The Sick Room (fantaisie)

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The Sick Room (fantaisie)
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Written in Chopin’s twentieth year, this is a marvelous display piece. The sumptuous Polonaise is ceremonial, the Andante spianato (i.e., with smoothness) is a liquid-toned gem demanding a poet’s reading. The orchestral part is paltry, but has its flavor; many have dispensed with it altogether, permitting this work to be performed on the recital stage.
The first of the Four Ballades is a glowing masterpiece. James Huneker called this epic narrative “the odyssey of Chopin’s soul.” The great lyric theme, stated in three different forms, is intoxicating. The First Ballade is summed up with a coda of elemental power, culminating in a chilling downward chromatic passage in octaves, which will electrify any receptive listener.
Schumann had dedicated his Kreisleriana, Op.16, to Chopin, who returned the honor by dedicating the Second Ballade to his German champion. A work of perfect proportion, it opens with a slow and magical episode which turns into a tempest, Presto con fuoco, a wild, magnificent outburst. In the words of the composer Alan Rawsthorne, at the end of the coda the Andantino theme becomes “a whispered reminder of the very opening,” which “vibrates in the memory.”
The Third Ballade is the essence of charm and warmth, with a sense of irony surrounding the second subject. Frederick Niecks, Chopin’s first important biographer in English, says “a quiver of excitement runs through the whole piece. . . . There is suffused a most exquisite elegance.” The slender second subject becomes a development section, “one of the most powerful Chopin ever composed,” says Rawsthorne, “one is quite staggered to look back at its winsome origins.” The coda, he continues, ends “in a blaze of light.”
The Fourth Ballade is generally agreed to be one of the sublime works of Romantic music. For John Ogdon, it is “the most exalted, intense and sublimely powerful of all Chopin’s compositions. . . . It is unbelievable that it lasts only twelve minutes, for it contains the experience of a lifetime.” Huneker calls its chief theme a “melody which probes the very coverts of the soul.” He compares it to Leonardo da Vinci’s Mona Lisa, while Ogdon speaks of F. Scott Fitzgerald’s The Last Tycoon, inviting us to a” Romantic communion of unbelievable intensity.”
The Fourth Ballade remains a narrative but has an inimitable feeling of intimacy and Slavonic coloring, and demands of the interpreter a delicate rubato and a virtuoso technique. It culminates in a coda of bone-crushing technical severity.
One of Chopin’s greatest compositions. It has been the despair of many fine artists, being difficult to interpret successfully. It is easy to sound affected, as does Arrau, or nervous, as does Horowitz, or too plain, as did Gieseking. Chopin must have been its ideal interpreter. At his very last Paris recital, in 1848, Charles Halle heard the frail master, who now “played it from the point when it demands the utmost energy, in the opposite way, pianissimo, but with such wonderful nuances that one remained in doubt if this new rendering were not preferable to the accustomed one.”
The Barcarolle displays Chopin’s ornamental genius in full bloom. Ravel wrote, “Chopin was not content merely to revolutionize piano technique. His figurations are inspired. Through his brilliant passages one perceives profound, enchanting harmonies. Always there is the hidden meaning which is translated into poetry of intense despair. . . . The Barcarolle is the synthesis of the expressive and sumptuous art of this great Slav.” Andre’ Gide finds the Barcarolle to express “languor in excessive joy.”
A cradle song which is a tour de force of exquisite filigree. A virtually unchanged tonic pedal in D-flat in the bass continues throughout its seventy magical measures. But “no analysis,” says Sir Lennox Berkeley, “can give any idea of its compelling grace and charm.”
The concerto is a grand harvest of perfect piano writing. It has retained a special place in the hearts of concert pianists, though conductors have far less to do in it than in other concertos. The slow movement is an exquisite, luxuriant nocturne.
The Second Concerto, composed when Chopin was nineteen, predates No.1, and is more subjective than the latter. Though equally popular, it is more elusive musically. The slow movement of the F minor Concerto is as breathtaking a poetic effusion as that of the First Concerto.
The Chopin Etudes are the most important pieces in the genre and formed the basis for all future concert etudes. The Op. 10 are dedicated”A son ami,” Franz Liszt:
Op. 10, No.1 in C major: Arpeggios based on wide extension. Huneker considers it “the new technique in all its nakedness, new in the scenes of figure, design, pattern, web, new in a harmonic way. . . . The nub of modern piano music is in the study.”
Op. 10, No.2 in A minor:
The study is an expansion of the Moscheles Etude Op. 70, No. 3, in chromatic scale passages for the third, fourth, and fifth fingers of the right hand, with chords in the right hand for the first and second fingers.
Op. 10, No.3 in E major:
An exquisite aria for cantabile playing. A middle section features widely extended double notes. When teaching the work to his pupil Adolf Gutmann, the composer cried out, “Oh, my homeland!”
Op. 10, No.4 in C-sharp minor:
An etude of lightness in high velocity for both hands.
Op. 10, No.5 in G-flat major:
The so-called Black Key Etude. Accuracy of chords in the left hand with exquisitely designed figuration on the black keys calls for a combination of finger technique with rotary action and supple wrists.
Op. 10, No.6 in E-flat minor:
A slow but restless chromatic study; it is difficult musically and needs a luscious touch for its melancholic, even anguished cantabile. For Henry T. Finck, “the etude seems as if it were in a sort of double minor . . . much sadder than ordinary minor.”
Op. 10, No.7 in C major:
A toccata requiring strong fingers for quick changing on the same note with the first finger and thumb of the right hand. There is further need to articulate the melodic line in the fifth finger. Huneker asks, “Were ever Beauty and Duty so mated in double harness?”
Op. 10, No.8 in F major:
Brilliant finger passagework, sweeping the keyboard up and down more than four octaves for development of smoothness in thumb movements; a left-hand melody needs subtle pedaling. Von Bulow called it “a bravura study par excellence.”
Op. 10, No.9 in F minor:
A left-hand figure of wide extension, needing endurance (especially for small hands), and a developed rotational freedom in the forearm; its portamento right-hand melody is feverish. The composer marked this etude Allegro, molto agitato. It is less difficult than many others.
Op. 10, No.10 in A-flat major:
James Friskin describes this as “a tiring Etude for the right hand, which has a continuous octave position with rotation from single notes for thumb to sixths for second and fifth fingers. There are ingenious variations of touch and rhythm.” John Ogdon feels that in its cross-rhythms, “Chopin’s influence on Brahms may be clearly seen here.” Von Bulow attests, “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 Parnassus.” Musically, Chopin takes us to HEIGHTs of Romantic poetry with breathtaking modulations.
Op. 10, No.11 in F-flat major:
Both hands play in extended arpeggios of chords, harplike in effect or, in Huneker’s words, “as if the guitar had been dowered with a soul.” Perching on top of these arabesques is a melody needing delicate tonal balance and phrasing.
Op. 10, No.12 in C minor:
Almost universally called the Revolutionary Etude, it is a complex left-hand study in continuous sixteenth notes. The right-hand theme requires tonal discrimination. Moritz Karasowski wrote of this popular work that “the image is evoked of Zeus hurling thunderbolts at the world.” Huneker called the opening “the crack of creation.”
Op. 25, No.1 in A-flat major: This is often called the Aeolian Harp. The weak fifth finger encounters a singing melody above a web of melting textures. A work of melodic magic, and one of the less taxing of the Etudes.
A study in cross-rhythms, requiring delicate finger articulation for its characteristic Chopinesque whisper.
Op. 25, No.3 in F major:
Theodor Kullak tells us that its “kernel lies in the simultaneous application of four different little rhythms to form a single figure.” Ogdon hears it as “a study in the precise rhythmic values of ornaments,” and Friskin wrote, “A light and independent action from the wrist for each beat constitutes an appropriate technique.”
Op. 25, No.4 in A minor:
Ronald Smith says of this study, “A leaping staccato left hand throughout is combined with subtly varied, syncopated right-hand chords.” The left hand is devilishly difficult to attain accuracy in.
Once called the Wrong Note Etude because of the piquant grace notes. The study demands variations of touch. This is one of the few Etudes with a middle section: a melody in the tenor register with an effective right-hand figuration. The effect is Thalbergian. The little recitativo coda with trills in both hands is the highest level of pianistic imagination.
Op. 25, No.6 in G-sharp minor:
The most hazardous study in thirds in the literature of the instrument. Louis Ehlert concludes, “Chopin not only versifies an exercise in thirds, he transforms it into such a work of art that in studying it one could sooner fancy himself on Parnassus than at a lesson.”
Op. 25, No. 7 in C-sharp minor:
Ronald Smith calls the form “a Sarabande which links the harmonic worlds of Bach and Wagner.” Von Bulow thought of it as a duet for cello and flute. It is a study in touches calling for discreet tonal balance.
An etude in sixths which can be harmful to a small hand if not practiced with care. Von Bullow thought it “the most useful exercise in the whole range of the Etude literature. . . . As a remedy for stiff fingers and preparatory to performing in public, playing it six times through is recommended, even to the most expert pianist.” But I warn, not six times at top speed.
Op. 25, No.9 in G-flat major:
Rather aptly termed the Butterfly Etude. Good wrist octaves and endurance are necessary for the projection of this puckish creation.
Op. 25, No.10 in B minor:
A fierce study in legato octaves in both hands. Frederick Niecks calls it “a real pandemonium.” It is fearsome in its demand for endurance and can tax a small hand. The etude possesses for the sake of both musical and physical relief a middle section in B major of lyrical beauty.
Known as the Winter Wind. The left hand has a stately marchlike theme; the right hand projects an immense canvas with complex chromaticism. One of the most turbulent of the set, it asks for tremendous hand malleability.
Op. 25, No.12 in C minor:
An etude requiring powerful weight control and balance for arpeggios in both hands. A work of great majesty and starkness, it has often been called the Ocean Etude.
This large-scaled composition is considered one of Chopin’s masterpieces. The Fantasy opens with a solemn and mysterious march-like introduction leading to a passionate drama with a central chorale, Lento sostenuto, of unusual serenity. Niecks felt “Chopin’s genius had now reached the most perfect stage of its development and was radiating with all the intensity of which its nature was capable.”
Impromptu No. 1 in A-flat major, Op. 29: The First Impromptu is carefree as a lark. George Du Maurier had poor Trilby sing it under the tutelage of Svengali. Jean Kleczynski wrote, “Here everything totters from the foundation to summit, and everything is, nevertheless, so beautiful and so clear.”
Impromptu No.2 in F-sharp major, Op. 36:
The greatest and most difficult of the Impromptus, it resembles a Chopin Ballade. An elusive work demanding the utmost delicacy in the delivery of the passage work.
Impromptu No.3 in G-flat major, Op. 51:
A little-known piece, with some rather difficult double notes. The theme has a serpentine, even morbid quality. But Huneker declares that “the Impromptu flavor is not missing, and there is allied to delicacy of design a strangeness of sentiment; that strangeness which Poe declared should be a constituent element of all great art.” The improvisatory element must be brought out for a performance to succeed.
Impromptu No.4 in C-sharp minor, Op. 66(posth.) ,
“Fantaisie-Impromptu”:Countless pianists of all persuasions have attempted the Fantaisie-Impromptu.
It was composed in 1834, and predates the other Impromptus. The opening, in its Bellinian coloratura, is alluring. The trio is a bit too long and mawkish. The coda uses the trio theme in an ingenious manner.
Chopin composed four of his greatest creations under the title Scherzo, a word that means “a joke.” Was Chopin being ironic? Schumann was baffled; when reviewing the B minor Scherzo, he asked, “How are seriousness and gravity to be clothed if jest is to go about in such dark-colored garments?”. The title seems appropriate only for No.4.The Scherzos are epics among Chopin’s works, and their instrumental brilliance has made them staples of the concert hall; each of them demands a highly finished technique.
Scherzo No.1 in B minor, Op. 20:
The First Scherzo was composed most likely in 1834, and first published in 1835. Later, when it was issued in England under the title The Infernal Banquet, Chopin, always a purist and opposed to any literary or pictorial allusions, had a fit. The opening must have shocked his contemporaries. Indeed, its almost repellent realism still astonishes. Niecks asks, “Is this not like a shriek of despair?” The material is feverishly restless and tragic in nature. The middle section, marked Molto piu lento, is based on a Polish Christmas carol, “Sleep, Jesus Sleep” (one of Chopin’s few uses of actual folk material). The section is worked out in the dreamiest manner until the Scherzo’s opening chord interrupts the dream. The first section, which is then repeated, ends in a coda of barbaric splendor, which closes with furious chromatic scales.
Scherzo No.2 in B-flat minor, Op. 31:
The Second Scherzo is the favorite. Schumann compared it to a Byronic poem, “so overflowing with tenderness, boldness, love and contempt.” According to Wilhelm von Lenz, a pupil of Chopin, the composer said that the renowned sotto voce opening was a question and the second phrase the answer: “For Chopin it was never questioning enough, never soft enough, never vaulted (tombe) enough. It must be a charnel-house.” The melody, marked “con anima,” is repeated three times during the lengthy proceedings, the last time bringing us to the coda in a magnificent key change. The gorgeous melody overlies a six-note-per-measure left-hand accompaniment of exceeding richness. The trio, filled with longing, takes on a pianistic complexity. Huneker exults, “What masterly writing, and it lies in the very heart of the piano! A hundred generations may not improve on these pages.
Scherzo No.3 in C-sharp minor, Op. 39:
The Third Scherzo opens with an almost Lisztian introduction, leading to a subject in octaves of pent-up energy. The key changes to D-flat major, with a choralelike subject, interspersed with delicate falling arpeggios. Louis Kentner thinks of it as “a Wagnerian melody of astonishing beauty, recalling the sound of tubas, harps and all the apocalyptic orchestra of Valhalla.” This is the most terse, ironic, and tightly constructed of the four scherzos, with an almost Beethovenian grandeur. The finger-bursting coda rises to emotional HEIGHTs, bringing the score to a rhetorical ending.
Scherzo No.4 in E major, Op. 54:
An ethereal composition bathed in light, which ripples over the expanse of the keyboard. It is Chopin in a blessed moment, improvising and happy. His nerves are calm, and his deadly disease in check. Even the long trio in E minor, of seraphic lyric beauty, has no sign of morbidezza. The passagework is elegant; the coda is a picture of pastel beauty.
The sixty mazurkas are based on the dance’s three main forms: the mazur, oberek, and kujawiak. One-half of them are composed in major keys, the other half in minor, with many moments of modality. The Chopin mazurkas form one of the great libraries of ethnically inspired art music. They are difficult to interpret; besides their own specific rhythms, they require a fine sense of rubato. The English critic of Chopin’s day, Henry Chorley, wrote, “They lose half their meaning if played without a certain freedom and license, impossible to imitate, but irresistible if the player at all feels the music.” Liszt remarked that “to do justice to the mazurkas, one would have to harness a new pianist of the first rank toeach one of them.” These works explore a harmonic kingdom which is unusual even for Chopin. Some are modal, with many subtleties in contrapuntal treatment. Arthur Hedley observed, “The Mazurkas contain beauties which Chopin reserved for these intimate tone-poems alone. Every kind of light and shade, of gaiety, gloom, eloquence and passion is to be found in them.” In the epoch-making four mazurkas of Op.6, the twenty-year-old Chopin announces to the world his unique Slavic genius. Jean KIeczynski says, “In these first mazurkas at once appears that national life from which, as from an inexhaustible treasury, Chopin drew his inspirations.”
Mazurka in F-sharp minor, Op. 6, No.1:
It begins with the triplet rhythm, a characteristic of the mazurka. It possesses a slight sadness in tonality but is filled with a sweet country bloom. “The third section,” wrote Huneker, “with the appoggiaturas, realizes a vivid vision of country couples dancing determinedly.” Chopin leaves the score without tempo marking. Already apparent in this first mazurka is a deep psychological content which becomes fused with the folk spirit to create an art of universal significance.
Mazurka in C-sharp minor, Op. 6, No.2:
It opens in shrouded mystery with a drone bass; the trio, marked “gajo” (merrily), is a fine example of Chopin’s tonal ambiguity. It could be E major or in the Lydian mode. This mazurka is a masterpiece by one who had, as a child, assimilated the spiritual qualities of this Polish national dance. Jean Kleczynski speaks of “a song so sad, heartfelt, naive, diversified and caressing.”
Mazurka in E major, Op. 6, No.3:
This mazurka is ninety measures long, but as usual Chopin is prodigal with his material. After a four-measure drone bass, there follows a four-measure phrase in the bass with the right hand crossing over the left hand. This is used four times in the piece. Chopin goes on to paint a village scene in an upward-moving theme which outlines the key of E major. After two more themes there appears in measures 47-48 an exotic unison, marked stretto, leading to yet another theme. The rustic theme is repeated, and all ends merrily in a four-measure coda.
Mazurka in E-flat minor, Op. 6, No.4:
In twenty-four highly compressed measures, with measures 9-24 repeated, the mazurka is laden with sorrow. The ending floats away.
Mazurka in B-flat major, Op. 7, No. 1:
A scherzando theme proclaims the happiest mazurka thus far-a village dance for rosy-cheeked partners. The trio, marked sotto voce, has a drone bass using an exotic scale with an augmented second. The Op. 7, No.1 is one of the best known of all the mazurkas.
Mazurka in A minor, Op. 7, No.2:
A pretty mazurka, though less original than the preceding ones.
Mazurka in F minor, Op. 7, No.3:
Guitarlike chords accompany this masterful work. At one point, the left hand presents a solo which sings from the heart, with the right hand accompanying in simple chords. One of the finest of the early mazurkas.
Mazurka in A-flat major, Op. 7, No.4:
Far more complex than it se
Elle bouffe la chatte de son amie geek
Orgie intense et érotique
Un beau cul sexy bien défoncé