Program notes by Eric Bromberger

Three Waltzes, Opus 34
FREDERIC CHOPIN
Born March 1, 1810, Zelazowa Wola, Poland
Died October 17, 1849, Paris, France

In 1838 Chopin published as his Opus 34 a set of three waltzes that he had composed over the previous seven years. There is no connection between these pieces beyond the fact that all are waltzes, though Chopin’s publisher in Paris brought them out under the title Trois valses brillantes, a title that–as we shall see–refers to only two of them.

In September 1835, Chopin’s parents took one of their rare trips outside Poland, to Carlsbad in Germany, and the 25-year-old composer came from Paris to spend a happy month with them there–it was the last time he would see them. As a part of this vacation, the family were guests for a week at the home of the Thun-Hohenstein family, and during this visit Chopin wrote his Waltz in A-flat Major for the daughters of his hosts.

The key to this music lies in its subtitle Grande valse brillante. Marked Vivace, this is indeed brilliant music, certainly more suited to keyboard virtuosity than to dancing. Chopin calls matters to order with a sixteen-measure introduction that flows directly into the vigorous waltz, and a central episode in D-flat major dances just as energetically. The ending produces a surprise, however. Chopin speeds into a coda that races brilliantly along runs in the pianist’s right hand, and the waltz seems headed for a fiery close. Suddenly, however, reminiscences of earlier waltz-tunes begin to penetrate this energy, the pace slackens, and–on a combination of coda and waltz–the music makes its way to a graceful close.

The Waltz in A Minor dates from very early in Chopin’s career: he composed it during the difficult year 1831, when–as a 21-year-old–he moved to Paris, the city that would be his home for the rest of his life. The Waltz in A Minor is at an unusually slow tempo–the marking is Lento–and its mood is somber. It opens with a brief introduction that has a dark melody in the left hand and the waltz rhythm in the right; the arrival of the main waltz theme–full of those wonderfully elastic Chopin rhythms–puts things back in the expected order. The lengthy center section is full of unusual modulations, and the opening waltz even intrudes briefly here. The closing moments bring a surprise: a new waltz-tune–sparkling and light–seems to flicker to life momentarily, then the music subsides into the somber left-hand melody from the very beginning.

Composed in 1838, the Waltz in F Major–also sometimes known under the title Grande valse brillante–opens with a series of huge chords before settling into the waltz-rhythm, though the tempo here is so fast (Vivace) that no one could ever dance comfortably to this music. This “waltz” is virtually a perpetual-motion for the pianist’s right hand, which has a particularly brilliant part. The central episode makes abundant use of grace-notes in the right hand, and Chopin brings them back to close out this brief but quite brilliant waltz.

Berceuse in D-flat Major, Opus 57

A berceuse is a lullaby or cradle song, characterized by a quietly-rocking accompaniment (to mirror the back-and-forth motion of the cradle) and a gentle melody to soothe the baby and help it sleep. Chopin’s Berceuse in D-flat Major is one of the most famous examples of the form. In the summer of 1843, the singer Pauline Viardot left her baby at Nohant with George Sand and Chopin while she went on tour. Chopin took great pleasure in the infant, and the Berceuse may well be the musical result of that experience.

This is an ingenious piece, built from the simplest materials. The left hand supplies the steady ostinato accompaniment–the rhythm of the first measure is exactly the same throughout this brief piece, and the notes are virtually the same too. The right hand announces the simple little main melody, only four bars long, and Chopin then builds the Berceuse on sixteen very brief variations on this tune. The mood remains gentle and subdued for the most part, though Chopin cannot resist letting a few of the variations become virtuosic–baby Viardot may have had trouble sleeping through these.

A remarkable aspect of the Berceuse is its static harmony. Chopin never changes keys, and each measure begins with the same soft stroke of a deep D-flat. The New Grove Dictionary refers to the Berceuse as a “harmonic daydream”: a mood-piece that goes nowhere harmonically. Yet that is precisely the point of this music, which soothes infants to sleep and–in the process–charms the adults around them.

Barcarolle in F-sharp Major, Opus 60

One of the Chopin’s final works, the Barcarolle was completed at Nohant, George Sand’s summer estate at Chateauroux, in 1846, at a time when both the composer’s relation with Sand and his health were deteriorating: at age 36, he had only three years to live. The term barcarolle (“boat-song”) comes from the Italian barcaruoli, the songs of the Venetian gondoliers, and this agreeable form of music was making its way into the art-music of serious composers across Europe–in these same years Mendelssohn included what he called Venetian Boat Songs in several of his sets of Songs without Words. The barcarolle traditionally has some of the relaxed ease of the gondoliers’ songs, and Chopin’s Barcarolle–his only work in this form–is one of his warmest and most attractive compositions.

The Barcarolle is in ternary form, and it has the briefest of introductions, a simple three-bar preparation. Out of the silence begins the left-hand accompaniment, its steady rhythms suggesting the sound of a giant guitar. Over this rhythm Chopin introduces his opening subject, marked cantabile and presented very delicately at first. Gradually this opens up, expanding into a huge chordal melody that requires large (and powerful) hands. Chopin’s Barcarolle has been called a nocturne, but–to the contrary–its amiable spirits and energy more readily suggest sunshine sparkling off water. The center section moves to A major, and over the rocking rhythm characteristic of the Venetian boat songs the music grows more animated and more fluid rhythmically. Indeed, this impression of rhythmic freedom and plasticity is even more marked in the reprise, where Chopin brings back both his themes and drives them to an ebullient climax full of rippling runs and on to a conclusion built on four powerful chords.

Chopin loved the mazurka, and across the span of his brief life he wrote about sixty of them: the first in Warsaw when he was 14, the last in Paris in the year of his death. A mazurka was originally a Polish country dance that came from the village of Mazovia, near Warsaw. The dance was in triple time, with the accent often on the second (or third) beat rather than the first. In its original form the mazurka was danced by groups of couples who would separate and return; it was sometimes accompanied by the bagpipe. Chopin was a devout Polish nationalist who spent his adult life in voluntary exile in Paris, and no doubt his use of the form brought an important feeling of contact with his homeland, then under Russian subjugation. Yet Chopin’s mazurkas are not a matter of self-consciously assuming the trappings of Polish folk-music. Instead, he took the general form of the mazurka and used it to write his own music, often quite original in matters of rhythm and form and daring in harmony.

He composed the four mazurkas of his Opus 17 in 1832-33, during his first years in Paris. The set consists of one very fast mazurka, followed by three at slow tempos, though the rhythmic pulse of Chopin’s music can often be fluid and subtle. No. 1 in B-flat Major is marked Vivo e risoluto, and it gets off to a firm beginning on powerful chordal writing; textures become leaner in the central section, with the melody in the right hand over asymmetric accompaniment in the left. Chopin gives the brief No. 2 in E Minor the tempo indication Lento, ma non troppo, though even at a slow tempo this music feels hard-edged and full of drive; there is the merest hint of a chordal center section before the music closes on a return of the opening material. No. 3 in A-flat Major is marked Lento assai, but it too moves smartly along a pulse that does not feel slow. In the opening section Chopin reminds the pianist several times to keep the performance dolce; the spirited–and varied–middle section moves to E major. The treasure of Opus 17 is its final mazurka, No. 4 in A Minor. The marking is Lento, ma non troppo, and here at last is a mazurka that actually feels slow. Its opening section is magic, with gorgeous shifts of harmony and those characteristic Chopin rhythmic “sprays” in the pianist’s right hand that swirl and arc above the steady left. The tone is somber and subdued, but those words do not get at the mercurial quality of expression here. A measure of sunlight falls across the A-major middle section. This builds to a great climax, and then slips effortlessly back into the opening theme, which now sounds even more disconsolate. The music drifts into a soft harmonic mist at its enigmatic conclusion.

Impromptu No. 1 in A flat-Major, Opus 29

The title “impromptu” suggests–but does not mean literally–music made up on the spot. The term had been created in the early nineteenth century and used most memorably for Schubert’s eight Impromptus for piano, composed in 1827. But one should be wary of that title, which implies an atmosphere of casual, almost improvisatory music-making–such an impression of spontaneity and ease is usually achieved by a great deal of work and revision on the part of the composer.

This was certainly the case with Chopin, who wrote four impromptus. The Impromptu in A-flat Major dates from 1837, when he had been in Paris for six years and had just come to know the novelist George Sand–their sometimes stormy relation would begin the following year. This impromptu is notable for its complexity and difficulty: Chopin revised the music repeatedly as he wrote it, and it demands a pianist of formidable technique. It also goes like a rocket: the marking is Allegro assai, quasi presto, and the effect of the rippling triplets in both hands has been compared by many to the impression of sunlight sparkling off the surface of water. The middle section brings a change in rhythm and atmosphere. The restless triplets vanish, and in their place Chopin offers a noble if subdued melody that grows more animated as it proceeds; at its most dynamic, it takes on something of the quality of a cadenza and suddenly plunges back into the triplet rush of the opening. After all this sparkling energy, the close is surprisingly subdued.

Ballade No. 1 in G Minor, Opus 23

Chopin himself was the first to use the term “ballade” to refer to a piano composition, appropriating the name from the literary ballad: he appears to have been most taken with the lyric and dramatic possibilities of the term, for his four ballades fuse melodic writing with intensely dramatic–almost explosive–gestures. After Chopin’s death, Liszt, Grieg, Fauré, and Brahms would compose works for solo piano that they too called ballades.

Formally, Chopin’s ballades most closely resemble the sonata-form movement (an opening idea contrasted with a second theme-group, and the two ideas developed and recapitulated), but the ballades are not strictly in sonata-form, nor was Chopin trying to write sonata-form movements. His ballades are quite free in form, and their thematic development and harmonic progression are sometimes wildly original. All four ballades employ a six-beat meter (either 6/4 or 6/8), and the flowing quality of such a meter is particularly well-suited to the sweeping drama of this music. All four demand a pianist of the greatest skill.

Because of the literary association and the dramatic character of the music, many have been quick to search for extra-musical inspiration for the ballades, believing that such music must represent the attempt to capture actual events in sound. Some have heard the Polish struggle for independence in this music, others the depiction of medieval heroism. Chopin himself discouraged this kind of speculation and asked the listener to take the music on its own terms rather than as a representation of something else.

Chopin began work on the Ballade in G Minor in 1831 in Vienna and completed it four years later in Paris. A portentous seven-bar introduction of uncertain tonality gives way to the opening episode, a waltz-like theme in G minor. The second theme is much more dramatic but–curiously–is related to the waltz theme. This second theme undergoes a brilliant development, though this ballade lacks the recapitulation that would be expected at this point in a sonata-form movement. Instead, Chopin brings back the waltz theme briefly before launching into the coda, appropriately marked Presto con fuoco.

Three Waltzes, Opus 64

The three waltzes that make up Chopin’s Opus 64 were the last that he published. He composed them in 1846-47 and performed them frequently, both in Paris and in England, during the final two years of his brief life. These sparkling waltzes, which have become some of his best-known music, require little comment. The first, in D-flat major, is the famous “Minute Waltz” (though it takes considerably longer than that to perform), in which the right hand seems to float effortlessly above the accompaniment. The second, in C-sharp minor, is just as famous (even without benefit of a nickname); its popularity springs from the wealth of its thematic ideas, and Chopin concludes nicely by returning not to the opening theme but to the haunting second. Least familiar, the third in A-flat major may be the most impressive: the opening waltz tune is full of subtle syncopations, and in the C-major center section the melodic lines moves into the left hand; the opening material returns, undergoes some surprising modulations, and arrives at a wonderful conclusion: the music accelerates, a long shower of eighth-notes arcs high, and the waltz plummets to its sudden close.

Two Nocturnes, Opus 48

Chopin wrote the dramatic Nocturne in C Minor in 1841, when he was 31 years old and living in Paris. The title “nocturne,” with its suggestion of a restrained and subdued atmosphere, might seem inappropriate for the Nocturne in C Minor, which moves from a quiet beginning to an almost frenzied climax. The understated beginning (Chopin marks it mezza voce: “middle voice”) soon introduces widely-spaced chords in the left-hand accompaniment, and these in turn give way to rolled chords and then to thunderous octave runs; these runs–four octaves deep–require the utmost power from a performer, and the chordal theme emerges almost in passing. Chopin drives the music to a huge climax full of rhythmic complexity–the closing section consistently sets three against four–until suddenly the fury subsides and the music concludes on three quiet C-minor chords.

Its companion, the Nocturne in F-sharp Minor, is much less familiar. It is in the expected ternary form, but what is unexpected is how different these parts are. The opening section, marked Andantino, contrasts a recurrent triplet in the left hand with a flowing melodic line in the right. We enter a different world at the central episode, marked Molto più lento. This moves into D-flat major and proceeds along an odd rhythmic pulse, energized by its recurring quintuplets. Chopin then does an unexpected thing with the return of the opening section, in effect transforming it into a coda, and the Nocturne in F-sharp Minor finally vanishes on a wispy run and a quiet concluding chord.

Three Mazurkas, Opus 50

Chopin composed the three mazurkas of his Opus 50 in 1841-42, probably at Nohant, the summer estate south of Paris that he shared with George Sand and her family. The Mazurka in G Major is full of dancing energy, and in his study of Chopin Herbert Weinstock suggests that this mazurka is closer to the peasant life of Poland than to the salons of Paris. The firm opening is marked Vivace, and the subtle central episode is quite brief before the return of the opening material and the quiet glide to the glistening high G-major chord that brings this music to its close.

The Mazurka in C-sharp Minor, Opus 50, No. 3 (1841) is a big piece–and subtle one. It begins with a sixteen-measure introduction full of imitative writing, and this introduction repeats before the music plunges into its rhythmic main section. Soon this smoothly evolves into much gentler music, and along the way Chopin weaves in material from the introduction. This is music of a variety of moods, and it almost flickers through this variety on its way to the emphatic close.

Two Nocturnes, Opus 32

The two nocturnes of Chopin’s Opus 32 were composed in Paris during the years 1836-7. In general, his nocturnes are in ABA form, but the Nocturne No. 1 in B Major defies this expectation. There are the expected two theme groups: the first somewhat gentle (Chopin constantly reminds the pianist dolce and delicatissimo here), the second more firm. But Chopin does not bring back the opening: at just the moment one expects the reprise, he breaks off and heads in an entirely unexpected direction. This is a recitative of a menacing, almost military character, full of the sound of distant drumbeats and harsh declarations. The mood has been shattered completely, and now Chopin brusquely seals this nocturne off with no hint of a return to the quiet opening material. Listeners may find the Nocturne No. 2 in A-flat Major more familiar and more conventional. More familiar because it was later orchestrated and used as one of the movements of the ballet Les Sylphides, and more conventional because this nocturne does take the expected ABA form. The slow and genial opening gradually accelerates to the more vigorous central section, then returns to the opening material and trails off into silence on the same quiet chords that began the nocturne.

A craze for waltzes swept Europe in the first decades of the nineteenth century, and it showed up in the music of composers so dissimilar as Schubert, Berlioz (in the Symphonie fantastique), Weber, and Johann Strauss I. Though it had begun as a dance, the waltz was not considered a form just for dancing--it was also music that could be heard (or played), and it became particularly popular in the salons of music-lovers in big cities. Nowhere was the waltz more popular than in Vienna, and that identification has remained unchanged for nearly two centuries.

Waltz in E-flat Major, Opus 18

Chopin arrived in Vienna in November 1830 at the age of 20, desperate to escape the political turmoil of his native Poland. He had hoped to establish his career in the fabled city of Mozart, Beethoven, and Schubert, but in this he was unsuccessful: though he remained in Vienna for eight months, he and the city never took to each other, and he moved the following year to Paris, a city he found much more congenial. Chopin may never have felt comfortable in Vienna, but he was not immune to the charm of the waltzes so popular in that city: he composed his Waltz in E-flat Major in Vienna, probably early in 1831, and published it three years later in Paris.

The original title is important, for Chopin called this music Grande valse brillante. This is grand and brilliant music, exciting to hear and (for the very good pianist) fun to play, and it must have made a dazzling impression in the Viennese salons for which it was intended. It opens with a call to order, very much like a trumpet call, and then Chopin sails into his vigorous opening dance. The Waltz in E-flat Major is sectional in structure: this opening episode offers a number of subordinate themes and then changes character slightly in the middle section, where Chopin moves into D-flat major and builds the music on a more flowing waltz. But it is hard to make careful divisions within this music: soon bits of the first section begin to intrude here, and the trumpet-like call from the very beginning heralds a return to opening waltz. This grows more ornate as it rushes toward the close, and in the final moments Chopin sends the piano into its ringing high register before the massive concluding chords.

Scherzo No. 1 in B Minor, Opus 20

Though the term had been used earlier, it was Haydn who conceived of the scherzo in its modern sense. In 1781, he called the third movement of some of his string quartets a “scherzo.” What had been the old minuet-and-trio movement now became a scherzo (and trio), and Haydn’s choice of that name indicated that he wanted more speed and liveliness. Beethoven took this evolution one step further: his scherzos, usually built on very short rhythmic units, explode with violent energy and with enough comic touches to remind us that scherzo is the Italian word for joke.

In his four scherzos, Chopin does not copy the forms of Haydn or Beethoven, but adapts the general shape of the classical-period scherzo for his own purposes. He keeps the quick tempo, the 3/4 meter, and (usually) the ABA form of the earlier scherzo, but makes no attempt at humor–the emphasis in this music is on brilliant, exciting music for the piano. The general form of the Chopin scherzo is an opening section based on contrasted themes, followed by a middle section (Chopin does not call this a trio) in a different key and character; the scherzo concludes with the return of the opening material, now slightly abridged.

Chopin began work on his first scherzo in Vienna in 1830. He was twenty years old and had just left behind forever his native Poland, then in the throes of an unsuccessful revolt against Russian rule. Some claim to hear signs of the composer’s anxiety for his country in the turbulence of this music, but Chopin always insisted that his music referred to nothing but itself. He completed this scherzo in Paris in 1832. It opens with powerful chords marked Presto con fuoco, and this music seems to slash upwards with furious energy. The quiet center section, Molto più lento, is based on an ancient Polish Christmas song, “Sleep, little Jesus, sleep,” and Chopin encases this gentle melody within quiet, bell-like octaves. This calm is sharply punctuated by powerful chords from the very beginning as the music makes it way back to the opening material, and after a brilliant coda the scherzo concludes on the same chords with which it began.