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To speak or to sing: Mozart and Beethoven on the fortepiano
Geske Lecture
Nebraska Univerisity
November 5, 2007
Introduction: why historical pianos?
Luckily, there is no consensus about how the works of Mozart and Beethoven should be performed. Present-day performances range from rich and romantic to clear and taut: some pianists choose the modern piano, whilst others choose the 18th or early 19th century fortepiano. Both have their own unique charms, possibilities and limitations.
Mozart and Beethoven (as well as Schubert, Chopin, or Debussy) worked within the framework of the musical and technical possibilities of the instruments they knew, which each had their own complete universe of sound, technique, and articulation. While for some modern ears the limitations of volume and color on the fortepiano are detrimental to the musical experience, it is a given that these composers, unhindered by these so-called "limitations," created some of their greatest works within these boundaries. Furthermore, the very qualities which today are seen as limitations often served as sources of inspiration for both the composers and their public. One might argue for the use of the modern piano in works of one hundred to two hundred years ago because it is an instrument of our time: this is both the cause and the logical effect of the way in which we in the 21st century experience the great masterpieces of the classical period. Mozart, for example, never played in a concert hall of 2000 or more seats, and in spite of the wonderful acoustical qualities that such halls can have, his instrument can never satisfactorily this space.
“But if Beethoven had known the modern piano, he would certainly have preferred it to the fortepiano of his time…” The Darwinian assumption that every development also signifies progress doesn’t hold true for the fortepiano. It follows that the development from Mozart’s piano to the modern piano was not necessarily a change for the better. Naturally, when the most important criteria of the 21st century listener is that the tune must be glowing and the melody-element dominant, the modern piano is unsurpassed. But composers from the classical and early romantic periods wrote music that not only sings, but pleas, argues, entreats, languishes, persuades, sighs, gnashes its teeth, shouts for joy, whispers... in short, music that must also speak. (Have you ever wondered where the word ‘recital’ comes from?) This repertoire is deeply rooted in the rhetoric of the baroque, and it is in this rhetorical style where the instruments of the time are so convincing.
Beethoven, the innovator, was according to legend, also an inspiration for some of the innovations in piano building.While we might ask ourselves whether his calls for a louder, fuller piano tone had to do with his increasing deafness, it must be said that every note he wrote is excellently realized on the fortepianos of his time. He was pragmatic in every sense, therefore, the remark “If Beethoven had known the modern piano…” doesn’t hold water: if Beethoven had known the modern piano, he would have without a doubt written different music. And this hypothetical music of Beethoven, as well as the modern piano, don’t fit in the classical Zeitgeist. History teaches us that we cannot pass over any step: Beethoven also did not. He wrote rhetorical music that was effortlessly recognized during his time, and that was performed on instruments which were highly valued universally.
As a result, the differences between historic and modern instruments caused different stylistic conceptions between the modern and “historical” schools of playing. The fortepiano creates a clear musical texture, a prerequisite for rhetoric, by means of a silvery tone that doesn’t sound too long, a sharp onset, and a large palette of colors. All of these characteristics make it easy to articulate – to speak the musical words. (Naturally, this goes not only for the fortepiano: this is the fundamental difference between all historical instruments and their modern counterparts.) The modern piano tone is warmer and longer, and sings through more – it requires no great imagination to see that the development of piano tone follows on the heels of opera. Herein lies, if the difference between the historical and modern-day piano could be summarized in one line, the crux of the matter: while the fortepiano speaks, the modern piano sings. And now the question is, whether the singing modern instruments are really the most logical choice for the realization of the rhetorical music from the 18th and early 19th centuries.
The classical language
The changes in musical style over the past two hundred years occurred simultaneously with the changes in instrument building. In other words, the changing style influenced the ideas of what instruments should do, while at the same time, developments in instrument building created a stimulus for that style change. The developments in building proved to be irreversible, and allowed the style to develop in only one direction. The most important changes in fortepiano building took place between 1750 and 1850, and with those developments, the style of the early classical period had become history. Therefore, the question is whether we still know how to interpret the scores of Mozart and Beethoven. Many issues with regard to rhythm, rubato, pedaling, tone colour, dynamics, and last but not least the actual sound and pronounciation, we may not fully understand. In addressing these issues, the fortepiano proves to be a very valuable tool.
If English were a dead language, we might never have known the differences in pronounciation between the following words:
tough; though; thought; plough; cough; through
In spite of the fact that each of these words has the letter combination ‘ough’, each gets a different sound (and different again in Australian, Scottish, Irish, or American). In other words: to learn the English language, we need to a native speaker. In translating a Shakespeare play, the translator has to grapple with two problems: first, many archaic expressions and references are difficult to translate without losing some of the meaning, and secondly, the rhythm, rhyme, and the sound of the text are to a large extent untranslatable. Of course, what one gains is comprehension, for the audience can follow the plot much easier when the text is in their native language.
To play classical works on a modern piano means making a translation of sorts. Here also, one loses part of the original meaning in the process. The modern player, like the afore-mentioned translator, faces two problems problems: relative unfamiliarity with the language because two centuries of history have blurred the picture, and an instrument which ‘pronounces the musical words’ differently. We can try to solve the second problem by finding a ‘native speaker’ to pronounce the language for us; in this case, the eighteenth century fortepiano. The first problem, however, is unrelated to the instrument, for it is one of understanding the musical language.
Do we understand the classical language?
The rhetorical style requires, besides a sense for “speaking the musical words” and an instrument which enables one to do so, a particular freedom in realizing the score. Far from taking Mozart’s and Beethoven’s notation as the complete and unalterable truth, we must start from the assumption that some aspects of their style could not be notated. Pianists of all times have, of course, instinctively understood this: elements such as timing, rhythm (as opposed to meter), tone color, tempo, tempo rubato, and accentuation, can not be adequately recorded in our musical notation. But the degree to which these unwritten liberties have been exploited has diminished greatly in the two hundred years since Mozart died: with the disappearance of the improvising performer, performance of the classical repertoire has become decidedly less free.
The most important liberty which was taken for granted in the eigtheenth century was rhythmic flexibility (occasionally turning into true rubato) and, within the basic tempo, minimal fluctuations of tempo. I would call this true rhythmical playing, as opposed to metrical playing. This is particularly clear in Mozart’s Fantasies, in which he is at his rhetorical best. Their improvisational character and the great extremes in Affekt require an approach far removed from the dominating æsthetic of the second half of the twentieth century which prescribes that rhythmical playing more or less equals playing metrically.
In the simple three-four meter of the Viennese waltz, the second beat receives a small “lift” and therefore lasts a fraction of a second longer. When the 3/4 meter is really counted with a metronome, the waltz loses its dancing rhythm. Whomever hears the waltzes of Strauss performed by the Vienna Philharmonic hears the difference. A favourite example of Malcolm Bilson’s is Prokofiev’s fabulous recording of his Gavotte Op. 32, No. 3 (heard on the CD “Prokofiev plays Prokofiev”), which has little to do with his notation of the rhythm. A metrical performance of this piece would render the music senseless.
Rubato, or the “stealing of time,” has been written about for hundreds of years, so it has obviously also been part of music making for centuries. The principle is easier to perform than to explain: nevertheless, throughout the decades many attempts were made to notate this flexibility more accurately (example 1).
Example 1
Mark Zaki: MZArt for fortepiano (1995), mm. 1-3
(Zipzap Music)
In the Fantasia in c minor, K. 475, Mozart often implies rhythmic freedom which goes beyond the capabilities of conventional notation. He of course had no other choice; in his improvisations there existed no mechanical or clicheëd solutions. The improvising pianist of the day moved freely within the framework of a regular pulse and a clear, large structure. This means that there is a great freedom of movement and direction within the measure, which always stays in time, while a certain degree of speeding up and slowing down is also possible when the character of the piece calls for it. In this passage (example 2) the increasing tension leads to an actual increase in the number of notes, and Mozart’s struggle with the notation is evident in the manuscript where he shifts from duples to triplets. The notation of this passage should not, therefore, lead to an audible rhythmic break in performance.
Example 2
W. A. Mozart: Fantasy in C min, K. 475 (1785), mm. 84-88.
Autograph (Pierpont Morgan Library)
Chopin ‘s Nocturne in C# minor (op. posth.) in 2/2 exists in two authentic autograph versions. In one of them, the middle section is notated in 2/2, while in the other, the middle section is notated polymetrically: twice 3/4 in the right hand against 2/2 in the left hand (example 3). I consider this passage to be an approximation of the rubato with which Chopin no doubt performed this Nocturne, and recorded it as such (Brilliant Classics 99155, 1998).
Example 3
Frédéric Chopin: Nocturne in C# minor, op. posth. (1830), mm. 21-23.
(Wiener Urtext)
Similarly, Chopin’s concept of the Mazurka rhythm was so free that Meyerbeer even thought that he heard him perform the Mazurka op. 33 no 3 not in 3/4, but almost in 2/4, as the last beat lost some of its length. Charles Hallé, on the other hand, thought he heard 4/4, because the first beat became almost twice as long..... How can we pretend to understand the spirit of the Mazurka if we perform it dutifully and metrically in an exact 3/4 meter?
Mozart never notated pedaling. Nevertheless, in the first letter where he ever mentions the pianos of Stein, he tells his father that he finds the knee-levers extremely effective.
Nun muß ich gleich bey die steinischen Piano forte anfangen. Ehe ich noch vom stein seiner arbeit etwas gesehen habe, waren mir die spättischen Clavier die liebsten; Nun muß ich aber den steinischen den vorzug lassen; denn sie dämpfen noch viell besser, als die Regensburger. Wenn ich starck anschlage, ich mag den finger liegen lassen, oder aufheben, so ist halt der ton in dem augenblick vorbey, da ich ihn hören ließ.
I must begin right away at [describing] Stein’s pianoforte. Before I had seen any of Stein’s work, I had always liked Späth’s clavier the best; but now I must prefer Stein’s, for they damp even better than the Regensburg instruments. When I strike hard, no matter whether I keep my finger on the key or raise it, the tone ceases the moment I stop it from sounding [i.e. “is gone the moment I raise my finger”].
Mozart wrote this letter in Augsburg on 17 October, 1777. The “Regensburg” pianos of Späth which he mentions were probably Tangentflügels. Considering everything, it is evident that well-functioning knee-levers were of great importance to Mozart. Therefore, even if Mozart never notated any pedaling, we can draw the conclusion that be must haved used pedal. How much, of course, is another question.
In 18th century scores, dynamics are notated almost exclusively in a very general way. The melancholy progress of the musical phrase or the minimal dynamic differences between dissonance and consonance in, for example, a Mozart Adagio (or even a Chopin Nocturne for that matter) are so subtle that they must not even be notated. Herein lie the deepest utterances of the composer’s as well as the pianist’s soul, and they can not be fixed in conventional notation. The forte indication in the opening of Mozart’s Sonata in E-flat, KV 282, is nothing more than a general character indication (example 4). The dissonance in the first beat of measure 2, the seufzers (sighs) in every measure, the harmonic tension and its (though sometimes temporary) resolution, results in continually changing, subtle dynamic contours that build to a single arc of tension over these three measures.
Example 4
W.A. Mozart: Sonata in Eb major, K. 282 (1775). Adagio, mm. 1-3.
(Bärenreiter)
The fortepiano as ‘native speaker’
Mozart and Beethoven knew their pianos intimately. The refinement as well as the vigour and drama which must have characterized their performances, the ’sound effects’ they were able to realize, as well as aspects of their technique which were eminently suited to their own pianos such as pedaling, articulation, and fingering, can be retrieved to a large extend when their music is played on the pianos of their time.
Decay
The rapid decay of the fortepiano tone, and the resulting relative lack of singing power, is perhaps the most audible difference between the fortepiano and the modern piano. On a modern piano the tone has a soft attack, develops slowly, and sings for a long time before gradually dying away. The fortepiano tone has a sharp attack and fades quickly, which makes a natural articulation with the next tone possible. The fortepiano touch is fundamentally non-legato.
The opening chord of Beethoven’s Pathétique Sonata in c minor, op. 13, is marked ‘fp’, which means that the chord, played forte, dies out to piano right as the player continues on to the next chord. Incidentally, the decay actually gives a strong hint about the preferred tempo of the Grave opening (example 5). On the modern piano this passage can not be performed as written, because the diminishing of the opening chord to the level of piano would last at least two full bars.
Example 5
Ludwig van Beethoven: Sonata op. 13 in c min., “Pathétique”
(1789/99). Grave, mm. 1-2 .
(Henle)
Articulation
The editorial additions and changes of articulation, especially in favor of longer lines and cantabile style (promoted by the long, singing tone of the ever more modern piano) led to a loss of understanding of the correct execution of the slur. All treatises of the 18th century point out that slurs are always performed with a decrescendo. Playing the typically classical short slurs of the opening of Mozart’s F major Sonata K. 332 with real silences on modern instruments, however, leads to a choppy style of playing; legato is the most logical touch for a modern player (example 6). The shorter decay of the fortepiano makes it easier and more logical to articulate, as the silence is reached in a natural way (example 6).What results is a rhetorical statement, rather than a legato melody.
Example 6
W.A. Mozart: Sonata in F, K 332 (1783). Allegro, mm. 1-4.
(Schott/Universal)
Sforzando
The sharp attack of the fortepiano caused by its leather-covered hammers makes a real sforzando possible. On the modern piano, with its felt-covered hammers, pedalled sound and cross-stringing, a sforzando becomes in fact merely a swelling of the tone. A passage like that in the first movement of Beethoven’s Sonata Pathétique (example 7) sounds easily too loud and vulgar on the modern piano; therefore even the sforzandos must maintain their singing quality. Furthermore, the fortepiano has a quality which it inherited from the clavichord: in a sforzando, the pitch goes up almost imperceptibly, so that the note is not just louder but also higher. Combined with the sharper attack, nothing else is needed to achieve the required intensity. One can play the fortepiano almost to the breaking point without ruining the tone. This is perhaps what Beethoven meant when he said ‘brechen soll das Klavier!’
Example 7
Ludwig van Beethoven: Sonata op. 13 in c min., “Pathétique”
(1789/99). Allegro di molto e con brio, mm. 31-32.
(Henle)
Rhythm, drive, and drama
The bright attack of the fortepiano tone makes rhythm one of its strongest inherent qualities. One example is the opening of Beethoven’s Waldstein Sonata in C major, op. 53, which consists of rhythm only (example 8). The opening motive of Schubert’s Wanderer Fantasy relies on the same quality for it vitality.
Example 8
Ludwig van Beethoven: Sonata in C., op. 53 “Waldstein” (1803).
Allegro con brio, mm. 1-3.
(Henle)
Many passages in Mozart’s works speak with great, almost operatic dramatic intensity. However, over the past century the classical style became noble, elegant and singing, rather than dramatic, emotional, and speaking. This was caused by the new texture (loss of attack, clarity and crispness), as well as the new balance between bass and treble: the left hand ‘accompaniment’ had to be played softer in order to not overpower the right hand. On the modern piano, fast Alberti basses which should add great rhythmic drive to a work, tend to get devaluated into a harmonic background, while on the fortepiano they can be played more prominently in order to create a strikingly dramatic effect and are thus of great importance (example 9).
Example 9
W.A. Mozart, Sonata in Bb, K. 333 (1783). Allegro, mm 71-81.
(Schott/Universal)
Similarly, so-called drum basses (Trommelbässe) easily lose a great deal of their rhythmic drive on a modern piano. This problem can not really be solved: if the drum bass in the allegro of the Beethoven’s Pathétique Sonata is played with the same drive and power as can be done on the fortepiano, the bass will drown out the right hand (example 10).
Example 10
Ludwig van Beethoven: Sonata op. 13 in c min., “Pathétique” (1789/99).
Allegro di molto e con brio, mm. 11-17.
(Henle)
Pedaling
On a modern grand, long pedals which blur harmonies as well as melody notes lead to a muddy texture. This kind of texture is now generally considered to be ‘unclassical’ and reserved for the late nineteenth century impressionists. But through the short tone life and the clearer texture of the fortepiano, long pedals were possible as well as indicated. Often an almost ‘impressionistic’ sound quality is achieved, which contrasts beautifully to the overall clarity of the texture. While many examples may be found in the works of Mozart and his contemporaries (example 11a), Beethoven was the great master of this type of pedaling. It is found in many of his works, but most strikingly in both the Mondschein Sonata op. 27/2, the first movement of which can indeed be played with the dampers up throughout, and in the third movement of the Waldstein Sonata op. 53 (example 11b).
Example 11a
W. A. Mozart: Fantasy c min, K. 475 (1785), mm. 143-146.
Autograph (Pierpont Morgan Library)
Example 11b
Ludwig van Beethoven: Sonata in C., op. 53 “Waldstein” (1803).
Rondo: Allegretto moderato, mm. 1-23.
(Henle)
Tempo
Due to the of the more slowly developing, longer and thicker tone of nearly all instruments, performances especially of slow movements slowed down. One might call this the ‘Mahler aesthetic’: the slower a performance of a Mahler Adagio, the more beautiful. Under the influence of this aesthetic even Mozart Adagios eventually became Mahler-like in richness and slowness during the 20th century. Composers in the 18th century were very particular about tempo, and made distinctions which are today not always observed with enough respect, such as the difference between Allegro 4/4 and Allegretto 2/4. When Schubert changed the meter of his Sonata in G major, D. 894, from 4/4 to 12/8, it was because he was concerned about the tempo (example 12).
Example 12
Franz Schubert: Sonata in G major, D. 894 (1826).
Molto moderato e cantabile, mm. 1-2.
(Britisch Library Facsimiles)
The "moonlight" first movement of Beethoven’s Mondschein Sonata op. 27 no 2 in c# minor is usually played too slowly, namely in 4/4. On the fortepiano such a slow tempo is not maintainable, since the melody notes die away before they connect. Not surprisingly, Beethoven wrote the movement in cut-time (2/2); a meter which during the nineteenth century was changed in certain editions to 4/4 to accommodate the modern piano and its long, singing tone. Similarly, the generally accepted mode of performance of the slow movement of Mozart’s piano concerto in C major, K. 467, has been in 4/4. The original meter is indeed 2/2 (example 13a), and this was also sometimes changed, for instance in the nineteenth century Alte Mozart Ausgabe, which is still widely used today through a Dover reprint (example 13b). In addition to the meter change, the pizzicatos in the basses indicating a certain lightness of character have been removed.
Example 13a
W. A. Mozart: Piano Concerto in C, K. 467. Andante, mm. 1-10
Autograph (Pierpont Morgan Library)
Example 13b
W. A. Mozart: Piano Concerto in C, K. 467. Andante, mm. 1-6
(AMA/Repr. Dover)
On the fortepiano the solo would be completely inaudible over the orchestra in the slow tempo which is normal today.
Conclusion
There is no way of knowing, of course, whether Mozart and Beethoven would have liked the modern piano, had they known it. This not being the case, it is not unlikely that they would rather have been baffled by the modern piano. When played on the fortepianos of their time, Mozart and Beethoven (as well as Schubert, Chopin, Debussy, and so on) can be heard with new - namely the original - colours, a process comparable to the cleaning of Rembrandt’s Nachtwacht when the old layers of varnish were taken off. No matter how much we liked the old colours before the restoration, and how enchanted we were by the magic of the hardly distinguishable image, it is an undeniable fact that the painting as we can see it today represents Rembrandt’s original intentions more faithfully. It is my belief that the fortepiano can offer a similar new perspective on the classical repertoire and beyond.
Bart van Oort
Translation: Sylvia Berry |
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