Interesting from a historic as well as a musical standpoint is the
origin of the polonaise. In the year 1573, when the Polish throne became
vacant on the extinction of the royal dynasty of Jagiello, a national
assembly of electors was convened at the then capital, Cracow, to decide
upon a new sovereign. The candidates for the throne were all of royal
blood—Ernest of Austria, Henry of Anjou of the house of Valois, brother
to the ruling king of France, a Swedish prince, and Ivan the Terrible of
Russia. But the real struggle lay between the Austrian and French
princes. The choice fell at last on Henry of Anjou, later himself king
of France as Henry III.
In the following autumn he ascended the Polish throne, and among the
many gorgeous ceremonials attending his coronation, was one quite
natural and proper under the circumstances—a formal presentation to the
new monarch, of the leading dignitaries and personages of his realm. It
took place in the vast and magnificent throne hall of the royal castle
at Cracow. The nobles and officials, each with his lady on his arm,
defiled before the throne where the monarch was seated, in a stately
procession, and as they passed before the king were presented by the
master of ceremonies. This formal march was accompanied by suitable
music, written expressly for the occasion and performed by the royal
band. Whether this embryonic polonaise is still in existence, no one
knows; probably not; but two distinct ideas were, or should have been,
before the composer’s mind in penning the harmonies for this solemn
ceremonial.
First, of course, to write music eminently suited to the occasion, to
embody, and, if possible, enhance all the pomp and splendor of the
magnificent, august assembly; second, to portray through the music, so
far as might be, something of the national characteristics of this
Polish race which the Frenchman came as a stranger to rule over. The
music in its own way was to serve as a species of introduction.
Little by little, from this crude but characteristic beginning was
developed through the centuries the peculiar national dance, or, more
strictly speaking, march of the Poles; and the music performed during
its progress came to have among dance forms the same title. It partook
of the various stages of evolution to which all music was subject at
different epochs, and within the last hundred years has been modified to
keep pace with the general development of musical resources. But however
it may vary in minor details of form and treatment, every polonaise
which is true to itself must express the original ideas upon which the
form was primarily based—on the one hand a splendid ceremonial, on the
other Polish national life.
In the present day the polonaise is a universally accepted musical form,
common property with the composers of all nations. But Chopin, Polish by
birth, education, and sympathies, found it strictly within his scope,
and has easily surpassed all other writers in number, quality, and
characteristic force as a polonaise writer.
Of his many works in this vein, the Op. 53, in A flat, is in my opinion
decidedly the best, both as regards virile power and direct, forceful
expression of the original polonaise idea. It begins with a wild,
impetuous introduction, brief but stirring, a sort of fanfare of drums
and trumpets, intended to call the people to order and to establish at
the outset the tonality of the mood, so to speak. Then follows the
swinging, pompous measure of the polonaise proper, readily suggesting by
its splendid martial harmonies the proud military bearing, the gorgeous
armor, and the stately tread of those steel-clad feudal heroes, as they
defiled before the throne.
In place of the trio, usually of a more quiet nature in works of this
kind, Chopin has introduced a very singular passage, the most strikingly
original portion of the whole composition—a long-sustained, stupendous
octave climax of the left hand, consisting of a little rhythmic figure
of four notes, constantly reiterated with growing power, against a sort
of trumpet obligato in brilliant measured chords for the right. The
movement vividly suggests the tramp of cavalry. The composer had in mind
the Polish light-horse of medieval fame, a very aristocratic body of
picked horsemen, composed of the flower of Polish chivalry and
disciplined in constant warfare with the Turks. A number of the
brilliant officers of this division were necessarily present at the
coronation ceremony when the polonaise form originated, and these with
their exploits Chopin endeavors to introduce by means of this singular
passage.
There is a curious anecdote afloat concerning the effect of this
movement on the composer himself. On one occasion, when playing the
nearly completed work, his nervous organism enfeebled by illness and his
imagination intensely excited by the fever-glow of composition, he was
seized by a peculiar hallucination. He fancied that a band of the
knights he had been attempting to portray, came riding in from the gloom
of the outer night, in through the opening walls of his apartment,
arrayed in their antique war panoply, horse and rider just as they might
have arisen from their century-old graves in Poland. He was so overcome
by this self-invoked apparition that he actually fled from the room, and
it was some days before he could be induced to re-enter it or resume
work on the mighty polonaise.
Immediately following the great octave climax referred to is a subdued,
vague, fearsome little passage in light running figures, totally foreign
in movement, mood, and even key to the remainder of the work, for which
we would be at a loss to account if unacquainted with the circumstances
narrated, but which, with the light just thrown upon it, is readily
understood. The author seems to have lost for the time the thread of the
composition, to have drifted far from its martial mood and swinging
rhythm, but after a period of groping indecision, through which we hear
the trepidation and reluctant fascination with which he again approaches
this monster of his own creation, with a sudden boldness of attack he
regains the clew, resumes with energy the march movement, and the work
sweeps to its close with even more than its original power and splendor.