These undulating figures are no more than the Alberti bass, developed to suit the piano. To the student they offer little more than an example of whollysatisfactory spacing of notes on the keyboard. But Chopin is rarely so simple. In almost all his accompaniments based on broken chords he introduces something of an independent spirit. This shows itself either in the suggestion of an inner melody which here and there joins richly with the chief subject; or in the accentuation of certain notes of harmonic significance. In neither case does the accompaniment take on a definite line, as it so often does in the music of Brahms. Particularly in the latter case, the accompaniment is still vaguely sonorous, the separate notes not more distinct than they must be to preserve a sense of gentle or vigorous movement.
These undulating figures are no more than the Alberti bass, developed to suit the piano. To the student they offer little more than an example of whollysatisfactory spacing of notes on the keyboard. But Chopin is rarely so simple. In almost all his accompaniments based on broken chords he introduces something of an independent spirit. This shows itself either in the suggestion of an inner melody which here and there joins richly with the chief subject; or in the accentuation of certain notes of harmonic significance. In neither case does the accompaniment take on a definite line, as it so often does in the music of Brahms. Particularly in the latter case, the accompaniment is still vaguely sonorous, the separate notes not more distinct than they must be to preserve a sense of gentle or vigorous movement.
It must not be supposed that these notes, which accentuate harmonic coloring, are literally to be emphasized. They are rarely marked with accent signs. But Chopin has so placed them at the height of the figure that they must stand out, even if played more lightly than the notes with which they are associated. The accompaniment of the second theme in the sonata in B minor, especially the later portions of it where it is broken into groups of sixteenth notes, offers proof of a subtlety in awakening a sensuous volume of sound out of the piano which is at once vague and distinct, that can hardly be matched.
As for the flashes of counter-melodies, of hidden strands of music which enrich his accompaniments, we approach here into one of the mysteries of Chopin’s genius. It is in suggesting these that the technique of the pianist frequently fails. There is need of a touch at once pointed and yet often as gentle as a breath. Sometimes these magical notes are at the extremity of a wide space. Chopin has written a study—opus 10, No. 9—which deals almost wholly with this difficulty. Again they are concealed in the very middle of the figure, as in parts of the accompaniment of the nocturne in D-flat major. Finally there are accompaniments whichare all elusive melody. How many melodies are there, for example, within the accompaniment, if so it may be called, of the nineteenth prelude; in the magnificent passages of the fourth ballade, before the coda; in the first E-flat major section of the first ballade? Even where figures have given way in passages of utmost sonority to chords, there is a full melodic life here and there. The accompanying chords in the big passages of the Barcarolle, just before the end, have indeed almost a polyphonic significance.
Here then is that inner melodiousness of Chopin’s music which goes far towards making it the great work of art that it is. It is so little explicit, often hardly more than suggested, so delicate and so infinitely varied that one must for ever question just what the nature of it is. Yet if one tries to analyze Chopin’s style, his treatment of the keyboard, his unmatched grace and elegance and fervor, it is precisely against this inner musical life that one must ultimately come to pause. There are conceptions of emotion expressed in pianoforte music which are perhaps grander than his because less personal; there are other works for the piano that are more abstract and seemingly therefore less capricious; but there is perhaps no music which quite like his has called forth the full spirit of the most mechanical of the string instruments.
Is it essentially polyphonic music? The first canon of the pianoforte style ismovement. That is a mechanical necessity. The strings must be kept in vibration, constantly touched. In music so fine as Chopin’s this movement must be found to have a beauty in itself. It must be ever varied. It must take on an independent character of its own. So far, in studying accompaniment figures, one finds in them an almost never-absent suggestion of such a life. Perhaps one of the greatest proofs of Chopin’s skill is that he rarely attempted more than to suggest it. For he knew aboveall things his piano. He knew its great power over chords and harmony, that music for it must first of all bring out this richness of vibration of which it was capable. He knew that the logical, consecutive movement of the polyphonic style left his piano more than half dumb. Polyphony was no outlandish book to him. Many an anecdote testifies to his worship of the ‘Well-Tempered Clavichord’; many to his ability to reveal as few, perhaps no others, have been able to do, the beauty of the preludes and fugues in it. But in his own music he submerged polyphony, so to speak, just beneath the sea of moving harmonies. Over and through the fine silver network his harmonies swirl and flow like waters. Only now and then a strand of it shines clear; but always its presence may be seen, though its lines quiver and break.
Now and again one comes across measures in his music which do more than hint at the sterling imitative style of the old masters, or that show a grasp of that sort of logical technique which is able to weave a single motive or two into various shapes, a highly concentrated sort of music. These are neither more nor less beautiful than other measures, and surely their value is the value of all his music, not enhanced by the evidence of a highly respected technical skill. The fourth ballade gives surprising examples of this intensive art. The few measures in canonic style which bring back the principal subject are worthy of study; but even more remarkable is the page of music which precedes them. Here, following an episode in which the steady rhythm of the whole great work takes on almost the gaiety of a dance, we come upon music of the most profound character, fully and sonorously scored, rich in harmony, expressive of passion. The bass part is one variant of the chief subject, the treble part is another. Here is skill of the sort that brings praise to Brahms; but in the music of Chopin to mentionit is hardly worth while, so little, rather so entirely not at all, is it an end in itself.
Finally there are pages of his music in which the movement of his accompaniment are so free and extended, or so interwoven with what seems the chief idea, that one is at loss to classify them as to style. These it seems to us are the result of his finest art of writing for the piano. In some cases it is easy to speak of the accompaniment as an arabesque, with the implied meaning that, delicately and carefully as it has been shaped and perfected, it remains of secondary importance. So, for instance, with the little prelude in G major, and, to a somewhat greater extent, the study in C minor, opus 10, No. 12. But the prelude in D major is a net of sounds from which nothing but shimmering harmony shines out, though there are two voices for ever entwining about each other. Which is melody and which accompaniment in the prelude in F major? What is going on within the prelude in F-sharp minor, that outwardly seems but a broad melody with whirring accompaniment? At last, in the later works, one comes across accompaniments running from top to bottom of the keyboard, every note of which is but part of a melody. Take as examples of this art the following passages from the fourth scherzo:
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These few measures are typical of the essence of the keyboard, rather the pianoforte, style of Chopin, a style showing a grace and flexibility highly characteristic of his music in general. One finds such art only very rarely in the works of other composers since the time of Bach and Couperin, as, for example, in the second Intermezzo in the second number of theKreislerianaand at the end of Brahms’ Caprice in F-sharp minor, opus 76, No. 1. It is the sort of music which sounds best on the pianoforte, which cannot give the same effect on any other instrument nor by any combination of instruments. There are the constant movement which is necessary to keep the piano vibrating, and the richness of harmony which belongs to no other single instrument except the organ. The homogeneous nature of the scale gives to the runs a continuity of line and of color that is almost uniquely proper to the piano. The single notes of the runs drop with the bell-like quality which likewise belongs only to this instrument. At last it must be noted how the sound of it all floats and changes. This is strikingly a sonority of after-sounds.
In the case of the above selection from the Scherzo this is obtained by the arrangement of chords with the broad melody of the left hand. Of the six chords that are struck four are left to vibrate during two measures; that is to say, that five-sixths of their value is given only in after-sounds. Against this tonal background are arranged the rapidly moving notes of the right hand, which a careful study will show accentuates in varying fashion the floating harmonies of the left. So thatthe whole passage has not only a vague shimmer but a sparkling radiance as well.
In the following selection from the same piece it will be noticed that this sonority is built up by the movement of the accompanying figures which at the same time sprinkle their own mist with sparks. It is like the passage of a faint comet through the sky, leaving a trail of apparently substantial light. And here this drifting light of sound resolves itself into definite harmonies, in the third, fifth, seventh, ninth, fourteenth andfifteenth measures. The substantial harmonies of the passage are very obviously established by the chords in the left hand part; but it is the movement of the right hand that makes them glow and darken as it were. In those measures not mentioned above, this movement seems to weave a mist about these harmonies, which, in the measures we have numbered, clears for an instant and lets the light through. And that the notes in this movement which have such an harmonic clarity may be not so much emphasized as retained is one of the fine points in the playing of Chopin which the unskilled player is likely wholly to miss, and with it the elusive subtlety of Chopin.
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The ordinary pianoforte style of running figuration generally is made up of simple arpeggios or scales. Liszt does not often show himself master of more than such. It is only Chopin who envelopes his harmonies in such an exquisitely spun thread of melody. The last measures of the Barcarolle show such a thread of pure gold, woven and twisted as no other composer for the piano has been able to spin.