By 1893, the year of the composition and premiere of his sixth and last Symphony, it had been three years since Tchaikovsky had received the painful letter from Frau von Meck announcing the severance of their epistolary relations. By the way, it was the end of the generous pension with which she had assisted him for thirteen long years without asking for anything in return. It was a severe emotional blow, but he had already recovered. A successful tour of the USA in 1891 confirmed the maestro as a musical personality at the height of celebrity. But also, perhaps, at the peak of his creative capacity. A "great symphony" had to be composed, and it was now.
A symphony with a program
True to his severe sense of self-criticism, the master discarded several drafts (and more than that) during 1892. The following year, in a letter of February 22nd to his nephew Vladimir (recurrent addressee) he tells him of his frustrated attempts but, also, that he has almost finished a "program symphony" (which he would dedicate to Vladimir):
"You must know that I have destroyed an almost complete symphony... Going to Paris... I had the idea of another program symphony... The program is saturated with personal experiences, so much so that even while I was mentally composing it during the trip I cried a lot [...] You cannot imagine the happiness I experience when I see that for me inspiration has not yet ended and that I am still capable of doing something..."
The inspiration was not over, of course not. The "program symphony" was written between February and August 1893, and successfully premiered with the maestro conducting on October 28 of that year, in St. Petersburg.
Tchaikovsky, the year of his death (1840 - 1893, Nov 6)
"Pathetic" Symphony After the warm reception, Tchaikovsky was not satisfied with his previously cherished title of "program symphony". He discussed it with his brother Modest, who suggested as a subtitle the Russian word "pateticheski", which has little to do with our prosaic sense of "pathetic" (mournful, pitiful), but in Russian points rather to that which moves, that which touches.
Pyotr Ilyich was grateful for Modest's suggestion and instructed his publisher to change it. But within a few days he changed his mind, asking that it be titled simply Symphony No. 6. The following week, Tchaikovsky was dead. The publisher, somewhat confused perhaps, subtitled the work so that everyone would understand: "Symphonie Pathétique", in French. This is how it is known to this day.
Movements
Symphony No. 6 in B minor is in four movements, arranged in a singular sequence. It begins with an adagio; and where traditionally goes the slow movement the master decided for a singular "waltz" in 5/4 time signature; instead of the scherzo (third movement) Tchaikovsky wrote a graceful march; and as fourth and final movement, he arranged an adagio of a somewhat funereal character, a decision that has lent to speculate that with it the master would have written his own Requiem.
Mov. 4 Adagio lamentoso - andante
The listening of the complete work lasts about fifty minutes. Presented here is the fourth movement in a performance by the Orchestra of the Teatro alla Scala in Milan, conducted by the Russian maestro Yuri Temirkanov.
Tchaikovsky held the work in high esteem. He was not alone. One biographer has noted of this last movement: "If Tchaikovsky had written only these last twenty-five bars, it would be enough to make him one of the greatest composers of our time".
In 1836, Mikhail Glinka astonished the Russian public and critics with the premiere of his first opera, Life for the Tsar. He was 32 years old and was about to initiate the composition of a second work in the genre, Ruslan and Liudmila, after the homonymous poem by Pushkin. But it would take him five years to complete it, due, among other things, to his broken health after suffering the abandonment of his wife. One day, Maria Petrovna Ivanova, a girl from St. Petersburg, left him for another, without subtleties.
The despondency The union had not been happy, and the breakup was to be expected, although never with the ease that Maria Petrovna had shown. The composer sought refuge in nature. He left St. Petersburg and spent long periods in the countryside. But he did not stop composing. Even in despondency, in 1840 he took inspiration from some verses of his friend and poet Nestor Kukolnik. On them, he wrote a cycle of twelve songs, which he gathered under the collective title of "Farewell to St. Petersburg".
Mijail Glinka, in 1840 (1804 - 1857)
"The Lark" It is the most popular of those songs. But it is more so in its arrangement for solo piano. In 1855, two years before his death, Glinka met a young Mili Balakirev, whom he encouraged to abandon mathematics for good and devote himself to composing.
In gratitude to his mentor and friend, among his early compositions, Balakirev transcribed for piano a number of Glinka's songs. The most applauded has been, of course, The Lark.
The piece owes to Glinka, undoubtedly, the exceptionally beautiful and sad melody. To Balakirev, the musical line and drawing.
The rendition is by the pianist Olga Scheps, born in Moscow and based in Germany.
Chopin finished the 24 Preludes Opus 28 in Majorca during the winter he spent there in the company of George Sand and her children, in 1838-39. It was no easy task. On the island, Chopin fell ill, got better, and then fell ill again. He first worked on a dilapidated rented piano until he got the pianino sent to him by Camille Pleyel, his publisher friend, pianist, and piano maker. He had promised him, five hundred francs in advance, to finish the preludes there on the island and send them to Paris as soon as they were finished.
Via Julian Fontana, a mutual friend, Pleyel was informed of progress and setbacks over two months. On November 15, Chopin wrote: "You will soon receive the preludes"; on December 3: "I cannot send you the manuscripts because they are not yet ready"; on the 14th of the same month: "I hope to send the texts very soon"; on the 28th: "I cannot send you the preludes. They are not finished. But now I am better and will work". Finally, on January 12, 1839, he writes to Fontana: "I am sending you the preludes [...] It seems to me that there are no mistakes. Give a copy to Probst [the Leipzig publisher] and the manuscript to Pleyel...".
For the 24 little jewels, Chopin charged two thousand francs. Rather, this is what Pleyel promised for the complete series after seeing in Paris the preludes that were already finished; hence, the " advance " of five hundred francs.
Reception Published in Paris in September 1839 (with a dedication to Pleyel), also in Berlin and soon after in London, the Preludes were very well received, marveling the musical circles of the time. Liszt asserted of them:
"--Chopin's Preludes are compositions of an order entirely apart... they are poetic preludes, analogous to those of a great contemporary poet, who cradles the soul in golden dreams..."
Schuman, somewhat more cautiously, noted:
"I must mark them as very remarkable. I confess that I expected something very different, with a lot of style, like his Etudes. It is almost the opposite, sketches, beginnings of studies, perhaps ruins.... But in each piece we find his refined, pearly writing: it is Fréderic Chopin's, we recognize it even in the pauses and in his ardent breathing. He is the most daring and haughty soul of today...".
The genesis Although it is not at all evident in his music, Chopin worshipped Bach; already as a child, he was one of his gods (the other being Mozart). It is not surprising then that he decided to build a series of short pieces systematically ordered, in tribute to the German master, or in tribute to the Well-Tempered Clavier but without fugues: the days are different. In addition, the Polish genius had a recent model: Hummel's Preludes in all keys, fifteen years earlier. Chopin will continue the path.
Arrangement of the series Apart from the matter of the absent fugue, unlike Bach, Chopin will arrange his 24 preludes in the major and relative minor keys by advancing through the "circle of fifths". That is, starting in the key of C major, the next prelude goes in the relative minor key of C, say, A minor. Now comes the leap of fifth: the next prelude is in G major... the next one in E minor, relative of G. Leap of fifth: D major; relative minor: B minor. Etc.
Unitary work vs. independent pieces The particular arrangement described above has led some scholars to believe that Chopin's intention was to construct a unitary work whose parts were to be performed in succession, one after the other. But the truth is that Chopin himself rarely played more than three or four preludes in the Parisian salons, and never the complete series. In our days something similar happens: perhaps not discographically, but it is undeniable in public performances. Today's pianists may include one or two preludes as part of the program, but more often than not they give us the short pieces as an encore at the end of a concert.
The unitary work
Let us note, in passing, that there are two other pieces (some speak of three) by Chopin that fit perfectly into the style: a Prelude from opus 45, from 1841, and another in A minor without opus number, from 1843. But when it comes to performing "all" of Chopin's Preludes, even on record, the performers stick strictly to the work reviewed here: the 24 Preludes from Opus 28, whose duration in a recital does not reach 40 minutes, as happens with any sonata of the period intended to nourish the first part of a performance.
The brilliant China-born pianist Yuja Wang, treats us to the complete work in this recording at the Teatro La Fenice, Venice, from a few years ago, during the 2016 - 17 chamber music season. A gem in every sense of the term.
The 24 Preludes Opus 28
Taken individually, there are Preludes to suit all tastes. Their length varies from a scant thirty seconds to five minutes and a little more of that one that could be considered long. In terms of tempo, there are long, or slow, or andantino, or molto agitato or vivace... as shown below.
00:00No. 1 in C major, agitato 01:21No. 2 in A minor, lento 03:14No. 3 in G major, vivace 04:24No. 4 in E minor, largo 06:12No. 5 in D major, allegro molto 06:44No. 6 in B minor, lento assai 08:36No. 7 in A major, andantino 09:25No. 8 in F-sharp minor, molto agitato 11:17No. 9 in E major, largo 12:34No. 10 in C-sharp minor, allegro molto 13:03No. 11 in B major, vivace 13:42No. 12 in G-sharp minor, presto 15:05No. 13 in F-sharp major, lento 18:08No. 14 in E-flat minor, allegro 18:57No. 15 in D-flat major, sostenuto 24:04No. 16 in B-flat minor, presto con fuoco 25:09No. 17 in A-flat major, allegreto 28:12No. 18 in F minor, allegro molto agitato 29:09No. 19 in E-flat major, vivace 30:41No. 20 in C minor, largo 32:13No. 21 in B-flat major, cantabile 34:01No. 22 in G minor, molto agitato 34:47No. 23 in F major, moderato 35:36No. 24 in D minor, allegro appassionato
The manuscript of Beethoven's sprightly and charming rondo entitled Rondo alla ingharese quasi un capriccio was "lost" for nearly one hundred and twenty years. Today it is a favorite of pianists, to be used as a graceful encore, but during Beethoven's lifetime, it is unlikely to have been heard on any stage. The manuscript, apparently incomplete, was found among Beethoven's belongings after his death in 1827.
The following year, it was published by his friend, colleague, and publisher Anton Diabelli, who reportedly concealed the fact that the composition appeared to be unfinished. After the 1828 publication, the manuscript disappeared and was only rediscovered in the USA in 1945. This time it was found among the belongings of a lady named Noble, who had kept it in her possession for at least 20 years. And indeed, the original shows some discrepancies with the later versions of the Diabelli edition, all based on it.
In any case, with the discovery in hand, it was possible to know the time of the piece's composition, since the manuscript, in its last pages, contains sketches of works of known date, the years 1795-98. Thus it could be concluded that the rondo belonged to the same period. It is the work of a Beethoven in his twenties, approaching his thirties, living in Vienna for at least three years.
"Rage over a lost penny"
The piece is also known by the curious title "Rage over a lost penny, vented in a caprice". The words appear written in the manuscript but not by Beethoven's hand. It is speculated that they could be the work of his friend and first biographer Anton Schindler, who was known for often taking liberties with his famous friend, which led more than once to angry, though transitory, disagreements.
A "harmless rage"
Fantasizing that the master had indeed drawn inspiration from a fit of passing anger, Robert Schumann (who by Beethoven's death was 17 years old) would later write "...it would be difficult to find anything more cheerful than this Caprice... It is about the kindest, most harmless anger, similar to what one feels when one cannot take one's foot out of one's boot."
Marked allegro vivace, the rondo combines the traditional outline of the form with Beethoven's unique inventiveness for variations.
The rendition is by the brilliant Chinese-born pianist Yuja Wang. The piece lasts less than six minutes.
Musicologists aside, if any music lover today remembers Friedrich Kalkbrenner, it is for his inordinate claim to become the teacher of his namesake, Frédéric Chopin, when the latter showed up in Paris in 1831 and visited him to ask for tutoring. Maestro Kalkbrenner offered him three years of lessons. Chopin was enthusiastic, writing to his parents that "the best pianist in Europe" was going to take him under his wing and make him a great virtuoso. Frederic, a 21-year-old provincial boy, believed in his magic. It was not necessary. And the rapture was short-lived. After a year he gave up his lessons.
A talented pianist Kalkbrenner certainly could play the piano and did so very well. He had given his first public concert at the age of five, in his native Germany. He soon came to study at the Paris Conservatory, where he graduated at thirteen. He lived in London for ten years, captivating the nobility of England with his prestissimo octaves and the passion he brought to specific passages. He caused a similar commotion in Paris, where he settled in 1824 as a virtuoso pianist and sought-after teacher. It was there that Chopin met him.
F; Kalkbrenner (1785 - 1849)
A composer too, but a forgotten one Kalkbrenner composed everything: operas, sonatas, and piano concertos. But none of it has survived. It is highly unlikely that a single piece by the composer was heard in concert halls during the entire twentieth century. However, around the eighties, some enthusiasm was kindled in the record labels (the "rescue" fashion) and some of his music has been recorded ever since. At first, the short pieces, his Nocturnes, for example.
Lyricism for all tastes Far removed from Chopin's Nocturnes(perhaps also from Field's), the works will nevertheless have moved the audiences of their time. He will be surpassed, on the piano, by far, by Chopin and Liszt. But Kalkbrenner would have cared little. Financially comfortable as a result of his successful career as a pianist and teacher, in his later years, he became a partner in the piano house Pleyel. Maestro Kalkbrenner would die rich.
Les Soupirs de la Harpe Eolienne
In a rendition by Dutch pianist Bart von Oort, presented here is the Nocturne in A flat major, opus 121 No 1, subtitled Les Soupirs de la Harpe Eolienne, recorded on an Erard piano of 1837.
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