. 55, No.2, Autograph. By permission of Biblioteka Narodowa, Warsaw.
 chopin 335
SOME ENIGMAS OF CHOPIN'S PEDAL INDICATIONS 55

m. 16, beat 1, pedal begins with the chord root. Omitting the lowest bass
note from the collected sound deemphasizes that note and lightens the
sound. But 'in mm. 17 and 18, where the stepwise upward movement ofthe
bass on the strong beats creates tension against the repeated A-fiat in the
melody, Chopin's pedaling brings out the bass notes by starting on them
and retaining them in a congenial bass line.
The two varied returns of B (Figs. 7b and 7c) share the same bass-a
different one from that of its first appearance-the same melody, and
substantially the same pedaling. 23 But both of these returns enter unped­
aled for two measures (a little less at mm. 47-48). Pedal is added to ground
the temporary tonics in mm. 41 and 49, and then there is again an extended
space without pedal. Why are there entire measures here without pedaling
in a fairly thin texture where the left hand must release the bass note to
reach the top of the line? What is new in the bass in mm. 39 and 40 is the
pattern D-natural, E-fiat, F, E-fiat, which Chopin apparently did not want
to sound in one pedal. Nor did he want the E-natural, F, G-natural, Fin
mm. 41 and 42 pedaled. These patterns are extensions of the D-natural to
E-fiat and the E-natural to Fin the bass of mm. 13-16, the first presentation
of the B theme, where Chopin specifically avoided mixing each half-step
combination in the pedal in the octave below middle C. Are these com­
binations of notes those for which the pedaling would have been too subtle
to notate? Did Chopin not want pedal, or again, did he leave the decision
to the pianist? ·
Interestingly, analogous situations occur in the Largo of the Sonata in B
minor, Op. 58, and in the Barcarolle Op. 60, works composed one and two
years after the Nocturne respectively. In the Barcarolle Chopin carefully
suspended pedaling during the stepwise part of the rocking accompaniment
(Fig. 8). In the Largo of the Sonata, at m. 39, he deliberately avoided
mixing g-sharp, a-sharp,and b just below middle C in one pedal, and also
e1 and d 1-sharp, perhaps to point out the beautiful shape of the line there
and also because the single-line writing has no harmonic foundation to
absorb the dissonance. The same or similar patterns of steps and half-steps
appear unpedaled in mm. 37, 53, 55, and elsewhere through this middle
section of the movement. ·
There are several solutions for performers who find the sound of the
Nocturne too bare in mm. 39-42 and 47-50 as Chopin notated them. One
is to hold the bottom G in m. 39 with the fifth finger while playing the next
four notes; then hold E-fiat while playing the D-flat. This might be com­
bined with a touch of pedal on the top note to avoid a hole between it and
the following bass note. Or we can use a pedaling similar in principal to that
336 chopin
56 SANDRA P. ROSENBLUM

Figure 8. Chopin, Barcarolle Op. 60, mm. 4-5. Autograph in The British Library
(Zweig 27). By permission of The British Library, London.

in the Barcarolle. In m. 39 depress the pedal on the low G, release it on

D-natural, then pedal from the secondE-flat or the D-flat across the beat
to either G or D-natural.
Of special interest in mm. 43,44, 51, and 52 is Chopin's treatment of the
measure-long arches that reappear here from the very beginning of the
Nocturne (Fig. 6a). He echos the unpedaled seventh at the peak of its arch
in m. 2 by leaving several notes at the peak of each expressive arch here
unpedaled, highlighting it- one could say-with a white light as it emerges
from and descends again into the more softly diffused colors of the pedaled
surround.
How close to the pedaling in this autograph is the pedaling of the three
first editions? The autograph went to Breitkopf & Hartel, whose engraver
overlooked the pedal signs in five measures, misread those in three, and in
some measures tended to square-off the pedaling-that is, to put the pedal
signs where the beats start and the release signs at the ends of beats, as in
mm. 1-2 (Fig. 9a), 35, and 37. These kinds of carelessness dilute somewhat
the subtlety of Chopin's intentions.
In the edition by Brandus, made from a source now lost (either another
autograph or a copy by a friend), the pedaling was occasionally simplified.
Since Chopin sometimes proofread the French editions of his works, these
changes could also have been made at that stage. Measure 1 has just one
pedal encompassing beats 3 and 4 instead of two (Fig. 9b) and mm. 5, 7,
33 and 34 each lost one pedal of short duration, to no great disadvantage.
Measures 9-12 are pedaled exactly as in the autograph, but m. 35- marked
ff and with more notes in the upper parts (Fig. 6c), contains only two pedals
in the French edition, each including two full beats. In m. 36 two shorter
pedals in the autograph are also extended to include two full beats. If the
indications in mm. 35 and 36 are Chopin's, those combining beats 3 and 4
exemplify his more daring use of pedaled sound. They require sensitive
playing with some adjustment on modern instruments. 2 -l
There was no simplification of pedal marks in the Wessel edition, for
which the primary source is also lacking. However, comparison with the
 chopin 337
SOME ENIGMAS OF CHOPIN'S PEDAL INDICATIONS 57

a. Breitkopf & Hartel edition, mm. 1-2. By permission of the Library

of Congress, Washington, D.C., Music Division

Figure 9. Nocturne Op. 55, No. 2.

sources already discussed reveals enough differences in placement of ped­

aling and in other performance directions to suggest that this edition was
also based on an independent source very close to the extant autograph
rather than on a proof sheet of another edition. In spite of the divergences
between the three editions and the extant autograph, the most important
features and the essence of Chopin's original pedalings remain clear. Yet
those in the autograph are the most subtle.
No doubt, Chopin's delicate pedaling played into his kaleidoscopic pal­
ette of colors that his contemporaries tried to describe. According to A. J.
Hipkins, who knew Chopin's playing only in England near the end of his
life,
Chopin never played a piece the same way twice .... his forte was relative, not absolute;
it was based upon his exquisite pianos and pianissimos-always a waving line, crescendo and
diminuendo .. His playing could be compared to the delicate tints seen in mother of pearL 25
And Fer~inand Hiller, a prominent pianist and musician, wrote to a friend:
Nobody before had ... known how to release such countless sonorities from [a grand piano]
.... In his hands [embellishment] became a colorful wreath of fiowers. 26
338 chopin
58 SANDRA P. ROSENBLUM

Thus it would seem that a better understanding of Chopin's purposes for

his pedal indications might induce today's pianists to introduce more colors,
some perhaps new and different, into performances of his music. Recent
editions by Jan Ekier and the Etudes edited by Paul Badura-Skoda offer
carefully selected and presented texts. 27 For the more curious, a number of
Chopin's autographs, including those of the Ballades' in F major and A-flat
major, Opp. 38 and 47, Barcarolle, Etude in C minor, Op. 10, No. 12,
Mazurkas Op. 24, Nocturnes Op. 48, Polonaise-Fantaisie Op. 61, Preludes.
Op. 28, Scherzi in B-flat minor and E major, Opp. 31 and 54, and the
Sonata in B minor, Op. 58,' among others, have been published in facsimile.
Many are no longer available· for purchase but can be consulted in a music
library. However, the Etude in E major, Op. 10, No. 3,.the Nocturne in
F ~inor, Op. 55, No. 1, and the Prelude in D-flat major, Op. 28, No. 15
are available singly from Schott!Universal in fine editions with handsome
facsimiles.
We may not observe every notated sign for pedaling (Chopin often
changed his), but our knowledge and general use of this historical infor­
mation can inspire fresh and sensitive performances with a new point of
view.

NOTES

A condensed version of this paper was read at the Conference in Honor of Owen Jander
on May 31, 1993 at Wellesley College. The research was supported by a Fellowship from the
American Council of Learned Societies.
1. Adolph Kullak, The Aesthetics of Pianoforte Playing, trans. Theodore Baker from the
third German edition of Aesthetik des Klavierspiels (1st ed., 1861), rev. and ed. Hans
Bischoff (New York: G. Schirmer, 1903), 307.
2. Camille Saint-Saens, "A Chopin Manuscript," Outspoken Essays on Music, trans. Fred
Rothwell (London: Kegan Paul, Trench, Trubner, 1922), 105. Saint-Saens owned the
autograph of that Bailade, which he gave to the Paris Conservatoire.
3. Fryderyk Chopin Complete Works, ed. I. J. Paderewski, L. Bronarski, J. Turczynski
(Warsaw: Fryderyk Chopin Institute, 1949-1961), "The Character of the Present
Edition," which follows the music in the back of every volume.
4. Antoine Fran~ois Marmon tel, Histoire du piano et de ses origines (Paris: Heugel, 1885),
254, 256-257.
5. Antoine Fran~ois Marmontel, Les Pianistes celebres (Paris: Heugel, 1878), 4.
6. Arthur Hedley, Chopin, 3rd ed., rev. Maurice Brown (London: Dent, 1974), 123,
7. As context for this study the reader might wish to refer to my article, "Pedaling the
Piano: a Brief Survey from the Eighteenth Century to the Present," in Perfonnance
Practice Review, 612 (Fall 1993): 158-178.
8. The sketches and Autograph 1, which has few indications for performance and was not
used for publication, are not relevant to this discussion. Krystyna Kobylanska's Fre­
deric Chopin: Themdtisch-Bibliographisches Werkverzeichnis (Munich: Henle, 1979)
 chopin 339
SOME ENIGMAS OF CHOPIN'S PEDAL INDICATIONS 59

'offers the most complete information on the sources for this Mazurka. The numbering
of the autographs here (1, 2, 3) corresponds to her listhig by letter. Autograph 1
contains two parts, a sketchlike draft and the first written version of the entire piece
with many corrections and incomplete directions for performance.
9. See Chopin's letter to his family of 18-20 July 1845 in Korespondencja Fryderyka
Chopina, ed. Bronislaw Edward Sydow, 2 vols. (Warsaw: Paristwowy Instytut Wy­
dawniezy, 1955), 2:137; for an English translation see Selected Correspondence of
Fryderyk Chopin, trans. and ed. Arthur Hedley (London: Heinemann, 1962), 249.
10. Correspondance de Frederic Chopin, collected, trans., and ed. by Bronislaw Edouard
Sydow with S. and D. Chainaye and Irene Sydow, 3 vols. (Paris: Richard-Masse,
[1953-1960]), 3:219. Both French and Polish collections of correspondence were used
here, so that letters were consulted in their original language.
11. The sale of the Schlesinger firm to Brandus was officially concluded on 14 January 1846
(Aniek Devries and Fran~ois Lesure, Dictionnaire des editeurs de musique franr;ais, vol.
2 [Geneva: Minkoff, 1988], 72). The Mazurkas Op. 59 had already been engraved with
the plate number M.S.4292. Before their publication in April 1846, the title page was
changed to read "SCHLESINGER, BRAND US e{C!E Successeurs" and only that plate
number was altered to B. et C!E 4292.
12. See Mendelssohn's letter of 3 November 1844 from Berlin and Chopin's response to
Mendelssohn of 8 October 1845 in Correspondance de Frederic Chopin, 3:177-178,
218-219.
13. Where measures from two staves have been joined for the figures, as in Fig. 1b between
mm. 6 and 7, the shape of the slur may be affected.
14. Chopin knew that Mendelssohn would play this piece, for in his letter of request
Mendelssohn wrote " ... whenever I wish to give my wife great pleasure I must play
music for her, and yours are her favorite pieces" (Correspondance, 3:177).
15. Sources for these references and for others not specifically identified are either extant
autographs or first French editions, or both. Date of composition for Op. 24 is from
J6zef Michal Chominski and Teresa Dalila Turlo, Katalog Dziel Fryderyka Chopina
(Krak6w: Polskie Wydawnictwo Muzyczne, 1990), 116. Kobylanska gives the date as
1834-35 in her Chopin Werkverzeichnis (n. 8 above).
One or occasionally two measures of unpedaled oom-pah-pah accompaniment occur
less often in Chopin's waltzes (e.g., Op. 34, No. 1, mm. 128-129; Op. 64, No.2, m.
22; Op. 64, No.3, m. 72). However, in the waltzes and the mazurkas Chopin also used
many other textures with short bursts of unpedaled sound to achieve contrast in timbre.
16. Interestingly, it is in just the measures discussed so far, in which Chopin seems not to
have wanted pedaling, that Karl Klindworth chose to "complete" the pedal marks in
his edition of the Mazurkas published by Bote & Bock in 1880. He did this in other
pieces too, even adding indications in larger blocks of measures (e.g., Ballade Op. 23,
mm. 146-150, 198-205, and 224-233). Many other editors of the late nineteenth and
early twentieth centuries, including Arthur Friedheim, James Huneker, and Rafael
Joseffy, to name just three, also sprinkled additional pedal indications (or otherwise
altered Chopin's pedaling) in their editions of his music.
17. In all the other sources both with and without pedal in mm. 16 and 18, instead of a
single slur over those measures there are two, with the break falling between beats 2
and 3.
In Autographs 2 and 3 there is one slur from m. 37 beat 2 to m. 38 beat 2, and the
same between mm. 39-40. The legato is pianistically awkward in 37-38 and impossible
for any but quite a large hand in m. 40. In the Brandus edition a new slur contains beats
1 and 2 in m. 38; the slur in m. 39 continues to the first eighth note in m. 40. This also
plays easily.
340 chopin
60 SANDRA P. ROSENBLUM

18. One might imagine that the Ped. in m. 33 here was added as a connective between the
slurs, something that Chopin did frequently. Yet, in Aut. 3, the only other source in
which the slur over m. 33 is divided, there is no pedaling. The lack of pedal in m. 34
of the Brandus edition is also odd.
19. Erard's instruments are quite different in many respects, the"best known of which may
be the double-escapement action. This has an additional lever that provides faster note
repetition, a lighter action, and more power~ but allows less direct connection between
the player and the actual production of the sound. Only after I had played pianos of
both makes could I understand Chopin's often quoted statement:
When I am indisposed I play only on a piano of Erard and there I easily find a
sound already made; but when I [feel] full of spirit and strong enough to find my
own individual sound, I need a Pleyel piano (Henri Blaze de Bury, Musiciens
contemporains [Paris: Levy freres, 1856], 118).
Antoine Fran~ois Marmontel reported a longer version of that statement in Histoire du
piano (Paris: Heugel, 1885}, 256. An earlier comparison of Erards and Pleyels that
makes a similar point in more objective terms appeared in the periodical Le Pianiste,
July 1834 (No. 9}, 130, signed only L. D.
20. Robert Winter, "The 19th Century: Keyboards," in Performance Practice: Music after
1600, ed. Howard Mayer Brown and Stanley Sadie (New York: Norton, 1990), 359. See
also Robert Winter's pathbreaking study of the importance of striking points in the
development of pianos and piano music, "Striking It Rich: The Significance of Striking
Points in the Evolution of the Romantic Piano," Journal of Musicology, 613 (Summer
1988): 267-292.
21. In his book, L'Art de accorder soi-meme son piano (Paris: Meissonnier, 1836; facs.,
Geneva: Minkoff. 1976), contemporary technician Claude Montal provided some
details that further define Pleyel's instruments of the mid-1830s and explain their
attraction for Chopin. According to Montal. Pleyel introduced laminated soundboards
sometime around 1830.
. . . the sound ... acquired a special satisfying quality-the upper [register] be­
coming bright and silvery." the middle penetrating and intense, the bass clear and
vigorous .... By modifying the English mechanism with a well put together lever­
age system. M. Pleyel has succeeded in overcoming the stiffness of the keyboard,
giving it an ease. an evenn<:ss, and a speed in the repetition of notes that both artists
and makers had thought impossible .... the striking of the hammers has been
designed to give a sound that is pure, clear. even. and intense; the carefully made
hammers. very hard in the center then covered again with a soft, elastic skin,
produce-when one plays piano-a sweet and velvety sound that gradually increases
in brightness and volume as one applies [more] pressure on the keyboard ... (pp.
230-31. 223).
22. In the Scherzo Op. 54. composed approximately a year before this Nocturne. Chopin
showed his interest in clarity of part-writing by removing the pedal precisely in mm.
250-251 so that the dotted half notes. which represent a new voice in the bass, would
be the only notes to sound throughout the measures.
23. The pedal release sign lacking in m. 49 was added in the Wessel edition at the end of
beat 2. as it is in m. 41. There are no pedal signs in m. 49 in the Schlesinger and
Breitkopf & Hartel editions.
24. There are entries by Chopin in the copies of the Schlesinger edition of this Nocturne
owned by his students Camille Dubois and Jane Stirling. but there are·no changes in
the pedaling.
Two great twentieth-century interpreters of Chopin's music. Ignaz·Friedman and
Alfred Cortot. realized these measures very differently. Recording in 1936 (now
available on Opal CD 9839). Friedman began m. 35 with a full sound but made a
 chopin 341
SOME ENIGMAS OF CHOPIN'S PEDAL INDICATIONS 61

striking diminuendo in beats 2 and 3 that allowed him to bring out the alto delicately
in each measure over a quiet left-hand. There may have been three pedal changes in
each measure. In a 1947 recording (now on a CD by EMI, CZS 7673592), Cortot kept
the dynamic level full throughout and emphasized the alto sixteenths. He probably used
Chopin's two pedals (only partially depressed) in m. 35, but added an extra change and
some flutter in m. 36. In this performance those measures sound considerably more
dissonant than in Friedman's rendition.
25. Edith J. Hipkins, How Chopin Played. From Contemporary Impressions Collected from
the Diaries and Notebooks of the Late A. J. Hipkins (London: Dent, 1937), 10, 6-7.
26. Jean-Jacques Eigeldinger, Chopin: Pianist and Teacher as Seen by his Pupils, trans. N.
Shohet with K. Osostowicz and R. Howat (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press,
1986), 270.
27. Those editions are published by Schott!Universal. The editions prepared by Ewald
Zimmermann for Henle follow in second place. Their editorial policy does not always
measure up to the highest standards (e.g., Chopin's distinction between short and
longer accent signs, with different implications, is disregarded; the volumes attempt "to
disentangle the diversity of sources and to present a text based on a comprehensive
unity," which becomes an undifferentiated conflation of sources). I have also observed
placement of pedal indications and slurs that seem to be inappropriate readings of the
sources for the works involved.
Ekier is also the chief editor of the National Edition of the Works of Frederic Chopin
[Wydanie Narodowe Dziel Fryderyka Chopina], published by Polskie Wydawnictwo
Muzyczne in Krak6w and not widely available in the U.S. Some of the volumes that
have appeared have not been published elsewhere in Ekier's editions (e.g., Preludes,
Miscellaneous Works [Barcarolle, Berceuse, etc.], and the Concertos). Notes for
performance appear in many of these editions, but they lack critical reports.
The volumes in the "Paderewski" edition, cited in n. 3 above, have lengthy Com­
mentaries in English. Unfortunately, the editors did not have access to all the extant
autographs. Sometimes they supplemented performance indications by repeating signs
from similar places in a piece-a questionable practice in Chopin's music-or even
modified indications (e.g., slurs and pedal markings were altered in favor of unifor­
mity). Modifications in pedalings were also thought to be "required" by the increased
resonance of modern pianos. Occasionally, Chopin's harmonic spellings were altered,
and the harmonic analyses given are not always accurate. Many readings are conflations
of several sources and include too much editorial opinion.

ABSTRACT

Chopin wrote more pedal indications than any other composer up to World
War II, and his playing was admired for its kaleidoscopic palette of subtle
colors; yet, in performances today the subtlety and astonishing precision
of those indications are often ignored. By examining the three extant
autographs and the first editions of the Mazurka Op. 59, No. 2, and the
autograph of the Nocturne Op. 55, No. 2, this study demonstrates that
Chopin often sought contrast between pedaled and unpedaled sound-even
where there is an oom-pah-pah accompaniment; ·that he frequently altered
pedalings in similar places to shift emphasis; and that he engaged in long­
range planning and development of pedal effects.
 21

NicHoLAS CooK

PERFORMANCE ANALYSIS AND CHoPIN's

MAzuRKAS

This is an early report on a project currently being undertaken under

the auspices of CHARM, the AHRC Research Centre for the History
and Analysis of Recorded Music (based at Royal Holloway, University
of London). The project is a collaboration between Craig Sapp, Andrew
Earis and myself, and involves the development and application of com­
putational methods for analysing what is becoming a large corpus of
recordings of Chopin's mazurkas, dating from 1912 to the present day:
at the time of writing we have about 1700 individual mazurka perfor­
mances, including thirty complete sets as well as many selections and
individual mazurkas. The purpose of this paper is to provide a snapshot
of the work that has been done to date and of what is planned; the fact
that the work is at a relatively early stage means that the primary focus is
on working methods rather than substantive musicological conclusions,
though I hope to hint at some of those as well.
The project has a number of related aims, of which the broadest
might be described as knowledge transfer. We are making use of tech­
niques and approaches developed within computer science, but most of
these have already been assimilated within the subdiscipline of compu­
tational (empirical, systematic, cognitive) musicology: the knowledge
transfer to which I refer is from this specialist subdiscipline to main­
stream musicology. A central aim of the Mazurkas project, then, is to
illustrate how computational techniques can help to provide answers to
mainstream musicological questions, and to open up questions which
do not figure strongly on the mainstream musicological agenda but
arguably should. A prime example of the latter is the study of music as
performance, and indeed the rationale for the establishment of CHARM

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Nicholas Cook

is the need to place the study of music as performance at the heart of

a discipline which has historically treated music as primarily a form of
writing, an obscure form of literature. There are practical reasons why
musicology has been oriented more towards the visible than the audible
manifestations of its subject matter: it is only recently that serious work
has begun on providing the kind of finding aids for recordings that
have long been taken for granted in score-based musicology (CHARM
is itself running a major on-line discographical project), and more
recently still that computer-based environments have been developed
which make it possible to navigate and browse recordings with anything
approaching the flexibility that you take for granted in studying a score.
(I shall illustrate one such environment in this paper.) But there are also
conceptual barriers to the development of a musicology of performance,
and the Mazurkas project is intended to address these too.
In one sense the study of music as performance is part and parcel of
the shift within musicology as a whole towards reception history; per­
formance is self-evidently a form of interpretation, in just the same way
as are critical or historical writing about music, iconographic representa­
tions, or TV and film adaptations. Musical performance studies can in
other words be seen as an expression of interest in the social usage of
music, and in the meaning that is created in the act of performance. But
there is also a sense in which a musicology of recordings entails what in
another context I have called changing the musical object. 1 In saying this
I am referring to the difference between working on notated and acoustic
texts, but I am also referring to something else: the concept of the musi­
cal work that informs such study. Dominant musicological approaches
treat performance as, in effect, a supplement to the notated work, with
the latter being conceived as the embodiment of the composer's author­
ity. (It is hardly necessary to point out that Chopin's music is particu­
larly resistant to the idea of the definitive musical text on which such
approaches are based. 2) Translated into the language of music theory,
this results in analysis that asks how the structure embodied in the score

1 Nicholas Cook, 'Changing the musical object: approaches to performance analysis', in

Music's Intellectual History: Founders, Followers and Fads, ed. Zdravko Blazekovic (New York:
RILM, forthcoming).
2 feffrey Kallberg, Chopin at the Boundaries: Sex, History, and Musical G enre (Harvard University

Press, 1996), chapter 7.

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Performance Analysis and Ch.opin's Mazurkas

is, or should be, translated into performance, how performers project,

express or exceptionally subvert structure. This 'page to stage' approach,
as drama theorists put it, seeks in effect to understand a given perform­
ance (recorded or otherwise) as a direct response to the score, in what one
might term a vertical relationship comparable with the vertical dimension
of philological stemmata. In each case this dimension represents a flow of
authority, though I will not pursue that point here.
But in the real world, of course, performers forge their interpreta­
tions-and listeners hear them-just as much in response to the inter­
pretations of other performers. It follows from this that a well developed
musicology of performance must concern itself as much with the hori­
zontal as with the vertical dimension within which performances signifY.
It must concern itself, that is, with comparison, focussing analysis on
the network of relationships between different performances and not­
or at least not just--on the relationship of each performance to the score.
This idea of a comparative musicology may have a distinctly retrospec­
tive ring. And it doesn't stop there, because analysing performances other
than through the mediation of the score entails reviving and repurposing
an idea which was central to musicology in the first half of the twentieth
century but subsequently marginalised: that of style analysis. The mid­
century turn away from style analysis, and more generally from com­
parative musicology, was a reaction against the perceived colonialist or
imperialist associations of comparative musicology, and more particularly
the racialist appropriations of style analysis on the part ofNazi (or Nazi­
influenced) musicologists: the result was an insistence on context almost
to the exclusion of any other considerations, expressed in the one case
through the replacement of comparative musicology by ethnomusicol­
ogy, and in the other by structural analysis. 3 (For the ethnomusicologists
the only valid context of interpretation was the individual cultural com­
munity; for the structural analysts it was the individual musical work.) It
follows that a fully fledged musicology of performance can hardly develop
without some rehabilitation of not just the methods but the concept of
style analysis. That goes far beyond anything I can deliver in this paper,
but it establishes a direction for the work I shall describe.

3 For a fuller version of this argument see N . Cook, 'Border Crossings: A Commentary on
Henkjan Honing's "On the G rowing Role of Observation, Formalization and Experimental
Method in Musicology"', Empin.cal Musicology Review, I (2006), 7- ll.

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Nicholas Cook

***

The funded stage of the Mazurkas project lasts two years, and the first
year was mainly taken up with technical development, including software
to capture timing and dynamic information (both down to single-note
level), and the establishing of the necessary data structures and work rou­
tines to support the research. The first stage in the development of the data
capture software enabled us to extract the timings ofbeats (and hence of
what is generally called tempo, but I shall come back to that); this forms
the basis of all the work which I shall present in this paper, but we are now
moving on to the analysis of rhythmic and dynamic information.
Essential to any kind of working routine for performance analysis is
what I referred to as the ability to navigate and browse recordings-to move
backwards and forwards in them, to locate a specific point and compare
it with the same point in other recordings, and to incorporate within this
working environment such other analytical annotations or representations
as will support close observation of the acoustic text. We use Sonic Visualiser
for this purpose: a sound navigation and visualisation program developed
within the last year at the Centre for Digital Music, Queen Mary, University
of London (with some input from CHARM). 4 As Example 1 shows, Sonic
Visualiser uses the familiar-and not particularly informative-waveform
representation, but enables you to add a number of significant navigational
features, including piano-roll score notation together with bar lines and
numbers. You can also incorporate the again familiar tempo graph in which
higher means faster and lower means slower; widespread in the developing
literature of performance analysis, such graphs have always suffered from
the problem that it is difficult to match them to the experience oflistening to
the music-a problem which Sonic Visualiser overcomes, because the entire
representation scrolls as the music plays. (Sonic Visualiser also provides
a wide range of other facilities ranging from annotation to spectrographic
analysis, but the features shown in Example 1 are the essential ones for
working with piano music.) In addition to the standard playback controls
you can navigate by dragging the waveform forwards or backwards against
the vertical cursor, and the box over the small waveform at the bottom

4 http://sonicvisualiser.ory; training materials for musicological purposes (which explain how

to generate the features shown in Example 1) are available at http://www.charm.rhul.ac.uk/
content/svtraininygettingstarted.html .

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Performance Analysis and Chopin's Mazurkas

(which you can also drag) shows where you are in the complete soundfile.
Since you can run multiple copies ofSonic Visualiser, you can work with dif­
ferent recordings in different windows.

Example I

Example 1 actually shows the beginning of Vladimir Ashkenazy's

1975 recording of the Mazurka, Op. 17 No. 4, alphabetically the first of
the thirty recordings for which we currently have data. 5 His deep ral­
lentando through bar 3 and effectively unmeasured pause on the second
beat of bar 4 is typical of the performances of this Mazurka evidenced
by our collection: the point that this is a premonition of the end of
the piece is not lost on anybody. What is not typical is the way in which,
instead of setting the main tempo at bar 5, the beginning of the mazurka
proper, Ashkenazy gradually picks up speed, reaching his main tempo
only during the course of bar 6. And what lends significance to this is
that Ashkenazy does it quite consistently in linking different sections:
Example 2, for example, shows how he links the A and C sections around
bar 61. (Example 3 shows how I am labelling the sections.) This consist­
ent practice amounts to a strategy, one imagines consciously pursued,

·' For reasons I have already mentioned, establishing recording or first release dates is not always
straightforward, and dates cited are approximate.

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Nicholas Cook

for overcoming what might be seen as a key performance problem posed

by Op. 17 No.4: the lack of coherence that can result from the very dis­
junct series of phrases of which the mazurka consists. Of course the same
might be said of any of the earlier mazurkas. But the tenderly expressive,
introspective character of this mazurka in particular-a quality which one
might or might not wish to ascribe to the music as composed, but which
seems universal in the music as performed during the age of recording­
mandates very marked rallentandi at every transition between sections,
meaning that the problem of coherence is more pressing in this mazurka
than in most. Ashkenazy's strategy for linking sections is a solution to this
problem because by overlapping the section break the rallentando sews
the sections together, while at the same time allowing the realization in
full of the expressive potential of the formal cadence.

Example 2

Example 3

1 Introduction A minor
5 A
13 t\
21 A
29 t\
37 B
45 A
53 t\
61 c A major

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Performance Analysis and Chopin's Mazurkas

69 C'
77 c
85 C'
93 A A minor
101 i'i.
109 D
117 D
126 Coda

Ignacy Jan Paderewski's 1912 recording of the same transition, by

contrast, also realizes the music's expressive potential-it is almost as
if measured, musical time stops-but, as Example 4 shows, he picks up
tempo for the C section without any attempt at a transition, and he does
the same elsewhere. No solution for Ashkenazy's problem of coherence
is offered, but I would argue that this is because for Paderewski there
is no such problem in the first place. One reason for this is no doubt
that Paderewski's tempo is so much faster than Ashkenazy's, or indeed
anyone else's. (That, by the way, is a very obvious feature which tempo
graphs can lead one to overlook.) There is an almost universal trend
for mazurka performance to slow down during the age of recording,
and Op. 17 No. 4 is no exception (Example 5); it stands to reason that
the slower you play a strongly sectional piece of music, the harder you
have to work to ensure continuity across sections. But I would claim
that there is also an aesthetic issue here, or even an ontological one, and
I shall attempt to make the case by comparing some other aspects of
Paderewski's playing of Op. 17 No.4 with that of more recent pianists.

Example4

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Nicholas Cook

Example 5

While the developing analytical literature on performance tends to

focus on issues of structural interpretation, often on a relatively large scale,
there is a strong argument that large-scale structure is to a high degree
hard-wired into music as composed, and that the performer's ability to
generate musical meaning depends much more on the handling of details.
(Another way of saying this is that the analytical literature on performance
reflects the agenda of score-based analysis rather than that of perform­
ance.) Certainly there are striking differences between the ways in which
different performers handle the embellishments so characteristic ofOp. 17
No. 4, and we can take bar 31 as a representative example, considering
a number of recordings in reverse chronological order. Charles Rosen and
Fou Ts'ong, whose recordings respectively date from (around) 1989 and
1978, represent the virtuosic option: the little notes are fitted in effortlessly,
without deflecting the tempo. Ashkenazy's 1975 recording (Example 6)
adopts a strategy rather similar to the one he uses for linking sections: he
takes the last beat of bar 30 and the first of bar 31 slow, enabling him to
extract expressive charge from the first few grace notes, but then acceler­
ates strongly, completing the fioritura with as much virtuosity as Ts'ong or
Rosen. By contrast, both Cortot (1951) and Paderewski do the opposite:
they begin bar 31 at the prevailing speed, but slow down so that the third
beat becomes massively prolonged. (Example 7 shows Paderewski's per­
formance.) The effect is not just of bringing out expressive meaning, but
of a kind of causality: the little notes at the musical surface progressively
impact the tempo. Whereas Ts'ong's and Rosen's performances of this
bar construct tempo as an essentially inflexible framework, a pre-existing
medium independent of what may be contained within it, for Cortot and

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Performance Analysis and Chopin's Mazurkas

Paderewski it is as if the tempo is wrapped round the content of the music

and takes its shape: here the medium is the message. To put it more suc­
cinctly, the relationship of temporal frame and content is top-down in
Rosen and Ts' ong but bottom-up in Cortot and Paderewski.

Example 6

Example 7

A rather similar point can be made regarding the grace notes in bars
118, 120, and 122 (what I have called the D section, although there is
a sense in which the whole ofbars 109-133 is a coda). More recent per­
formers (Rosen is a good example) again fit in the grace notes cleanly
and effortlessly, without deflecting the tempo. Paderewski, helped by his
faster basic tempo, adds value to this passage: as the intervals between

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Nicholas Cook

the a2 increase from diminished to perfect twelfth and then to minor

thirteenth, so Paderewski progressively prolongs the a2. He translates
the increasing physical distance to be traversed across the keyboard into
timing. It is not just that the tempo is wrapped round the content, as
I said ofbar 31. It is also that the music is projected less as a sonic object
to be generated by means of the modern all-purpose piano technique,
and more as an embodied act, an event taking place at a particular time
and place of which the sound on the recording is the trace. Coupled to
the rapid tempo, light articulation, and dry sound of the piano (in part,
perhaps, an artefact of the acoustic recording process), the effect is to
generate an intimate space, to reduce the distance experienced between
performer and listener.
The point can be made by comparing the ways in which Ts'ong and
Paderewski play the climax in bars 91-2. The slower tempo and more
resonant acoustic which Ts'ong's recording shares with most others from
the later twentieth century is sufficient in itself to denote the larger space
of the modern concert hall and the concomitant separation between per­
former and audience, and Ts'ong's performance of the climax completes
the effect: it has a swagger and rhetorical boldness, a sense of drama, that
is at home in the modern concert hall but that would be an intrusion in,
say, a domestic setting. That is not the case ofPaderewski's comparatively
understated performance, which might be heard as substituting a quality
of nostalgia forTs' ong's drama. (It is easy to hear the tradition of the salon
in Paderewski's playing, whether there are historical grounds for saying
this or not.) And, to bring this argument back to its starting point, my
claim is that the problem of coherence which Paderewski does not recog­
nize is created by the extended hearing lines, so to speak, of the modern
concert hall and all the features of performance practice that come with
it: slower tempi, dramatic rhetoric and the rest. When the performer is
so far removed from the listener, coherence no longer subsists so strongly
in the event, in the sense of community and shared temporality through
which (in Alfred Schutz's memorable words) 'performer and listener[ ... ]
are growing older together while the musical process lasts'. 6 Instead it has
to be conveyed or constructed purely through the medium of sound: trace

6 Alfred Schutz, 'Making Music Together: A Study in Social Relationship', in Arvid Brodersen
(ed.), Alfred Schutz: Collected Papers II: Studies in Social Theory (The Hague: Nijhoff, 1974),
159- 78 pp. 174- 5.

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Performance Analysis and Chopin's Mazurkas

of event gives way to construction of sonic object. And if the problem of

coherence-the problem on which the modern discipline of music analy­
sis was built-was in part a product of the modern concert hall, it was
redoubled by the development of recording technologies that effectively
divorced sound from event. The recordings of Paderewski, whose pianis­
tic style was moulded in the last years of the nineteenth century, provide
a glimpse of how music was performed before the age of recording.

***
Have I so far said anything that could not have been said on the basis
of close listening with a CD player? Possibly not, but it would have
been far harder that way. For reasons that I have already explained,
the qualities of individual performances emerge from the act of com­
paring them with others, and the CD player does not allow you to do
close comparative listening. Again, the on-screen tempo graph may
not exactly lead you to hear things you otherwise wouldn't (you might
be suspicious if it did), but it can certainly refine and stabilize your
perceptions, as well as providing a means of communicating them to
others. And in any case, academic disciplines depend not so much on
what one can do in principle, but on what one can conveniently do in
practice, and the environment illustrated in the examples so far turns
the close observation of recordings into an everyday working method.
At the same time, extracting beat information does open up quite new
possibilities of working with a corpus of recordings, and I can intro­
duce these possibilities by asking one of the most obvious questions
for our project.
Example 8 shows the beginning of the C section of the Mazurka, Op. 17
No.4 from Charles Rosen's 1989 recording. The section begins at bar 61,
and Rosen's playing of the next few bars represents a textbook example of
how to play a mazurka. It is often said that the mazurka rhythm involves
emphasizing the second beat, but in terms ofagogic accentuation this is not
necessarily the case: although Rosen makes his second beats substantially
longer than the third in bars 62 and 64-6, they are more or less equal in
bars 61 and 63, and there are performers whose mazurka rhythms consist­
ently make the third beat longer than the second. (An example is Ignaz
Friedman in his 1930 performance of Op. 67 No. 4.) It would be more
accurate, then, to define mazurka rhythm in terms of the abbreviation

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Nicholas Cook

of the first beat-a formulation which immediately suggests that it should

be thought of not so much as a rhythm, but rather as a relationship between
rhythmic events and a metrical framework against which they are dislo­
cated. It is evident from this that the term 'mazurka rhythm' is an over­
simplification of a more complex reality, and I have no doubt that dynamic
emphasis and articulation also play an essential role in defining mazurka
style. Nevertheless, the simple definition of mazurka rhythm in terms of
the abbreviation of the first beat will suffice to make a further observation.

Example 8

Nobody plays in mazurka rhythm throughout; there are other factors gov­
erning performers' shaping of time, such as the rallentando by which Rosen
signals the end of the B section in bars 59-60 of Example 8. (The tempo
graph does not lie: you almost have the impression that he flicks a switch
at bar 61.) Example 9, which has been generated directly from the beat data
for Op. 17 No. 4, makes the point. In the upper chart, each small square
represents one bar of the music on the horizontal axis, and one recording on
the vertical axis (there are thirty recordings, of which Rosen's is the twenty­
second down; the bottom row represents the average of all these recordings).
The square is black when the first beat is more than five per cent longer than
either of the other beats, gray when it is correspondingly shorter, and white
when the values are more or less equal (which is not often the case). In
short, gray squares mean that performers are playing in mazurka rhythm, as
I have defined it, while the other squares mean they are not. Out of the 133
bars of Op. 17 No. 4, there are just nine which everybody plays the same

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Performance Analysis and Chopin's Mazurkas

way, eight of these being in mazurka rhythm. But there are clear patterns,
and these become clearer in the lower chart, which represents the same data
as the upper one, only in smoothed form. Most obvious is the band oflight
gray that coincides with the appearance ofB in bar 37: this is the only place
where everybody plays two successive bars the same (three in the case ofevery
pianist but one). Everybody, that is to say, gives this section a strong mazurka
characterization, though the effect becomes weaker as the section progresses.
This suggests that mazurka rhythm is being used rather as themes are used
in sonata and other through-composed music, to characterise the onset of
a new section and so underscore what might be termed formal downbeats­
in other words, that it has a semiotic function. There is some tendency in
the lower chart for bands of shading to occur every four bars, suggesting that
something similar also happens at phrase level.

Example 9

As for the other sections, D is played predominantly, and C sometimes,

in mazurka rhythm. But in general A is not played in mazurka rhythm;
the darkest bands coincide with the beginning of the A sections. This may
come as no surprise. Jim Samson writes ofOp. 17 No.4 that the ornamental
melodic style of A is 'so seldom found in the mazurkas that we might be
tempted to question the genre. Here we have an early instance in Chopin of
generic interpenetration.'7 Example 9 clearly indicates that, for the commu­
nity of pianists, the sense that A is not mazurka-like extends to its rhythmic
identity: in this way the generic interpenetration which Samson ascribes

7 Jim Samson, Chopin (Oxford University Press, 1996), 117.

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Nicholas Cook

to the score more or less corresponds to the interpenetration of playing

styles inscribed in the recorded evidence. But the 'broadly' and 'more or
less' should not be overlooked. The upper part of Example 9 shows that
there is substantial room for interpretation, that what is in terms of the score
the same music may be played in mazurka style, or it may not-which is
to say that very different music may be created out of the same notation.
Is mazurka style then a product of composition or of performance? I can't
answer this question properly, but I think I know what shape a proper
answer would take: mazurka style subsists in a potential that is inscribed to
a greater or lesser degree in the notation (for example in terms of the dislo­
cation between rhythm and metre to which I referred), and which in per­
formance may be realized to a greater or lesser degree, and not necessarily in
predictable ways. In short, it is co-determined by composer and performer.
Actually that applies to all music in performance, and the same point is
illustrated in a different way by the Mazurka, Op. 68 No.3. Again we can
start with a performance problem: the relationship between the outer sec­
tions, which improbably combine the qualities of mazurka and march, and
the folkloristic Poco piu vivo section. Adrian Thomas writes that the Poco
piu vivo section 'betrays its unadorned oberek origins with an insouciant
ease',8 and what one might term the unmediated nature of the folkloristic
reference is enough in itself to create problems from a traditional aesthetic
stance. Quite how that translates into terms of performance is not so obvious
(do you play it less as music than as an evocation of music, and how would
you recognize that in a tempo graph?), but there is a more basic problem
of interpretation. For most performers the folkloristic material demands to
be taken much faster than the outer sections (Chopin's tempo direction is
a gross understatement of twentieth-century performance practice), but
the faster you take it, the more unbalanced the relationship between the sec­
tions becomes: 32 plus 16 bars for the outer sections, 12 for the Poco piu vivo
section. The problem is at its most obvious when the sections are played at
very different tempi but at a relatively constant tempo within each section:
the tempo graph at the bottom of Example 10 shows that Idil Biret, whose
recording appeared in 1990, takes the outer sections at below 90 MM, with
the pause at bar 24 marking the only major inflection, but the Poco piu

8 Adrian Thomas, 'Beyond the dance', in Jim Samson (ed.), The Cambridge Companion to

Chopin (Cambridge University Press, 1992), 155.

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Performance Analysis and Chopin's Mazurkas

vivo section at an average tempo of well over 200 MM. (The faint line in
the tempo graph is the average of all the performances for which we have
data.) This gives rise to the following strange proportions: first section, 67
seconds; Poco piu vivo section, under 11 seconds; final section, 37 seconds.

Example 10

The triangular chart at the top ofExample 10 is what we call a 'timescape'

(by analogy with the 'keyscapes' which Sapp developed in the course of his
doctoral research). It represents exactly the same data as in the tempo graph
below it, but in a different manner. On both the horizontal and vertical axes
there are as many data points as there are beats in the piece, shaded accord­
ing to whether they are shorter than, equal to, or longer than the average.
The horizontal dimension represents time, as the alignment with the tempo
graph indicates, but on the vertical dimension each data point is the average
of the two adjacent data points on the row below, with lighter shading repre­
senting faster and darker shading representing slower tempi. (The very top
data point represents the average tempo ofthe entire piece, and is accordingly
gray.) The extent to which tempi visible at the musical surface (the bottom
edge of the triangle) persist upwards within the triangle provides a measure of
the extent to which they dominate the various sections of the music.
In Example 10 the timescape actually provides very little information that
is not evident from the tempo graph: the outer sections are below average
tempo while the Poco piu vivo section is above average tempo, and there is
very little transition between it and the outer sections, so that average tempi
emerge only as a result of the calculations. (That is to say, at no point does

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Nicholas Cook

Biret play at the overall average speed of her performance, which is 110 MM.)
But timescapes become much more informative when you compare different
performances, and Example 11, based on Artur Rubinstein's 1966 recording,
provides a very different picture. Here there is much less of a slow-fast-slow
conception than in Biret: the shading of the Poco piu vivo section does not
extend upwards nearly as far as in Example 10, and the border between them
is less well defined. On the other hand there is far more variegation right
across the surface of the music, representing the high level of local tempo
shaping, largely coordinated with phrase structure, which characterises
Rubinstein's recording as a whole. (More detail is visible when timescapes
are generated in colour.) The timescape, in short, reveals an interpretation
that de-emphasizes the contrasts between the various sections, both by limit­
ing the tempo differences between them (Rubinstein plays the outer sections
at around 130 MM and the Poco piu vivo at just under 160), and by superim­
posing a variegated surface oflight and shade over the whole.

Example II

Op. 68 No.3 is in fact a perhaps relatively rare instance when raw tempo
graphs can reveal something significant about performance strategy--once
again, not so much when they are viewed individually but when they are
compared with one another. In Example 12 I have sorted thumbnail tempo
graphs of a group of recordings ofOp. 68 No.3 by eye, taking Rubinstein's
recordings, which have formed one of the key reference points for twentieth­
century Chopin performance, as my starting point. (Within each column

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Performance Analysis and Chopin's Mazurkas

the recordings are arranged chronologically.) If there is one feature that

above all characterizes Rubinstein's interpretation of Op. 68 No. 3, at least
in relation to other twentieth-century interpretations, it is the de-emphasis of
the contrast between sections to which I have just referred. But if Rubinstein's
1966 recording marks the high point of this tendency, it is his 1938 one that
seems to have made the greatest impact on other pianists, and each ofthe next
three columns makes this point in relation to a different aspect of the 1938
recording. The common feature in the second column is the tendency to
accelerate throughout the Poco piu vivo section, which amounts to something
more than the widespread tendency to play the introductory bars 33-6 a little
slower than what follows. The third column picks out those recordings which
add to this Rubinstein's drop in speed for the final part ofthe first section (bars
25-32): in Frederick Chiu's 1999 recording the combination of these two
features creates the visual impression of a continuous accelerando linking this
section and the Poco piu vivo, which would represent an alternative solution
to the issue of coherence if one could be confident that the visual impres­
sion translates into an aural one. (The eye is sensitive to the profile created
by the peaks in a way that I am not sure the ear is.) And the fourth column
is based on another feature of Rubinstein's 1938 recording: the high level of
local tempo change to which I have again already referred.

Example 12

If the recordings in the first four columns of Example 12, developing

different aspects of Rubinstein's seminal pre-war recording, represent
a mainstream in the interpretation of Op. 68 No. 3, then the right hand

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Nicholas Cook

column represents something quite different. Biret's 1990 recording,

which I contrasted with Rubinstein's 1966 recording, appears towards
the bottom of the column, and while her tempi within each section
are steadier than the others, the degree of contrast she creates between
the tempi of the sections is by no means exceptional. As can be seen,
the first performer within our collection to adopt this strategy is Alfred
Cortot, whose 1951 recording (made when he was in his mid seventies)
pulls the first section down to a little above, and the final section to just
below, 60 MM-a staggeringly slow tempo which turns the outer sections
into something less like a march than a hymn. Cortot's tempo in the Poco
piu vivo section varies a great deal (his profile here resembles some of
those in the fourth column): on average he takes it at about 225 MM, but
at one point he broaches 300 MM. All this gives rise to durations of95, 11,
and 56 seconds for the respective sections. This, it seems to me, is a truly
radical performance, in which the now quite inappropriately named Poco
piu vivo effectively ceases to be a section in any traditional sense based on
formal balance: it comes across more as a brief, passing vision of another
world. The impossibility of assimilating the performance within a con­
ventional formal aesthetic based on coherence prompts speculation as to
whether Cortot perhaps saw Op. 68 No. 3-which is believed to date from
1830-as a kind of dirge prompted by the 1830 Warsaw revolution of that
year, or if not that, then some other, possibly hackneyed, programmatic
interpretation that transforms the Poco piu vivo section into an evocation
of Chopin's lost homeland. (In other words, Cortot plays the Poco piu
vivo less as music than as an evocation of music, and so I have answered
my own question.) Seen this way, the subsequent recordings in the third
column ofExample 12 adopt Cortot's basic strategy, but they tend to do so
in a more watered-down manner; without the radical edge, the extremity
that marks Cortot's performance, the interpretational problem with which
I began can be seen as reasserting itsel£

* * *
All objectively generated visualisations are highly selective: they
leave out most of the information about the performance, yet if well
chosen can bring critical aspects of it into focus. (To put it another way,
their value depends not on their truth but on their relevance.) I hope
to have demonstrated that even such simple visualisations as those

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Performance Analysis and Chopin's Mazurkas

in Example 12 can generate interpretive hypotheses that take you back to

the recordings with questions to which the recordings can now provide
the answers. And that is important, because the essential thing in analys­
ing music isn't so much knowing how to answer the questions-you can
always find an answer if you want it badly enough-but knowing what
questions to ask in the first place.
At the same time, it might seem almost perverse to rely on compari­
son by eye when you have the data and can therefore evaluate relation­
ships using quantitative techniques. Nothing is easier than to generate
a Pearson correlation matrix for the twenty recordings of Op. 68 No.
3 for which we currently have data, showing the degree of similarity
between the tempo profiles of each. Reading such a matrix in numeri­
cal form is not so easy, however, so Example 13 presents the essential
information in visual form: for each recording, it shows the record­
ing to which it is most similar. The values are shown by the shading,
but the length of the lines also provides an impression of how close
the relationship is. In making these calculations we have included an
average tempo profile-a simple mathematical averaging of each data
point across all the recordings-and it can be seen that, as might be
expected, in most cases recordings are more similar to the average than
to any other recording. (Or perhaps one shouldn't expect it, since this is
a measure of the extent to which different performers diverge from one
another, contrary to recurrent critical complaints about the homogene­
ity of modern performance style.)

Example 13

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Nicholas Cook

The most significant relationships between recordings, clearly, are those

which are closer than the relationship ofany recording to the average. That
Rubinstein's 1952 and 1966 recordings are similar to one another isn't so
surprising (though neither is particularly close to his 1938 recording). More
interesting is the other cluster, which strongly links Ashkenazy with lndjic,
Indjic with Biret, and Biret with both Fran~ois and Cortot. What are we
to make of this cluster? Is there external evidence against which we might
triangulate the correlation? It's never so hard to find connections between
pianists: Ashkenazy studied at Moscow Conservatory, where Alexander
Borovsky had earlier taught, and Borovsky was lndjic's first teacher. Again,
Eugen lndjic is a French-American pianist who lives in Paris, so the link
with Idil Biret (Turkish but French-trained), Samson Fran~ois, and Alfred
Cortot is plausible enough. But among the last three there is a much more
substantial link: Biret and Fran~ois were both pupils of Cortot!
Of course, this is a rather simplistic criterion for evaluating pianistic style:
pupils don't necessarily play like their teachers. (But then again, they often
do, or they retain certain aspects of their teachers' style while changing oth­
ers.) And more generally, I am enough of a traditional musicologist to resist
the idea that complex cultural constructs such as performance style can be
reduced to something as simple as a mathematical correlation. So my first
inclination was to find a way of explaining away these all too plausible con­
nections. lndjic, Biret, Fran~ois, and Cortot all appear in the third column
of Example 12, which is to say that they all play the Poco piu vivo section
much faster that the outer sections, and with little transition between them:
maybe, I reasoned, this gross feature outweighs any more subtle dimensions
of style, so that the correlation merely tells you what you can already see
from Example 12. There is an easy way to test this: repeat the correlation,
but this time using the data for only bars 1-32, thereby eliminating the effect
of the relationship between sections. This time there is only one cluster, and
it is smaller, but significant: Ashkenazy, Indjic, and Biret. Whatever musi­
cally significant information such correlations convey-and it will take more
work to form a clear view of that- it's evidently not just the fact that some
pianists play the middle section of Op. 68 No. 3 much faster than the outer
sections.
I think it is actually quite impressive that one can get musically
meaningful information at all from so impoverished a data set as I have
been working with in this paper. Tempo is, to be sure, a key performance

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Performance Analysis and Chopin's Mazurkas

parameter, and one that in effect summarizes many different aspects of

interpretation. (It can be argued on this basis that in order to understand
performance timing you need to break it down into these different aspects
and analyse each separately, but I will not go into that here.) Yet tempo, as
we experience and describe it when talking about music, is not the same
as a set of beat durations. It is easy to demonstrate this: MIDI perform­
ances generated on the basis of beat information sound thoroughly
unconvincing in the absence of the rhythmic, dynamic, and articulation
information that also feed into the experience of tempo. Articulation, to
be sure, remains the aspect of piano recordings most resistant to empiri­
cal study. But as I said at the beginning, we are now collecting, and will
shortly begin to analyse, rhythmic and dynamic data. And at that point
the approaches I have described in this paper, and others, should become
capable of yielding more musically discriminating information than has
been possible up to now. The real work is just beginning.

Discography
Ashkenazy, Vladimir. Chopin: Complete Mazurkas (Decca 448 086-2, 1996; recorded ca 1975)
Biret, Idil. Chopin: M azurkas (Complete) (N axos 8.550359, 1990)
Chiu, Frederick. Chopin: Complete Mazurkas (HMX 2907352.53, 1999)
Block, Michel. Chopin Mazurkas (ProPiano PPRZ24507, 1995)
Brailowsky, Alexander. Chopin Mazurkas (Complete) & Polonaises (Sony SB2K 63237, 2005;
recorded ca 1960)
Clidat, France. Les plus belles Mazurkas (Forlane UCD16729, 1994)
Cohen, Patrick. Les Mazurkas li (Glossa 920507, 2001)
Cortot, Alfred. Chopin: the Mazurkas (Concert Artist 9180/12, 2005; recorded ca 1951)
Fran~ois, Samson. 51 Mazurkas, Sonates 2 & 3 (EMI Classics CZS 7 67413 2, 1992; recorded 1956)
Friedman, Ignaz. Great Pianists of the 20th Century, Vol. 30 (Philips 456 784-2, 1999; recorded
ca 1930)
Indjic, Eugen. Integrale des mazurkas: Frederic Chopin (Calliope 3321 , 2001; recorded ca 1988)
Kapel!, William. Chopin Mazurkas (RCA 09026-68990-2, 1998; recorded ca 1951)
Lushcak, Faina. Chopin Mazurkas (Centaur CRC 2707, 2004)
Magaloff, Nikita. Chopin: The Complete Piano Music (Phillips 426 817/29-2, 1997; recorded 1978)
Paderewsky, Ignacy Jan. Greatest Piamsts of the 20th Cemury, Vol. 74 (Philips 456 919-2, 1999;
recorded ca 1912)
Rosen, C harles. Charles Rosen Plays Chopin (Globe 5028, 1989)
Rubinstein, Artur. F1yderyk Chopin: Mazurkas (Naxos 8.110656-57, 2000; recorded 1938-9)
Rubinstein, Artur. The Rubinstein Collection, Vol. 27: Chopin: 51 Mazurkas & the Impromptus
(BMG 09026 63027-2, 2001; recorded 1952-3)
Rubinstein, Artur. The Rubinstein Collection, val. 50: 51 Chopin Mazurkas (BMG 09026-63050-2;
2001; recorded ca 1966)
Ts'ong, Fou. Chopin Mazurkas (Sony SB2K 53 246, 1993; recorded ca 1978)
Uninsky, Alexander. Chopin: Complete Mazurkas, Complete Impromptus, Berceuse (Philips 442
574-2, 1994; recorded ca 1958)

141
 Part IV:

Analysis, aesthetics, reception

 22

JIM SAMSON

CHOPIN AND GENRE

INTRODUCTION: THEORY AND REPERTORY

Genres might be compared with stylistic norms or formal schemata.* All three
are abstractions - 'ideal types' - but abstractions whose basic principles flow
from actual musical works. All three are based on repetition, codifying past
repetitions and inviting future repetitions. Because of this all three can help to
regulate the area between content and expression within an individual work,
while at the same time mediating between the individual work and music as a
whole. Given these parallels and given too the obvious importance of the
concepts as agents of communication, it seems worth exploring a little more
closely the relationship between genre, style and form, and in particular the
differences in their mechanisms.
In its widest sense, especially as presented in some popular music theory, 1
genre is a more permeable concept than either style or form, because a social
element participates in its definition, and not just in its determination. In this
broad understanding of the term the repetition units that define a genre, as
opposed to a stylistic norm or a formal schema, extend beyond musical materials
into the social domain so that a genre is dependent for its definition on context,
function and community validation and not simply on formal and technical
regulations. Thus a genre can change when the validating community changes,
even where the notes remain the same. The social dimension can extend,
moreover, to the function of genre within the validating community. As several
authors have noted in literary and musical theory, a genre behaves rather like a
contract between author and reader, composer and listener, a contract which
may of course be broken. 2 It is above all in the incorporation of this social
element as to definition and function that genre theory in literary and musical
studies has developed beyond its presentation in early twentieth-century
poetics, notably in Russian Formalism.
The Formalist concept of genre is altogether narrower, but we may value it as

*A shorter version of this study was delivered at the Oxford University Music Analysis Conference 1988.

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JIM SAMSON

an attempt to examine the subject with some rigour. It will be discussed in more
detail later, but for now I will refer only to the Formalist view of generic
evolution, part of a general theory of literary history proposed by Schklovsky
and Tynyanov in the early 1920s and given a specific application to genre by
Boris Tomaschevsky. 3 In Formalist theory literary evolution is governed by a
principle of 'struggle and succession', to use Schklovsky's phrase. It is
presented as a dialectical process, internal to the art, in which the dominant or
canonised line comes into conflict with coexisting minor lines and is eventually
overthrown by these minor lines, now duly canonised. Generic evolution is tied
to this process. New genres emerge, then, as accumulating minor devices
acquire a focus and challenge the major line.
As a general theory this has been widely criticised, notably by Bahktin and
Medvedev, 4 but it will have applications in this paper. So, too, will the very
different, and more authentically dialectical, sequence identified by Theodor
W. Adorno on the immanent analytical level of his Aesthetic Theory. 5 Here the
dialectic is not between major and minor lines but between Universal and
Particular, where deviations from a schema in turn generate new schemata.
Moreover the deviations are seen as indispensable to the function and value of
the schema in the first place. Adorno expressed it as follows: 'Universals such as
genres . . . are true to the extent that they are subject to a countervailing
dynamic.'6
The dialectic of Universal and Particular may operate within genres, styles
and forms, but we might note again some distinctions in familiar usage. And
here genre emerges not as a more permeable but as a more rigid concept than
style or form . This is because the terms style and form can accommodate, and
are indeed used to describe, both poles of the dialectical process- universal­
particular, collective-unique, schema-deviation. 7 There is no such dual usage
for genre, which signifies and labels only the general level, the category, the
class. Depending on context, therefore, the theoretical relation of genre to style
and form may be either an inclusion relation, where style systems, understood as
notional unities, include genres which include formal schemata, or a dialectical
relation, where generic constraints oppose stylistic diversity and formal
independence.
The piano piece of the early nineteenth century is a useful repertory through
which to explore these issues. It is a repertory in which new modes of expression
struggled to break free of the old, as musical composition responded to rapid
changes in the infrastructure of musical life and in the climate of ideas. The
impulses which shaped the repertory were of many kinds, some new, some
newly significant. They include the demands of specific taste-publics in the
benefit concert and the middle-class salon; they include technological change;
they include influences from vocal music and from contemporary literature,
both signalling an expressive aesthetic. Not surprisingly, then, the repertory is
highly diversified stylistically. Indeed its identity on this level is perhaps best
defined in negative terms as an accumulating challenge to the sonata, embracing
both the bravura pieces of the so-called 'brilliant' style and the lyric or

214 MUSIC ANALYSIS 8:3, 1989

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CHOPIN AND GENRE

'character' pieces of early Romanticism.

If we understand the term 'genre' in the wider sense as defined by Fabbri, 8 we
might regard this repertory as generically undivided, its profile well-defined
against a Classical background. We would then locate repetition units in social,
behavioural and even ideological domains, as well as identifying 'dominants' or
genre 'markers' in the musical material itself. If, however, we adopt a narrower,
Formalist concept of genre we immediately confront problems of definition,
due to the complexity inherent in a period of change, where the old seeks to
adapt to the new, while the new absorbs what it can from the old. The attempt to
register this complexity in detailed generic terms is far from easy .
And it is entirely in line with our earlier theoretical observations that we can
register it in stylistic or formal terms. To generalise: with style and form a
transitional moment may be characterised as an interpenetration of old and new.
With genre, which seeks by definition to categorise musical experience, to close
or finalise it, there will be no such interpenetration of old and new, but rather a
choice to be made between them. Moreover the 'new' (generically speaking) will
tend to remain weakly defined until accumulating changes in style and form are
ready to be validated by genre. Hence the generic permissiveness of much early
nineteenth-century piano music, evident in the remarkable profusion of genre
titles, often used casually and even interchangeably, and at times emanating
from the publisher rather than the composer. A study of early nineteenth­
century lexicographers is enough to confirm that for this repertory titles alone
do not signify genres.

PART I

FORMALISM: GENERIC CLASSIFICATION

It is clear, then, that any project which sets out to reduce the empirical variety of
early nineteenth-century piano music to some semblance of generic order would
be an ambitious one. Formalist genre theory will be at the very least a useful
starting-point. In the Formalist analysis certain primary causes generate a
repertory of free-ranging devices. As these accumulate (often losing touch with
the original cause) they acquire a focus which in turn concentrates and unites
them into a system. This system may then be characterised as a hierarchical
grouping of devices governed by a dominant. There is no single principle of
classification (a genre may well combine several), and configurations of devices
will frequently overlap several genres.
Now although their description of generic evolution smacks of an impersonal,
inexorable historical process, the Formalists were well aware that individual
authors make the process happen. Their writings do not theorise precisely the
conjunction of individual creativity and collective historical forces, 9 but in
practice they often suggest that newly created devices will crystallise in the work
of a major author such that an accumulation of minor changes becomes in that
work a single qualitative change. A good example would be Eikhenbaum's

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JIM SAMSON

study of Lermontov. 10 Success will then breed imitation, and the private generic
definition will become a conventional one.
This brings me to Chopin. I hope it is more than a kind of Chopin fetishism to
see in his mature music a rather specific crystallisation of man~ of the devices
associated with the 'pianists' music' (to use Fetis's term) 1 of the early
nineteenth century. The key moment in this crystallisation was the
transformation which took place in his music around 1830, a transformation of
elements not only from his own earlier music but also from the wider repertory
of a minor line. The entire process maps well against some aspects of Formalist
theory; indeed Eikhenbaum's acount of Lermontov's transformation of Russian
poetry of the 1820s might be applied rather neatly to Chopin's transformation of
elements of the 'brilliant' style at precisely the same time. Stylistically the major
changes brought about by Chopin were in the nature and above all the role of
bravura figuration and of ornamental melody. Bravura figuration of
conventional origin became dense with information, its formal status aspiring to
that of melodic line and harmonic progression, its very identity at times
deliberately blurred with theirs. Ornamental figures, also of conventional
origin, were similarly transformed from inessential elements to essence. The
qualitative change here- the point at which the devices of a minor line acquired
a focus- occurred in the Op. 10 Etudes and the early nocturnes.
That focus was achieved partly because of parallel changes in the formal
organisation of Chopin's music around 1830. On the surface the main point here
is his rejection of the characteristic variation sets and rondos of the 'brilliant'
style in favour of a diversity of miniature designs and single-movement
extended structures. But at a deeper level the real change once more involved
transformation rather than rejection. At base Chopin remained faithful to the
formal methods of the 'brilliant' style, but his achievement was to absorb their
juxtaposed lyrical and figurative paragraphs into tonally regulated organic
wholes, which provide incidentally new contexts for the sonata-form archetype.
In doing so he transformed the meaning of existing devices. And that
transformation set the compass-reading not only for his own mature music but
for a major line within nineteenth-century piano music.
It is my contention that this renovative approach to stylistic and formal
devices extended equally to the genres which mediate between them within that
inclusion relation outlined in my introduction. Chopin did not select genre titles
arbitrarily or use them loosely in his mature music. They had specific, though
not necessarily conventional, generic meanings, established through an internal
consistency in their application. In seeking to clarify his approach to titles and
their generic definitions I propose the following categories: conventional titles,
conventionally defined - the Sonata (I refer to the genre, not the formal
archetype); conventional titles, conventionally defined, but with a new status­
the Etude; conventional titles, newly defined- the Scherzo, the Prelude and the
three principal dance pieces; conventional titles defined clearly for the first time
-the Nocturne and the Impromptu; new titles- the Ballade. In most cases the
connotative values of the titles echo familiar themes in the wider repertory of

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early nineteenth-century piano music, themes which are at once transcended

and remembered: improvisation in the Prelude, Impromptu and Fantasy; vocal
transcription and imitation in the Nocturne; literary inspiration in the Ballade.
Chopin's project and achievement was to give generic authority to the free­
ranging devices of an emergent repertory, crystallising the meanings of some
existing titles, transforming the meanings of others and devising new titles to
meet new generic requirements. In each case there is a measure of consistency in
the semiotic relation of the title to the formal and stylistic features of the piece.
As we know, the 'sign' is bipartite, and both parts are essential. The title is
integral to the piece and partly conditions our response to its stylistic and formal
content, but it does not create a genre. Equally a taxonomy of formal and
stylistic devices will not of itself establish a consistent basis for generic
differentiation. It is enough to consider the substantial overlaps between
Chopin's genres in this respect. Without the title we might have difficulty
classifying even some of the nocturnes. It is the interaction of title and content
which is important.
It is worth stressing the word 'interaction', because of course the content may
subvert the expectations created by the title. It can only do so, however, where
a sufficient correspondence of title and content has been established. Indeed the
subversion of expectations actually helps to strengthen a generic definition,
clarifying its terms through their temporary falsification. Paradoxically a genre
title will be all the more integral to a work where its role is to promote ambiguity.
This 'complex of meaning' will be fully active where a generic norm is
conventional, validated by consensus. But it may operate within the work of a
single composer, provided that there is some measure of stability in
signification. This is the narrowest framework within which the concept of
genre - as a class with exemplars -may be invoked. It represents the other
extreme to the wider social definition proposed at the outset of this article.
To establish whether a genre has this stability in Chopin's mature music we
would proceed by examining each genre as a closed system. This is easiest, of
course, where the sample is large, as with the Etude, Nocturne, Prelude and
dance piece. It is perhaps more challenging with the three genres that comprise
four pieces each, the Scherzo, Ballade and Impromptu. My intention is to
examine just one of these- the Impromptu- as a case-study of generic stability
in Chopin; on the face of it, it is the least promising candidate. The analysis
should be viewed as a modest contribution to a larger investigation of Chopin's
genres which has already resulted in valuable studies by Jeffrey Kallberg and
Jean-Jacques Eigeldinger. 12

Case-Study: The Impromptus

Chopin wrote his first Impromptu, the q minor, Op. 66, in 1834. 13 Before that
date the term was in use, but carried very little generic meaning, as a study of
contemporary dictionaries and music lexicons indicates. 14 A taxonomy of pieces
actually called 'impromptu' between 1817 (its first appearance) and 1834

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(Chopin's Op. 66) will at most differentiate between two very broad classes. The
first comprises works based on an existing source- operatic and folk melodies
were popular- usually presented as ornamental variation sets or potpourris.
There are examples by Czerny, Kalkbrenner, Liszt, Moscheles and Schumann.
The second comprises short character pieces where the original association of
the title may have been with a lack of pretension, as of a piece composed casually
and spontaneously. There are examples by Vofisek, Marschner, Schubert and
Moscheles.
Since the work of Willi Kahl 15 it has been common to make a generic
association between the Vofisek Op. 7 set and the later sets by Schubert.
Kenneth Delong has established, however, that neither the Vofisek set nor the
first Schubert set was so titled by its composer, while the second Schubert set
was given the title purely as a matter of expediency . 16 It seems clear that neither
Vofisek nor Schubert had any very clear view of the impromptu as a genre.
Chopin's Op. 66 was not, then, an Impromptu in any generic sense
commonly understood at the time. He drew its basic compositional technique
from the recently completed Op. 10 Etudes and modelled some details of its
phraseology and texture on at least one and possibly two specific Impromptus
by other composers. 17 When he returned to the same title three years later,
however, he demonstrated that he had a rather specific private definition of the
genre. In his second Impromptu, in A~ major, Op. 29, Chopin rebuilt to the
specifications of Op. 66; we might almost say that he derived the second from the
first. There are precise parallels of formal design, proportion, detailed phrase
structure, texture and contour. And the links are strengthened by motivic
parallels. This may be demonstrated informally by presenting for inspection the
openings of the two figurations and the two melodies (see Ex. 1).
The third and fourth Impromptus were composed at a time of imminent
stylistic change in Chopin's music, in 1839 and 1842 respectively, and offer an
interesting model of the second relation between genre and style mentioned in
my introduction - the dialectical rather than the inclusion relation. In the
fourth, the G~ major, Op. 53, generic constraints act as a force for inertia and
stability at a time of stylistic change. In formal type, texture and phraseology
there is a clear association with the first two impromptus. Indeed it seems likely
that Chopin actually modelled his G~ major Impromptu on the A~ major,
composed some five years earlier. The construction of the outer figuration
seems to have been derived from the earlier piece, as Ex. 2 indicates. And the
parallels extend beyond contour, rhythm and phrasing into the precise
relationship between the two hands, including the placing of dissonant notes.
In the third Impromptu, Op. 36, on the other hand, generic stability is
undermined by stylistic change. I have argued elsewhere that this F~ major
Impromptu was the single most important harbinger of a major stylistic change
in Chopin's music. 18 Several novel stylistic features appear here for the first
time, to be more fully realised only in some of the larger works of the early
1840s. Specifically the ostinato-variations of its opening section look to the
B erceuse; the strident march of the middle section looks to the F minor Fantasy;

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and the variations of the reprise, culminating in non-thematic figuration, look to

the F minor Nocturne, Op. 55, No. 1. Now all these features represent
departures from the generic norm established in the first two Impromptus and
confirmed by the fourth. Yet at the same time Chopin was at pains to
demonstrate that he thought of the F# Impromptu as belonging to the same
world as the others, so that its unique formal and stylistic features might indeed
be perceived as deviations from a norm. Again there is an obvious derivation

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chain. As Ex. 3 suggests, the main theme derives from the central melodies of
the first and second Impromptus. Formally, too, the Impromptu follows the
others, though its ternary structure builds into the reprise a variation sequence
such that the figuration is not present at the outset but arrives as part of the
variation process. The figuration when it does come, however, exhibits close
associations with the other Impromptus, as Ex. 4 demonstrates. We may now
present a summary of the derivations and interrelationships among all four
Impromptus in diagrammatic form (see Fig. 1).
For Chopin, then, the Impromptu was a genre, such that the individual piece
exemplifies as well as making its own statement. The genre is stable enough,
moreover, to accommodate and contain significant deviation. On one level
normative elements - embracing dimensions, formal design, phraseology,
texture and a repertory of specific gestures- interlock across all four pieces in a
manner which strongly suggests a derivation chain. On another level norms are
established by three of the four pieces, while the fourth deviates from these
norms within certain limits. The four Impromptus offer, in short, a small-scale
model of the larger workings of a conventional genre. And it is a model to which
Adorno's dialectic of Universal and Particular is peculiarly relevant. An
awareness of that dialectic will discourage us from any prescriptive
identification of the work with an abstract schema. At the same time it will
discourage us from the more seductive opposing tendency - to examine the
work as a unique event without reference to compositional norms, including
generic norms.
The genre markers of the Impromptu do of course overlap with those of other
Chopin genres, but its avoidance of virtuosic and affective extremes helps to
differentiate it from its nearest neighbours- the Etude, for example. In any case
what is at issue here is not the demarcation lines between different genres but

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JIM SAMSON

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CHOPIN AND GENRE

Fig. 1
a)

Op.66 A B A

Op.29
1 1 l
A B A

Op.53
1 1
A B A

b)

r ----- - ------ --~

Op.66 A B A

Op.29
1 1 l
A
/B~Al '
+
Op.36 A B A A' A"

the internal consistency in the correspondence between title and content within
a single genre. Chopin's consistency in this regard is all the more striking in the
case of the Impromptu, because the title not only lacked any conventional
generic definition in the early nineteenth century; it actually signified if
anything a sort of 'anti-genre'. And this is the real significance of the explicit
motivic links between all four pieces. It is surely no coincidence that the only
other genres in which Chopin employs motivic as well as generic links are the
Prelude and the Fantasy. In all three cases he was spelling out his rejection, or
rather transcendence, of the obvious associations with improvisation. The
mature Chopin was defiantly a composer, not a pianist-composer.

PART II

POST-STRUCTURALISM: GENERIC CODES

Placed alongside other recent studies, 19 this examination of the Impromptus

confirms the importance of genre as a compositional control in Chopin's music.
It is clear from these studies that he valued genre as a force for conformity,
stability and closure, a channel through which the work might seek a fixed and
final meaning. Genre is in this sense one of the most powerful codes linking the
composer and his audience.

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At the same time the work in its uniqueness will resist any such finalisation of
meaning and the unity which that implies. The listener is naturally free to
import any number of alternative codes to the work, profitable or unprofitable.
But, more importantly, the composer may collude in this pluralism, deflecting
the listener from the principal generic code in the interests of an enriching
ambiguity of interpretation. And in this connection it is worth considering again
the issue of norms and deviations. As well as temporary negations of a prevailing
norm, deviations from that norm may be partial affirmations of alternative
norms, particles which signify absent wholes. This leads to a second and very
different aspect of genre study in Chopin, his persistent allusion to genres
outside the main controlling genre of a work.
We may note in the first place that the referents are usually distanced from the
instrumental traditions of high art music. They are either vocal genres,
especially from opera, or, and more commonly, popular genres- march, funeral
march, waltz, mazurka, barcarolle, chorale. The infusion of such popular
genres into Chopin's music scarcely needs exemplification. The most common
are the waltz and the mazurka, which constantly slide in and out of more
ambitious contexts. But we might also note some rather specific associations
between 'host' and 'guest' genres: chorale elements in the Nocturne, for
example, or barcarolle elements in the Ballade. The latter are of particular
interest as the only case in Chopin where a generic referent is itself one of the
'markers' of a controlling genre.
It will be clear from this that certain genres play a dual role in Chopin, and
especially those popular genres which he himself elevated to a new status. The
waltz is a case in point. We might examine all the waltzes of Chopin as
structured wholes with their own generic identity. At the same time we might
examine all the waltz elements in Chopin as constituents of a referential code
which cuts across generic boundaries, prising open the closed meanings of the
host or controlling genres to forge links with other moments in Chopin and
beyond. There is a similar dual role for the Mazurka, the Nocturne and even the
Prelude. Thus the A minor Mazurka, Op. 17, No.4, plays host to the nocturne,
while the G minor Nocturne, Op. IS, No.3, plays host to the mazurka. Perhaps
it is not far-fetched to claim that in this sense the C major Prelude from Op. 28
plays host to the prelude.
In their concern to stress integrative tendencies, recent Chopin analysts have
paid little attention to the plurality of generic allusions which struck nineteenth­
and early twentieth-century critics so forcefully in Chopin. It was, of course,
partly through such allusions that these critics arrived at the descriptive and
even programmatic interpretations which we tend to dismiss today. Popular
genres are after all grounded in social functions- dance, worship, mourning,
procession- and often refer to rather specific affective states; indeed their role
can be partly to socialise the more extreme affective states. The referential code
created by generic allusions could therefore play an important role in any
attempt at Affect Analysis in Chopin, hopefully taking us a little further than
existing studies such as that of Marion M. Guck. 20 Here again we might learn

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something from the methodology used in some popular music research, where
correspondences to extramusical designates are tested through interobjective
comparison and intersubjective recognition. 21 To return to the F~ major
Impromptu: an interobjective comparison between its central march and
contemporary operatic choruses might well rzrovide some rationale for Niecks's
'procession' or even Huneker's 'cavalcade'. 2
It remains to consider some more general aspects of the relationship between
popular genres and high art music. This is a complex issue, of course, and will
not be explored in any depth here; but it may be worth drawing attention to
certain changes in that relationship in the nineteenth century. It is a
commonplace of criticism that 'popular' and 'significant' music became
increasingly incompatible in nineteenth-century bourgeois-capitalist society,
establishing an opposition between conventional language and an avant garde.
It is less often remarked that in a substantial body of nineteenth-century music
this opposition was actually embodied within the individual work, as popular
genres increasingly took on a parenthetical, as distinct from a supportive or
enabling, role in art music. It may be possible to identify a wider social­
historical context for this in changing bourgeois perceptions of popular culture
in the early nineteenth century23 and a wider theoretical context in Bahktin's
delightfully-named concept of 'carnivalisation'. 24
These matters bear directly on Chopin, where the popular genre often
functions as a parenthesis rather than a control. In such cases an ironic mode
may be introduced. The work is not a march, a waltz or a mazurka but rather
refers to a march, a waltz or a mazurka. The popular genre is then part of the
content of the work rather than the category exemplified by the work, and its
markers may well be counterpointed against those of other popular genres, as
well as those of the controlling genre. More important than parallels in musical
material between the Eb major waltz of the first Ballade and theE major waltz of
the second Scherzo (Ex. 5) are parallels in the placing and function of these
passages, serving in both cases to highlight the 'counterpoint of genres'. There
is nothing new about such a 'counterpoint', of course- witness The Magic Flute
-but more than any earlier composer Chopin built it, albeit discreetly, into the
substance of his musical thought. And it had a legacy. Much later, in Mahler
and beyond, the tension between a controlling genre and the popular genres that
invade it results in a kind of displacement and fragmentation of traditional
generic context.

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Case-Study: Fantasy in F minor- The Introduction

Much of the richness of Chopin's major extended works derives from the
intersection of such pluralist tendencies and the integrative tendencies which
issue, at least in part, from a controlling genre. In a way it represents an
intersection of the two main themes of the present article. We may illustrate it
through a discussion of the introduction to the F minor Fantasy, Op. 49,
examining the passage within ever widening frames of reference (by
'introduction' I mean both the opening march and the transition to the first
cycle, i.e. bs 1-67).
One frame of reference for the analysis of this introduction would be the work
itself as a unique and unified statement. Here the integrative role of the passage
would be demonstrated in both tonal and motivic terms, as Carl Schachter has
done in a powerful recent study. 25 Needless to say, such an analysis remains
'comparative' in some degree, if only in the sense that normative categories
emerge from history and are defined through conventions which exist outside
the work.
A wider frame of reference would be the controlling genre. Here the passage
might be compared with the introduction to the only other Fantasy of Chopin's
maturity, the Polonaise-Fantasy, Op. 61. 26 There are important differences
between the two, but there are connections too (see Ex. 6), and these would lead
us to make further connections between the works as wholes, both in formal
arrangement and in tonal scheme. Both works build into their reworking of
sonata form a slow introduction and a 'slow movement', and in both cases the B
major of the latter is embedded within a prevailing A~ major tonality. These
associations are strengthened by our knowledge of the genesis of Op. 61 . The
slow movement for that work was transposed to B major only after it had already
been drafted inC major, and it is possible that generic association was a factor in

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CHOPIN AND GENRE

the decision to change the tonal setting. It is also worth noting that the
introduction to Op. 61 was at one point planned in F minor, the opening key of
the Fantasy Y

Another frame of reference, wider still, would be the entire Chopin canon.
Here the infusion of popular genres into both the introduction and the transition
would lead us beyond the Fantasies and encourage us to make connections with
the march of the F# major Impromptu and the improvisatory prelude of Op. 28,
No. 3 (Ex. 7). Ultimately these connections would lead us beyond Chopin to
(respectively) the choruses of French Grand Opera and the common practice of
contemporary improvisation. It is from this base that an additional layer of
meaning - one which involves some reference to extramusical designates -
might be adduced in an interpretation of the Fantasy.

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CHOPIN AND GENRE

CONCLUSION

In these concluding remarks I shall suggest that by examining three different

aspects of genre in Chopin's music we highlight in turn its special relevance to
his own age, its respect for the past and its telling glimpses of the future .
Within a broad definition of genre, we would regard Chopin as the most
valuable case-study of an emerging genre, the lyric piano piece of the early
nineteenth century. Such a study, which I have not attempted in this article,
would concern itself with the primary causes of a genre. Its approach would be
contextual, and its ultimate aim would be to theorise the relationship between
the social and stylistic histories of early nineteenth-century piano music. Here
Chopin would emerge, I believe, as the most persuasive advocate of a
contemporary genre.
Taking a narrower definition, we would value his achievement in creating
generic order amidst the devices of this emergent repertory. This was the thrust
of Part I of this article. The next stage would be to study the reception of
Chopin's genres by later composers. Such a study would reveal, I suspect, that
Chopin's rigorous, self-consistent generic order was only partially validated by
convention. And this might be viewed as supporting evidence for Dahlhaus's
claim that from the early nineteenth century onwards genres rapidly lost
substance. 28 Adorno makes a similar point in his remarks on 'nominalism and
the demise of artistic genres'. 29 This view is undoubtedly in search of
qualification, 30 but at its heart lies a genuine insight: that old genres survived
and were recontextualised in the later nineteenth century, but tended ultimately
towards fragmentation; that new genres emerged but remained fragile, the
consensus about them often tentative. In relation to this tendency Chopin's
commitment to generic renovation appears conservative, even Classical in
impulse.
That commitment was in no sense undermined by the play of popular genres
in his music. In Part II of this article I suggested that through that play genre
could become part of, rather than in control of, the content of a work. A further
effect of this was to isolate the popular genre, with its specific residue of social
function- to give it boundaries and place it in a dialogue with an autonomous art
music. Chopin's practice here was in a sense ambivalent. Having admitted
elements from different genres into a single work, he carefully blurred their
edges, allowing them to blend and interpenetrate. And having proposed a
separation of popular genres and art music, he proceeded to mediate constantly
between the two. His was still an art of synthesis and integration. Nevertheless
the seeds were sown. In its discreet counterpoint of genres - its tendency to
frame, and therefore to distance, the popular genre- Chopin's music looks to a
much later dislocation and splintering of compositional norms. And it is
perhaps here, as much as in its harmonic adventure, that it is a music of the
future.

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NOTES

1. Franco Fabbri, 'A Theory of Musical Genres: Two Applications', Popular Music
Perspectives, ed. Philip Tagg and David Horn (Goteborg and Exeter, 1982), pp.S2-
81.
2. A useful introduction to literary genre theory is Heather Dubrow, Genre (London:
Methuen, 1982). For a discussion of genre as a contract, see Dubrow's chapter
'The Function of Genre'. Jeffrey Kallberg has developed this idea in relation to
music in several papers, notably 'Understanding Genre: A Reinterpretation of the
Early Piano Nocturne', Proceedings of the XIV Congress of the International
Musicological Society, Bologna 1987 (in press).
3. 'Literary Genres', trans. L.M. O'Toole, in Formalism: History, Comparison, Genre,
ed. L.M. O'Toole and Ann Shukman (Oxford: Holden Books, 1978), pp.52-93.
Originally part of Teoriya literatury: poetika, 4th edn (Moscow-Leningrad, 1928),
pp.158-200.
4. The Formal Method in Literary Scholarship, trans. Albert J. Wehrle (Cambridge,
Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1985). Originally published in the USSR as
Formal'nyi metod v literaturovedenii (Leningrad: 'Priboi', 1928).
5. I gladly acknowledge an intellectual debt to Max Paddison in respect of the Adorno
references in the present article.
6. Aesthetic Theory, ed. Gretel Adorno and Rolf Tiedemann, trans. Christian
Lenhardt (London: Routledge and Kegan Paul, 1984), p.292.
7. To some extent different traditions of stylis tics lie behind this dual usage. See Alan
Swingewood, Sociological Poetics and Aesthetic Theory (London: Macmillan, 1986),
p.119.
8. See note 1.
9. As Eichenbaum puts it: 'We do not incorporate into our work issues involving
biography or the psychology of creativity - assuming that those problems, very
serious and complex in their own right, ought to have their place in other
disciplines. We are concerned with finding in evolution the features of immanent
historical laws.' Readings in Russian Poetics: Formalist and Structuralist Views, ed.
Ladislav Matejka and Krystyna Pomorska (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan
Press, 1978), p.33. From 'The Theory of the Formal Method', originally published
in Literatura: teorija, kritika, polemika (Leningrad, 1927), pp.116-48.
10. 'Some Principles of Literary History: The Study of Lermontov', in Formalism:
History, Comparison, Genre, pp.1-8 . Originally part of Opyt istoriko-literatumoi
otsenki (Leningrad, 1924).
11. In a review of Chopin's first public concert in Paris, Revue musicale, 3 March 1832.
12. Jeffrey Kallberg, 'The Rhetoric of Genre: Chopin's Nocturne in G minor', 19th­
Century Music, Vol. 11, No. 3 (Spring 1988), pp.238-61, and a forthcoming book
on Chopin's nocturnes; Jean-Jacques Eigeldinger, 'Twenty-Four Preludes,
Op.28: Genre, Structure, Significance', in Chopin Studies, ed. Jim Samson
(Cambridge: CUP, 1988), pp.167-94.
13. The term Fantasy-Impromptu was not Chopin's. See Jan Ekier, 'Das Impromptu
cis-Moll von Frederic Chopin', Melos!Neue Zeitschrift fur Musik, Vol. 4, No. 3

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CHOPIN AND GENRE

(May-June 1978), pp.201-4.

14. The earliest entries I have found where 'impromptu' refers to a manner of piece as
opposed to a manner of playing are K. Gollmick, Kritische Tenninologie fur Musiker
(Frankfurt-am-Main, 1833), and A. Gathy, Musikalisches Conversations- Lexicon
(Leipzig, 1835).
15. Willi Kahl, Das lyrische Klavierstuck zu Beginn des 19. Jahrhunderts (1800 bis 1830)
und sein Vorgeschichte im 17. und 18. Jahrhundert (Diss. , University of Bonn, 1919)
and later writings.
16. Kenneth Gordon Delong, The Solo Piano Music ofJ.V. Vorisek (Diss., Stanford
University, 1982), p.142. I am grateful to Ate§ Orga for introducing me to this
source and for other advice.
17. Andre Gaillard discusses a possible connection with Schubert's Eb major
Impromptu, Op.90, No. 2, in 'Le lyrisme pianistique de Chopin et ses antecedents
directs', The Book of the First International Musicological Congress Devoted to the
Works of Frederick Chopin (Warsaw, 1963), pp.279-99. Arthur Hedley makes a
more pertinent connection with the Moscheles Eb major Impromptu, Op.80, in
Chopin (London: Dent, 1947), p .156.
18. 'Chopin's F# major Impromptu: Genre, Style and Structure', Chopin and
Romanticism (Warsaw, in press).
19. See note 12.
20. 'Musical Images as Musical Thoughts: The Contribution of Metaphor to Analysis',
In Theory Only, Vol. 5 (June 1981), pp.29-42.
21. See in particular Philip Tagg, Kojak . .. SOSecondsofTelevisionMusic: Towards the
Analysis of Affect in Popular Music (Goteborg, 1979).
22. Frederick Niecks, Chopin as a Man and Musician (New York: Cooper Square
Publishers, 1973), Vol. 2, p .260. Originally published 1888. James Huneker,
Chopin: The Man and His Music (New York: Dover, 1966), p.l34. Originally
published 1900.
23. See Eric Hobsbawm, The Age of Revolution: Europe 1789-1848 (London:
Weidenfeld and Nicolson, 1962), pp.253-76.
24. Rabelais and His World (London: MIT Press, 1968), p.4 and elsewhere.
25. 'Chopin's Fantasy Op.49: The Two-Key Scheme', in Chopin Studies, pp. 22 1-53.
26. Chopin used the title 'Fantasy' only three times (see note 13). The early Fantasy on
Polish Themes, Op.l3, is a potpourri of a kind common (and commonly termed
'Fantasy') within the 'brilliant' style of early nineteenth-century piano music.
27. See Jim Samson, 'The Composition-Draft of the Polonaise-Fantasy: The Issue of
Tonality', in Chopin Studies, pp.41-58.
28. 'New Music and the Problem of Musical Genre', in Schoenberg and the New Music,
trans. Derrick Puffett and Alfred Clayton (Cambridge: CUP, 1987). pp.32-44.
29. Aesthetic Theory, pp.285-9.
30. It is challenged by Kallberg in 'The Rhetoric of Genre: Chopin's Nocturne in G
minor'.

MUSIC ANALYSIS 8:3, 1989 231

 23

Zofia Chechlinska

SCHERZO AS A GENRE - SELECTED PROBLEMS

The aim of my paper is to determine whether Chopin's scherzos should be

COnsidered a separate genre - or whether they may be said to belong to the
Cltisting genre of scherzo, as understood at the time.
The term 'genre' is used in music in different ways and may re fer to different
kinds and different levels of classification. It is used both to describe an entire
class of musical works, for example religious music, and also particular types of
1
Works within that class, as for example, religious song. • So, it has both a broad,
and a narrow meaning, which makes its usefulness as a term o f classification
rather dubious. On the other hand, it is very useful as a term of communicatio n.
Carl Dahlhaus points out that each genre has its own characteristic 'Tone', which
may be re ligious, lyrical etc. in character, so that genre may determine and carry
a Specific kind of musical content. Jeffrey Kallberg defines genre as a kind o f
1

contract between composers and listncrs. He writes that genre conditions the
communicatio n of meaning between those two groups, actively informing the
experience of a musical work and, "A kind of 'generic contract' develops between
composer and listner: the composer agrees to use some of the conventions, patterns
and gestures of a genre, and the listener consents to interpret some aspects of
3
the piece in a way co nditioned by the genre". If we accept this understanding
or genre as an historically changing phenomenon, then the point of departure for
a consideration of Chopin's scherzos as a genre must be the way that sc herzos
"!ere understood within his epoch.

L·
1
W. Arlt As~lue des Gauungsbegrijfs ~ .du . Musikgeschichtsschuibung. In: w. Arlt., E.
D~htenhahn. H. Oesch (eds.) Ga11ungen der Musilc m Eanze/~arst~llamgen: Ged~~kschriftuo Schrade.
~ 1973. The issue of the concept of genre and the htstoncal changcabihty of the parameters
"'htch dc:Jerminc the genre arc discussed in C. Dahlhaus writings, f. ex. Zur Problematik der
1tt4s;~lischen Ga11ungen im /9. Jahrhundut. In: W. Arlt, E. Lichtenhahn. H. Oesch, op. cit.
Cf. C. Dahlhaus, op. cit., p. 850.
3
Vo J. Kallbcrg The Rhetoric of Genre: Chopin's Nocturne in G minor. •. 19th Century Music",
I. I I. No 3 (Spring 1988), p. 243.

165
388 chopin

In lexicography of the first half of the 19th century, 'scherzo' was usually
described in terms of the word's litearal meaning, with connotations of the 'playful'
or the 'cheerful', as expressed through a lively, but not too quick tempo and
rhythmic movement. For example in Schilling's Encyclopedia 'Scherzo' is described
as "(...] ein wahres Spiel mit musikalischen Formcn , mit den Mitteln der Tone.
Das Scherzo muB [...] heiterer Natur seyn ind ihrcn Melodien cine scheinbar
komische Wendung gebco, ohne sclbst eigentlich komisch zu seyn. Ocr lachende,
odcr besser, erfreute Horer muB in seinem Geistc glcichsam sehen, wie vergni.igt
auch der Componist war, als cr diesc [ ...] Musik schuf [ ...]".4 Similarly, he cheerful
character of the scherL.o is stressed by Castil-Bl:v.c.~ Sometimes lexicographers
also describe methods specific to the scherzo, as for example, the clear differentiation
of articulation and the alternation of ascending and descending phrases, metre
3/4, quick tempo 6 and ternary design.' The cheerful character of the scheno,
especially of the independent scherzo, is stressed again in lexicons of the second
half of the nineteenth century, as for example in B emsdor~ and Dommer. 9
The musical practice of the period enables us to broaden and to clarify the
picture which emerges from this dictionary accounts. Amongst scherzos, these
which were part of a multi-movement composition arc predominant, but there
were also several independent scherzos. Whistling's Handbuch der musikalischetl
Literatur mentions several works of the time, mainly for piano. 10 There arc by
composers who are now almost totally forgotten. From the few works which are
accessible, one can conclude that they were mainly salon pieces. Their formal
design was characteristic of a scherzo - ternary form with a contrasting middle
section, and they conform to the 'cheerful' character which is mentioned in manY
sources of the time.
The image of the scherzo as a genre at that time was also innuenced by
Beethoven's scherzos from his sonatas and symphonies. This was rcnected in
later writings of the period, where we lind not only additional musical characteristics,
such as for example the shifting of accents in syncopated manner, but also some
differences in the general characterisation of the genre - notably to a more
11
generalised 'humorous' character rather than a 'playful' or 'joyful' one. Hand

4 G. Schilling Encyclopiidie der ge.rammten mu.sikalischen Wissen.schafi. Stuugart 1835.42.

Vol. 6. p. 193.
~ Castil-Biaze Dictionaire de musique modeme. Paris 1821. p. 225.
6 A. Gathy Musikalisclres Conversotions-Lexikon. Leipzig 1835. p. 135 ff.
7 A. Dommer Musikalisclres Lexikon. Heidelberg 1865, p. 744.
s "Scherzo... in einem leichten muntem auch humoristischen Charakter gehalten ist" (E. Bemsdorf
Neues Universal-Lexikon der Tonkrmst. Offenbach 1861, Vol. 3, p. 461).
9 "Scherzo... cin TonstUck von leichterem und heiterem Charakter, in welchcm Humor und

scherz.haftc Laune mit den Gcfilhlcn cin muntercs Spiel treiben" (A. Dommer, op. cit.. p. 744).
°
1 C. F. Whistling Handbuclr der musikali.rchen Literatur. Leipzig 1828; cf. also B. Motylewsk3

Scherzo przed Chopinem. In: Z. Lissa (ed.) F. F. Chopin. Warszawa 1960, p. 205.
11 "Scher'lO... mit dem GefUhl cin ironischcs und neckendes Spiel treibt" (F. Hand Aesthetik

der Tmrkwrst. Jena 1841, Vol. 2, p. 377).

166
 chopin 389

stressed above all clements of irony, while Dommer refers to the pain and sorrow
12
Which may be concealed by humour in the schcrzo. Despite this bonder
Understanding of the scherzo, the notion of 'joyfulness' re mained the basis
determinant of the character of the genre in Chopin's epoch.
Although the conception of Chopin's scherzos was linked in some ways with
the late Beethoven scherzos, that conception remai ned puzzling to his contemporaries.
This is rencctcd in the well-known remark by Schumann concerning the B mi11or
Scherzo: "Wie sich dcr Ernst kleiden sollte, wcnn schon der Scherz in dunklen
Schatten geht?". 13 And this view was echoed by commentators in the second half
of the 19th century. Hocsick says that the only thing which is humorous about
14
Chopin's scherzos is that the tittle is joyful and the content sad. And Niccks
remarked that the tittle 'scherzo' is inappropriate for the Chopin pieces, proposing
instead the tittle 'cappriccio' . 15
So, what is the connection between Chopin's scherzos and the existing genre?
The tittle 'schcrLO' was given by the composer himself to all four pieces,
Which is clear evidence of the conscious association between his pieces and the
genre as commonly understood. The basis for 'all scherzos is a ternary design -
quick-slow-quick. This model may be blurred somewhat by internal repetitions,
by developmental processes and by different arrangements of quick and slow
Sections, but it still remains the basic point of departure for the genre. Another
normative feature of the genre is its characteristic dimensions. It should be
emphasized, that in Chopin's scherzos this is changed in an essential way. From
a short piece the independent scherzo became an extended structure. The characteristic
tempo of the scherzo was more-or-less retai ned by Chopin: It should be quick,
but not too quick. But all Chopin 's scher.ws are marked 'presto' with the addition
of 'con fuoco' in the C .rharp minor and B mi11or. So the tempo has been
modified in relation to contemporary conventions, without totally abandoning those
COnventions. At the same time the 'con fuoco ' marking points Chopin's scherzos
in a new direction. The metre characteristic for the scherLo has also been retained
by Chopin. And the usc of sforzato markings to create syncopated patterns
~cscribed by lexicographers as a characteristic of the genre - is very prominent
tndeed in his scherzos. The same is true of the differentiation of articulation, in

12 "Ocr in ihm (i. c. in schcrr.o) wnltendc Humor verstlhnt dun:h seincn in scherzhaflen Gewand
&ekleidetcn tiefgefllhhen Ernst den Schmerz und blindigt die Lcidenschaflen'" (A. Dommer, op. cit.,
p, 226).
' 3• "... wie sich dcr Ernst kleidcn so lie, wenn schon der 'Scherz.' in dunkcln Schleicrn geht?'"
(It Schumann Gesammdte Sclrrifle" libtr Musik rmd Musiker. Red. H. Simon. Leipzig. b. r., t 1,
'· 237).
14
F. Hoesick Chopin. tycie i tw6rr:zoic. Kralc6w 1962 (first published 1910} Vol. I, p. 389.
15
F. Niecks Frederick Chopi11 as a Man and Musician. London 1888, Vol. 2. p. 257. It is
111
0rth remembering lh01t A. B. Marx claimed lhat "auch der Name Scherzo ist oft fOr Caprice odcr
&ar ElUde gebraucht werden" (Die uhre von der musikalischen Komposition. Leipzig 51879, Vol. J,
P. 43), which indicates that in lhe first hair of lhe nineleenlh century specific features of lhe genres
lllentioned (as independent works) were by no means always clear.

167
390 chopin

particular the successive, and even simultaneous use of legato and staccato
articulation. This is especially characteristic of the C-sharp minor and E major
Scherzos. The differentiation of articulation is undoubtedly connected with Chopin 's
growing interest in the role of colour as a means of shaping a work. But this
is not a feature which distinguishes Chopin's scherzos from his other music. So
it is difficult to claim that it originated as a genre characteristic, though it was
indeed to function as such.
We may ask then if there are specific conventions assocciated with the Chopin
scherzo. In critical literature on Chopin, the common features linking the four
scherzos have seldom been outlined, apart from the general characteristics of struc­
ture and metre, which have already been discussed. Jim Samson in his monograph
of Chopin writes: "For Chopin the genre tittle made few demands of his material.
Each of the scherzos is uniquely characterised, sharply differentiated from its
fellows in mood and technique and united to them only in metre and rough-and-ready
allegiance to the scherzo and trio design". 16 Alan Rawsthome in his chapter on
Chopin's scherzos points out that in the scherzos "the resemblences are much
more clearly marked" than in the ballades. 17 But he speaks only about the simplicity
of their construction as the main source of this resemblences. In fact similarities
are also to be noted in tempo (presto), which differs significantly from the tempos
of the scherzos from Chopin sonatas (this tempos are marked 'allegro', or are
without any marking, suggesting that they respect the existing conventions).
More important, however, is the fact, that all four independent scherzos
include similar gestures made up of contrasting motifs separated either by silence
or by long sustained sounds. These gestures initiate each of the scherzos giving
them a specific character, although the structure of the gestures themselves -
their overall shape, the extent of the contrast between their elements and the rate
of change of those elements - are different from work to work, as we expect
of Chopin. In the B minor Scherzo the contrast is created by presenting two long
sustained chords - .If - each in a different register - followed by figuration
in a piano dynamic (sec Example Ia). So there is contrast in dynamics, register,
rhythm and texture. This sequence is repeated in modified form, moreover - at
crucial points in the work. In the other three scherzos the gestures arc to some
extent similar in character. They consist of unison and chordal motifs. (Ex. 1.)
In B flat minor Scherzo contrast is created through dynamics (sotto voce-ff,
and then - pp-ff), texture (unison - chords), and register (low and high, narrow
range and wide range). But in B flat Scherzo the gesture is not just an opening
idea to be repeated in later points; it is the basis of the principal theme or subject
of the work. The dramatic tension inherent in this gesture determines in fact the
character of the entire piece. In the C sharp minor the same elements are used
to create contrast, but the extent of the dynamics differentiation is not as strong

16
J. Samson 111e Music of Chopin. London 1985, p. 171.
17
A Rawsrhorne Ballades, Fantasy and Scherzos. In: A. Walker (ed.) Frederic Chopin. Profiles
of rhe Man and rile Musician. London 1966, p. 62.

168
 chopin 391

lb. F. Chopin Scherzo 8 flat minor. bars 1-9.

169
392 chopin

lc. F. Chopin Scherzo C sharp minor: a) bars 1- 8. j}) bars 155-162.

::::::

170
 chopin 393

1d. F. Chopin Sclrerw E major. bars 1- 16.

as in the earlier work. The opening gesture is limited here to the introduction
of the work, but the principle of contrast appears again to form the basis of the
tniddle section (see Example lc). In the E major Scherzo, as in B flat minor,
a succession of short fragments once again forms the basis of the main theme.
liere the contrast is of a quite different character, if indeed we may use the word
'contrast' at all in this case. It is based on changes of texture, while the dynamics
remains stable, and the registers - although different - arc not so polarised as
in the earlier pieces. As a result the dramatic tension so characteristic of the
earlier scherzos is Jacking in the E major. This is a result of more general
changes in Chopin's style in the early 1840-ties, changes which in some ways
foreshadow the texture of later so-called impressionist composers. Stylistic evolution
also results in generic evolution, as the conventions of the genre are modified.
But the lack of sharp contrasts in the 4th Scherzo is compensated in a different
Way. In the B flat minor and C sharp minor Scherzos in particular, the sharp
Contrasts mean that short si lences or a minor increase in rhythmic value of the
final note arc enough to separate out the musical fragments. So the opening
Paragraphs of ti1esc Scherzos arc a succession of clearly separated cells, although
they arc, of course, harmonically linked. The main subject of the E major Scherzo
is, to an even greater extent, a succession of separated motifs or phrases, but
the method of separating them is not through sharp contrasts, but by means of
long sustained chords which have almost completely abandoned any harmonically
functional links between the motifs.
It is worth noting that these gestures - separated, contrasted fragments -
are not typical of other Chopin works. They do occur, of course, but their
significance is rather less, since they are more sporadic and do not affect such
~tructurally important parts of the work. Alan Rawsthorne describing the Scherzo
111 C sharp mi11or, refers to "the fierce contrasts so characteristic of Chopin's

larger works. Perhaps he felt that contrast was inherent in the nature of the
schcrzo".' 8 But in fact the contrasts which are characteristic of Chopin's larger
Works of arc quite a different character from those in the motifs at the beginning

18
As above. p. 69.

171
394 chopin

of the independent scherzos. They are contrasts between longer paragraphs of the
work, so that the basic fluency and continuity are preserved. Such contrasts are,
of course, present in the scherzos too, they influence their expressive character,
but they are not a specific, or defining feature of the genre. Undoubtedly, Chopin
felt that contrast was inherent in the nature of the scherzo, but it was precisely
the contrast of small, separated motifs, which break up the flow of the music.
It is worth pointing out that these gestures are typical only of the independent
scherzos. The scherzos from the sonatas possess the general features associated
with the genre, as commonly understood. They lack completely the specific
gestures which open the independent scherzos.
The gestures are also absent from scherzos by contemporaries, such as
Schumann and Mendelssohn. So they may be considered to be a specific generic
convention of Chopin's independent scherzos. We may say that for Chopin's
independent scherzos, a typical feature is the play of contrasts taking specific,
clearly-defined shapes. Contrast was in general a characteristic of the scherzo, as
emphasized by Steinbeck.. 9 He points out that the scherw originally created
a contrast with the surrounding movements of a cyclic work, and this was a feature
highlighted by early nineteenth century writers. But in the nineteenth century this
contrast permeated into the heart of the scherzo itself and it was precisely this
internal contrast which typified the genre in the second half of the century. We
might then draw a clear line of descent from Chopin's scherzos to the scherzos
of the later nineteenth century; f. ex. of Brahms or Bruckner. 20 Of course, these
contrasts were created by different composers in quite different ways. Gestures
typical of Chopin's scherzos are not repeated exactly by later composers, but the
idea remains the same. The new generic conventions introduced by Chopin
gradually came to dominate the genre in the second half of the century.
But we may ask why it is that sudden contrasts should be regarded as so
typical of Chopin's scherzos, distinguishing them from his other genres. What
was the connection between these contrasts and the essence of the genre -
'scherzo'. The differences in the methods used by composers of different generations,
and the constructed expressive worlds which result- may well be due to different
ways of understanding the notion of 'wit', which is central to the scherzo. Humour
and wit, as we well know, may have very different shades - cheerful and joyful
on the one hand, sour and ironic on the other. And there is also a .so-called
'black humour'. And in the same way the expressive worlds of composers'
scherzos may be very different.
Nevertheless, it seems possible to explain the methods used if the word
'scherzo' is linked to the essence of wit. Despite different manifestation of wit,

I? W. Steinbeck Scherzo. In: H. H. Eggebrecht (ed.) Handbuch der musikalischen Termino/ogit·

Wicsbadcn, Franz Steiner Verlag.
20 About the Importance and meaning of contrasts in scherzos by Brahms and Bruckner sec

W. Kirsch Das Scherzo bei Brahms wtd Bruckner. In: 0. Wesscly (cd.) Bruckner Symposion. Johannes
Brahms und Anton Bruckner. Linz 1985.

172
 chopin 395

this essence is the feature of surprise and the unexpected. It seems that Chopin
captures precisely this feature in the music of Lhc scherzos. The specific type of
contrast used in the scherzos makes it impossible for the listeners to predict how
the structure will be funhcr developed, unless they know the music well. The
change of almost all musical elements, creati ng a 'surprise' for the listener, is
rather like a musical expression of verbal wit. And it may be in this that we
can find the specific defining features in Chopin's scherzos.

To conclude:

TIIC independen t scherzos and the scherzos from sonatas arc treated by Chopin
in quite different ways, as we have seen. Only in their overall constructio n are
the two types of scherzo relatable to the same tradition. But in fact the scherzos
in the sonatas are components of a different genre and they arc subordinate d to
this genre. Chopin often impons clements of one genre into another. This happens
in the independent scherzos, as for example in the noctum c lements in the
E major, the chorale clements in the C sharp minor, the waltz clements in the
B flat minor. But the controlling gcnre is always the scherzo. In the scherzos
21

from sonatas the controlling genre is always the sonata.

TI1e four independen t scherlOS were undoubtedly a separate genre for Chopin.
Specific gestures with modified features taken over from tradition create new
generic convention s. In this way the composer imposes on the listener a 'new
generic contract' using Jeffrey Kallbcrg's terminology.
The genre of Chopin's schertos is, however, deeply rooted in tradition. It is
not the rejection of traditional genre, but a modification of it, as we can see
from its many links with normative scherzo features.
In fact, genre as an historically changing phenomeno n is modified all the
time, especially by great composers. These modificatio ns constantly widen our
perception of the genre, although on occasion they may do so to Lhe point at
Which we must speak of a new genre.
In the first half of the nineteenth century the scherzo was modified not j ust
by Chopin, but also by Mendelssohn, who brought new conventions to the genre.
Bu1 Mendelsso hn's modifications were less radical than Chopin's, and were
accordingly more easily accepted by contemporary audience.
The modification of existing genres is a characterist ic feature of Chopin's
entire output, alt hough the extend and manner of the modificatio n differ from
genre to genre. Scherzos, then, arc j ust a single instance of a characteris tic
chopincsqu e procedure.
Warszawa 1989

21 The 1enn 'conlrolling genre' is used ancr J. Samson Chopin and Genre. "Music Analysis",

Vol. 8. No 3. Oclober 1989. p. 223-224.

 24

CRITICAL FORUM

JOHN RINK

CHOPIN'S BALLADES AND THE DIALECTIC:

ANALYSIS IN HISTORICAL PERSPECTIVE

'Chopin at the supreme summit of his art' (Huneker 1900: 163), 'the acme of his
power as an artist' (Niecks 1888: 268), 'the crown of Chopin's work' (Abraham
1939: 106), 'one of Chopin's supreme achievements' (Samson 1985: 187) : each of
these comments bears witness to the enthusiastic critical response to Chopin's
Ballades throughout the past 150 years.* Structurally complex and highly
expressive, the four masterpieces have also attracted a wide range of analytical
approaches during this time. Studying these disparate analyses - which is the
purpose of this article - allows one not only to determine how the four works have
been variously understood in the literature, but also to draw conclusions about
how analysis has evolved as a discipline since the Balla des were written.'
The ballad genre itself had experienced a complicated evolution before
Chopin's Op. 23 was published in 1836 (the other three - Opp. 38, 4 7 and 52 -
dating from 1840, 1841 and 1843 respectively), and authors such as Wieslaw
Lisecki (1990), Anselm Gerhard (1991) and James Parakilas (1992) have
attempted to place the four Ballades in a number of historical contexts, as if
deriving from different dance, literary, operatic or folk traditions. These efforts
have met with varying degrees of success, and here it suffices to note a general
description of the ballad tradition as a background to studying Chopin's unique
conception of the genre. Among the ballad's chief characteristics were a 'bold,
• A French uanslation of an earlier version of this anicle appeared in Analyse musicale, No. 27 (1992); a Polish
translation will be published in Rocz nik Chopinowski, Vol. 2 1 (1994) .

MUSIC ANALYSIS 13:1, 1994 99

398 chopin

CRITICAL FORUM

sensational, dramatic effect' achieved through 'purposeful starkness and

abruptness', a 'rigid' narrative economy and 'a repertory of rhetorical
devices . . . employed for prolonging highly charged moments in the story and
thus thickening the emotional atmosphere'. The latter included abrupt transitions,
'crisp, poignant dialogue' and 'incremental repetition', whereby 'a phrase or stanza
is repeated several times with a slight but significant substitution at the same
critical point. Suspense accumulates with each substitution, until at last the final
and revelatory substitution bursts the pattern, achieving a climax and with it a
release of powerful tensions' (Friedman 1986: 116).
That all these characteristics apply with such accuracy to Chopin's Ballades
possibly explains the persistent reference to narrative content and extramusical
programmes in the analytical literature on these works, particularly - but not
exclusively - in studies from the nineteenth century, when, in Jim Samson's words,
the 'critic was less interested in formulating theories than in conveying his
experience of a work directly to his readers, ... [using] the metaphor . . . [as] his
principal tool. In the case of the ballades the temptation was to allow the genre
title to make even m ore specific the customary references to non-musical
designates' ( 1992a: 34). Later authors played down the 'literary and programmatic
associations' of Chopin's extended works 'in favour of their purely musical values,
and in particular the strength and stability of their structures', responding to an
early twentieth-century tendency 'to de-contextualise the musical work, to let it
make its own statement, to assign it a monadic character whose meaning might be
revealed only through analysis'. In short, 'the "wordless narratives" of Chopin's
age have become today's "triumphs of architecture"'(: 37, 38) .
The last two decades or so have witnessed a third phase in the analytical
reception of the Ballades, following on from the subjective studies of the late
1800s and the ostensibly more objective, structuralist ones of this century. Indeed,
recent analytical writing reveals a synthesis of the two earlier stages, whereby
emotion and meaning are defined not simply with regard to inferred
programmatic/poetic content or supposedly innate, autonomous musical logic, but
in a comparatively rigorous, theoretically grounded hermen eutics linking musical
phenomena to particular expressive effects. This 'reconciliatory' critical approach
- which in part reflects the concerns of the 'new musicology' in general, and which
will be well-known to readers of this journal from many contexts other than
Chopin's music - seeks

the locus of expression in a musical composition ... neither in its wider surfaces
nor in its more detailed motivic contours, but in its comprehensive design,
which includes all the sonic elements and relates them to one another in a
significant temporal structure. In other words, extrageneric meaning can be
explained only in terms of congeneric [meaning] . If verbalization of true
content - the specific expression uniquely embodied in a work - is possible at
all, it must depend on close structural analysis (Cone 1982: 235) .

The hermeneutics alluded to here shapes not only Cone's study of Op.52
(discussed below) but also other recent analyses of the Ballades which attempt
through theory to legitimise or universalise the listener's subjective reactions to
the music. It thus completes the quasi-dialectical succession alluded to above,
from the 'literary' critical discourse of Schumann and other nineteenth-century
writers, through the structural diagram s of Leichtentritt, Schenker et al. , and the

100 M U SICANA LYSIS 13:1 , 1994

 chopin 399

CRITICAL FORUM

'technical' prose of others in this century, to the theoretically enlightened - in

some cases, theoretically blighted - analyses of expression and meaning in recent
years (many of which still invoke a 'structuralist ideal', notwithstanding the
influence of post-structuralism on current critical thought) .' This succession can
clearly be seen by surveying the principal analyses of the Ballades in roughly
chronological order and by noting the conspicuous pattern that emerges from such
a study.
Compared with much of his writing, Schumann's remarks on the Ballades are
almost laconic: he describes Chopin's Op.23 as 'one of his wildest and most
unusual compositions' and Op.38 as 'no less fantastic and brilliant', although
artistically inferior to the former. Of the third Ballade ('which is remarkably
different in form and character from the earlier two') he simply comments that 'its
poetical atmosphere does not lend itself to further analysis' (1888: iii, 64-5, 128) .
Reluctance to engage with a 'poetical' work like this is palpable elsewhere during
this first phase of critical response to the four compositions, as for instance in
Frederick Niecks's comment (1888: ii, 269-70) that Op.4 7's 'fine gradations' and
'iridescence of feeling . .. mock at verbal definition', and in James Huneker's
otherwise thorough study of these 'Faery Dramas', which, he writes (coupling
'technical' vocabulary with 'woolly romanticizing' [Alan Rawsthome's phrase
(1966: 49)]), are 'not loosely-jointed, but compact structures glowing with genius
and presenting definite unity of form and expression' . For instance, Op.23 - 'the
Odyssey of Chopin's soul' - is a 'logical, well-knit and largely planned'
composition possessing an 'organic unity'; 'that Chopin had a programme, a
definite one, there can be no doubt' . For Huneker, Op.38 likewise 'follows a
hidden story', while 'the episodes of [Op.47] are so attenuated of any grosser
elements that none but psychical meanings should be read into them' . In Op.52
'the narrative tone is missing after the first page, a rather moody and melancholic
pondering usurping its place. It is the mood of a man who examines with morbid,
curious insistence the malady that is devouring his soul' ( 1900: 155-63). However
overblown these lines sound today, they are tame compared with Edward Perry's
extravagant 'descriptive analyses', which (like Zdzistaw Jachimecki's study of
Op.38 [1930: 132-3]) presumptuously confer programmatic status on the ballads
of Adam Mickiewicz (the putative inspiration of at least Op.38 - as Schumann's
account would have it - if not of all four Ballades) and regard Chopin's
compositions as little more than musical settings of the ballads.
Although no less literary in style, Niecks's analysis of the Ballades is rather
more evocative, possibly on account of his unusually intimate understanding of
Chopin's music. He writes that Op.23 'is all over quivering with intensest feeling,
full of sighs, sobs, groans, and passionate ebullitions'; the controversial E\, in b. 7
sounds the 'emotional key-note of the whole poem. It is a questioning thought
that, like a sudden pain, shoots through mind and body'. This 'simple but pathetic
tale' increases in agitation, 'till at last the whole being is moved to its very depths' .
Whereas Op.47 lacks the 'emotional intensity' and 'emotional tumultuousness' of
the other Ballades, suffused instead with a 'most exquisite elegance' and a 'quiver
of excitement', in Op.52 'the emotional key-note . . . is longing sadness', which is
'well preserved throughout' (1888: ii, 268-70).
Analytical attention in Hugo Leichtentritt's pioneering study of Chopin's works
(Leichtentritt 1922) is focused not on emotional key-notes but on structural
parameters such as form, harmony, phrase, rhythm, metre and motive. Stressing
the uniqueness of the Ballade genre, which, he says, combines elements of the

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Lied, rondo, sonata and variation set, Leichtentritt devises numerous diagrams of
harmonic and phrase structures (the latter parsed according to Riemannian
principles), rebarring passages to reveal hidden metrical complexities and phrase
overlappings (see Ex. 1) and often addressing related performance Issues.
Ex. 1 Analysis ofOp. 38, bs 15ff. and 34ff. (Leichtentritt 1922: 13)

Although countless details of the analysis are suspect, particularly in the wake of
Schenkerian theory (Schenker himself savaged Leichtentritt's work in the second
Meisterwerk yearbook), this ground-breaking study marks the stan of
the second ('antithetical') phase in Chopin analysis described above - that of
rigour, ostensible objectivity and 'autonomous' structural logic. It also
demonstrates with considerable ingenuity (e.g. the insightful 'distributional
analysis' of Op.52, bs 8-22, reproduced in Ex. 2) the 'unity of form' and 'compact
structures' in Chopin's music to which Huneker could only allude. Nevertheless, it
Ex. 2 Analysis of Op. 52, bs 7ff. (Leichtentritt 1922: 33)

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is undeniable that Schenker's middleground graph in Fig. 153/1 of Free

Composition shows with far greater clarity and cogency than Leichtentritt's static
formal synopses a principal source of unity in the first Ballade (see Ex. 3) . This
dynamic, implicitly temporal analysis reveals 'a very extended three-part form,
Ex. 3 Op. 23, middleground structure: Fig. 153/1 in Schenker (1979)

boldly derived from a neighboring note, yet unfolding in a single broad sweep'
(Schenker 1979: §310).
Apart from this comprehensive structural diagram, Schenker's treatment of the
Ballades is restricted to brief passages (see Figs. 64 and 119/10 in Free Com­
position), but his theoretical framework has of course influenced numerous
full-scale studies by many authors. Franz Eibner, for example, posits that 'organic'
form in Chopin's music derives from contrapuntal principles, that the bass has
linear direction and is not merely a harmonic foundation, and that anomalies
result when form is defined in thematic terms only. Other Schenker-inspired
writers have puzzled over the problematic second Ballade, in which Schenker's
notion of unified tonal structure is seriously undermined by an F major/A minor
tonal polarity. Theories of monotonality, interlocking tonal structures, 'directional
tonality' (in which two tonics operate in succession) and the 'two-key scheme' (in
which two tonics function simultaneously - also known as 'tonal pairing' or the
'double-tonic complex') have been variously applied to Op. 38 by Harald Krebs,
William Kinderman, Wai-Ling Cheong, Samson and others. Krebs provides a
graphic reduction fundamentally different from those of Schenker, demonstrating
two different, overlapping I-V-I structural progressions related by a third, each of
which 'supports its own Kopfton' (1981: 13): Cas 5 ofF major at the beginning,
and E as 5 of A minor at the end. In contrast Kinderman treats the opening F
major as a 'secondary tonality', as 'bVI' of A minor, which, although eventually
defined as the tonic, is not 'an initial point of orientation' but 'the goal of a
directional process' (1988: 59). This interpretation differs in essence from the
structure proposed by Samson ('it can only be explained as a two-key scheme'
[ 1992a: 54]) and by Cheong, whose study (which aims 'to evaluate the Ballade on
the basis of its own inner compositional logic' [1988: 52]) concludes with the
following penetrating insight on the two-key scheme's status in nineteenth-century
repertoire:

As Chopin's Op.38 comes to end [sic] in a minor key that lies a major third

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above the original tonic, an effect of being left hanging is created. It is

important to realize that such an effect is only achievable if it is heard against a
monotonal background. . . . In short, the avoidance of monotonality is but a
negative way of confirming it (: 61 ) .

Although analysing Op.38 in terms of directional tonality, Kevin Korsyn takes

an otherwise novel approach to the Ballade, comparing it with Brahms's Op.88
and 'proposing a critical paradigm for explaining musical intertextuality . . .
adapted from contemporary literary criticism'. Korsyn invokes Harold Bloom's
hypothesis that 'there are no texts, only relationships between texts' to show that
in Op.88 Brahms employs 'tessera', that is, he 'antithetically "completes" his
precursor Chopin'. Whereas Chopin's Op.38 has 'two beginnings, which converge
into one ending', the 'two beginnings' of Brahms's Op.88 lead to 'two endings,
since the ending can be heard in two different ways' ( 1989) .
It would be invidious to compare Korsyn's sophisticated adaptation of critical
theory with Gerald Abraham's rather outmoded dissections of the Ballades in
terms of sonata form- i.e. his 'static' schematic outlines for Op.47 and Op.52 and
his censorious assessments of formal procedures in all four works. Although the
composer 'blunders upon Eb' too long before the recapitulation in the first Ballade,
Op.23 does show 'signs that Chopin was beginning to understand something of
the real essence of sonata-form'; nevertheless, 'in contriving a dramatically
satisfactory form' for the second Ballade 'he was unable to avoid battering the
purely musical form rather badly and the marks of his tinkering remain visible'
(Abraham 1939: 55-7). Op.47's development 'includes one striking symptom of
Chopin's new attitude to thematic work' - the juxtaposition of themes A and B in
a large tension-building sequence- while Op.52 'is perhaps most easily explained
as a masterly deformation of sonata form' (: 108) comprising introduction (bs 1-
7); first subject (8-80); second subject (80-99); development (100-28); reprise of
introduction, ending in cadenza (129-34); first subject reprise (135-68); second
subject reprise ('extended and treated with more breadth' 169-90) ;
'improvisatory transition' (191-21 0); and coda.
Formal outlines like this occur in much of the literature on the Ballades, as in
Edward Zolas's so-called 'structural and interpretive analysis', which, despite its
stated goals, is essentially a blow-by-blow description of the four works cursorily
addressing a few performance-related aspects (for instance, pedalling, slurring,
dynamics and legato). Little of substance is offered: about Op .52's cadenza Zolas
writes, 'here the artist sighs, perhaps in relief, perhaps in longing, and that sigh
must die away to scarcely a whisper before the principle [sic] theme returns, piano,
in measure 135' (1983: 81). In contrast Gunther Wagner questions whether form
is the most appropriate basis on which to analyse Op.23, defining criteria other
than harmonic, rhythmic and formal properties in an effort to achieve a more
rounded analysis (although, surprisingly, he too pigeonholes the work as an
ostensible sonata form).
Form is an important premise in both of Samson's studies of the Ballades,'
which regard sonata procedures in all four works as ' the essential reference point'
(1992a: 45), 'as a controlling principle, albeit one which has been reinterpreted'
(: 62). Casting aspersions on formal synopses like Abraham's, which depict
musical structures as 'entirely one-dimensional ... , where all components are
treated rather like static entities on a single level of formal significance', Samson
stresses the 'time-dependency of musical structures, their "unfolding" through

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progressive and recessive textures on several levels', and 'the hierarchies, the
embedded or "nested" structures, which lie at the heart of tonal music' (: 68) .
Verbal commentaries can supplement these, he writes, but they are also limited;
'hence the need felt by so many analysts to develop tools which can cope with
those very qualities which resist explication through simple tabulation or verbal
description' (: 68). Samson regards the Ballades as through-composed, directional
structures based on principles of transformation, variation, integration and
synthesis, particularly of two initially contrasted themes brought together in a
recapitulatory apotheosis informed by the sonata dialectic. Op.4 7's formal design,
for instance, 'invokes the classical model only to subvert it in several ways', the
'gaps' in formal diagrams of this work indicating 'the extent to which Chopin has
reinterpreted the normative functions of sonata form' (: 60) . In Op.52 the
'directional qualities of a sonata are counterpointed against the "static" repetition
structure of a variation set' (: 63), while two complementary readings of thematic
process in Op.23 are possible: as goal-directed ('in the spirit of the sonata-form
archetype' [: 48]) and as symmetrical (where the waltz episode in bs 138ff. provides
the peak of an 'extended thematic arch' [: 47]). In Op.38 'the sonata-form plot is
invoked unmistakably' if less blatantly, apparent in the final 'gesture of synthesis
which retains some element of sonata dialectic'(: 51, 52) .
Further to this formal orientation, and despite an obvious debt to Schenker,
Samson adopts numerous complementary (and occasionally contradictory)
theoretical and analytical perspectives; one of the most enlightening is that of the
'intensity curve', inherited from Wallace Berry's Structural Functions in Music. For
instance, Samson writes that 'where the two themes [in Op.23] described curves
of intensity - departure and return - on their first appearances, they are . . . both
tension-building' in their second incarnations. Throughout the work 'the pacing
and grading of tension . .. is unerring .... A graph would describe a gentle curve
in the "exposition", build steadily ... , drop to the waltz and rise again . .. [,]
sustain the line . . . and allow it to drop again only at the approach of the tonic' .
The reprise is also tension-building and 'reaches forward to the highest peak of the
intensity curve in the coda' (1985: 178-9). Noting the end-weighted structures
characteristic of this music, Samson comments that 'in none of Chopin's ballades
is the sense of narrative flow so natural, the progression towards a final apotheosis
so seemingly inevitable, as in the fourth. This demands not only a careful pacing
of the argument, a strategic "placing" of the main peaks of the intensity curve, but
also a capacity to "mark time", to wait for effects' (: 188). The pianissimo chords in
bs 203-10 create 'a brief illusion of repose as we remain poised on a precipice of
harmonic tension', until the bravura coda exorcises 'earlier conflicts and tensions
in a white heat of virtuosity' (: 192) . Such attention to pacing, to the temporal
flow of the musical argument is unfortunately all too rare in the literature, despite
its relevance to the analyst as well as the performer.
Other approaches to the Ballades include Wtadimir Protopopow's study
(1965-8) of monodic, homophonic and polyphonic textures in Op.52 (see his
reduction of bs 53-4 in Ex. 4), Jachimecki's discussion of rhythm in Op.23 (1 930:
131) and Anna Bogdanska's analysis of variation technique and thematische Arbeit
in all four works (1986). Motivic and thematic unity is also the focus of Simon
Nicholls's diagrammatic analysis, which is based on certain principles of ' musical
sense' - that is, 'the meaningful succession of ideas in music' - originally
expounded by Hans Keller. Nicholls adduces 'a nexus of intervallic (melodic/
harmonic) and rhythmic ideas' pervading each composition (1986: 16), his

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Ex. 4 Analysis of Op. 52, bs 53-4 (Protopopow 1965-8: 37)

attention to rhyrhm providing a temporal context for this 'wordless analysis' (an
excerpt of which appears in Ex. 5).

Ex. 5 Analysis of Op. 38 (Nicholls 1986: 17)

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David Witten predicates his detailed study of each Ballade on an eclectic,

intentionally naive approach, showing through recomposed versions of the music
(not unlike Leichtentritt's) how Chopin avoids the 'correct', the predictable, the
seemingly inevitable with regard to phrase structure, harmonic progression,
'registral and metric placement', 'melodic contour' and 'underlying structural
line'. He searches in particular for the 'inherent logic' in each Ballade's
'compositional mechanics' and attempts to define Chopin's 'Ballade style', noting
a recurrent 2-3-1 melodic shape in all four; 'postponement of the structural
dominant' and indeed avoidance of the dominant altogether as a tonal area; use of
VI (sometimes as upper harmonic neighbour) to delay V; a 6--;:.5 thematic
parallelism, which functions as a 'unifying force' in each work; and the
incompletion of the Urlinie until the very last bars. Invoking the Grundgestalt at one
point, Witten relates the four works to the ballad definition cited earlier by
highlighting the prevalent 'abrupt transitions, unexpected and precipitous
changes', 'rhetorical questioning' and incremental repetition- i.e. 'intensifying of
the musical situation with every appearance of the motive' (1979: 383, 385). Like
Samson, he also observes that in each work two contrasting melodic ideas are
ultimately juxtaposed 'in an irreversible metamorphosis' (: 387) -in other words,
a dialectical synthesis.
Samson finds additional cyclic links between the four Ballades, including a
common falling-second motive, analogous thematic upbeats, compound duple
metrical patterns and (as mentioned before) generally end-weighted structures,
where 'earlier stages are kept at a low temperature and tension is built gradually
but inexorably towards the final moments when the tonic is reaffirmed in a
moment of catharsis' (1992a: 75), this consistent shape amounting to a 'plot
archetype' (see below). Samson observes that 'since the ballade has no
conventional definition, the absence of specific expectations serves,
... paradoxically, to throw cyclic elements into relief (: 76). One of his main
goals is in fact to demonstrate the diverse generic forces operating in Chopin's
Ballades, for which he invokes numerous theories of genre. He notes in particular
that the composer's extended forms synthesise 'the formal methods of popular
concert music - above all the alternation of bravura figuration and melodic
paragraphs based on popular genres - and the sonata-based designs and organic
tonal structures of the Austro-German tradition' (: 3); indeed, 'much of the
expressive quality of Chopin's music is directly attributable to this play on popular
genres, and it often lies at the root of the descriptive and even programmatic
interpretations favoured by nineteenth- and early twentieth-century critics' (: 72) .
Observing that a work's title and content together define its generic meaning,
Samson writes of the Ballades:

It is not so much the intrinsic qualities of the musical work which may suggest
a narrative, but our predisposition - given the genre title - to construct a
narrative from the various ways in which purely musical events are
transformed through time. Such a musical narrative would be based on the
generic character and interplay of themes, on the transformation of
conventional formal successions and on the organisation of large-scale tonal
relationships(: 14).

Samson's attention to narrativity as an analytical premise reflects not only the

paradigm's enduring presence in studies of the Ballades, but also the wider debate

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still raging in music-critical circles as to whether or not music possesses any power
whatever to convey narrative meaning and process, a debate launched in part by
Anthony Newcomb's innovative musical application of Proppian theory and
terminology (e.g. 'paradigmatic plot', 'plot archetype') . In response to Newcomb,
Jean-Jacques Nattiez (1990) has countered that the term 'narrative' has only
metaphorical value in describing musical discourse and is thus best avoided
altogether, whereas Carolyn Abbate accepts the paradigm's validity but only in
special cases, essentially depriving 'the compositional and listening strategies
outlined by Newcomb of the status of narrative' (Samson 1992a: 83; however, cf.
Newcomb 1994). Whether or not Chopin's Ballades constitute one of these
special cases, numerous authors in the past two decades have analysed the four
works - especially the first Sallade - in narrative terms, in part because the genre
title so clearly invites 'a narrative "listening strategy"' (Samson's phrase [: 82])
and because (as Edward Dannreuther writes of Op.38 [1931: 257]) 'one longs for
a clue to the mysterious tale which the music unfolds'. Wagner, for instance,
broaches Op.23 in terms of 'poetic concepts', isolating 'lyric', 'epic', 'dramatic'
and 'pathetic' elements and concluding:

Music itself cannot 'speak', it can only indirectly give the impression of
speech. . . . The effect of an epic tale, a dramatic or pathetic oration or a
lyrical ode can be created through musical means. Music must avail itself of
these [evocative] devices (19 76: 42) .

Carl Dahlhaus writes that in Op.23, which 'distantly recalls sonata form, being
based on an underlying contrast of themes', 'it is not the first theme, with its
narrative "ballad tone", but the cantabile second theme that forms the main idea
of the work, an idea emphasized more and more strongly as the piece progresses'.
He suggests that Op.23 'owes its title to its "change of tones", its alternation of the
lyric, epic, and dramatic'; this presented Chopin 'with the problem of establishing
a formal equilibrium between narrative ballad, lyric cantabile, and an urgent
virtuosity that appears with the effect of an explosion' . The composer's
'sophisticated' solution was to recapitulate the parts 'in substance but transformed
in function; in this dialectic lies the structural and aesthetic point of the work'
(1989: 148-9).
Serge Gut takes issue with Dahlhaus in a detailed study of Op.23 (1989),
which explores how principles from the literary ballad were assimilated by Chopin
into a piano idiom, focusing on 'conflicts between language and structure,
language having an aesthetic function and structure providing the musical logic'.
Gut dissects the work according to 'musical content', tonality and 'style' (i.e.
narrative, iyric, epic, dramatic and virtuosic), showing 'the relationship between
the different "styles" on the one hand (language) and themes and tonalities on the
other (structure)' (see Ex. 6) . Three structural elements are isolated: the
'narrative' Theme I, the 'lyrical' Theme II and a 'flexible component' - 'all the
new piano figuration and virtuosic traits'. Discerning 'a fundamental bitonality
which unfolds on two levels which, though different, are of equal value' (in
contrast to Schenker's monotonal analysis, discussed above), Gut claims that the
work's tonal structure and aesthetic shape ('the emotional form created by
language') are out of phase: 'in short, the structural climax does not correspond to
the aesthetic climax' . He concludes that 'there results from this non-convergence a
curious "equilibrium within disequilibrium"'.

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Ex. 6 'Dissection' of Op. 23 (Gut 1989)

Section Intro. IA II A'
Subsection 1 2 3 4
Bars 1-7 8-35 36-67 68-93 94-105 106- 25
'-----.J '-----.J L--' L___j '-----.J '--------l

Number of bars 7 28 32 26 12 20

86 32
Musical content figuration Th.I 'bridge' Th. II Th.I
I
Th.II
I
Tonality g g g Eb a A
Style narrative narrative narrative/ lyric narrative/ I lyric/
lyric epic I epic

Section IIIB IVA" Coda=VC

Subsection 6 7 8 9 10 11
Bars 126-37 138- 49 ISQ-65 166-93 194-207 208- 64
'-----.J '-----.J ~ '-----.J ~ L______j

Number of bars 12 12 16 28 14 57

40 42
I
Musical content pianistic figurations ... Th.II I Th. I figuration
Tonality E~ Eb Eb Eb I g g
Style . . . . dramatic .... lyric I narrative/ dramatic
virtuosity
I epic
Eero Tarasti's ambitious analysis of Op. 23 (Tarasti 1989) is semiotic in
nature, following on from his 1984 study of the Polonaise-Fantasie, 'Pour une
narratologie de Chopin'. Segmenting the Ballade in 'fundamental isotopes', he
identifies thirteen narrative sub-programmes defined in terms of three
'fundamental modalities' - 'to be', 'to do' and 'to become', plus 'to will', 'to
know', 'to believe', 'can' and 'must', to which he assigns values in each passage,
taking into account its 'temporal, spatial and actorial articulation'. For example,
the twelfth isotope (bs 206-50) has 'to do' as its fundamental modality, with the
following additional values: will ++, know+--?> 0, can----?>++, must-, believe
m+ab (i.e. making [doing] plus appearing to be) (see Ex. 7) . Tarasti acknowledges
that his attempt to define a '"generative" trajectory in music' by writing a
'grammar of modality' for Op.23 is open-ended: it is impossible to say whether
particular 'figures' follow a predetermined order in music (like Proppian
functions) ' until one has exhaustively analysed a substantial amount of work of the
composer or historical period in question' . The problem is that Tarasti, like
Wagner and Gut, relies (in Samson's words [1992a: 82]) 'on intuitive and largely
subjective criteria both for the segmentation of the work and for the
characterisation of its segments in terms of psychological states'. The chances are
slim, therefore, of deriving a systematic, theoretical basis for analysing the Ballades
-let alone a larger body of repertoire- from this methodology.
Yet another approach to the Ballades can be found in Cone's 'critical analysis'
of ambiguity in Op.52 (1994). Three categories are defined: ambiguities that are

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Ex. 7 'Isotopes and Modalities' in Op. 23 (Tarasti 1989)

be/do will know can must believe

I not to do + + 0 0 ab
II to be 0 + 0~+ + mab
III to do ++ +~++~ +~0 mab-mab
IV not to do 0 + 0 + iiiab
v not to be 0 0 0 iiiab+
trans-
VI not to be + ~ ++ 0 iiiab-m+ab
trans+
VII to appear ++ +~- +~++ 0 iii+ab
to do
VIII not to be + +~- ++ 0 iii+ab-mab
trans+
IX to appear - ~0 0 ++ mab
to be
X to be 0 ~ + ++ iii+ab
XI not to be ~++ + iii+ab-mab
trans+
XII to do ++ +~0 --~++ m+ab
XIII to do= ++~0 +~++ ++ 0 mab
to be
a= appear
b =be
m =make
never resolved, those that are resolved and those that amount to ' reinter­
pretations', i.e. they are not even recognised as ambiguities until they are resolved.
Ambiguous elements in short passages (where Chopin employs such means as
gradual, postponed and absent resolution) are related to long-range strategies for
dealing with ambiguities of form, key and metre. Like Krystyna Wilkowska's
study of harmony, form and 'emotional expression' in the Ballades (Wilkowska
1949), Cone's investigation thus links musical details with particular expressive
functions - as (to some extent) does Karol Berger's historically oriented study of
Op.23 (1994) .
This is also the aim of Lawrence Kramer's 1985 article on Chopin, which,
though not concerned with the Ballades, is nevertheless pertinent here. Alluding to
'a growing feeling that to isolate musical form in a realm all its own is both futile
and sterile', Kramer articulates a 'need for productive methods of critical inter­
pretation that are neither broadly analogical nor narrowly historicist' (: 145) . He
bases his analysis of Chopin's A minor Prelude, Op. 28, No. 2 on 'structural
tropes', i.e. 'recurrent formal configurations that carry a distinctive expressive
potential in music and that are understood rhetorically and figuratively in literary
or speculative texts', forming 'a loosely connected repertoire of expressive
scenarios', of 'miniature genres', of 'typical structural patterns that normally
apply on a limited scale' (: 146).' The Prelude (like the Ballades) is 'a many­
sided study in dialectic, taking the term in the precise sense of dynamic
oppositions that involve a reversal of meaning or value'. Specifically, 'dialectical

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reversal appears . . . as a gradually unfolding antagonism between melody and

harmony' (: 145, 146):

Only in the last two-and-a-half measures are melody and harmony realigned,
but here they are not so much reconciled as fused together, rendered
indistinguishable from each other. . . . After tearing melody and harmony
further and further apart, the prelude closes by effacing the difference between
them(: 148).

Kramer notes furthermore that 'the unresolvable clash between melody and
harmony represents Chopin's way of staging a larger dialectic between Classical
authority and Romantic innovation', in which the melodic design satisfies
'Classical demands for balance and resolution', whereas the harmony is 'com­
pletely unclassical, or rather anticlassical' (: 148, 149). Thus both a dialectical
internal design and a dialectical compositional style are in operation. In the case of
the Ballades, an analogous (though distinct) pair of embedded dialectical
relationships can be observed: at the level of the work, the thematic and harmonic
dialectic (which culminates in the 'irreversible metamorphosis' alluded to by
Witten) articulated within each of the four pieces, and at the level of reception
history, the dialectical 'framework' that embraces over a century-and-a-half of
analysis of the Ballades. The culmination of this latter dialectic, apparent in
certain recent studies, is (as noted earlier) a 'reconciliatory' if aesthetically prob­
lematic synthesis of the subjective and the objective, the narrative and the
structuralist tendencies discernible in nineteenth- and twentieth-century writing
on these compositions.
This survey of the many disparate analytical methodologies - literary,
descriptive, formal, rhythmic, metrical, tonal, thematic, textural, interpretative,
programmatic, semiotic and hermeneutic - brought to bear upon Chopin's
Ballades invites final consideration of possible ways forward in the study of these
masterpieces - in other words, a look at what lies beyond the putatively 'closed'
dialectical framework sketched above. Certainly much remains to be done in the
sphere of so-called critical analysis, particularly with regard to Op.52, which,
undeniably one of Chopin's greatest works, is surely rich enough to warrant
further analytical investigation. I for one would welcome an historically
contextualised analytical study of this piece in terms of eighteenth- and
nineteenth-century improvisatory traditions, for the work's 'new fluidity and
unpredictability' (Samson 1992a: 17) and especially its rapid changes in 'affect'
(both of which are characteristic of Chopin's late music generally - compare the
Barcarolle, Op.60, Polonaise-Fantasie, Op.61, and Nocturnes, Op.62, all from
1845-6) are extremely suggestive of improvisation, as commentators like Huneker,
Cortot, Abraham and Samson have independently pointed out. An inquiry into
this aspect of the music is therefore especially enticing. In a similar vein, assessing
the four Ballades in the light of contemporary (i.e. nineteenth-century) aesthetics
or music theory might bear fruit, as could a fully-fledged post-structuralist study
(insofar as any such analysis can be aesthetically justified) . For instance, current
research linking psychoanalytic theory to musical structure might profitably be
extended to these emotionally intense, highly charged compositions. I am more
confident, however, of the potential in analysing the four pieces in terms relevant
to the performer, whose concerns are largely neglected in the foregoing array of
analytical studies. The relation between analysis and performance is of course a

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topical (if controversial) area of research, and works like the Ballades, which place
great technical and expressive demands on the interpreter, are ideal candidates for
further study in this regard.
In particular, I feel it is worth investigating possible links between the so-called
intonatory curve (or 'intonation contour') of the spoken narrative, and the intensity
curve traceable in each of the Ballades, the latter having special significance for the
performer (as mentioned earlier), implicitly addressing issues of timing,
momentum and, above all, 'dynamic shape'. With these links in mind, I am
tempted to try yet again to justify the metaphor of narrative by seeking a narrative
voice in the four Ballades. Specifically, I wonder if the hidden narrating voice in
these works (and perhaps in any composition) belongs in large part to the
performer, who, as 'story-teller', determines the music's essential 'narrative'
content by following indications in the score as to 'plot' and, as in the enactment
of any 'plot archetype', by shaping the unfolding tale on the spur of the moment in
an expressively appropriate manner. ' Certainly in the act of performance one is
conscious of communicating something to an audience - not of course a story or
programme in the usual sense, but some sort of emotional message, however that
may be manifested or conceived, which, like an imagined, sublimated 'voice',
speaks to one through the music while playing.
Whether or not analysis can ever pin down that ineffable something, can make
explicit what performers themselves only vaguely sense, it need hardly be said that
the 'story' inferred from the notes and realised in sound is not immutably fixed in
the score, and that there are as many such stories for each work as there are
performers. Writing about various recorded performances of the Ballades, Samson
comments:

In the end, of course, the music survives because it is larger than all its
possible interPretations. Of their nature particular readings of the ballades
isolate some features at the expense of others. Yet the musical texts are
infinitely richer than any such isolation of their individual qualities can
possibly yield.. . (l992a: 44).

Obviously the same is true of analysis: however much an analysis reveals about a
work, it can never be exhaustive or definitive; however much it allows us to know
about the work, it is always possible to know the music more intimately (the
distinction in French between savoir and connaitre is instructive here). This is why
the performer often has an edge over the analyst: to perform a work with any
conviction on a given occasion, it is essential to know it in this way (whether
consciously or not), to grasp 'the whole piece of music in a nutshell' in the mind,
to 'become' the music while performing (see Stein 1962: 71). The degree to which
a particular analysis succeeds may depend on how well the analyst can also do this
(as Dunsby [1993] implies), sensing and communicating- as the performer must­
elusive parameters like momentum, shape and timing, and the hidden 'story' or
message latent in the score, that 'mysterious tale which the music unfolds'. Such
communication lies at the heart of convincing interpretation, whether in prose or
in sound.
While these last remarks do not necessarily define an agenda for further
analytical studies of the Ballades, the issues they have raised are nevertheless
germane. However cogent previous research on the Ballades has been in revealing
their inner workings and their various 'meanings' (and indeed much of the

112 MUSIC ANALYSIS 13:1, 1994

 chopin 411

CRITICAL FORUM

literature surveyed in this article is of the highest calibre), there is still plenty of
scope left for analysts attempting to define the 'essence' or 'true content' of the
Ballades - 'the specific expression uniquely embodied' in these works. Even
though any such future efforts will inevitably be less than definitive, the goal is
eminently worth pursuing and the analytical act potentially enriching and
rewarding in and of itself.

NOTES

1. This essay presents a series of 'snapshots' of analytical praxis over some 150
years and attempts to provide a 'frame' for these, or (to extend the metaphor
further) to arrange them in such a way that a discernible 'moving picture'
emerges. It is not, however, a comprehensive account of the reception of the
Ballades, which properly would include not only analytical responses (the
focus here) but writing of a more 'literary' nature, as well as performance
practice, editions, arrangements and transcriptions, and compositions written
under their influence. Samson (1992a) provides such a survey of the reception
history of the Ballades; see also Chechliilska (1992) for relevant comments. A
more theoretical framework concerning reception studies in general and in the
case of Chopin's music specifically can be found in Samson (1994), which
usefully discusses the. rightful place of analytical inquiry in the 'new
musicology' .
I should like to thank Serge Gut and Eero Tarasti for kindly providing
manuscripts of their work. Page numbers of these unpublished studies are not
given in the text. All translations are mine except where otherwise indicated.
2. Jeffrey Kallberg (1994) is critical of such studies, which, he feels, remain
wedded to the very techniques of formalist analysis that they set out to
transcend, techniques which, he claims, all too easily blind us to the values
and modes of understanding of the early nineteenth century.
3. Samson 1985 and 1992a (see also Samson 1992b). Samson's book on the
Ballades (1992a) is by far the most thorough and, in many respects, the most
valuable study of these masterpieces in the vast literature on Chopin. By
providing a wide range of analytical and historical perspectives on the four
works (both the author's own and those of other authors over the ages),
Samson allows the reader respectively to determine 'what Chopin and the
ballades can mean to today's world', and to recover 'something of Chopin's
world, restoring to it its contemporary complexity, diversity and contra­
diction' (: ix). It is because of the book's pre-eminent status that I have
referred to it so copiously in this essay.
4. Kramer's analysis is indicative of the uneasy admixture of structuralist
methodology and post-structuralist aesthetics criticised by Kallberg (1994)
(see note 3 above).
5. An illustration of this process can be found in Rink (1994) where I draw from
personal experience in performing Chopin's C# minor Scherzo, Op.39, and
the F minor Concerto, Op .21, in order to demonstrate the relation between
the music's 'narrative' structure and the 'story' that one expresses in
performance.

MUSIC ANALYSIS 13:1, 1994 113

412 chopin

CRITICAL FORUM

REFERENCES

Abbate, C., 1991: Unsung Voices: Opera and Musical Narrative in the Nineteenth
Century (Princeton: Princeton University Press).
Abraham, G ., 1939: Chopin's Musical Style (London: OUP).
Berger, K., 1994: 'Chopin's Ballade Op.23 and the Revolution of the
Intellectuals', in Chopin Studies 2, ed. J. Rink and J. Samson (Cambridge:
CUP, forthcoming).
Bogdanska, A., 1986: 'Technika wariacyjna i praca tematyczna w balladach
Chopina', Rocznik Chopinowski, Vol. 18, pp.63-91.
Chechliilska, Z., 1992: 'Chopin Reception in Nineteenth-Century Poland', in The
Cambridge Companion to Chopin, ed. J. Samson (Cambridge: CUP), pp.206-
21.
Cheong, W .-L., 1988: 'Structural Coherence and the Two-Key Scheme: A Study
of Selected Cases from the Nineteenth Century' (M.Phil. Diss., University
of Cambridge).
Cone, E .T., 1982: 'Schubert's Promissory Note: An Exercise in Musical
Hermeneutics', 19th-Century Music, Vol. 5, No.3, pp.233-41.
- - 1994: 'Ambiguity and Reinterpretation in Chopin', in Chopin Studies 2, ed. J.
Rink and J. Samson (Cambridge: CUP, forthcoming) .
Cortot, A., 1949: Aspects de Chopin (Paris: Albin Michel) .
Dahlhaus, C ., 1989: Nineteenth-Century Music, trans. J.B. Robinson (Berkeley:
University of California Press).
Dannreuther, E., 1931: The Oxford History of Music, VI: The Romantic Period, 2nd
edn (London: OUP) .
Dunsby, J., 1993: 'Real Music', Newsletter of the Society for Music Analysis, No. 4,
pp.S-9.
Eibner, F ., 1958: 'Uber die Form der Ballade Op.23 von Fr. Chopin', Annates
Chopin, Vol. 3, pp.107-12.
Friedman, A.B., 1986: 'Ballad', in The New Encylopaedia Britannica - Macropaedia,
15th edn (Chicago: Encylopaedia Britannica), Vol. 23, pp.116-19.
Gerhard, A., 1991: 'Ballade und Drama', Archiv fur Musikwissenschaft, Vol. 48,
No. 2, pp.110-25.
Gut, S., 1989: 'Interferences entre le langage et Ia structure dans Ia Ballade en sol
mineur opus 23'. Paper read at Symposium on Chopin's Nocturnes,
Scherzos and Ballades, Warsaw.
Huneker, J., 1900: Chopin: The Man and His Music (New York: Scribner) .
Jachimecki, Z., 1930: Frederic Chopin et son oeuvre (Paris: Delagrave).
Kallberg, J., 1994: 'Small Fairy Voices: Sex, History and Meaning in Chopin', in
Chopin Studies 2, ed. J. Rink and J. Samson (Cambridge: CUP, forth­
coming) .
Kinderman, W ., 1988: 'Directional Tonality in Chopin', in Chopin Studies, ed.
J. Samson (Cambridge: CUP), pp.59-75.
Korsyn, K., 1989: 'Directional Tonality and Intertextuality: A Comparison of
Chopin's Ballade, Op.38, with the Second Movement of Brahms's Quintet,
Op.88'. Paper read at Conference on Alternatives to Monotonality, Victoria,
British Columbia.
Kramer, L., 1985: 'Romantic Meaning in Chopin's Prelude in A Minor', 19th­
Century Music, Vol. 9, No.2, pp. l45-55.
- - 1990: Music as Cultural Practice, 1800-1900 (Berkeley: University of

114 MUSIC ANALYSIS 13:1,1994

 chopin 413

CRITICAL FORUM

California Press) .
Krebs, H., 1981: 'Alternatives to Monotonality in Early Nineteenth-Century
Music', Journal of Music Theory, Vol. 25, No. 1, pp.1-16.
Leichtemritt, H., 1922: Analyse der Chopin 'schen Klavierwerke, Vol. 2 (Berlin: Max
Hesses Verlag).
lisecki, W., 1990: 'Die Ballade von Frederic Chopin - literarische oder
musikalische Inspirationen?', Chopin Studies, Vol. 3, pp.305-17.
Nattiez, J.-J., 1990: 'Can One Speak ofNarrativity in Music?', Journal of the Roy al
Musical Association, Vol. 115, No. 2, pp.240-57.
Newcomb, A., 1987: 'Schumann and Late Eighteenth-Century Narrative
Strategies', 19th-Century Music, Vol. 11, No.2, pp.164-74.
- - 1994: 'The Polonaise-Fantasy and Issues of Musical Narrative', in Chopin
Studies 2, ed. J. Rink and J. Samson (Cambridge: CUP, forthcoming) .
Nicholls, S., 1986: 'The Thread of the Chopin Ballades', Music and Musicians,
pp.16-19.
Niecks, F., 1888: Frederick Chopin as a Man and Musician, 2 vols (London:
Novello).
Parakilas, J., 1992: Ballads Without Words: Chopin and the Tradition of the
Instrumental Ballade (Portland, Oregon: Amadeus Press).
Perry, E., 1902: Descriptive Analyses of Piano Works (Philadelphia: Presser).
Protopopow, W., 1965-8: 'Polifonia w Balladzie F-Moll Chopina', Rocznik
Chopinowski, Vol. 7, pp.34-44.
Rawsthome, A., 1966: 'Ballades, Fantasy and Scherzos', in Frederic Chopin:
Profiles of the Man and the Musician, ed. A. Walker (London: Barrie and
Rockliff), pp.42-72.
Rink, J., 1994: 'Authentic Chopin: History, Analysis and Intuition in
Performance', in Chopin Studies 2, ed. J. Rink and J. Samson (Cambridge:
CUP, forthcoming).
Samson, J., 1985: The Music of Chopin (London: Routledge and Kegan Paul).
1992a: Chopin: The Four Ballades (Cambridge: CUP).
1992b: 'Extended Forms: The Ballades, Scherzos and Fantasies', in The
Cambridge Companion to Chopin, ed. J. Samson (Cambridge: CUP), pp.lOl-
23.
1994: 'Chopin Reception: Theory, History, Analysis', in Chopin Studies 2,
ed. J. Rink and J. Samson (Cambridge: CUP, forthcoming) .
Schenker, H., 1979: Free Composition (Der freie Satz), 2 vols, trans. and ed.
E. Oster (New York: Longman).
Schumann, R., 1888: Gesammelte Schriften iiber Musik und Musiker, 3 vols, ed.
H. Simon (Leipzig: Reclam) .
Stein, E., 1962: Form and Performance (New York: Knopf).
Tarasti, E., 1989: 'Sur Ia narrativite dans les Ballades de Chopin'. Paper read at
Symposium on Chopin's Nocturnes, Scherzos and Ballades, Warsaw.
Wagner, G ., 1976: Die Klavierballade urn die Mitte des 19. Jahrhunderts (Munich:
Katzbichler).
Wilkowska, K., 1949: 'Srodki wyrazu emocjonalnego w Balladach Chopina',
Kwartalnik Muzyczny, Vol. 7, No. 28, pp.167-239.
Witten, D., 1979: 'The Chopin "Ballades": An Analytical Study' (D.M.A. Diss.,
Boston University).
Zolas, E., 1983: 'A Study and Recital of the Four Ballades of Frederick Chopin'
(D.Ed. Diss., Columbia University).

MUSIC ANALYSIS 13: 1, 1994 115

 25
CHOP IN
CVI. PIANOFORTE CONCERTO IN F MINOR, OP. 21
I M aestoso. 2 Larghetto . 3 Allegro vivace.
Chopin's F minor Concerto, op. 21, is really earlier than that in
E minor, which is numbered op. 11. Both works belong to the
period of his triumphs as the young Polish pianoforte virtuoso
whose opus 2 (Variations for pianoforte with orchestra) was greeted
by Schumann with the expression, 'Hats off, gentlemen; a genius!'
It was necessary for Chopin to compose works with orchestral
accompaniment in order-to assert his position as a composer ; other~
wise the public, which is not easily persuaded that an artist .can
accomplish anyihing besides the first object that happens to have
attracted attention, might have regarded hirn as a mere pianist.
As it was, excellent pianoforte composers like MoscheIes remained
to the end of their days convinced that their own musicianship was
more solid than Chopin's. To demonstrate the sense in which they
were right is a theoretic possibility. But it is not interesting.
There is some interest in the fact that Schumann's enthusiastic
recognition of Chopin's genius was elicited by just the works in
which h~ is hampered by forms for which his training had given
him nohelp. Some critics would go farther, and say that he had
but little talent for the sonata style; but no judge of compositioIi
WQuld say this of Chopin's Violoncello Sonata, nor can any serious
critic explain away the masterly and terse first movement and
scherzo of the B flat minor Sonata. The concertos need more
indulgence. The first movement of the E minor is built -on a
suicidal plan which Chopin's adored master, Elssner, must have
at least approved if not actually taught, since it is to be found
in two earlier works and can hardly be conceived to have resulted
from natural instinct. The F minor Concerto, though not a
powerfully organized work, has no fatal flaw; and its style is
the perfeetion of ornament. The chief subject of orthodox objec~
tion has been its orchestration; but nowadays we can take a
simpler view of this matter. Klindworth, a very masterly and
masterful pianist with an excellent all~round musicianship, could
never contemplate a line of standard pianoforte musie without
showing how much better it might have been arranged. When he
416 chopin

104 CHOPIN. OP. 21

had tidied up Chopin's pianoforte technique he turned his atten­
tion to Chopin's orchestration. This he found thin, and so it is.
We may frankly concede that Chopin knew nothing about the
orcliestra-at least, not much more than Sir Michael Costa. But
Klindworth seems to infer that the only alternative to thin is thick.
At all events he reorchestrated the F minor Concerto really very
cleverly, in the style of a full-swell organ, with a beautiful balance
of tone. In order to penetrate this, even the tidied-up solo part
had to be rewritten in a heavier style. Klindworth duly points this
out, and remarks that those purists who wish to confine themselves
to Chopin's original pianoforte part must accordingly abstain from
using the improved orchestration. In other words, Chopin's
orchestration, except for a solitary and unnecessary trombone
part (not a note of which requires replacing), and a few rectifiable
slips, is an unpretentious and correct accompaniment to his
pianoforte-writing. We may be grateful to Klindworth for taking
so much trouble to demonstrate this.
Chopin begins with an orthodox opening tutti. The quiet first
theme-

is followed by an accessory used in the development.

The second subject, though (as in Beethoven's C minor Con­

certo) it appears in its destined complementary key instead of in
the tonic-

does not, in the manner of its entry, unduly forestall the broader
statement it is to receive later from the pianoforte. Altogether
Chopin shows far too fine a gift for design in this opening tutti to
justify the prevalent custom of cutting it short. The impatient
dramatic entry of the pianoforte needs all the delay Chopin has
given before it.
One other theme must be quoted, a passage in C minor, which
 chopin 417

CHOPIN, OP. 2 I 105

key Chopin (striking out on unusual lines first found in Beethoven's
Coriolanus Overture) adds to the scheme of his second subject.

In the development the orchestra accompanies the pianoforte

with figures from Ex. 1 and Ex. 2. After a certain amount of
dramatic expectation, the first subject returns in F minor. But the
pianoforte promptly changes the topic and brings back the second
subject not in the tonic, but in its old complementary key, a
singular but not unsuccessful experiment in form. Chopin may
have had in mind certain rare procedures in Mozart. The con­
tinuation is expanded in a different harmonic direction, which
brings Ex. 4 in F minor, so that from this point Chopin is able to
work up to a final climax. The short closing tutti alludes to Ex. 2
and the opening theme.
Schumann's enthusiasm for the slow movement, voiced through
the persons of his imaginary Florestan and Eusebius, was bound­
less. I quote the main theme, divested of its ornaments. The
listener will thus gain a clearer notion of Chopin's art than can be
given by the sight of a mass of detail, which only long practice
can bring into shape as intelligible phrases.

The unornamented portion stands out in relief as a haunting

refrain.

The middle episode is a dramatic recitative, accompanied by an

orchestral tremolo with pizzicato double-basses. This is as fine
a piece of instrumentation as Berlioz could have chosen to quote
in his famous treatise. In the final return of the main theme Ex. 5
is more elaborately adorned than ever. Ex. 6 remains in its perfect
simplicity, but a bassoon imitates it at the second bar, continuing
in counterpoint of an adroit simplicity worthy of Bach or Mozart.
The movement ends with the same passage that served as its short
418 chopin

ro6 CHOPIN. OP. 2I

orchestral introduction. Like the romance of theE minor Conaerto,
it is a masterpiece in a form and a mood which neither Chopin riot
any other composer reproduced later.
The finale is a delightful example of the long ramble through
picturesque musical scenery, first straight up a range of keys and
then straight down again, which Chopin, for reasons unknown to
history, called a rondo. I quote the main theme-
Ex. 7. -

an orchestral accessory-
' Ex. 8.

the first item of the surrounding scenery-

Ex. 9·

and the important mazurka'-like main second subject, accompanied

col legno (i.e. with strings played with the wood of the bow), an
effect rather in vogue in the concertos of Chopin's young days.
The respectable Hummel uses it, and Chopin revered him.

This, when Chopin is comfortably home again in F major, is

reduced to a horn-call inscribed Cor de Signal; upon which invita­
tion the pianoforte perorates with fairy-like brilliancies, for the ·
most part new, alluding only at the last moment to one of the
sequels of Ex. 10.
 26

Chopin's Etude tn F M ajar,

Opus 2J, No. 3
THE SCOPE OF TONALITY

FELIX SALZER

~Y
q
-._
J~
ANALYTICAL investigation of Chopin's Etude in F major, Op.
5, No. 3 will sooner or later be confronted with the problem of how
to understand or interpret the B-major section (bars 29-36) in a work in
F major. For too long a time we have been satisfied with descriptive state­
ments about the undoubted surprise effect or the so-called harmonic bold­
ness of such passages, without coming to grips with the essential problem­
their function and meaning within the tonal organism of the entire work.
In his analysis of Op. 2 5, No. 3, Hugo Leichtentritt has not only men­
tioned the A-B-A form of the work, but has also emphasized that a
strange sound-geometry (seltsame Klanggeometrie) is at work in this Etude. 1
In reading the score we are in fact struck by an arresting play with tonal
symmetries. In its main outline the bass moves from F to the dominant C
(bar q), from there to F# (bars 26-28) as dominant of B (bar 29). From B
then there is tonal movement to F# (bar 37) and on to C (bars 46-48), the
dominant of the tonic F. The latter progression is, of course, the exact
retrograde of the former (see Example 1).
The Roman numerals show that the dominants C and F# become
Phrygian supertonics (II Phr.) in their corresponding drives to B (bar 29)
and to F (bar 49). This bass design supports a melodic design which is
equally symmetrical and which shows a similar retrograde order. The
I Hugo Leichtentritt, Analyse '1.Jon Chopin's Kla'Uiercwerken II (Berlin, Max Hesse, 1922).
420 chopin

282 FELIX SALZER

melodic design consists of three periods which are designated a-b-c; c is

simultaneously the end of the first pattern and the beginning of the second,
which is the reverse of the first, thus: ~-b-i (see Examples 2 and 3).

All the foregoing may point to a binary form. For if one bases one's
reading of the underlying form on those symmetric and retrograde patterns,
it may seem logical to assume that the work is divided into two overlapping
 chopin 421

CHOPIN: ETUDE, OPUS 2 5' NO. 3

B~

form sections; the above-mentioned harmonic drive to B major and then to

F major might tend to strengthen this point of view.
To me, however, the above reading appears most unconvincing, for I
believe that it draws the wrong conclusions from the symmetrical and
retrograde patterns; it appears unconvincing if for no other reason than that
it is not at all characteristic for Chopin to base an entire work on what one
is inclined to call a clever tone game: "how to get from F major to B
major and back by means of a retrograde progression." It would, however,
be entirely within his conception of tonal organization to have the B-major
passage act as a seeming or simulated goal. This trend then is boldly re­
dressed by the composer, thus making the passage subordinate to a pro­
gression of higher structural order. The following analysis will show that
the symmetrical patterns-while having a function and meaning-do not
determine the basic form of this work which is most definitely a three-part
form, A-B-A. Viewed as a whole, the work presents a clear example of a
progression divided through interruption (see Example 4). This back­
ground progression expands into a three-part form through prolongation
of the dividing V (section B) and through anticipation of the structural
422 chopin

FELIX SALZER

interruption by an interruption on the middleground level, showing a

motion into the inner voice while the structural 3is retained (see Example 5).

The prolongation of the dividing dominant constituting the middle

section is of such daring originality and its understanding so crucial to an
interpretation of the entire Etude that we will demonstrate its contents in
detail and in direction from background to foreground (see Example 6).
The middle section begins in bar 17 on the dominant; a downward motion
develops reaching F# in bars 2 6-2 8. Careful study of the voice leading
discloses a progression essentially moving in whole steps in both outer
voices and resulting in a series of fifths. The same pattern is repeated
starting from F# in bar 37 and reaching the C-major chord (V of F) in bars
46-48 (see Example 6b). This highly original organization of the descend­
ing octave into whole steps is imaginatively prolonged; the prolongation,
of course, elimin·ates the parallel fifths of the middleground progression and
subdivides the whole step preceding F# (bar 26) and the corresponding one
before C (bar 46); see Example 6c. With the first subdivision (A~-G),
Chopin creates the impression that he is abandoning the whole-step
progression, for he lengthens the measure group from two to four bars.
The G, however, is not treated as a goal (V of C) since by moving down yet
 chopin 423

CHOPIN: ETUDE, OPUS 25, N O. 3 z8s

EXAMPLE 6

another half step, Chopin surprisingly completes the whole-step progres­

sion. Nevertheless, through transfer of registers, the original octave posi­
tion of both top voice and bass is regained at the end of the entire
whole-step descent (compare bar q with bar 46/4 7).
This brings us now to one of Chopin's most inspired ideas: the F# chord
-a passing chord within the entire prolongation of the V-is momentarily
made to act as a dominant. The immediate consequence is the short B-major
section. Since it repeats the motivic-thematic design of the opening meas­
ures, it functions as a misleading and thus "false" recapitulation; the main
course of the voice leading, the passing motion within the dominant octave
(C-C) has been interrupted! However, the moment the F# sonority re­
appears in bar 37 and the motion downward is continued, any bewilderment
424 chopin

286 FELIX SALZER

EXAMPLE 7

of the listener ceases. 2 The motion which began in bar 17 is resumed and
leads, as explained before, to its end (bars 46-48). The true recapitulation
now begins with an overpowering, jubilant logic (see Example 7).
Let us now take up again the question we posed at the beginning of this
article: what is the meaning of the B-major section within this F-major
composition? Some might suggest that it functions as an expansion of the
lower neighboring tone of C; however, the voice leading, especially of the
top voice, does not bear out such an interpretation. For the ~ of the B­
major section stands in no melodic relationship to the G which is the
structural top-voice tone of the middle section. Rather, the B-major
section acts as a wedge breaking the whole-tone progression into two parts:
C-F# and F:j!:-C. In so doing it intensifies the symmetrical division of the

2 When one i~ confronted with a succession of two sonorities of which one is a dominant of the other,

one's first inclination is to regard the dominant as subordinate to the tonic. Larger connections, how­
ever, often reveal, as in this case, that the dominant has the superior structural function,
 chopin 425

CHOPIN: ETUDE, OPUS 25, N O. 3

octave, and indeed causes a symmetrical pattern for the middle section and,
as a consequence, for the work as a whole.
EXAMPLE 8

This diagram (Example 8) can serve as a quasi corrective to Examples 1

and 3 by showing the symmetries in their hierarchical order. The B-major
section, far from being a central goal is instead a false recapitulation
subordinate to the whole-tone progression which itself functions as the
prolongation of a structural dominant.
Example 9 presents the detailed voice leading, including the imaginative
coda, of an imaginative work. (Occasionally, register changes have been
omitted to show the voice leading more clearly.)
426 chopin

z88 FELIX SA L Z ER

EXAMPLE 9
 chopin 427

CHOPIN: ETUDE, OPUS 25, NO. 3

428 chopin

FELIX SALZER

The coda begins simultaneously with the structural completion of the

voice leading in bar 56. For a few measures Chopin hesitates playfully on
the tonic with the superimposed C in the top voice (cf. bar 4). Then, in
bar 6o, C begins to descend to F, while the middle voice (in the left-hand
part) once more repeats-now dramatically prolonged-the preceding
structural descent from A via G to F. Supporting this line, the bass moves
in descending fifths, the opening fifth being F-B ( !). How poetic is this
reappearance of the B-major chord, which earlier caused so much excite­
ment, and is now brought in as a faint and quickly passing reminiscence
in a totally different context. There could be no greater contrasts between
two B-major chords in a work in F major (see Example 9).
In viewing the work as a whole, we again see that once the composer is
consciously or unconsciously secure in his background and middleground
structure, he can be most adventurous with the foreground's possibilities
of surprise and deception.
 27

L' AS £MMETRIA RITMICA NELLA MAZURCA CHOPINIANA

di Gastone Belotti

(I )

L'otto febbraio 19 34 Andre Gide scriveva che un virtuoso puo

giungere a suonare bene Bach, ma non Chopin, perche questi richiede
una comprensione tutta particolare che non fa parte del bagaglio pro­
fessionale dell'interprete comune; i pianisti - continuava il sensi­
bile scri ttore - si buttano a capofitto su Chopin, come gente sicura
del fatto suo, ma proprio cosl gli tolgono il dubbio, Ia sorpresa, l'in­
certezza che ne formano il fascino.1
Sono osservazioni di un dilettante riccamente dotato, il quale
non solo intuiva delle verita che non avrebbe saputo in alcun modo
dimostrare, ma anche avvertiva, spintovi solo dalla sua personale
sensibilita, l'esistenza di problemi che raramente avevano attirato
l'attenzione degli specialisti, quasi mai quella degli esecutori, e che
son propri dell'interpretazione delle musiche di Chopin, non esten­
sibili a quelle di alcun altro compositore.
Molti anni dopo, ritornando sull'argomento in una operetta dedi­
cata a Chopin, Gide doveva tristemente ammettere che il grande
compositore era « d'autant plus meconnu que ses executants tra­
vaillent plus a le faire connaitre ». 2 Ora, se una musica resta tanto
pili sconosciuta quanta pili Ia si suona, se un'esecuzione anche volon­
terosa riesce a svisarla e a renderla irriconoscibile, questa, nell 'animo
dell'acuto scrittore, voleva dire che tra il testa e la sua realizzazione
vi era un quid vitale non scritto e non scrivibile che tuttavia, se
trascurato, toglieva validita artistica all'interpretazione. E' un'intui­
zione profonda, ma che nella scrittore non poteva che fermarsi alia
enunciazione perche il passo successivo, Ia ricerca della natura di
quel quid non notato e non notabile che pure si doveva mettere in

I A. GtoE, Journal, Gallim3rd, Paris 1948, p3gg. 1196·1197.

2 A. GIDE, Notes sur Chopin, L'Arche, Paris 1949, pag. 2. II passe continua rip rcn·
dcndo l'osscrvazione del 1934 secondo Ia qualc, mcntrc quasi tuni gl i autori si possono
godere 3nche se suonati in modo non perfetto, Chopin lo si snatura facilmcntc, e altrettanto
facilmcnte Jo si rende irriconoscibile.
430 chopin

4 Gastonc Bclo tti [658 ]

grande evidenza, richiedeva un insieme di conoscenze, un'espcrienza

particolare, che non era Ia sua, ne poteva esserlo. Forse Gide nem­
meno si rendeva conto che a seguire semplicemente un impulse dello
spirito- per eccezionale che esso sia - si puo piu facilmcnte negare
un'esecuzione (anche con ragione, e considerarla magari una « mesin­
terpretation »/ come scriveva) che suggerire gli elementi che l'avreb­
bero corretta e resa piu aderente aile intcnzioni del compositore;
dunque piu vera.
Suonare Chopin non fu mai facile: Moscheles, che pur era un
grande pianista, non vi riusciva bene e non l'apprezzava molto quando
da se Io leggeva, 4 rna allorche, nel corso dell'inverno 1839-40, lo
ascolto, non solo si ricredeue, rna dichiaro di comprenderlo fina l­
mente e di spiegarsi l'entusiasmo che suscitava. 5 Quando Schumann
ascolto il collega polacco, affermo che suonava « molto alia Chopin »; 6
questo giudizio, rimasto storico, non voleva dire soltanto che non si
poteva separare facilmente quella musica dalla personali ta del suo
autore, opinione molto comune allora 7 perche era Ia piu facile e
quella che, in un certo senso, esonerava dal tentar di spiegare cio
che non si capiva . Voleva anche dire che la sua esecuzione, oltre a
valersi di una tecnica a lui naturale (rna difficile per chi per la prima
volta sentiva gli effetti di un fraseggio, di un tocco, di una pedaliz­
zazione senza precedenti, senza capir bene come questi effetti si
potessero produrre), si discostava alquanto dal testo scritto, per ren­
derlo con sfumature e con particolari non notati e non notabili.
E' quanto scrisse Hector Berlioz, che si sentiva a disagio quando
ascoltava Ia musica di Chopin anche se suonata da pianisti bravissimi
perche « disgraziatamente non c'e che Chopin che sappia eseguire
Ia sua musica con quell'originalita, quell'imprevisto che e uno dei
suoi fascini principali. La sua esecuzione e composta di mille sfu­
mature di cui, solo, ha il segreto e che non saprebbe ne indicare,
ne comunicare ».8 Ancor piu preciso fu Charles Halle quando, inter-

3 Ibid., pag. 77.

4 Cfr. F. NIECKS, Cbopin as a Afa11 a11d a Musicia11, Novello, London 19023, I,
pagg. 270-271.
5 Ibid., II, 71.
6 Cfr. R. ScuuMANX, Scrilli sulla musica e sui musicisli, a cura di L. Ronga, Bottega
di Pocsia, Milano 1925, pag. 150. Ed. piu rcccmc: La mmica roma11tica, A cum di
L. Ronga, Einaudi, Torino 19·H2, pag. 147.
7 La rcgistro H. BARilEDETTE (Cbopin. Heugcl, Paris 1869, pag. 65) e lo aveva con­
fermata Georges Mathias (cfr. anchc E. GANCIIE, Cbopi11, sa vie et ses oeuvres, Mercure de
France, Paris 1913, pag. 331).
8 Su « Le Rcnov:ueur » dell'aprile 1835.
 chopin 431

[659] L'asimmetria ritmica nella Mazurca chopiniana 5

rogato dal Niecks, sostenne chc nell'ascoltare per la prima volta il

maestro che suonava le sue composizioni, non riuscl assolu tamente
ad immaginarsi come cia che stava sentendo si potesse in qualche
modo scrivere.9
I tre famosi musicisti contemporanei di Chopin dei quali abbiamo
citato i giudizi, non sono stati scelti a caso tra i tanti che ci hanno
lasciato dei ricordi, rna perche si tratta di artisti diversissimi per
eta e per espericnza: un compositore, del quale si puo supporre che
avvertisse gli effetti, ma - non essendo un gran pianista - non
si rendesse conto di come ottenerli; un famoso pianista della gene­
razione precedente a quella di Chopin , che capt Ia sua musica solo
dopo di averla sentita suonata da lui ; un pianista un po' piu giovane
del nostro compositore, e dunque a lui piu vicino per esperienza e
per sensibilita. Se dichiararono concordemente che i particolari ese­
cutivi tanto apprezzati non si potevano notare, questi , considerati
unici, erano certamente Ia qualidi del suono e l'intensita emotiva
dcll'interpretazione, ma vi era anche dell'altro, perche se nei loro
giudizi si trova a volte esplicita , a volte implicita, l'ammissione che
Chopin suonava come non era scritto, cio non poteva riguardare i
suoni ne per Ia loro altezza, ne per la loro intensiti\ , bensl per il
loro succedersi, per il loro ritmo, di modo che le due case insieme
- Ia qualita dei suoni e Ia ritmica - rendevano unica , irripetibile,
non notabile, Ia particolare esecuzione chopiniana.
Irripetibile per chi non avesse ben capite lo spirito del compo­
sitore, naturalmente, e gli elementi che lo avevano formate artistica­
mente, tanto vero che Ia sua migliore interprete fu la principessa
Marcelina Czartoryska, quasi sua coetanea e sua connazionale, e il
suo miglior allicvo fu Karoly Filtsch; ma anche non notabile, perche
le differenze tra scrittura ed esecuzione non dovevano giungere mai
- o quasi mai - al punto che qucst'ultima potesse venir rappre­
sentata da una figurazione diversa di semplice struttura.
Un'esecuzione che voglia dirsi chopiniana non puo, dunque, non
tener canto di entrambi questi elcmenti che in qualche modo si allen­
tanana e si differenziano da un'interpretazione strettamente letterale,
quclla che non soddisfaceva Moscheles,10 e deve studiare che cosa

9 err.F. NtECKS, Op. cit., II, 103.

10 E' chiaro che Mosche lcs lcggcvn In musica di Chopin secondo schcmi t radizion:!li a
lui familiari, e doveva limitarsi a suonarc cio che vcdcva scritto letleralmente, cosl come lo
vcdcva scritto, in parte perchc a qucsto era abituato, in parte perch~ non aveva alcun cle·
432 chopin

6 Gnstonc 13clotti [660]

erano, e come si producevano, queiie peculiarita, non notate perche

non notabili , che stupirono ed enrusiasmarono tutti indistintamente
i con tern poranei. 11
...·: ... ...·:

La ritmica di Chopin e del tutto particolare, e basterebbe ricor­

dare il « rubato » del quale sempre si e parlato, e si parla , come
di un elemcnto caratteristico deiia sua esecuzione, per sottolineare
questa affermazione. Ma il « rubato » (non ancora studiato e descritto
in modo soddisfacente a! fine di ottenerne una linea di condotta, sia
pure di massima, per l'esecuzione) e componente ritmica - e melo­
dica insieme - che investe tutte le composizioni del maestro, nel
loro complesso e nei particolari , e non e del tutto ignoto agli inter­
preti se non altro perche, nel periodo giovanile, 12 qua e la Chopin
Io indicava; invece a molti suonera nuovo constatare che una ritmica
particolare e indispensabile per interpretare chopinianamente le Ma­
zurche, cioe un gruppo di opere che da sole rappresentano quasi Ia
meta della produzione de l maestro, e che sono il nucleo piu caratte­
ristico, piu geniale, forse, di quanto uscl dal suo genialissimo spirito.
Ne e rimasto ricordo preciso nella testimonianza di Wilhelm von
Lenz, un allievo di Chopin, 13 il quale racconto:
Una volta, mentre prendevo lezione, Me>•erbeer, che non avevo visto, entro
nella sranza [ .. . ) . Sravo suonando Ia l\lazurca in Do Op. 3 3 [ ... ). Meyerbeer
prese una sedia e Chopin mi prego di continuare. « Q uesto c un tempo 2/ 4 »,
disse ad un certo punto Mcyerbeer, rna Chopin lo nego e mi fece ripetere
il pezzo battendo il tempo sui piano con Ia matira: i suoi occhi erano splen-

menta - o terminc di pnragonc - per comportnrs i diversamcnte. Fu a casa del banchicrc

Auguste L<.:O chc egli ascolto il collega e il suo modo « fiabesco » di eseguire le sue opere,
c fu allora che si cntusiasmo per quelle stcsse composizioni che lette in modo tradizionale
lo avevano lasciato freddo.
II Come c noto, memre Ia musica di Chopin fu a suo tempo ogsetto di critiche aspre
e severe, c n riserve anche notevoli, nessuno ebbe mai Ia piu piccola esitazione nell'ammirnre
come unica e incomparab ile Ia sua interprctazione.
12 Fino al 1834-35. Questa p roblema c stato gin cia noi trauato con una certa ampiezza
(cfr. G. 13ELOTTt, Le origini italiane del rubato cbopiniano, Polska Akademia Nauk,
Warszawa-Krakow-Wrocbw, O ssolincum 1968).
13 Wilhelm von Lcnz fu un allicvo particolare. Appnssionato studioso di problcmi
musicali (il suo nome c ogsi legato al nota saggio su Beethoven), ern preso da viva curios itii
per quanta si diceva della famosa « Scuola di Parigi '' c soprauuuo dcgli eccezionali pianisti·
compositori (Chopin, Liszt, Thalbcrg) chc vi operavano. Quantunque fosse gia ou imo pia­
nista, da Pictroburgo - dove risicdcva - si reci> nella capitalc fr:mcese aaermando di
volcr prcnderc lezioni di pianoforte, mcntrc intendeva piuttosto conoscerc intimamente quei
grandi mncstri. Si !ego dapprima con Liszt, poi, nel 1842, con Chopin, sempre con il pretesto
delle lezioni.
 chopin 433

[ 661] L'asimmctria ritmica nella M3zurca chopini3na 7

dcnri. « Due scmiminimc », ribatte 1-.Ieycrbccr calmo. Solo una volta vidi
Chopin adirato, e fu allora: era bellissimo vcdere i1 lcggiero rossorc che colo­
rava le sue pallide guance. « Q ueste sono tre semiminime », disse ad alta
voce, lui che parbva sempre cos! piano. « Datcmelo per un Balletto della mia
Opera [ ... ] e ve lo mostrero allora ». « Qucste sono tre semiminime », Chopin
quasi grido, e suono lui stesso. Suono Ia Mazurca parecchie volte, contava ad
alta voce, battcva il tempo con i piedi, era fuori di sc. Ma tutto fu inutile,
Mcycrbecr insistette con le due semiminime. Si scpararono in collera, ed io
non trovai nicnte di piu interessante che assisterc a qucsto episodio. Chopin
s1 ritiro nella sua camera scnza congcdarsi da me.l 4

Questa scontro sulla rcalta ritmica dell'esecuzione eli una Mazurca

- che in apparenza ha dell'increclibile - ebbe luogo tra due grandi
musicisti , Meyerbeer e Chopin , in presenza eli un terzo, \'V'iU1elm
von Lenz, che ne incentro il racconto non su lla sostanza della discus­
sione, ma sull'episodio in se perche questa gli consentiva eli lasciare
ai posted Ia testimonianza eli un momenta fugace del suo maestro: il
Iampo d'ira, !'aver alzato Ia voce, l'essersi sconvolto al punta da
perdere, quasi, quel controllo eli se che tutti gli ammiravano. II suo
gusto per l'aneddoto ci ha privati eli q uella precisazione tecnica che
noi oggi gradiremmo eli piu, ma in compenso ha evirate che all'opi­
nione dei due musicisti contendenti se ne aggiungesse una terza,
quella del musicista spettatore; riusd anche ad evitare che, sposando
perentoriamente una delle due tesi contrapposte, la sua testimonianza
perdesse, almena in parte, eli autorita. 15
Rimane, dunque, la contesa tra due musicisti ugualmente esperti
nell'arte lora e la musica che ne fornl l'occasione. Aveva ragione
Meyerbeer o l'aveva Chopin? Questi suonava , e insegnava, la Mazurca
in due o in tre? Non sembra possibile altra soluzione che questa: e
Meyerbeer chc sosteneva la tesi esatta perche era ascoltatore disinte­
ressato, mentre Chopin parlava eli un'opera sua che suonava e
insegnava in un cerro modo che gli veniva naturale, con una ritmica
che proveniva da tanto lantana che egli aveva sempre identificara
con quella propria della Mazurca, senza porsi problemi d'altro genere.
D el resto lo scatto d'ira, l'insistere, l'irritarsi sono eli sostegno a
questa opinione; fu !'intima coscienza che l'osservazione del collega

14 Cfr. F. NJECKS, Op. cil., II, pagg. 162-163.

15 Su quanto il von Lcnz raccoma non abbiamo :lltr:t tcstimonian7-'l che 1:! sua, rna
non possiamo credere chc l'aneddo10 sia tuuo invcntato, non solo perche Ia sua sostanza c
confcrmata da altre fon d , rna anche pcrche l'autorc era uomo troppo serio per far cosa
sim ile. Piuuos10 si puo credere chc lc time siano state un po' caricate, sia per abbcllirc il
r:tcconto, sia perche il musicologo tedesco amava mostrarsi moho informato su faui c
faucrelli ignoti ai piu.
434 chopin

8 Gastone Belotti [662]

aveva un fondamento eli verita che lo colpl nel vivo, e nello stesso
tempo l'incapacita eli giustificare una ritmica che era propria della
Mazurca, rna diversa da quella che per consuetudine si indicava.
Su questo originalissimo modo eli intender la Mazurca resta
un'altra testimonianza, quella di Hans von Bulow: 16
Moscheles mi consiglio di suonare Chopin piu vivacemente e con piu
iubato, in modo del tutto fantasioso, quasi non badando alia misura. La figlia
di lui, che ebbe lezioni da Chopin, suona una sua Mazurca con tanto rubato
che il tempo ne risulta in 2/4 anziche 3/4.

La prima parte del racconto, che insegna a non restar schiavi

della misura, e resa piu credibile clal fatto che Moscheles non era,
per intima natura sua, propenso a molte esuberanze per cui il
suggerimento e frutto evidente della sua personale conoscenza clel­
l'interpretazione autentica. E' chiaro che l'osservazione si rese neces­
saria clopo un'esecuzione niente affatto chopiniana 17 presentatagli
da von Bulow, pianista eli eccezionali qual ita , rna eli una natura
musicale che non gli facilitava una corretta interpretazione delle opere
del grande polacco. 18
La seconda parte della citazione riguarcla, invece, il nostro argo­
menta e conferma la sostanza del racconto eli von Lenz, pur essendone
del tutto inclipendente. Tuttavia dobbiamo ricorclare che Ia testimo­
nianza della signora Roche, figlia eli Moscheles, ha un limite, perche
se e vero che fu allieva eli Chopin, lo fu per poco tempo e non
ricevette che dieci, clodici lezioni al massimo; 19 un numero sufficiente

16 Cfr. A. DELLA CORTE, L'intcrprctazione musicale e gli interpreti, U.T.E.T., Torino

1951, pag. 328.
17 Eppure queste esperienze dirette si dimenticano in frena . Un musicologo di grandi
meriti come Karl Nef ncl 1910, a proposito dei concerti di Busoni, scrisse: «Usa una
specie di rubato che snatura e deforma il ritmo [ ... ]. Che si rallenti o acceleri il tempo e
naturale e ragionevole, rna che si cambi il moto ritmico delle singole battute, nessuno
potra ammetterlo. Nemmeno per Chopin». (Cfr. A. D ELLA CoRTE, Op. cit., pag. 377). Ora
che Busoni (il quale in tutta Ia sua carriera non esegul mai pubblicamente una sola
Mazurca di Chopin) usassc un << rubato >> cosl arbitrario non e pensabile, mentre e piu
credibile che il senso della Iiberti! ritmica nell 'interno della misura - come appunto sug·
geriva Moscheles - ormai era andato tota lmente perduto anchc in studiosi di grande cultura
e di innegabile ingegno.
18 Indipendentemente da que! che ne scrisse, naturalmente. Cfr. a questo proposito:
L. BRONARSKr, Etudes sur Cbopin, La Concorde, Lausanne 1946, II, pagg. 143·161.
19 Chopin giunse a Londra il 20 aprile 1848; il 3 maggio Moschcles, che in que!
momento si trovava a Lipsia, gli scrisse: (( Mon cher Chopin, vous ctcs a Londrcs Ct je ne
puis vous en fairc lcs honneurs! [Moscbeles risiede va di prefereuza a Loudra] [ ... ] Jc nc
sais si vous vous rappellez de rna fille ainee: ellc etait presque enfant, lorsque vous Ia vitcs
a Paris; neanmoins votre jeu er vos compositions firent sur elle une impression de plus
vives. Elle n'a cesse d'etudier vos oeuvres, elle serait enchantee de vous revoir et d'etudier
 chopin 435

[663] L'asimmetria ritmica nella Mazurca chopiniana 9

per potersi dire a buon diritto « allieva », rna non tale da farle bene
intendere il segreto di una ritmica tanto inconsueta e nueva. Come
spesso avviene in questi casi, e
possibile che essa fosse portata piu
ad esagerare che a minimizzare gli straordinari effetti che aveva ascol­
tati e ammirati dalla viva esecuzione del grande compositore.
Il von Lenz ci ha lasciato il ricordo della Mazurca che fu all'ori­
gine della disputa, quella in Do magg1ore Op. 33 n. 3, la cui frase
iniziale,

secondo le testimonianze or ora riferite, sarebbe stata eseguita cosl:

Il testa autografo dal quale abbiamo tratto il nostro esempio

mosu·a la grande prevalenza dei Mi4 e dei Do4 che sommano, con la
figurazione di maggior durata, l'ictus melodico e quello ritmico espli­
citamente indicate dall'autore, per cui nell'aumento conseguente al
passaggio dal tempo in 3/4 a quello in 2/4 ]a loro durata vien
quasi raddoppiata.

plus a fond cette musique qu'elle adore en vous l'entendant jouer. Vous ne lui refuserez
pas un bonheur auquel elle aspire a double titre, comme fllle de Moscheles et comme niece
de votre ami Uo ». [ ... ]. (Cfr. B. E. Svoow, Korespondencia Fryderyka Chopina, Panstwowy
Instytut Wydawniczy, \Xiarszawa 1955, II, pag. 435). Ora aLia figlia di Moscheles, alia
nipote di Auguste Leo, Chopin non poteva rifiutar lezioni, ma stava gia moho male, aveva
pochissimo rempo disponibile e dava poche lezioni (a una ghinea l'ora). Alia signora Roche
non poteva chieder denaro, ma se a Parigi c'era posto anche per lezioni gratuite (per esempio
quelle del 1846 ad Arthur Kalkbrenner, figlio del grande pianista), a Londra, in pessime
condizioni economiche, doveva risparmiare le poche energie e il poco tempo per le lezioni a
pagamento. Alia signora Roche ne avril date, dunque, non piu di una Ia settimana, rna ai
primi di agos to il maestro partl per Ia Scozia. Ecco che il limite massimo di dieci·dodici
lezioni e pratic:tmente cerro.
436 chopin

10 Gastonc Bc!otti [664]

Su questo argomento abbiamo un'altra testimonianza di grande

autorita, quella di Charles Halle. Quando il Niecks si trovo a disporre
di un certo numero di testimonianze sulla eccezionale ritmica usata
dal compositore ne1 suonare Je sue Mazurche, ne chiese notizia al
pianista tedesco il quale confermo di aver spesso sentito il piu illustre
coilega suonarle in 4/4 e di averglielo fat to no tare. Chopin dapprima
nego, ma poi, dopo che Halle glielo ebbe dimostrato battendo il
tempo mentre suonava, finl con il riconoscerlo, e se ne giustifico,
sorridendo, affermando che si trattava di un modo nazionale di
eseguire le Mazurche. 20
Ora se riscriviamo in 4/4 I'Es. 2 (riunendo in una due misure
di quello ), notiamo che i Mi·1 e i Do4 si trovano, con la loro ecce­
zionale durata (cinque crome contro le tre dell'autografo) e con il
loro ictus melodico e ritmico, sempre sulla seconda battuta di ogni
misura. Inoltre il racconto di Halle allarga il problema perche vi si
parla delle Mazurche in generale e non di una in particolare come
quella che ci e servita di esempio; essa, infatti, si vale di un con­
corso di elementi ritmico-melodici quasi unico, che in tutta Ia rac­
colta delle Mazurche s'incontra solo un'altra volta (e nemmeno in
modo cos! caratteristico )/1 e che sfrutta persino l'anacrusi iniziale, Ia
quale, pur accompagnando sempre la frase ad ogni proposta,22 e da
considerarsi accessoria, di slancio . Soprattutto dobbiamo fissare la
nostra attenzione sulla giustificazione offerta dall'autore, e cioe che
la speciale ritmica usata nell'esecuzione non era frutto di arbitrio,
di eccentricita, o anche solo di sensibilita personale, bensl un modo
nazionale, dunque autentico, dunque insito nel carattere della danza
e senza il quale essa perdeva la sua peculiarita.
La Mazurca ha origini popolari, era caratteristica della Masovia,
quasi si contrapponeva alia Polacca, di carattere piu nobiliare e cit­
tadino, e negli anni della giovinezza di Chopin era comunemente
danzata in pubblico e in privata. Anzi, dopo che Ia Polacca divenne
soprattutto un genere musicale e cesso praticamente di fungere da
ballo solenne, Ia Mazurca ne prese il posto e, composta e suonata
per i salotti cittadini, attenuo alcune delle sue caratteristiche mentre
altre ne acquisl. Chopin, tuttavia, resto sempre fedele agli schemi

Cfr. F. NIECKS, Op. cit., II, pag. 102.

20
Ma:wrca in Sol diesis minore Op. 33. n. 1.
21 Nella
22 Otto volte in tutto, quattro nella prima parte e quattro nella ripresa; tuttavia proprio
all'inizio di questa l'anacrusi sembra mancante, a meno di considerar talc, c abbrcviata, Ia
<:ruma che pr<:cede e che farebbe pane comemporaneamente del discgno ritmico del << Trio >>.
 chopin 437

[665) L'asimmetria ritmica nella Mazurca chopiniana 11

piu genutm, piu campagnoli, conservando peculiarita armoniche,

ritmicbe, e a volte talune inflessioni melodiche, popolari, solo ele­
vando Ia danza da musica di occasione a gemma d'arte altissima e
nobilissima. 23
Ora, come sempre e opportuno quando si studiano musiche pro­
prie di zone geograficamente ed etnicamente ben delimitate, la piu
genuina interpretazione va ricercata presso gli autoctoni, anche se
non contemporanei, perche in essi gualcosa pur sempre rimane dello
spirito di cui s'imbevve il genere musicale al suo sorgere. Per guesto
i dubbi, o almeno le grosse riserve che possono restare in noi dopo
aver letto il racconto del tedesco von Lenz sull'opinione del tedesco
Meyerbeer, e guello del tedesco von Bulow sull'interpretazione della
tedesca Roche, relativi alia ritmica del polacca Chopin, cominciano
a chiarirsi quando sullo stesso argomento leggiamo le osservazioni
del polacca Ignacy Jan Paderewski: 2~
Sarebbe inesatto affermare che il tempo rubato e privilegio esclusivo delle
forme musicali progredite. L'istinto del popolo l'avcva scoperto avanri che Ia
prima Sonata fosse stata composta. Senza avere un nome, esisteva in qualsiasi
musica nazionale [ ... ] e grazie ad esso possiamo prolungare di una semicroma
Ia penultima parte della battuta di una Mazu ~ca di Chopin per ottenere sui·
!'ultimo tempo un accento piu forte.

Passando subito alia notazione secondo il suggerimento del grande

pianista, la frase iniziale della nostra Mazurca in Do maggiore

23 Tutti i buoni studi su Chopin, e non mancano davvero, dedicano molto spnzio nile
Mazurche, e tra i tanti si puo segnabre: L. BRONARSKI, Harmonica Chopina, T.\\I.M.P.,
Warszawa 1935, soprattutto pag. 22 e segg., e anche !'ultima parte del primo volume di
H . LEJCIITENTRITT. (Analyse der Cbopin's Klavierwerke, Hesse, Berlin 1921·22, 2 voll.)
ded icata aile Mnzurche con brghcz7.~ di argomentazioni e nbbondanza di esempi. Sulle
Mazurche, poi, ci sono studi particobri, tra i quali meritano di esse re ricordati: H. WIN·
DAKI EWtCZOWA, W'zory /udowe; muzyki polskiei w Mazurkach Fryderyka Cbopina (G li
schemi della musica popolare polacca nelle Mazurche di F.C.), Polska Akademia Umiej~tnosci ,
Kr:1k6w, \'1/ . Filologiczny, Vol. LXI, 7, P.A.U., 1926, e ]. MtKETTA, Ma~urki [Chopi na ],
P.W.M., Krak6w 1949. Cfr. anche: G. BELOTTJ, Chopin e l'tmiversaliz~azione del dialello
musicale po/acco. In << II Mondo della Musica », VII ( 1969), 4, pagg. 10·16; vi si trova
anche una bibliografia essenziale sui rapporti trn Ia musica di Chopin e Ia musica popolare
polacca.
24 Cfr. A. DELLA CoRTE, Op. cit., pag. 359; I.]. PADEREWSKI, Mowa JgnacCf/.0 ]ana
Paderewskiego wygloszona dnia 23.X.1910 110 obcbodzic stulctniei rocznicy urod::;in Fr y­
deryka Cbopina ( Discorso di I.}. Padercwsk i pronunciatO il 23.X.1910 in commcmorazione
del centesimo anniversario della nascita di F. C.), Zicmkowicz i Ch~cinsk i, Lw6w 1912.
11 << Discorso >> e stata tradotto in frnncese ( Paris, i\gence Polonaise de Presse, 1911 ), e in
inglesc contcmporancamcnte in Tnghilterra (London , i\dlingtan) e negli Stati Uniri (New
York, Schaad) nel 191 1. Cfr. anche: M. e J. SonJESCY, T empo m bato w Cbopina i w
polskiei muzyce /udou:ei ( II Tempo rubato in Chopin c nella musica popolare polacca) in
<<Muzyka» (1960), n. 3, pagg. 30·41.
438 chopin

12 Gastonc Bclotti [666]

dovrebbe essere eseguita cosl, con un tempo tipicamente asim­

metrico:

Esempio 3

rna, prima di accettare e di dimostrare questa esecuzione asimmetrica,

o una simile, e opportuno liberare l'affermazione di Paderewski da
alcune inesatteze. Egli parla di « rubato », rna nel caso delle Mazurche
non e di « rubato » che doveva parlare, bensl di una ritmica parti­
colare insita nello spirito della danza, sua caratteristica essenziale,
nata con essa e senza Ia quale non e piu se stessa. II « rubato »
altera il valore delle figure, e puc ben £arlo nella misura suggerita
da Paderewski, rna cic di cui una figura si appropria lo rende ad
un'altra, per cui Ia misura, nel suo insieme, manti ene una durata
regolare. «II basso sia il vostro direttore d'orchestra e tenga il
ritmo », insegnava Chopin ai suoi allievi/5 rna piu di mezzo secolo
prima \Xlolfgang A. Mozart scriveva al padre meravigliandosi che
in G ermania non si capisse che il « rubato » doveva essere eseguito
dalla mano destra « in modo che Ia mano sinistra nemmeno se ne
accorga ». 26 Questa non e il caso delle Mazurche nelle quali l'asim­
metria ritmica, qualunque essa sia, riguarda contemporaneamente
tutte le parti, ed ha una costanza sconosciuta al « rubato » piu genuino,
dunque anche a quello di Chopin.
II « rubato » e per sua natura capriccioso, evanescente, puc tro­
varsi in tante misure di seguito, rna quasi mai nella stessa posizione,
ci puc essere in uno spunto e non nella sua riproposta, in una ese­
cuzione e non in un'altra della stesso pezzo dovuta allo stesso inter­
prete; e frutto di improvvisazione, di sensibilidt del momenta, e
sempre instabile, sempre cangiante, mentre Ia caratteristica ritmica
delle Mazurche e quasi costante, nel sensa che, tanto o poco, e un
problema che si presenta in tutte Ie opere del genere, e anche nel
sensa che Ia sua posizione e sempre Ia stessa: sulla seconda battuta

2' Cfr. F. NtECKS, Op. cit., II, pasg. 101·102.

26 Per questa e per tuttc lc altrc rcfcrcnzc sui << rubato >>, cfr. G. BELOTT!, Le origini
italiane [ ...], cit.
 chopin 439

[667] L'asimmetria ritmica nella Mazurca chopiniana 13

di ogni rnisura, o di ogni seconda rnisura. 27 Nelle Mazurche il « ru­

bato » c'e, a profusione, spesso vistosarnente, rna e elemento diverso
da quello di cui ci stiarno occupando, e a quello si somma rendendo
molto difficile l'interpretazione di queste pagine dall'apparenza, a
volte, cosl semplice.
Nernrneno ci trova consenzienti l'afferrnazione secondo la quale
la corretta esecuzione delle Mazurche consiste nell'aumentare di una
semicroma il valore della seconda battuta. La rnusica non e mai il
prodotto di freddi calcoli, o applicazione di teorie astrattamente
matematiche, e quando avvenne non si fece musica, rna altra cosa,
mentre l'assunto laibniziano 28 non e una formula estetica, bensl una
constatazione tecnica; la musica e
libera espressione, effusione della
spirito, pur autod isciplinata da norme intese con larghezza. Lo sta­
bilire Ia durata esatta dell'allargamento ritmico e lonrano dalla verita
del « rubato » cui Paderewski, per quanta erroneamente, si riferiva,
ma anche dalla verita interpretativa delle Mazurche in quanta l'allar­
gamento puo essere di molto maggiore - come nella danza che
abbiamo presa per esempio - o anche minore; niente di meno pro­
babile che pretendere di interpretare la musica di un cornpositore
fantasioso come Chopin sulla base di formule rigide.
Di passata possiamo accennare ad un'altra inesattezza: l'allar­
gamento della seconda battuta e caratteristica della Mazurca la quale
ha qui anche il suo accento piu forte, mentre l'accenro sulla terza
battuta e proprio piu dell'Oberek; quando Chopin si valse di questa
accento in qualche passo delle Mazurche non manco di indicarlo
esplicitamente, 29 rna in questa, come anche nel caso di Mazurche per
le quali nessun allargarnento della seconda battuta e possibile (e spesso
sono le medesime), siamo gia nel campo delle eccezioni .
Quando Chopin, nella terza decade del settembre 1831, giunse
a Parigi, 1a Mazurca non vi era certo sconosciuta (anche se non era
tanto diffusa, il ballo piu comune essendo il Valzer), rna dobbiamo
ritenere che Ia sua esecuzione fosse dovuta alla lettura , senza il con­
corso di elementi interpretativi autentici, come e provato dallo stu­
pore susci tato dalla person ale esecuzione del maestro. Fu merito
de lle cccezionali serate tenure dal compositore nei piu arisrocratici
cd eleganti salotti della capitate se lo spirito della Mazurca comincio

27 Per scmplicit3 parlcremo semprc di misurc pari, indipendentementc dal fauo che
numcric:unentc siano pari per davvero.
28 « ~lusica est excrcitium arithmcticae occultum ncscicntis se numerari animi >>.
29 Per cs. nclle .M:tzurche O p. 6 n. l, Op. 7 n. 3, Op. 41 n. 2, c qualchc altr:1.
440 chopin

14 L'asimmetria ritmica nella ~lazu rca chopiniana [668]

a diffondersi negli ambienti piu colti e raffinati, e cto nonostante

un documento ci ricorda che anche dopo questi fondamentali avve­
nimenti artistici non tutto doveva csser chiaro.
I nfatti la «Gazette Musicale de Paris» del 29 giugno 1834
(n . 26 ) nel recensire le Mazurche Op. 17 sottol ineava, a proposito
della prima di queste, che una delle sue carattcristiche consisteva
nel fatto che l'accento cadeva quasi sempre sulla seconda battuta.
Ora Ia «Gazette Musicale» era l'organo di Schlesinger, l'editore di
Chopin, e possiamo esser certi che questo, e altri spunti interpretativi
che si trovano nell'articolo, proveniva, direttamcnte o indirettamente,
dall'autore in persona, il quale cercava con qucsto mezzo di sugge­
rire agli appassionati alcune particolarita dell a Mazurca polacca che
l'esperienza gli insegnava essere ancora sconosciute. Non fu un caso
se si parlo dell'accenro caratteristico a proposito della Mazurca in
Si bemolle maggiore, perche proprio in questa , eccezionalmente, per
tutto il primo periodo !'ictus cade di preferenza sulla prima o sulla
terza battuta, ed e spesso indicate; l'implicito avvertimento era di
non lasciarsi influenzare dal primo tema, che e anomalo, e sui suo
esempio accentare erroneamente tutto il pezzo, rna por mente al fatto
che Ia normale Mazurca polacca comporta un accento su lla seconda
battuta, il quale, per essere tipico, non viene indicate con segni parti­
colari . Se non si fa cenno della maggior durata della battuta , e
dunque della piu importante peculiarita della Mazurca, cio si deve
a] fatto che nemmeno l'autore, abituato da sempre a suonare e ad
ascoltare queste danze cos! ritmate (rna a notarle in ritmo simme­
trico occidentale ) si rendeva conto - e non gli accadra per parecchi
anni ancora - che in que! punto si nascondeva un fondamentale
problema.30
(Continua)

.lO Tra l'altro in questa, co me nella maggior parte delle ~~..t7·Jrche in mov imcnto vclocc,
l'a!Jargamcnto e fuggcvolc.
 chopin 441

L' ASIMMETRIA RITMICA NELLA MAZURCA CHOPINIANA

di Gastone Belotti

(II)

La documentazione addotta non consente, dunque, dubbi sui

fatto che l'autentica ritmica polacca, e chopiniana, della Mazurca
foss e poco rispettosa dell'isoritmia delle tre battute del tempo 3/4
(o anche 3/8 come allora, meno frequentemente, si usava ), rna che
Ia si alterasse al punto di dare l'impressione, in qualche caso limite,
di ascoltare musica in tempo pari. Cio avveniva perche una delle
battute si allargava senza « rubare » aile altre; ed era la seconda,
su lla quale si sommavano, di regola , l'ictus ritmico, quello melodico
e anche, spesso, Ia figura di maggior valore.
La prevalenza di questa battuta e assicurata dalla struttura stessa
della danza. Nel la sua enunciazione piu semplice essa e formata da
tre semiminime, Ia prima delle guali suddivisa in due crome, rna
Chopin non usa mai questa formula per una danza intera, mentre
Ia si trova nei temi iniziali delle Mazurche Op. 33 n. 4, Op. 67 n. 2,
e almeno sei volte come ritmo fondamentale di «Trio» o di temi
centrali. 31 Una variante di questa formula suddivide Ia semiminima
iniziale in una croma puntata segulta da una semicroma,32 ed e ritmo
gia piu frequente nella Mazurca chopiniana, quantunque il maestro
lo usi raramente per tutta intera una composizione/3 preferendo

31 Cosl nellc Mazurchc Op. 6 n. I, Op. 17 n. 4, Op. 24 n. 2, Op. 33 n. 3, Op. 50

n. 3 c Op. 63 n. l. In qucsto, come negli elenchi chc seguono, non si considcrnno le
l-.!azurchc pubblic:ne dopo il 1855, delle quali vi sono, a voltc, piu versioni, spcsso senz:t
:tssolut:t certezza di dati nutentici. Si tr:llta in ogni caso di poche pagine l:t cui omissione non
puo infirmnre Ia vnliditil dcgli elenchi chc sono, poi, di carattere indicativo, oricm:uivo, e
possono comportare complctamcnti, pcrfezionamcnti c, in qualchc caso mcno C\'idcntc, anche
qunlchc rettifica.
32 Ultcriorc variamc: una pausa di semicroma :tl posto del punto.
JJ Su questo ritmo sono b:tsate le Mazurchc Op. 68 n. 2, Op. 68 n. 3 (in qucst'ultima
cscluso solo il brcvissimo «Trio») e queUa in L:1 minore pubblicata ncl 1842 in <<Notre
Temps».
442 chopin

16 Gaswnc Bclotti [828 ]

servmene per i soli temi iniziali, o per quelli centrali.34 Infine Ia

semiminima iniziale puo suddividersi in una terzina di cromc, scbbcne
Chopin non si serva di questa ritmo per una danza completa , e nem­
meno per un'intera parte, se si eccettua Ia Mazurca Op. 59 n. 3 per
il tema iniziale, e l'Op. 41 n. 3 per il tema centrale.
Per dare varieta e mobilita al ritmo, Chopin preferisce alternare
e mischiare le diverse formule, cosl alternando le prime due ottiene
il ritmo iniziale/5 o quello centrale,36 di mol te Mazurche, e in un
caso (Op. 56 n. 1) i due ritmi si trovano tra di lora sovrapposti,
rna in alcune danze (per esempio nell'Op. 30 n. 2 e nell'Op. 6
n. 2) le formule sin qui ricordate si altern ana in tutte le lora
varianti .37
Queste caratteristiche che distinguono la Mazurca dalle altre
danze in 3/4 mettono necessariamente in valore la seconda e Ia terza
battuta , rna la composizione chopiniana e ritmicamente piu complessa
e tende ad isolare la seconda battuta, a distinguerla dalle altre, a
darle valore e intensita particolari, a poria in grande evidenza, in
modo che su di essa si appoggi la linea ritmico-melodica.
Il mezzo piu semplice usato dal compositore per raggiungere
questa scopo e quello di suddividere anche la terza battuta, per cui
non solo la seconda viene ad avere l'unico valore Iungo in mezzo a
ranti brevi, ma legandosi ogni rerza batruta con la prima della misura
seguente, la seconda assume una posizione di grande evidenza. L'esem­
pio piu caratteristico e rappresentato dall'episodio centrale in La
maggiore della Mazurca dedicata a Emile Gaillard/8 nel quale Ia
terza battuta e costantemente suddivisa in due crome come la prima,

3~ Per cs. nclle Mazurche Op. 6 n . 3, Op. 30 n. 3, Op. 33 n. 1, Op. 56 n . 1 e

Op. 56 n . .3 (con qualche variante ) per i temi iniziali, e Op. 7 n. 3, Op. 24 n. 1, O p. 33
n. 2, Op. 50 n. 2 e Op. 6.3 n . .3 per i temi cemmli.
35 Per es. nelle Mazurche Op. 24 n . 4 ( tema finale), Op. 50 n. 2 e Op. 59 n. 1.
.36 Cosl nellc Mazurchc Op. 17 n. 1 e n. 3 e nell 'Op. 30 n. 3.
37 Si veda soprattuuo il tema in Do diesis minorc nella scconda presentazione alle
miss. 25-32. Lo stesso si nota nella Mazurca Op. 7 n . 2.
38 Questa Mazurca che anche alcune recemi edizioni (v. Ricordi-Momani, E.R. 2485,
pag. 140) continuano a spacciare per « postuma », fu pubblicata a Parigi da Chabal, un
piccolo editore estraneo a! normale gi ro d 'affari di Chopin (aveva i suoi uffici a! n . 10 del
Boulevard des lta liens). E. GANCII E (Voyage avec Frederic Chopin, Mercure de France, Paris
1934, pag. 142), che ne possedeva una copia con ded ica autografa a Jane \Y/. Stirling, Ia
riticne pubb licata « peu de temps avant Ia mort de Chopin >>, anzi ritiene trnttarsi, probabil­
meme, della « dernicre oeuvre publice par celu i don t Ia prime publication avait e te une
Polonaise». Invece, del 1848, o anche del 1849, puo essere Ia dedica a Jane \Y!. Stirling,
ma 1~ 1\llazurca fu pubblicata ncl 184 1. Cfr. L. BRONARSKJ, 'Etudes sur Cbopin, cit., I ,
pagg. 165-175.
 chopin 443

[829 ] L'asimmctria ritmica nclb Mazurca chopiniana 17

e la ritmica vi assume particolare vistosita per la lunghezza del brano

(36 misure), per l'inconsueto raddoppio in ottave della melodia, e
per la leggerezza dell'accompagnamento che le consente uno spicco
ancor maggiore. Ma se consideriamo la suddivisione della terza
battuta in tutte le varianti ritmiche gia indicate per la prima,
anche tra di loro alternate, siamo in grado di elencare molte altre
danze. 39
Infine, ed e formula largamente usata da Chopin, Ia seconda bat­
tuta viene maggiormente valorizzata assegnandole tutto, o parte, il
valore della terza; fedele al principia di non sottostare a schemi
fissi, il maestro non compose alcun pezzo basandosi esclusivamente
su questa accorgimento,40 ma se gli diamo un valore orientativo,
indicativa della prevalenza chela seconda battuta deve- di regola ­
mantenere, allora scorrendo le cinquanta Mazurche comprese negli
undici fascicoli licenziati dall'autore, nei due pubblicati da Julian
Fontana, e nelle due opere stampate isolatamente nel 184 1 da Chabal
e nel 1842 dalla rivista «Notre Temps», si trovano tanti esempi
quanti se ne possono desiderare. 41
Sin qui sono stati considerati elementi ritmici relativamente sem­
plici, e per questo sostanziali, rna se passiamo agli elementi strut­
turali della melodia, e dunque periodi, frasi, semifrasi, troviamo in
questi confcrma delle osservazioru fatte. Troviamo, cioe, piuttosto
comune l'inizio e la fine di queste partizioni sulla seconda battuta
che cosl si accenta e s'impone ancor di pili. Un esempio convincente
e offerto dalla Mazurca in Do diesis minore O p. 63 n . 3

39 Per es. Op. 6 n. 4 (primo tcma ), Op. 30 n. 2 (secondo tcma), Op. 6 n. 3 (tema
che precede Ia ripresa, miss. 49-64 ), Op. 7 n. 1 ( tcma centrale), Op. 17 n. 3 ( tema centrale;

in qucsto caso Ia ritmica assume a volte questa formula m~

J m )
,.!.,
c Op. 50

n. 1 (praticamcnte tuna, meno il primo tcma in tutte le sue proposte).

40 Pcro lo sono in modo prevalentc le Mazurchc Op. 30 n. 1 e Op. 33 n. 3.
4 1 Cosl nelle Mazurche Op. 6 n. 3 ( miss. 12-16 e simili), Op. 7 n. 1 ( miss. 4·6 e
simili), Op. 17 n. 4 (m iss. 9·12; ncllc miss. 11-12, poi, Ia seconda battuta si appropria anchc
di tre quarti del valorc della prima), Op. 24 n. 1 (miss. 34-39), Op. 24 n. 4 ( miss. 117-118),
Op. 30 n. 2 c n. 3 (le misure pari del tema ini ziale), Op. 30 n. 4 ( miss. 63-64, nelle quali

Ia ritmica assume questa formula inconsueta n Jr J ,chc giit era apparsa ncl·

I'Op. 17 n. 3, miss. 6-8), Op. 41 n. I ( miss. 127-139), Op. 41 n. 3 (misure iniziali), Op. 41
n. 4 ( miss. 18-40), Op. 50 n. 2 (praticamente tutta Ia prima parte e Ia ripresa) e Op. 63 n. 3
(i prirni due periodi).
444 chopin

18 Gastonc Beloui [830]

nella quale le prime due semifrasi iniziano e concludono sulla seconda

battuta, e l'anacrusi sottolinea con grande evidenza che la battuta
accentata non e la prima, rna la seguente. La seconda frase e ritmi­
camente formulata in modo leggermente diverso, ma essa pure, come
era iniziata, cos! termina su una seconda battuta, sui Do diesis1, in
quanta le due crome che ne formano la terza (e !a semiminima
che apre la misura che segue) non fanno che riproporre la ritmica
anacrusica dell'inizio dell'opera, preparando nello stesso tempo
quell'elenco melodico che sempre piu sara messo in evidenza
nella ripresa a mano a mano che la composizione si avviera
alia fine .
II secondo periodo comincia, dunque, come il prima e termina
sulla seconda battuta, mentre i due periodi del secondo tema con­
cludono entrambi sulla seconda battuta (miss. 24 e 32) e sulla mede­
sima si chiude anche Ia danza (mis. 7 6 ).
La Mazzu·ca Op. 63 n. 3 non e
!a sola che inizi sulla seconda
42
battuta, ma molto piu numerose sono quelle che in tale posizione
concludono,43 e se anche a questa elemento diamo un valore soprat­
tutto orientativo, di un certo modo di intendere la particolare ritmica
della Mazurca polacca, e dunque invece di cercaria in ogni frase ci
limitiamo alia fine dei periodi principali, lo troviamo in piu di un
terzo delle danze considerate,44 in circa la meta se non diamo impor­
tanza eccessiva alia cadenza finale. 45

42 Cosl iniziano anche lc Mazurchc Op. 59 n. 2 e quella dedicata a f:mile Gaillard,

oltre a quella in Do maggiore Op. 33 n. 3, come e evidentc nell'autografo.
43 Per cs. quelle Op. 17 n. 2 c n. 4, Op. 24 n. 2, Op. 56 n. 3, Op. 59 n. 3, Op. 63
n. 1, Op. 67 n. 1 c n. 3, Op. 68 n. I, n. 2 e n. 4.
·14 Cosl Je danze O p. 6 n. 1 e n. 3, Op. 7 n. 1 e n. 3, Op. 17 n. 3, Op. 2-1 n. 1
e n. 4, Op. 30 n. I e n. 2, Op. 33 n. 3, Op. 41 n. 3, Op. 50 n. 2 e n. 3, Op. 56 n. 1 c
n. 2, Op. 59 n. I , Op. 63 n. 3, Op. 67 n. 2, Op. 68 n. 1 c n. 3.
45 In questo caso bisogna aggiungcrc Jc Mazurchc Op. 6 n. 2, Op. 7 n. 2, Op. 24 n. 3,
Op. 30 n. 3, Op. 50 n. 1 c quclla pubblicata su «Notre Temps"·
 chopin 445

[831] L'asimmetria ritmica neUa J\lazurca chopiniana 19

Quantunque le Mazurche di Chopin, toltene forse le prime, non

siano state destinati al ballo,46 pure in questo hanno la loro origine,
e dal momento che un passo completo della danza comprende due
misure, cioe una scmifrase, frequentemente questa e formata da un
disegno ri rmico unico, continuo, che solo per comodo puo essere sud­
diviso in incisi, per cui mentre le caratteristiche che hanno attirato
Ia nosrra attenzione, finora le abbiamo trovate in ogni misura delle
Mazurche elencate (o di parte di esse), in altre si ravvisano solo ogni
due misure; cioe gli elementi che mettono in evidenza la seconda
battura, c ne determinano conseguentemente l'allargamcnto, qui ovvia­
mcnte meno vistoso, si incontrano solo nelle mi sure pari.
Puo f01·nire un esempio particolarmentc suggestivo Ia Mazurca
m Do maggiore O p. 67 n. 3, nella quale l'indicazione « rubato »
posra all'inizio ci assicura che si tratta di opera scritta non oltre Ia
meta del 1835, in un tempo, quindi, in cui i ricordi della genuina
danza contadina erano ancora ben vivi nella memoria e nella spirito
del compositore.
II primo periodo, sui quale poi e
costruita tutta Ia danza, si
presenta cos!:

II discgno c chiarissimo (il Re4 e il D o, delle miss. 2 e 4 son

ripetizio nc dcll'anacrusi iniziale, come il Sol4 della mis. 8) e l'evidenza

46 Ludwib };drzejcwic-Lowa Chopin scriveva al fratello da Varsavin [9 fcbbraio 1835]

raccontnndogli che una sua t\'lazurca (probab ilmente quclla in Si bcmollc maggiore Op. 17
n. I ) stnva facendo furore nella capitale polacca soprattu tto se suonata dall'orchestra del
Te.ttr Rozmaitoki (Te:uro delle Varieta) e che era stnta Ia dnnza favoritn per tutta una
notte ad un ballo dato dai Zamoyski; continuava: « che nc dici di vedcrti cosl profnnato
pcrchc, in vcrit3, questa Mazurca e stata composta soprattutto per l'orccchio [do slucbania]
[ ... ). Cosa dir.ti quando saprai che :mch'io ho do\·uto prof:~narti? Ncl corso eli un a sernt:t
d.ti Lebrun mi c swto chiesro sc non sapcssi suonarc Ia tua perfctt:t Mawrcn, e cosl, vicina
a tc con il pcnsiero e vedcndoti scrolbre Ia testa per Ia disapprovazione ( perchc mi scm b ra
che tu l':rbbi:r scritta per l'ascolto [" bo mnic sit; zdajc, zc Ty~ go do sluchania napisal "]),
l'ho suonata per Ia danza con gr:m gioia di tutti». (Cfr. Korespondencia [ ... ] cit., I,
pagg. 252·253).
446 chopin

20 Gns1onc Bcloni [832]

della seconda battuta delle misure pari, sottolineara dalla linea melo­
dica e dai scgni dinamici, e messa particolarmcnte in luce dalla scrit­
tura della mis. 6. Nella mis. 8 l'accento non c'e, rna per eccezione,
per tenere maggiormente sospesa l'emozione in attesa della ripeti­
zione del passo, questa volta in seste e in terze; infatti le miss. 15
e 16, che concludono il secondo periodo, sono scritte cosl:

ripetendo le miss. 7 e 8 con le varianti ritmiche e melodiche neces­

sarie a chiudere in riposo il primo ciclo melodico, rna sottolineando
la prevalenza della seconda battuta della mis. 16 per mezzo della
cadenza armonica, e del «fortissimo» che Ia stacca nettamente dal
«piano» con il quale e indicato il successivo Soh che da inizio alia
ripresa del primo periodo.
Il « Trio» e abbreviate, e il suo unico periodo conserva Je carat­
teristiche ritmiche della prima parte, con particolare evidenza di nota­
zione alla fine della prima frase, rna anche alia fine della seconda
per mezzo della sospensione melodica sui Re4, del leggero accento
dinamico, e del consueto rallentamento che prepara la ripresa della
danza.
Non tutte le Mazurche chopini ane che presentano il nucleo melo­
dico germinale in due misure ne esprimono la particolare ritmica
con la continuita e Ia chiarezza dell'Op. 6 7 n. 3; si tratterebbe ancora
una volta di uno schema rigido assolutamente incompatibile con lo
spirito del maestro, nondimeno vi e
ravvisabile in molte che cosl
si aggiungono a quelle elencate come indicative della personale, anzi
nazionale, concezione ritmica di queste composizioni.~7
Da ultimo sembra opportuno accennare all'accompagnamento.
Come e noto, quello della Mazurca e, in generale, simile a quello
del Valzer: si tratta di un accordo del quale la nota piu bassa e
pasta sulla prima battuta e le altre, in parti strette, sulle rimanenti

47 Per es. lc Mnzurche Op. 6 n. l c n. 3, Op. 7 n. 3, O p. 24 n. 2 e n. 4 (ques1'uhima

dnl «con anima " nl « souovoce »), Op. 50 n. 3 (primo periodo), Op. 56 n. 2 {miss. 37-50),
Op. 63 n. 1, O p. 67 n. 1 (in pane) e Op. 67 n. 4.
 chopin 447

[833 ] L'asimmetria ritmica nella Mazurca chopi niana 21

due. Nei Valzer Chopin non si discosta mai da questa formula , se

non per qualche misura appe n a,~8 nella Mazurca, invece, vi si attiene
il meno possibile, e non soltanto in omaggio a certi moduli propri
della musica campagnola,49 o per certe necessita di scrittura , come
guella imi tativa a volte usata ,50 ma proprio per non nuocere, con uno
diverso, al ritmo caratteristico della melodia, per cui anche quando
usa l'accompagnamento tipico, con il semplice accorgimento di una
breve legatura tra le due ultime battute, ottiene l'effetto di accentare
soprattutto la seconda, tanto piu che spesso in questi casi sostituisce
con una pausa Ia prima battuta.51
Ma la quasi totalita delle formule usate sono atipiche, e hanno
l'evidente scopo di fornire un ictus alia seconda battuta, come nella
Mazurca Op. 6 n. 4, anche dove il ritmo del basso e diverso da
quello della melodia, e in quella Op. 3 3 n. 3 in tu tta la prima parte. 52
I1 caso piu frequente, nondimeno, e quello che riproduce nel
basso la ritmica fin qui indicata come caratteristica della melodia,
con la suddivisione della prima battuta in varie figure, piu rara­
mente in terzine, a volte suddividendo anche la terza, oppure sop­
primendola, rna sommandone il valore sulla seconda.53 Come per la
melodia, cos! per l'accompagnamento le formule atipiche per lo piu
si alternano Ie une con le altre, si mischiano anche con queUe tracli­
zionali , garantendo varieta, ricche7.Za ritmica, e piu efficace appoggio
alia seconda battuta.
Un esempio convincente della fan tastica profusione di formule
ati piche nel basso si ha nella Mazurca in Do minore Op. 56 n. 3,

48 Con due sole eccezioni: il Val:z:er i11 La mi11ore Op. 34 n. 2 del 183 1, e quello in
Mi minore composto nel 1830, usci to postumo nel 1868.
49 Come Ia seric di accord i ribattu tti che alludono al ritmico batter di man i c d i
picdi con i quali gl i astanti accompagnavano lc danze (v. per cs. lo splcndido « T rio » della
Mazurca Op. 17 n. 4 ), o l'allusione allc larghe arcate del violoncello, o del contrabbasso,
d i u n'ipotct ica orchestrina di villaggio ( v. l'incisivo « risoluto >> iniziale della Mazurca Op. 30
n. 3), o i pizzica ti degli stessi m umenti (v. Ia Ma:z:urca Op. 56 n. 2, miss. 15-27 e simili).
Su questa argomento, piu ampia esempl ificazione e bibl iografia in G . BELOTTt, Cbopin e
l'tmiversalizzazione, [ ... ] cit., pagg. 15-16.
50 Per es. l'inizio deii'Op. 50 n. 3, e il tcma che precede Ia ripresa nell'Op. 56 n. 2
( miss. 53-68).
51 Per es. nell'Op. 56 n. 3 le miss. 106-117.
52 In modo piu evidente neUe Mazurche Op. 7 n. 2, Op. 30 n. 1 e Op. 63 n. 2.
53 Cosl, per cs., nelle Mazurche Op. 7 n. 2 ( miss. 42-49), Op. 7 n. 3 (miss. 43-56),
O p. 17 n. 1 (sccondo periodo), Op. 30 n. 3 (dal << risoluto >> al «con anima >>), O p. 30 n. 4
( tutta Ia parte centrale), Op. 33 n. 3 ( meno il « Trio»), O p. 50 n. 1, Op. 56 n. 1 (episod i
dispa ri ), Op. 68 n. 3, c quella in La minore pubbticata su « No tre Temps».
448 chopin

22 Gastonc Belotti [834]

nella quale su 220 misure l'accompagnamento tradizionale figura in

tredici appena,~4 e vi si notano, tra gli altri, spunti come i seguenti:

Giunti a questo punto, dopo di aver documentato l'asimmetria

ritmica propria della Mazurca chopiniana, di aver dimostrato che l'ac­
cento principale, e con esso l'allargamento, cade dl regola sulla seconda
battuta, e di aver illustrate alcuni degli accorgimenti usati dall'autore
per esprimere inequivocabilmente la sua intenzione, sara opportune
esaminare quest'argomcnto piu da vicino, analizzando dal nostro
particolare punto di vista - come del resto qui si sempre fatto - e
una delle sue danze, scegliendola non tra quelle in cui gli elementi
indicati sono proposti in modo vistoso, ma tra queUe che li presen­
tano in modo discrete, e che sia abbastanza lunga da consentire una
certa varieta di soluzioni. Come esempio sembra interessante la

~ ~! iss . 190 e 193-204. E anchc considcrando Ia formula con larghcZ?.a, pcrchc sc si

ritienc indispensabile chc sulla seconda e tcrz:t battur:t si debba trovarc almeno un bicordo,
allora le misurc con accompagnamcnto tradizionale si riducono :1 settc ( 190, 193, 194, 197,
198, 201, 202). In ncssuna vi c un tricordo.
 chopin 449

[835 ] L'asimmetria ritmica nella Mazurca chopiniana 23

Mazurca in Do diesis minore Op. 30 n. 4 , scritta, con le altre tre

dello stesso fascicolo, nel 1836-37, dedicata, come quelle, alia com­
parriora principessa von Wi.irttemberg , nata principessa Czartoryska.
E' una delle piu lunghe/ 5 certamente tra le piu poetiche e affasci­
nanti, ancorche sia una delle meno eseguite.
Per Ia sua ampiezza, l'architettura ne e
piu complessa che in
tante altre, pur conservando la struttura A-B-A propria delle danze
con «Trio »56 c ripresa, rna questi argomenti qui non hanno rilievo
se non per ricordare che, eccezionalmente, quest'opera inizia con una
breve introcluzione57 (miss. 1-4 ), che per noi e gia un'affermazione
del ricordato ritmo in due misure, con ictus e conseguente fuggevole
allargamento sulla seconda battuta delle misure pari.
Il tema della prima parte e unico, due volte ripctuto, eel e tutto
accompagnaro da quei larghi arpeggi con una quinta costante (Do
diesis-Sol cliesis; Sol Diesis-Re diesis; Si-Fa diesis) che ci ricordano i
rudimentali accompagnamenti delle improvvisate orchestrine campa­
gnole che in questo periodo clovcvano tornare con nostalgia e con
spcranza alla mente del giovane compositore.58 La prima frase man­
tiene il ritrno in due misure annunciate dall'inrroduzione, tuttavia,
contrariamente a quanto avviene di regola in casi analoghi , anche
nella prima e neila terza misura e avvertibile la necessita di un legge­
rissirno allargamenro del respire rappresentato dalla pausa di crorna,

55 Solo lc Mazurchc Op. 2-1 n. 4, Op. 33 n. -1, Op. 50 n. 3, Op. 56 n. 1, Op. 56 n. 3

e Op. 59 n. 3 sono piu lunghe; l'Op. 41 n. 1 consta di 139 misure come questa che fu
pubblicata ncl gennaio del 1838 contemporancamcnte a Lipsia da Breitkopf u. Hanel
( n. 5851) e a P:trigi da Schlesinger ( n. 2-189). L'edizionc londincsc di Wessel ( n. 2170) pre·
ccdettc di qualchc senimana (dicembre 1837).
56 L'indicazionc "Trio" non figura in alcuna Mazurcn pubblicata da Chopin, nc in
quelle pubblic:ne da Julian Fontana. La si trov:t tre voltc nclle opere posrume del gruppo
da noi non considcrato (in Sol maggiore del 1825, in He maggiore d el 1829-30 e in Re
maggiore del 1832, che c un rifacimcnro della preccdente).
57 Oltre a questa hanno u na breve inrroduz ione anche le M:1zurche Op. 6 n. 2, Op. 7
n. 3, Op. 17 n. -1 e Op. 50 n. 2.
58 In questo pcriodo Chopin si era fidanzato con Maria Wodziraska, si preparava aile
nozze e vi era Ia probabili ta di un suo rientro in Polon ia.
450 chopin

24 Gastone Bclotti [836]

mentre la seconda frase presenta !'ictus in entrambe le misure. Di

queste, due interessano in modo particolare, !'ultima del primo
periodo (mis. 12) e la penultima del secondo (mis. 19). La prima,

Esempio 15

per ragioni melodiche, ha Ia semiminima sulla meta piu debole della

battuta, ma l'accento e la corona sono i mezzi impiegati daJI'autore
per garantirsi che essa mantenga le caratteristiche di ictus e di durata
che egli le attribuiva. Diversamente non poteva scrivere perche, tro­
vandosi a conclusione del periodo piu importance, il conseguente
leggiero rallentamento ne sarebbe rimasto compromesso se, per non
alterare la formula, Chopin avesse riunito le tre crome in una terzina
eccedente.
La seconda misura interessante

Escmpio 16

si trova, nel periodo, in una posizione diversa, i1 tema era proposto

per la seconda volta, era inopponuno ripeterlo esattamente con il
rallentamento finale, per cui l'autore lo !ego immediatamente al passo
sospensivo che porta al «Trio». Tuttavia, come gia nella mis. 12,
la seconda bartuta non avrebbe avuto, nella scrittura, particolare evi­
denza, ed ecco Chopin garantirgliela con l'accento, il quale crea anche
una sospensione - sia pure impercettibile - che allarga di un sofEo
il valore della croma interessata.
Le dodici misure che concludono la prima parte della Mazurca
non presentano ritmi molto diversi da quelli esaminati; in esse merita
di essere segnalata Ja legatura tra la seconda e Ia terza battuta del­
l'accompagnamento delle misure 22, 24 e 26, che sottolinea la ritmica
 chopin 451

[837] L'asimmetria ritmica nella r.lazurca chopiniana 25

d ella melodia, e l'accento sulla seconda batruta della mis. 21, che
ribadisce l'intenzione d ell 'autore. Le ultime due misure servono ad
introdurre Ia parte centrale, e Ia !oro scri ttura e per noi di grande
chiarezza:

Esempio 17

La seconda parte, o «Trio», e Ia piu estesa,~ ed e fermata di

due episodi totalmente diversi. II prima (miss . 33-6-0 consta di un
solo tema di otto misure - poi ripetuto - con Ia caratteristica
ritmica in due misure che si modifica solo nelle final i dei periodi , e di
queste, le conclusioni del secondo, che funge anche da preparazione
alia ripresa del tema, e l'unica per no i atipica, pur se in cio giustificata
dal rallentamento e dal vistoso « rubato >> che Ia distingue.
La conclusione del quarto periodo, che e di carattere sospensivo
e introduce il secondo episodic del «Trio», dal nostro pun to di vista
vanta una grande chiarezza di scrittura che ci richiama alia mente le
misure 31 e 32:

Esempio 18

e
Anche l'accompagnamento costante e atipico, e con Ia sua pro­
pria formulazione sottolinea !'ictus su lla seco nda battuta della melodia,
non modificandosi che neUe misure finali dei periodi , non pero in
quelle del prima e del terzo, dove sul pentagramma superiore non
vi e che un lunge trilla d i due misure su i Sol diesis3; qui i1 basso,
mantenendo il suo ritmo, ne esalta Ia continuita in tutto l'cpisodio.

59 Cons1a di 64 misure. L'imera Mazurca ne coma 139, pero se si considerano :1 parte

le misure imrodunivc c le undici che formano Ia « Cod:t >>, il « Trio» e pit• lungo delle due
parti estrcmc somm:uc insieme.
452 chopin

26 Gas1one Bcloui [838)

La seconda parte del «Trio» (miss. 65-96) e

costituita di due
motivi contrastanti (direttamente legati l'uno all'altro) di otto misurc
ciascuno, poi ripetuti con alcunc varianti nel secondo. II primo di
questi temi e uno dei piu belli , dei piu struggenti, dei piu intensa­
mente espressivi creati dalla fantasia di Chopin , rna Ia sua ritmica,
di natura incalzantc, non si prcsta ad alcuna altcrazione che non sia
c
il « rubato », qui piu evidente che altrove. Pero chiaro che siamo
un po' fuori dalle formule proprie della Mazurca e molto piu vtcmJ
al Valzer:

tantO VCrO chc qUCStO paSSO e J'uniCO di tutta }a COmpOSIZIOnC ad

essere sostenuto da un accompagnamento che usa le formule tipiche
comuni alle due d anze.
II secondo motivo - di grande energia e senorita - riproduce,
invece, con chiarezza Ia formula ritmica in due misure alJa quale col­
labora strettamente anche il basso:

La nostra 1\Iazurca, dopo la ripresa, chiude con una «Coda» di

lunghezza non consueta in questo genere di composizioni/,o non vi

(I) Di rcgola le Mazu rchc non hanno «Coda " limit:mdo.i, al piu, a qualchc misura
conclusiva, magari richinmandosi ad uno spu mo in izialc, come ncii'Op. 17 n. 4. Tu u:l\'ia
nella raccoha non mnnca qunlchc cccczionc, come ncllc Mazurche Op. 24 n. 2, Op. 33 n. 2
c n. 4, Op. 41 n. I, Op. 59 n. 3 c qucllo dcdicata a £mile Gaillard. L'Op. 56 n. I, per
Ia sua struuura strofica, rnpprcscma un caso pardcolarc.
 chopin 453

[839] L'asimmerri:1 ritmica nella Mazurca chopiniana 27

troviamo spumi ritmici nuovi, richiamandosi nelle prime nove misure

al sccondo incise del prima tema,6 1 e nclle seguenti quattro alia figu­
razionc iniziale del << Trio», rna chiude con un arpeggio di due ottave
che riproponc per )'ultima volta Ia ritmica caratteristica della Mazurca
chopiniana.

La sommaria analisi della Ma:wrca in Do diesis minore Op. 30

n. 4 ha confermato l'eccezionale prevalenza che vi assume Ia seconda
battuta di ogni misura, e soprattutto di ogni misura pari; l'unica
eccczione Ia si e avura in un passe che mostra cara tteristiche diverse
da quelle della Mazurca. E con Ia prevalenza, l'allargamemo, il pro­
lungamento del valore quale e figurate , pur senza assumere propor­
zioni viscose come neii 'O p. 33 n. 3 e in altre. E' discrete, spesso
fuggevole, varia, sempre legato a! caratterc dei singoli temi, ma non
manca mai; e queste sfumature di durata, che devono esser rese avver­
tibi li per modeste che siano, pongono all'interprete problem i di solu­
zione non facile e che si aggiungono, non come ultimi, ai tanti che
presenta questa gemma chopiniana.
Tu ttavia nella raccolta vi sono composizioni che sembrano far
eccezione, sia per Ia posizione dell'accento, sia per l'i mpossibilita di
alterare, in modo diverse dal « rubato », Ia durata delle singole bat­
ture. Per Ia maggior parte il moti vo e evidence: si tratta di opere
Ia cu i strumu·a le accomu na a danze diverse dalla Mazurca , sui tipo
dell'« Oberek »,62 del « Valzer »,63 o del « Lindler »,64 men tre solo
altre poche devono essere considerate vere eccezioni,65 anche se qua

61 Qui s'incont ra un caso famoso di progrcssione disccndentc di quintc par:lllelc, del

rcs to non frcquente in Chopin.
62 Per cs. le Mazu rchc Op. 24 n. 2 e Op. 33 n. 2.
63 Per es. lc Mazurchc Op. 41 n. 3 c Op. 56 n. I , quest'ultima limitatamente alia
scconda e quarta parte.
64 Per cs. Ia Mazurca Op. 41 n. 4.
65 Cosl lc Mazurche Op. 7 n. 4 e n. 5, 17 n. 2 (il suo andamento c fortcmcntc
<< rubato »), Op . .J 1 n. 2 (ricca degli cchi di Majorca), Op. 67 n. 4 (il cui tema principalc
accenna vagamcntc a! ritmo su due misurc ) c I'Op. 68 n. .J chc sarcbbc !'ultima cspressionc
mus icale del morcnte Chopi n. In qucst'ulti ma, perc, solo a considcr:trc In ricostmzionc di
A. Franchornmc (l'unica nota a tutti), pcrche in ricostruzioni piu recenti (J. Et:tER, P.\XIJ\1.,
Krak6w, n. 58 17 [ 1955]: WOJ. NOWJt:, Pr6ba rekoustrukcii Ma~urka F-moll O p. 68 11. 4
Fryderyka Cbopiua, in « Rocznik Chopinowski, vol. Vfii [ 1969], pags. 44-85), chc sulb
base del foglio nutografo rcstiruiscono alln Mazu rca da 35 a 50 misure che Franchommc non
seppc decifrarc, il ritmo carntteristico in due misurc c prcsente in rnolti passi.
454 chopin

28 Gas10ne Belotti [8-10]

e la mostrano spunti, o brevi passi, nei quali Ia ritmica pro pasta in

questa studio e applicabile.66
Infine si deve accennare ad un altro gruppo di composizioni nelle
quali occorre distinguere tra un tema e l'altro, o tra un episodio e
l'altro, dell'opera. Se ne sono inconrrate alcune, altre sono netta­
mente caratterizzate nei temi iniziali (e !oro ripresa), come I'Op. 24
n . .3, l'Op. 56 n. 1 e l'Op. 59 n. 3, altre lo sono invece nei terni
centrali , come le Mazurche Op. 7 n. 2, Op. 17 n. 3, Op. 67 n. 1,
e quella dedicata a Emile G ai llard.
Come Ia documentazione iniziale non deve trarre in inganno e
far credere che l'allargamento della seconda battuta debba sempre
sfiorare il raddoppio del valore figurato - questa essendo piuttosto
un'eccezione che una regola - cos! le numerose cara tteristiche illu­
strate a sostegno della prevalenza ritmico-melodica di quella battuta
non devono indurre a vedere un accento - e un allargamento -
anche dove non c'e, sciupando irrimediabilmente certi ritmi incal­
zanti, o fraseggiando in modo errata. Se ci sono Mazurche nelle quali
ogni tema, a volte ogni singolo inciso, richiedono accenti di forza
diversa (e allargamenti dl diversa durata) su quella difficile battuta
(e sono la maggioranza), se vi sono Mazurche che rifiutano del tutto
questa ritmica (e sono poche), cosl ve ne sono altre che la richiedono
in un passo con Ia stessa evidenza con Ia quale Ia respingono in un
altro. Son casi che si risolvono solo dopa un accurato esame, dopa
un'analisi attenta che decida se Ia ritmica di que! particolare episodio
esiga questi accorgimenti, dove e in qual misura. Cio e conseguenza
del fatto che se Ia ritmica della Mazurca chopiniana ha le sue radici
piu profonde in quella della danza contadina della Masovia, essa e
pur sempre danza idealizzata, opera d'arte, alia cui genesi concorsero
anche altre esperienze artistiche, altri principi musicali, e, infine,
dell'asimmerria ritmica il maestro aveva intuito, istinto - se si
vuole - non conoscenza scientifica . Per questa l'ascoltatore media
quasi non dovrebbe accorgersi dell 'alterazione, assorbita come deve

66 Qui siamo in un campo di proporzioni suUa base delle quali si deve giudicarc del
carnttcre della l\lazurca; in dclinitiva si tr:ma dci giudizi piu strc ttamentc legati allc cspc·
ricnze persona li. In qucste Mazurche non mancano spunti chc possono rientrare nci casi di
cui si 1:: parlato, rna sono troppo poco importanti nell'insieme dell'opcra pcrchc qucsw, nel
suo complcsso, non dcbba considcr:us i un'eccezionc; in altrc, invccc, come nellc danze
Op. 2-l n. 4, Op. 33 n. 4, Op. 41 n. 1, Op. 56 n. I, Op. 59 n. I, Op. 63 n. 1 c
n. 2, gli spunti, i tcmi, gli cpisodi che richicdono Ia ritmica caratteristica, pur csscndo piu
o meno lu nghi, piu o mcno cvidcnti , sono semprc tal i per import:mza o per cstensione,
da br considcrarc queste composizioni come faccnti cccezione solo in parte.
 chopin 455

[841] L'asimmetria ritmica nella Mazurca chopi niana 29

sembrargli dal fraseggio; 67 cosl accadeva con Chopin la cui peculiarita

esecutiva era notata solo da musicisti espertissimi, cosl dovrebbe
accadere in tutti colore che abbiano a eucre di avvicinarsi il piu
possibile, con l'interpretazione, alle intenzioni del compositore.

I problemi che questa interpretazione del ritmo della Mazurca

fa sorgere sono di vasta portata, e sono aggravati dal fatto che noi,
esecutori ed ascoltatori, siamo tutti di cultura musicale occidentale.
La nostra consuerudine non conosce che la misura simmetrica,
cioe quella che si divide in due o tre batture (2/ 4 o 3/4 con i
multipli , i sottomultipli e lora combinazioni) ognuna delle quali ha
Ia medesima durata delle altre. L'insufficienza artistica della conse­
guente isoritmia fu da noi italiani cosl intimamente sentita che vi
ponemmo in qualche modo riparo con il « rubato » il quale, senza
modificare la durata complessiva della misura, alterandone i valori
interni, puc dare l'impressione di un'asimmetria.
I polacchi, slavi del nord , hanna invece una sensibilita ritmica
diversa, e trovano naturali misure costruite in modo difforme dalle
nostre tradizionali. Nonostante il suo casaro, Chopin era di spirito
profondamente polacca, ed era ancor poco piu che ragazzo quando ci
diede uno dei primi esempi del tempo 5 /4, nel « larghetto» della
Sonata in do minore Op. 4; fu questa tempo, per noi inconsueto, a
condizionare fortemente la serena valutazione del brano, il cui ritmo
fu considerate un artificioso 68 Iega me autoimpostosi dal giovane com­
positore.69 Se a simili opinioni pervennero anche musicologi polacchi,
cio si deve al facto che essi erano di cultura musicale occidentale e
anche perche nelle classi colte gli elementi di origine popolare vanno
rapidamente perduti.
La Mazurca , invece, ha avuto le sue origini in ambienti contadini
dove Ia tradizione e piu persistence, e dove piu difficilmente pate
pene trare Ia cultura occidentale od occidentalizzante. Ll , nella lora
atmosfe ra naturale, Chopin ascolto le Mazurche popolari, il cui ritmo

67 Si vedano, per cs. Lc Mazurchc Op. 33 n. 4 in Si minorc, Op. 41 n. 1 in Do diesis

minorc c Op. 59 n. 1 in La minorc, neUe quali i tcmi, i passi, gli cpisodi di un tipo e
ddl'altro sono imcrcal:tti, imrecciati tra di loro, rcndcndo l'csccuzionc vcr.tmcntc diflicile
perchc c facile caderc in uno squilibrio ritmico deteriorc, o in una errata v:tlutazione del
senso melodico delle frasi c dci motivi.
68 Zo. ]ACl!IMECKt, Chopi11. La vita e le opere, Tr. it. di \V. Sandelewski, Ricord i,
Mibno 1962, p:tg. 198.
69 F. NtECKS, Op. cit., I, pag. 113.
456 chopin

30 G astone Belotti [8-12]

Io affascino tanto che non solo egli fece di questo gcnere il suo p1u
importante, rna lo ricordo anche in composizioni di tutt'altra natura. 70
La reale esistenza e consistenza del ritmo asimmetrico qui stu­
diato, pur con il peso della documentazione storica e tecnica portata,
ci lascerebbe perplessi, quando non dubbiosi, se il medesimo feno­
meno non fosse stato scoperto, in anni relntivamente recenti , in
un'altra regionc d ell'Europa orientale, in Bulgaria, presso gli slavi
del sud.
La prima descrizione c documentazione di questi ritmi che, si
noti bene, sono assolutamente autoctoni , si deve a Vasil Stoin 71 il
quale, nel notare certe danze popolari contadine, dovette servirsi di
tempi inconsueti - come il 5/8, il 7/8 , il 9/ 8 e via dicendo -
per potcr riprodurre fedelmente una realta esecutiva che Ia nota­
zione in tempi piu comuni (2/4, 3/4, 4/4 ) non avrebbe rispecchiato.
Persino Bartok, nelle sue notazioni precedenti la scoperta dello Stoin,
non aveva ben afferrato !'intima natura del fenomeno , pur non essen­
dogli nemmeno allora sfuggito il problema di certa mancanza di
isoritmia neile esecuzioni dei contadini musicisti, singolarita che egli,
ungherese e di cultura occidentale, attribuiva ad altra causa.72
In seguito, riascoltando con nuovo interesse alcune registrazioni
precedentemente effettuate, Bartok riusd ad identi6care le ragioni
d ell'asimmetria ritmica:
Esaminiamo [ ... ] il ri tmo della « Raceniza »73 [ ••• ] • L'ascoltatore superficiale
lo prendera per un 3/8 o per un 2/4. Se noi la facciamo derivare dal 3/8,
dobbiamo constatare un ampliamento di 1/ 16, se dal 2/4, una mutilazione di
1/16. Per conto mio sarei piuttosto per l'allargamento; e - stando alia de6-
nizione che ne danno del ritmo - pare che anche gli studiosi bulgari siano
di questo parere.
La mia impressione e che ques to ampliamento di valore non sia che una
proiezione dell'accento dinamico del tempo. Infatti, nella specie di ritmo bulgaro

70 Non solo net Rondo itz Fa maggiore Op. 5 che e, appunto, « Alia Mnu rcn », o
nella Polacca in Fa diesis miuore Op. 4-1 il cui «Trio» c costituito da una Mazurca,
rna anche in lunghi passi del « finale » del Concerto in Fa minore Op. 21 (per es. miss.
145-18-1 e simili ), nella prima sczione della pan e centrale dcllo «Scherzo» del Trio Op. ll,
in tutta Ia prima parte dell'<< lntroduzione •> del Rondo alia Krakowiak Op. 14, c in tanti
altri ancora.
7t Ncl saggio: Grrmdriss dcr Afetrik tmd der Rhytmik dcr bulgariscbetz Vo/kmusik (dr.,
anche per Ia documentazionc: B. BART6K, Scrilli sui/a musica popolare. [A cura di D. Car­
pitella], Einaudi, Torino 1955; soprattutto le pagg. 197-207 dove si tratta del fenomcno di
cui ci occupiamo).
72 Cfr. B. BART6K, Op. cit., pag. 202.
73 Danza popolarc che viene not at a, per res tare adcrenti all'csecuzione, in 7/16 raggrup­
p3ti in 2,2,3, cioe un 3/8 in cui !'ultima bnttuta comporta l'all:ugamcnto del ritmo.
 chopin 457

[843] L'asimmetri:t ritmica nella ~lazurc:t chopiniana 31

Ia parte di battuta allungata di 1/ 16, ha l'aspctto di essere o accentata, o di

sostituire l'accento.74

Dunque in queste danze popolari bulgare l'asimmetria ritmica e

sempre presente, e dovuta all'allargamento di una battuta rispetto
aile altre, e coincide con l'accento piu importante della misura. Si
tratta, in forma vistosa, dello stesso fenomeno, dovuto alle stesse
cause, producente gli stessi effetti, da noi osscrvato e documentato
nella Mazurca chopiniana.
Se questa caratteristica ritmica, pure con regolarita e intensita
diverse, si puo documentare in Polonia, in Bulgaria (e in alcune zone
della Romania), in mancanza eli studi soddisfacenti sull'argomento,75
si puo avanzare l'ipotesi che si tratti eli un elemento proprio degli
slavi, giunto con !oro in Europa nei primi secoli della nosu·a era, e
che si mantenne piu a lungo, e in modo piu appariscen te, nei paesi
che meno furono a contatto con civilta musicali estranee.
La Bulgaria , rimasta meno colta, piu conservatrice, per un insieme
eli circostanze storiche e geografiche, conservo questo ritmo meglio
della Polonia, dove rimase come un relitto arcaico solo nella Mazurca.
Chopin rivelava il fenomeno nell'esecuzione perche Ia sua era un
ricordo eli quelle autentiche da lui ascoltate, e indi rettamente nella
struttura ritmica perche essa si richiamava , anche se solo idealmente,
a quella popolare, rna non poteva in alcun modo indicarlo grafica­
mente perche, da musicista colto, non aveva dimcstichezza con la
misura asimmetrica; cadde cosl nella stessa inesattezza nella quale
sarebbe caduta un secolo piu tardi, e per le stesse ragioni, la maggior
parte dei musicologi raccoglitori eli Bulgaria che hanno preceduto
Io Stoin.
Chopin fu certamente il primo musicista artista che si sia pro­
fond amente interessato alia musica popolare e che ne abbia assorbito

74 B. BART6K, Op. cit., pagg. 205-206.

75 Purtroppo non solo mancano studi su questo particolare aspctto della ritmica popo·
l:tre slava, rna sono ben poch i gli stud i autorevoli suU'argomento in generale . Bartok ri tcneva
che questa caraueristica ritmica fosse prcscnte anche prcsso i musicisti comadi ni scrbo·
croati c chc ne manca ancora Ia prova solo pcrche i raccoglitori locali, tutti musicisti colti,
non sc n'crano accorti (dr. B. BART6K, Op. cit., pag. 204 ). Gli studi polacchi sulla musica
popolarc sono molti, in gcncrc di alto livcllo, tuttavia non vi c in cssi un indirizzo prcciso,
una nctla distinzione, tm mu sica popolarc in gcncre e autentic:l, arcaica, musica comadina.
D"altm parte bisogna pur riconosccre chc lo studio di alcunc pcculiari tii c reso oggi moho
diflicile, quando non impossibile, da l fatto chc i progressi socbli, gli spostamcnti di imere
popolazioni, le mcscolanzc etnichc conscgucmi aUe due gucrrc, hanno tolto dall'isobmcnto
lc campagne polacchc c ne hanno comaminato l:t cultura originale.
458 chopin

32 Ga stone Beloui [84-1]

lo spmto trasferendolo nelle sue proprie composizioni,76 rna non fu

un ricercatore; ad esplorare il folclore nazionale lo spingevano piu il
suo patriottismo, e i tempi favorevoli all'interesse verso le musiche
popolari, che ambizioni etnografiche. Tuttavia le sue cognizioni in
proposito non erano occasionali , ed erano sorrette da un intuito finis­
sima per la realta musicale della musica contadina polacca. Quando,
all'inizio del 1847, il suo amico e condiscepolo J6zef Nowakowski
gli fece pervenire i Pieini ludowe do spiewu (Aielodie popolari per
canto) dell'altro amico Oskar Kolberg, notanda i troppo liberi adat­
tamenti del raccoglitore, ne scrisse a casa rammaricando la manomis­
sione di tante bellezze popolari. 77
Pertanto i limiti di una perfetta aderenza degli aspetti folclori­
stici della musica di Chopin alia realta obiettiva dell'autentica musica
contadina polacca, non sono tanto nelle sue personali conoscenze sul­
l'argomento, quanto nel fatto che egli non si rese canto « scienti-
6camente » della differenza sostanziale che c'e tra fo lclore nazionale
e musica popolare arcaica , pur avendo del fenomeno chiara intui­
zione.78 Si deve anche tener presente che egli non trascrisse melodie

76 Ne era anche conscio. Nei primi tempi del suo soggiorno parigino riccveva spcsso
Ia visita del suo compatriota Wojcicch Sowi(,ski, modesto pianista e modcstissi mo com po·
sitorc, che si piccava di scrivere << Melodic Polacchc ». Rifcrendonc aU'nmico Tytus \Y/oy·
ciechowski, Chopin scrivcva: « Cio chc soprnuuuo mi fa ribollirc it sa nguc c il suo album
di canzoni volgari, prive di senso, fornite dci pcggiori :tccompagnnmenti, senz:t Ia piu modcst:t
conosccnza dell'armonia, nc di quella dcll:t prosodin, chc finiscono tuue con delle contrad·
danzc, e che cgli chiama collczione di canti pobcchi [ << Kt6rc on zbiorcm polskich pidni
nazywa » ). Tu s:ti come io abbia scmprc cercato di esprimere il senti men to della nostra
musica n azionale, e come in parte vi sia riuscito ». (Oa Parigi, 25 diccm[brc] 1831. Cfr.
Korespondenc;a [ ... ], cit., I , pag. 210). L:! sua conosccnza d ella rnusica popolare era nota
anche ai prim i biogrnfi (cfr. per es. F. NtLCKS, Op. cit., I, 60; I I, 215; II, 218).
77 « Buone intenzioni, m:t spalle troppo strette [ « dobre ch~i, za waskie plccy >> ].
Queste realizzazioni mi fanno pensare che sarebbe meglio non far nientc perchc un lavoro
cosl difettoso non puo che disorient:trc le riccrche di que! gcnio chc in futuro giungeri\
alb verita, e rcs tituirii a queste gcmme tuua Ia !oro bellcv.a. Fino n que! rnomento [ ... )
esse saranno oggetto di malevola ironia di osservarori superficiali ». (Da Pnrigi, 19 aprilc
[ 1847]; cfr. Korespondencia, cit. II, pag. 193 ). Parole quasi proferiche, rna che noi, oggi
abituati alb ricerca rigorosa, possiamo ben valutare. Tuuavia dobbiamo render giusrizia
anche a Oskar Kolberg il quale si accorse di aver imboccato una Strada sbagliata con
quella raccoha. In seguito pubblico migliaia di melodic polacche, cosl come le aveva sen·
tite, nei 28 \'Olumi della raccolta «Lud » (« II popolo »), una delle prime, delle piu impo­
nenti, delle piu preziosc collezioni che siano state redatte in quesro campo. Punroppo
)'opera si comi ncio a pubblicarc ncl 1857 (si concluse net 1891 , un anno dopo Ia monc
dell'autOre) e non pore esserc conosciura ed apprezzata da Chopin.
i 8 Tanto vcro che ncssuno dei particola ri rirmici qui studiari sembra porersi applicare
aile Polncche, le quali sono sl rnusic:1 n:~zionale, rna piuttosto di origine cittadina c nobiliare
chc contadina c scmbrano condone su schemi musicali di culrura occidentale.
 chopin 459

[845 ) L'nsimmct ria riunicn nella ~l:tzurca chopiniana 33

locali/ 9 rna preferl inserire nella sua arte rnolte caratteristiche del
dialetto musicale polacco,80 perfino di regioni a lui mcno fam iliari
della Masovia; 81 e alia rnusica popolare della sua patria resto costan­
temente fedele, non solo quando rnotivi particolari ne eccitavano il
nazionalisrno,82 rna sempre, anche negli ultirni tempi della sua vita.83
Cos! si giustificano alcune peculiarita che altrimenti resterebbero
inspiegabili, rna dei ritmi popolari, ad uno soprattutto rimase costan­
temente fedele, a quello della Mazurca, del quale piu di ogni altro
avcva esperienza diretta; ne colse le caratteristiche fondamentali che
divennero elementi del suo proprio stile, e ne conserve l'asimrnetria
ritmica nella sola esecuzione non avendo saputo, voluro, o potuto
indagare piu a fonda. Ma egli scrisse musica nuova, non ripropose
quella contadina che conosceva, per questa, per Ia sua cultura musicale
professionale, e per la Jabilita in Polonia dell'asirnmetria ritmica (oggi
quasi scomparsa), nelle sue Mazurche Ia peculiarita del ritmo slavo
e meno costante, meno intensa, che nelle danze autenticamente popo-
19 Con qualchc cccczionc, naruralmcmc; le piu imporranti sono: nello Scben:o iu Si
miuore Op. 20, nel qunlc il tcma del « Trio» ahro non c chc Ia prima pane di un
cantico di N:uale, popobrc nella Mnsovia e caro a tuui i polacchi: Lulaiie }e~wriu ( « Fa
Ia nanna Bambino Ges1a »); nell'« Allegro» del Concerto iu Mi miuore Op. J I , il cui prima
rema ciw quello della << Romnnza » Ro:daka (Separa~ioue) di GuriJev; nel Preludio 11. 2
iu La minore il cui rcma (: preso dalla can7.onc Cbmiel (« II Luppolo »).
80 Un esempio tra cemo poss ibili: i lunghi pedali che s'incomrano frequcmemente
ncll'nccompagnamcmo delle J\l:lzu rche c che hanna ev idente originc ncgli accompagnamenti
primitivi della musica campngnola. Su scmplici pcdnl i di onnva c di qu inta c costruito
:mche l'accompagnamemo delle pard esrreme della Ma:wrca in Do maggiore Op. 33 n. 3 che
nbbiamo prcso come base del nosrro srudio. Per alrri esempi v. G. BELOTn, Cbopiu e
l'rmivcrsali;.::tzxiouc [ ... ) cir. pagg. 15-16.
81 Come Ia zona di Cracovia (v. Rondo alia Krakotviak iu Fa maggiore Op. 14, e
it << Fi nale» del Concerto in mi miuore Op. 11), In Rutcn ia (cfr. B. SCHt\ RLITT, Cbopiu,
Breitkopf u. Harrel, Le ipzig 1919, pag. 170), o I'Ucrai na e Ia Liruania, regioni, quesre
uhime, che ni tempi di Chopin erano considerate polncche e in ogni caso sono prcvalente·
mente sla\·e (cfr. Z. LtSSA, Problemy polskiego stylu narodowcgo w truorc:.oJci Cbopina
[Problcmi dello stile naxionale polacco uell'opcra di Cb. ], in « Rocznik Chopinowski »
[<< Annuario Chopininno > >], I (1956), pagg. 122·124, 134, 166 [nora n. 47] e 168 [now
n. 65 J).
82 << Vorrei [ ... ) rirrovnre, almena in pa rte, i cnnri che cantavn l'eserciro di Giovanni
[ = Jan Sobieski che ncl 1683 sconfisse :t Vienna i turchi di Knrn Mustafa] ed i cui echi
dispersi crr:tno ancora sullc rive del Danubio », scrivcva all'amico Jan Matuszynski dopo
aver riccvut o Ia notizia dcll'insurre-~ione di Varsavia. E alia fnmiglia: « Herz interpreted !e
sue Varitrzioni su rcmi pol:acchi [ ... ]. Dopo questo andate a difenderc l:t musica polacca,
parlarcnc pubblicamcnte con comperenza, vi rr:nteranno da matto ''· 0, ancora, pochi giorni
prima di parrire dn Vienna: « II mio pianoforte non ha ascohnto che r-.lazurche ». (cfr.
Korcspondenc;a. Cit., I, 162, 175, 183}.
83 Nella citata lettera del 1847 scrivcva ai familiari: << La sera non nvevo voglia di
vcstirm i per In cena e cosl me ne sono rimasw a casa a can ticchiare le melod ic delle rive
della Viswla ». (Cfr. Korespondenc;a. Cit., II, 194). Del rcsto non vi e dubbio che Ia sua
ultima composizione fu una J\lazurca (i n Fa min. Op. 68 n. 4).
460 chopin

34 L':~simmetria ri tmic:1 nell:~ Mazurca chopiniana [846]

lari dei musicisti contadini di regioni piu interne, piu conservatnc1,

meno esposte alla contaminazione con la musica occidentale.
Se oggi si cominciano ad intravedere, sia pur vagamente, le ragioni
di un ritmo che giustificano perfettamente l'esecuzione chopiniana
quale ci e stata tramandata concordemente dai musicisti suoi contem­
poranei - e illuminano certe ricorrenti caratterisriche delle sue
Mazurche - non si dovrebbe insisrere in interpretazioni tradizionali
che non tengano conto dell'asimmetria della misura. Scrollarsi di
dosso la polvere di oltre un secolo di esecuzioni infedcli e adottare
una ritmica che non ci e congeniale, sara opera lunga e difficile, ma
e
cia nonosrante non vi giustificazione a persistere nell'errore. AI con­
trario, in quesro si deve trovare lo srimolo per ristudiare tante pagine
meravigliose, per rileggerle sorto una luce piu genuina, per ridar
loro, con consapevolezza, quelJa veste ritmica con la quale Chopin
le interprerava, inconsciamente, rna seguendo lo spirito ongmario
della danza e i suoi ricordi giovanili tanto legari alia campagna
polacca. 8~

~ II « ritmo bulgaro >> e tanto estraneo all'espcri enza dei musicisti c dci musico logi
occidentali che il Bourniquel nell'csporrc i dati, del rcs to giii noti al Niccks, sull'esccuzionc
chopini ana delle Mazurche, sostiene che il maestro acccntava t:~lmcmc Ia scconda batt utn
da dare « l'illusione di un quattro quarti » (C. BouRNtQUEL, Chopin, Tr. it. di E. De Mi­
chele, Mondadori, i\l ilano 1960, pag. 1-15), mcntrc si c
dimostrnto che non di « illusionc »
si tr:ntava, rna di reale asimmetria ritmica. Neppure il Bronarski, che nel suo saggio: Le
folklore dans Ia musique de Cbopin dcdica u n capitolo ai: Traits essentie/s de Ia Mazurka,
pur trauando de l ritmo, dcgli acccnti c della struttu r:t della mclodia, sfiora gli argomcnti
che sono alia base del nostro s tudio (cfr. L. BRONARSKI, tf.tudes sur Chopin, cit., I,
135-155 ); nc li affronta Helena Windakiewic.wwa ncl suo lavoro specializz:uo nel riccrcnrc
gli schcmi della musica popol:1rc polacc:1 neUe Mazurche di Chopin. La diflicolt!i chc Ia
nostra prcpamzione musica le occidentale incontra con il r itmo asimmetrico puo esscre
illustrata dall 'csclamazionc di un musicologo ungherese chc per Ia prim:1 voha lo ascolto:
« i\h , insomma, qucsti bu lgari sono tuni zoppi per avcrc melodic di ritmo cosl zoppi­
cante? » (Cfr. B. BART6K, Op. cit., pag. 205). La nostrn documentazionc dovrcbbc, invecc,
avcrci convinti chc Chopin, pur musicista di culturn occidentale, suonava e insegnava lc
sue i\l:~zurche in ritmo slavo.
 28

Phrase rhythm in Chopin's nocturnes

and mazurkas

WILLIAM ROTHSTEIN

In this essay I will discuss certain aspects of phrase rhythm in the nocturnes
and mazurkas of Chopin. 1 These two genres were chosen in part for their
brevity and formal simplicity, but also because they aptly illustrate a more
general issue which pertains to much nineteenth-century music. That issue,
which I call the Rhythm Problem, was recognised in a well-known essay by
Edward T. Cone; 2 it is, simply, the so-called 'tyranny of the four-bar phrase'
which permeates so much music especially of the early nineteenth century.
In order to address the issue properly, it will first be necessary to define a
number of terms. After that we will proceed to a series of analyses, through
which we will form some conclusions concerning the distinctive nature of
Chopin's rhythmic style. In addition, we will advance a few notions regarding
Chopin's stylistic evolution in the years from 1830 to 1846.
We begin with the term hypermetre, a derivative of Cone's hypermeasure.
A hypermeasure is a metrical unit consisting of two or,> more notated bars;
within the hypermeasure, the individual bars function almost exactly like the
individual beats within a single bar. Hypermetre is the metrical pattern estab­
lished by a succession of equal-sized hypermeasures. Thus we will speak, for
example, of'four-bar hypermetre'.
A hypermeasure is not the same thing as a phrase. A hypermeasure is purely a
metrical unit; a phrase is a complete musical thought based, in tonal music,
largely on harmonic and linear motion. Therefore a phrase will end with some
sort of cadence (usually authentic or half, more rarely plagal or deceptive).
1 The present study is adapted from my forthcoming book Phrase Rhythm in Tonal Music .
2 Edward T. Cone, 'The Picture Gallery: Form and Style' in his Musical Fonn and Musical Per­
formance (New York, 1968), 57-87.

115
462 chopin

116 William &thstein

It will also include some definite linear motion, such as a linear progression or
a large-scale neighbouring figure. In evaluating whether a given segment of
music is a complete phrase or not, we will use the analytical techniques of
Heinrich Schenker to determine its tonal - i.e., harmonic and linear -
contents.3
A brief segment of music which forms a distinct group (usually on the basis
ofits rhythmic profile), but which is not a complete phrase in the sense defined
above, is called a sub-phrase. Most phrases are divisible into two or more sub­
phrases. Note that the concepts of phrase and sub-phrase closely parallel levels
of grouping structure as described by Fred Lerdahl and Ray Jackendoff. 4 I
prefer, however, to retain the traditional term 'phrase' (and terms related to it)
in order to emphasise the tonal component in grouping structure.
A convenient example of the distinction between phrase, sub-phrase,
and hypermeasure is the 'Blue Danube Waltz' of Johann Strauss, Jr (see
Example l ). The four-bar melodic segments under the square brackets are sub-

3 For Schenkerian terminology, I follow the usage established by Ernst Oster in his English
edition of Schenker's Derfreie Satz (Free Composition (New York, 1979)) .
4 See their book A Generative Theory of Tonal Music (Cambridge, Mass. and London, 1983),
13-67.
 chopin 463

Phrase rhythm in Chopin's nocturnes and mazurkas 117

phrases, because each one contains little or no harmonic motion (until the last
eight bars, which are shown as a single sub-phrase). The hypermeasures are also
four bars long, but a different four bars: the long notes in the melody, which
usually coincide with changes of harmony, provide the accents necessary to
establish a four-bar hypermetre. (In the example, the hypermeasures are
separated by double barlines.) Thus each sub-phrase begins with an upbeat
of either a bar or a bar plus a crotchet. 5
The shortest segments in Example 1 that may be counted as complete
phrases are the two sixteen-bar halves of the waltz melody, on the basis of the
authentic cadences at the end of each half. 6 (See the curved braces below the
example.) These two phrases clearly go together to form a single, larger musical
thought, and this larger unit is called (traditionally) a period. Within the period,
the two phrases are termed fore-phrase and after-phrase (translations, introduced
by Ebenezer Prout, of the German terms Vordersatz and Nachsatz)? A period
is itself a phrase, but a phrase composed of two or more complete, smaller
phrases.
A special type of period is the familiar parallel period, in which the two phrases
making up the period begin in the same way, or very nearly the same. If, in
addition, the first of these phrases ends in a half cadence, I use the terms antece­
dent and consequent to denote the two phrases. Note that this is a more restric­
tive definition of these latter terms than is usual; for the more general case of
phrase pairing, however, the terms 'fore-phrase' and 'after-phrase' remain
available.
If the final melodic note (or notes) of one phrase functions simultaneously
as the first melodic note (or notes) of the next, the phenomenon is termed a
phrase {lPer/ap. A phrase overlap may or may not affect the hypermetre; in the
Chopin examples we will analyse below, the hypermetre is usually unaffected.
Note that sub-phrases may also overlap, and do so frequently - more often
than phrases.
If, between the end of one phrase and the beginning of the next, there is a
short connecting passage - usually just a few notes - this connective is termed
a lead-in. Like phrase overlaps, lead-ins effect a smoother melodic connection
between phrases, but they do not result in any notes being shared between the
5 Note that the fuur-bar hypermetre continues throughout Example l, despite the lack of a long
note in bar 30. Like regular metre, a hypermetre once established can continue for a consider­
able time with little or no external reinforcement. Only a strongly contradictory accentual
pattern will affect it.
6 The V-1 progression in bars 26- 9 does not conclude a phrase -in fact, does not constitute a
cadence - because the melodic motion accompanying it strongly contradicts any sense of
closure.
7 Ebenezer Prout, Musical Form (London, 1893), 23. No te that I am only borrowing these terms
from Prout; I am not adopting his conceptual framework (which derives from Hugo Riemann),
nor his terminology as a whole.
464 chopin

118 William Rnthstein

phrases involved. Usually a lead-in has the metrical position and character of an
upbeat.
If, by means of phrase overlaps and lead-ins (or by any other means), overt
melodic punctuations between phrases are reduced to a minimum or effaced
altogether, the melodic rhythm has attained the condition of endless melody.
This term, of course, is taken from Richard Wagner, although the meaning
I am giving to it here is exclusively a technical one (whereas W'}gner's meaning
includes an affectual and even a philosophical component) .8
This list of definitions is not complete, but it will suffice for the present. A
few additional terms will be introduced and defined in the course of discussion.

The character piece for piano was already well established by the time Chopin
began composing them in the late 1820s. For the nocturnes, of course, there
was the example ofJohn Field, while the short dance piece for keyboard had a
much longer history. The vocal, Italianate origin of the nocturne and the
dance heritage of the mazurka both encouraged a phrase organisation in duple
lengths - four, eight, sixteen, and thirty-two bars. In the character pieces of
lesser composers, such duple organisation frequently led to difficulties - what
I have called the Rhythm Problem. Even in the music of Field, who must be
counted among the better composers of the second rank, one finds passages in
which the phrase rhythm is too symmetrical, too uniform, and too highly
articulated, hence tedious. (See, for example, the first sixteen bars of Field's
'Pastorale' in A major, originally composed for piano quintet but often
included, as a solo piece, among the nocturnes.)
Throughout the nineteenth century, the Rhythm Problem was faced by
every composer of character pieces. Each of the greatest composers solved the
problem somewhat differently on the whole, and naturally their solutions
differed subtly from one piece to the next. Chopin's solutions are unlike those
of, say, Schumann or Brahms; as we shall see, Chopin's rhythmic peculiarities
at times seem to anticipate the rhythmic innovations of Wagner.
In 1830, with the Eb major Nocturne op. 9 no. 2 (see Example 2), Wagner is
still very far off, but Field is quite close at hand. (Compare Field's first noc­
turne, in the same key (1812).) The form of Chopin's piece is a simple ABA'
plus coda; the A and BA' sections are each repeated with their figuration
slightly altered. Each letter of this scheme stands for a four-bar phrase (also
a four-bar hypermeasure). While the form may seem rigid stated thus, it is
remarkable how much rhythmic variety Chopin manages to create within
a very conventional framework. In order fully to appreciate his ingenuity,
8 See Wagner, 'Zukunftsmusik', in Gesammelte Schriften, vii, 121-80. A richly suggestive discus­
sion of endless melody in Wagner's music is contained in Ernst Kurth's &mantische Harmonik
und ihre Krise in Wagners Tristan (Berlin, 1919), 444--571.
 chopin 465

Phrase rhythm in Chopin's nocturnes and mazurkas 119

we must have recourse to a Schenkerian analysis of the opening phrase (see

Example 3) .
This voice-leading graph, which is an edited version of an analysis by Oswald
Jonas, 9 is given in two levels of detail. The first level (at a) shows the underly­
ing third-progressions of the melody, which themselves divide into two struc­
turallevels, the over-arching third g"-f"-d" and the smaller offshoots that
descend from g" and f". The second level (at b) adds some elaborations to this
skeletal structure, including two new third-progressions which belong to the
foreground (Eb-D-C in the bass and ab"-g"-f" in the melody). All of the third­
progressions in the example are descending ones, but the two just named- the
two that ha.ve least to do with the underlying structure - play a special role as
carriers of rhythmic continuity.
9 See Oswald Jonas, Introduction tv the Theory ofHeinrich Schenker: The Nature ofthe Musical Work
ofArt, trans. John Rothgeb (New York, 1982), 65- 6.
466 chopin

120 William Rothstein

We can observe this special role more closely if we recompose the passage in
a less ornate way, keeping the underlying structure and the basic melodic
motives intact. This might give us the uninspired results shown in Example 4
(in which the left hand is given only as a bass line; the middle voices can be
imagined).

Among other things, this pedestrian version brings us even closer to the styie
ofField. But how little of Chopin has been changed! This proves how much of
the genius of this nocturne resides precisely in its foreground elaboration rather
than in its middleground structure, however impressive the nested third­
progressions of the latter (Example 3) may appear.
The sub-phrase organisation of Example 4 follows the common pattern
1+1+2 (in bars), a pattern that we will term (after Arnold Schoenberg) a
sentence. Io The durational pattern of each bar is identical, except that bar 4
lacks a quaver upbeat, thus reinforcing the unity of the two-bar segment (bars
3- 4). In bar 2, Chopin's high note c"' has been changed to f" (lower neighbour
to g"), and a similar change has been made at the second beat of bar 3 (g"
changed to e~"). These changes serve to avoid the outlining of awkward
melodic intervals - a ninth b~'-c"' in bars 1- 2, a seventh a~'-g" in bars 2-3 . II
They also cause the melody to hew more closely - i.e., less imaginatively - to
the skeletal structure shown in Example 3b: a~" is now more clearly an in­
complete upper neighbour tog" (bar 2) , and the descending third-progression
in bars 3-4 also stands out more clearly. Finally, the change in bar 2 eliminates
an apparent third-progression, c 111 -b~"-a~", which prepares the connective

10 See Arnold Schoenberg, Fundamentals of Musical Composition, ed. Gerald Strang and Leonard
Stein (New York, 1967), 20-2 and 58-9. Note that I put more stress on the exact proportions
of a sentence (normally 1: 1: 2) than does Schoenberg. Also, I do not use other terms, particu­
larly 'phrase', in the same way he does.
11 Melodic considerations such as this one - the avoidance of awkward (dissonant) intervals
formed by the boundary points ofa unidirectional melodic motion- are throughly discussed in
Schenker's Kontrapunkt, i (Vienna, 1910). Note that the leap of a seventh in bar 4 of Example 4
is not awkward because the interval (bl>'-ai>") belongs to the supporting harmony, V7
 chopin 467

Phrase rhythm in Chopin's nocturnes and mazurkas 121

third-progression a~" -g"-f" (connecting the upper neighbour a~" to the more
structural f" of bar 3) . 12
Comparing Example 4 with Example 3a, it becomes clear that the phrase as
Chopin wrote it likewise shows a 'sentence' type of sub-phrase organisation,
l + l + 2, but that the boundaries of the sub-phrases are covered over by the
two connective third-progressions eliminated from Example 4 (and from
Example 3a) . In bar l the end of the first sub-phrase, e~", coincides with the
passing noteD of the bass third-progression. In bars 2-3, a connective third­
progression between two sub-phrases substitutes for an upbeat beginning to
the latter sub-phrase (compare Example 4). Chopin's slur in bar 2 pointedly
emphasises the connection by not ending at a~"; this is a simple example of his
utterly individual manner of slurring - in this case, the use of a legato slur to
disguise a sub-phrase boundary. By contrast, the separate articulation off" in
bar 3 helps the listener to connect this note with g" in bar l.
Other details of melodic elaboration also help to sustain rhythmic interest
throughout the phrase. The detour upwards in bar 2, with the ensuing illusion
of a fifth-progression from the cover note c"' down to f", provides a running
start for the motion past the sub-phrase boundary (a~") and into bar 3. The
analogous detour in bar 4 - the two are obviously related - is more cadenza­
like, foreshadowing the increasingly elaborate cadenzas to come later in the
piece and leading to the ascending third c"-d"-e~" (which connects to b~' at
the beginning of the bar)Y In the voice-leading of bar 4, d"' is cast in an
ethereal half-light by virtue of its clash with the suspended d' in the left hand;
the suspension robs d"' of any middleground function, since it points to the
note of resolution - d' in the left hand and d" in the right- as the 'real' D, the
goal of the third-progression f"-e~"-d" (bars 3-4). This dissonant clash must
be treated delicately but lingeringly in performance, though probably less
lingeringly here than on its elaborated return in bars 16 and 24. 14
Even this early example - a relatively simple one, for Chopin - points in the
direction that was to occupy him throughout his life. The use of lead-ins (in
this case connective third-progressions) is but one way to avoid a stark division
between successive melodic segments. Chopin often went to much greater
lengths to avoid such divisions, becoming bolder and more original as he
progressed .
12 The third c111-bb"-ab" is not a true third-progression because bb" is essentially a suspension,
prepared in the left hand and transferred upwards. (This detail of voice-leading is not clearly
evident in Example 3.) On illusory linear progressions in general, see Schenker, Free Composition,
74-5 and Figure 83.
13 Chopin's forte at this point should not be taken too literally. It implies a contrast to the immedi­

ately preceding 'detour'- both a stronger and more declamatory expression and a resumption of
strict tempo.
14 In bar 16 the proper rubato is suggested by Chopin's fingering, which is reproduced in the

Henle edition.
468 chopin

122 William Rothstein

An unusually complex example for this early period is the middle section of
the A~ major Mazurka op. 17 no. 3 (1832-3). H ere, too, the basic technique
employed is the lead-in between sub-phrases, with phrase overlap used
between complete phrases. An excellent voice-leading graph of this piece
appears in Schenker's Free Composition; it is reproduced below as Example 5.

Schenker's portrayal of bars 41-56 requires some explanation. First, his

graph in effect shows only the consequent phrase, which starts at bar 49. The
antecedent is the same, except that the concluding fifth-progression shown in
the graph is interrupted at ftl' (2) over the dominant harmony; the conse­
quent, as usual, provides the complete descent. Analogous interruptions in
the two outer sections are also not shown by Schenker, and the final section
(N) is given in abbreviated form - all of this done, no doubt, to save space. 15
15 Schenker alludes to the interruptions in his text (Free Composition, 75).
 chopin 469

Phrase rhythm in Chopin's nocturnes and mazurkas 123

Secondly, Schenker's analysis of the sequence in bars 41-6- three times two
bars - may not be immediately convincing to the reader; I believe it to be
correct, however. A more detailed analysis (my own) of the antecedent phrase
is given below (Example 6); it emphasises the counterpoint between the
melody and the upper notes of the left hand.

As this reduction shows, there is a pattern of parallel sixths between the

upper voice and the tenor, although this is somewhat concealed by rhythmic
displacements. The sixths in bars 42 and 44 do not actually appear until the
second beats of their respective bars. The first sixth in bar 43 is merely implied,
since by the second beat (when d# ' is sounded) the melody has already moved
on from b' to a#'. The sixth in bar 46 (also b' /d#') is similarly implied.
Example 6 shows descending three-note motives where Schenker (Example 5)
shows two-note motives. But the first note of each descending third is in fact a
suspension, either prepared in the soprano (bar 41) or transferred upwards
from the tenor (bars 43 and 45). Therefore Schenker is correct to show the
two-note motive, beginning with the suspension's resolution, as basic; 16 the
main melodic tone in each bar throughout bars 41- 5 thus falls on the second
beat. Significantly, this explanation of the voice-leading also serves to explain
why the sub-phrases end on the second beats, not the downbeats, of bars 42
and 44- despite the semiquaver rests in those bars, and despite the continuing

rhythm m
slur in bar 44. (Note the brackets in Example 6.) Chopin frequently uses the
as a sprightlier variant of n '
especially in the mazurkas,
16 Those familiar with Schenkerian theory will recognise these motives as typical 'reaching-over'
motives, which in this case form themselves into an ascending arpeggiation, 'e'-g#'- b'. See
Free Composition, 47-9, including Ernst Oster's editorial comment.
470 chopin

124 William Rothstein

without any implication of a break in the phrase or sub-phrase. Analysts who

use rests as phrase indicators, rather than voice-leading and harmony, are often
led astray by such rests. In Chopin, at least, they are elements of articulation
(indicating a kind of staccato), not indicators of phrase structure.
If Chopin's rests are potentially confusing, his slurs are an analytical
minefield. No composer so frequently slurred against the phrase structure of
his music, rather than in support of that structure. Chopin's practice alone
should be proof enough that legato articulation and phrase structure ('phras­
ing') are inherently different aspects of music, related only in so far as the
former may be used to delineate the latter. This passage is a good case in point:
the division between the antecedent and consequent phrases is obscured not
only rhythmically, by the continuing quaver motion into bar 49 and the lack of
a bass note on that downbeat; it is also obscured harmonically (V7 continues),
through articulation (the slur continues), and through Chopin's mandated
snwrzando. 17 Finally, it is obscured melodically, in that ft!' at the end of the
antecedent (see Example 6, bar 48) is linked to ft!' at the beginning of the
consequent (remember that g#' is an appoggiatura) . It almost seems as if
Chopin wishes us not to know that one phrase is ending and another begin­
ning. This is more than a simple phrase overlap; it is an attempt, within a basi­
cally regular phrase structure, to melt away the seams in that very structure.
The sequence which begins each phrase shows a similar conflict between the
simplicity of the underlying structure and the complex continuity of the sur­
face. The lead-ins between sub-phrases consist of ascending four-note arpeggia­
tions in the melody, spanning an octave in each case (b-b' in bars 42-3, d# '-d#"
in bars 44-5). As Example 6 shows, each lead-in overlaps the end of one sub­
phrase and leads to the first note of the next. 18 It also retraces the path of the
immediately preceding descending arpeggiation, shown in unstemmed note­
heads in Example 6. The resulting down-and-up motion within each triad
joins the sub-phrase to the lead-in and thence to the next sub-phrase. The total
effect is to de-emphasise the points of juncture almost completely.
Once again Chopin finishes the job with his seemingly capricious articula­
tion. The first lead-in (bars 42-3) is played mostly non legato but with pedal.
The second and fourth lead-ins (bars 44-5 and 52-3) are slurred into the
following sub-phrases. The third lead-in (bars 50- l) is articulated in yet
another way, emphasising the end ofthe consequent's first sub-phrase and thus
17 One factor, however, subtly strengthens the downbeat of bar 49 - the hemiola pattern (3 x 4
quavers) of the preceding two bars. When two bars in triple metre are combined in a hemiola,
the downbeatfolluwingthe hemiola always receives added emphasis as a metrical goal. In this case
Chopin deliberately takes away from bar 49 the emphasis that the hemiola and the hypermetre
have given it, delaying a prominent bass note and a return to the dotted rhythm until the metri­
cally weak bar 50. (The snwrzando is probably meant to end at this point.)
18 Seen. 16.
 chopin 471

Phrase rhythm in Chopin's nocturnes and mazurkas 125

the end of the ambiguous passage surrounding the phrase overlap. (In the
otherwise literal reprise of the parallel period, bars 65-80, the articulation is
again different!)
From the standpoint of phrase rhythm, the curious thing about this middle
section is the disparity between the regular, sixteen-bar parallel period - with
its two eight-bar phrases divided into sub-phrases of2, 2, and 4 bars- and the
apparent striving for seamless melodic continuity - the latter evident from the
use of lead-ins, phrase overlap, and slurring against the phrase structure. Even
the passage following this one begins with an upbeat (to bar 57) that mimics
the original lead-in of bars 42-3. One might well ask: if Chopin sought to
transcend points of articulation (division) between melodic segments, why did
he employ phrase structures which by their very nature are highly articulated/
In a mazurka, of course, such structures probably derive from the heritage of
the dance, with its innate bias in favour of duple hypermetre and symmetrical
phrase structures. But these structures are by no means restricted to Chopin's
mazurkas.
In his character pieces from the middle and later 1830s, Chopin continues to
develop the means of rhythmic continuity already present in his earlier music.
There is, however, a trend toward ever greater refinement of rhythmic tech­
nique. It is in this period, too, that Chopin seems most addicted to peculiari­
ties of articulation as a means of transcending phrase and sub-phrase bound­
aries.19 In his later style- after about 1840- the idiosyncratic and sometimes
frankly puzzling slurs recede somewhat in importance, to be largely replaced by
more organic compositional procedures.
A comparison of the early m major Nocturne (Example 2) with the B major
Nocturne op. 32 no. 1 (1836-7) reveals some of the subtle changes that have
taken place in Chopin's rhythm in little more than five years. The two pieces
make an especially good comparison because they are both dominated by the
motive of a stepwise, descending third. To make the comparison easier, Exam­
ple 7 gives a bar voice-leading analysis of bars 1-8 of op. 32 no. 1, correspond­
ing to Example 3. The same eight-bar phrase is then recomposed (Example 8) in
a manner similar to Example 4- this time with even more dreadful results.
Like the first phrase of them major Nocturne, the opening phrase of op. 32
no. 1 has a 'sentence' type ofsub-phrase structure, 2+ 2+4 bars. (It was 1 + 1 +2
in the earlier nocturne.) The unity of the final and longest segment is slightly
concealed by the rhetorical pause at the end of bar 6, but the harmonic and
linear continuity over this break is very clear. (In Example 8 the pause is omit­
ted, but the retention of the principal rhythmic motive in bars 7-8 still
obscures the unity of the four-bar segment slightly.)
19 See, for example, the M azurkas op. 24 no. 1 (G minor) and op. 33 no. 1 (G# minor). Both works
are cited for their peculiar articulation by Schenker in Free Composition (Figure 128).
472 chopin

126 William Rothstein

The first two sub-phrases in the B major Nocturne are run together- and run
into the third sub-phrase- in a way reminiscent of op. 9 no. 2. There the three
segments of the phrase were linked by connective third-progressions, first in
the bass and then in the upper voice (see Example 3). Here they are linked in
part by an apparent third-progression, ftl"-e"-d#", which obviously imitates
the descending third ofbars l-2. Chopin's articulation emphasises this linking
function, especially over the barline separating bars 2 and 3. (Compare the
music with Example 8, where the links are omitted.)
But in the B major Nocturne there is an important inner-voice motion,
shown in Example 7, which makes the tonal and rhythmic situation more
complex than that in op. 9 no. 2. As the voice-leading reduction indicates,
an exchange of voices takes place between the melody and the inner voice, in
two-note groups (C#-B, E-D#). Partly as a consequence ofthis, the descending
third in bars l-2 sounds less complete than the corresponding third in the
Eb major Nocturne (bar 1), 20 and the linking motive ftl"-e"-d#" becomes
something more than a mere lead-in tacked on to preserve the rhythmic flow.
Thus, although the underlying sub-phrase structure may seem to be ade­
quately expressed by Example 8, in fact the voice-leading itselfnaturally creates an
20 T he slightly ambiguous ~position of the harmony supporting b' also contributes to the feeling
of incompleteness in bar 2.
 chopin 473

Phrase rhythm in Chopin's nocturnes and mazurkas 127

overlapping ofsub-phrases at the downbeats of bars 3 and 5. This is an example
of the use of counterpoint as an aid in achieving rhythmic continuity, a
resource on which Chopin was to draw increasingly in his later music.
Other sources of continuity in op. 32 no. 1 are more readily apparent. The
sudden entrance of a dissonant chord on the second beat of bar 8 does not
obscure the preceding cadence, but it does propel the motion forward - espe­
cially since its entrance in tempo necessarily sounds a bit rushed after the poco
ritenum of the cadence. (The repeated and syncopated 3 [d#"] just before the
cadence is a virtual cliche of the bel canto style; the second d#" demands to be
rushed toward and then drawn out somewhat.)
The linking passage over the dominant pedal, bars 8-12, first seems to aim
toward the half cadences in bars 10 and 12. A lead-in, c#"-d#"-c#"-cx'"'~d#",
then appears to overlap the beginning of the next phrase (downbeat ofbar 13).
But since d#" in bar 13 is also the resolution, on a larger scale, of the dominant
seventh e" in bars 9 and 11, this overlap, too, is grounded in the voice-leading
and is thus 'organic'. (See the reduction in Example 9.) 21 In fact, basing a
phrase on a large-scale neighbour note virtually guarantees an overlap when the
neighbour note finally resolves, since the resolution will generally coincide
with the beginning of the next phrase. Such is the case here: bars 8-12 con­
stitute a large prolongation ofV7 , withe" as upper neighbour to the primary
noted#"; the resolution of e" to d#" in bar 13 also marks the beginning of a
reprise of bars 1-8. The broad arpeggiation of the chord in bar 13 is the perfect
expression of the overlap; it highlights the resolution in the lower register (d#')
and its transfer to the higher one. The local upper neighbour which follows, e"
in bar 13, should be played with special poignancy, as it sums up the entire
preceding passage in its relation to d#" (the primary note).

21 Chopin marks e" for the listener's attention by means of the intensifying diminished seventh
chord preceding it (fourth beat of bars 8 and 10) and by the appoggiatura fll" which, in effect,
accents e''. Note also the exchange of voices shown in Example 9.
474 chopin

128 William &thstein

One qualification should be made to our analysis ofbars 8-12. Since we have
determined that the entire passage prolongs a single dominant seventh har­
mony, it is not quite proper to call this a phrase according to our definition.
It would be more accurate to say that these five bars form an extended link
between two phrases (bars 1-8 and 13-20). Such linking passages involving
the dominant seventh are not uncommon in Chopin; another example occurs
in the E major Study op. 10 no. 3 (bars 6-8). The entire middle section of the
F# major Nocturne op. 15 no. 2, can be understood as a fantastically expanded
link of this sort; Schenker's analysis of the piece implies precisely that. 22

The later works of Chopin- those composed after 1840- are known for their
often dense chromaticism, which has sometimes been said to anticipate
Wagner's chromatic harmony. This is not the only sense in which Chopin's
name might be linked with Wagner's, however. During the decade of the
1840s, both composers were moving towards an increasingly seamless style of
melodic writing, which in Wagner's case has become famous under the name
of 'endless melody.'
In the works of Chopin examined thus far, we have observed a tendency to
minimise the articulation of divisions between phrases, and between sub­
phrases. This tendency is so strong and so consistent that it must have been
intentional on Chopin's part. In some of the late works, there seems to be an
attempt to transcend phrase boundaries altogether, so that the melody flows
unbroken throughout a long section of music or even through an entire piece.
This trend in Chopin's music has not been sufficiently recognised. If 'endless
melody' is the term used to describe roughly similar phenomena in Wagner's
music, then the same term can with justice be applied to Chopin - at least to
some of his late compositions in which complete melodic seamlessness is very
nearly attained. It would not even be too far-fetched to imagine that Chopin
may have influenced Wagner in this area, as he apparently did in the area of
chromaticism (partly through the mediation ofLiszt).
Not all of Chopin's later music achieves, or even strives for, endless melody.
Some works show the tendency more than others, and some genres more than
others. Among the shorter pieces, the late nocturnes and mazurkas are the
most adventurous in this regard. The three late waltzes (op. 64) are more con­
servative, as the waltzes are generally. Among the larger works, the Polonaise­
fantasy (op. 61) is the most radical in this as in other respects; the middle
section of the Largo movement from the B minor Sonata (op. 58) also comes
to mind, as does - to a lesser degree- the E major Scherzo (op. 54). The
22 For a discussion of theE major Study, see the chapter on Chopin in my book Phrase Rhythm in
Tonal Music (forthcoming). For the B major Nocturne, see Schenker, Dar Meistenverk in der
Musik,]ahrbuch II (Munich, 1926), 41-2 and (especially) Figure 33.
 chopin 475

Phrase rhythm in Chopin's nocturnes and mazurkas 129

Berceuse (op. 57), while essentially a set of variations, can also be regarded as a
virtual exercise in endless melody, since the four-bar variations - while still
distinct - overlap continuously until the coda, largely avoiding perfect
cadences along the way.
The means by which Chopin pursues endless melody in his music after 1840
are for the most part extensions of those techniques which he used throughout
his career. Overlaps and lead-ins remain the favoured devices; but these devices
are now used so lavishly that, in some pieces, few melodic segments remain
unaffected by them. Two additional elements in this late music are an increased
use of counterpoint - partly to aid in fostering rhythmic continuity - and, in
certain pieces, an avoidance of expected full or half cadences. This latter ele­
ment, the avoidance of cadences, is the one most directly reminiscent of
Wagner's practice in his music dramas (all of which, of course, were composed
after Chopin's death) .23
An instance of a phrase overlap accomplished by contrapuntal means is
shown in Example 10. It comes from one of the most complicated of the late
mazurkas, op. 59 no. 1 in A minor (1845).

23 For a somewhat different view of Chopin's late works (particularly the Polonaise-fantasy op. 61 ),
see Jeffrey Kallberg, 'Chopin's Last Style', Journal of the A merican Musicological Society xxxviii
(1985), 264-315. Kallberg's discussion is generally less technical than mine, although our con­
clusions are not dissimilar.
476 chopin

130 William Rothstein

This is the beginning of the mazurka's middle section. The first phrase is
six bars long and ends with a perfect cadence in bar 42; the cadence can be seen
in the lower of the two voices on the treble staff. But a second and higher voice
is added just before the cadence, obscuring the end of the first phrase and
beginning a new one. The added upper voice recaptures the original melodic
register of the mazurka, which was abandoned at the beginning of the middle
section; it also re-establishes the primary melodic note, e" (S) . The cadence has
a distinctive melodic rhythm, n
J (derived from the first section of the
piece), which identifies it at each occurrence. These occurrences are several,
because - until the final two bars (see Example ll) - a higher voice always
interposes to force the motion onwards. 24 Even in Example 11, the higher
octave of the cadential note, a", is added.

The six-bar length of the first phrase in Example l 0 is unusual for a mazurka,
as it would be for any dance piece. This mazurka, like all of Chopin's, is not
really meant for dancing, but it is one ofonly a few in which the duple standard
for phrase lengths is largely abandoned. (Another is the B major Mazurka
op. 56 no. l.) The opening period of the first section, for example (see Exam­
ple 12), is twelve bars long, consisting of three four-bar hypermeasures, each of
which can also be considered a small phrase. This twelve-bar length is formed
by giving one four-bar hypermeasure to each of three main harmonies - I, III,
and V - each of which is preceded by its own dominant. The third and last
hypermeasure also includes a IV-V-I cadence in the tonic.
In order to describe adequately the phrase rhythm of bars 13- 26, which
constitute the middle period of this section, it is necessary first to define the
technique ofphrase expansion. This is a familiar concept, having been described
by theorists as diverse as Heinrich Koch, Hugo Riemann, and Heinrich
Schenker, not to mention a number of contemporary writers. 25 Stated simply,
24 See, in addition to Examples 10 and ll, bars 49-50, 117-8, and 121-2.
25 For Koch, see his Introducrory Essay on Composition: The· Mechanical Rules ofMelody, trans. Nancy
KovaleffBaker from vols. 2 and 3 of Versuch einer Anleitung zur Composition (New Haven, 1983).
For Riemann, see his System der musikalischen Rhythmik und Metrik (Leipzig, 1903), especially
 chopin 477

Phrase rhythm in Chopin's nocturnes and mazurkas 131

part 2, chapter 5 ('Erweiterungen der Satze durch Anhange und Einschaltungen'). For
Schenker, see Free Composition, 124-5 and Figure 148; see also the present author's 'Rhythm and
· the Theory ofStructural Levels' (Diss., Yale University, 1981), chapter 7.
478 chopin

132 William R!Jthstein

phrase expansion is a type of rhythmic transformation which lengthens a given

phrase, usually in one of the following ways: by elongating individual tones or
harmonies beyond their normal or expected length; by interpolating extra,
non-essential material; by extending the phrase's cadence or repeating the
cadence; by repeating some other part of the phrase; or by some combination
of these devices.
As the above definition suggests, to posit a phrase expansion is to separate a
phrase into essential and non-essential components. This is often difficult, and
heavily dependent on musical intuition; but contextual elements of musical
patterning - including the precedents established by previous phrases - can
guide us in making analytical decisions.
To complete our definition of expansion, the hypothetical 'normal' version
of an expanded phrase will be called its prototype. 26 In metrical terms, a proto­
type is almost always more regular (i.e., more strictly hypermetrical) than its
expanded counterpart. This may seem like circular reasoning - since, in prac­
tice, regularity of hypermetre is often a criterion for determining prototypes -
but the prevailing hypermetrical patterns of a piece usually offer ample justi­
fication, in the form of precedent, for the construction of metrically regular
prototypes. The comparison of a given prototype with its expanded version is
the means by which the correctness of the rhythmic analysis may be judged; as
always in analysis, the intellect has its say, but the ear has the final word.
Bars 1-12 of the A minor Mazurka do not form an expanded phrase, because
the pattern of assigning one hypermeasure to each main hanriony (as described
above) is strictly maintained; if anything, the squeezing of the final cadence
into the third hypermeasure might suggest a contraction. But the middle
period is different. Like the first period, it is constructed sequentially; in this
sequence, too, each of three triads is preceded by its own (applied) dominant
seventh chord - E major, Eb major, and D major, a chromatic descent. 27 The
last V 7-I progression, in D major, is prolonged tonally and expanded rhythmi­
cally by the interpolation offour bars over an A pedal (V ofD major). These
bars, placed in parentheses in Example 12, delay the arrival of the expected
sixth bar of the period, which now appears as bar 22. The twelve-bar unit
between the first period and the return of the theme - i.e., bars 13-24 - can
therefore be heard as an expanded eight bars (unlike the twelve-bar first period,
which is irreducible).
But the true rhythmic situation is even more complex than this. The har­
monic goal of the middle period is not IV# (D major) but V# (E major), as the
26 The term is Schenker's. In my dissertation ('Rhythm and the Theory of Structural Levels') I
describe several categories of prototypes.
27 AD major triad is implied on the downbeat of bar 22. (Thus c#' in bar 21 implicitly resolves to
d', before c ~' enters on the second beat of bar 22.)
 chopin 479

Phrase rhythm in Chopin's nocturnes and mazurkas 133

diminished seventh chord on d- in bars 23-4 makes clear. The harmonic skele­
ton of the period is thus V#-IV#-V-, a large neighbour motion about the
dominant, with the initial sequence serving to connect V- and IV-. 28 Since
the period does not reach its harmonic goal until bar 26, it is clear that the
return of the theme in the left hand, at bar 25, overlaps the concluding half
cadence. The first bar of the theme, which in bar 1 would probably be taken to
represent an arpeggiated tonic harmony, now arpeggiates the cadential ~ -
resolving, in bar 26, to the simple V harmony.29
This combination of phrase expansion and phrase overlap is complicated,
particularly for a dance piece. That it is done within the framework of an ap­
parently symmetrical structure, 3 x 12 bars - for the thematic reprise at bar 25
is complete and basically unaltered -is extraordinary. It is ironic that by recog­
nising an expansion in the middle period we are positing an asymmetrical
underlying structure, since the prototype for bars 13-26 will inevitably be
shorter than twelve bars. Just what the prototype would be is rather difficult to
say in this instance, although I think it would look something like Example 13.

I have simplified some of the melodic detail in this reconstruction, but- more
important - I have assigned exactly one bar each to the bass tones D, D-, and E.
This follows the harmonic rhythm of the rest of the prototype, and thus
revokes Chopin's composed-out ritardando (which is itself a kind of expansion).
I have separated the middle period cleanly from the reprise, revoking the

28 Note that this harmonic skeleton is an .enlargement of the harmonic motion in bars 10-11,
although there the IV was minor. In both cases, the V-IV-V motion acts as a prolongation of
the dominant.
29 This time Chopin's slurring clarifies rather than obfuscates the phrase structure; so does the
continuation of the dotted rhythm through bar 26.
480 chopin

134 William RIJthstein

overlap and thus giving the phrase juncture a more 'normal' appearance.
Altogether, Example 13 makes a plausible prototype; note also that the 4-3-2
linear motion which Chopin divides between two voices (compare Example 12)
is here contained entirely in the soprano. 30
Chopin sometimes expresses the urge to unifY the melody of a large section
of a piece by writing a single, very long slur to cover the entire section. Such a
slur appears, for example, in the middle section of the G mrnor Nocturne
op. 37 no. 1 (1838). By itself, such a slur does not constitute endless melody,
although it may perhaps be taken as an indication of Chopin's desire to over­
come any obvious division of his melody into separate phrases. Such may not
have been his intention in the chorale-like middle section of op. 37 no. 1- if it
was, the attempt would have to be deemed unsuccessful- but endless melody
does appear to be a strong factor in the slightly later H minor Nocturne op. 48
no. 2 (1841; the melody is given in Example 14). A single slur covers bars 3-25
(the repetition of this section, bars 31-53, is similarly slurred); unfortunately,
these slurs are not reproduced in all editions of the nocturne.
It may seem paradoxical that a melody which contains so much repetition
could be thought of as 'endless'. Melodic repetition- whether literal, varied, or
sequential - has the effect of delineating and emphasising the melodic seg­
ments being repeated. Thus, in this nocturne, the slightly varied repetition of
bars 3-4 (as bars 5-6) stresses the two-bar unit. The sequential repetition of
bars 7-8 a third higher (as bars 9-10) strengthens the identification of the
two-bar unit as a basic length for melodic segments in this piece. Then, as if the
consistent repetition of two-bar units were not enough, an entire eight-bar
segment is repeated sequentially: bars ll-18 are simply a repetition a fifth
higher of bars 3-10. Only the beginning of the cadential process in bar 19
breaks the pattern of repetitions. (But once the section finally concludes in
bar 28, the whole thing is repeated!) With so much attention drawn to the
individual melodic segment - whether of two, four, or eight bars - how could
it possibly be claimed that the boundaries of phrases and sub-phrases have been
transcended, that being the essential precondition of endless melody1
This is indeed a paradox; but it is a paradox fundamental to this piece. We
could even say that the contradiction between the small size and frequent repe­
tition of melodic segments, on the one hand, and the attempt to overcome
all segmentation within the large section, on the other, is the source of the
peculiar tension which permeates this nocturne. The segments are always end­
ing, but the larger thrust of the melody never allows them to end peacefully.

30 The fact that this feature leads to an ilmnediate repetition of c"-b' (3-:2) at the beginning of
the thematic reprise may give a clue as to why Chopin employed a phrase overlap at this
juncture.
 chopin 481

Phrase rhythm in Chopin's nocturnes and mazurkas 135

Example 15 is a simple foreground reduction of the first section (bars l-30),

written almost entirely in actual note values. Only a rather small amount of
melodic embellishment has been stripped away, and some of the polyphonic
implications of the melody have been realised explicitly.31 Double barlines are
again used to delineate hypermeasures, which are mostly of four bars (sub­
divided into 2x2) .
31 A few notes from the left hand are shown an octave higher in Example 15 - for example, a and
gll in bars 7- 8, d' and b# in bars 9- 10. This has been done to illustrate better the voice-leading
connections between melody and accompaniment.
482 chopin

136 W illiam Rothstein

 chopin 483

Phrase rhythm in Chopin's nocturnes and mazurkas 137

The two-bar introduction is critical to the phrase rhythm of the entire sec­
tion. The opening gesture, a bare double octave on C-
with its second and
higher note syncopated, prepares the similar rising octave in the melody in
bar 3, which returns many times in various guises. The recognition of these
two gestures as related is vital to a proper understanding of the melody; for,
without such recognition, one is liable to hear the first note of bar 3 simply as
the end of the introductory cadence, rather than as end and beginning simul­
taneously. The parallel between bar 1 and bar 3 - supported by the hint con­
tained in Chopin's long slur - propels f#' (bar 3) to its higher octave, thus
establishing a pattern to be followed two bars later and in all corresponding
bars subsequently.
Another function of the introduction is to establish the importance of the
tone a' (3), which proves to be the primary melodic note of the piece. The
descent 3-2-i over the introductory cadence (a V-I auxiliary cadence) 32
immediately foreshadows the similar descent in bars 5-7 (see Example 15) . The
introductory descent has a visionary, unreal quality because its first tone is
dissonant (an appoggiatura) against the V harmony. Further, 3 appears here on
a relatively weak beat, compared to bar 5, and as the goal of a crescendo. Surely
the most effective performance of these first two bars would include a slight
acceleration up to a' (the 3) and a corresponding slackening of tempo for the
descent itself. The pattern of accenting the third beat melodically, first adum­
brated here, is continued in bar 3 and in every odd-numbered bar thereafter
until bar 19.
The syncopation in bar 1 also suggests a slight hurrying of the second beat. 33
(One would then relax a moment before starting a new acceleration for the
ascent to a'.) Having pressed forward here, one should do likewise- though
probably more subtly - each time the octave leap or one of its derivatives is
heard (see the square brackets in Example 15). This will help to achieve the
required overlapping of melodic segments, and thus keep the endless melody
gomg.
The first complete phrase extends from bar 3 to the downbeat of bar 7, and
comprises the consonant establishment of 3 and its provisional descent to
i (f#') . The division of this phrase into two sub-phrases is made obvious by the
two-bar repetition referred to above. But the double function off#' in bar 5- it
is simultaneously the end of the first sub-phrase and initiator of the octave leap
connecting the two - covers over the division with an overlap (see the arrow at
this point in the example). The end of the entire phrase, though marked by an
32 On the concept of the auxiliary cadence, see Schenker, Free Composition, 88-9 and Figure llO.
33 Schenker advised that, as a general rule, all accented weak beats should be slightly rushed or
anticipated. See the present author's 'H einrich Schenker as an Interpreter of Beethoven's Piano
Sonatas', 19th-Century M usic viii (1984), 3-28.
484 chopin

138 William Rothstein

emphatic descent in triplet rhythm (the first triplet to appear in the melody), is
subverted by both rhythmic and voice-leading means. The voice-leading, as
shown in Example 15, connects-b' in bar 6 to a' in bar 7; this connection is
confirmed by the left hand, which states the same notes an octave lower. Thus
the descent to ftl' becomes merely a foreground event, superseded by the return
of 3 Rhythmically, the use of the figure
0 J n
(bar 7) carries the motion
forward in a manner reminiscent of bars 3 and 5, where the same figure was
used in the second half of the bar. (A minim fll' would have ended the phrase
more conventionally and more conclusively.)
Even here, where the octave leaps ofbars 1, 3, and 5 are absent, the pattern
of motion toward an accented third beat helps to propel the melody beyond
the cadence in bar 7. This pattern, which by now is well established, serves
consistently to de-emphasise the downbeats of the odd-numbered bars. The
accented third beats, on the other hand, are always dissonant; therefore the
presence of a longer note there - these accents are mostly of the durational
or 'agogic' type - cannot stop the forward motion, since the dissonances
demand resolution. Thus, although it is certainly clear that each new sub­
phrase (two bars long) ends with the downbeat of an odd-numbered bar, the
following sub-phrase always begins with the same note, leading quickly to a
new accent (and a dissonance) on the third beat.
The phrase motions up to bar 19 are readily apparent from Example 15.
Bars 7-11 describe an ascending fifth from a' to e" and a harmonic motion
from I to (minor) V. The goal tone, e", however, is omitted from bar 11, and
g#" appears in its place; e" is nevertheless implied by the previous ascending
motion, by parallelism with d" in bar 9, and as the resolution of the seventh
fll" in bar 10. The presence of g~" serves to differentiate melodically between
bar 11 and bar 13 (compare bars 3 and 5); it also foreshadows the 2 (g~') which
is the melodic goal of the entire section.
The first important change in the pattern of repetitions is the bass passing
note c# in bar 18 (compare bar 10). This note leads to a ! 6 harmony of G#
minor, in preparation for a stronger approach to V ofG~ and a decisive cadence
in that key. The renewed approach to V causes an expansion of the four-bar
hypermeasure to five bars, an expansion that is significantly clarified by
Chopin's dynamics (a crescendo through bars 18-19, to a forte at the arrival of
the cadential six-four in bar 20). 34
The cadence itself, beginning at bar 20, is sharply distinguished from all that
has preceded it by the abruptly slower rhythm of its melody and by the two
stentorian leaps of a fifth that announce its onset. The first of these fifths is an
augmentation, an octave lower, of the falling fifth that was due in bar 19
34 Note that there is no third-beat accent in bar 19. This break in the established rhythmic pattern
also heralds the expansion.
 chopin 485

Phrase rhythm in Chopin's nocturnes and mazurkas 139

(to correspond to bar ll); that fifth, D~-G~, is present in the quaver figuration
of bar 19, but its unadorned statement is delayed until the following bar- thus
further supporting our assumption of a one-bar expansion and a hypermetrical
downbeat at bar 20.
The four cadential bars (20-3), considered apart from the motivic reprise in
the last bar, form a hypermeasure (see the numbering in Example 15). But the
motivic reprise transforms bar 23 from a metrically weak bar into a strong one;
this is an example of metrical reinterpretation, a common device but one not very
often found in Chopin's short character pieces. The thematic echoes over the
G~ pedal constitute an extension of the cadence (hence an expansion). The
six-bar length of this cadential extension allows two bars (29-30) to be used
for a return of the introduction, without further disturbing the four-bar hyper­
metre. Bars 29-30, like bars 1-2, thus quite literally constitute a two-bar-long
upbeat.
The impression of endless melody in this opening section is only partly due
to the unbroken legato articulation of its melodic line. That articulation is
merely a symptom of'endlessness', not its cause. The cause, in this case, is the
consistent pattern of overlaps occurring every two bars from bar 3 to bar 19,
and the extended cadential process thereafter. The overlaps, and thus the seam­
lessness of the melody, are in constant conflict with the urge of each two-bar
segment to end undisturbed. Some of these endings - the one at bar 7, for
example - are so definite that the continuation seems almost for~ed. In fact, if
bars 1 and 3 had not established a pattern of first-beat beginnings to compete
with the more obvious and simultaneous pattern of second-beat beginnings,
it is doubtful whether the attempt at melodic seamlessness would have suc­
ceeded at all. As it is, the tension between repetition/regularity/division and
overlap/ambiguity/continuity is unrelieved until bar 27.
I have devoted so much space to op. 48 no. 2 because it is such a good ex­
ample of Chopin's endless melody, and yet it is relatively simple. It is, ofcourse,
not a very late work (earlier than the A minor Mazurka). The last two noc­
turnes, op. 62 (1846), are considerably more complex- especially the first one
in B major, which is perhaps Chopin's most breathtalcing venture into endless
melody. A bare exposition of the opening period will have to suffice for this
great nocturne (Example 16), along with a very tentative reconstruction of a
possible eight-bar prototype (Example 17).
It would require too much additional space to explain fully the derivation of
Example 17, but the reader can test this hypothesis against his own intuitions.
I would only point out the equivocal nature of the strong beats in Chopin's 4/4
metre (the metrical shifts are reminiscent of eighteenth-century practice), 35
35 See Floyd K. Grave, 'Metrical Displacement and the Compound Measure in Eighteenth-
Century Theory and Practice', Theoria i (1985), 25-60.
486 chopin

140 William Rothstein

 chopin 487

Phrase rhythm in Chopin's nocturnes and mazurkas 141

and also note that I interpret the cadence in bar 10 as a contraction or compres­
sion of a more leisurely close. The repeated melodic Hs seem like obvious
expansions, given the motivic pattern. And there is clearly a phrase overlap in
bar 7. Beyond this lie several mysteries, including the precise co-ordination of
melody and harmony in the prototype (the harmony is merely sketched in
Example 17) . But these mysteries lie very close to the heart of Chopin's late
style, in which the rhythmic practices of a lifetime (however brief the lifetime!)
reach a peak of complexity and refinement.
The conclusions we alluded to at the beginning should by now be clear.
In his nocturnes and mazurkas, Chopin adopted the formal and rhythmic
conventions of his time, and with them the Rhythm Problem. He seems to
have conceived the latter as a problem of continuity above all, and he set about
solving it by finding means (many of them traditional) to enhance melodic
continuity. These became increasingly elaborate, although a marvellous supple­
ness of rhythm"\vas present from the first. By 1845 the quantitative accumula­
tion of rhythmic devices produced a qualitative change, a change which points
forward to the dissolution of those same conventions that still form the foun­
dation of Chopin's rhythmic technique.
 29

CHOPIN AND 'LA NOTE BLEUE': AN INTERPRETATION

OF THE PRELUDE OP. 45
BY jEAN-jACQUES EIGELDINGER

BY THE END of September 1841 , Chopin had finished the Prelude Op. 45 and was
negotiating its release with Maurice Schlesinger in Paris and Pietro Mechetti in
Viending it latter wanted a work for an album of 'morceaux brillants' destined to
raise funds for the Beethoven monument in Bonn, 1 and although Chopin had
initially offered his new Polonaise Op. 44, Mechetti thought this too grandiose for
the collection. Instead, he opted for the mazurka from La France musicale (4 July
1841); but Chopin, deeming it 'already old', 2 proposed the Prelude, which he had
just completed for inclusion in the Keepsake des pianistes , an anthology for subscribers
to the Revue etgazette musicale de Paris (12 December 1841). 3 The work appeared more
or less simultaneously in Schlesinger's and Mechetti's separate editions. In his letter
to Fontana, Chopin contemplated its eventual publication in the Album-Beethoven:
'It is well modulated ['dobrze modulowany'], and I have no hesitation in sending it' .4
An earlier version of this article was read at the International Conference on Nineteenth-Century Music held at the
University of Surrey in July 1994. I gratefully acknowledge the assistance of the British Academy in making this
possible. I should also like to express my thanks to Dr John Rink and Mr Anthony-Richard Cole for their valuable
help in translating this essay. U nless indicated otherwise, translations of the quotations are theirs.
1 T he title-page reads: Album-Btelhoven. Dix Morceaux brillanls pour le piano composis par
Messieurs Chopin, Czerny,
Diihler, Hensel!, Kalkbrenner, Liszt, Mendelssohn Barlholdy, Moscheles, Taubert el Thalberg, et publiis par /'iditeur P. Mechetti
pour contribuor aux Frais du Monument Louis van Beethoven aBonn. A copy is held by the Stiftung Preussischer Kultur­
besitz, Berlin. The title-page is reproduced (with commentary) in Christa Jost, 'Aspects of the Variations sirieuses',
Mendelssohn Studies , ed. R. Larry Todd, Cambridge, 1992, p. 36.
2 Letter of 30 September 1841 to his friend and copyist Julian Fontana; Selected
Correspondence of Fryderyk Chopin ,
trans. & ed. Arthur Hedley, London, 1962, p. 207.
3 A copy of the Album can be found in Paris, Bibliotheque Nationale, Music Department, Vm1 3008.
From three
pages in Schlesinger's Keepsake (reproduced as Pl. III, below), the printing ofthe separate plate-number edition runs
to seven pages (M.S. 3518) and contains mistakes corrected eventually by Liszt in a reprint by Brandus & Dufour.
Significant differences exist between the two first editions of 1841: the appoggiatura in small characters in bar 2 does
not appear in the Mechetti edition; moreover, it was Chopin who instructed Fontana to write the cadenza in small
characters for Mechetti and in ordinary characters for Schlesinger. Schlesinger's Keepsake edition contains textual
errors in bar 18 (where the D's should be natural), 22 (where the third and fourth quavers were printed in reverse
order) and 58 (where the D's in the right hand should be natural). See also n. 26, below.
4 Selected Correspondence of Fryderyk Chopin, trans. Hedley,
p. 207. For an account of Chopin's dealings with
Mechetti and Schlesinger concerning Op. 45, see Korespondencja Fryderyka Chopina, ed. Bronislaw Ed. Sydow,
Warsaw, 1955, ii, letters 333 (p. 31), 337 (p. 34), 338 (p. 36), 339 (p. 37), 341 (pp. 37-8), 343 (pp. 39-40), 344 (p. 42),
350 (p. 48), 334 (p. 341), 342 (p. 342) and 353 (p. 343). Two letters are not included in this compilation: one, sent to
Mechetti by C hopin (28 October 1841), is reprod uced in facsimile by Hanna Wr6blewska-Straus, 'Autografy
Fryderyka Chopina ze zbior6w Muzeum TiFC w Warszawie', Rocznik chopinowski, xiv (1982), Pll. 24-7; the other,
unpublished until now, was sold at auction by Sotheby's in New York on 11 November 1990:

Cher Monsieur Mechetti,

Je vous envoye Ia Polonaise avec son titre.-J'ai charge en meme temps Ia maison Leo de Paris de tirer sur Vous
Ia somme convenue. Quant a Ia mazourlca dont Vous me parlez dans votre lettre, elle n'a pas encore ete cedee en
Allemagne-maisje ne voudrais pas qu'elle se trouvat dans Votre charmant recueil de Beethoven,-etje Vous envoye
pour celle destination,-si toute fois cela Vous convient,-un pri/ude que je viens de faire.-Je ne peux pas Vous en
ceder Ia propriete de l'Allemagne a mains de quinze louis- en Vous donnant Ia propriete de Ia mazourka de Ia
France musicale par dessus le marche,- (mazourka que Vous pourriez graver separc!ment au dans un autre
recueil).-Si vous ne voulez pas- ayez Ia bonte cher Monsieur Mechetti de me renvoyer le manuscrit du Pri/ude

233
490 chopin

Given the Album's importance, he evidently took his decision with care, and the
expression 'well modulated' may contain more than a hint of typically ironic,
Chopinesque understatement.
The Prelude Op. 45 has always struck me as a sort of enigma waiting to be, if not
decoded, at least examined. How does it relate to the 24 Preludes Op. 28? 5 To what
genre(s) does it belong? What is its structural and semantic signification? Apart from
three harmonic analyses by Hugo Leichtentritt, J6zef M. Chominski and Gunner
Rischel6 and a few scattered sentences in the general literature on Chopin, there is,
as far as I know, no critical literature specifically devoted to this piece. It is as if the
habit of most publishers to relegate it as an appendix to Op. 28, as a kind of 25th
Prelude, has precluded critical attention to it. 7 Yet it is noteworthy that no less a
figure than Liszt was responsible for this piece in 1880 in Breitkopf & Hartel's
collected Chopin edition. 8 As for the genre title ofOp. 45, the views of musicologists
and commentators have differed for more than a century. While Frederick Niecks
finds the term 'prelude' more appropriate for this work than for Op. 28, Arthur
Hedley and Jim Samson are inclined to group it with the Nocturnes. 9- In contrast,
Tadeusz A. Zielinski claims: 'Not only does this new work have nothing stylistically
in common with the Preludes [Op. 28], but it suggests none ofthe genres previously
used by Chopin, not even the nocturne, despite its slow tempo and intimate,
meditative air' .10
Although a systematic survey of Op. 45's reception is neither possible nor desir­
able here, certain salient assessments are nevertheless worth citing. Niecks
emphasizes the work's improvisatory character and evocation of dusk: 'I would
rather call it an improvisata. It seems unpremeditated, a heedless outpouring when

par le retour du courrier, afin quej'en dispose pour Leipzic. Si Vous le gardez, envoyez m'en ou le montant ou un
billet a ordre par Ia meme maison qui est chargee de tirer sur Vous les 25 louis.
Commej'ai change d'appartement,j'attends vos nouvelles a l'adresse. Rue Pigal ..N" 16, Chaussee d'Antin.
A Vous de coeur,
F. Chopin
Mes respects a Ia famille Malfati.
Mes souvenirs aux dames Muller.
Paris 5 Octobre I 841.
5For proposed interpretations of the place ofOp. 28 in Chopin's output, see Jean-Jacques Eigeldinger, 'Twenty­
four Preludes, Op. 28: 'Genre, Structure, Significance', Chopin Studies, ed.Jim Samson, Cambridge, 1988, pp. 167-
93; and Jeffrey Kallberg, 'Small "Forms": in Defence of the Prelude', The Cambridge Companion to Chopin, ed. Jim
Samson, Cambridge, 1992, pp. 124-44.
6 Hugo Leichtentritt, Analyse der Chopin 'schen Klavierwerke, i (Berlin, 1921), 177-9; J6zef M. Chominski, Preludia

Chopina, Krakow, 1950, pp. 333-9 (an analysis derived from the theories of Riemann and Erpf); Gunner Rischel,
'Tonal analyse', Musik & forskning, xiv (1988-9), 110-33 (the principles presented, which result from the work of
Povl Hamburger, take the opposite approach to Riemann's system: the Prelude Op. 45 serves to illustrate the argu­
ment).
7 Henri Sauguet was unusual in standing the notion of a 25th prelude on its head: 'This prelude seems to contain

within it all the others. It is a little bit like a "table of contents"' (booklet accompanying Alfred Cortot's recording of
the 24 Preludes Op. 28, the Prelude Op. 45 and the four Impromptus (Les Gravures illustres, COLH 38, October
1958), p. 15).
8 Breitkopf & Hartel entrusted Liszt with the task of editing the Preludes for Vol. 6 of their 'Erste kritisch durch­

gesehene Gesammtausgabe'. First published separately (1878), Op. 45 was subsequently added to the volume con­
taining Op. 28 (1880). Mention should also be made of a Titelauflage by Brand us & Dufour (seen. 3, above) with
handwritten corrections by Liszt, which is part of the Anthony van Hoboken collection (Osterreichische National­
bibliothek, Vienna).
9 Frederick Niecks, Frederick Chopin as a Man and Musician , 3rd edn., London, [1902], ii. 256; Arthur Hedley,

Chopin, London, 1947, p. 148;Jim Samson, The Music of Chopin, London, 1985, pp. 79-80.
10 Tadeusz A. Zielinski, Fridmc C hopin , trans. Marie Bouvard, Laurence Dyevre, Blaise de Obaldia & Krystyna de
Obaldia, Paris, 1995, p. 621.

234
 chopin 491

sitting at the piano in a lonely, dreary hour, perhaps in the twilight.' 11 Leichtentritt
perceives hints of musical impressionism in the bold harmonic progressions and the
texture of the cadenza: 'The modern, colouristic conception of the harmony and its
impressionistic tendencies are deeply ingrained here ... The glittering, shimmering
effect of the cadenza (compare the play of light through a cut-glass prism) ...
thoroughly ornamental, colouristic construction, unemotional. Improvisatory free­
dom shapes the performance of the entire piece.' 12 This view is largely shared by
Ernst Kurth, Ludwik Bronarski and, finally, Alfred Cortot, who notes in his per­
forming edition that 'in the Prelude ... can be divined all the output of the future
now contemporary with us. It is not so much the culmination of a Romantic
aesthetic as the promise of an aesthetic to come.' 13
Perhaps this is why Op. 45 has been regarded ever since its first publication as
inaccessible, even enigmatic. The first review, Henri Blanchard's in the Revue et
gazette musicale de Paris, reveals a certain unease in the face of 'this tightly woven,
difficult, richly modulated piece, full of that originality and eccentricity that
characterizes the music of this able pianist' . 14 Though Blanchard does note tbe
texture 'en style lie' of Op. 45, the review (in the form of an open letter) of Opp. 44-9
by Maurice Bourges from the same year is rather more perceptive. Commenting
initially on the two Nocturnes Op. 48, Bourges compliments his fictitious addressee
for being among those who attach great importance to considerations of formal
structure ('!'intelligence du plan'). He continues:
This is the sole means of giving the performance a character of indispensable unity. With­
out this, how would one render sensible the distinction of essential and accessory ideas?
To make one's playing a kind of painting, to give it perspective, profundity, one absolutely
must master the material plan of the work, even if it is a question of a simple prelude
where the arrangement hides beneath an apparent disorder.
The Prelude inC sharp minor, Op. 45, by M. Chopin, can be included among his
better works. The basic outline is nothing much in itself, merely an arpeggio phrase
entrusted to the left hand, against which the right hand tosses here and there some
expressive notes. Nevertheless, the directness and distinction of the modulations as well as
the sustained succession of developments make this little composition a very lovely work
indeed. 15
11 Niecks, Frederick Chopin as a Man and Musician, Joe. cit.
12 'Die moderne, koloristiche Auffassung der Harmonie, ihre impressionistichen Tendenzen schon hiersehr stark
ausgepdigt . .. Die glitzernde, schillernde Wirkung der Cadmz.a (zu vergleichen dem Spiel des Lichter auf geschlif­
fenen Glasprismen) . .. durchaus ornamental, koloristisch aufzufassen, nicht gefuhlsmassig. Improvisatorische Frei­
heit kommt dem Vortrag des Stuckes im Ganzen zu.' Leichtentritt, Analyse d.,- Chopin 'schtn Klauierwerke, i. 177, 179.
n Ernst Kurth, Romantische Harmonik und ihre Krise in Wagners 'Tristan ', Berlin, 1923, pp. 515-16; Ludwik
Bronarski, Harmonika Chopina, Warsaw, 1935, pp. 320-21; the original of Cortot's observation reads: 'dans ce
Prelude ... se laisse deviner toutle lendemain de Ia production qui I)OUS est encore contemporaine. Ce n'est pas tant
l'aboutissement d'une esthetique romantique que Ia promesse d'une sensibilite a venir'. Chopin, Pieces diuerses , 2nd
ser., Paris, 1947, p. 50.
1' 'Morceau serre, difficile, module richement, plein
de cette originalite, de cette excentricite qui caracterise Ia
musique de cet habile pianiste.' Henri Blanchard, 'Keepsake des pianistes', Reuue et gazette musicale de Paris, ix
(2January 1842), 12.
15 'C'est le seul moyen de donner a !'execution
un caractere d'unite indispensable. Comment sans cela rendrait­
on sensible Ia distinction des idees capitales et des accessoires? Pour fa ire de son jeu une sorte de peinture, pour lui
donner de Ia perspective, de la profondeur, il faut absolument posseder le plan materiel de !'oeuvre, meme quand il
s'agit d'un simple prelude ou )'ordonnance se cache sous un desordre apparent.
Celui en ut diese en mineur, !'oeuvre quarante-cinq de M. Chopin, est une de ses bonnes productions. Le dessin
primitif est peu de chose en lui-meme: c'est une phrase en style d'arpege confiee a Ia main gauche, et sur laquelle Ia
main droitejette ~a et Ia quelques notes expressives. La franchise et la distinction des modulations, l'enchainement
soutenu des developpements font de cette petite composition une tres jolie chose.' Maurice Bourges, 'Lettres a Mme
Ia baronne de ••• sur quelques morceaux de piano modernes. Quatrieme lettre', Reuueet gaz.ette musicale de Paris, ix
(17 April1842), 171 (trans. of the first paragraph from Kallberg, 'Small "Forms" ', p. 130).

235
492 chopin

The writer therefore implicitly poses the question of the logic behind Chopin's
modulations, a logic hidden 'beneath an apparent disorder' . 16 In so doing, he twic~
refers to concepts taken from painting. Such references have a direct bearing on what
I would like to investigate in .this article, before concluding with considerations
about links between Beethoven's 'Moonlight' Sonata and Chopin's Op. 45.

In a key text probably prepared in 1871, George Sand tells of a conversation with
Eugene Delacroix in January 1841 (some eight months before the Prelude's com­
pletion) about a recent painting by lngres entitled Stratonice (reproduced as Pl. I)Y
Ingres had lavished particular care on this work-the result of a commission by the
Duke of Orleans in 1834-since it presented the opportunity for a comeback after a
long absence from the public eye. Artists, critics and writers flocked to see the paint­
ing at the Tuileries, where it was exhibited for the first time from 20 August 1840. It
is there that Delacroix had the opportunity to examine it, and most likely George
Sand and Chopin did as well. 18 Although literary in style, Sand's text can be
regarded as a close transcription (her term) of the conversation with Delacroix
(Pl. II). It seems reliably to convey the tenor of the artist's remarks (which are corrob­
orated by his own writings), and its comments on the colour scheme of Stratonice are
entirely correct. The conversation deals essentially with Delacroix's opposition to the
Ingres school with respect to line and colour. Point by point Delacroix attacks the
work of his fellow artist, who, as if to prove his colouristic expertise, shaded in out­
lined forms with more or less arbitrary colours. Delacroix takes the opportunity to
explain his own theory of colour and line, which he was formulating at t_he same time
as the pioneering research by the chemist Michel-Eugene Chevreul (1786-1889) on
complementary colours and simultaneous contrasts. 19 Chevreul showed that, in
painting, it is the optical or chemical reaction produced by one colour on a neigh­
bouring colour-and not the contour, of the line-which serves to enhance the out­
line of the object repre~ented. This reaction also establishes the colour scheme of the
painting and safeguards its unity. In his journal and his theoretical writings,
Delacroix is very explicit on what he calls reflections (reflets) and shapes (reliefs). 20 In
the journal we read:
16 Compare these comments of Carl Czemy, '[A] fantasy well done is akin to a beautiful English garden,

seemingly irregular, but full of surprising variety, and executed rationally, meaningfully, and according to plan'.
Czerny, A Systematic Introduction to Improvisation on the Pianoforte Op. 200, trans. & ed. Alice L. Mitchell , New York,
1983, p. 2.
17 Sand's text was first published as an article in Le Temps (17 October 1871 ) before appearing in the book Impres­

sions et souvenirs , Paris, 1873, pp. 72-90. An autograph ofthe first eleven pages is held by the Bibliotheque Historique
de Ia Ville de Paris (Fonds Sand M. 093). The corrections to this manuscript, which was intended for use in
preparing the 1873 impression, allow us to deduce the existence of a manuscript from 30 years before which would
be contemporary with the conversation recounted; moreover, in a letter of 9 September 1871 to Charles-Edmond,
George Sand stated that her text was originally written on the evening of the conversation ( Correspondance, ed.
Georges Lubin , xxii (Paris, 1987), 539). However, M. Lubin has kindly informed me that he knows of no such
manuscript .
18 In a letter to Delacroix of 23(?) September 1840, George Sand alludes to Stratonice without explicitly mentioning
whether she has seen it; but it would be rather surprising had she not. As for Delacroix, he made an appointment
with his friend Pierret in a letter of 22 August 1840 for the following day 'to go and see the painting by Ingres'.
Correspondance ginirale d'Eugine Delacroix, ed. Andre Joubin, ii (Paris, 1936), 56.
19 See Michel-Eugene Chevreul, De Ia loi.du contraste simultani des couleurs (Paris, 1839), the preface of which is

dated 1835. Given George Sand's text and the date when she claims it was originally written (january 1841), it is
interesting to note the chronological proximity of an article signed 'Dr. E.V.', entitled 'Cours sur le contraste des
couleurs par M. Chevreul', in L 'Artiste, ix (1842), 148- 50, 162-5.
20 Eugene Delacroix, Journal 1822-1863, ed. Andre Joubin, rev. Regis Labourdette, Paris, 1931-2 and 1981;

Oeuvres littiraires , Paris, 1923 ; see in particular 'De Ia couleur, de l'ombre et des reflets', i. 71-4.

236
 PLATE I

IV
UJ

237
---.J
chopin

Jean-Auguste-Dominique Ingres, Stratonice, 1840 (Musee Conde, Chantilly)

By permission or the !llusee Concle, Chantilly
493
494 chopin

PLATE II

Opening of George Sand's text (probably 1871 ), headed 'January 1841 ' (Bibliotheque
Historique de Ia Ville de Paris, Fonds Sand , l'vL 093)
By permission of the Bibliotheque Historique de Ia Ville de Paris

238
 chopin 495

Binding-together. When we cast our eyes on the objects about us, whether in a landscape or
an interior, we observe a kind of binding-together of the objects which meet our sight; it is
produced by the atmosphere which envelops them and by the reflections of all kinds
which cause each object to participate to a certain extent in a sort of general harmony . ..
and yet the majority of painters, including great masters indeed, have not always paid
proper attention to it. The greater number do not even seem to have observed in nature
that essential harmony which establishes in a painting a type of unity which line alone
does not suffice to create, despite the most ingenious arrangement. 21
The conversation recorded by George Sand consists of several parts. After the
initial dialogue between her and Delacroix in the artist's studio, the topic was again
taken up in Sand's home, this time in the presence of Chopin, her son Maurice (a
pupil of Delacroix) and, at the end, Mickiewicz as a silent observer. This is Sand's
only text containing the expression 'Ia note bleue', the celebrity of which seems to
have overshadowed the rest of the passage. I quote the excerpts which concern us in
particular:
[Maurice) ... wants Delacroix to explain to him the mystery of reflection, and Chopin
listens, his eyes wide with fascination. The master makes a comparison between colour in
painting and sound in music. Harmony in music, he says, concerns not only the make-up
of the chords, but also how they are related, their logical succession, their progression­
what I would call, ifl had to, their auditory reflections. And painting is no different! Here,
let me have that blue cushion and that red cloth. We'll put them side by side. You see that
where the two colours touch, they take something away from each other. The red
becomes tinged with blue; the blue is washed with red and, in the middle, purple is
produced. You can fill a canvas with the most violent shades; if you give them the reflec­
tion that binds them together, you will never be garish. Is this because nature is lacking in
colour, because it does not overflow with fierce oppositions that destroy any sense of
harmony? It's because everything is linked to reflection. One claims to suppress that in
painting, and indeed one can-but there's one small problem: the painting is suppressed
at the same time.
Maurice observes that the science of reflection is the most difficult of all.
'Not so!', exclaims the master, 'it's as easy as saying hello. I can show you that just as
two and two make four. That the reflection of one colour on another invariably produces
yet another colour, I have explained and proved to you on twenty occasions.'
'Very well' , says the student; 'but the reflection of a reflection?'
'What a nuisance you are! You're asking too much for one day.'
Maurice is right; the reflection of a reflection leads us into infinity, and Delacroix knows
this only too well. But he will never be able to prove it, for he has looked for an answer
incessantly and has freely confessed to me. that it can more often be attributed to inspira­
tion than to science ...
Chopin grows restless in his chair. 'Let me catch my breath', he says, 'before we move
on to shape. Reflection is enough for the time being. It is ingenious, and new to me-but
surely it involves alchemy.'
'No', says Delacroix, 'it is chemistry pure and simple. Colours continually break down
and recompose, and the reflection does not break away from the shape, just as the line
does not separate from the contour. They [Ingres and his followers) claim that they
invented, or at least discovered, line, in other words that they defined contour. But they
21 The Journal of Eugine Delacroix, ed.
& trans. Walter Pach, 2nd edn., New York, 1980, p. 558. The original text
reads: 'Liaison. Quand no us jetons les yeux sur les objets qui no us entourent, que ce soit un paysage ou un interieur,
nous remarquons entre les objets qui s'offrent a nos regards une sorte de liaison produite par ]'atmosphere qui les
enveloppe et par les reflets de toutes sortes qui font en quelque sorte participer chaque objet aune sorte d 'harmonie
generale ... Le plus grand nombre semble meme n'avoir pas remarque dans Ia nature cette harmonie necessaire qui
etablit dans un ouvrage de peinture une unite que les lignes elles-memes ne suffisent pas a creet, malgre ]'arrange­
ment le plus ingenieux.' Delacroix, ]ouma/1822-1863, p. 626 (25 January 1857). For related texts, see also pp. 268- 9
(3 November 1850), 456 (25 August 1854), 610 (13 January 1857) & 837 (supplement to the journal).

239
496 chopin

did nothing of the kind! Contour mocks them and turns its back on them. But wait,
Chopin! I know what you are going to say: that contour is what keeps objects from getting
mixed up with other objects, but nature is lacking in fixed contours. The light that is its
life, its mode of existence, destroys silhouette at every instant, and, instead of drawing in
two dimensions, gives everything a rounded shape ... '
Chopin is no longer listening. He is at the piano and does not observe that we are listen­
ing to him. He improvises as if haphazardly. He stops. 'What's this, what's this?', exclaims
Delacroix, 'you haven't finished it! '
'It hasn't begun . Nothing's coming to me ... nothing but reflections, shadows, shapes
that won't settle. I'm looking for the colour, but I can't even find the outline.'
'You won't find one without the other', replies Delacroix. 'And you're going to find
them both.'
'But if I find only the moonlight?'
'You'll have found the reflection of a reflection', answers Maurice.
This idea pleases the divine artist. He resumes playing without seeming to recom­
mence, so vague and hesitant is his musical outline. Little by little our eyes have become
filled with those soft colours corresponding to the suave modulations taken in by our
auditory senses. And then the 'note bleue' resonates and there we are, in the azure of the
transparent night. Light clouds take on all the forms of fantasy ; they fill the sky ; they
crowd round the moon which casts upon them large opal discs, awakening their dormant
colours. We dream of a summer night: we await the nightingale.
A sublime melody arises. 22

22 ' [Maurice Sand] ... veut que Delacroix lui explique le mystere des reflets, et Chopin ecoute, les yeux arrondis

par Ia surprise. Le maitre etablit une comparaison entre les tons de Ia peinture et lessons de Ia musique. L'harmonie
en musique, dit-il, ne consiste pas seulement dans Ia constitution des accords, mais encore dans leurs relations, dans
leur succession logique, dans leur enchainement, dans ce que j'appellerais, au besoin, leurs reflets auditifs. Eh bien,
Ia peinture ne peut pas proceder autrement! Tiens! donne-moi ce coussin bleu et ce tapis rouge. Pla~ons-les cote a
cote. Tu vois que Ia oil les deux tons se touchent, ils se volent l' un I' autre. Le rouge devient teinte de bleu ; le bleu
devient lave de rouge et, au milieu, le violet se produit. Tu peux fourrer dans un tableau les tons les plus violents;
donne-leur le reflet qui les relie, tune seras jamais criard. Est-ce que Ia nature est sobre de tons? Est-ce qu'elle ne
deborde pas d'oppositions feroces qui ne detruisent en rien son harmonie? C 'est que tout s'enchaine par le reflet. On
pretend supprimer cela en peinture, on le peut, mais alors il y a un petit inconvenient, c'est que Ia peinture est sup­
primee du coup.
Maurice observe que Ia science des reflets est Ia plus diflicile qu'il y ait au monde.
-Non! dit le maitre, c'est simple comme bonjour. Je peux te demontrer cela comme deux et deux font quatre. Le
reflet de telle couleur sur telle autre donne invariablement telle autre couleur que je t'ai vingt fois expliquee et
prouvee.
-Fort bien, dit l'eleve; mais le reflet du reflet?
- Diable! Comme tu y vas, toi ! tu en demandes trop pour unjour!
Maurice a raison; le reflet du reflet no us lance dans l'infini, et De Iacroix le sait bien; mais il ne pourra jamais le
demontrer, car il le cherche sans cesse et il m'a bien avoue qu'il le devait plus souvent a ('inspiration qu'a Ia
science . ..
Chopin s'agite sur son siege. Permettez-moi de respirer, dit-il, avant de passer au relief. Le reflet, c'est bien assez
pour le moment. C'est ingenieux, c'est nouveau pour moi; mais c'est un peu de l'alchimie.
-Non, dit Delacroix, c'est de Ia chimie toute pure. Les tons se decomposent et se recomposent a toute heure et le
reflet ne se separe pas du relief, comme Ia ligne ne se separe pas du modele. Ils [les Ingristes] croient qu'ils ont
invente, ou tout au moins decouvert Ia ligne ! C'est-a-dire qu'ils croient tenir le contour. Eh bien, ils ne le tiennent
pas du tout! Le contour se moque d'eux et leur tourne le dos. Attendez! Chopin, je sais ce que vous allez dire: le
contour est ce qui empeche les objets de se confondre les uns avec les autres, mais Ia nature est sobre de contours
arretes. La lumiere qui est sa vie, son mode d'existence, brise a chaque instant les silhouettes et, au lieu de dessiner a
plat, elle enleve tout en ronde bosse . ..
Chopin n'ecoute plus . II est au piano et il ne s ' ape~oit pas qu'on l'ecoute. II improvise comme au hasard. II
s'anite. Eh bien, eh bien, s'ecrie Delacroix, ce n 'est pas fini!
- Ce n'est pas commence. Rien ne me vient . . . rien que des reflets, des ombres, des reliefs qui ne veulent pas se
fixer. Je cherche Ia couleur, je ne trouve meme pas le dessin.
- Vous ne trouverez pas l'un sans I' autre, reprend Delacroix, et vous allez les trouver tous deux.
- Mais si je ne trouve que le clair lune?
- Vous aurez trouve le reflet d'un rellet, repond Maurice.
L'idee plait au divin artiste. II reprend , sans avoir l'air de recommencer, tant son dessin est vague et comme in­
certain. Nos yeux se remplissent peu a peu des teintes douces qui correspondent aux suaves modulations saisies par

240
 chopin 497

The question that we must now ask is this: are there aesthetic parallels between
the Prelude Op. 45 and George Sand's text, given that both date from 1841? In other
words, can the Prelude be viewed as representing-if only metaphorically-a com­
positional stylization of Chopin's improvisation in response to the notions Sand
attributes to Delacroix and which indeed find ample confirmation in the artist's writ­
ings? The text from Impressions et souvenirs poses the problem of whether two appar­
ently separate artistic domains-painting and music-can in fact be related to one
another. 23 The primary obstacle to a critical interpretation lies in the extent to which
this comparison can legitimately be drawn.
To help Chopin understand his theory, Delacroix (as reported by Sand) translates
the problem into musical terms: 'Harmony in music', he says, 'concerns not only the
make-up of the chords, but also how they are related, their logical succession, their
progression-what I would call, if I had to, their auditory reflections'. In the light of
these analogies, let us consider the supremacy of harmony and modulation over
melodic line in Op. 45 (Pl. III). The Prelude, with its arpeggio textures, is entirely
based on a harmonic conception: following Debussy, we might even speak of the
work in terms of 'harmonic chemistry' ('chimie harmonique'). 24 The piece is
virtually athematic: any melodic element that appears results from the harmony at
the peak of an arpeggio wave. The triadic element of the arpeggio is understated to
the point of blending with the wave (bars 6-7) or breaking away from it at the start of
a new wave (bars 8-9). We also note the momentary overlapping of each new
dominant function (at the peak of the right-hand part) and its respective tonic (in the
bass), a sort of sfumato which creates an unendliche Harmonie. Those few occasions
when the semblance of a melodic idea arises constitute precisely the nerve centres of
the overall harmonic concept (bars 13-16,26-31,31-5,50-55 and 55-9), as if the
melodic outline were serving to reinforce the harmonic colour. 'Contour. It should
come last, contrary to custom', notes Delacroix succinctly in his journal. 25 In the
Prelude, what comes first is the arpeggio texture (bars 5-6), as Maurice Bourges
correctly perceived as early as 1842. This harmonic formula is in fact the only
'theme' of the piece.
The components of this formula make ample use of the phenomenon of reson­
ance, whether 'natural' or in the parallel minor mode, by using in succession the
first, second, third and fifth harmonics, echoed twice in the upper octaves, with an
appoggiatura (D#) to the tonic creating a kind of shading in the pedalled sonority.26

le sens auditif. Et puis Ia note bleue resonne et no us voila dans l'azur de Ia nuit transparente. Des nuages legers pren­
nent toutes lesfonnes de Ia fantaisie; ils remplissent le ciel; ils viennent se presser autour de Ia lune qui leur jette de
grands disques d'opale et reveille Ia couleur endormie. Nous revons d 'une nuit d 'ete; nous attendons le rossignol.
Un chant sublime s'eleve.'
Sand, Impressions et souvmirs, pp. 81-2, 83-4, 85-6.
23 See in particular Philippe Junod, 'De !'audition coloree ou du bon usage d 'un mythe', in the proceedings of the

colloquium La Couleur: regards croisis sur Ia couleur du Moyen Age au XX' siicle, Paris, !994, pp. 63-76. I should like to
express my appreciation toM. Junod, Professor of Art History at the University of Lausanne, for his advice on and
interest in my research, and especially for drawing my attention to the work ofJohannes Itten, in particular L 'Etoil£
des couleurs, Paris, 1985.
24 See Debussy's description of a new and definitive version of Refkts dans l'eau, the first piece in Images I for piano,

in Lettres de Claude Dtbussy ason iditeur, ed. Jacques Durand, Paris, 1927, p. 31 (letter of 19 August 1905).
25 The Journal of Eugent Dtlacroix, p. 531 (adapted). The original text reads: ' Contour. Doit venir le dernier, au

contraire de Ia coutume', ]ouma/7822-7863, p. 607 (11 January 1857).

20 It goes without saying that the pedal plays an all-important role throughout the Prelude. The Mechetti and
Schlesinger editions differ on an important point: in the arpeggiations found for instance in bars 5-6, Mechetti
systematically indicates removal of the pedal at the end of bar 5, while Schlesinger extends it to the middle of bar 6
and the arrival ofthe octave in the right hand. Did Chopin modify his pedal writing in the French proofs? Forlack of
an autograph or a Stichvorlagt, we can only speculate as to why this divergence occurs.

241
498 chopin
PLATE III

242
chopin 499

243
500 chopin

Chopin , Prelude Op. 45, from the Keepsake des pianzstes , Paris: Schlesinger, 1841

244
 chopin 501

Chopin had previously used this type of euphonic, blended colouring in the first
Etude of Op. 10 and the first Prelude of Op. 28, but a more pertinent comparison is
with two works bearing the word 'fantaisie' in their titles: the Fantaisie Op. 49 and
the Polonaise-fantaisie Op. 61.27 In contrast to the single appoggiaturas found in the
Prelude, the figuration in the latter pieces is distinguished by double auxiliary notes
around the mediant. This figuration occurs in strategic passages having the charac­
ter of a prelude: a prelude to the instrumental drama in Op. 49, with the ensuing
progressive acceleration poco a poco doppio movimento (Ex. 1a); and a prelude to the
lyrical 'epic' in Op. 61, a stylization of the gesture of a mythical bard taking hold of
his harp (Ex. 1b).28 These two comparisons make possible an initial justification for
the title 'Prelude' for Op. 45, which is bathed in the atmosphere of an otherworldly
meditation. The difference lies in the utilization of these similar textures: they per­
form the function of a prelude in Opp. 49 and 61, while Op. 45 serves as a prelude
only to itself. The arpeggios that make up the core of Op. 45 are thus an improv­
visando element which can be viewed in the light of the extemporized music
described by George Sand. To this may be added the cadenza, marked a piacere in
Mechetti's edition only, as well as the (quasi recitativo) declamation which follows in
bars 81-5.

27 On these two works, see in particular Jeffrey Kallberg, 'Chopin's Last Style', Journal of the American Musicological

Society, xxxviii (1985), 264-315; Jim Samson, The Music of Chopin, pp. 193- 211; John Rink, 'Schenker and Im­
provisation', Journal of Music Theory, xxxvii (1993), 1-54.
28 The layout and graphic presentation of the arpeggio are the result of a second phase in the autograph sketch:
see The Work Sheets to Chopin's Violoncello Sonata: a Facsimile, ed. Ferdinand Gajewski, New York & London, 1988,
p. 84. See also Anthony Newcomb, 'The Polonaise-Fantasy and Issues of Musical Narrative', Chopin Studies 2, ed.
John Rink &Jim Samson, Cambridge, 1994, pp. 84-101.

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The main key of Op. 45-at least, its tonal frame-is C sharp minor, but it is
radically undermined by the discursive harmonic progression, and is palpably func­
tional in fewer than twenty of92 bars including the cadenza (bar 80). Specifically, C
sharp minor colours the opening phrases, the reprise (from bar 67) and the closing
cadenza, thereby contributing to the definition of structure.
The four initial bars, with their two descending tetrachords (C#-G# and F#-C#)Z9
and fauxbourdon texture, at once create a C sharp minor/ A major dichotomy by
means of the Phrygian second D~ (bars 1 and 3), which recurs in the G# of the modu­
lation to the subdominant F sharp minor (bar 2). This dichotomy appears in bar 4
with the two successive suspensions, the first of which looks to A major and the
second to C sharp minor. The powerful D# appoggiatura (bar 5) at the start of the
series of arpeggios eliminates the modal colour of the initial D~. D major, the key of
the Neapolitan sixth, appears as a final colouring of the tonic in the coda (bars 86-7),
announced by an accented A (bar 85). Note that two important sections in the
work's overall structure are in A major: first, the passage which precedes the start of
the cadenza (bar 75 ff.), and second, a section flanked on either side by passages in F
major (bars 47-50 and 55-63), just before the reprise of bars 5 ff. at bar 67. Thus,
these three keys-C sharp minor, F major and A major-prove to be the poles
around which the piece's harmony is constructed. The C# octave is therefore sym­
metrically divided into three enharmonic thirds (in a foretaste of Wagner). Further­
more, the Neapolitan sixths of these three poles are also heard at certain stages
within the Prelude: D major, as already mentioned (bars 15-18 and 86-7), B flat
major and G flat major (bars 27-35)-these latter two in symmetry with the sections
in A major and F major (which include a near-exact transposition of bars 27-35).
Just as the three primary colours-red, yellow and blue-divide the colour wheel
into an equilateral triangle, so the tonics of the three main keys-C sharp, F and
A-divide equally the circle of twelve semitones within the octave. The analogy ends
there, however: it would be extravagant to interpret -the Neapolitan sixths as
counterparts to binary colours (orange, green and violet).
Concerning the synaesthetic expression 'auditory reflections' used by Delacroix to
describe harmonic progression, bars 13 and 20 in particular merit a closer look. The
Neapolitan colour of D major, confirmed by a plagal cadence (bars 17-18), is estab­
lished without any functional raison d'etre. The same is true of bar 19, where the
series of arpeggios from the beginning returns, transposed to F sharp minor, and
thus referring back to bar 14. F sharp minor, initially presented in bar 2 as the
tonicized subdominant, subsequently reappears overshadowed by its relative A
major (bars 13-14); its fleeting cadential establishment is the first interruption of the
arpeggios, replacing them by only the sketchiest melodic outline. The major triad
D-F#-A is as much a part of A major as it is ofF sharp minor or the Phrygian mode
on F#. Resulting from the ambiguity of the first four bars, the mixed colours in this
chord are used here as an 'auditory reflection', calling to mind Debussy's expression
'noyer le ton'.30
The 'logical succession' of the harmonic progressions throughout the Prelude fol­
lows three principles (Ex. 2): first, a descending progression in fifths (bars 4-23);
second, interrupted cadences (marked x) which introduce a dramatic foreshortening
29 Note their recurrence in the summing up of bars 81-2, as well as the descent by seconds of the lowest note in

the arpeggios from bars 5 to 24: C., B, A, G~, F# and E. I should like to express my gratitude to M. Georges
Starobinski, lecturer in the Music Department of the University of Geneva, for suggestions regarding my harmonic
analysis of Op. 45.
30 Edward Lockspeiser, Debussy: his Life and Mind, London, 1962-S (repr. Cambridge, 1978), i. 206. The expres­
sion 'noyer le ton' appears in the context of 'Conversations with Ernest Guiraud'.

246
 chopin 503

upon the appearance (bars 27 and 30-31) and then disappearance (bars 54-5) of flat
keys; and last, the chromatic progressions in the intervening bars (37-51 ), which
recur in the retransition to C sharp minor in bars 64-7.

Ex. 2 Modulatory schemes in the Prelude Op. 45

Until this reprise, the Prelude is characterized by a polarity oftonal sections, in

what seems a free interpretation of Rameau's notion of the 'cote des dieses' versus
the 'cote des bemols'-so much so that the Paderewski edition entirely rewrites bars
27-63 with no sharps in the key-signatureY Bars 1-26 are conceived solely in terms
of sharps and systematically alternate between the minor and major modes, which is
particularly noticeable in this vague shading that consists of taking a major third and
making it minor, moving through C sharp minor, B major, B minor, A major, F
sharp minor, D major, F sharp minor, E major and E minor-that is, primarily
neighbouring keys. Conversely, bars 27-50 are exclusively in flat keys, all major and
distant from each other. 32 The melodic outline is established at the start of this
section, reinforcing the strategic modulations to B flat major and G flat major, up to
and including the isolated section of A major with F major. In other words (to invoke
Delacroix), the element of line is inseparable from the bold colours that flank each
end of the section. This dichotomy between sharps and flats could perhaps be seen
as deriving from the tradition of the modulating prelude, as used for example in
Beethoven's Zwei Priiludien durch alle Tonarten Op. 39. That would make sense doubly
with respect to the title of Chopin's Op. 45 and its inclusion in Mechetti's Album. 33 It
31 C hopin , Complete Works, ed . I.J. Paderewski, L. Bron arski &J. T urczynski,
Wa rsaw & Krakow, 1949, i. 63- 4,
85-6.
32 Observe in particularthe boldness of bars 37-8 and 45-6, where the ninth chords do not
lead to new tonics b ut,
rather, constitute an appreciable broadening of the consonance of the perfect triad , reached two bars b efore.
33 There is no evidence that Chopin knew these two preludes, which were,
however, circulating in a T itelaufgabe
(Vienna: Cappi & Czemy) at the time of his stay in Vienna. Op. 39 is not included in the Colkction complitt tks otuurts
pour piano published in Paris by Schlesinger. The tradition of the modulating prelude during the period in which
equal temperament was becoming generalized in keyb oard music is attested to notably by the following, in a letter of
20July 1778 from Mozart to his father: ' I wanted to present my sister with a little Preambulum .. . This is not the
kind of Prelude which passes from one key into a nother, but only a sort of Capriccio, with which to test a clavier'
(Letters of Mozart and his Family , trans. & ed. Emily Anderson, 3rd edn ., rev. Stanley Sadie & Fiona Smart, London,

247
504 chopin

might also account for the work's underlying theoretical-even demonstrable­

premiss,34 based in part on the modal-tonal ambiguities offered by the use of the
Phrygian second, the art of which would be 'c;1che par l'art meme', to use
Rameau's words once again. 35 This aspect is all the more striking if we consider
the piece in relation to the theories of Delacroix, proposing metaphorically that the
cadenza is the composer's chromatic palette, sweeping though the sound spectrum
in a double trajectory, descending and ascending by turns. 36 In the downward
motion, there is a systematic alternation between dominant and subdominant
functions: 'cote des dieses' and 'cote des bemols'. In the upward motion, the
elusive diminished seventh chord appears in various positions and configurations
on all twelve semitones. While listeners may enjoy the cadenza simply for its
kaleidoscopic tonal colour, upon analysis we see that it contains the essence of the
process used for the entire Prelude, closed upon itself like Chevreul's chromatic
circleY
With respect to Beethoven and Mechetti's Album, it is surely logical to discern
analogies between the Prelude and the Sonata 'quasi una fantasia' Op. 27 No.2. We
have ample evidence that the latter was part of Chopin's repertory and used in his
teaching,38 and .there are many indications that he had this sonata in mind when
conceiving his Prelude.39 There is first of all the key of C sharp minor, which, in
Chopin's output, encapsulates the dual connotation ofthe first and last movements
in Beethoven's work: meditative and melancholy on the one hand, passionate and
dramatic on the other. 40 Then there are direct links between the Prelude's Phrygian

1985, p. 573). This text is invaluable for its terminology on genres and functions. In this respect, the articles on
'Prelude' in French music dictionaries of C hopin's day (Castil-Blaze, 3rd edn., 1828; Lichtenthal-Mondo, 1839;
Escudier, 1844) are all plagiarized from J ean-Jacques Rousseau's Dictionnaire de musique of 1767. By contrast, it is
interesting to note that in 1842 Richault published the second edition of Le J eu des priludes harmoniques, ou C ompas et
boussole des deux ichelles de Ia gamme musicale by Henri-M. Berton. T his work follows in the footsteps of the Methode
simple pour apprendre apriluder (1803) by Gretry.
Formulas for modulating through all the keys, starting with C major, can be found in Bemetzrieder ( The Art of
Modulating Illustrated in One Grand Lesson, and Two Preludes of 1796), Antoine Reicha (E tude des transitions Op. 31)
and Kalkbrenner ( Traiti d'harmonie du pianiste O p. 185). Czerny offers formulas for cadenzas and harmonic
outlines in his Systematic Introduction Op. 200 (see n. 16, above), which are also illustrated in his L 'Art de priluder
Op. 300.
The didactic pieces by Clementi in Etude joumaliire des gammes dans tous les tons majeurs et mineurs and by Field in
Exercice moduli dans Its tons majeurs e/ mineurs are designed to help pianists build endurance. By contrast, Reicha is
interested primarily in modulating progressions in two pieces of his Etudes ou exercices O p. 30 ('Les douze gammes
m ajeures', 'Les douze gammes mineures'), somewhere between a piano exercise and the gebundener Stil of the ,Zwei
Priiludien by Beethoven.
34 One might expect such a piece to be in E minor, with the Phrygian second as a central premiss, but this would

ignore the character of C sharp minor in Chopin's oeuvre (seen. 40, below).
35 Jean-Philippe Rameau, letter of25 October 1727 to Houdar de La Motte, reproduced inj.-G. Prod'homme,

Ecrits de musiciens, Paris, 1912, p. 326.

36 This argument is reinforced by a later passage in Sand's text, which alludes to the analytical capabilities of both
C hopin and Delacroix and which mentions, without any illusions as to their likely realization, a planned keyboard
method by Chopin and treatise on d rawing and colour by Delacroix (Impressions et souv enirs, p. 88).
37 Chevreul, De Ia loi du contrastesimultani des couleurs. Atlas [Vol. 2], Pl. 4.
38 See Jean-Jacques Eigeldinger, Chopin Pianist and Teacher as Seen by his Pupils, Cambridge, 1986, pp. 62, 115
n. 83. See also Chopin vu parses iteves, 3rd edn ., Neuchatel, 1988, Pl. 16. Wilhelm von Lenz confirms that the 'Moon­
light' Sonata was in Chopin's repertory. See his Beethoven. EineKuns/studie , i/2 (Kassel & Hamburg, 1855), 237.
39 In a well-known article indebted to Schenker's theories, Ernst O ster has demonstrated the impact of Beet­

hoven's Op. 27 No. 2 on Op. 66. See 'The Fantaisie-Impromptu: a T ribute to Beethoven', Musicology, i (1947),
407- 29.
40 For the first category , see in particular the 'Lento con gran espressione', the Etude O p. 25 No. 7, Nocturne
Op. 27 No. I, Mazurka O p. 41 No.4, Scherzo O p. 54 (bars 393 ff.) and Valse O p. 64 No. 2; for the second, see the
Scherzo O p. 39 and Impromptu O p. posth. 66. T he Appassionato in the Polonaise Op. 26 No. 1 has a semi-heroic
character tinged with melancholy and even gallantry, which distantly recalls the polonaises of Michat O ginski.

248
 chopin 505

seconds, found in various contexts, and the Neapolitan sixths which the Sonata
celebrates. Just before the recapitulation, Beethoven's finale features, in two success­
ive forms (bars 87-94), the fauxbourdon heard during the opening four bars of
Chopin's work (Ex. 3a), while his two tetrachords emerge at the start of the
Allegretto (Ex. 3b). Last but not least, Beethoven's Adagio-marked 'sostenuto', as
in Chopin's Op. 45-alternates between transforming a major into a minor third
(bars 9-1 0) and vice versa (bar 15), using the same process of shading as practised by
Chopin for the same key ofE major/ E minor (bars 23-6) and B major/ B minor (bars
9-12). To all that may be added the re-exposition in the subdominant, F sharp
minor, of the initial motif in both works (Beethoven, Op. 27 No. 2, bars 23 ff.;
Chopin, Op. 45, bars 19 ff.).

Ex. 3 Beethoven, Piano Sonata Op. 27 No.2

(a) Presto agitato, bars 87-96

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506 chopin

(b) Allegretto, bars 1- 8

Before concluding, I would like to propose a connection between George Sand's

account of Chopin's improvisation and the popular name for Op. 27 No. 2: the
'Moonlight' Sonata. This appellation, which can be traced to the critic and poet
Ludwig Rellstab, 41 was commonly used in Vienna and elsewhere even during Beet­
hoven's lifetime. Czemy defined the first movement as a Nachts;:;ene in his essay on
the performance of Beethoven's piano music (1842). 42 In Sand's text, the expression
'Ia note bleue' is part of a semantic network which refers to the idea of a moonlit
summer night: 'azure of the transparent night', 'summer night', 'starry night' ,
'moon', 'large opal discs'. It is interesting to recall here a singular passage from the
young Chopin's correspondence, describing to his friend T ytus Woyciechowski the
second movement of the Concerto Op. 11:

The Adagio of my new concerto is in E major. It is not meant to create a powerful effect, it
is rather a romance, calm and melancholy, giving the impression of someone looking
gently towards a spot which calls to mind a thousand happy memories. It is a kind of
reverie in the moonlight [my italics] on a beautiful spring evening. 43

Is there any better definition of the nocturne or romance (as the slow movement is
called in the first editions of Op. 11) than this paraphrase, which also resonates with
Sand's text in several respects? This romance also shares common features with the
Prelude, not least a key-signature of four sharps. It begins with five bars in E major in
the orchestra, immediately followed by their transposition to the relative, C sharp
minor-almost like light on the same subject from two different angles. In the
middle of the movement, a brief ritomello takes on a sinuous fauxbourdon texture
(Ex. 4). Finally, the magical cadenza, leggierissimo, foreshadows that of Op. 45, ~nd
the orchestra ushers in the coda, passing through C sharp minor to arrive at E
major- the reverse of the path followed at the beginning.

41This information is given in Lenz's Beethoven et ses trois styles, new edn., Paris, 1909, p. 199.
42Carl Czerny, Vber den richtigen Vortrag der siimtlichen Beethoven 'schen Klavierwerke, ed. Paul Badura-Skoda, Vienna,
1963, p. 51.
43 Selected Correspondence of Fryderyk Chopin , trans. Hedley, p. 45, leuer of 15 May 1830. The original text reads:

'A dagio od nowego Koncertu jest E-dur. Nie rna to bye mocne, jest ono wi~·cej romansowe, spokojne, melancholiczne,
powinno czynic wraienie mitego spojrzenia w miejsce, gdzie stawa tysii'c lubych przypomnien na mysli. -Jest to
jakies dumanie w pi~kny czas wiosnowy, ale przy ksi~Z)'cu . Dlatego tei: akompaniuj~ go sordinami', Korespondencja
Fryderyka Chopina, i. 125.

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 chopin 507

Ex. 4 Chopin, Piano Concerto Op. II, Romance, bars 51-2

These are indeed meaningful analogies between two 'reveries in the moonlight'. C
sharp minor is one of Chopin's favourite keys, and it often appears as the pensive
twin of an ecstatic E major. 44 To this may be added the fact that his German con­
temporaries liked to use E major in Lieder inspired by moonlight, beginning with
Schumann in his celebrated 'Mondnacht' Op. 39 No.5 (Eichendorff) and continu­
ing with, among others, Mendelssohn in 'Der Mond' Op. 86 No.5 (Geibel).
Generally speaking, nineteenth-century composers after Schubert used key­
signatures with several sharps or flats for songs on texts about the moon. 45 For
instance, Brahms's 'Mondnacht' (without opus number, setting the same Eichen­
dorff poem as Schumann) is in A flat major; 'Wie des Mondes Abbild' Op. 6 No. 2
by Robert Franz is in D flat major; Faure's 'Clair de June' Op. 46 No.2, after Ver­
laine, is in B flat minor, while Debussy's second version of the same text (Fetes
galantes, No. 3) is, symmetrically, in G sharp minor. Similar tendencies can be
observed in many piano pieces with an epigraph or title, such as the Andante of
·Brahms's Sonata Op. 5 (' ... das Mondlicht scheint .. .'),which begins in A flat and
ends in D flat. In Debussy's music, the middle part of Et la lune descend sur le temple qui
jut (Images II, No.2) unfolds in a G sharp minor mode, while La terrasse des audiences
du clair de lune (Preludes II, No. 7) centres on F sharp major. 46 Chopin had already
explored this dual orientation towards sharps and flats in his diptych, the two
Nocturnes Op. 27, the first of which is in C sharp minor and the second D flat
majorY The lyrical fullness of D flat complements the elegiac nature of C sharp
minor, which in the coda of No. 1 becomes C sharp major and reinforces the union
of the two pieces. 48 Thanks to this enharmonic equivalence, this coda establishes an
44 For the varying connotations of the character of'ecstasy' in E major in Chopin's oeuvre, see the Etudes Op. 10

No. 3 and Op. 25 No. 5 (bars 45-97), Sonata Op. 58 (third movement, bars 28 If.) and Nocturne Op. 62 No. 2.
Another connotation of E major in Chopin is heroism; see the Prelude Op. 28 No.9 and the Trio in the Polonaise
Op. 53 (bars 81 If.).
41 Within Schumann's output, another facet of this bipolarity is illustrated by 'Die Lotosblume' Op. 25 No. 7 (in

F), which modulates into A flat when arriving at the words 'der Mond' ('the moon') (bars 9 If.). By contrast, 'Fri.ih­
lingsnacht' Op. 39 No. 12 (in F sharp), progresses towards C sharp at the words 'mit dem Mondesglanz' ('with the
moonshine'-bars 16 If.).
46 Also in F sharp are the first version of'Clair de June' (Verlaine) by Debussy and 'La June blanche' (Verlaine) in

Faure's La Bonne Chanson. Reynaldo Hahn's 'La Lune blanche' (Chansons grises, No.5) is in B.
41 The first nocturne is similar to the Prelude Op. 45 through its use of resonance in the left-hand arpeggios and,

above all, its insistence on the Neapolitan sixth in the key ofC sharp minor (bars.5, 9, 13, 17, 21, 25-8). This only
makes the return ofD sharp in the coda (bars 94-8) all the more indicative of the link established with the key of the
nocturne that follows. Use of the Neapolitan sixth in C sharp minor is a feature of other works by Chopin: the
Mazurka Op. 30 No.4 (bars 21-7 and similar passages) and Scherzo Op. 54 (bars 413-16, 533-40). At the start of the
Mazurka Op. 40 No. 4, the Di! is, of course, of a modal nature, that is, the second degree of the transposed Phrygian
mode, as at the beginning ofOp. 45 .
48 The enharmonic relation C sharp minor/D flat major is relatively frequent in Chopin's output: the Polonaise
Op. 26 No. I, Scherzo Op. 39, Valse Op. 64 No.2 and Impromptu Op. posth. 66. See also the succession of Etudes

251
508 chopin

immediate link with 'Clair de June' from Debussy's Suite bergamasque. 49 It is almost
as if Debussy had the sound of the Nocturne in his inner ear and under his fingers,
simply 'omitting' the bass at the start but introducing it later (bars 29-30), at which
point it becomes a true nocturne, uncannily similar to Chopin's Op. 27 No.2 in D
flat. Moreover, Debussy's Nocturne for piano is in this same key.
If the colour of C sharp minor in Chopin's Op. 45 refers to Beethoven, the key ofD
flat major has just as many connotations of moonlight for Chopin's contemporaries
and the generation immediately following. Thus, a critic for the Examiner describes
Chopin's 1848 London performance of the Berceuse as 'a mysterious soothing, like
moonlight'. 50 Alexandre Dumas fils has a young girl in his novel Affaire Clemenceau
(1866) play this same Berceuse, saying that one of its effects on her listeners is that of
'the soul seeing all the gates of its prison open wide and then roaming wherever it
likes, but always towards the azure, in the land of dreams'. 51 (Oddly enough, at that
time George Sand had not yet published her text on 'Ia note bleue' resonating in a
night of dreams.) It should be noted that, for Marcel Proust, moonlight was
associated with the flat keys: in his first mention of the Vinteuil sonata heard by
Swann, the narrator describes the piano part centring on 'the little phrase' as being
'multiform but indivisible, smooth yet restless, like the deep blue tumult of the sea,
silvered and charmed into a flat key by the moonlight'. 52 As can be seen, the musical
evocation of moonlight in the nineteenth century is as distant from C major as
midnight from noon.

Unjustly neglected, 53 the Prelude Op. 45 is not a marginal piece by Chopin but,
rather, one of his major works from the early 1840s (Opp. 44-9)-more recondite
than the Berceuse, perhaps, but no less unique. This was recognized at least by
Ravel, who succeeded in raising the status of the work by framing it between two
other prestigious compositions when he wrote of Chopin's 'splendid blossoming
["epanouissement splendide"]: Polonaise-fantaisie, posthumous Prelude (Op. 46
[sic]), Barcarolle Op. 60'. 54 The Prelude thus suggests a kind of stylized improvisa­
tion-against a possible background of the tradition of modulating preludes
exemplified by Beethoven. Moreover, it is part and parcel of the archetype of the
'Moonlight' Sonata, while also linked to Delacroix's ideas on reflection and shape.
When seen from the standpoint of art and music history, the analogies between
Op. 25 Nos. 7-8 and Nocturnes Op. 27 Nos. 1-2. For the opposite (D flat major/ C sharp minor), see the Prelude
Op. 26 No. 15 and the succession of Mazurkas Op. 30 Nos. 3-4.
49 See Jean-Jacques Eigeldinger, 'Placing Chopin: Reflections on a Compositional Aesthetic', Chopin Studies 2,ed.

Rink & Samson, p. 136.

so The text of this article (8 July 1848) is reproduced in William G. Atwood, Fryderyk Chopin: Pianist from Warsaw ,
New York & Guildford, 1987, pp. 247-8.
51 '!'arne voyant toutes les portes de sa prison ouvertes, s'en va ou bon lui semble, mais toujours vers le Bleu, dans
le pays du reve'; Alexandre Dumasjilf, Affaire Clemenceau: mimoire <ie l'accusi, Paris, 1866, p. 111.
52 M arcel Proust, Remembrance of Things Past, trans. C. K. Scott Moncrieff & Terence Kilmartin (adapted),
Harmondsworth, 1983, i. 227. The original reads: 'multiforme, indivise, plane et entrechoquee comme Ia mauve
agitation des flots que charme et bemolise le clair de lune' (A Ia recherche du temps perdu , ed. Jean-Yves Tadie, Paris,
1987, i. 205). Proust must have heard Reynaldo Hahn sing Faure's 'Clair de tune' many times: see Gabriel Faure,
Correspondance, ed. Jean-Michel Nectoux, Paris, 1980, p. 205. In 'Clair de lune', which is in B flat minor, G flat
becomes established with the words 'au cal me clair de lune'. Whether Proust was aware of the key is, of course,
another question.
B Alfred Cortot, who is certainly Op. 45's most sensitive commentator, remarked upon this neglect 50 years ago
in his performing edition (Chopin, Pieces diverses, 2nd ser., p. SO).
5' Maurice Ravel, 'Les Polonaises, les Nocturnes, les Impromptus, Ia Barcarolle. Impressions', Le Courrier musical,
xiii (1 January 1910), 32.

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 chopin 509

Delacroix and Chopin in their aesthetic position appear particularly salient.55 In the
late nineteenth century, the painter Paul Signac singled out Delacroix as the fore­
runner par excellence of the impressionists. 56 After assessing the debt owed to Chopin
by Liszt and Wagner, the twentieth century has recognized in Chopin a precursor of
Debussy; 57 it is precisely at the origins of these tendencies that we find the Prelude
Op.45;

'' See in particular Juliusz Starzyiiski, Delacroix el Chopin , Warsaw, 1962; Edward Lockspeiser, Music and Painting:
a Study in Comparative Ideas from Turner to Schoenberg, London, 1973; Karl Schawelka, Eugene Delacroix. Sieben Studien
zu seiner Kunsttheorie, Mittenwald, 1979; Jean·Jacques Eigeldinger, 'Placing Chopin', pp. 102-39.
56 Paul Signac, D'Eugene Delacroix au nio-impmsionnisme, ed. Fran~oise Cachin, Paris, 1978. The text itself dates

from 1899.
57 For bibliographical information on this issue, see Eigeldinger, 'Placing Chopin', p. 135 n. 104. It should be
added that had Chopin been Debussy, he might have entitled his Op. 45 'Reverie'. Debussy's piece is in F, like
Schumann's 'Traumerei', but its texture calls Chopin to mind.

253

Rehearings
Romantic Meaning in Chopin's Prelude in A Minor
LAWRENCE KRAMER
As a touchstone for discussions of Romanti­
cism in music, Chopin's notorious Prelude in A
Minor, op. 28, no. 2, can hardly be bettered. The
inner tensions of this piece are prototypical.
While the melody and accompaniment figura­
tion create a high degree of surface continuity,
the underlying harmony is radically eccentric,
extravagant even by Romantic standards, with
unresolvable ambiguities at its core. In taking a
fresh look at this pivotal piece, I should like to
examine Chopin's unruly harmony in light of
the expressive and cognitive processes that mo­
tivate it and give it life-this, rather than sim­
ply to specify the sense in which the harmony is
peculiar; it is peculiar enough in any sense. Sec­
ond, I want to connect what Chopin does in this
piece to some recurrent patterns, again both ex­
pressive and cognitive, that first come to promi­
nence in the music and literature of the early
nineteenth century. The hyperbolically Ro­
mantic harmony of Chopin's A-Minor Prelude,
I will suggest, implicates the music in some of
the basic scenarios of Romantic subjectivity.
This is not, of course, an innocent claim. The
old question of how purely musical patterns,
the sort of thing constructed in musical analy­
sis, can acquire "extramusical" meanings has
lately taken on a vigorous new life, amid what
- + :"Motive and Rhythmic Contour in the Alto Rhapsody,"
30
seems to be a growing feeling that to isolate mu­
sical form in a realm all its own is both futile
and sterile.' It seems stranger now than it once
did when Allen Forte, in a recent discussion of
Brahms's Alto Rhapsody, pursues his analysis
with no reference whatever to Goethe's text or
to its possible role in shaping Brahms's musical
design. 2 If anything, the issue is even more
pressing in the case of purely instrumental mu­
sic, where there is a clear need for productive
methods of critical interpretation that are nei­
ther broadly analogical nor narrowly historicist.
I cannot enter into a full discussion of these is­
sues here, only illustrate one line of response to
them. My analysis of Chopin's A-Minor Prelude
is also a critical reading, in the sense that liter­
ary critics use the term, and I shall try to place
the work, so interpreted, in its context: the
loose association of cultural practices that con­
stitutes Romanticism.
1For recent discussions see Monroe Beardsley, "Under­
standing Music, " and Toseph Kerman, "The State of Aca­
demicMusic Criticism,'' both in On Criticizing Music: Five
Philosophical Perspectives, ed. Kingsley Price (Baltimore
and London, 1981); Edward T. Cone, "Schubert's Promis­
sory Note," this journal 5 (1982), 233-41; ' -+ Anthony
Newcomb, "Sound and Feeling," Critical In quiry 10 (1984),
614--43.
{oumal of Music Theory 27(1983), 255-71. The exception
proves the rule: '1This eloquent and profound work has a
recondite character corresponding to that of the [un]usual
poem chosen by the composer" (p. 255 ).
145
512 chopin
19TH The means for this kind of musical criticism
CENTURY can be provided by what I shall call structural
MUSIC
tropes. These are recurrent formal configura­
tions that carry a distinctive expressive poten­
tial in music and that are understood rhetori­
cally and figuratively in literary or speculative
texts.3 I do not regard these tropes semiologi­
cally, as codes, but as a loosely connected reper­
toire of expressive scenarios that require as
much interpretation as the works that they in­
form. They are best thought of, perhaps, as min­
iature genres, typical structural patterns that
normally apply on a limited scale-to brief
works, to fragments, or to episodes in larger
wholes.
A good example is furnished by the way that
Romantic writers use self-citation as the occa­
sion for a sudden, often consummatory reorien­
tation of thought and feeling. At the close of
Adonais, his elegy for Keats, Shelley tries to dis­
entangle himself from "the web of being" and to
fasten his desires on death. His success, if "suc­
cess" is the word, turns on an allusion to his
own Ode to the West Wind:
The breath whose might I have invoked in song
Descends on me; my spirit's bark is driven
Far from the shore, far from the trembling throng
Whose sails were never to the tempest given;
The massy earth and sphered skies are riven!
I am borne darkly, fearfully afar. 4
Schubert's String Quartet in A Minor carries on
its own elegiac argument in much the same
way. After a first movement full of disquiet, the
Andante seeks repose in an idealized Bieder­
meier melody borrowed from the incidental
music to Rosamunde. A counter-quotation
soon follows to proclaim the unhappy destiny of
all Biedermeier innocence. The minuet, its
form chosen with irony, begins by quoting the
accompaniment to a line from Schubert's ear-
3I take the term "expressive potential" from Edward T.
Cone, The Composer's Voice (Berkeley and Los Angeles1
1974), where it is defined as the "wide but not unrestricted
range of possible expression11 possessed by awork of music
(p. 166; lor fu!Ier discussion, see pp. I65-75).
4 The text for this and all other quotations from the English
Romantics is Ma;or British Poets of the Romantic Period,
ed. William Heath (New York, 1973).
146
lier setting of Schiller's Die Cotter Grie­
chenlands: "Schone Welt, wo bist du!"5
If this were another essay, I would try to con­
nect these moments of allusion and quotation
to Romantic representations of memory, and I
would tangle up my argument with other
works-say Wordsworth ' s The Prelude,
Goethe' s Trilogie der Leidenschaft, and
Beethoven's Ninth Symphony. For the present,
though, there is Chopin to deal with, and some
critical-analytical work to perform before his
structural tropes can come within earshot.
II
One way to hear Chopin's A-Minor Prelude is
as a many-sided study in dialectic, taking the
term in the precise sense of dynamic opposi­
tions that involve a reversal of meaning or
value. Romantic writers regularly associate dia­
lectical reversals with states of both heightened
and disturbed consciousness. Coleridge makes
a typical connection:
A little child, a limber elf,
Singing, dancing to itself,
A fairy thing with red round cheeks,
That always finds, and never seeks,
Makes such a vision to the sight
As fills a father's eyes with light;
And pleasures flow in so thick and fast
Upon his heart, that he at last
Must needs express his love's excess
With words of unmeant bitterness.
In this passage from Christa bel (II. 656-65, the
;'words of unmeant bitterness" derive from a
double twist of dialectic. Wrought to excess, the
father's love expresses itself in the form of an­
ger. Pleasure comes all too "thick and fast" ; it
turns into a feeling of suffocation that demands
violent release. Meanwhile, the father's plea­
sure is vexed by more than its own excess. The
child's self-sufficiency, as she sings and dances
to herself, also elicits an unconscious envy from
the adult who has lost the art of always finding
and never seeking. Coleridge's t erm " unmeant
bitterness" thus needs a certain Freudian revi­
sion. The bitterness is unmeant only by the fa-
5The quotation in the minuet is identified by}. A.Westrup,
"The Chamber Music, 11 in Music of Schubert, ed. Gerald
Abraham 11947; rpt. Port Washington, N . Y., 1969), p. 93.
 chopin 513

ther's conscious ego, which represses his long­
ing to become once more the "limber elf" of his
own childhood.
A similar complication of feeling also seems
to haunt the A-Minor Prelude. Given the emo­
tional harshness of the piece, the quality of its
persistent, grating dissonance, the dialectical
reversals that permeate the music may tempt us
to hear them as analogues to the psychological
defense of undoing, the classical expression of
powerful ambivalence.
On the largest scale, dialectical reversal ap­ LAWRENCE
pears in this prelude as a gradually unfolding an­ KRAMER
Chopin's
tagonism between melody and harmony, a pro­ Prelude in
cess that begins with the immediate contrast A Minor
between the smooth, sinuous right-hand part
and the square, abrasive accompaniment. Me­
lodically, the work consists of two parallel
statements of a slowly descending theme,
which itself consists of two parallel strains.
Duringthefirststatementlex. I, mm. 3-12), the
melodic line is essentially made up of chord

Example 1:
Chopin: Prelude in A Minor, op. 28, no. 2.
147
514 chopin
19TH tones, and the melodic cadence of the first
CENTURY strain coincides with the first harmonic ca­
MUSIC
dence (m. 6). As the second strain concludes,
however, the accompanying harmony suddenly
vaporizes into ambiguity, just at the point
where a cadence is expected (m. 11 I. After this,
melody and harmony pull progressively apart.
The second melodic statement (mm. 14-21) is
essentially an elaboration of dissonances,
which twice silences the previously implacable
accompaniment. At first an articulation of the
harmony, the melody evolves into the antithe­
sis of the harmony.
This reversal rests on a group of important
background processes. 6 In his analysis of the A­
Minor Prelude, Leonard B. Meyer points out
that the large-scale melodic design is based on
the establishment, disruption, and resumption
of a process- the linking of melodic phrases by
common tones-while the harmonic design in­
volves the "decisive" disruption of a pattern
that is not resumed-the progression vi-IS-V-I
that occupies mm. 1-7-' Meyer calls this rela­
tionship between melody and harmony a paral­
lelism, but it is more like an incongruity, and
the work unfolds by turning it into a many­
sided process of dissociation. Not only do the
harmonic and melodic articulations of overall
form follow different courses, but they are also
asynchronous-asynchronous twice over. Me­
lodically, the breakdown of common-tone link­
age divides the prelude atm. 142 , where the dis­
ruptive melody note, A, marks a large-scale
structural downbeat. 8 By contrast, the original
harmonic process breaks down atm. 11 during a
melodic cadence, where the disruptive chord
marks a large-scale structural upbeat. Similarly,
the melodic shape of the work is defined by a
pair of equal and parallel periods, mm. 1-122 ,
123-23. Each of these begins with bare accompa­
niment figuration and overlays it with the
slowly descending melodic line, the two strains
6The terms "background" and "foreground" are used
throughout this essay in a generalized, not necessarily
Schenkerian, way to mark off relative degrees of structure
and ornament.
7Leonard Meyer, Emotion and Meaning in Music (Chicago,
1956), pp. 93-97.
8Mea.sure 142 indicates m . 14, beat 2. On the structural
downbeat, see below, p. 149.
148
of which are separated by a substantial rest.
Harmonically, the piece divides into unequal
and complementary segments at the junction of
mm. 14 and IS, where the tonic-to-be material­
izes for the first time out of what has come to
seem hopeless tonal ambiguity.
Only in the last two-and-a-half measures are
melody and harmony realigned, but here they
are not so much reconciled as fused together,
rendered indistinguishable from each other as
the second melodic statement becomes the up­
per voice of the block-chord progression that
acts as a coda. The arpeggios introduced at the
last moment (mm. 223-23) dramatize this con­
flation of antithetical elements. After tearing
melody and harmony further and further apart,
the prelude closes by effacing the difference be­
tween them. It is suggestive that only at this
point of expressive collapse do we get a tonic ca­
dence( so that in some sense the cadence com­
pletes the composition less than it negates it.
This feeling of forced termination is heightened
by the rather intrusive effect of the unembel­
lished block chords, which usurp the place of
the fantastically dissonant accompaniment
figuration and thus call attention to the formu­
laic-in context, even archaic-quality of the
closing cadential pattern.
The unresolvable clash between melody and
harmony represents Chopin's way of staging a
larger dialectic between Classical authority and
Romantic innovation-a dialectic whose very
definition prejudices it in favor of Romanti­
cism. The melodic design of the prelude pays
homage to the Classical demands for balance
and resolution, particularly the symmetrical
resolution that Charles Rosen sees as central to
the Classical style.10 The second melodic state­
ment can be heard as a resolution of the first at
two levels of structure. Ignoring a grace note in
m. 10, the first statement uses only a single
pitch, H , foreign to the eventual tonic, A minor.
This F# becomes increasingly prominent, and
the statement closes with four repetitions of it
9Pace Meyer, who calls theiij'-i ~progression in A minor at
mm. 14-15 a cadence (Ernotwn and Meaning, p. 96). Even if
one were not to argue about the harmonies, there is no
rhythmic articulation of a cadence at this point.
1°Charles Rosen, The Classical Style: Haydn, Mozart,
Beethoven /New York, 1972), p. 99.

after descending a fourth from A toE (mm. lO­
ll). When the second statement begins, it re­
peats the A-E descent and proceeds to Fq, point­
edly resolving the previous H (mm. 14-16).
Pointedly, too, this Fq is imposed as a disso­
nance on the I~ harmony at this point, where it
marks the decisive separation of melody and
harmony in the work.11
At a more background level, the resolution of
one melodic statement by another depends on
the structural use of the interval of the minor
seventh. As Michael Rogers pointed out in an
earlier issue of this journal, the first melodic
statement articulates the descent of a minor
seventh (E to F" ), and the second statement mir­
rors this descent (as A to B) through m. 21 12 In
the little block-chord coda to the piece, the sec­
ond statement is resolvingly extended to a de­
scent through the tonic octave, A-A. Given the
tacked-on nature of this close, it is important to
note that the octave resolution has already oc­
curred, almost imperceptibly, at mm. 20-21,
where an upbeat A is tied under the melodic
goal, B. The force of this resolution is enhanced
by the fact that the first descent of a seventh is
structural rather than audible-the first me­
lodic statement transposes its second strain
from b to b 1, so that the structural seventh is
composed of the sequences e1-b, b 1-f# 1-while
the second descent is both audible and struc­
tural at once, an actual registral movement
from a' to a.
In opposition to this melodic balancing act,
the harmony of the piece is completely unclas­
sical, or rather anticlassical. 13 In this depart­
ment, Chopin's dialectical ironies proliferate
11It is striking that the same Fi-F~ resolution also occurs in
the bass just six beats earlier to produce the augmented·
sixth chord that stabilizes the disrupted harmony. The mel­
ody repeats and in effect appropriates the harmonic resolu·
tion to F~ , whereupon the F~ becomes a source of harmonic
tension.
12Michael Rogers, "Chopin, Prelude in A Minor," this jour­
nal4j!981), 244-49.
13Rogers ("Chopin Prelude11) shows that the piece employs
golden sections to articulate its form, and points out that
golden sections are a common feature of Classical temporal
designs jp. 249 and 249nJ. I would suggest that the role of
these golden sections is almost vestigial in the A-Minor
Prelude: the Classical proportions of the harmonies operate
in the manner of unconscious memories.
chopin 515
almost beyond control. The first thing to ob­ LAWRENCE
serve about the harmony here is that the only KRAMER
Chopin's
two keys in the prelude in which there is a full Prelude in
cadence, G major and A minor, 14 are presented A Minor
in a thoroughly disjunctive way. These tonali­
ties must be understood to be utterly unrelated
to each other. In particular, G does not represent
the flatted seventh degree of A, to be related to A
via plagal movement through D major. Such a
movement, initiated in mm. 9-10, is emphati­
cally aborted by the harmonic mishap in m. 11,
which begins with a D-D# alteration and
evolves into a series of undecidably ambiguous
chords. 15 The harmonic process is now driven
implacably by the problematical D", which
sounds on every beat in mm. 11-14. The har­
monies are successively modified until the D #
fits into a chord with directional value, the
French sixth in m . 14. A minor then simply
emerges from the morass and demands to be
considered the tonic.
Several dialectical determinations converge
on this moment. The harmonically undecidable
passage at mm. 11-14 represents a heightened
form of the most conspicuous feature of the first
ten measures, the grating non-harmonic disso­
nance of the accompaniment. The normal rela­
tionship of structure to ornament is dialecti­
cally reversed by the episode. The dissonance
can no longer be rendered coherent by subordi­
nation to an underlying harmony, while the
harmony of the piece as a whole is-in Classi­
cal terms-rendered incoherent by subordina­
tion to the dissonance. At best, the juxtaposi­
tion of tonalities that results might be
understood, taking A as the tonic, as a harmonic
articulation of the structural interval of the mi­
nor seventh that underpins the melodic design.
The G-major cadence in mm. 5-6 can be heard
to reach its long-term resolution, or at least un-
14The piece is sometimes said to begin in E minor, but it
would be more accurate to say that it begins as if in E minor.
TheE-minor triads of mm. 1-3 form a static tonal level, not
a key. Though they feint at marking a tonic, their only con­
firmed function is vi of G.
15 Meyer jEmotion and M eaning, p. 95) identifies the D Was
an alteration in D~. It should be noted, though, that this in­
terpretation, which makes sense initially, is never con­
firmed, and so may be illusory. The alteration, if it is that,
has no justification in the voice leading.
149
516 chopin
19TH doing, when its melody makes an essentially
CENTURY note-for-note return in mm. 20-21 in the con­
MUSIC
text of A minor. In each case, the A-B step that
introduces the melodic cadence also completes
the large melodic descent of a minor seventh.
The distribution of the harmonies would thus
seem to be modeled on the intervallic design of
the melodies without reference to the princi­
ples of Classical tonality. And this produces yet
another dialectical irony, since it is the melodic
design alone that links the piece to the Classical
style.
As we would thoroughly expect by now, the
presentation of the disjunctive harmonies con­
forms to the dialectical shaping spirit of the
prelude. In fact, dialectical reversal here re­
places symmetrical resolution as the dynamic
principle of the music.
In its first ten measures, the piece follows
what seems to be a cyclical harmonic process,
more or less as described by Meyer:
G: vi I64 V I iii
D: vi I64 v them under stress from a wide variety of
The submediant chords in this progression pro­
voke uncertainty; the ~ chords impart clarity.
The initial sonorities of G major and D major
only assume their submediant function in the
light of subsequent ~ harmony. The ~ chords,
though unstable as local dissonances, orient
and stabilize the larger harmonic structure.
Following the harmonic collapse of mm. 11-
14, these values are reversed. Clarification now
comes not from a ~ chord but from a fictitious
submediant, namely the French sixth atm. 144,
which stands in for the earlier submediant
chords through the placement of its bass note
on the sixth degree of the minor scale. The
placement is emphasized by the important F#­
F~ step in the bass at mm. 142-.3. A musical pun
of sorts is at work here-Chopin reverts to it
elsewhere in the Preludes-that conceives of a
technically supertonic sonority as an inten­
sified submediant. 16 The French sixth now acts
exactly as the~ chords did in mm. 4 and 9, that
160ther instances are noted in my Music and Poetry: The
Nineteenth Century and After !Berkeley and Los Angeles,
1984), pp. 94, 102.
ISO
is, as a dissonant structural downbeat in which
the music finds its tonal bearings. Concur­
rently, the A-minor~ chord of m. 15 surrenders
that very same role: it joins the forces of destabi­
lization by deferring the resolution of the
French sixth.
This role reversal is subsequently com­
pounded as the ~ harmony, which on both its
earlier occurrences had resolved after only six
beats, is subjected to a long and dissonant pro­
longation. Chopin now opens out the inherent
instability of the chord and converts it to a
source of such drastic tension that the newly
achieved tonic quality of A minor is actually
thrown into doubt.
III
What motivates this web of dialectical rever­
sals, this self-interfering mesh of ironies? One
answer lies in the position of the A-Minor Prel­
ude in the cycle of Preludes as a whole. Part of
Chopin's purpose in the cycle is to confront the
foundations of musical coherence by putting
sourcesY With the A-Minor Prelude, he does
this to the main principle of coherence of the cy­
cle itself, the arrangement of the pieces around a
double circle of fifths that pairs each major key
with its relative minor. The harmonic witchery
of the A-Minor Prelude not only defers the rec­
ognition that the first two pieces form such a
major-minor pair, but by suggesting G major as
a tonic in its opening measures, the prelude
even makes a feint at the wrong circle of fifths, a
single movement along the major keys.
Within the piece itself, Chopin seems to be
pondering the relationship between the lis­
tener, conceived of as an active subject, and the
complex movement of musical time, which is
to say of time as harmonized. By beginning in
medias res with uncertain harmonies and em­
ploying ~ chords to resolve them, Chopin in
mm. 1-7 highlights one of the distinct privi­
leges of tonal music: the establishment of musi­
cal meaning through an integrative process that
combines recollection and anticipation. The
parallel design of mm. 73-9 confirms that this
17 For a full discussion of this aspect of the Preludes, see my
Music and Poetry, pp. 92.-95,99--104.

heightened shuttling before and after the imme­
diate moment is, so to speak, the subtext of the
G-major half of the piece. With the A-minor
half, there is-what else? -a reversal, and per­
haps the most potent one of all. Recollective
movement shatters against the harmonic brick
wall of mm. 11-14, and musical time now
shapes itself by anticipation alone. The French
sixth of m. 14 has no functional relationship to
anything that precedes it. The chord can be rec­
ognized at all only because of its distinctive
whole-tone sonority, and its only role is to de­
mand that A emerge as a tonic. The A-minor t
chord that follows is, of course, equally prolep­
tic; it arouses a harmonic expectation that rises
in intensity to an almost anxiety-laden expect­
ancy as the chord ceases to sound and the man­
datory dominant resolution is deferred. The
slowing of tempo that ensues as the first me­
lodic strain leads aw ay from the dominant
lmm. 17-18) adds a notable turn of the screw.
But the peak of tension, and the astonishing cli­
max of the piece, comes in the full silence that
occupies the second half of m. 19, a moment in
which the musical fabric is constituted entirely
by the listener's heightened anticipation of a
dominant chord. The moment is so super­
charged that more than one pianist has de­
fended against it by holding the pedal down to
the end of the measure.
Anticipation without recollection is a possi­
ble definition of desire. Certainly, the structure
of concentrated anticipation in this piece recre­
ates the tonic of the Classical style in the image
of desire. There is no longer a "home key" that
is lor seems) intrinsic to the music; there is sim­
ply what the ear wants to hear, what it cannot
bear not to hear. And yet, in one last reversal,
the closing cadential pattern is distinctly disap­
pointing when it arrives, muffled by the mo­
tionlessness of its upper voice and depreciated
by the conventionality of its block chords. The
silence in m. 19 ironically informs us that Keats
was right: h eard melodies are sweet, but those
unheard are sweeter. Romantic desire always
expects something . . . else.
IV
Having pushed so far, then, we find that
Chopin's dialectical design in the A-Minor Prel­
ude is meant to relocate the focus of harmonic
action from the object to the subject. This is a
chopin 517
reorientation that is characteristic of many Ro­ LAWRENCE
mantic critiques of language and knowledge, a KRAMER
Chopin's
pattern epitomized by Wordsworth's claim that Prelude in
a world of objects uninvested by subjectivity A Minor
constitutes "a universe of death" (The Prelude,
1850; XIV, 160). But other aspects of the design
remain to be considered; we can go much fur­
ther.
Why, in particular, does Chopin incorporate
his multiple dialectical patterns within a single
continuous texture? And why has he combined
so many different structures, superimposing
them on each other in a kind of loose conceptual
polyphony? One answer lies in a structural
trope that might be called the trope of the im­
possible object-taking the term "object" tore­
fer to the target of powerful feelings, as in the
phrase "object of desire." Objects in this sense
are usually symbolic representations of per­
sons, in which form they figure prominently in
psychoanalysis. What I call an impossible ob­
ject is a self-image or self-expression possessed
of an irrevocable strangeness, by means of
which it attracts or fascinates the self that it
represents.
Perhaps the best introduction to the impos­
sible object is a little parable by Kafka called A
Crossbreed, which tells of a " curious animal,
half kitten, half lamb," who at times "insists al­
most on being a dog as well," and may also have
"the soul of a human being."18 Among many re­
markable things pertaining to his relationship
with this animal, Kafka's narrator singles out
one occasion
when, as may happen to anyone, I could see no way
out of my business problems and all that they in­
volved, and was ready to let everything go, and in this
mood was lying in my rocking chair in my room, the
beast on my knees[.) I happened to glance down and
saw tears dropping from its huge whiskers. Were they
mine, or were they the animal's?"
The presence of the animal, the impossible ob­
ject, represents a surplus of the narrator's sub­
jectivity, and this surplus returns something to
" Franz Kafka, The Complete Stories, ed. Nahum N. Glatzer
!New York, 1976), p. 427.
"Ibid.
151
518 chopin
19TH the narrator that was alienated from him-here
CENTURY the self-regarding sadness that had been cast out
MUSIC
by a self-condemning despair, and that enable&
the narrator to see himself with tearful eyes.
This pattern is ubiquitous in Romantic liter­
ature; two bare examples will have to suffice for
it here. In Wordsworth's Resolution and Inde­
pendence, a speaker beset with anxiety-"the
fear that kills; I And hope that is unwilling to
be fed" -is restored to an earlier state of joy
through his encounter with an impossible ob­
ject, an old leech gatherer who seems "not all
alive nor dead, I Nor all asleep":
Motionless as a cloud the old Man stood,
That heareth not the loud winds when they call;
And moveth all together, if it move at all.
The subsequent dialectic of the poem drama­
tizes the speaker's resistance to having his "hu­
man strength" restored by this strange figure, a
resistance signified by the speaker's repeated in­
ability to hear the old man's answers to his
questions. lit is noteworthy that when Lewis
Carroll parodied this poem in Through the
Looking Glass, it is just this psychological deaf­
ness that he picked on.)
A second example can be taken from E. T. A.
Hoffmann's story A New Year's Eve Adventure,
in which Erasmus Spikher, a man who has lost
his mirror image because of his infatuation with
a demonic mistress, appears to have two faces,
one young, one old. Spikher is both a real person
and a phantasmal mirror image for the narrator,
the Traveling Enthusiast. A victim of erotic de­
lirium, Spikher embodies the Enthusiast's own
supercharged and transgressive sexuality, and
when the Enthusiast looks into a mirror with
Spikher at his side, he sees only his own reflec­
tion looking back at him.
Impossible objects mitigate, by absorbing,
some of the conflicting impulses of an over-full
consciousness, the restless activity of a mind
that, as Wordsworth said, is "beset I With im­
ages, and haunted by itself" !The Prelude, 1850;
VI, 159-60). The strength of this subjectivity is
such that it threatens to sever the ego from the
outer world . The impossible object is, in part, a
projected fragment of the self's incoherence,
and in thatform it takes on an ambivalent fasci­
nation that-at best-reanchors the self to the
world. The ego, to borrow a formula from Freud,
!52
creates in order to avoid falling ill. Freud quotes
Heine:
Krankheit ist wohl der letzte Grund
Des ganzen Schiipferdrangs gewesen;
Erschaffend konnte ich genesen,
Erschaffend wurde ich gesund.
(Sickness provides the final basis
For all creative urgency;
Creating restored me to enjoyment,
Creating restored my health to me. 20)
Impossible objects often appear, at least in the
ego's fantasy, as the reward of such desperate
creation; they have a way of turning up when
needed, by a "peculiar grace," a "something
given" !Resolution and Independence). That is
why, uncanny though they are, the lamb/kit­
ten, the leech gatherer, and Erasmus Spikher all
possess a certain healing power. The leech gath­
erer, the very embodiment of Wordsworth's
fear, is also the very figure who allays that fear.
Not that all impossible objects are like that.
Sometimes they just don't work-and some­
times, like the doll Olympia in Hoffmann's The
Sandman, they work all too well.
Turning to music, we find impossible objects
in their most familiar form not as works prob­
lematical in harmony but as works problemati­
cal in performance. The "transcendental" as­
pect of Romantic virtuosity, the demonic
mystique of Paganini and the demonic/erotic
aura surrounding Liszt, derived in part from the
sense that these musicians were driven to cre­
ate works of superhuman difficulty-objects
impossible to anyone but them. This makes the
identification of the performer as a charismatic,
all-but-indescribable presence essential to the
expressive situation. Schumann recognizes this
when he remarks that "the Viennese, espe­
cially, have tried to catch the eagle [Liszt) in
every way-through pursuits, snares, pitch­
forks, and poems. But he must be heard-and
also seen; for if Liszt played behind the screen, a
20 "0n Narcissism: An Introduction," in Sigmund Freud,
General Psychological Theory, ed. Phillip Rieff !New York,
1963), p. 67. The translation of the Heine quatrain is my
own.

great deal of poetry would be lost.'m The solo,
virtuoso performance of works like Liszt's
"Transcendental" and "Paganini" Etudes thus
becomes a scenario in which the performer ex­
orcises the burden of his excessive passion or
self-consciousness. Schumann describes Chop­
in's own playing in just these terms: "I]w]ould
never forget how I had seen him sitting at the pi­
anoforte like a dreaming seer, and how one
seemed to become the dream created by him
while he played, and how it was his terrible
habit, at the close of every piece, to travel over
the whistling keyboard with one finger as if to
tear himself forcibly from his dream." 22 Even
Brahms felt the allure of this charismatic sce­
nario. Clara Schumann called his "Paganini"
Variations "Witches' " variations for more rea­
sons than one; she knew what their difficulty
signified.
Beyond the matter of performance lies the
question of musical design: of works that are
"impossible" not because they are hard to play
but because they are hard to hear. Chopin's A­
Minor Prelude is a full-fledged impossible ob­
ject in this sense, and like the poetic instances I
have cited, it seems to be implicated in the pre­
dicament of an ego whose subjectivity is so
powerful as to become a source of dread. The
multiple, overlapping, dialectically related
structures that thread the work-and with such
transparency-spell out the self-haunting inco­
herence that needs to be externalized in order
for the subject to regain stability. Chopin
evokes the presence of a Romantic subject by
making sure that the authority of the Classical
style hovers like a memory that the prelude is
trying to banish, but that triumphs in the final
cadence formula. He characterizes that subject
by the plethora of dialectical reversals in the
piece, the hallmark of ironic, disturbed self-con­
sciousness in Romantic literature. Going fur­
ther, we can say that the subjectively motivated
incoherence that becomes articulate within the
impossible object comes to the fore in the insis­
tent dissonance of large open intervals that per­
meates the accompaniment, made all the more
21 Robert Schumann, On Music and Musicians, ed. Konrad
Wolff, t!ans. Paul Rosenfeld )New York, 1969), p. 156.
22 0n Music and Musicians, p. 135.
chopin 519
disturbing for rarely rising above piano. from LAWREN CE
this point of view, the impetus of the work is KRAMER
Chopin's
the working-through and negation of that disso­ Prelude in
A Minor
nance, something that is accomplished placat­
ingly in the places where the accompaniment
falls silent, and that reaches its fulfillment in
the block-chord coda. What becomes satisfying
at the close is not the harmonic resolution,
which as we know has been dialectically sub­
verted, but rather the warm sound-previously
withheld-of full close-position triads in the
dominant progression that precedes the final
full cadence.
v
A further aspect of the dissonance in this
work deserves some commentary. During its
harshest passage, where it ceases to make har­
monic sense, the dissonant accompaniment of
the A-Minor Prelude can be heard as a disrup­
tive interlude between two symmetrical state­
ments of the music's melodic descent. Similar
disruptive interludes, both brief and extended,
are frequent in music between Beethoven and
Mahler, and probably trace their lineage to the
Romanze of Mozart's D-Minor Piano Concerto.
Their presence destabilizes the material that is
recapitulated, in feeling or texture if not in
structure. Even the Cavatina of Beethoven's
String Quartet in Bb Major, op. 130, subtly
heightens the dissonance of its voice-leading af­
ter it emerges from the weird passage marked
beklemmt that intrudes on the movement near
the close.
Thus in the Andantino of Schubert's late Pi­
ano Sonata in A Major, the plaintive opening
gives way to a middle section that mounts inex­
orably to a climax of scarifying violence. The vi­
olence gradually ebbs away, but when the open­
ing returns its melody is doubly disturbed: by a
stabbing counterpoint above and a new, uneas­
ily rocking accompaniment below. The closing
measures avoid, or more exactly dispel, a ca­
dence, and die away deep in the bass on a nerve­
less plagal progression, iv-i (prolonged)-i. The
harmony forms an intimation that the seem­
ingly bygone violence is cyclical, unexhausted.
The plagal progression, right down to its voice­
leading, is identical to the earlier progression
that forms the transition to the disruptive inter­
lude (mm. 65-68).
153
520 chopin
19TH Perhaps the most extravagant instance of this
CENTURY structural pattern occurs in Berlioz's Sym­
MUSIC
phonie fantastique, where the body of the en­
tire third movement forms a disruptive inter­
lude between the English hom solos that frame
it. As Schumann notes, the climax of the move­
ment comes as the idee fixe "undertakes to ex­
press the most fearful passion, up to the shrill
A~ lmm. 96-109], where it seems to collapse in a
swoon. " 23 The alienating difference made by
the fearful passion is then dramatized by the
muttering chorus of four timpani that envelops
the closing solo, replacing the earlier answers of
an off-stage oboe.
The structural trope that works itself out
temporally in music as disruptive interlude and
reinterpreted recapitulation appears in literary
texts as a disturbed or potentially disturbed
reflection, usually some kind of mirror image
that is distorted when the surface in which it ap­
pears is approached or breached. In most cases,
the original sight of the image is idealized by the
spectator, but the disturbance brings about a
change in value, so that the image afterward
comes to evoke loss or frustrated desire. The
disrupted image has the potential to grow in­
creasingly seductive, and even persecutory, as
the desire that it elicits becomes insatiable. Its
role, however, is complicated by the fact that
the subject of Romantic literature often shows a
compulsion to disrupt idealized reflections pre­
cisely in order to set its own desire beyond all
limits.
As with the impossible object, literary ver­
sions of this structural trope are legion. The pro­
totype is probably the image of the eternal femi­
nine that Goethe's Faust sees in the Witch's
Kitchen scene of Faust 1:
What do I see? A form from heaven above
Appears to me within this magic mirror'
Lend me the swiftest of your wings, 0 love,
And lead me nearer to her, nearer!
Alas! but when I fail to keep my distance,
And venture closer up to gaze,
I see her image dimmed as through a haze!
(2429-35)24
Robert Schumann, 11A Symphony by Berlioz," trans.
13
Edward T. Cone, in Berlioz, Fantastic Symphony, ed.
Edward T. Cone, Norton Critical Score (New York, 1971), p.
237.
l 4Goethe, Faust, ed. Cyrus Hamlin, trans. Walter Arndt
!New York, 1976), p. 59.
154
In keeping with what might be called his Ro­
mantic desire for desire, Faust cannot subse­
quently tear himself away from the mirror even
though it makes him "crazy" l"verriickt" -lit­
erally "turned backwards") and arouses an im­
pulse to flee.
A similar pattern appears in Coleridge's pain­
fully embarrassing poem, The Picture, whose
best lines recount the disruption of the image of
the speaker's beloved in a pool:
Then all the charm
Is broken-all that phantom world so fair
Vanishes, and a thousand circlets spread,
And each mis-shapes the other. Stay awhile,
Poor youth, who scarcely dar'st lift up thine eyes!
The stream will soon renew its smoothness, soon
The visions will return' And lo! he stays:
And soon the fragments dim of lovely forms
Come trembling back, unite, and now once more
The pool becomes a mirror. (91-100)
When the mirroring surface restores itself, how­
ever, the idealized image is gone, and the
speaker exhorts himself to intensify his misery
until it becomes a m adness that will reinstate
the image:
Jll fated youth!
Go, day by day, and waste thy manly prime
In mad love-yearning by the vacant brook,
Till sickly thoughts bewitch thine eyes, and thou
Behold'st her shadow still abiding there,
The Naiad of the mirror! (106--11 )
Desire is prized here to the exact measure that it
consumes the desiring ego. It is worth noting in
this connection that when Wordsworth, in Yar­
row Unvisited, is intent upon preventing an
idealized image from being "undone" by reality,
he specifically calls for the persistence of an un­
disturbed reflection: "Let ...
The swan on still St. Mary's Lake
Float double, swan and shadow! [47--48)
Like these episodes from Goethe and Col­
eridge, Chopin's A-Minor Prelude makes a dis­
integrating image the sign of subjective extrava­
gance. The structural symmetry of the melodic
statements highlights the role of the second as a
disturbed reflection-a dissonant, tonally dis­
junct version-of the first. Between the two
statements, the disruptive interlude invests

Chopin's fictive subject with something of the
unqualified longing that exalts Faust and vexes
Coleridge's lovesick youth. Sweeping aside the
cadential process of the opening, the interlude
calls forth the all-too-prolonged ~ climax, with
its purely expectant, purely desiring character.
The harmonic mis-shapings of the interlude
thus carry the sound of willful self-alienation,
the tone of voice of an ego impatient to establish
itself as transcendental, as incapable of final sat­
isfaction or embodiment.
This suggestion is greatly enhanced by Chop­
in's management of expectancy-laden harmon­
ies once the interlude has reached its all-impor­
tant French sixth. Since the normal resolution
of the French sixth is to the dominant, the Shar­
mony that follows-and that haunts the second
melodic statement-has its own impetus to­
ward a dominant resolution powerfully rein­
forced. As I noted earlier, this impetus reaches
its peak in the silent half of m. 19, where height­
ened expectancy alone literally becomes the
music. The failure of m . 20 to provide a resolu­
tion is thus particularly cruel, and exacerbates
desire past the point of satiability. The distorted
image constituted by the melody of this pas­
sage, like the feminine images in Faust's mirror
and Coleridge's pool, appears only in order to
cheat the desire that it sustains.
VI
Perhaps the most pervasive feature of nine·
teenth-century representations of subjectivity
is that they are representations of subjectivity
in action. The Romantic ego is always con-
chopin 521
ceived dynamically, even to the point of disso­ LAWRENCE
lution; it is, as Wordsworth claims, "ever on the KRAMER
Chopin's
watch, I Willing to work and to be wrought Prelude in
upon" (The Prelude, 1850; XIV, 102-03). In this A Minor
essay, I have been concerned to show how the
musical processes of Chopin's A-Minor Prelude
mimic this hyperbolical dynamism-which is
not, I should add, to affirm that the prelude
m eans something about the Romantic ego, or
refers to one. But what kind of discourse, then,
does this produce?-a question one might espe­
cially expect from an analytically-minded
reader.
Cognitively, my statements about the A-Mi­
nor Prelude have the status of claims that music
shares in certain human qualities. This is a kind
of statement that has recently been given a co­
gent defense by Monroe Beardsley.25 Normally,
such statements have the value of an apel(;;u­
as when Schumann remarks that Chopin's Im­
promptu in Ab resembles a Byron poem in its
emotional multiplicity, or David Epstein sees a
Mahler scherzo as an analogue to a psychotic
state. 26 I have tried to advance from this sort of
improvisatory insight to a full-fledged, discipli­
nary criticism by grounding human-quality de­
scriptions in a recognition of several small-scale
generic patterns of subjective action-struc­
tural tropes-that are exemplified in the litera­
ture and music of the early nineteenth century.
Chopin's prelude thus enters into an extensive
Romantic nexus of representational practices,
an ever-expanding network of affiliations that
criticism constitutes as the
discourse of Romanticism.
251 'Understanding Music."
26Schumann, On Music and Musicians, p. 138; Epstein, Be·
yond Orpheus: Studies in Musical Structure (Cambridge,
Mass., 19791, p. 2031quoted by Beardsley, "Understanding
Music," p. SSJ.
!55
 31

On grounding Chopin
ROSE ROSENGARD SUBOTNIK

Autonomy versus contingency

The notion that society lies at the heart of music - at the heart not only of
its significance but also of its very identity - is a notion, I have come to
realize, that is for me not an hypothesis, not a thesis the scientific proof of
which is the goal of my study. In fact I would say that this notion does not
lend itself to any popularly conceived model whereby an inductive investi­
gation of an hypothesis leads to scientific conclusion, whether one thinks
of it as a general notion (the notion that music and society in general are
intimately related) or as any particular version of that notion (say, the
Marxist version, that music takes shape out of some set of underlying eco­
nomic conditions). That is to say, not even the existence of such an
intimacy, much less any particular account of it, is susceptible of scientific
proof through a presentation of facts.
This is why studies based on the notion I describe are so suspect in main­
stream American musicology. The latter remains dominated by positivism,
defined in Webster's second edition as 'A system of philosophy ... which
excludes everything but the natural phenomena or properties of knowable
things, together with their relations of coexistence and succession.' It is a
discipline committed in its materials and methods to a rather old­
fashioned, vulgarized notion of scientific models.
For me, and I suppose for most of the writers in this volume, the notion
of an intimate relationship between music and society functions not as a
distant goal but as a starting point of great immediacy, and not as an
hypothesis but as an assumption. It functions as an idea about a relation­
ship which in turn allows the examination of that relationship from many
points of view and its exploration in many directions. It is an idea that
generates studies the goal of which (or at least one important goal of
which) is to articulate something essential about why any particular music

105
524 chopin

l 06 ROSE ROSENGARD SUBOTNIK

is the way it is in particular; that is, to achieve insight into the character of
its identity. This process involves decisions (which can never be definitive)
as to what constitutes the significant ways in which this music differs from
other forms, even related forms, of human expression.
Critics sometimes complain that authors of studies based on this assump­
tion of social intimacy are not really interested in music but rather in
philosophy or anthropology or some other 'extrinsic' discipline. This criti­
cism is actually two-pronged in that it reveals an insistence on the auton­
omy not only of music but also of musicology, which positivists tend to see
as an extension of the autonomous domain of music itself. As to this latter
notion, I would say it is deceptive, for positivist musicologists do not
derive their methods of study from the music they study any more often
than serious contextualists do; on the contrary, as I hope to show, they do
it less. The real objection here, I believe, is not that contextualists violate .
the autonomy of musicology as a strictly musical undertaking but that they
look to the wrong outside disciplines for help - to philosophy and anthro­
pology rather than to a positivistically conceived model of science.
As to the charge of non-interest in music, it seems to me patently wrong.
No doubt massive collections of facts about a body of music can indicate a
love, at least of some antiquarian sort, of that music. But is love not evi­
dent also in studies which, based on the assumption that society lies at the
heart of the very identity of music, aim at understanding why music is the
way it is? Good contextualist studies start from the music and lead back to
it. In this respect contextualists often resemble Adorno, whose repeated
assaults on the problem of social mediation remained inseparable from a
concomitant, if seemingly contradictory, insistence on autonomy as the
ideal condition of musical structure.
But along the way, of course, in the dialectic that occurs between the
departure from the music and the return to it, serious contextualists grap­
ple with problems that cannot be solved through the mere establishment
of facts or simple models of cause and effect. Typically, contextualists alter­
nate between following the music into its relations with its social context
and reassessing their own method of studying those relationships. Serious
contextualists want to go beyond questions that can be answered through
'His Life and Works' or 'The Music and its Times', studies which, like other
more clearly positivistic studies, may produce information that is useful to
others but need not go beyond the connections implied by 'and' in the
framing of questions or methods.
Serious contextualists try to deal with the relation between music and
society in a way that recognizes the complex questions raised by human
 chopin 525

On grounding Chopin 107

forms of expression and, consequently, the need for methodological
honesty, refinement, and self-critical capacity in the study of those forms.
For example, recognizing, as post-Marxian or post-Freudian scholars do,
that no single principle is likely to find scientific acceptance as the universal
explanation of human forms of expression, serious contextualists do not
thereby renounce, as do positivists, the problem of social mediation as one
worthy of serious study or even, necessarily, the theories of Marx or Freud
as helpful sources of insight into forms of human expression. Rather they
acknowledge that they have hold of an assumption, and of theories and
problems concerning that assumption, that can never be definitively
proved but only asserted, manipulated, stroked, and viewed repetitively
through a series of altered angles, or returned to periodically as patterns of
identity strung through a medium of shifting contexts or perceptions until,
it is hoped, some persuasive pattern of intelligibility emerges.
To be persuasive, of course, an account requires internal rigor; but
though simple scientific models do not supply a basis of rigor for such con­
textualist studies, it does not follow that no such rigor is possible. Scientific
structures are not the only sort that the human mind has fashioned persua­
sively; the rigor of religious systems, for example, has probably exercised
sway over far more human minds than that of scientific models. Nor is
science the only model of study available to serious contextualists. There
are other forms of human expression which suggest that, while it may be
difficult to convey the presence of mental rigor in connections forming pat­
terns other than those of mechanistic causal explanation or empirical
induction, it is not impossible. I think particularly of aesthetic forms of
expression. The persuasive demonstration of such rigor has in fact been a
central agenda of the arts themselves in the past two centuries of Western
history - certainly of music since Beethoven - and the difficulty has not yet
entirely vanquished the arts (though it threatens to) or eliminated them as
credible instruments of human understanding. Criticism, too, tends to
model itself on artistic rather than scientific patterns of connections and
has had an enormous impact on a good deal of twentieth-century thought,
though not on mainstream American musicology. Indeed, I would argue
that the problem of trying to relate music to society is, fundamentally, a
problem of criticism, requiring very much the same sorts of means that one
would take to the interpretation of a literary text.
In choosing science over art as a paradigm for seeking truth, positivist
musicology seems to believe it is safeguarding its double ideal of autonomy
- in the domains of both music and musicology. But is it really safeguard­
ing either? In actuality, the structural autonomy posited as an ideal for
526 chopin

108 ROSE ROSENGARD SUBOTNIK

music by Adorno is extended by the positivist to include a number of

things besides the superficially most plausible autonomous entity, the
composition itself. The positivist definition of musical autonomy includes
music that preceded a composition, the instruments and other material
conditions of performance that figured in composition, and above all the
composer's mind, the iconic status of which is shown by the massive atten­
tion given to sketch studies and especially to the making of so-called
authentic editions.
Such considerations define the autonomy of music for positivist musicol­
ogists. Yet even they seem uneasily aware that this extended definition itself
already involves music in a kind of heteronomy, to use that dreadful and
misleading word, and that in order to work, this extended definition
requires certain kinds of connections that cannot be supplied through the
positivist principles of coexistence and succession.
Consider this passage from the conclusion to a recent highly regarded ·
essay on Chopin: 'Perceptive analysis and comprehension of the sources
and interpretation and evaluation of the music form, or ought to form,
inseparable parts of one line of inquiry. . . . If this article has addressed a
fundamental aspect of source studies in Chopin, work must now take up
the associated issue: the critical reassessment of his music.' 'Work'. But
whose workr And how 'associated'r Time and again we are exhorted at the
end of such an article to go out and synthesize the preceding collection of
facts into some account of the music itself, but we are given no clue how to
approach such a synthesis, much less any reference to non-positivist work
on such a problem.
Or again, consider the material and stylistic sources of music. Positivist
methods can gather genuinely useful facts about instruments, orchestras,
and opera houses; they can quantify certain kinds of similarities and
differences between works; they can prove (though not always disprove)
contact between two composers. But can they- do they - offer us any
theory or account, for example, of how musical influence actually worksr
Judging even from my own experience as a composition student, of crib­
bing the opening to Mendelssohn's 'Reformation' Symphony in total igno­
rance of my theft, I would suspect that influence is an extremely compli­
cated mechanism.
Or again, consider sketch studies. One frequently encounters a defensive
tone in such articles as authors seek to justify the validity of the enterprise,
1 Jeffrey Kallberg, 'Chopin in the marketplace: aspects ofthe international music publishing
industry in the first half of the nineteenth century', Notes, 39 (1983), p. 819. This article
won the Alfred Einstein Award of the American Musicological Society for 1983.
 chopin 527

On grounding Chopin 109

assuring us of their familiarity with the intentional fallacy and respect for
it. 2 The reason for this defensiveness seems to be that here, too, as in the
case of source and style studies, authors sense the inconsistencies within
their received definition of musical autonomy. Likewise they probably
sense the need for modes of connection which might be found in models
they do not know how to construct or to justifY.
Even sketch studies, it seems, which try to do no more than connect a
work with earlier versions of itself- surely the narrowest extension of the
concept of musical autonomy one can imagine - even these studies, to
maintain their own validity, require ultimately a kind of connection­
making which the positivist dares not risk. Outside the characteristically
expansive last paragraph, in which they simultaneously admit and shrink
back from the need to establish connections, positivists avoid asking seri­
ously about such connections. If these scholars took up the challenge of
their own concluding speculations with methodological honesty, they
would soon run up against precisely the same kinds of epistemological and
methodological uncertainties for which they castigate the serious contextu­
alist. Is it any wonder that the positivist, who cannot close the conceptual
gap between the sketch and the work, experiences acute discomfort in the
presence of efforts to close the much larger gap between music and society1
Musical autonomy as the positivist conceives it, I fear, consists less in the
persuasive demonstration of musical autonomy than in the shaping of
scholarly work so as to evade hard thought about autonomy.
The autonomy positivists impute to musicology, as I have already sug­
gested in another context, 3 is no less problematical than that they impute
to music. Even if we suppose, as positivists do, that musicology, though a
legitimate part of the autonomous musical domain, nevertheless cannot
draw its structure from music, and if we accept scientific method as an
appropriate model of autonomy for work in any discipline, it does not fol­
low that all positivist studies conform to such a model. On the contrary,
many a positivist musicological study dispenses with even the simple con­
ceptual framework of hypothesis and conclusion and presents a mere
chronicle or at times even a scarcely disguised list of archival findings, in
which not even verbs, much less connective theories, seem really necessary.

2 See, for example, the conclusion to Philip Gossett's article, 'Beethoven's Sixth Symphony:
sketches for the first movement', jqurnal of the American Musicological Society, 27 (1974),
p. 280.
3 'The role of ideology in the study of Western music', The Journal of Musicology, 2 (Winter,

1983), pp. 1-12.

528 chopin

110 ROSE ROSENGARD SUBOTNIK

Such studies can hardly be said to present a scientifically autonomous

argument.4
Ironically, although positivists reject everything outside of music in order
to keep the study of music pure, they fail to look to music itself for the
incomparable insight it could give into a problem central to their own
work. I mean by this the rigorous and painstaking job of trying to fashion
a persuasively whole structure exactly suited to the character of thcir
materials themselves. Because everything included in a positivist study
must be 'accounted for', eve'tything tends to be treated as equally impor­
tant. No structure is generated to serve the particular needs of materials
because such needs are not seriously considered or defined.
Such conceptual limitations may in some ways actually counteract schol­
arly efforts to preserve for us the original spirit of earlier music. In positivist
studies, for example, questions typically do not arise (because they cannot)
about the inherent purposes and the results of reconstructing textual
accuracy. Achieving textual accuracy is more often than not simply
accepted as an end of musical scholarship, rather than envisioned as one
part of a larger project. But even if we assume that reconstruction of a com­
poser's exact intent is the highest duty of musical study - an assumption
questioned by all the great composers who reworked the compositions of
their predecessors - does it follow that textual accuracy is necessarily the
best means to such a reconstruction?
In preparing this essay, I used my own old edition of Chopin's etudes,
edited in 1916 by Arthur Friedheim. 5 At one point I was struck by a
'rallentando' marking and wondered if it was authentic. This question led
me to Friedheim's preface, which astonished me. Friedheim openly ac­
knowledged altering, omitting, and adding to various received markings in
the music, but not thoughtlessly, or because he thought he could improve
on Chopin's original markings. Rather, he had actually heard some of these
4 Nor is the failure even to approximate structural autonomy limited to such extreme cases.
Insisting on the self-containment of any scholarly problem, the positivist school renounces
recourse to non-musical resources that might help these scholars to make distinctions con­
cerning the importance of their musical materials and to define for them some significance.
This spares them the messiness of trying to establish a dialectical relationship between the
shape of an idea and the diverse materials to which it will be applied. But at the same time,
lacking criteria for characterizing or assessing their materials, such studies, while needing a
form, do not characteristically work out a problem in a genuinely autonomous fashion.
Rather, they typically rely for their structure on models established in preceding studies of
the same kind. This entire discussion is deeply indebted to the ideas of William A. Levine,
a cultural theorist and colleague at the Burroughs Corporation in Chicago, where I worked
at the time this essay was written.
5 This edition was published in New York by G. Schirmer, as vol. VIII of Chopin's complete
piano works.
 chopin 529

On grounding Chopin Ill

works performed by Liszt (and by Anton Rubinstein, who was audibly
influenced by Liszt); and he assumed, reasonably, that these performances
preserved as well as possible Chopin's own spirit. Attempting to preserve
the 'tradition at second-hand' that he had in his mind's ear, he had used the
markings which were most likely to get that rendition from the modern
performer. 6 This is in keeping with Adorno's idea, in 'Bach defended
against his devotees', or more recently, with Richard Taruskin's idea, that to
preserve the essential quality of old music, which requires maintaining its
vitality in our own context, it is sometimes necessary to change the
material conditions of its performance. 7 Is it not possible that the faithful
rendering of Chopin's expressive markings, some of which may now have
altered significance, and which to some extent reflect values different from
ours, could actually bring about performances unfaithful to Chopin's
intent? Positivists do give such matters some consideration at the level of
the immediate editorial decision, but unlike the less scientific Friedheim,
they do not ordinarily address the broader conceptual implications of such
problems, let alone make room for persuasive reinterpretations.
I have no quarrel with the notion that the quality of a work of art is
related in some central, though not necessarily exclusive, way to its persua­
siveness in projecting its own structural wholeness. I have no thought that
enlarging the domain of musicology to include the methodological con­
cerns of contextualists would invalidate the value offormal analysis. Nor do
I have any quarrel with the notion that composers, at least in modern
Western history, experience the working out of a creative problem as a self­
contained exercise, even when their structural solutions or materials seem
actually to be drawn, at least in part, from outside the traditional musical
medium.
I see no fatal contradiction between the acceptance of autonomy, in the
sense of wholeness, as one sort of paradigm for interpreting structure and
the rejection of autonomy as an epistemological ideology. Nor do I view
various composers' experience of their own autonomy as an epistemologi­
cal barrier to my view of their work as something inseparable from its
environment. Rather I see such conflicting concepts as part of a dialectic
that exists not only in art but also in life. In life, too, we tend to experience
the working out of a problem or relationship as a self-contained activity;
our preoccupation with internal relationships tends to distract us from
6 'Introductory', ibid., pp. 1-2.
7 Theodor Adorno, 'Bach defended against his devotees', Prisms, trans. Samuel Weber and
Shierry Weber (London, 1967), especially pp. 142- 6; Richard Taruskin, 'The musicol­
ogist and the performer', Musicology in the 1980s: methods, goals, opportunities, eds. D. Kern
Holoman and Claude V. Palisca (New York, 1982), pp. 101-17.
530 chopin

112 ROSE ROSENGARD SUBOfNIK

observing any connections our works and problems may have to the world
beyond them.
And yet upon reflection, such experiences often make more sense to us
viewed as elements of patterns which are presented, repeated, varied, or
returned to in the course of our lifetime, precisely as patterns are treated in
art and in aesthetically modeled studies. In fact I would argue that the
structure of art and the experience of life support each other in ways that
affirm the value of serious contextual studies. On the one hand, the pat­
terns of problem-solving provided by art seem well designed as models for
trying to impose coherence on - to make sense of- our experience. 8 And
on the other hand, though our reflection on experience cannot pretend to
a scientific sort of rigor, we are certainly in a strong position to judge the
adequacy of our reflections to the undeniable hardness of our experienced
reality itself.
And our reflected experience, I believe, gives us ample support for the
notion that even as we define problems and relationships in apparent
autonomy, we are reflecting complex interactions with society of which we
are largely unconscious, and for which the most useful metaphor of expla­
nation is not the simple one of cause and effect but the more complicated
assertions and intertwinings of art. In terms of my own life, I think of the
shock I experienced in coming to realize that the decisions I had made
about bringing up my own children (involving patterns I had imposed on
them and relationships I had developed with them), decisions which I had
experienced as being drawn from an instinctive, very personal set of values,
were highly characteristic of parents in my generation. Why? Was it because
we were all reacting against the 'defects' of an identical inherited set of
child-rearing values (how did those become identical?)? Because we were all
working parents? Because we were all living through the same technological
revolution?
Not even the most sophisticated statistical methods could sort out these
elements into their 'correct' causal proportions, let alone establish con­
clusively their connection to my problem-solving as a parent. And yet
clearly there were patterns out there in society that exactly paralleled not
only the materials- the values - I brought to my activities as a parent but
also the shapes of the decisions and relationships I defined. Here was a per­
sonal example of the mysteries of mediation, unscientific, and yet not
necessarily less real, or less worthy in an epistemological sense of further
exploration than were Piaget's observations of his own children. If I could
8 See especially in this connectio n the study by Phyllis Rose, Parallel ilves: five Victorian marri­
ages (New York, 1983), p. 6.
 chopin 531

Ongrounding Chopin 113

look into the future and hear the account given by some contextualist
historian of this phenomenon, I could judge out of the hardness of my
own experience whether his or her account made any sense of reality. This
does not mean I would, or in fairness could, limit future explanations to
my own perspective; but surely this ability to judge would validate the
historian's very attempt to connect my actions to a context of which I may
have been unconscious. Should not our own attempts have the same
legitimacy in our studies of composers past?

Contingency in Chopin

Chopin at first blush seems to most of us an unlikely candidate to propose

for any study aimed at countering the notion that music is purely autono­
mous. Certainly his music seems to satisfy criteria for autonomy on a
number oflevels. Most obviously it is mainly instrumental music, meaning
it does without both voice and word, those two obtrusions of the human
presence which drag music down so heavily into our own mundane world
and out of the ethereal realm where early German Romantics imagined it
existing as a kind of disembodied significant form. This absence is felt not
as a renunciation, such as that implied by Mendelssohn's title Songs without
Words, but as a simple and rather persuasive fact of independence. Indeed,
the instrumental source is largely confined to a single instrument, the
piano, which is likely to exist in the performer's home, so we can say that
even in the most external sense, Chopin's music requires relatively few
social resources, though of course it does require some.
Chopin's music, furthermore, is basically non-functional. llue, certain
works, notably the etudes and preludes, are often, though certainly not
always, used as a means of improving the performer's skill. This is a time­
honored function of music, and yet it does not seriously threaten the
characterization of Chopin's music as autonomous at the level of which
I am speaking. At most, in Chopin's case, this function seems merely a
minor variant of the ideal of autonomy; the principal effect of these works
is no more pedagogical than that of the other music which the instrumen­
talist's enhanced skill may serve. On the contrary, even the preludes and
etudes can readily be taken as designed to pass through time, or perhaps to
define it, in an aesthetically pleasing way. (One is never surprised to find a
Chopin study piece in a recital of music designed for just this seemingly
autonomous purpose of self-presentation, whereas a Clementi etude or
even a Bach invention may seem a bit out of place on such an occasion.)
532 chopin

114 ROSE ROSENGARD SUBOTNIK

Certainly Chopin's music does not strike us as dedicated to state occasion

or the glory of God. True, we happen to know the absence of such func­
tion from outside sources, but it is also the case that Chopin's piano pieces
help define or at least conform to the shape and sound of a genre which can
readily be interpreted, even without external knowledge, as essentially aes­
thetic, as opposed to functional, in character. Moreover, though it would
not be true to say that listeners, either in Chopin's time or since, never
associate Chopin's works with places, events, or other things outside of
them- a point to which I shall return later- in our own time, at least, such
associations are not thought necessary to make sense of those works.
Finally, Chopin's music seems autonomous to us in the sense that each
piece seems to have a sensuous identity, a 'personality', so to speak, of its
own. This sensuous distinctiveness does not seem to motivate the form
of eighteenth-century music in quite the same way. One could argue plau­
sibly, I believe, that with perhaps some noteworthy exceptions, typically ·
tending towards a post-Baroque expressiveness (such as the Prelude in Bb
Minor in the Well-tempered Clavier, book I), Bach's preludes and fugues
carve out a sensuous identity to some extent in spite of themselves. In
other words, the achievement of such an identity does not seem to be what
these works are principally after. Or again, even within the keyboard works
ofFrans:ois Couperin or Rameau, works of a palpably aesthetic rather than
functional character, it is not difficult to imagine mistaking one piece for
another. Neither of these situations characterizes Chopin's music.
And yet the very nature of this last sort of autonomy - sensuous distinc­
tiveness - must give us pause. Some time ago I published an analysis of
Chopin's Prelude No. 2, the notorious A Minor, arguing that it repre­
sented a turn away from a belief in the possibility of truly autonomous
intelligible structures, structures able to present wholly in themselves a self­
evident (and hence universally intelligible) meaning. 9 I argued not only
that this work failed to achieve such genuine internal structural autonomy
-in my view all works ultimately fail in this respect- but more significantly,
that the piece did not even project such autonomy as an aesthetic ideal. At
the time one critic accused me of setting up a straw man by choosing a
piece that was atypical of nineteenth-century music. This criticism surprised
me, for although it is clear that there is something especially distinctive
about this piece (all Chopin's pieces are distinctive but some are more dis­
tinctive than others?) I would have said it was not atypical but merely
9 'Romantic music as post-Kantian critique: Classicism, Romanticism, and the concept of the
semiotic universe', On criticizing music: five philiJsophical perspectives, ed. Kingsley Price (Balti­
more, 1981), pp. 87-95.
 chopin 533

On grounding Chopin 115

extreme. I thought this piece pushed to the outer limits characteristics that
were very typical of Romantic music, and that for precisely this reason, as
Walter Benjamin suggested more generally about extreme examples, 10 it
made a good locus of style study. At any rate, I would like now to continue
that line of analysis with reference to other, less controversially characteris­
tic pieces by Chopin.
What perhaps is unusual about the Prelude No. 2 is this: its sensuous
identity is so powerful that it threatens to overwhelm another sort of iden­
tity which we typically associate with Chopin's music, and which ordinarily
defines a more fundamental, even ultimate ground or context for making
sense of a Chopin piece. I mean, of course, Chopin's compositional iden­
tity itself. The Prelude No. 2 is unusual in that one can imagine (at least up
tom. 17) not being sure the piece is by Chopin at all. On the whole this is
not true of Chopin's music. We hear a work by Chopin, and our first
impression, which remains throughout the piece as a kind of grounding
principle, is that we are hearing a piece by Chopin.
This is no tautology. I do not deny that other composers achieved styles
in the centuries before Chopin: I am told that Renaissance scholars can
easily identifY Josquin, and I myself have forced undergraduates to identifY
Dufay on listening exams. Still this is a rather specialized sort of experience.
Likewise, it is possible to follow the structure of a work by Bach without
having the listening experience overshadowed by the awareness of Bach's
identity. And no matter how distinctive the most characteristic gestures of
each may be, we can at least imagine confusing moments of Handel and
Bach, or of Haydn and Mozart. Even Beethoven's personality, it could be
argued, is grasped only secondarily to a sense of his energy, propulsiveness,
and scale; that is, it is possible to imagine the experience of even a charac­
teristic middle-period work preceding our recognition of Beethoven's
authorship - if only there were a few such movements left that we did not
already recognize! By contrast, it seems to me, the first sense we make of
Chopin's music is almost always, to use the words of Robert Schumann
who pointed this out repeatedly: 'This is by Frederic Chopin.'11
I have sometimes been thought to look down on Romantic music, 12 and

° For a discussion of this issue see Charles Rosen, 'The origins of Walter Benjamin', New York
1

Review ofBooks, 24 (10 November 1977), p. 33.

11 Essay on the twenty-four preludes, Op. 28, Robert Schumann, On music and musicians, ed.
Konrad Wolff (New York, 1946), p. 138. In another review (Neue Zeitschrift for Musik,
9 (1838), 178) Schumann writes: 'Chopin can hardly write anything now but that we feel
like calling out in the seventh or eighth measure, "It is by him!"' From Leon B. Plantinga,
Schumann as critic (New Haven, 1967), p. 230.
12 See Lawrence Kramer, 'The mirror of tonality', 19th Century Music, 4 (1981), p. 192.
534 chopin

116 ROSE ROSENGARD SUBOTNIK

certainly there is a school of thought that sees the establishment of this sort
of personal identity in music as a sign of structural weakness. Again I am
speaking of Adorno, with whom my work is often associated. For Adorno
the highest achievement of music would be to define and resolve a struc­
tural problem, on a purely structural plane, uncorrupted by society.
Adorno would have agreed with me that this is in practice an impossible
achievement, but he associated the notion, rightly I believe, with Classi­
cism in the sense that the ideal of such an achievement formed a con­
stituent principle of the Classical style.
But I have never shared Adorno's negative judgment towards the music
that followed Beethoven. On the contrary it seems to me that if one must
make value judgments, then there is something very positive to be said
about the Romantic style in general - the very thing, incidentally, that
makes me see in the Romantic musical structure a more useful model for
modern humanistic scholarship than those provided by Enlightenment
paradigms of scientific universality. It can be argued that Classicism aimed
at a high ideal of human universality, in which all rational structures would
be self-evident without recourse to a supplementary knowledge of particu­
lar individuals, circumstances, or cultures. But I believe it is also true that
Romanticism gave honest voice to the dawning recognition by modern
Western society that such universality did not characterize human reality.
Increasingly since Romanticism the human universe of discourse has been
understood as an aggregate of relationships among discrete, particular
individual consciousnesses, cultures, and values in which humans need
always to decipher each other's meanings, whether in the case of the
Rosetta Stone, a musical composition, or a television ad, using whatever
external knowledge and coherent patterns of fragments they can find. In
composing music that seems to require of the listener prior knowledge of
Chopin's authorship, Chopin seems to me, like the very different Mahler
decades later, to affirm that we draw meaning from another's expression not
only from its inner structure but also from its sensuous qualities and from
our knowledge of (and reaction to) the particular context in which it
originated.
Furthermore I would add that within such a context of sensed fragmen­
tation, it took great courage for Chopin to persist in efforts to create gener­
ally comprehensible structures of sound. It also took great ability to create
a personal style which succeeded in functioning as a ground of meaning for
large portions of society far removed from Chopin and his culture.
In the entire history of Western music, even allowing for the fact that at
least in modern times it has generally been easier for composers outside the
 chopin 535

On grounding Chopin ll7

Italo-German center to project distinctiveness of style as a central value, I
think it fair to say that no composer has ever exceeded the extent to which
Chopin infused the listening experience with his own identity, and that
very few have matched it. And where I would agree with Adorno is in his
implicit suggestion that music dependent in any fundamental way on the
identity of its composer for its general intelligibility is not to be character­
ized as autonomous music.
For this sort of dependence is something rather different from that iden­
tity of the composer's mind and his works that positivist scholars define as
autonomy in their studies of autographs and sketches. This dependence
shifts attention to the composer not as an ultimate arbiter of textual
accuracy but as a particular individual in a particular cultural situation
existing outside of the music; and it shifts the center of meaning away from
the enterprise of self-generating structure, which more than mere whole­
ness is what I understand by autonomy. Those who take my denial of
Chopin's autonomy as a criticism ought perhaps to rethink their own
criteria for compositional excellence. My observation casts no aspersions on
Chopin as a craftsman but is, simply, a characterization Qf his style, of the
means he used to create the style, and of the kinds of meaning and value I
think can be imputed to that style. I simply do not think that Chopin's
music is about, or intends to be about, the problem of creating autono­
mously intelligible structures. Certainly he took the trouble to give his
works a generally intelligible shape, but I do not believe his pieces are to be
understood as efforts to create a whole out of self-contained means.
What I do think Chopin's music is about - and I think this is true not
only of the Prelude No. 2 but also of his music more generally - is some­
thing quite different. I think what this music does primarily is to recognize
the reality of the contingent. I think it accords hard reality to the concrete,
to the physical, to the particular; to the discrete, to the here-and-now, no
matter how arbitrary, ephemeral, or fragmentary. And I think the problem
of Chopin's music is how to achieve intelligibility with materials so defined
- how to make persuasively intelligible structures which acknowledge the
reality of the contingent at a multiplicity of levels. Saying Chopin used
tonality to insure intelligibility does not do justice to his solution to this
problem. Certainly he still benefited from tonality; but to avoid irreparable
contradiction within his own stylistic context, Chopin had to use tonality
in a way that did not allow its promise of self-evident intelligibility to over­
shadow his assertion of the contingent. This meant working against or
in spite of the communicative virtues of tonality to a certain extent,
emphasizing its cultural and sensuous particularity over its capacity for
536 chopin

118 ROSE ROSENGARD SUBDrNIK

abstract structural logic. The center of Chopin's intelligibility, I believe, lies

not in his tonal architecture but in his successfully projected and explicitly
sensuous interweaving of the fragmentary and particular against a lingering
background of tonal tension, which is now only secondary as a source of
connection or 'explanation'. This sort of interweaving is extraordinarily
difficult; it requires the composer to persuade his audience that the con­
nections and relationships between contingent elements are rigorous, even
necessary. The compulsiveness with which Chopin continuously polished
his works, in some cases even after publication, lends credence to this
vision of this style. 13 Chopin seems, like Beethoven before him, to have
had a compulsive need to 'get it right', a need which is bound to be para­
mount in a society which no longer endorses general standards of intel­
ligibility, and in which successful communication seems to depend on the
eloquence of the individual.
Within such an enterprise, it seems to me, the achievement of an inter­
nally generated wholeness is an irrelevant criterion of musical value, for this
sort of achievement has been abandoned as a possible or even desired goal
of the composition. Rather, the shape of an independently existing physical
entity is recognized as ultimately particular, not universal, and therefore
contingent, not eternal, precisely the way in which its component details
are recognized. Therefore it is perfectly consistent with the character of the
undertaking for the composer to impose recognizable limits, signs of
wholeness, from without. He need do no more than create generally plau­
sible outer shapes and conclusions in order to avoid the really brute,
arbitrary physical independence that emerges, say, when a symphony
orchestra presents snippets of the classics to an audience of underestimated
children. As long as the sensuous experience of the piece remains absorbing
- and it does in no small measure because this sensuous quality can be
identified as the product of a real, known person - it will be accepted as a
plausible whole even if this wholeness is not projected as internally gener­
ated. What Chopin demonstrates rather explicitly is that structure need
not be internally generated to be perceptibly coherent.
Stated another way, it is aesthetically acceptable if a piece by Chopin is
internally fragmentary. That is a part of its particular kind of wholeness.
And precisely because this is music in which style is of greater importance
to intelligibility than is form, much of the same value can be obtained from
the fragments or details of Chopin's pieces as from the whole. Thus the
opening of the well-known Etude in E Major (Op. 10, No. 3) is not a
13 T hough it attempts no theoretical interpretation of this characteristic, Kallberg's 'Chopin'
(seen. l) provides many useful examples of it.
 chopin 537

On grounding Chopin 119

statement of a harmonic premise that will unfold itself but a self-contained
section which leads nowhere and could well stand, with just a few rhetor­
ical changes, as an independent piece, plausible in structure and intelligible
as an experience of sense or color.

Ex. 1: Op. 10, No.3, mm. 1-21

538 chopin

120 ROSE ROSENGARD SUBOTNIK

The fact that it goes on to something else is, and is experienced as,
arbitrary. Were the piece to end atm. 21, that decision, too, would be
arbitrary. What we have here is a sensuous fragment. The decision to con­
tinue the piece increases the values it offers us quantitatively but does not
really change them qualitatively. It would not ravage the sense of the piece
to end it here as it would to end at the corresponding point in a Mozart
structure. For the balanced tension Mozart maintains between physical
immediacy and structural implication, even in the most sensuous slow
movement, is in this passage of Chopin's, not atypically, undercut by the
overwhelming presence of the here-and-now.
Much the same quality of arbitrary self-containment is heard in the fol­
lowing fragment from Chopin's Ballade in G Minor (Ex. 2), which has even
less of a conventional tonal function than the E Major opening just
described. Is it a 'second theme'? Its key is Eb, not the relative major m,
which the modulatory 'bridge' (and Classical convention) leads us to
expect; and it is not experienced as a polar magnet to the opening. Rather,
it makes sense as a coloristic contrast to the passage immediately preceding
and as the bearer of certain motivic fragments of melody that recur
throughout the work.
 chopin 539

On grounding Chopin 121

Ex. 2: Ballade in G Mino~; mm. 67-82

540 chopin

122 ROSE ROSENGARD SUBGrNIK

Later, after numerous fireworks and a scale descending the length of the
keyboard, it returns fortissimo, in the same key, m, with a syncopated
rhythm and rapid accompaniment. The contrast to its opening delicate
character is thrilling, especially for the player, and cannot be fully
appreciated out of context. Yet in structural terms, this return is purely
arbitrary; nothing requires it. What Chopin has accomplished is the illu­
sion, through almost purely coloristic means, that the connection he
asserts between two passages is not only intelligible but inevitable. Yet in
what does this connection consist except the varied return, in changing
context, of a self-contained fragment?
Not all the details conveying intelligibility in 'Chopin's works have the
degree of plausible self-containment of the passages just cited; many are
more openly fragmentary. Yet they are intelligible, and more to the point,
in contrast to Mozart's fragments, they are as fragments perceptibly all that .
they can be. Take, for example, the passage that leads back to the opening
of the Etude in E Major (Ex. 3), the so-called retransition.
Ex. 3: Etude in E Major, mm. 54-62
 chopin 541

On grounding Chopin 123

In a classical work, such a passage is defined above all functionally (though
again, Mozart, as I have argued elsewhere, 14 unquestionably begins to
undermine this functional priority in his marked attention to the sensuous
surface of his music at precisely such points). It has been said that such a
passage in a characteristic Classical structure can instantly be located by the
listener because of its clear functional definition.
This is not true of the passage at hand. When I first thought of writing
this essay, it was this particular passage that came to mind, and not its func­
tion within the piece but its internal character. Here, if ever, it seemed to
me, was music about the here-and-now. One could listen to it and suspend
caring about where it is coming from, where it is going, whether it ever
ends.
Tiue, it has the main harmonic feature of a functioning retransition, a
dominant pedal point (on B). Further, one can point to many features in
this passage that by convention signify the impending return of the
tonic. 15 And certainly one could not deny that the eventual return of the
tonic in the reprise (m. 62) is experienced, on the level of harmonic logic,
as providing closure.
And yet I would argue that the return to an all-powerful, all-clarifying,
all-resolving tonic is not the primary focus of attention in this passage.
However necessary harmonic coherence may be to achieving the primary
focus, that focus itself is on the dense, leisurely, undulating, and iridescent
quality of the so-called musical 'surface'. It is on the manipulation, the
stroking, the luxuriant ornamentation, and the repetitive examining of
something concrete, particular, and unchanging in a succession of slightly
altered contexts. It is on the simultaneous experience of sameness and
constant change, and on the imputation of reality to both the concreteness
and the ephemerality of the particular. 16
To me, this focus is so strong as to be prior to any formal musical analy-

14 'Evidence of a critical world view', Music and civilization: essays in honor ofPaul Henry Lang,
ed. Edmond Strainchamps and Maria Rika Maniates (New York, 1984), pp. 29-43.
15 In the bass, for example, one can note the propulsive lowered-VI to V pattern (on Cq to B).

In the melodic line, always so crucial in Chopin's definition of structure, one can point out
the movement downward, essentially by step, towards the tonic; the repetitive circling of
the leading-tone, D#; the prolonged postponement of a conclusive cadence on the tonic, E;
and the increasing truncation of the melodic patterns (stretto). In terms of chordal texture,
one can point to the recurring stress on dissonance which gives way at the last possible
second (m. 61) to clear consonance.
16 Ironically, this music points, among other things, to the positivist relations of succession

and coexistence or what Comte himself called 'succession and resemblance' (as quoted in
the entry on Comte in the Encyck;pedia ofphiwsophy (New York, 1967), II, p. 174) . This is
not so surprising since the two men lived in France at the same time, in a century that came
to be dominated by certain aspects of empiricism.
542 chopin

124 ROSE ROSENGARD SUBOTNJK

sis. 17 In part this impression derives from a feature of Chopin's style that I
have elsewhere analyzed in detail: his replacement of implicative or causal
Classical structures (such as antecedent-consequent) with a reliance on dis­
crete 'analogy' - on parallel segments and layers - that turns attention away
from propulsive relationships to the immediacy of the moment. 18 On a
local level, for example, one could point to the numerous adjacent, mosaic­
like particles consisting of strong-beat dissonance and momentary resolu­
tion, or to the immediate presentation, in mm. 55 and 57, of ornamented
repetitions, which throw substantive weight, sustained throughout the
passage, on the triplet figure in the bass.
Especially characteristic of Chopin in this respect is the way in which
mm. 56-7 present themselves as an analogue (rather than a consequent or
resolution) to mm. 54-5 . TI-ue, the two pairs of measures have the melodic
alteration characteristic of tonal 'correction'; and true, the bass line in the
later pair contains no counterpart to the dominant Bin the bass ofm. 55 . ·
Nevertheless, these measures have other features which suggest the later
pair primarily as a rough transposition (or, in structuralist terms, 'trans­
formation') of the earlier one. Not only are the two segments equal in
length (which would also be the case with antecedent and consequent) and
parallel in melodic shape. In addition, the tenor line in the later pair offers
the same lowered-VI to V movement (but this time on Gq-H, with the
new goal, B, now simultaneously anticipated in the bass), and the same
melodic movement downward, essentially by step, towards a goal (but
again, here B rather than the E of the previous two measures).
Furthermore, even the harmonic structure of these measures has analogi­
cal aspects that work against the conventional function of drive towards the
tonic. One might suppose, looking at the bass line of the score, that the
presence on strong beats first ofB (mm. 55-6) and then ofE (mm. 56-7)

17 David Josephson of Brown University, whose help in preparing this essay was invaluable,
differs sharply with my perception of this passage. For him, the functional pull of the pas­
sage outweighs its static sensuousness, which he concedes is substantial. He characterizes
this passage as a study in intensified avoidances. This difference in interpretation, I would
argue, which reflects no disagreement about the structural 'facts', cannot be settled by any
reference to the musical text. (Josephson would also disallow interpretations based on a
post-facto knowledge of culture, whereas I believe such interpretations are not only inevi­
table but also, within limits of responsibility, desirable. In my view it is counterproductive
to invest any text with the authority of an autonomous meaning, independent of its
dialectical relation reception.)
18 See 'Romantic music as post-Kantian critique', especially pp. 91-2. I was startled recently to

learn that at the time this article appeared some colleagues took issue with its failure to
'explain' Chopin's Prelude No. 2 as a study in 'the circle offifths'. I had hoped it was clear that
this analysis was trying to deconstruct such conventional labels, that is, to bore through their
often dulling effect on actual musical experience.
 chopin 543

On grounding Chopin 125

defines the pattern of closure (V to I) common in antecedent-consequent
construction. Yet the effect of the later two measures is one not of closure
but of indeterminate continuation. In actuality, both melody and bass are
harmonically ambiguous in mm. 56-7, pointing simultaneously toE and
B in ways that may contradict each other (such ambiguity, as well as
conflict between layers, is typical of Chopin). And at a crucial point the
harmony supports a hearing of the later passage as an analogue in B to the
earlier one in E. For the bass note E in mm. 56-7, though technically part
of a dominant-tonic cadential formula, is experienced as a passing sub­
dominant on its way to B. In other words, playing upon the conventional
ambiguity of the plagal relationship, Chopin presents the conventionally
definitive V-I cadence in the bass as devoid of the force needed to effect
persuasive resolution, and hollowed of any certainty except the identity of
the pitches themselves (B and E). This means, of course, that the status of
E as a tonic is suggested here as contingent. Indeed, one's reaction to the
premature return of the tonic at this point, in sharp distinction to the effect
of corresponding moments in Beethoven's middle-period work, is one of
indifference. 19 'So whatr' one might say, or 'Plus ~a change, plus c'est la
meme chose.'
One might even refer the entire retransition to the notion of analogy at a
larger structural level: to the extent that its boundaries are emphasized, the
passage as a whole suggests itself as a discrete and equal counterpart to
other sections of the etude. And the argument can be made that this pas­
sage is jagged at both its ends.
The break at the opening is clear. After a pause following the extreme
pitch of unresolved hysteria reached by this piece, the retransition simply
takes up as if to answer a cry for help with the words, 'Now another thing.'
Although the retransition may well be meant to soothe the preceding out­
burst, it does not really resolve it, least of all on any commensurate level of
rhetorical passion. Far more, the import of the retransition seems to be,
'Are you throughr Now as I was saying.' In effect the retransition seems to
argue that here, in contrast to our image of the Classical development sec­
tion, even a passage which attains extreme tension has no privileged claims
on structure. Such a passage cannot count with certainty on altering
irrevocably the ensuing action or on reaching resolution; rather than mov­
ing towards a self-determined destiny, it is just another section. The join at
the end of the retransition may appear seamless. Yet here, too, especially in
19 Unlike the self-absorption in the sensuousness of the moment or even the inescapable
world-weariness suggested by Chopin's use of this device, the precipitate and explosive
return of the tonic m on the horns just prior to the first-movement recapitulation in
Beethoven's 'Eroica' seems anything but anti-climactic.
544 chopin

126 ROSE ROSENGARD SUBOfNIK

conjunction with the melodic phrasing in Friedheim's edition, one ex­

periences between the D# ofm. 61 and theE ofm. 62 a palpable moment
of discreteness. One has the sense that something of importance is being
left behind, as the music leaves to take up a different, but no more
privileged activity. In short, given the clarity of its boundaries as well as the
intense focus on its internal content, it does not seem far-fetched to con­
strue the retransition as a sensuous fragment.
What I am arguing is that in this passage, techniques and ambiguities that
were formerly used unequivocally as means to a harmonic end are well on
their way to becoming a sensuous end in themselves. The harmonic func­
tion of this retransition is so challenged by considerations of color and
identity that harmonic function itself has given way, in no small degree, to
harmonic identity and thus, ultimately, to sensuous color. Even the early
return of the tonic is experienced here as just another coloristic element, a
change rung on the basic recurring melodic pattern. We have here some­
thing very much of the physical world, inertia (defined by Webster, in part,
as 'the property of matter by which it will remain . . . in . . . motion . . .
unless acted upon by some external force').
Indeed, it is the rhetorical, harmonically extrinsic devices of melodic
stretto and literal deceleration that ultimately serve to wind down this
recalcitrant passage, forcing it finally to give way to tonal authority.
Nevertheless, the sensuousness of the repetition in the last half of the
passage is so mesmerizing that the anticipatory interest in the 'actual' return
of the tonic very nearly disappears. One could almost imagine being hap­
pier without it, especially if one had the choice of lingering forever on the
leading-tone D#, which 'hangs' far more than it 'leads' here. Certainly it is
not difficult to extrapolate from this passage the possibility of musical
movement so narcissistic, or so effete, as to turn the very category of resolu­
tion into an irrelevancy.
Of course, the tension is not altogether gone. We are not yet in the
wholly atemporal, post-tonal, even existential realm of Debussy (or Satie),
where we are given the here-and-now with hardly the memory of a hope of
anything beyond. Much of the poignance we feel so keenly in passages by
Chopin such as this one comes from the remaining ability of tonality, now
a ghost of its former self- unable to produce or even promise the encom­
passing wholeness and progress of functionality - to let us know that the
thickness of the present physical moment will not last; the awareness of the
impermanence is as real as the physical immediacy. Indeed, this awareness
is a part of the physical immediacy, a function of it, an intrinsic element in
its definition. It is in part this very use of tonal function, largely fragmented
 chopin 545

On grounding Chopin 127

into tonal physicality, that tells us that the balance between the optimism
of functional structure and the uncertainty of physical immediacy has
shifted towards the latter. 20
This same technique of repetition is used often by Chopin at various
points in his composition. It appears characteristically, for example, in the
coda of the Berceuse21 (Ex. 4) .

Ex. 4: Berceuse, mm. 47-63

20 At the time this paper was delivered, Susan McClary suggested a sexual interpretation of the
analysis just given. Chopin's music, she noted, is often characterized as effeminate. Could
this not be, in part, because its lingering sensuousness at such typical moments, in contrast
to the masculine Beethovenian climax, evokes and affirms the quality and the rhythm con­
ventionally associated with female sexuality? This imagery, once offered, lends itself almost
irresistibly to many aspects of nineteenth-century musical style (not least the critique, sug­
gested in so many Romantic compositions, of the no-nonsense ending).
21 It has been pointed out that the putative function of the Berceuse, that of lulling a baby to
sleep, could account for the technique of repetition at this point in this piece. The obvious
value of this interpretation should not be allowed to obscure the need for further reflection
on the significance of a device so pervasive in Chopin's music. An argument could be made,
for example, fur a dialectical relationship between the device described and the genre of the
berceuse. The genre may welcome the device; but the sensibility that constantly fashions
the device may also account for an attraction to a genre drawn from the womanly domain
of experience.
546 chopin

128 ROSE ROSENGARD SUBOTNIK

Ex. 4: (cont.)
 chopin 547

On grounding Chopin 129

And the entire Prelude No. 4 in E Minor seems to be built in the same ·
way, as a study of means by which to make sense of the fragmentary. Here
also the experience of repetition in an endlessly shifting harmonic (or, more
accurately, coloristic) context, the arbitrary decision to repeat the first
section in order to get beyond its fragmentary condition, and the externally
imposed, rhetorical, or dramatically expanded means with which the
second part varies the first all point to a conception of the compositional
problem not as the task of achieving the self-generation of form but as that
of wresting sense from the intrinsically fragmentary. They point to a sensi­
bility which recognized the ultimate reality as well as the contingency of
the here-and-now, along with the tragic implications for humanity of a
world vision in which the real is not the eternal but the transient.

Conclusion

These remarks, I know, open up more questions than they answer. For
example what, more particularly, was the relationship of Chopin's music to
the rest of his culturd And how can we go about trying to determine the
significant ways in which Chopin's music resembled, as well as differed
from, the other art of its culture in its principles and values?
It could be argued that what Chopin's Prelude No. 2 was to his own
oeuvre, Chopin's oeuvre itself was to European art of the time, that is, the
achievement of an extreme in which the cultural values at work can be
most clearly deciphered. And this was not just an extreme in any old sense.
It was an extreme in the sense of creating a personal style; and herein lies an
important clue, I believe, to Chopin's historical significance, at least from
our current vantage point. In successfully projecting his individuality,
Chopin embodied in his music something paradigmatic of Romantic cul­
ture: the existential and in a sense even the essential priority it gave to the
contingent, the concrete, the individual. But Chopin's particular achieve­
ment, his style, signifies even more than this for us. For style is the very
medium through which modern Western culture decodes meaning in
structure, as epitomized in the cliche of our times, 'The medium is the
message.' It could be said that Chopin's achievement helped mark a shift in
Western thought away from metaphysical beliefs, and even away from com­
plete confidence in the innate rationality of structure, or hence ultimately,
I would say, from confidence in the universal rationality of science. It
helped to mark a shift away from all these things towards a fragmented,
essentially aesthetic view of human reality. We take it for granted today in
548 chopin

130 ROSE ROSENGARD SUBOfNIK

many areas of our lives that the achievement of a personal style signifies
competence, fluency, and eloquence - that is, a mastery of what is some­
times, rather inelegantly, called communication skills; but this was not
always an assumption in Western culture, which previously associated such
skills far more closely with metaphysical vision or powers, with the mastery
of conventional rhetoric or craftsmanship, or with logical clarity.
To obtain a more integrated view of Chopin's stylistic relationship to his
culture, one would want to establish, I would argue, some dialectical sort
of movement between Chopin's musi) and various other selected struc­
tures in his society, seeing the extent to which patterns discerned in his
work seemed relevant to those in other structures and bringing back from
the latter still other patterns to test against Chopin's compositional strate­
gies. One would want to give further attention to critical methods being
developed in other disciplines. For such work to go forward beyond the
level of suggestion I have offered here, American musicology would have to
develop a respect, comparable to that it gives the unearthing of empirical
data, for the kind of scholarship which demands from its outset an ongoing
interpenetration of theory and fact. This could result, finally, in the estab­
lishment of a serious musicological discipline of criticism, which I think is
what the scrutiny of forms in any medium really amounts to, and which I
think holds the most promise for confronting the nature of the relation­
ship between music and society with a kind of rigor that meets the genuine
needs of this task.
I would like, though, in closing to remark on the well-known fact that
. many listeners, even apart from their ability to identify Chopin's style, have
never really listened to his pieces as autonomous music but have made
associations with them. Listeners in Chopin's time, as Edward Lippman
has shown us, listened concretely rather than abstractly.22 They attached
all sorts of poetic and visual associations to instrumental music, even
Chopin's. And in our own time, I believe, many listeners perceive Chopin's
music as the articulation of a fairly specific mood or emotion. Earlier I
suggested that the kinds of patterns I discern in Chopin's music, and which
I believe have value for the criticism of music, were also patterns which
seem to characterize the modern Western experience of life. If this last is so,
then perhaps the reason that Chopin's music succeeded so brilliantly in its
own society and continues to have meaning for ours is that it was able to
project something about the human condition in a civilization which was
his and is to some extent, despite many differences, still ours. So though I
22 Edward A. Lippman, 'Theory and practice in Schumann's aesthetics',Journa/ ofthe American
Musicological Society, 17 (1964), pp. 310-45.
 chopin 549

Ongrounding Chopin 131

would not advocate going back to the 'stupid titles' which so enraged
Chopin, 23 or substituting newer ones of our own, I would suggest that
such titles constitute not negative judgments on Chopin's lack of structural
autonomy but a compliment. They may, indeed, be evidence that
Chopin's music functions as an archetype of the patterns out of which
Western society makes sense of its experience.
23 Quoted in Kallberg, 'Chopin', p. 565 .
 Part V:

Epilogue

 32
EPILOGUE.
WB have followed _Chopin from his birthplace, Zelazowa
Wola, to Warsaw, where he passed his childhood and youth,
and received his musical as weil as his general education ;
we have followed him in his holiday sojoums in the coun~IY,
and on bis more distant journeys to Reinerz, Berlin, arid
Vienna; we have fol1owed him when he left his native
country and, for further improvement, settled for a time in
the Austrian capital; we have followed him subsequently
to Paris, which thenceforth becarne his horne; and we have
followed hirn to his various lodgings there and on thc journeys
and in the iojourns elsewbere-to 27, Boulevard Pois-
sonniere, to 5 and 38, Chauss~e d' Antin, to Aix-la-Chapelle,
Carlsbad, Leipzig, Heidelberg, Marienbad, and London,
to Majorca, to Nohant, to 5, Rue Tronchet, 16, Rue Pigalle,
and 9, Square d'Orleans, to England and Scotland, to 9,
Square d'Orl~ans once more, Rue Chaillot, and 12, Place
Vend6me; and, lastly, to the Pere-Lachaise cemetery. We
have considered hirn as a pupil at the War,saw Lyceum and
as a student of music under the tuition of Zywny and Eisner;
we have considered him as a son and as a brother, as a lover
(ind as a friend, as a man of the world and as a man of
business; and we have considered him as a virtuoso, as a
teacher, and a8 a composer. Having done all this, there
remains only one thing for me to do-namely, to summarise
tbe thousands of details of tbe foregoing account, and to
point out what this artist was to his and is to our time.
But befare doing this I ought perhaps to answer a question
which the reader may have asked hirnself. Why have I not
expressed an opinion on the moral aspect of Chopin's
connection with George Sand? My explanation shall be
brief. I abstained from pronouncing judgment because the
incomplete evidence did not seem to me to warrant my doing
so. A fuU knowiedge of all the conditions and circumstances
554 chopin
BPILOGUB.

I hofd to be indispensable if justice is to be done ; the rash

and ruthless application of precepts drawn from the social
conventions of the day are not likely to attain that end.
Having done my duty in pladngbefore the reader the ascertain­
able evidence, I leave him at liberty to decide on it according
to his wisdom and charity.
Henri Blaze de Bury describes (in Etudes et Souvenin) the
portrait which Ary Scheffer painted of Chopin in these
words:-
It representa him about this epoch [when u neither physical nor moral
consumption of any kind prevented him from attending freely to his
laboun as well as to his pleasures"], slender, and in a nonchalant
attitude, gentlemanlike in the highest degree : the forehead superb, the
hands of a rare distinction, the eyes small, the nose prominent, but the
mouth of an exquisite fineness and gently closed, as if to keep back a
melody that wishes to escape.

M. Marmontel, with 4' his [Chopin's] admirable portrait''

by Delacroix before him, penned the following description:-
This is the Chopin of the last yean, ailing, broken by suffering ; the
physiognomy already marked by the last seal [le sceau supreme], the look
dreamy, melancholy, floating between heaven and earth, in the limbos
of dream and agony. The attenuated and lengthened features are
strongly accentuated: the relief stands out boldly, but the lines of the
countenance remain beautiful ; the oval of the face, the aquiline nose
and its harmonious curve, give to this aickly physiognomy the stamp of
poetic distinction peculiar to Chopin.

Poetic distinction, exquisite refinement, and a noble bear­

ing are the characteristics which strike one in all portraits
of Chopin,1 and which struck the beholder still more strongly
in the real Chopin, where they were reinforced by the grace­
fulness of his movements, and by manners that made people
involuntarily treat him as a prince.11 And pervading and
tincturing every part of the harmonious whole of Chopin's
presence there was delicacy, which was indeed the cardinal
factor in the shaping not only of his outward conformation,
but also of his character, life, and art-practice. Physical
I See Appendix IV.
s Sec my deacription of Chopin, bued on the moat reliable iDformation, ill
Chapter XX.
 chopin 555

330 FREDERICK CHOPIN.

delicacy brought with- it psychical delicacy, inducing a delicacy

of tastes, habits, and manners, which early and continued
jntercourse with the highest aristocracy confirmed and
developed. Many of the charming qualities of the man and
artist derive from this delicacy. But it is likewise the source
of some of the deficiencies and weaknesses in the man and
artist. His exclusiveness, for instance, is, no doubt, charge­
able to the superlative sensitiveness which shrank from
everything that failed to satisfy his fastidious, exacting
nature, and became more and more morbid as delicacy, of
which it was a concomitant, degeneratetl into disease. Yet,
notwithstanding the lack of robustness and all it entails,
Chopin might have been moderately happy, perhaps even
·have continued to enjoy mo_derately good health, if body and
soul had been well matched. This, however, was not the
case. His thoughts ·were too big, his passions too violent,
for the frail frame that held them ; and the former grew
bigger and more violent as the latter grew frailer and frailer.
He could not realise his aspirations, could not compass his
desires, in ·short, could not fully assert himself. Here,
indeed, we have lit upon the tragic motive of Chopin's life­
drama, and the key to much that otherwise would be enig~
· matical, certainly not explicable by delicacy and disease
alone. · His salon acquaintances, who saw only the polished
outside of the man, knew nothing of this disparity and dis­
crepancy; and even the select few of his most intimate
friends, from whom he was not always able to conceal the
irritation that gnawed at his heart, hardly more than guessed
the true state of matters. In fact, had not Chopin been an
artist, the tale of his life would have for ever remained a
tale untold. But in his art, as an executant and a composer,
he revealed all his strength and weakness, all his excellences
and insufficiencies, all his aspirations and failures, all his
successes and disappointments, all his dreams and realities.
Chopin [wrote Anton Schindler in I84I'] is the prince of all pianists,
poesy itself at the piano , , , His playing does not impress hy
powerfulness of touch, by fiery brilliancy, for Chopin'~ physical condition

1 8eet!JofJm ;,. PaP'iJ, p. 71.

556 chopin
EPILOGUE. 331
forbids him every bodily exertion, tnd spirit and body are constantly at
variance and in reciprocal excitement. The cardinal virtue of this great
master in piaooforte·playing lies iq the perfect truth of the expression
of every feeling within his reach [dessen ef' sich bemeistern da,.f], which
is altogether inimitable and might lead to caricature were imitation
attempted.

Chopin was not a virtuoso in the ordinary sense of the

word. His sphere was the reunion intime, not the mixed
crowd of concert audiences. If, however, human testimony
is worth anything, we may take it as proven that there never
was a pianist whose playing exercised a charm equal to that
of Chopin. But, as Liszt has said, it is impossible to make
those who have not heard him understand this subtle, penep
trating charm of an ineffable poesy. If words could give an
idea of Chopin's playing, it would be given by such expres­
sions as " legerete impalpable," "palais aeriens de la F ata M or­
gana,"" 'WUndersam und miirchenhaft," and other similar ones
used with regard to it by men who may safely be accepted as
authorities.
As a pianist Chopin was sorely restricted by lack of
physical vigour, which obliged him often to merely suggest,
and even to leave not a little wholly unexpressed. His range
as a composer was much wider, as its limits were those of his
spirit. · Still, Chopin does not number among those master­
minds who gather up and grasp with a strong hand all th~
acquisitions of the past and present, and mould them into
a new and glorious synthesis-the highest achievement
possible in art, and not to be accomplished without a liberal
share of originality in addition to the comprehensive power.
Chopin, then, is not a compeer of Bach, Handel, Mozart, and
Beethoven. But if he does not stand on their level, he stands
on a level not far below them. And if the inferiority of his
intellectual stamina prevented him from achieving what they
achieved, hits delicate se:nsibility and romantic imagination
enabled him to achieve what they were disqualified from
achieving. Of universality there was not a trace in him, but
his individuality is one of the most interesting. The artistico­
historical importance of Chopin lies in his having added new
elements to music, originated means of expression for tho
 chopin 557

332 FREDERICK CHOPIN.

communication anc! discrimina.t ion of moods and emotions,

and shades of moods and emotions, that up to his time had
belonged to the realm of the unuttered and unutterable.
Notwithstanding the high estimation in which Chopin is held,
it seems to me that his importance for the development of the
art is not rated at its full value. His influence on composers
for the pianoforte, both as regards style and subject-matter,
is generally understood ; but the same cannot be said of
his less obvious wider influence. Indeed, nothing is more
common than to overlook· his connection with the main
current of musical history altogether, to regard him as a mere
hors d'auvre in them usical menu of the universe. My opinion, on
the contrary, is that among the notable composers who have
lived since the days of Chopin there is not to be found one
who has not profited more or less, consciously or uncon­
sciously, directly or indirectly, by this tnily creative genius.
To trace his influence we must transport ourselves back
fifty or sixty years, and see what the state of music then was,
what composers expressed and what means of expression they
had at their disposal. Much that is now familiar, nay, even
commonplace, was then a startling novelty. The appearance
of Ch-opin was so wonderful a phenomenon that it produced
quite an electrical effect upon Schumann. "Come," said
Berlioz to Legouv~ in the first years of the fourth decade of
this century, "I am going to let you see something which
you have never seen, and someone whom you will never
forget." This something and someone was Ch~pin. Men­
delssohn being questioned about his enthusiasm for one of
this master's preludes replied: '' I love it, I cannot tell you
how much, or why; except, perhaps, that it is something
which I could never have written at all." Of course, Chopin's
originality was not universally welcomed and appreciated.
Mendelssohn, for instance, was rather repelled than attracted
by it ; at any rate, in his letters there are to be found
frequent expressions of antipathy to Chopin's music, which
seemed to him ' 4 mannered" (see letter to Moscheles of
February 7, 1835). But even the heartless and brainless
critic of the Musical World whose nonsense I quoted in
Chapter XXXI. admits that Chopin was generally esteemed
558 chopin

EPILOGUE. 333
by the "professed classical musicians," and that the
name of the admirers of the master's compositions
was legion. To the early popularity of Chopin's music
testify also the many arrangements for other instru·
ments (the guitar not excepted) and even for voices (for
instance, <Euwes celebres de Chopin, transcrites a une ou deux
voix egales par Luigi BoYdese) to which his compositions were
subjected. This popularity was, however, necessarily limited,
limited in extent or intensity. Indeed, popular, in the
comprehensive sense of the word, Chopin's compositions can
never become. To understand them fully we must have
something of the author's nature, something of his delicate
sensibility and romantic imagination. To understand him
we must, moreover, know something of his life and country.
For, as Balzac truly remarked, Chopin was less a musician
than une ame qui se rend sensible. In short, his compositions
are the "celestial echo of what he had felt, loved, and
suffered"; they are his memoirs, his autobiography, which,
like that of every poet, assumes the form of " Truth and
Poetry."
 Index
Page numbers in bold refer to tables. Page numbers in italics refer to figures.
Page numbers with ‘n’ refer to notes.
Abbate, Carolyn 406
Abraham, Gerald 70, 130, 402, 409
absolute music 108, 129
acculturation 22
Adam, Adolphe 120, 147
Adam, Louis 294–295, 296
Adieu à Varsovie see Rondo Op. 1 (C minor)
Adonais 512
Adorno, Theodor W. 368, 375, 383, 524, 526,
529, 534
aesthetics of sketches 181–194
Aesthetic Theory 368
Affaire Clemenceau 508
after-phrase 463
Agatka czyli Przyjazd pana (Agatha, or the
Master’s Arrival) 83n42
Album-Beethoven 489, 490, 503, 504
Album de La France musicale 243–244
Album des pianistes de première force 241
Album d’un voyageur 297
Alkan, Charles-Valentin 8, 276, 279–280
Allegro de concert Op. 46 (A major) 64
Alto Rhapsody (Brahms) 511
Ancelot, Virginie 266
Andante dolente see Nocturne Op. 72 No. 1
Andante spianato Op. 22 (G major) 257
annotations 153, 161, 171
antecedent phrases 463, 469, 470
Anton Kocipiński 234
appearance of musical script 206, 207–208,
208–209, 209–210
Archives curieuses de la musique 190
arpeggio signs 7, 209–210
Arrau, Claudio 282
articulation 363, 471; of division between
phrases/sub-phrases 474; legato 470, 485; in
scherzos 389–390
Ashdown & Parry 243, 248, 250n5, 250n6
Ashkenazy, Vladimir 347–348, 362
Aspull, W. 134
Au piano avec Claude Debussy 286
Auber, Daniel 147
audience: relationship of Chopin with 256,
272–273; relationship of Liszt with 256
authorial sources 198, 199–201, 201
autographs 6, 153, 154n10, 160, 163, 228;
chronological arrangement of 174;
classification 170–171; conventionalization
174–175; dates of composer 198, 199–201,
201; economy of notations 172; essential
factors of composition 174; formalistic
approach of analysis 168–169; functionalistic
approach of analysis 168; hierarchy of
elements 174; interpretation of messages
in 168; melodic line 174; with metronome
rates 305–316; multiple autograph
manuscripts 157–158; musical structures of
173; Nocturne in C minor 212; notations
171–174; vs. printed editions, tempos of
317–319; psychological approach to 169;
receptive–informational role of 6, 167–176
autonomy vs. contingency 12, 523–531
Bach, C. P. E. 290–291, 291
Bach, Johann Sebastian 133, 269, 271, 272,
278, 279, 529, 532, 533
Badura-Skoda, Paul 337
Baillot, Pierre 191, 293
Bakhtin, Mikhail 368, 379
ballad (genre) 124, 397–398
Ballade Op. 23 (G minor) 5, 46, 103–114,
118–119, 128, 272, 379, 380, 397, 399,
538, 539, 540; comparison with Op. 38
115–116; dissection of 406, 407; form of
402, 403; intensity curve in 403; isotopes
and modalities in 407, 408; middleground
structure 401, 401; narrativity in 406;
rhythm in 403
560 chopin
Ballade Op. 38 (F major/A minor) 46, 61,
128, 249, 321, 397, 399; Agitato 126;
Agitato-Coda 119, 127; analysis of 400, 400;
Andantino 124, 126, 127–128; comparison
with Op. 23 115–116; diagrammatic
analysis 403–404, 404; directional
tonality 401; form of 403; harmonic
relationships 127; Presto con fuoco 119,
121, 126; secondary tonality 401; ‘sotto
voce’ indication 115; time signature 115;
tonal structure in 401; two-key scheme
401–402; and Clara Wieck’s ‘Nocturne’
124–125; and Meyerbeer’s melody 124–125,
126
Ballade Op. 47 (A flat major) 116, 397, 399;
form of 403; sonata form of 402
Ballade Op. 52 (F minor) 47, 50, 116, 271, 397,
399; analysis of 400, 400; critical analysis of
ambiguity in 407–408, 409; sonata form of
402, 403; textures in 403, 404
ballades 125–126, 136–137; analytical writing
on 10, 397–411; compositional mechanics
405; critical analysis of ambiguity 407–408,
409; cyclic links between ballades 405;
diagrammatic analysis 403–404, 404;
dialectic 409; emotional key-notes 399;
forms 400–401, 402–403; genres 405;
intensity curve 403, 410; intonatory
curve 410; narrativity 405–407, 406,
410; psychoanalytic theory 409; relation
between analysis and performance 409–410;
structural and interpretive analysis 402;
structural parameters 399–400; style 405;
tonal structure 401–402
Ballady i romanse 79
ballet 87–88
Balzac, Honoré de 143, 148, 255, 256n9, 558
Barcarolle Op. 60 245, 271, 274; multiple
autograph manuscripts of 157–158;
pedalling in 335, 336
Barcińska, Isabella 233
Bard Oswobodzonej Polski (The Bard of
Liberated Poland) 59
Barnett, R. 132
Bartók, Béla 5, 70, 71–72, 71n18, 72, 456–457,
457n75
Baudelaire, Charles 182, 195n5, 222
Beardsley, Monroe 521
Beethoven, Ludwig van 44, 117, 118, 119, 122,
129, 138, 305, 492, 533; Album-Beethoven
489, 490, 503, 504; chronology of works 197;
Nord oder Süd 316; ‘Pastoral’ Symphony
110; rhythmic flexibility of 295; scherzos
388, 389; Sonata ‘quasi una fantasia’ Op. 27
No. 2 492, 504–506, 505–506; String Quartet
in B flat major Op. 130 519; Zwei Präludien
durch alle Tonarten Op. 39 503
Before the Battle 237
Bellini, Vincenzo 222
Belotti, Gastone 11–12, 429
Benda, Franz 292
Benedict, Julius 276
Benjamin, Walter 533
Bennett, Sterndale 148
Bentkowski, Feliks 76
Berceuse Op. 57 (D flat major) 50, 53, 61, 62,
257, 372, 475, 508, 545–546
Berger, Karol 5, 103, 408
Berlin, Issac (recte Isaiah) 37
Berlioz, Hector 35, 147, 222, 255, 259, 260,
261, 520, 557, 430
Bernsdorf, E. 388
Berry, Wallace 403
Bertini, Henri 148
Berumen, Ernesto 285
Białobłocki, Jan 201
Bibliothèque du Conservatoire 95, 212
Biliński, Franciszek 59
Binental, Leopold 229
biography of Chopin 4, 17–42, 92–93; Chopin
as Polish national soul 4, 24–25, 26, 27,
29–30; and cultural and methodological
assumptions 18; exile experience 39; factual
errors in 17–18, 18n4; and foreignness 34;
nineteenth century 17, 18–19; Polishness
see Polishness of Chopin; and politics 18n4,
32–33, 34; Polonization of Nicolas Chopin
22; salons 40–41; scrutiny of 18; self 18–19,
19n8
Biret, Idil 356, 358, 360, 362
Blahetka, Marie Leopoldine 273, 276, 281
Blanchard, Henri 491
Blaze de Bury, Henri 554
Bloch, Ernst 111
Bloom, Harold 402
Blue Danube Waltz (Strauss) 462–463, 462
‘Bóg się rodzi’ (God is Born) 56
Bogdańska, Anna 403
 chopin 561

Bogusławski, Wojciech 83, 83n42, 84, 85

Chevreul, Michel-Eugène 492

Bohrer, Anton 132

Chiu, Frederick 359

Bohrer, Sophie 132

‘Chmiel’ (Hops) 60

Boïeldieu, François-Adrien 123

Chomiński, Józef M. 4, 43, 490

Boléro Op. 19 (A minor) 141

Chopin 75

Borovsky, Alexander 362

Chopin Early Editions (University of Chicago

Bory, Robert 236

Library) 151, 159

Bote & Bock 94, 95

Chopin et Pleyel 8

bourgeoisie, Polish 34; origins, common songs

Chopin Society 228

of 56; philistinism 264

Chopin vu par ses élèves 8, 287

Bourges, Maurice 267, 491, 497

Chopin, Fryderyk: delicacy of 554–555; early

Bourniquel, Camille 460n84

years of 269–270; editions of 92–95, 98–99;
Bovy-Lysberg, Charles 283
harmony of 52–53; models of 44, 124–126;
‘Boże, coś Polskę’ (God, Thou who Poland)
musical development of 8, 270–272;
56, 58, 60, 64
patriotism of 458; playing of 269–276, 556;
‘Bracia, do bitwy nadszedł czas’ (Brother, to
Polish spirit of 455; posthumous works of
Battle the Time has Come) 59, 61
91–101; tempo rubato of 298–303 see also
Brahms, Johannes 218, 507, 511, 519
biography of Chopin
Brandus 339n11; Mazurka Op. 59 No. 2
Chopin, Justyna 233

(A flat major) 323, 324, 324, 327, 328–329,

Chopin, Ludwika Jędrzejewiczowa see

330; Nocturne Op. 55 No. 2 (E flat major)

Jędrzejewicz, Ludwika (Louise)

336, 337
Chopin, Nicolas: attitude to adopted

bravura 270, 310–311, 370

homeland 22–23; Polonization of 22

Breitkopf & Härtel 93, 156, 157–158, 163, 218,

Chopin: Documents and Memorials 229

221, 229, 232, 233, 237, 238, 239, 336, 337,

Chopin’s First Editions Online (CFEO) 151,

449n55, 490, 490n8

152, 159

Brodziński, Kazimierz 76, 80n40 chorale-hymn idiom 64

Bronarski, Ludwik 5, 91, 179n10, 211–212, Chorley, Henry 9, 148, 300

239, 321, 460n84, 491

Christabel 512–513

Broszkiewicz, Jerzy 18n4

chromaticism 51, 52, 220, 221–222, 474

Brown, Maurice 7, 72, 73, 75, 225

chronology of Chopin’s works 197–216;

Bulgaria, 456–457
appearance of musical script 206, 207–208,
Bülow, Hans von 281, 296, 297, 313, 434–435
208–209, 209–210; examples from last period
Bürger, Gottfried August 124
211–214; pianistic development 204–205;
Busoni, Ferruccio 130, 434n17
sources for 198–204
‘Clair de lune’ Op. 46 No. 2 (Fauré) 507

cantilena 45, 51
Classical forms 44, 45, 47, 53

carnivalisation 379
Classical music 44, 45, 46

Carreño, Teresa 285

Classicism 534

Cartier, Jean-Baptiste 191, 192

clavecinistes 190, 191

Castil-Blaze (François-Henri-Joseph Blaze)

Clavier und Gesang 297

388 Clementi, Muzio 45, 117

catalogues 203
codes, generic 377–381

Chabal 442n38
coherence 7, 530, 541; in Mazurka Op. 17

Chant de tombeau Op. 75 236

No. 4 348, 352–353; in Mazurka Op. 68

character designations 310–319

No. 3 359, 360; in Prelude Op. 28 No. 2

CHARM 343–344
516

Chechlińska, Zofia 10, 387

Coleridge, Samuel Taylor 512, 520, 521

Cheong, Wai-Ling 401

Collection of Piano-Forte Duets 241

562 chopin
colour 12, 109, 222, 390, 492; and damper
pedal 322; and line, relationship between
7, 222; Prelude Op. 45 497, 501, 502, 503;
reflection of 495
common songs 5, 55; idioms inspired by
62–64; presence of 59–62; repertoire and
editions of 57–59; sources and categories
56–57
common-place, avoidance of 133
communication skills 548
communicativeness 275
comparative musicology 345
Complete Collection of the Compositions of
Frederic Chopin, series title page (Wessel)
7, 241–250; chronological order 249,
250; corrections to keys 249–250; first
presentational format of 241, 242, 243;
fonts 248; four-hand versions 241, 245,
250n4; modifications 249; price changes
244–245, 245, 248; second presentational
format of 246, 248; subtitles 241, 249; third
presentational format of 247, 248; versions
of 243–244
compositional identity 13, 533, 535
computational musicology see performance
analysis of mazurkas
concerto form 44
Concerto in A minor (Hummel) 271
Concerto Op. 11 (E minor) 11, 132, 154, 271,
415, 506, 507
Concerto Op. 21 (F minor) 11, 64, 132, 271,
302, 415–418, 416–418
concertos 44, 45, 271
Cone, Edward T. 398, 407–408, 461
Congress Kingdom of Poland 78
Congress of Vienna 85
Conrad, Joseph 22n16
consequent phrases 463, 470
conte fantastique 264
contemporaries of Chopin 276–283
content: and genre titles 371, 377; of mazurkas
72; of sources 157, 158, 164; and temporal
frame 351
contextualisation 165
contextualist studies 524–525
contingency: vs. autonomy 12, 523–531; in
Chopin 531–547
contour 495–496, 497
contrapuntal style of Chopin 271, 272
contrasts, in scherzos 390, 393–395
conversations, salon 266–267
Cook, Nicholas 9–10, 343
Cortot, Alfred 285, 340–341n24, 350–351, 360,
362, 409, 491
Costallat et Cie 239
counterpoint 469, 475
Couperin, François 190, 191, 532
Couperin, Louis 190
Cracow, 459n81
‘Cracow Mazurka’ 244, 249
Cracow School of Historiography 34
Cramer, Addison & Beale 250n5
Cramer, Johann Baptist 45, 147, 273, 275
creative history 155
creative practice 165
creativity: of Chopin 25–26, 32, 272; of exiles
38–39
critical analysis 407–408, 409, 511
criticism 525
Crossbreed, A 517
Cud mniemany, czyli Krakowiacy i Górale (The
Would-Be Miracle, or the Cracovians and
Highlanders) 57, 60, 83, 84
cultural work of Chopin’s performance 8,
253–255; performing against performativity
255–257, 258; pianist as poet 259–262; virtue
in margins 262–268
culture, and biographies 4, 18, 18n4, 32–33
Custine, Marquis de 34, 255, 262
cycle of individual piano pieces 117
cyclical form 47
Czacki, Tadeusz 78
Czartoryska, Marcelina 24n23, 229, 277, 283,
284, 431, 449
Czartoryski, Adam 106
‘Czary’ (Charms) 226, 232, 233, 236, 238, 239
Czerny, Carl 147, 276, 281, 294, 296, 298, 372,
492, 506
d’Agoult, Marie 262
Dahlhaus, Carl 35, 37n62, 70n11, 178n6, 383,
387, 406
Dahlig, Ewa 88n49
damper pedal 321; and colour 322; on Pleyel
grand pianos 329
Damse, Józef 87, 87, 88
dance forms 44, 46, 50, 53, 117; see also
Mazurkas; Polonaises; Scherzos; Waltzes
 chopin 563

dance poem 53
Dumas, Alexandre 148, 263–264, 508

dances: Polish 50; folk 44

dumka 56, 63, 240

Dans le souvenir de Frédéric Chopin 286

‘dumka z Kurpińskiego’ (A Dumka from

Dante 227
Kurpiński) 60

danza contadina (country dance) 445–446, Dussek, Jan Ladislav 117, 293, 302

454–456 see also musica campagnola ‘Dwojaki Koniec’ (The Double End) 231

(peasant music) Dziady (The Forefathers’ Eve) 107

danze popolari bulgare (Bulgarian folk dances) Dziewanowski, Dominik 107

456–457
date of composition 198, 199–201, 201–203, Earis, Andrew 343

202; see also chronology of Chopin’s works Eastern Europe, Polishness in 34, 35

Davison, James W. 6, 131, 283

eclogue 117

de Cournand, Roubaud 286

‘Eclogues’ (Tomášek) 118

de la Motte Fouqué, Friedrich 263

Eco, Umberto 177n1
Debussy, Claude 276, 286, 502, 507, 508, 509
economy of notation 172

Déchelette, Albert 99
editors 203

Decombes, Émile 283, 285

Edwin Ashdown 243, 248

Delaborde, Elie Miriam 279–280 ego 518, 521

Delacroix, Eugène 12, 108, 110, 181–182, 187,

Eibner, Franz 401

222, 492, 495–496, 502, 504, 508–509, 554

Eigeldinger, Jean-Jacques 8, 12, 183, 190, 287,

Delong, Kenneth 372

299, 302, 371, 489

dépôt légal 203

Eikhenbaum, Boris 369, 384n9
‘Der Mond’ Op. 86 No. 5 (Mendelssohn) 507
Ekier, Jan 7, 160n26, 179n10, 197, 338,

dernière pensée musicale 183

341n27

‘Devil’s trill’ Sonata (Tartini) 191, 192

elasticity 275

diagrammatic analysis 403–404, 404

elegiac-lullaby songs 64

dialectic 10, 529; in ballades 409; clash

elegiac-march idioms 63–64
between melody and harmony 409, 513–515;
elegiac-romance idioms 62

between Classical authority and Romantic

Elegia na śmierć Tadeusza Kościuszki (Elegy on

innovation 514; and genre evolution 368,

the Death of Tadeusz Kosciuszko) 60, 63

375; between performer and audience 256;

Elsner, Emilia 227–228, 238, 306

Prelude Op. 28 No. 2 408–409, 512–515

Elsner, Józef 44, 58, 76, 80, 80n40, 195n19,

Die Götter Griechenlandes 512

238, 270, 271, 553

Diehl, Alice 284

emigration, Polish 5, 105–106, 107–108, 111,

‘Die Lotosblume’ Op. 25 No. 7 (Schumann) 112–114, 225

507n45 emotions, expression of 110–111

Diémer, Louis 285
endless melody 12, 464, 474–475, 480, 483,

directional tonality 401

485

division of labour 34
Engelbrecht, Christiane 128

Döhler, Theodor 135, 148

engravers 161

Dołęga-Chodakowski, Zorian 77, 77n32 Enlightenment 33, 34, 105, 264

Dommer, Arrey von 388, 389

Enlightenment project 19

downward note stems 7, 206, 207–208, Die Entführung aus dem Serail (Mozart) 119

208–209 Epstein, David 521

dramaturgy of contrast in opera 122–124 Érard pianos 327, 340n19

Dreyschock, Alexander 148, 276
essentialist view of Polishness 4, 20

Dubois, Camille 157, 164, 283

Et la lune descend sur le temple qui fût
‘Duma o Stefanie Potockim’ (Elegy to Stefan
(Debussy) 507

Potocki) 61
ethnic identity 34

564 chopin
ethnocentrism 33
ethnomusicology 345
Étude Op. 10 No. 2 (A minor) 276, 307–308
Étude Op. 10 No. 3 (E major) 9, 271, 310–312,
316, 536–538, 537–538, 540, 540; analogy to
542–543; retransition 541, 542–543
Étude Op. 10 No. 5 (‘Black Key’) (G flat
major) 310
Étude Op. 10 No. 6 (E flat minor) 186, 209
Étude Op. 10 No. 10 (A flat major) 310
Étude Op. 10 No. 12 (C minor) 272
Étude Op. 25 No. 1 (A flat major) 312
Étude Op. 25 No. 2 (F minor) 278, 306, 312
Étude Op. 25 No. 3 (F major) 11, 419–428;
background progression 421–422, 421–422;
B major section 419, 424–425, 425; forms
420–421; melodic design 419–420, 420–421;
prolongation of dividing dominant 421–422,
423; recapitulation 424, 424; sound-
geometry 419, 420; voice leading 425,
426–427, 428
Étude Op. 25 No. 7 (C sharp minor) 313
Étude Op. 25 No. 10 (B minor) 313
études 45, 47, 133, 146, 375, 531
Études Op. 10 157, 370, 372; character
designations 309; sources, comparison of
308–310
exile: and creativity 38–39; experience, impact
of 38, 42
‘Exiles. – A Path, The’ (‘Les exilés. – Un
chemin’) 113
Exodus 107–108
exposition 3, 7, 217–223, 485
expressivity 294–295, 296
extemporized music 181
extramusical programmes 10, 398
Fabbri, Franco 369
facsimile editions 151
factual errors, in biographies 17–18, 17n2, 18n4
Fantasy on Polish Airs Op. 13 (A major) 47,
50, 60, 250, 385n26
Fantasy Op. 49 (F minor) 47, 50, 61, 64,
141–142, 250, 372, 380–381, 381–382, 381,
382, 501, 501
Fantasy-Impromptu Op. 66 (C sharp minor)
271
farewell songs 63
Fauré, Gabriel 507
Faust 520
festive songs 57
Fêtes galantes No. 3 (Debussy) 507
Fétis, François-Joseph 147
Field, Henry 134, 135, 140, 276
Field, John 45, 46, 117, 270, 271, 274, 464
Filtsch, Carl 283–284, 431
fingering methods of Chopin 273
Fink, Gottfried Wilhelm 130
first editions 153, 157, 162, 241; English 157;
French 157, 158, 159
Fisher, Esther 287
folk dances 44
folk Mass 80n40
folk music/songs 5, 52, 56, 59, 270, 272;
collection of 77–79; composed by
professional composers 80, 82, 83; encounter
of Chopin with 76n27; musical aspects of
songs 78–79; as roots of Chopin mazurkas
68–74
folk practice 77
Fontana, Julian 91, 95, 101, 106, 108, 160,
161, 182–183, 197, 202, 205, 213, 228, 229,
230–234, 236, 239, 248, 250n4, 330, 443,
449n56, 489
foreignness 34
fore-phrase 463
Formalist genre theory 367–368; case study
371–377; generic classification 369–377
formalistic approach of autograph analysis
168–169
forms: of ballades 400–401, 402; and genres
367, 368, 369, 371
Forte, Allen 511
Fou Ts’ong 350, 351, 352
four-bar hypermetre 461, 463
France 33; bond of nobles with artists 262;
rapport of Chopin with 31–32
Franchomme, Auguste 124, 147, 179n10, 182,
214, 230, 239, 250n4, 270, 453n65
François, Samson 362
Franz, Robert 507
Frederic Chopin 67
Frederick Chopin as a Man and Musician 27
French Revolution (1830) 262
French Romanticism 261
Freud, Sigmund 518, 525
Friedheim, Arthur 339n16, 528–529
Friedman, Ignaz 218n2, 340–341n24, 353
 chopin 565

‘Frühlingsnacht’ Op. 39 No. 12 (Schumann) Grabgesang 227, 235, 236

507n45 Grabowski, Christophe 3, 7, 241

fujarka 73
grace notes 160–161, 351–352

Fuller-Maitland, J. A. 289
Grand Duo sur les thèmes de Robert le Diable
Fumaroli, Marc 266 (E major/A major) 124, 250n4
functional character of Chopin’s music graphic-spatial criterion of autographs
531–532 170–172
functional music 65
Grétry, André 119, 122

functionalistic approach of autograph analysis

große Oper 122

168
Grzymała, Wojciech (Albert) 55, 181–182, 212,

Funeral March in C minor 203

230

Guck, Marion M. 378

Gaillard, Émile 91–92, 94, 99–101 Guhr, Karl 148

Galster, W. 240
Gumbert, Ferdinand 236

Gambara 256n9 Gustave Gebethner 236

Ganche, Édouard 93, 99–101, 286, 442n38;

Gut, Serge 119, 406

Voyages avec Frédéric Chopin 92

Gutmann, Adolf 275, 283, 284

Gazette musicale de Paris 440

‘Gdy słowik zanuci’ (When the Nightingale

Hahn, Reynaldo 285

Sings) 57
Halévy, Fromental 120, 147

‘Gdzie lubi’ (A Girl’s Desire) 62, 231

Hallé, Charles 264, 273–274, 276, 300,

Gebethner & Wolff 237

430–431, 436

Geist der Utopie 111

Hamburger, Paul 74

genres: and ballades 405; classification of

Hamelle, J. 239

369–377; codes 377–381; contract 387;

Hand, F. 388–389
counterpoint of 379, 383; definition of
handwriting 206

387; Fantasy Op. 49 380–381, 381–382;

Hanslick, Eduard 110, 111, 300

impromptus 371–377; intersection of

Harasowski, Adam 17n2, 18n4
pluralist and integrative tendencies 380;
harmonic chemistry 497

norms/deviations 374–375, 378; scherzo

harmonic colour 45, 53

as 387–395; stability 371, 372; theory and

harmonisations, of common songs 60

repertory 367–369; titles 10, 108, 370–371,

Hasert, Rudolf 236

377, 490
Haweis, H. R. 277

Gerhard, Anselm 6, 115, 397

Haydn, Franz Josef 44, 117

German Chopin see Henselt, Adolf von Hedley, Arthur 70, 72, 179n10, 285, 322, 490

German Romanticism 259–260, 263, 531

Heine, Heinrich 35, 41, 259, 261, 518

Germanization 33
Heller, Stephen 39, 147

Gesamtausgabe 238
hemiola pattern 470n17
gestures: expressive 111; in scherzos 10, 390,
Henselt, Adolf von 8, 147, 276, 281–282, 300

391–393, 393–394; timbral 191

Henzen, Wilhelm 237

Gide, André 429–430 Herder, Johann Gottfried 77

glosses, in student scores 153, 155

Hérold, Ferdinand 120–121, 123

Goddard, Arabella 273

Herz, Henri 41, 142, 147, 272, 276, 281

Godowsky, Leopold 282

Herz, Jacques Simon 120

Goethe, Johann Wolfgang von 227, 260, 263,

Higgins, Thomas 9, 305

511, 520
Hiller, Ferdinand 148, 274, 276, 337

Gojowy, Detlef 129

Hipkins, Alfred James 282, 337

Goldschmidt, Otto 283

Historia literatury polskiej 76

Gooley, Dana 8, 253

historical consciousness 104

566 chopin

historiography 4, 18 individuality 43, 44; of Chopin 14, 556

Hoesick, Ferdynand 27, 30, 69–70, 92, 97 Indjic, Eugen 362
237–238, 389 Industrial Revolution 33
Hoffmann, E. T. A. 260, 518 influence of Chopin on composers 557
Holland, Jan David 83n42 Ingres, Jean-Auguste-Dominique 109, 260,
Holmes, W. H. 132, 134, 135 492, 493, 495–496
hołupiec gestures 73–74, 74, 85 instrumentality, transcendence of 255
Huber, Kurt 62 instrumentation 123
Hugo, Victor 148, 261 intelligibility: and identity 535; and tonality
human expression, forms of 525 535–536
Hummel, Johann Nepomuk 270, 276, 282, intensity curve, in ballades 403, 410
294, 295–296, 305, 418 intentional objects 110–111
Huneker, James 285, 339n16, 399, 400, 409 intonatory curve, in ballades 410
Hünten, Franz 120 intransitive senses 110
hypermeasures 461, 485 ‘Introduction et grand rondeau brillant’
hypermetre 461 (genre) 117
isorhythm, 441, 455
idée fixe 127
identity: and biographies 19, 20; Jachimecki, Zdzisław 31, 61, 71, 72, 403
compositional 13, 533, 535; ethnic 34; Jackendoff, Ray 462
and exile 38; formation 20, 39; and ‘Jakiż to chłopiec piękny i młody’ (What a
intelligibility 535; national 5, 34, 35, 38, 42, Young and Bonny Boy) 62
55, 58, 76, 87; sensuous 13, 532, 533; and Janin, Jules 148
style 534–535; see also Polishness of Janion, Maria 113
Chopin Janotha, Natalia 284
idioms, inspired by common songs 62–64 January Uprising 33
‘Idzie żołnierz borem, lasem’ (A Soldier Walks Jędrzejewicz, Ludwika (Louise) 93, 164, 165,
through Wood and Forest) 57 206, 229, 230, 231–232, 233, 445n46
illustration, musical 109 ‘Jeszcze jeden mazur dzisiaj’ (One More
‘Im Legendenton’ (Schumann) 118 Mazurka Today) 63
imagination, in sketches 182 ‘Jeszcze Polska nie zginęła’ (Poland Has Not
impressions 156–157; comparison of 163; in Yet Perished) 56, 60, 63
Prelude Op. 45 491 Jewish folk music, Chopin’s knowledge of 69n7
Impressions et souvenirs 108–109, 497 Jewson, Frederic Bowen 132
Impromptu Op. 7 (Vořišek) 372 Jonas, Oswald 465
Impromptu Op. 29 (A flat major) 141, 164, Joseffy, Rafael 285, 339n16
372, 373, 374–375, 375, 376, 377, 433n4 Josephson, David 542n17
Impromptu Op. 36 (F sharp major) 141, 245, Journal de Musique 239
250, 372, 374, 375, 376, 377, 379, 382 Journal des Débats 99–100
Impromptu Op. 51 (G flat major) 372, 374, July Monarchy 34, 37, 38, 40, 41
376, 377 ‘Już miesiąc zeszedł, psy się uśpiły’ (The Moon
Impromptu Op. 66 (C sharp minor) 201, Now Has Waned, the Dogs Are Asleep) 60,
371, 372, 373, 375, 375, 377; see also 62
Fantasy-Impromptu
impromptus 10, 141, 371–377 Kafka, Franz 517
improvisations 125, 259, 322; of Chopin Kahl, Willi 372
182–183, 195n22, 506; of common songs 60; Kalbeck, Max 237
and sketches 182, 194 Kalkbrenner, Friedrich 20, 132, 147, 272, 273,
individual pieces 117, 122 276, 286–287, 296, 372
 chopin 567

Kallberg, Jeffrey 6–7, 36, 88n50, 112, 181, 202,

Kurpiński, Karol 17, 44, 56, 58, 59, 61, 63, 65,

214, 371, 387, 395, 411n2

76–77, 77n29, 80n40, 85–87, 86, 87, 88

Kamieński, Maciej 83n42 Kurth, Ernst 491

Kamiński, Jan 85 Kwartalnik Muzyczny 212

Karasowski, Maurycy 21n14, 22–23, 27, 69,

Kwiatkowski, Teofil 129, 229

69n7

karczma 68–69 La Dame blanche (Boïeldieu) 123

Karłowicz, Mieczysław 229

La France musicale 265, 489

Karpiński, Franciszek 78
La Gaité see Polonaise for Piano and Cello

Keepsake des pianistes 489, 489n3, 498–500 Op. 3

Keller, Hans 403

La Posiana see Rondo à la mazur Op. 5

Kiallmark, George 134

La Reine des Songes 239

‘Kiedy ranne wstają zorze’ (When the Morning

La terrasse des audiences du clair de lune

Lights Arise) 56
(Debussy) 507

Kinderman, William 401

Ländler 453

Kistner 232, 309n9 Laidlaw, Robena 276

Klavierschule 291
Lam, Stanislaw 240

Kleczyński, Jan 301–302 Lamartine, Alphonse de 261

Klindworth, Karl 339n16, 415–416 L’amateur pianiste 241

Knosp, Gaston 239

L’art du violon 192

Kobylańska, Krystyna 69n7 Laura i Filon (Laura and Philo) 58, 61

Koch, Heinrich Christoph 292–293, 476

Laurens, Jean-Joseph-Bonaventure 190

Koczalski, Raoul 285, 286

Le Banquet Infernal see Scherzo Op. 20

Kolberg, Oskar 55, 56, 72, 73, 78, 80, 81, 82,
Le Devin du village (Rousseau) 119

203, 458, 458n77

Le pianiste moderne 241

Kolberg, Wilhelm 203, 306

Le songe d’Ossian 260

Kołłątaj, Hugo 78
‘Le trille du diable’ 191

Körner, Theodor 263

lead-ins 463–464, 467, 468, 470, 473, 475

Korsyn, Kevin 402

‘Leci liście z drzewa’ (The Leaves are Falling)

Kościuszko Uprising 23, 83–84 59, 64

Kościuszko, Tadeusz 83n44 legato articulation 470, 485

Krakowiacy i górale (The Cracovians

‘Legendenton’ (Schumann) 118

and Highlanders) 57, 60 see also Cud

Leichtentritt, Hugo 69–70, 130, 398, 399, 400,

mniemany… and Zabobon…

401, 419, 490, 491

Krakowiak see Rondo à la krakowiak Op. 14

Lelewel, Joachim 77

Krakowiak-Rondo see Rondo à la krakowiak

Lento con gran espressione see Nocturne in
Op. 14
C sharp minor
Kramer, Lawrence 12–13, 254n4, 408, 409,
Lenz, Wilhelm von 11, 277, 278, 282, 284, 300,

411n4, 511
432–433, 432n13, 433n15, 434, 435, 437

Kramer, Lloyd S. 38
Léo, Auguste 323, 431–432n10 434–435n19
Krasiński, Zygmunt 24, 113, 114, 227, 229, 232
Léo, Sophie 255

Krebs, Harald 401

Lerdahl, Fred 462

Księgi narodu polskiego i pielgrzymstwa Lermontov, Mikhail 370

polskiego (The Books of the Polish Nation Les agrémens au salon 241

and of the Polish Pilgrims) 105–106 Les Huguenots (Meyerbeer) 122, 123

Kształt miłości (The Shape of Love) 18n4 Les Pianistes célèbres 281

Kullak, Adolph 321

Les salons de Paris: foyers éteints 266

‘Kurdesz nad kurdeszami’ (The Kurdesz of

Leschetizky, Theodor 284

Kurdeszes) 56
Lessel, Franciszek 65

568
Lewenthal, Raymond 282
Leyback, Ignace 283
Liebeszauber 239
Lienau, Robert 236, 237
lieux de mémoire (memory places) 40
Lilije (The Lilies) 79
Linde, Samuel Bogumil 76
line 12, 222–223, 492, 495–496; Chopin’s
unsurpassed feeling for long lines 7, 220; and
colour, relationship between 7, 222; Prelude
Op. 45 503
linguistics 168
L’Invitation pour la danse see Waltz Op. 18
Lipiński, Karol 78
Lippman, Edward 548
Lisecki, Wiesław 397
Lissa, Zofia 309n9
Liszt, Franz 2, 5, 8, 20n9, 67, 133, 142, 147,
212, 218, 228, 275, 276–278, 286, 372, 490,
490n8, 509, 529, 556; Chopin on 273, 277;
on Chopin’s political inclinations 106;
on folk influence in Chopin’s mazurkas
68–69n5, 69, 75, 76; and impossible objects
518–519; performance of 254, 254n4, 256;
poet image of 261; and public sphere 264;
on rubato 274, 302; rubato of 296, 297, 298,
301; transcriptions 232, 234, 236
literary biography 30
Litolff, Henri 148, 276
‘Little Jew, The’ 69n7
Lithuania 459n81
‘Litwinka’ (The Lithuanian) 59, 61
logic, in music 109, 110
Long, Marguerite 286
Lord Byron 181, 261, 521
Louis-Philippe, comte de Ségur 34, 266
love songs 56, 62
Ludovic (Hérold) 120–121, 123
‘Lulajże Jezuniu’ (Hush Dear Jesus) 61
lydian fourth 52
lyrical form 50
lyrical piano piece 116, 117
Mache, F. B. 178n6
Mackenzie, A. C. 284
Maelzel, Johann Nepomuk 305, 316
Mahler, Gustav 379, 519, 521, 534
Majorca, visit of Chopin to 269
Mallefille, Félicien 112, 114
chopin
mannerism 142
manuscripts: analysing 203–204; multiple
autograph manuscripts 157–158;
presentation manuscripts 153; rejected
public manuscripts 153
Marek, Tadeusz 61
Maria 238, 239
Marmontel, Antoine-François 281, 321–322,
339n19, 554
Marschner, Heinrich 372
Marsz obozowy (Camp March) 61
Marx, Adolph Bernhard 389n15
Marx, Karl 525
Mason, William 296–297
Masovia 436, 454, 454–456, 459
Mathias, Georges 275, 283, 284–285, 298
Maurel, Jules 148
Mauté de Fleurville, Antoinette 283, 286
Mayer, Charles 148
mazur 88
Mazur for Vaclav Hanka 208
Mazurka dedicated to Émile Gaillard
(A minor) 91–92, 442–443, 442n38, 454;
composition of 96, 99, 101; considered as
posthumous work 91–101; editions of 92–95;
evaluation of 96–98; French edition 95;
German edition of 92–95; key of 99; number
of 93–94; publication date of 93
Mazurka ‘Notre Temps’ (A minor) 98–99,
441n33, 443
Mazurka Op. 6 No. 1 (F sharp minor) 441n31
Mazurka Op. 6 No. 2 (C sharp minor) 442
Mazurka Op. 6 No. 4 (E flat major) 447
Mazurka Op. 7 No. 1 (B flat major) 51, 307,
324
Mazurka Op. 7 No. 2 (A major) 238, 307, 312,
454
Mazurka Op. 7 No. 4 (A flat major) 178n7,
208
Mazurka Op. 17 No. 3 (A flat major) 454;
antecedent phrase 469; articulation 470;
lead-ins 470; motives 469; phrase rhythm in
468–471, 468, 469
Mazurka Op. 17 No. 4 (A minor) 307, 312,
378, 441n31; beginning of C section 353,
354; climax 352; grace notes 351–352;
performance analysis of 347–356, 348–351,
354; rhythm 353–355, 354, 355
Mazurka Op. 24 No. 1 (G minor) 302
 chopin
Mazurka Op. 24 No. 2 (C major) 163, 324;
441n31; and folk music 68, 69–70, 72;
hołupiec gestures in 73–74, 74
Mazurka Op. 24 No. 3 (A flat major) 454
Mazurka Op. 24 No. 4 (B flat minor) 52, 324
Mazurka Op. 30 No. 2 (B minor) 442
Mazurka Op. 30 No. 4 (C sharp minor):
analytical summary of 448–453
Mazurka Op. 33 No. 2 (D major) 52
Mazurka Op. 33 No. 3 (C major) 435, 437–438
447, 453
Mazurka Op. 41 No. 3 (A flat major) 442
Mazurka Op. 50 No. 3 (C sharp minor) 50, 52,
441n31
Mazurka Op. 56 No. 1 (B major) 442, 454
Mazurka Op. 56 No. 3 (C minor) 50, 447–448
Mazurka Op. 59 No. 1 (A minor): phrase
expansion in 478–479; phrase overlap in 479;
phrase rhythm in 475–476, 475, 476, 477,
478–480; prototype 479, 479
Mazurka Op. 59 No. 2 (A flat major): Brandus
edition 323, 324, 324, 327, 328–329, 330;
pedal indications in 322–331; pedalling
of selected measures in four sources 325;
sources 324; Stern edition 322, 323, 324, 330
331; Wessel edition 326, 326
Mazurka Op. 59 No. 3 (F sharp minor) 442,
454
Mazurka Op. 63 No. 1 (B major) 441n31
Mazurka Op. 63 No. 3 (C sharp minor)
443–444
Mazurka Op. 67 No. 1 (G major) 454
Mazurka Op. 67 No. 2 (G minor) 440
Mazurka Op. 67 No. 3 (C major) 302,
444–446, 447
Mazurka Op. 68 No. 2 (A minor) 441n33
Mazurka Op. 68 No. 3 (F major) 52, 441n33;
Brown’s folk source for 72, 73; and folk
music 69–71, 72–73, 75; performance
analysis of 356–362, 357–359, 361; Poco più
vivo section 356–360; rustic melody in 71
Mazurka Op. 68 No. 4 (F minor) 52, 179n10,
182, 193–194, 193, 213–214
mazurkas 5, 27, 36, 67–68, 91–101, 133–134,
135, 339n15, 378; authentic Polish folk-
music as roots of 5, 68–74; distortion of
rhythm in 300; and musical landscape
of Poland 76; peasant origins 455–456;
performance analysis of 9–10, 343–363;
569
phrase rhythm in 461–487; Polish rhythm
of 436–440, 441; popular origins of 436,
455–456; repetition in 88n50; rhythmic
asymmetry in 429–461; roots of Chopin’s
mazurkas in peasant dances from Masovia
454–455; song-dance idiom 63
Mazurkas Op. 17 440, 454
Mazurkas Op. 33 440
Mazurki Chopina 72–73
McClary, Susan 545n20
Mechetti, Pietro 489, 489n3, 501, 503, 504
Méditations poétiques 261
Medvedev, Pavel 368
‘Melodia’ (Melody) 227, 232
melodic line 174
melodic repetition 480
Mélodie Polonaise 232
melody 50–51
Mémoires (Grétry) 122
memoirs 266
Mendelssohn, Felix 136, 148, 272, 274, 277,
297, 323, 394, 395, 507, 531, 557
messianism 37, 37n64, 37n65, 105–106
Methuen-Campbell, James 8, 269
metrical reinterpretation 485
metronome 9, 296, 299, 300, 305–316
Meyer, Leonard B. 514, 516
Meyerbeer, Giacomo 122–123,124, 125, 126,
147, 300, 432–433, 437
Michałowski, Aleksander 285, 286
Mickiewicz, Adam 24, 32, 37, 37n64, 37n65,
39, 42, 77n29, 79, 80, 105–106, 113, 124,
129, 227, 228–229, 231, 232, 237, 261, 399,
495
Miketta, Janusz 72–73
Mikuli, Karol 9, 211, 274, 283, 284, 285–286,
299
Milewski, Barbara 5, 12, 67
miniature forms 47, 50
Mioduszewski, Marcin 59
Mirska, Maria 240
modality, effect of 52
Moiseiwitsch, Benno 282
‘Moja pieszczotka’ (My Darling) 229, 231,
232
‘Mondnacht’ (Brahms) 507
‘Mondnacht’ Op. 39 No. 5 (Schumann) 507
monomania of death 114
Montal, Claude 340n21
570 chopin
Montgeroult, Hélène 293, 294
‘Moonlight’ Sonata see Sonata ‘quasi una
fantasia’ Op. 27 No. 2
Moscheles, Ignaz 45, 131, 134, 147, 274, 276,
299, 372, 415, 430, 431–432, 431–432n10,
434, 434–435, 434–435n19, 434n17
Mozart, Leopold 291
Mozart, Wolfgang Amadeus 44, 119, 270, 271,
272, 279, 291–292, 302, 314, 438, 538, 540
multiple autograph manuscripts 157–158
musica bulgara (Bulgarian music) 456–457
musica campagnola (peasant music) 447,
449–460
musica contadina polacca (Polish country
music) 454–456, 457–460
musica nazionale (national music) 437, 446
musica popolare (popular music) 436, 449–460
musica popolare polacca (Polish popular music)
436, 457–459
My Musical Life 277
myth of folk see folk music/songs
Namier, Lewis 104, 107
narodowość (nationality) 88n49
narrative, musical 104, 107–108, 111, 128–129;
and ballades 405–407, 406, 410
‘Narzeczony’ (The Bridegroom) 232
national folklore 458–459
national identity see under identity
national morality, and Polish vocal music 77
national music 76; and mazurkas 68, 70,
70n11, 71–72; see also folk music/songs
national sovereignty 104, 107
national style 43, 44
National Theater (Warsaw) 83, 84, 85, 88
nationalism 104–105
Nattiez, Jean-Jacques 406
Nędza uszczęśliwiona (Misery Made Happy)
83n42
Nef, Karl 434n17
New Year’s Eve Adventure, A 518
Newcomb, Anthony 406
Newman, William S. 295
Nicholls, Simon 403
‘Nie ma czego trzeba’ (I want what I have not)
240
Niecks, Frederick 2, 13–14, 61, 93, 96, 97,
129, 275, 284, 431, 436, 460n84, 490–491,
553; analysis of ballades 399; biography of
Chopin 27–28; ideas about Poland 35; on
scherzos 389; on tempo rubato 290
Niemcewicz, Julian Ursyn 32, 58, 63, 84
‘Niepodobieństwo’ (Dissimilitude) 61, 63
noble origins, common songs of 56
nobles, bond with artists 8, 262
Nocturne in C minor 211–213, 213
Nocturne in C sharp minor 117, 238
Nocturne in D minor (Wieck) 124
Nocturne Op. 9 No. 1 (B flat minor) 314, 315
Nocturne Op. 9 No. 2 (E flat major) 271, 286,
302, 464, 465; connective third-progressions
466–467; lead-ins 467; phrase rhythm in
464–467, 471; Schenkerian analysis of
opening phrase 465; sentence 466, 467;
slurring 467
Nocturne Op. 15 No. 2 (F sharp major) 314,
474
Nocturne Op. 15 No. 3 (G minor) 52, 302, 313,
378
Nocturne Op. 27 No. 1 (C sharp minor) 271,
314
Nocturne Op. 27 No. 2 (D flat major) 307,
313, 508
Nocturne Op. 32 No. 1 (B major) 316;
connective third-progressions 472;
counterpoint 472–473; inner-voice motion
472; lead-ins 473; phrase rhythm in 471–474,
472, 473
Nocturne Op. 37 No. 1 (G minor): slur in 480
Nocturne Op. 48 No. 1 (C minor) 50
Nocturne Op. 48 No. 2 (F sharp minor):
endless melody in 480, 481, 483, 485;
metrical reinterpretation 485; phrase rhythm
in 480–481, 481–482, 483–485; two-bar
introduction 483
Nocturne Op. 55 No. 1 (F minor) 374
Nocturne Op. 55 No. 2 (E flat major): Brandus
edition 336, 337; Breitkopf & Härtel edition
336, 337; pedal indications in 322, 331–336,
332, 334
Nocturne Op. 62 No. 1 (B major) 210, 485,
486; reprise of 188, 190
Nocturne Op. 72 No. 1 (E minor) 117, 153,
205, 205, 206
nocturnes 46, 117, 135, 271; of Chopin 44, 46,
47, 50, 117; phrase rhythm in 461–487
Nocturnes Op. 9 249, 281, 306
Nocturnes Op. 15 249
 chopin 571

Nocturnes Op. 27 249, 306, 507

ornaments 11, 182, 303, 355, 370, 415, 417

Nocturnes Op. 32 249

Orzeszkowa, Eliza 22n16
Nocturnes Op. 37 249
Osborne, George 276

Nocturnes Op. 48 249

Osiński, Ludwik 226n1
Nocturnes Op. 55 249, 250n4
Ostrzyńska, Ludwika 286

Nocturnes Op. 62 245

‘Oto dziś dzień krwi i chwały...’ (’Tis a Day of

Nodier, Charles 263–264 Blood and Glory) 56

non-autograph sources 153

Oury, Anna Caroline de Belleville 134, 276,

non-synchronised rubato 8, 290, 301; after

281

1800 292–294

Nord oder Süd 316

Pacini 249

norms/deviations, generic 374, 375, 378

Paderewski, Ignacy Jan 29, 239, 321, 349,

notations 7; arpeggio signs 7, 209–210; in

350–352, 353, 437, 438, 439, 503

Paganini, Niccolò 313, 518, 519

autographs 171–174; clarity and legibility of

157; classical system of 177–178n3, 177n2;

painting 492, 493–494, 495

code 172–173; downward note stems 7, 206,

pan-European revolution 105, 106–107
207–208, 208–209; economy of 172; habits
Parakilas, James 397

159–160, 160n26; tempo/character 305–319

parallel chords 52

note bleue 181, 495, 506

parallel period 463

November Uprising (1830–1831) 21, 35, 105,

Paris 296; arrival of Chopin in 20–21; German

107, 113; common songs during 58–59

Romanticism in 259–260; life of Chopin in

Nowakowski, Jósef 458

32, 37, 39–40; oral/pianistic performance of

Nowak-Romanowicz, Alina 61
poetry in 264; Polish émigrés in 106

Nowe Krakowiaki (The New Cracovians) 85, 86

Parnas, Kornelia 238, 239

Nowik, Wojciech 6, 167

Parry, Henry John 248

Passacaille in B minor (Couperin) 190, 191

O klasyczności i romantyczności (On Classicism ‘Pastoral’ Symphony (Beethoven) 110

and Romanticism) 80n40 ‘Pastorale’ in A major (Field) 464

oberek 439, 453; hołupiec gestures in 73

Pastorałki i kolędy z melodyjami (Christmas

obertas 68, 88
Songs and Carols with Melodies) 59

occidentalism 33
patriotic songs 56, 63–64
Ode to the West Wind 512
‘Patrz Kościuszko na nas z nieba’ (Kościuszko,

Öffentlichkeit 262, 267–268 Look Down on us from Heaven) 56

Oeuvres posthumes 197, 213

Pavlov, Ivan 178n4
Ogden, Charles Kay 178n4 Pearson correlation matrix 361

Ogiński, Michał Kleofas 85, 270

peasant music see folk music/songs
‘Oj Magdalino’ 72, 73, 73, 73n23, 74, 75
pedal indications of Chopin 321–341; Mazurka

Online Chopin Variorum Edition (OCVE) 151,

Op. 59 No. 2 (A flat major) 322–331,

152
324–326, 328–329, 331; Nocturne Op. 55

Onslow, George 147

No. 2 (E flat major) 322, 331–336, 332, 334

opéra comique 119, 120, 122

Pekacz, Jolanta T. 4, 17, 254

operas 85–87 performance analysis: analytical literature

Opp. 66–73 (Posthumous Works) 229, 233–234 350; Mazurka Op. 17 No. 4 (A minor)

opus numbering 197

347–356, 348–351, 354; Mazurka Op. 68

oral performance of poetry 263, 264

No. 3 (F major) 356–362, 357–359, 361;

orchestration, for Concerto in E minor Op. 11

mazurka rhythm 353–354, 354; of mazurkas

415–417, 416–417
9–10, 343–363; navigating and browsing

originality, in sketches 181, 182

recordings 346; Sonic Visualiser 9, 346–347,

ornamentation 51, 53
347; technical development 346

572 chopin

performativity, performance against 255–257, and Ruthenian Songs of the Galician Folk)

258
78

Perry, Edward 399

Pieśni światowe (Songs of the World) 58

Péru, F.-Henri 283, 286–287 ‘Pije Kuba do Jakuba’ (Sam Drinks to James)

Peruzzi, Elise 283

57

Peters 237
Pilgrim’s Ballade (Ballade des Pèlerins) 112

Petrucci Music Library website 151

‘Piosnka litewska’ (Lithuanian Song) 228

‘Phantasmagorie des Musikdramas’ (Wagner)

Piosnki sielskie (Pastoral Songs) 226

128
Pirkhert, Edouard 135

Philipp, Isidor 285

Pixis, Johann Peter 120

phrase expansion 476, 478

Planche, Gustave 148

phrase overlaps 463, 468, 475; by contrapuntal

plate numbers 203

means 475, 475; in Mazurka Op. 59 No. 1

Pleyel grand pianos 8, 9, 327, 329, 340n21

(A minor) 479; in Nocturne Op. 62 No. 1

Pleyel, Marie 273, 276, 281, 340n21

(B major) 487
‘Pod smutną gwiazdą Kazimierz się rodził’

phrase rhythm 12, 461–487; Mazurka Op. 17

(Casimir was Born under a Sorrowful Star)

No. 3 (A flat major) 468–471, 468, 469;

56

Mazurka Op. 59 No. 1 (A minor) 475–476,

poet image: of Chopin 259–262; of Liszt 261

475, 476, 477, 478–480; Nocturne Op. 9

Pol, Wincenty 59, 227, 229

No. 2 (E flat major) 464–467, 465, 466;

Poland 457, 459–460; conflict between

Nocturne Op. 32 No. 1 (B major) 471–474,

ethnocentrism and occidentalism in 33–34;

472, 473; Nocturne Op. 37 No. 1 (G minor)

notion of naród 76, 77; partitions of 33,

480; Nocturne Op. 48 No. 2 (F sharp minor)

83n43; Polishness of Chopin outside 34–36;

480–481, 481–482, 483–485

political systems of 34; see also Polishness of

phrase structure 191, 470, 471

Chopin

pianistic development, features of 204

Poland’s Dirge 227

pianistic problems 45, 46

polemics 33

Piano Concerto Op. 16 in F minor (Henselt)

Polens Grabgesang 227, 237

282
Polish Complete Works (Dzieła Wszystkie) 239

piano music 43; new forms in 117–119 Polish dances 50

piano sonata 44
Polish language 76

Piano Sonata in A major (Schubert) 519

Polish Musical Association 239

Picture, The 520

Polish National Edition (Wydanie Narodowe)

‘Pierścień’ (The Ring) 228, 231

7, 204, 211, 214

Pieśni i piosneczki narodowe (National Songs

Polish national soul, Chopin as 4, 24–25, 26,

and Ditties) 58
27, 29–30

Pieśni Janusza (Songs of Janusz) 59

Polish Romantic literature 24–25
Pieśni ludowe do śpiewu (Popular Melodies for
Polish songs (Op. 74) 229–230, 234, 235, 237;

Voice) 458
No. 1 239

Pieśni ludu Białochrobatów, Mazurów i Rusi

Polish style 44

znad Bugu (Songs of the Bialochrobat,

Polishness of Chopin 20–26, 22n15, 23–24n22;
Mazur and Ruthenian Folk from the Bug
and Chopin’s life in Paris 39–40; creativity
Region) 72, 78
25–26; essentialist view of 4, 20; mazurkas
Pieśni ludu polskiego (Songs of the Polish
69; Niecks on 27–28; outside Poland 34–36;
Folk) 72, 78, 82
Przybyszewski on 25–26, 28–29; Szulc on
Pieśni patriotyczne z czasów Rewolucji Polskiej
26; Szymanowski on 31; see also folk music/
(Patriotic Songs from the Times of the
songs
Polish Revolution) 59
politics: and biographies 18n4, 32–33, 34, 39;

Pieśni polskie i ruskie ludu galicyjskiego (Polish inclinations, of Chopin 106

 chopin
Polonaise for Piano and Cello Op. 3 (C major)
147
Polonaise in A flat major 47, 205, 207
Polonaise in B flat minor 203
Polonaise in G flat major 203
Polonaise Op. 26 No. 2 (E flat minor) 186
Polonaise Op. 40 No. 2 (C minor) 61, 257,
258
Polonaise Op. 44 (F sharp minor) 47, 50, 489
Polonaise-Fantasy Op. 61 (A flat major) 47,
50, 231n5, 380–381, 381, 474, 501, 501;
differences between French and German
editions 155–156; source material for 154,
155
Polonaises 36, 44, 46, 135–136, 204, 271, 436;
rhythmic diversity in 455
Polonization, of Nicolas Chopin 22
polyphony 50
polyrhythm 53
popular genres 378, 379, 381, 383; and ballades
405
‘Poseł’ (The Messenger) 228
positivism 523, 524–526, 527–528
posthumous publication of Chopin’s songs
225–240
post-structuralism, and genres 377–381
Potocka, Delfina 230, 231
Potter, Cipriani 134
powszechne see common songs
precision of sources 198
‘Precz z moich oczu’ (Out of my sight) 227,
228, 237
prelude cycle (Chopin) 47
Prelude Op. 28 No. 1 (C major) 378
Prelude Op. 28 No. 2 (A minor) 12–13,
408–409, 511–521, 547; autonomy of
532–533; clash between melody and
harmony in 513–515, 513; coherence 516;
dialectic reversals in 512–516; disruptive
interludes 519, 520–521; establishment of
musical meaning 516–517; harmonic process
515–516; impossible objects 517–519;
integration of recollection and anticipation
516–517; resolution of melodic statement
515; structural tropes 517; subjectivity
517–519
Prelude Op. 28 No. 3 (G major) 381, 382
Prelude Op. 28 No. 4 (E minor) 547; notations
in 160–161
573
Prelude Op. 28 No. 5 (D major): notations in
161
Prelude Op. 28 No. 9 (E major) 52; notations
in 161
Prelude Op. 28 No. 10 (C sharp minor) 210
Prelude Op. 28 No. 11 (B major) 52
Prelude Op. 28 No. 14 (E flat minor) 186, 193;
accidentals 183, 186; clefs 183; contents of
leaf and paper type 183; interpretations of
183, 185, 186; phrase structure 191, 193;
realization of 187, 189; relatively literal
transcription of 187, 187, 188; sketch of 6,
183–195, 184; timbral and textural surface
188, 193
Prelude Op. 28 No. 16 (B flat minor) 281
Prelude Op. 28 No. 18 (F minor) 53
Prelude Op. 28 No. 20 (C minor) 51, 52;
notations in 161, 164–165
Prelude Op. 45 (C sharp minor) 12, 248,
250, 489–509; arpeggio textures 497,
501; auditory reflections 502; C sharp
minor/A major dichotomy 502; and
Concerto Op. 11 506, 507; harmonic
conception of 497, 502; from Keepsake
des pianistes 498–500; logical succession
of harmonic progressions in 502–503;
modulatory schemes in 503; and painting
497, 502; pedal in 497n26; reviews 491–492;
sharp keys vs. flat keys 503, 504; and Sonata
‘quasi una fantasia’ Op. 27 No. 2 504–506,
505–506; titles 490
preludes 133, 146, 316, 531
Preludes Op. 28 181, 183, 245
première pensée musicale 194
presence of common songs 59–62
presentation manuscripts 153
primary source material 153–164, 154
private correspondence, of composers
201–202, 202
private performance: of Chopin 39–40, 41;
improvisations 194
Probst, Heinrich Albert 112
production conditions, of source material
157–159
programme music 108
proofs 153
proofsheets 154
Le Prophète (Meyerbeer) 122, 123
Propp, Vladimir 406
574 chopin

prosody 435–436, 440, 441, 447, 449, 449–450,

Revue et Gazette musicale de Paris 111, 190,

450, 451
267, 489, 491

Protopopow, Władimir 403

Reyzner, Kazimierz 58, 62

prototype 478, 479, 479

‘Rhapsodie’ (Tomášek) 118

Proust, Marcel 508

rhapsodies 117

Prout, Ebenezer 463

rhetoric 129

Przybyszewski, Stanisław 25–26, 28–29 rhythm: flexibility 9, 290–292, 291, 294–298;

psychic conflict, and biographies 19, 20

mazurka 70, 85, 88n49, 353–355, 354, 355;

psychoanalytic theory 409

phrase 12, 461–487

psychological approach to autographs 169

Rhythm Problem 461, 464

public sphere, and salons 262–263, 264–265 rhythmic asymmetry 429–460

publishers, sources from 203
rhythmic freedom 274

Pugno, Raoul 285

Richard Coeur-de-lion (Grétry) 119

pupils, of Chopin 283–287 Richards, Brinley 283

Richards, H. B. 132

quotations, of common songs 61

Richards, I. A. 178n4
Riemann, Hugo 289, 476

Rameau, Jean-Philippe 190, 503, 504, 532

Ries, Ferdinand 295

Ravel, Maurice 508

rigour, and musicology 525

Rawsthorne, Alan 390, 393, 399

Rink, John 10, 151, 397, 411n5

Reber, Henri 147

Rischel, Gunner 490

‘reconciliatory’ critical approach 398

Risler, Edouard 285

Recueil complet des Mélodies Polonaises de

ritmo bulgaro (Bulgarian rhythm) 460n84
Chopin Op. 74 239
ritmo slavo (Slavic rhythm) 455, 456–460,
Rée, Anton 283
459–460, 460n84
reflection of colours 495
Robert le diable (Meyerbeer) 122–123, 124, 126

Reichardt, Johann Friedrich 124

Roche, Signora 434, 434–435n19, 437

Reinecke, Carl 218

Rogers, Michael 515

Reissiger, Carl Gottlieb 137–138 Romance 116, 119–120, 121, 123, 128; defined

rejected public manuscripts 153

127

reliability of sources 198, 199–201, 201–203,

Romania 457

202
‘Romans króla Teobalda (Gdyby zapomnieć

Religioso in the Nocturne Op. 15 No. 3

te oczy)’ (The Romance of King Theobald

(Chopin) 52
[Were I to Forget those Eyes]) 62

religious songs 56, 59, 64

Romantic aesthetics 260

Rellstab, Ludwig 506

Romantic elegies 62

Remembrance 237
Romantic messianism see messianism
reminiscences, of common songs 61
Romantic movement 33

repetitions 480, 544, 545; in Berceuse Op. 57

Romantic style 43, 53, 130

545–546; and genre 367, 369; incremental

Romanticism 24–25, 113, 262, 534; anti­
398, 405; in Prelude Op. 28 No. 4 in E minor
performative stance of 260, 260n15; French

547; and rubato 303

261; German 259–260; Prelude Op. 28 No. 2

reprints 154, 154n11, 155

(A minor) 511–521

Resolution and Independence 518

Rondo à la krakowiak Op. 14 (F major) 44,

resonance 12, 497, 507n47

117, 141

rests 470
Rondo à la mazur Op. 5 (F major) 44, 141

retransition 503, 540, 541, 543–544

rondo form 50

revolution of the intellectuals 104

Rondo Op. 1 (C minor) 141

Revolutions of 1848 33, 104–105

Rondo Op. 16 (E flat major) 45, 302

 chopin
rondos 141; of Chopin 117
Rosen, Charles 7, 181, 217, 350, 351, 353, 354,
514
Rosenblum, Sandra 9, 321
Rosengardt, Zofia 21n14
Rosenhain, Jakob 148, 276
Rosenthal, Moriz 285, 286
Rossini, Gioachino 147
Rothstein, William 12, 461
rough edges, of sketches 182
Rousseau, Jean-Jacques 119, 122, 127
Rousseau, Théodore 77, 182
Rowland, David 8–9, 289
Royal Academy of Music 132
rubato see tempo rubato
Rubinstein, Artur 228, 287, 358–360, 362
Rubio, Vera 283
Ruch Muzyczny 236
Ruskin, John 181, 183
Russia in 1839 34
Russification 33
rustic music 70, 71, 79n38, 80n40
16 Polnische Lieder (16 Polish Songs) 233,
236
Saint-Saëns, Camille 286, 287, 321
Salaman, Charles 134
salons 8, 30n42, 39, 84, 254–255, 272–273;
Chopin’s involvement with 40–41, 42;
conversations 266–267; German 262–263,
264; and nostalgia 266; oral performance
of poetry in 263, 264; physical presence of
artists 264–265; and public sphere 262–263,
264–265
Salzer, Felix 419
Samaroff-Stokowski, Olga 280
Samson, Jim 10, 65, 75, 114n52, 355, 367,
390, 398, 409, 490; studies of ballades 401,
402–403, 405, 410, 411n3
Sand, George 5, 12, 29, 32, 39, 99, 108–110,
111, 148, 165, 181, 188, 190, 239, 265, 283,
492, 492n17, 494, 501, 506, 553
Sand, Maurice 12, 78, 181, 495–496
Sandman, The 518
Sapp, Craig 343
Sauguet, Henri 490n7
Schachter, Carl 380
Schäffer, B. 178n6
Scheffer, Ary 554
575
Schelling, Ernest 285
Schenker, Heinrich 11, 398, 400, 401, 401, 462,
468–469, 476
Scherzo Op. 20 (B minor) 46, 61, 64, 138–139,
219, 219, 249, 257, 389; gestures in 390, 391
Scherzo Op. 31 (B flat minor) 139, 249, 250,
379, 380; gestures in 390, 391
Scherzo Op. 39 (C sharp minor) 46, 139, 389,
390; gestures in 390, 392, 393
Scherzo Op. 54 (E major) 340n22, 390, 474;
gestures in 392–393, 393
scherzos 10, 45, 46, 47, 61, 138–141;
characterisation of 388–389, 394; ‘con fuoco’
markings 389; differentiation of articulation
389–390; as genre 387–395; gestures in 390,
391–393, 393–394; independent 388, 389,
390, 394, 395; sforzato markings 389; ternary
design of 389
Schiller, Friedrich 512
Schilling, G. 388
Schindler, Anton 259
Schlesinger, A. M. 95, 120, 147, 163, 229, 233,
234, 236, 237, 307, 309n9, 440, 449n55, 489
Schlesinger’sche Buch- und Musikhandlung
233, 236
Schmidt, Hans 237, 239
Schoenberg, Arnold 466
Schott/Universal 341n27
Schubert, Franz 278, 372, 512, 519
Schumann, Clara 8, 276, 281–282, 298, 300,
315, 372, 519; see also Wieck, Clara
Schumann, Robert 35, 112, 118, 125, 128, 129,
130, 147, 256, 259, 274–275, 389, 394, 398,
399, 415, 417, 430, 507, 520, 521, 533, 557
scientific models 525, 527
Scribe, Eugène 123
scrutiny of biographies 18
Scruton, Roger 110
Second, Albéric 261
secondary tonality 401
Sedlatzek, Johann 147
Seibert, Peter 263
Seigel, Jerrold 19n8
self: of biographical subject 18–19; third
dimension of 19n8
self-citation 512
self-containment 529, 535, 537, 538, 540
self-image 111, 113, 114
semiology 167, 170, 177n1, 177n2
576 chopin

semiotic-musical criterion of autographs

Sonata Op. 58 (B minor) 47, 50, 316, 474;

170–171, 172
pedalling in 335

Sennett, Richard 254n4 Sonata ‘quasi una fantasia’ Op. 27 No. 2

sensuous identity 13, 532; Prelude Op. 28

(Beethoven) 492, 504–506, 505–506

No. 2 (A minor) 12, 533

sonatas 44, 50, 137; scherzos from 390, 394, 395

sentence 466, 467, 471

song-dance idiom 63

Series of Modern Trios 241

song-lyrical idiom 63

Shakespeare, William 260

Songs without Words (Mendelssohn) 531

Shelley, Percy Bysshe 512

Sonic Visualiser 9, 346–347, 347

Shklovsky, Viktor 368

sonority in music 222

‘Siedzi sobie zając pod miedzą’ (There Sits a

Soulié, Frédéric 148

Hare Beneath a Ridge) 57

sources: for chronology of Chopin’s works

Signac, Paul 509

198–204; of common songs 56–57; folk

significant vs. signifié 171

sources 72–73, 73; material types 153;

signs, musical 171

studies 526

Sikorski, Józef 21n11, 236

sources of Chopin 151; conditions of
Silas, Edouard 273
production 157–159; preparers 159–162;
Siloti, Alexander 278
primary sources 153–164, 154; principles
Singspiel 119
and performances 164–165; purposes 162;
Skein of Legends Around Chopin, The 17n2, relationships with other sources 162–164;
18n4 status 156–157
sketches 153; aesthetics of 181–194; difficulties Souvenir de l’Andalousie see Boléro Op. 19

for Chopin in writing 182; notations in 173; (A minor)

rough edges 182; studies 526–527 Souvenirs inédits de Frédéric Chopin 229

‘Śliczny chłopiec’ (Handsome Lad) 231

Sowiński, Wojciech Albert 284, 458n76
Sloper, Lindsay 283
‘Śpiew grobowy’ (Burial Hymn) 227, 233, 236,

Słowacki, Juliusz 24, 113

237

Słownik języka polskiego 76

Śpiewnik kościelny z melodyjami (Church

Słowo Polskie 240

Songbook with Melodies) 59

slurs 12, 326, 339n17, 467, 470, 471, 480

Śpiewy burszów polskich (Patriotic Polish

Smendzianka, Regina 270

Student Songs) 58

Smith, Ronald 279

Śpiewy historyczne (Historical Songs) 58, 63

society and music, relationship between 523,

Śpiewy i aryje teatralne … z dodatkiem nowych

524–525
śpiewów i krakowiaków (Songs and Arias

Soirées de Vienne 278

from the Theatre … with the addition of

Soirées musicales Op. 6 (Wieck) 124, 125

new songs and krakowiaks) 58

Sołtyk, Stanisław 76n28 Spohr, Louis 148

Sonata for Piano and Cello Op. 65 (G minor)

spontaneity, in sketches 181

47, 52, 250n4

‘Stała nam się nowina’ (Hear Ye! Hear Ye!/

sonata form 117, 129, 130

Something New for Us Has Happened) 57,

Sonata Op. 4 (C minor) 455

79–80, 80, 81

Sonata Op. 5 (Brahms) 507

Stamaty, Camille 273

Sonata Op. 24 (Weber) 219, 220

Stanley Lucas, Weber & Co. 237

Sonata Op. 35 (B flat minor) 47, 50, 53, 61,

Staszic, Stanisław 77

202, 250, 250n4; chromaticism 220, 221–222;

status of source material 156–157
development 220–221, 221; first movement
Stechereintragungen 161

of 7, 217–223; London edition 218; third

Stefani, Jan 80, 83, 84, 85, 86, 88

movement of 159; voice-leading reduction

Stern 322, 323, 324, 330, 331

221, 222
Stichvorlagen (print models) 153

 chopin
stile brillante 51
Stirling, Jane 93, 157, 214, 229–230, 231, 232,
234, 239, 442n38
Stoin, Vasil 456, 457
Stojowski, Sigismund 284
Stratonice 492, 492n18, 493
Strauss, Johann, Jr 462
Streicher, Friedericke 283
String Quartet in A minor (Schubert) 512
String Quartet in B flat major (Beethoven) 519
String Quintet Op. 88 (Brahms) 402
structural and interpretive analysis 345, 402
Structural Functions in Music 403
structural tropes 408, 512, 517, 520, 521
style 547, 548; analysis 345; ballades 405; and
genres 367, 368, 369, 371, 372, 393; and
identity 534–535; studies 526
subjectivity 43
Subotnik, Rose Rosengard 13, 523
sub-phrases 462; sentence type of 466, 467, 471
Suchoff, Benjamin 72
Sue, Eugène 148
Suite bergamasque 507
‘Świat srogi, świat przewrotny’ (A World
That’s Harsh, a World Perfidious) 57
‘Święta miłości kochanej Ojczyzny’ (Oh Sacred
Love of the Homeland Cherished) 56
Świtezianka (Mickiewicz) 124
Sydow, Bronisław Edward 69n7, 229n4
symphonic poetry 53
Symphonie fantastique (Berlioz) 520
Szlakiem Chopina 240
Szopen a naród (Chopin and the Nation) 28
Szulc, Marceli Antoni 26, 30, 68, 69, 69n6, 75,
92, 97
Szymanowska, Maria 65, 71, 88, 124, 270
Szymanowski, Karol 30, 31
2 Śpiewy (Two Songs) 234
38 Pièces de clavecin par F. Couperin 190
Tarantella Op. 43 (A flat major) 93, 94, 95, 140
Tarasti, Eero 407
Tarnowski, Stanisław 24, 24n23, 26, 42
Tartini, Giuseppe 191, 192
Taruskin, Richard 529
Tausig, Carl 276, 282
Tellefsen, Thomas 283
tempo 305–316, 362–363; comparison of
autographs and printed editions 317–319;
577
graphs 346, 353, 356–357, 357–359; of
Mazurka Op. 17 No. 4 (A minor) 347–352;
of Mazurka Op. 68 No. 3 (F major)
356–358, 357, 359–360; of scherzos 389, 390
tempo rubato 8–9, 274, 289–290, 432, 434n17,
437, 438, 438–39, 441, 453, 455; of Chopin
298–303; definition of 289; development of
rhythmic flexibility in nineteenth century
294–298; non-synchronised 8, 290, 292–294,
301; rhythmic flexibility in eighteenth-
century performance styles 290–292, 291;
types of 8, 299; use of term 302–303
‘Tęskność na wiosnę’ (Yearning for
Springtime) 62
textual accuracy 528
Thalberg, Sigismond 135, 142, 148, 276, 281
That God Is, The Philosophy 232
theory: of information 167, 178n8; of meaning
178n4; of signals 178n4
Thomas, Adrian 75, 356
Thomas, Ambroise 273, 276
Threshold of a New World 38
timbral gestures 191
timescapes 357–358
Titelauflage 490n8
Tłumaczenia Szopena (Translations of Chopin)
77n29
Tomaschevsky, Boris 368
Tomášek, Václav Jan 117, 118, 125
Tomaszewski, Mieczysław 5, 32, 36n61, 55,
84n46, 129
tonality 544; Étude Op. 25 No. 3 (F major)
419–428; and intelligibility 535
tonic pedals 257
Tosi, Pier Francesco 289–290, 302
Tovey, Donald Francis 11, 415
Towiański circle 106
tradition, Polish 76, 77, 79, 80, 84
transitive senses 110
transpositions of common songs 60–61
Trauermarsch (Chopin) 47
trills 188, 190
Trio Op. 8 (G minor) 241, 302
trios 137–138
Trochimczyk, Maja 20n10
Trois Nouvelles Études from the Méthode des
Méthodes 248
Trombini-Kazuro, Margerita 271
Troupenas 158–159
578 chopin

Troutbeck, J. J. 237
Waltz in F minor 199–200

Türk, Daniel Gottlob 291

Waltz Op. 18 (E flat major) 136, 307

Turczyński, Jozéf 91, 239, 321

Waltz Op. 34 No. 1 (A flat major) 307

two-key scheme 401–402

Waltz Op. 34 No. 2 (A minor) 136

‘Ty pójdziesz górą...’ (You’ll Take the

Waltz Op. 42 (A flat major) 53, 95, 249

Highroad...) 56
Waltz Op. 64 No. 2 (C sharp minor) 281

Tygodnik Muzyczny (Musical Weekly) 77

waltzes 136, 238, 339n15, 446–447, 452, 453,

Tymowski, Tomasz Kantorbery (Kanterbury)

474; of Chopin 46; dual roles of 378

60
Waltzes Op. 34 249

Tynyanov, Yury 368

‘Wanda leży w naszej ziemi’ (Wanda Lies in

tyranny of the four-bar phrase 12, 461

Our Soil) 56

Warsaw, musical life in 76–88

Ujejski, Kornel 77n29

Warsaw School of Music and Dramatic Arts

Universal/Particular, dialectic of 368, 375

77

universal songs see common songs

Warszawianka (The Varsovian) 59

‘Ursula Mirouet’ 143

Warszawskie Towarzystwo Przyjaciól Nauk

Urtext 322
(The Warsaw Society for the Friends of

Uwins, Thomas 140

Learning) 76–77, 76n28

Weber, Carl Maria von 45, 135, 219, 220, 270,

Van Barentzen, Aline 281

275, 276–277, 295

variants 286
Wernik, Kazimierz 283

variations 50, 117, 121, 271, 274; of common

Wesele w Ojcowie (A Wedding in Ojców) 87,

songs 60
87

Variations brillantes Op. 12 (B flat major) 45,

Wessel & Co. 232, 233, 449n55; Complete

120, 250n5
Collection of the Compositions of Frederic

Variations on ‘Là ci darem la mano’ Op. 2

Chopin 241–250; Mazurka Op. 59 No. 2

(B flat major) 306–307, 313, 316

(A flat major) 323, 324, 324, 326

vaudevilles 83, 84, 85

‘Wezmę ja kontusz, wezmę ja żupan’ (I’ll Take
Verhulst, Johannes 148
my Frock-coat, I’ll Take my Mantle) 57

Versuch über die wahre Art das Clavier zu Whistling, C. F. 388

spielen 290, 291

wholeness of compositions 536

Veyret, A. 231n5, 232

‘Wie des Mondes Abbild’ Op. 6 No. 2 (Franz)

Viardot-Garcia, Pauline 232, 286

507

virtuosity 45, 51
Wieck, Clara 124–125; see also Schumann,

Vitruvius 171
Clara

vocal music, privileging of 77, 77n29

Wieck, Friedrich 8, 297–298

Völkerfrühling 104
Wieniawski, Józef 279

Vom Musikalisch-Schönen 110

Wilder, Victor van 239

von Württemberg, Princess 449 see also

Wilkowska, Krystyna 408

Czartoryska, Marcelina
Windakiewiczowa, Helena 460n84

Voříšek, Jan Václav 118, 125, 372

‘Wionął wiatr błogi na Lechitów ziemię...’

(The Air Blew Sweet across the Polish Land)

‘W mieście dziwne obyczaje’ (In the Town 61

Strange Customs) 57
‘Wiosna’ (Spring) 200, 228

Wagner, Günther 402, 406, 464, 474, 475, 509

‘Witaj majowa jutrzenko’ (Hail, Oh May

Wagner, Richard 123, 128, 129, 464

Dawn) 56, 63

Walicki, Andrzej 105

Witten, David 405

Walton, Kendall L. 110

Witwicki, Stefan 32, 225–226, 237, 238, 240

Waltz in A flat major 199

Wodzińska, Maria 228, 234, 238, 239, 449n58

 chopin 579

‘Wojak’ (The Warrior) 231, 234, 237

Zaleski, Józef Bohdan 32, 226–227, 229,

Wójcicki, Kazimierz Władysław 69n7, 72, 73,

240

78, 79, 80
Zaleski, Wacław 59, 78, 79

Wójcik, T. 177n2, 177n3 Zbior Spiewow Polskich 234, 236

Wolff, Pierre 148

Żeleński, Władysław 28

Wollheim, Richard 110

Zerner, Henri 181

Wordsworth, William 517, 518, 520, 521

Zieliński, Jarosław 285

Woyciechowski, Tytus 123–124, 201, 458n76,

Zieliński, Tadeusz A. 490

506
Zimmermann, Ewald 309n9, 341n27
Woykowski, Antoni 21n11 Żmigrodzka, Maria 113

Wstęp do Wydania Narodowego (Introduction

Zolas, Edward 402

to the Polish National Edition) 198

‘Zuflucht zur Poetik’ (Tomášek) 118

Zur Psychologie des Individuums. Chopin und

Yarrow Unvisited 520

Nietzsche 25

Zwei Präludien durch alle Tonarten Op. 39

Zabobon, czyli Krakowiacy i Górale (Beethoven) 503

(Superstition, or the Cracovians and ‘Zyczenie’ (The Wish) 231, 232, 234, 239

Highlanders) 57, 60, 85, 86

Żywny, Adalbert 269, 271, 306, 553