Some have expostulated regarding the admission of Henselt into the
Pantheon of pianists--as if we were self-constituted keepers of its
key--and the assertion was made that Henselt’s day was past, his
études--of course with one exception, the Bird Study,--useless for
technical purposes, and his music, generally rococo. There is a
certain amount of unpalatable truth in all this that jars on one, but
nevertheless I refuse to give up my belief in the Henselt études or
even in the somewhat artificial and overladen F minor concerto.
This is an eminently realistic period in piano literature. The brutal
directness of the epoch is mirrored in contemporary music, and with
the introduction of national color the art is losing much of its old,
well-bred grace, elegance and aristocratic repose. Norwegian, Russian,
Bohemian, Finnish, Danish peasant themes have all the vitality of
peasants and all their clumsiness, too. When I listen to this sort
of music I see two stout apple-cheeked Bauern facing each other and
furiously, after the manner of tillers of the soil. Such company
seems odd and out of place when introduced into the drawing room. But
with the Henselt, how different! how much at home in palaces he is!
His refined, polished speech is never conventional, nor does he tear
passion to tatters, after the approved modern manner. A high-bred man
of the world, raffiné a bit, blasé, but true to the core--a poet and
a musician. No, Henselt must not go, for who may replace him? His
gentle, elegiac nature, his chivalry, his devotion to the loved one
are distinctively individual. His nights are moonlit, his nightingales
sing, but not in the morbid, sultry-fashion of Chopin; even his despair
in the Verlorne Heimath is subdued. It is the despair of a man who eats
truffles and drinks Chateau Yquem while his heart is breaking. But
there is a note of genuineness that is lacking, say, in Mendelssohn,
who played Ariel behind many musical masks. Henselt is never the
hypocrite; he is franker than the Hebraic Felix, whose scherzino
nature peeps forth in solemn oratorio, mocking its owner’s efforts at
conventional worship. Henselt is a dreamer with one eye open; he never
quite forsakes the real for the ideal.
But what charming études are in op. 2 and op. 5! What a wealth of
technical figures, what an imperative legato is demanded! and then,
above all else, touch, euphony! To play Henselt with a hard, dry touch
would be Hamlet with the melancholy Dane not in it. I remember reading
in the preface to a book by Ehrlich (some études of his) that in the
modern sense a beautiful touch was a drawback, for while it might be
ever grateful to the ear, yet if it were not colored and modified to
suit the exigencies of modern music it would simply be a hindrance.
The writer quoted Thalberg as an example of a pianist with a beautiful
touch, but invariably the same style of a singing touch. Liszt was
instanced as a man whose singing touch lacked the fat, juicy cantabile
quality, but whose tonal gamut was all comprehensive, and who could
be tender, dramatic, poetic and classic at will; of course this is
the modern ideal of piano playing--although the color business is a
bit overdone, variety in tinting at the expense of good, solid brush
work--yet we cannot dream of Henselt being played with a bad touch.
Fancy mangling that delicious Bird Study by a “modern” dramatic touch!
Fancy stroking rudely the plumage of this beautiful bird, and have it
pant its little life away in your brutal grasp! I have heard pianists
play this étude as if the bird were a roc, and they were throttling it
Sindbad fashion for its fabulous egg. Ah, Vladimir Pachmann, how that
little bird did sing under your coaxing touch! and how tenderly you put
it away into its silvery cage when it had trilled its sweet pipe! You
triple locked the cage, too, black bearded Pashaw that you were, by
playing three chords in F sharp, mounting an octave at a time!
The Henselt studies should not precede those of Chopin; in fact, some
of the Chopin studies could be sandwiched in with Clementi, Moscheles,
if you study him, and Kessler. Chopin used the Moscheles prelude. But
don’t fail to study Henselt. He will give you freedom, a capacity for
stretching, a sweetness of style that no other writer possesses. Don’t
believe that all the horde of peasants, clumsily footing their tunes,
have come to stay. Form will prevail in the end, and Buffon said,
the style is the man. Much later piano literature is rank, vulgar,
uncultivated, and is altogether inferior to compositions of the grand
classic school. It is all right to put the cart before the horse when
you are backing, but there is no progress in the whole school of
composerlings who trade only in the volks tunes of their native land.
Grieg has been called the Northern Chopin. What a far fetched simile!
The Grieg piano music was once delightfully fresh, and it still has a
quaint ring, but what a small, restricted genre! He said all he had
to say in his sonatas op. 7 and 8, for piano and piano and violin. To
attempt to pad his Scotch-Scandinavian shoulders so as to fit the cloak
of the great Pole is a silly sartorial scheme.
And a superb maker of style is Chopin! Grieg lacks style, lacks
distinction--that is, a fine style--and while I love his concerto
with its mosaic of melodies, yet I tire of the eternal yodel, the
Scandinavian triolen that bobs up like a trade mark. His ballade in G
minor shows more technical invention than the concerto.
What may one not say about the Chopin studies and preludes, the vade
mecum of all good pianists who after they die go to heaven to study
with Frederic, Bach fugues and his études! Burn every note of all other
piano literature and a mine of wealth would still remain.
If you have a bad left hand with intractable fingers always remember
that Bach will individualize those fingers, and that old Carl Czerny
has written a set of studies for the development of the left hand (op.
399), which, if taken in moderation just after rising in the morning,
will lead to limberness and legato. This is only a suggestive aside,
however. Albert Venino has written an excellent Pedal School. Many
improvements have been made in pedaling, and Mr. Venino has thoroughly
handled his subject. Someone has called the pedal “the breath of the
piano,” “its soul,” which is apposite.
For a light hand play some of Mendelssohn scherzos, but remember that,
after all, not velocity but tonal discrimination is to be sought for.
Read Kullak’s remarks appended to the F major étude of Chopin, op. 10.
In the Chopin preludes, op. 28, one may discover many rich technical
nuggets. If you long for variety while at this epoch you may dig out
Theodore Doehler’s fearfully and wonderfully made concert studies and
get a glimpse of the technic that delighted our fathers. Interlocked
chords, trills, tremendous scale passages and vapid harmonies
distinguish this style.
Great difficulties were imposed on the left hand at times, followed
by mere accompaniment figures, while the right hand flashed all over
the keyboard. This is found in the Gottschalk technic, which is but
a combination of the fulminating brilliancies of the French school.
Single studies about this time might prove interesting.
Joseffy’s crystalline étude, At the Spring, is delightful in color and
replete with exquisite touches. To play it pianissimo and prestissimo
in a liquid, cool, caressing manner is a triumph of technic.
Ill-fated Carl Heyman has in his Elfenspiel given us a glimpse of
his wondrous technic. Vogrich’s Staccato Étude is very effective.
Ferdinand Hiller’s rhythmic studies are excellent, and Carl Baermann’s
studies are solid, satisfying and sincerely musical. Golinelli, a Milan
pianist, has left twelve studies which are practically obsolete, though
the octave study is occasionally heard. In the set is one in C sharp
minor with a glorious rolling bass, which is very effective.
Speidel has written an octave study, and speaking of rolling basses
reminds us of that perennial favorite Die Loreley, by Hans Seeling, a
talented young Bohemian pianist who died young (1828-62). His set of
twelve studies contain some good things such as the Gnomentanz.
I don’t know much about Dreyschock’s études, except his Campanella, and
somehow or other I don’t care to. You remember Heine’s remark about the
“hellish spectacle” his performances presented?
Quite delightful individualities are the Scharwenkas and Moszkowski.
Xaver Scharwenka’s preludes and studies are among the best things he
has done, the concertos not excepted. The staccato étude is deservedly
popular, and the E flat minor prelude and F sharp minor étude are
models of their kind. The last named is evidently suggested by a figure
in Chopin’s E minor concerto, first movement, and is well worked out.
Philipp Scharwenka has also done good work. Moszkowski’s group of
three studies is quite difficult; particularly the one in G flat. This
latter smacks of artificiality. Nicode’s two studies are well made,
and Dupont’s toccata in B is a very brilliant and grateful concert
piece. Sgambati, the Italian pianist, has written some studies which
are interesting for people who like Sgambati. They lack originality.
Saint-Saëns’ six études are very valuable and incidentally very
difficult, the rhythm study in particular.
In all this hurly-burly don’t forget your Kullak octave school, and if
you really wish to disencumber your mind of all these extra studies
I have been talking about, just throw overboard everybody but Bach,
Cramer, Clementi, Chopin and Henselt. If you wish velocity coupled with
lightness and suppleness of wrist, take up old Scarlatti.