Ekier Jan - Introduction To The Polish National Edition of The Works of Fryderyk Chopin Part 2 Performance Issues PDF

Introduction to the Polish National Edition
of the Works of Fryderyk Chopin
1
National Edition of the Works of Fryderyk Chopin
Editor-in-chief: Jan Ekier
2
Jan Ekier
Co-editor Paweł Kamiński
Introduction
to the Polish National Edition
of the Works
of Fryderyk Chopin
(NE)
Part 2. Performance Issues
Translated by John Comber
2013
Fundacja Wydania Narodowego Dzieł Fryderyka Chopina
Polskie Wydawnictwo Muzyczne SA
3
Project co-financed by the Ministry of Culture and National Heritage
of the Republic of Poland
© by Fundacja Wydania Narodowego Dzieł Fryderyka Chopina, Warszawa, Poland 2012

© by Polskie Wydawnictwo Muzyczne SA, Kraków, Poland 2012
Cover design by Maria Ekier

Editor-in-Chief: Jan Ekier
Co-editor: Paweł Kamiński
Computer music typesetting: Paweł Kamiński

DTP: Piotr Kwaśniewski
Fundacja Wydania Narodowego Dzieł Fryderyka Chopina, ul. Okólnik 2, 00-368 Warszawa
internet: www.chopin-nationaledition.com
Polskie Wydawnictwo Muzyczne SA, al. Krasińskiego 11a, 31-111 Kraków
internet: www.pwm.com.pl
Wyd. I
ISBN 978-83-224-0961-9
PWM 20 728
4
Contents
Initial remarks........................................................................................................7
A. The SOuND SPACe..................................................................................... 11
11. The piano’s compass .......................................................................... 11
B. The SOuND MATeriAl ...............................................................................21
12. Dynamics .............................................................................................21
1 13. Accentuation........................................................................................26
14. Articulation...........................................................................................30
15. Embellishments ...................................................................................38
C. TIME ...............................................................................................................49
16. Tempos – verbal indications...............................................................49
17. Metronome tempos .............................................................................52
18. Tempo rubato ......................................................................................56
19. Conventional and ‘plastic’ rhythmic notation......................................78
D. FOrMAl iSSueS ..........................................................................................81
10. repeats ...............................................................................................81
11. Intraopus cyclicity ................................................................................83
E. PiANiSTiC iSSueS .......................................................................................85
12. Chopin’s fingering ...............................................................................85
13. ‘Harmonic legato’ ................................................................................91
14. Pedal ...................................................................................................95
F. The MANy lAyerS OF ChOPiN’S MuSiC..............................................105
15. Polyphony ..........................................................................................105
16. Polyrhythm and polymetre ................................................................108
17. The ‘polyauthenticity’ of Chopin’s text — variants .......................... 113
G. The PerFOrMANCe OF WOrKS FOr PiANO AND OrCheSTrA .... 117
18. Different versions of concert works.................................................. 117
5
CONTENTS
H. GeNerAl iSSueS ......................................................................................121

19. Issues relating to expression............................................................121
20. Programme ........................................................................................123
21. Polishness in the performance of Chopin’s works ..........................129
22. Constant and variable values ...........................................................133
23. Performer–listener .............................................................................135
24. Artistry ................................................................................................140
Bibliography .......................................................................................................142
Index of works ........................................................................................................
Index of names .......................................................................................................
6
Initial remarks
Part I of the Introduction to the Polish National Edition, published several decades
ago, bears the title Editorial Issues, and it is aimed at introducing anyone making
use of the National Edition to questions relating to the sources for the works of
Fryderyk Chopin and the reproduction of the texts of his compositions on the
basis of the extant sources.1 in that respect, it is crucial to establish the extent
of the authenticity of particular sources, in order that the edited text be as close
as possible to what Chopin, when writing out and publishing his works, wished
to transmit to performers. This second part of the Introduction, entitled Perfor-
mance Issues, addresses the problem of how to read the composer’s notation.
in other words, it is designed to answer the question as to how Chopin himself
understood his musical text and how he performed it, and also whether all the
elements of that text are fully binding for us or whether there are any elements
which we may — to some extent and under certain circumstances — alter.
it might seem that with an authentic text before us, we need only render it
with a beautiful sound, taking account of the detailed performance markings given
by the composer. however, such a ‘rendering of the text’ may prove difficult for
a contemporary performer. There are two main reasons for this:
— Chopin’s oeuvre dates from a transitional period in musical performance
between the Classical and romantic eras – a period in which some con-
ventions of musical notation were undergoing change (e.g. in the area of
ornamentation and rhythm);
— the exceptional originality and subtlety of Chopin’s creative inventiveness
sometimes moved him to employ innovative solutions in his notation (e.g.
in pedalling) that are not always properly understood (at times completely
1
Jan ekier, Wstęp do Wydania Narodowego Dzieł Fryderyka Chopina. Część 1: Zagadnienia
edytorskie (Cracow, 1974); eng. tr. as Introduction to the Polish National Edition of the Works of
Fryderyk Chopin. Part 1: Editorial Issues, tr. John Comber, available as free ebook from http://
www.pwm.com.pl.
7
INITIal REMaRkS
misunderstood) by publishers and as a consequence are not transmitted to

performers.
Although situations in which a present-day understanding of certain elements
of notation does not entirely coincide with Chopin’s understanding are discussed
in the ‘Performance Commentary’ appended to each volume, it seems appropriate
not to make do with incidental problems in particular compositions, but rather
to gather them together in the broader context of Chopin’s oeuvre as a whole.
in the present work, we also address certain issues of a more general nature
connected with the performance of the works of Chopin (and occasionally not
just Chopin!); the formula adopted for the performance commentaries made it
impossible to provide even a cursory discussion of such issues.
I would also like to mention what this work is not. It is not a collection of
hints as to how Chopin should be played; it is not an attempt at imposing some
uniform style upon the performance of his works. And it has no ambitions of
answering all the questions that might occur to a performer in connection with
Chopin’s text; some questions will probably remain unanswered. Its sole purpose
is to provide support for performers’ knowledge and imagination, such that the
nuances of the composer’s notation might be transformed beneath their fingers
into the unique beauty of his music.
* * *
The sources relating to the performance of Chopin’s works are of various kinds.
The most important are as follows:
— the musical text of his works,
— descriptions of his playing given by reviewers of his public concerts and
witnesses to his playing in private salons, as well as those contained in the
accounts of his pupils,
— his own comments in pupils’ copies and his notes in the sketches for a piano-
playing Method.
The advantage of this diversity is the multi-faceted perspective it gives us
on particular elements of performance. When the same issues are described in
different ways, the account becomes more vivid, thereby bringing those issues
into greater relief. The drawback lies in the occasional situations where opin-
ions appear to be contradictory, due to their dependence on the person giving
them and also on various external circumstances. One example here might be
the different reactions to rubato in mazurkas played by Chopin, which we will
discuss later. Our task is to elucidate these actual or apparent contradictions.
8
INITIal REMaRkS
Some difficulty can also be caused by the very substance of the problem
being discussed. Whilst such things as the date when a change to the piano’s
compass was made by a manufacturer or was incorporated by Chopin in his
compositions can sometimes be established — at least in approximation — and
the functional parameters of the keyboard (the width of the keys, the depth to
which they fall, the resistance) can be measured, the phenomenon of tempo
rubato can only be described through comparisons, which sometimes act on
a performer’s imagination but without suggesting to him a specific way it might
be rendered.
The extant sources are quantitatively uneven, hence the varying length of
the sections devoted to particular subjects, quite rarely proportionate to their
weight. Furthermore, it is not always possible to formulate practical suggestions
for performance, close to the original, and so with regard to some problems we
must content ourselves with an approximation.
i have addressed some subjects (e.g. pedal, Chopin’s rubato) in academic
symposia and conferences. in such instances, for understandable reasons,
their discussion is modified here to meet the requirements of this part of the
Introduction.
* * *
Part of the sub-chapter devoted to tempo rubato is based on a paper delivered

by the co-editor of the National Edition, Paweł Kamiński.2 I would like to take
this opportunity to thank him for his collaboration on this part of the Introduction,
for his substantial contribution to its contents, for looking through the whole text
and for rendering the musical examples in computerised form.
* * *
Music constitutes a sort of continuum of various interpenetrative phenomena.

Their description and discussion may be approached in two ways: by empha-
sising their connections and relations (the synthetic approach) or by separating
them from one another (the analytical approach).
A desire to discuss the issues in the simplest way possible inclined me to
prioritise the latter approach, and so to treat each problem separately. This
2
Paweł Kamiński, ‘Poszukiwanie śladów rubata w tekście Chopinowskim’ [The search for
traces of rubato in Chopin’s text], in irena Poniatowska (ed.), Chopin w kręgu przyjaciół [Chopin
in his circle of friends], vol. 4 (Warsaw, 1998).
9
INITIal REMaRkS
lends more clarity to the presentation of individual performance-related issues.

One should always bear in mind, however, that these problems are not isolat-
ed entities, and the boundaries between many of them are not clearly defined.
To avoid a one-sided approach, the last few chapters, grouped together in the
section ‘General issues’, show the performance of Chopin’s music in a broader
context, without a division into individual parts.
The language of this part of the Introduction differs from that of the first part,
since it concerns issues that are often less concrete and more difficult to express
in words. Page numbers are not given in the footnotes, since the majority of the
quoted texts are available not just in original publications,3 but also in various
later works, often of a monographic character, where they can be found without
difficulty. The bibliography covers almost exclusively works quoted in the text.
3
Some are available in electronic versions, which can be easily searched.
10
A. The sound space
1. The PiANO’S COMPASS
Chopin took a keen interest in everything directly related to his musical art, in-
cluding, of course, the instruments on which he played, be it in concerts, while
composing or when giving lessons. This is clear from numerous passages in his
correspondence and in the recollections of his pupils. It should be mentioned
here that the years during which Chopin was actively composing coincided with
a period of intense development in the piano’s acoustic capacities. Producers and
makers introduced, for example, mechanical innovations that facilitated playing
(e.g. the double escapement, invented in 1821) or enhanced the dynamic range
(the gradual strengthening of the frame, introducing felt into the production of
hammers). Although the composer’s interest focussed mainly on the acoustic
qualities of pianos, other questions also attracted his attention, such as the
gradual expansion of the instrument’s compass. The piano keyboard which
the teenage Chopin had at his disposal ranged from F1 to f 4, but Chopin’s last
piano — a Pleyel from 1847, now held in the Fryderyk Chopin Museum in War-
saw — extends from C1 to a4.
Only in his earliest works did the young Chopin not make full use of the
available compass. The expansion of the range of notes he employed is exem-
plified by his four earliest polonaises:
Polonaise in Bb, Ne 1 (1817) — E-g3,
Polonaise in G minor, Ne 2 (1817) — G1-g3,
Polonaise in Ab, Ne 3 (1821) — Bb1-c4,
Polonaise in G# minor, Ne 4 (1824) — F#1-f 4.
The last compass covers virtually the whole of the keyboard available at
that time, something which would henceforth be the rule in Chopin’s works (ex-
cluding, of course, compositions deliberately deprived of the virtuosic element,
such as the mazurkas). up to 1826, this meant the above-mentioned F1-f 4; still
11
THE SOUND SPaCE
in the Rondo à la mazur in F major, Op. 5, we can discern in bars 289–292

a constraint caused by the lack of lower notes (E1):
bars 89–92
bars 289–292 .
in works from the turn of 1828, such as the Sonata in C minor (Op. 4),
Chopin already has basses reaching down to C1, and that is the compass —
C1-f 4 — that he will essentially be using in his published works up to the end of
his life (the sole exception being the Barcarolle, Op. 60, from 1846, the closing
passage of which reaches f# 4). He seems to consider this compass to be a sort
of norm that may be demanded of a concert instrument, and even when the
instrument in his possession offered greater possibilities, he tried not to exceed
it. He also refrained from giving variants for different piano compasses in editions
of his works, as did liszt, for example, who marked alternative versions Piano
à 6 octaves (F1-f 4) or Piano à 7 octaves (C1-c5); see Hexameron, in volume 37
of the National Edition (Supplement), bars 1–13, 150–152, 307, 354.
There are examples of the striking use of the whole compass and also several
places in which its restriction prevented Chopin from strengthening the bass line,
for example, or obliged him to alter the natural contour of the figuration. The
former situation may be illustrated by the following three passages:
— Scherzo in Bb minor, Op. 31, the simultaneous use of the furthest key to the
right and the furthest black key to the left:
bars 49–52
12
THE PIaNO’S COMPaSS
bars 776–780
— Fantasy in F minor, Op. 49, bars 64–68, scale over the whole keyboard:
Before giving a few examples, taken from different periods in his oeuvre,
where Chopin was constrained by the limited range of the piano, i would like
to point out that the evaluation of such places is to some extent of a subject-
ive character. In the National Edition, only in cases where such intervention is
most justified do we replace the original text with a version that results from
the logical progression of the music (and contains at least one note exceeding
the compass C1-f4). And the source version is always given in a footnote. In
the examples below, the original text is juxtaposed with the revised text, with
a note on the justification for the revision.
— Rondo à la mazur in F major, Op. 5, last quaver of bar 388, rh:
(authentic text, up to f4)
(g4)
13
THE SOUND SPaCE
The NE text was revised on the basis of the three previous appearances of
this motif and also bars 177–181, in which an analogous progression a third
lower shows no irregularities.
— Polonaise in Eb, Op. 22, 2nd quaver of bar 84, rh chord:
(authentic text)
in the Ne, the chord was moved to g4, on the basis of an analogous motif
in bar 80 (a second lower), in which, virtuosically shifting the chords, Chopin
employed a more natural octave leap.
— Sonata in Bb minor, Op. 35, movt i, lh octave in bar 239:
(authentic text)
(octave lowered to Bb2)
in the source version, the natural octave progression of the lh (downwards)

is broken off before the final chord; with a less careful change of pedal, this
also increases the risk of the preceding Eb1 sounding here.
14
— Scherzo in C# minor, Op. 39, bars 197 and 241, lh:
(authentic text)
in the Ne, Bb2 is added, on the basis of an analogous phrase in bars 486–493
(a third higher), led in regular octaves.
— Scherzo in C# minor, Op. 39, bar 315, rh:
(authentic text)
in the Ne, the figuration from gb4 is supplemented on the basis of 22 analo-
gous places in which the figuration pattern is identical, irrespective of the register
and of the chord on which the figuration is based.
15
THE SOUND SPaCE
— Fantasy in F minor, Op. 49, bars 112 and 116, 1st lh octave:
(authentic text)
in the Ne, the octave is moved to Bb2, on the basis of an analogous phrase
in bars 278–279 and 282–283 (a fourth higher).
— Fantasy in F minor, Op. 49, bars 15–16, lh:
(authentic text)
In the Ne, the octaves are made up to Cb1, on the basis of an analogous
phrase four bars earlier. We give this example at the end because in this
case there is an additional justification in the sources, which will be described
on account of its significance for an evaluation of all situations of this type.
The sources for the Fantasy include a copy (first forty bars) of a lost Chopin
sketch, written in the hand of the composer’s friend Julian Fontana, a copyist of
a dozen or so of his works. in the second half of bar 16, we see in the copy
the note Cb with the digit 8 underneath, denoting the octave Cb1-Cb (the digit
was ultimately deleted). Assuming that the copy transmits this detail faithfully
on the basis of Chopin’s sketch, we may also assume that Chopin ‘out of
16
momentum’ wrote here the Cb1 that the music demanded before realising (perhaps
not until he was preparing the fair copy) that it exceeded the piano’s compass,
whereupon he removed the lower octave doubling in bars 15–16. This justifies
the proposed editorial alterations and additions, since we may suppose that
both here and in other similar places Chopin did indeed wish to use notes that
exceeded the piano’s compass and would have done so if he had a suitable
instrument at his disposal.
Valuable examples of the use of a compass broader than that employed
during the composing of a work are provided by variants noted by Chopin for
his pupils during lessons. in four of these, he used notes above f4 (we give the
printed text and Chopin’s variant):
— Nocturne in Eb, Op. 9 No. 2, bar 24, rh:
(version of the first editions)
(Chopin’s variant, reaching up to ab4)

— Waltz in Ab, Op. 42, bar 244, rh:
(Chopin’s variant up to a4)
17
THE SOUND SPaCE
— Nocturne in F# minor, Op. 48 No. 2, bar 113, rh:
(Chopin’s variant reaching up to f#4)
— Nocturne in e, Op. 62 No. 2, bar 68, rh:
(Chopin’s variant reaching up to g# 4)

Several other variants of this kind, although not exceeding the piano’s com-
pass, clearly expand the range of notes used in a particular passage, or even
throughout a whole work:
— etude in F minor, Op. 25 No. 2, bar 67, rh:
18
(Chopin’s variant)
— Nocturne in Ab, Op. 32 No. 2, bars 50–51, lh:
(Chopin’s variant)
in this last example, it is worth drawing attention to the structural significance

of the octaves added by Chopin: they dynamically strengthen the ‘triumphant’
return of the first theme of the Nocturne, and at the same time — by leading to
the tonic ab1 — harmonically fill up the piano’s lowest register, introduced with
the note F#1 in bar 39 (this does not mean, of course, that the principal version
is in some discernible way incomplete).
19
THE SOUND SPaCE
Moreover, Chopin more than once made similar additions during the final
stage in his composing of a work, such that, for example, we have the original
version in one of the first editions and a supplemented version in another:
— Etude in Db, Op. 25 No. 8, bars 25–26, lh:
(first German edition, original text)
(first French edition, supplemented version)

Before summarising this chapter, i would make one further remark concerning
Chopin’s use of the cello scale. in the Polonaise in C, Op. 3, Chopin revised
the cello part — in collaboration with the cellist Auguste Franchomme — in such
a way as to expose notes of the highest register, not used in the original version,
namely d 2 and e2 (bars 189 and analogous).4
What conclusions arise from this for the performer? Well, in places where
it can be fully justified in musical terms, it seems admissible to make minor
alterations or additions after the fashion of those described above. Some such
propositions have already been given in the Ne; others have not. in each case,
however, performers must judge for themselves whether a possible alteration
really does enhance the interpretation, without violating the structure or style of
Chopin’s original in any way.
The history of the changes made to the Polonaise is described in the source commentary
4
to volume 23, Works for Piano and Cello.
20
B. The sound material
2. DyNAMICS
Accounts describing Chopin’s playing, considered with regard to the dynamics

he employed, generally emphasise the delicacy of his playing, as well as the
wealth of nuances. Points of culmination were striking not so much for their
absolute power as for the masterful way in which he led up to them. He did
not like to use excessive force in his playing.
A virile, noble energy — energy without rawness — lent an overwhelming effect

to the appropriate passages, just as elsewhere he could enrapture the listener
through the tenderness — tenderness without affection — of his soulful renditions.5
he could not bear too loud a sound from the piano, and called it ‘a dog barking’.6
his speciality was extreme delicacy, and his pianissimo extraordinary. Every little
note was like a bell, so clear.7
his forte was relative, not absolute; it was based upon his exquisite pianos and
pianissimos — always a waving line, crescendo and diminuendo.8
5
Karol Mikuli (a pupil of Chopin), ‘Foreword’ to collected edition of Chopin’s works published
by Kistner, F. Chopin’s Pianoforte-Werke (leipzig, 1880); as translated in the Dover edition,
Fantasy in F minor, Barcarolle, Berceuse and Other Works for Solo Piano (New york, 1989).
6
Aleksander Michałowski, ‘Jak grał Fryderyk Szopen?’ [how did Fryderyk Chopin play?],
Muzyka, 7–9 (1932), quoting the opinion of Karol Mikuli; as translated in Jean-Jacques
eigeldinger, Chopin: Pianist and Teacher as seen by his Pupils, tr. Naomi Shohet with Krysia
Osostowicz and roy howat, ed. roy howat (Cambridge, 1986).
7
Frederick Niecks, Frederick Chopin as a Man and Musician (london, 1902), quoting an
account by Chopin’s pupil Elise Peruzzi.
8
edith J. hipkins, How Chopin Played. From Contemporary Impressions collected from the
Diaries and Note-books of the late a. J. Hipkins (london, 1937); Alfred James hipkins tuned
Chopin’s pianos during his stay in England in 1848 and witnessed the composer playing many
times.
21
THE SOUND MaTERIal
Such descriptions are more numerous, yet if they are to inform our concep-
tion of how to use dynamics when playing Chopin, we must take account of
a number of factors that bore a crucial influence over the judgments expressed
by his listeners and pupils:
— the personal predilections of the individuals voicing their opinions, who natur-
ally described the phenomenon through the prism of their own personality,
expectations and performance capabilities (practically all of them were mu-
sicians; if not professionals, then at least accomplished amateurs);
— the fact that Chopin never played the same work the same way twice;
— the fact that Chopin’s playing was conditioned by the realities of specific
renditions — his physical state and mood, the size and acoustics of the hall,
the instrument, the size and composition of the audience, the aesthetic and
emotional climate of the epoch — and not all its features, even if we suc-
ceeded in recreating them with sufficient precision, can or should be imitated;
— the fact that all the comments he made to his pupils were conditioned by the
‘pedagogic need of the moment’ (though that does not preclude the possibility
of generalising them).
For this reason, any inferences regarding dynamics in Chopin’s music should
be confronted primarily with that which, when composing, writing and publishing
his works, he wished to suggest to performers in general. Those suggestions
are, of course, the dynamic markings in the scores of his works.
In works published by Chopin (National Edition series A), the dynamic
markings range from ppp through pp, p, f and ff to fff. Chopin used mf only
a handful of times and mp not once, but we quite often find in his works mezza
voce, generally abbreviated to m.v., which may be seen as an equivalent for
conventional designations of the middle of the dynamic range. Also the related
marking sotto voce has a primarily dynamic significance ( pp), although the many
occasions when Chopin uses it in conjunction with pp (and at times with p)
indicate that it also possessed for him a certain expressive aspect, suggesting
the distinctness and weight of a phrase thus marked. in the Mazurka in C, Op. 6
No. 5, mezza voce and sotto voce are juxtaposed with one another as the sole
indications of dynamic levels in the main part of the piece.
Even a cursory perusal of the dynamic signs in a dozen or so works allows
us to note — and more precise studies confirm the observation — that Chopin’s
supposed predilection for exceptional delicacy is not borne out by the notation
of his music. The markings f and ff are by no means rare, and they sometimes
apply to lengthy passages. In the Polonaise in F# minor, Op. 44, of the 191 bars
of the outer sections (in the tempo and character of a polonaise), only 21 are
marked with a dynamic other than f–ff, and the Polonaise in A, Op. 40 No. 1
22
DYNaMICS
adheres entirely to the range f–fff. it is significant that on four occasions Chopin
demands the loudest performance possible: il più forte possibile appears in the
Ballade in G minor, Op. 23, bar 206, the etude in B minor, Op. 25 No. 10, bar
115, and the etude in C minor, Op. 25 No. 12, bars 67–70, and najmocniej jak
można (the same instruction in Polish!) in the autograph of the song ‘Wojak’,
Ne 34, bars 44–47. The ffff used in the last bar of that same song probably
means the same.
To sum up, Chopin used the full dynamic range of the piano in his notation.
The fact that his personal playing style probably leaned towards a greater pro-
portion of piano shading was in large measure due to his pianistic capacities:
he could not (and did not wish to) dazzle with force, yet he was able to make
up for what he lacked in strength with an extra wealth of nuances. Therefore,
when performing his music today, we should execute, above all, the design of
his creative imagination, expressed in the authentic dynamic markings in the
score. We are entitled to make full use of Chopin’s dynamic range, since the
increase in the dynamic capacities of pianos that has been made since Chopin’s
times is generally counterbalanced by an increase in the size of concert halls.
I would now like to draw attention to a few details concerning Chopin’s dy-
namic signs. Combinations of f–p or p–f often signal a contrast of expression,
in which the dynamics is just one of the elements of expressive differentiation;
one particularly eloquent example here would be the outer sections of the Ma-
zurka in C minor, Op. 30 No. 1:
Chopin used markings of two kinds to gradate dynamics:

— the verbal markings cresc. and dim. (decresc.), occasionally supplemented
by additional indications like sempre or poco a poco,
— hairpins and .
A frequent occurrence here is the overlapping of two seemingly identical
markings: and cresc. or and dim. This makes us suppose some kind
of difference in meaning between the verbal instruction and the corresponding
sign. And indeed, analysis of the appearances of these markings throughout
the whole of Chopin’s oeuvre leads to the conclusion that in general the signs
and denote nuances in the phrasing of a melodic line, whereas the
verbal markings indicate the dynamics of a whole passage.
23
THE SOUND MaTERIal
The lack of dynamic markings at the beginning of a work is often compen-

sated for by an indication of the character of the music, for example leggiero,
scherzando, dolce or con anima. Where no such markings appear, we may
take as our starting point a mp–mf dynamic, taking account of the direction in
which the phrase develops and the dynamic signs — denoting sudden or grad-
ual change — given further into the work. At times, certain dynamic alterations
are not marked in the score, even though Chopin generally took great care in
providing his works with performance markings, including for dynamics. in some
situations, therefore, the performer can, and even should, supplement them, for
example when comparing analogous phrases. These problems may be illustrated
by the Impromptu in Ab, Op. 29. This work begins without a dynamic marking,
and the first dynamic sign — f — does not appear until bar 23, preceded by
a two-bar crescendo. yet Chopin demands numerous dynamic nuances in the
phrasing: over the first 20 bars, we encounter 21 hairpins: and . In
this situation, it would seem that an mp–mf, in keeping with the rule given above,
will allow us to accurately convey the buoyant and fanciful atmosphere of the
opening, whilst leaving room, as it were, for appropriate shading.
Impromptu in Ab, Op. 29, bars 1–3, 21–23:
The middle section of this work contains dynamic markings that are both
numerous and precise; the last to appear is an f in bar 77, after which a cres-
cendo in bars 78–79 leads to the climactic point of the section. This is also
a turning-point in the course of the music, which via a two-bar bridge passes
into a repeat of the opening section, again without dynamic markings. Pianistic
instinct suggests unequivocally that this does not signify the need to perform this
24
DYNaMICS
reprise ff, since there is no reason to play it in a completely different character

than the first time around.
Impromptu in Ab, Op. 29, bars 77–83:
it sometimes occurs, when a phrase (or a work) begins with an anacrusis,

that Chopin writes a dynamic sign only at the beginning of the bar. That does
not mean that the anacrusis must be played differently, for example strictly in
the dynamic of the previous phrase, since the area over which dynamic marks
apply is determined above all by their placement, but always with account taken
of the musical sense.
To close, two quotations from Chopin’s peers concerning his own playing and
the performance of his works as informed by that playing. In light of the above
remarks, they may be regarded as reliable stylistic guidelines for present-day
pianists:
What one hears is no piano; it is a succession of fresh, touching thoughts, often

melancholy, sometimes tinged with terror; and to convey them the instrument
undergoes a thousand transformations under his fingers through a finesse of
touch, from what one can compare only to spider’s webs up to effects of the
most imposing strength.9
in performance you should develop an ample, full and rounded tone; shade the
scale of nuances with infinite gradations between pianissimo and fortissimo, though
9
The arts patron and collector Baron de Trémont, in his handwritten remarks on his auto-
graph collection; as translated in J.-J. eigeldinger, op. cit.
25
THE SOUND MaTERIal
in pianissimo avoid any indistinct muttering, just as in fortissimo avoid the sort of
pounding that would hurt a sensitive ear10.
3. ACCeNTuATiON
Accents are a very frequent phenomenon in Chopin’s notation, and it is hard

to overestimate their role in shaping a specific rhythmic ambience (mazurkas),
dividing up phrases, creating colouristic effects or layering tonal plans. Chopin
marks dynamically accented notes in three ways:
— three kinds of accent signs: long ( ), short (>) and vertical ( );
— the markings fz, fzp and ffz, and in exceptional cases also sf (=fz);
— some combinations of the above, e.g. fz or fz>.
each of these markings has a slightly different shade of meaning, although
their differentiation is not always strictly observed. Consequently, the example
interpretations given below do not serve as absolute rules.
Short accents may be called ‘energy accents’; they always apply to single
notes or chords. long accents are of an expressive, melodic character; they
generally affect longer notes and occasionally characteristic motives, often of
three notes.
Autograph of the Scherzo in e, Op. 54, ending. Short and long accents.
The long accent is Chopin’s favourite sign. An extensive study could be de-
voted to the kinds of expression it indicates: long notes, both on strong beats and
raoul Koczalski Frédéric Chopin. Betrachtungen, Skizzen, analysen (Cologne, 1936), hints
10
from Chopin’s pupil Karol Mikuli; as translated in J.-J. eigeldinger, op. cit.
26
aCCENTUaTION
also syncopated notes, dissonances, unexpected harmonic turns, the beginnings

of phrases, points of culmination and other characteristic places are furnished
by Chopin — in a wish to elicit their vivid rendition — with long accents.
Chopin wrote vertical accents quite rarely; they appear to be an intensified va-
riety of long or short accents. The two kinds of ‘horizontal’ accent — long and short
— are not always easily distinguishable in Chopin’s manuscripts, and so per-
formers, when in doubt, knowing about the various shades of expression associ-
ated with them, should follow their intuition rather than the shape of the sign.
Chopin’s fz attached to an accent reinforces its effect. These combinations,
as well as fz on its own, sometimes indicate crucial points in the forging of
medium-sized formal structures. Typical situations include accented phrase end-
ings that are also the beginning of new musical ideas:
Concerto in e minor, Op. 11, movt i, bar 408
Also characteristic is the use of such combinations to single out more im-
portant melodic lines or tonal plans:
Concerto in e minor, Op. 11, movt i, bars 283–286
Ballade in F minor, Op. 52, bars 215–216
27
THE SOUND MaTERIal
Very often, the marking fz serves to underscore bass notes, generally sus-
tained with pedal:
Mazurka in B, Op. 41 No. 2, bar 5 and analogous.
Scherzo in e, Op. 54, bar 9 and analogous.
The characteristic effect of the combining of pedal with the sign fzp appears
in the Polonaise-Fantasy, Op. 61, bar 88:
in some situations, Chopin might use a single kind of accent to indicate

a strengthening of varying function and force. This occurs in a homogenous
texture where certain markings, such as accents, are given only at the begin-
ning of a segment, but it is obvious that they continue to apply thereafter. As
a result, a subsequent appearance of the same sign indicates the need for
a more distinct execution. We encounter this phenomenon, for example, in the
etude in C, Op. 10 No. 1:
28
aCCENTUaTION
bars 1–3
bars 7–8
The accents every four notes that are visible in bars 1–2 undoubtedly apply
throughout the etude. Therefore, single accents, such as the one on d#1 in bar
8, indicate an additional strengthening.
Similarly in the Prelude in B minor, Op. 28 No. 6, the accent in bar 22:
bars 1–3
bars 20–23
To close, i would like to draw attention to one of Chopin’s characteristic

devices that carries great expressive force, namely the accenting of a repeated
note, creating a kind of pedal point in the upper register. Chopin used this device
in a highly characteristic way several times:
29
THE SOUND MaTERIal
andante spianato from Op. 22, bars 55–56 and 59–62; a total of 11 accents on
d2, of which 7 appear in bars 59–62:
Polonaise in Ab, Op. 53, bars 143–151; the note c2 accented 17 times in suc-
cession, the bass line emphasised by means of fz:
etc.
Berceuse, Op. 57, bars 53–54, fivefold accentuation of ab3:
in each of these places, which are masterful manifestations of Chopin’s linear

thinking, taking account of Chopin’s accentuation creates a sort of musical gem.
unfortunately, this effect is rarely respected by pianists. in the case of Op. 22,
it is also sometimes deformed (including in some editions) with an accentuation
of the lower notes of the rh figuration that is contrary to Chopin’s notation.
4. ArTiCulATiON
The word ‘articulation’ is not easy to define. it comes from latin (articulare — ‘to
separate into parts’) and has various meanings in different fields (e.g. physiolo-
gy, medicine, architecture, pronunciation). in music, too, it is not unambiguous,
even when reduced solely to the area of performance. This is not the place to
30
aRTICUlaTION
consider the term’s etymology and shades of meaning in detail. i shall confine
myself to outlining the subject in the extent to which its equivalents may be
found in piano music, including the music of Chopin.
We generally speak of articulation in relation to the way in which a note is
struck and joined with others. When notes succeed one another smoothly and
without a break, we speak of legato, or connected articulation. The requirement
to join notes together particularly closely, at times even holding them, is termed
legatissimo. The opposite of legato is staccato, and so separating notes in such
a way that each of them is endowed with individual energy; generally speaking,
their duration is much shorter than is indicated by their rhythmic value. Ex-
tending between these two poles is a continuum of nuances that arise through
the skilful combining of the dynamics, timbre and duration of particular notes.
Chopin’s listeners and pupils emphasised the variety and wealth of shading of
his touch, for example:
[Chopin] made me practise first of all constantly varying the attack of one single
note, and showed me how he could obtain diverse sonorities from the same key,
by striking it in twenty different ways.11
leGATO
A talented pupil of Chopin, the professional pianist Friederike Müller-Streicher,

passed on to the composer’s biographer, Frederick Niecks, the following remark:
his playing was always noble and beautiful, his tones always sang, whether in
full forte or in the softest piano. he took infinite pains to teach the pupil this
legato, cantabile way of playing. ‘il [ou elle] ne sait pas lier deux notes’ was his
severest censure.12
Karol Mikuli describes his playing thus:13
in all types of touch, the evenness of his scales and passagework was un-
surpassed, indeed fabulous; under his hands the piano had no need to envy either
the violin its bow or the wind instruments their living breath. The tones blended
miraculously as in the loveliest song.
Of most crucial importance in these quotations would appear to be two com-

ponents of legato as generally understood: a songful character and the smooth
11
F.-H. Péru, ‘Mes souvenirs de Frédéric Chopin’, Revue de la S.I.M., 9/12 (1913); as
translated in J.-J. eigeldinger, op. cit. Péru was a pupil of Chopin.
12
F. Niecks, op. cit.
13
K. Mikuli, op. cit.
31
THE SOUND MaTERIal
joining of notes into phrases. This articulation was indicated by Chopin with the
verbal term legato (legatissimo) or with a phrase mark (or phrase marks). There
are no doubts regarding the former; the correct interpretation of the phrase marks,
however, is not always self-evident. One of the traps lies in the relatively short
phrase marks that occur, in particular, in works by the young Chopin, such as
the Concerto in e minor, Op. 11, movt i:
bars 393–396:
bars 463–466:
here, breaking off the legato at the end of each of the phrase marks in the rh
would certainly be needlessly pedantic and might disturb the naturalness of the
phrasing. One practical rule might serve our interpretation of such marks: the
beginning of a phrase mark should be emphasised with slightly greater pressure,
whereas the ending of a phrase mark may but need not signify the end of the
phrase or the breaking-off of the legato articulation.
STACCATO
For marking a staccato articulation (Italian staccare – ‘tear off’, ‘disconnect’,

‘stand out’), Chopin used a verbal indication and two kinds of sign: dots and
wedges. To begin with, during the composer’s youth, the basic sign is the wedge:
Variations in Bb, Op. 2, bars 39–40:
32
aRTICUlaTION
etude in A minor, Op. 25 No. 4, bars 1–3:
Dots denote a more delicate articulation, often combined with the verbal speci-
fication leggiero or leggierissimo:
Concerto in e minor, Op. 11, movt ii, bar 107:
krakowiak, Op. 14, bars 270–273:
Over time, the basic sign became the dot, and wedges were used increas-
ingly rarely, for marking single strikes that are more strongly accentuated. in
general — as in the case of long and short accents — it is not always easy to
distinguish between the two signs, and so the choice of articulation in doubtful
instances must be left to the performer’s taste. It should also be borne in mind
that in his earlier works Chopin sometimes used dots as a variety of accent,
for marking out a melodic line from a body of figuration:
Variations in Bb, Op. 2, bar 187:
33
THE SOUND MaTERIal
Variations in Bb, Op. 2, bars 207–211:
DiFFereNT VArieTieS OF ArTiCulATiON AND Their COMBiNiNG
The last of the above examples leads us in a natural way to the question of
the differentiation of articulation within phrases, in both horizontal and vertical
relations. in Chopin’s notation, we find a great many places that reflect the di-
versity of touch which the composer possessed as a pianist. The combinations
of slurs, dots, wedges and accents that occur in the given examples indicate
various kinds of non legato articulation, including the variety known today as
portato, which is usually marked with dots beneath a slur:
etude in F minor, Op. 10 No. 9, bars 5–8
Different nuances of articulation within a phrase:

andante spianato from Op. 22, bars 19–20:
Nocturne in Bb minor, Op. 9 No. 1, bars 74–75:
34
aRTICUlaTION
The two examples above illustrate the shaping of the sound of a repeated note.
Concerto in F minor, Op. 21, movt ii, bar 52:
The simultaneous use of legato together with staccato or portato:

Variations in Bb, Op. 2, beginning of the theme:
etude in A minor, Op. 25 No. 4, bars 9–12:
The entire rh part of this etude demands of the pianist a great variety of
articulation, which – enhanced with a diverse kind of accentuation — gives the
effect of a kaleidoscopically shifting acoustic image.
Etude in Db, Dbop. 36 No. 3, bars 1–4:
35
THE SOUND MaTERIal
andante spianato from Op. 22, bars 45–46:
Nocturne in Eb, Op. 55 No. 2, bars 47–48:
This kind of rendition demands linear thinking of the performer, as in polyph-

ony and polyrhythm (see below). All the voices should be carefully worked on
with their specific articulation until they are entirely independent.
Passing from legato to staccato or portato:
Nocturne in Bb minor, Op. 9 No. 1, bars 14–15:
Concerto in F minor, Op. 21, movt i, bars 219–220:
Concerto in e minor, Op. 11, movt ii, bars 17–18:
36
aRTICUlaTION
Concerto in e minor, Op. 11, movt i, bar 177:
A sequence of different kinds of portato:

Waltz in Eb, Op. 18, bars 143–148:
in the last two examples, we are probably dealing with a gradual change of
articulation (such a reading of Chopin’s notation cannot be discounted in the
previous examples as well).
let us add one more articulation marking to Chopin’s collection. in one phrase
from the second movement of the Concerto in F minor, Op. 21 (the phrase in
question appears twice, in bars 18 and 86), we find the sole instance of Chopin
using the marking –. (tenuto–staccato), unquestionably for the expressive empha-
sising of the portato of the melodic octaves in the piano part:
it is also worth knowing that in the Ballade in G minor, Op. 23, in bars 194,
196 and 198, Chopin wrote tenuto lines for one of his pupils as a more delicate
variant of the long accent:
37
THE SOUND MaTERIal
5. eMBelliShMeNTS
SOuND QuAliTy
‘What was that? Was that a dog barking?’ That is how Chopin dismissed an
inelegant performance of the arpeggio that opens the Etude in Ab from Clementi’s
Préludes et Exercices, as recalled by one of his pupils.14
That violent reaction on the part of Chopin the teacher is quoted here in order
to illustrate one of the three main performance problems connected with embel-
lishments: their sound quality. After all, regardless of the kind and form of an
ornament, it is intended — as its name implies — to adorn the music, to be an
embellishment, and not — as someone once put it in jest, though not without
malice – an ‘emblemishment’. As the simplest rule of thumb, we may specify the
performance of small — and in the case of the signs , and unwritten
— notes more lightly than the principal notes. This concerns also arpeggios, in
which the highest note should generally be regarded as the principal. The ex-
ception here are long grace notes, most often notated as crotchets not crossed
through, and upper grace notes, which together with the principal note form an
interval greater than a second. in the examples below, we have given accents
that do not appear in Chopin’s score to grace notes of both those categories:
Polonaise-Fantasy, Op. 61, bar 135: ,
14
Jean Kleczynski [Jan Kleczyński], Frederic Chopin’s Works and their Proper Interpretation,
tr. Alfred Whittingham (london, n.d.).
38
EMBEllISHMENTS
bar 209:
Nocturne in C minor, Op. 48 No. 1, bar 19:
allegro de Concert, Op. 46, bar 219:
Mazurka in B minor, Op. 33 No. 4, bars 2, 4 and analogous:
In the above example, one notes the different notation of the grace notes: in
bar 2; in bar 4. This may denote a slightly calmer playing of the latter, e.g.
in bar 2 and in bar 4. however, Chopin was not always entirely
meticulous with crossing through grace notes; consequently, only some of the
small quavers not crossed through actually require a more songful realisation in
a slightly longer rhythmic value (combined with an arpeggio, as in the allegro de
concert, Op. 46, bars 138–139, even grace notes in the form of small crotchets
should be treated as short and light).
39
THE SOUND MaTERIal
in the last example of this group, from the Berceuse, Op. 57, the grace notes
in bars 15–18 contain the melody of the theme, which should be suitably exposed:
this is linked to a slightly different execution of the 5th quaver in bar 15 and the
1st quaver in bar 17: despite the identical notation, in bar 15 the thematic note
is the grace note ab2, and in bar 17 it is the quaver ab1.
The other two problems traditionally considered in relation to ornamentation
are the melodic shape of embellishments notated using conventional signs and
their rhythmic synchronisation with the remaining voices.
TrillS. BeGiNNiNGS AND eNDiNGS
The trill is the only one of Chopin’s embellishments, the execution of which can
be problematic; doubts can arise with regard to both the way a trill begins and
the way it ends. Misunderstandings are particularly plentiful in respect to the
beginning of a trill, since in Chopin’s times the binding convention was under-
going gradual change: the Baroque-Classical norm of beginning a trill with the
upper note was being supplanted by the principle, still in force today, of striking
the main note first. As a result, Chopin very often notates the opening of a trill
by means of two elements: an appoggiatura or appoggiaturas specifying the
way it should begin and the trill itself, that is, a note with the sign . In such
instances, the actual trill always begins with the upper note:
Polonaise in Ab, Op. 53, bar 33 and analogous:
playing of trill with appoggiatura: ,
40
EMBEllISHMENTS
Nocturne in B, Op. 62 No. 1, bar 67ff:
playing of trills with appoggiatura:
etc.,
Nocturne in Eb, Op. 55 No. 2, bar 1: ,
playing of beginning of trill with appoggiaturas: etc.,
Concerto in F minor, Op. 21, movt i, bar 97: ,
playing of beginning of trill with appoggiaturas:
etc.
Sometimes Chopin writes out the beginning of a trill in semiquavers or de-

misemiquavers; in such instances, when approaching a note with the sign ,
the pianist should smoothly continue the alternating movement, despite the fact
that the notation has two notes of the same pitch:
41
THE SOUND MaTERIal
Bolero in A minor, Op. 19, bars 130–131:
allegro de concert, Op. 46, bars 260–261:
Polonaise-Fantasy, Op. 61, bars 200–203:
Nocturne in B, Op. 62 No. 1, bar 74:
These observations are borne out by the testimony of Chopin’s pupils Karol
Mikuli and Pauline Viardot:
Trills […] he generally stipulated should begin on the upper auxiliary.15
Chopin considered that trills should begin on the upper note. When they are
preceded by a small note (at the same pitch as the principal note), that does not
mean that this note should be repeated, but merely that the trill should begin on
the principal note and not, as normally, on the upper note.16
K. Mikuli, op. cit.

15
Camille Saint-Saëns, ‘Quelques mots sur l’exécution des œuvres de Chopin’, le Courrier
16
musical, 13/10 (1910); information from the outstanding singer Pauline Viardot, a pupil of Chopin.
42
EMBEllISHMENTS
Single appoggiaturas of a different pitch (a step up or down from the trilled

note) can be seen most often in teaching scores, written there as a simplified
or supplementary indication of the way to begin:
Etude in C# minor, Op. 25 No. 7, bar 7:
(added appoggiatura d#),

Nocturne in Eb, Op. 9 No. 2, bar 7:
(added appoggiatura e2).

The above examples show that for Chopin’s pupils his traditional notation
was not always comprehensible and that some of them at least regarded it as
natural to begin a trill from the principal note.
in some situations, however, Chopin undoubtedly meant a trill to begin with
the principal note (one notes the word ‘generally’ in the above quote from Mikuli).
This occurs primarily at the beginning of a work:
Waltz in Ab, Op. 42 (Chopin’s fingering):
etude in F, Op. 10 No. 8 (Chopin’s fingering):
43
THE SOUND MaTERIal
Also in octave progressions in both hands, the need to preserve the sound
of clean octaves means that trills should begin with the principal note:
rondo in C minor, Op. 1, bars 28–29 and analogous:
Polonaise in A, Op. 40 No. 1, bar 64: .
in other contexts where a trill is notated without an appoggiatura, the per-

former must decide whether to start it from the upper or the principal note. In
so doing, he or she should take into account any analogous places and also
the clarity of the melodic line, e.g.:
Bolero in A minor, Op. 19, bars 110–113:
— the trill in bar 113 can be started from the upper note, by analogy with the
figure in bar 110, or from the principal note, as Chopin marked it with an
appoggiatura in the repeat of this phrase in bar 225.
Ballade in F, Op. 38, bars 167–168:
— beginning every trill with the principal note, in order to preserve the pro-
gression of octaves e-d-c-b-a.
44
EMBEllISHMENTS
We normally read signs above short note values (quavers, semiquavers)

as mordents (from the principal note). It is notable that in less carefully notated
Chopin autographs the signs and are sometimes difficult to distinguish
from one another, which further justifies treating the ‘upper note rule’ with
a certain flexibility.
The termination of a trill is generally written out by Chopin, most often in
the form of a double appoggiatura; if it is not notated, one should be guided
by intuition, seeking to obtain the smoothest possible melodic connection with
the next note.
rhyThMiC SyNChrONiSATiON
Chopin’s embellishments should be performed — in keeping with the Classical

norm – during the sounding of the embellished note (the principal). In some
contexts, this is imperative (in the examples, the notes played simultaneously
are marked with diagonal lines: the continuous lines are my addition; the broken
lines correspond to signs written by Chopin into teaching scores):
— appoggiaturas defining the way trills should begin:
Polonaise in Ab, Op. 53, bar 33 and analogous:
Nocturne in B, Op. 62 No. 1, bar 67ff:
45
THE SOUND MaTERIal
— rh arpeggios, with or without appoggiatura, notated by means of a wavy

line or small notes:
Nocturne in G, Op. 37 No. 1, bars 5–6:
Scherzo in e, Op. 54, bars 89–92:
Concerto in e minor, Op. 11, movt ii, bars 19–21:
in the four arpeggios of the last example (Concerto), the following notes should
be struck in succession with the corresponding note of the lh: a1, d#1, c#1 and d#1.
— accented appoggiaturas:
Polonaise-Fantasy, Op. 61, bar 135: ,
46
EMBEllISHMENTS
Mazurka in B minor, Op. 33 No. 4, bars 2, 4 and analogous:
Nocturne in C minor, Op. 48 No. 1, bar 19:
Berceuse, Op. 57, bars 15–18: etc.
in the case of unaccented appoggiaturas or mordents, their synchronisation

would not appear to bear any significant influence over the course of the music.
A solution in keeping with the above rule should be regarded as more stylish,
but an anticipated execution is also admissible. The lh arpeggios, meanwhile,
generally sound better played in an anticipated manner (the last note of the
arpeggio together with the rh).
One should also include in the group of rhythm-related problems under dis-
cussion the question of arpeggios in both hands, notated by means of separate
wavy lines. in accordance with the familiar rule, such arpeggios are played in
the two hands simultaneously, as in the etude in eb, Op. 10 No. 11. in Chopin’s
notation, however, this notation does not exclude a continuous arpeggio of the
two hands; a typical example here is the last bar of the Nocturne in e, Op. 62
No. 2:
advised execution:
47
THE SOUND MaTERIal
To end with, an ornamental effect that is characteristic of Chopin, close to

glissando and probably modelled on vocal portamento (Chopin never wrote
a mechanical glissando in his compositions, be it on the white keys or the black):
Nocturne in F#, Op. 15 No. 2, bars 18–20:
in the above example, one is additionally struck by the indications for the use
of left pedal that Chopin wrote into one teaching score.
Mazurka in A minor, Op. 7 No. 2, variant bar 23:
48
C. Time
‘To get the tempo is to get the music’.
J. E.
Time is the environment in which all musical events take place. The temporal
course of a piece of music is primarily its rhythmic structure, yet that is merely
a system of mutual relations. To set it in real time, we must take account of
an additional parameter, which defines — more or less precisely — the dur-
ation of the rhythmic units. in music, that parameter is known as ‘tempo’, and
it is traditionally described by means of verbal descriptions, which by their very
nature are only approximate. Chopin also had at his disposal the much more
precise method that was offered him by the metronome, invented in 1816 by
Johann Nepomuk Mälzel.
in live music, there are no situations where the music proceeds with absolute
regularity, with no changes or at least fluctuations of tempo. Those changes and
fluctuations are also often indicated by composers, though at times in a very
general way — the term rubato indicates neither the scope of those fluctuations
nor their direction, nor their size (amplitude).
in discussing the issue of Chopin’s tempos, we shall begin with the indications
that appear in the notation of his works most often; that is, verbal markings.
6. TeMPOS — VerBAl iNDiCATiONS
Chopin’s verbal indications relating to tempo can be divided into two categories:
— indications of tempo-character at the beginning of a work or a significant
section;
— indications of changes of tempo and of the relations between tempos.
in his published works, Chopin used solely italian terms. in three songs (not
intended for print), he wrote in the autographs several designations in Polish,
including ‘trochę prędzej’ (a little quicker) in ‘Piosnka litewska’.
49
TIME
iNDiCATiONS OF TeMPO-ChArACTer
The need to use a dual term here results from the fact that most of Chopin’s
agogic markings preserve a more or less expressive connotation. A decidedly
conventional term is undoubtedly allegro, which by Chopin’s day had already
lost any connection with its usual meaning (‘cheerfully’). yet presto (‘quickly’), for
example, is used to designate music that is distinctly different than vivo (‘lively’),
just as grave (‘seriously’), largo (‘amply’) and lento (‘slowly’) not only indicate
a slow tempo, but also suggest certain shades of expression. Consequently,
performers wishing to find the right tempo generally have to take into account
both the conventional signification of the tempo markings in force today and
also the exact sense of the Italian word used by Chopin.
The basic set of tempo markings in Chopin’s works is as follows: Grave,
Largo, Larghetto, Lento, Andante, Andantino, Moderato, Allegretto, Ani-
mato, Allegro, Vivo, Vivace and Presto. These terms are often made more
specific by words that intensify (molto, assai), weaken (non troppo, non tanto,
moderato) or clarify character (sostenuto, maestoso, con brio, con fuoco,
agitato and others).
in dance forms, it is often just the character that is defined, such as Maes-
toso in the Polonaises in Eb minor, Op. 26 No. 2 and in Ab, Op. 53, Mesto in
the Mazurka in G# minor, Op. 33 No. 1 or Semplice in the Mazurka in C, Op. 33
No. 2. It also occurs that Chopin considers the dance tempo to be well known
and refers to it alone, without giving a marking at all (Mazurka in B minor, Op. 33
No. 4, Polonaise in F# minor, Op. 44 — beginning), writing, for example, Tempo
di Polacca (Polonaise in F# minor, Op. 44 — reprise) or else using the term
Tempo giusto (‘appropriate tempo’), as in the Waltz in C# minor, Op. 64 No. 2.
Also in non-dance works, at times the pianist has to rely on the designation
of the music’s character for finding the right tempo: Sostenuto in the Prelude
in Db, Op. 28 No. 15, Cantabile in the Prelude in Bb, Op. 28 No. 21, Molto
agitato in the Preludes in F# minor and in G minor, Op. 28 Nos. 8 and 22.
Chopin’s tempo markings include neither prestissimo17 nor presto possibile.
This may be linked to the tendency for very quick tempos that characterised
Chopin the pianist in his youth and early maturity. The day after a concert in
Warsaw, on 12 October 1830, he wrote to his friend Tytus Woyciechowski:
had Soliva not taken my scores home, looked through them and conducted in
such a way that I was unable to fly along at breakneck speed [emphasis J. e.],
Chopin did use prestissimo once, but only locally, in the closing passage of the introduction
17
in the Variations in B flat, Op. 2.
50
TEMPOS – VERBal INDICaTIONS
i don’t know how it would have gone yesterday, but he was able to hold us all
so well that i have never, i tell you, played with orchestra so calmly.
And in connection with a musical encounter between Chopin and Felix Men-
delssohn in leipzig, in a letter written by the latter to his sister, Fanny hensel,
dated 6 October 1835, we read the following:
It really was a sight to be seen on Sunday evening when I had to play him my
oratorio [St Paul ] while inquisitive leipzigers crowded on tiptoe into the room so
as to be able to say they had seen Chopin. Between the first and second parts
of the oratorio he dashed off [emphasis J. e.] his new studies and latest concerto
to the astonishment of the leipzigers...18
in this context, the lack of extremely quick tempos may be explained by the
composer subconsciously leaving the performer a small margin of safety with
regard to the aforementioned tendency.
ChANGeS OF TeMPO AND relATiONS BeTWeeN TeMPOS
Chopin indicated changes of tempo with the terms accelerando, stretto, ritenuto,
ritardando and rallentando; he also used the expressive markings calando,
smorzando and perdendosi. We find the clarifications sempre, poco and molto,
too, and when a change was to be more gradual, he sometimes preceded the
actual marking with the term poco a poco. Although formally speaking ritenuto
and stretto do not signify a gradual change of tempo, in practice their main
difference in respect to the other terms is that they act over a smaller area. This
results from the general principle of the smooth flow to the music, according to
which most changes occur gradually (with the exception of distinct moments of
contrast, which nevertheless are always marked in a way that leaves us in no
doubt); a similar phenomenon occurs with pauses, which are generally preceded
with a short unwritten slowing of the tempo.
A different tempo, generally relating to a distinct section of a work, may be
introduced by one of the above-mentioned specifications of tempo-character or
simply by an indication of the relationship to the previous tempo: Più mosso or
Più lento. Of special meaning here is the expression doppio movimento, indi-
cating a tempo that is twice as quick, which in a duple metre can only mean
a change in the manner of notation whilst preserving a sense of uniform tempo,
as in the Sonata in Bb minor, Op. 35, movt i, bar 5:
18
As translated in Selected Correspondence of Fryderyk Chopin, tr. and ed. Arthur hedley
(london, 1962).
51
TIME
if there occurs in a work a return to a tempo defined earlier (usually at the

beginning), Chopin uses the conventional marking Tempo I (tempo primo).
A return to tempo following a momentary change is signalled by a tempo or
in tempo, for example in the Polonaise in eb minor, Op. 26 No. 2, bars 1–7:
The term rubato is linked to an extensive and complex problem of perform-

ance, to which one of the subsequent chapters is devoted.
7. MeTrONOMe TeMPOS
Authentic metronome markings appear over 120 times in 69 works by Chopin,

64 of which were published with those markings during the composer’s lifetime.
This gives us — despite the doubts that arise here and there — a substantial,
and for the most part objective, body of material for studying the tempos em-
ployed by Chopin.
COMPOSiTiONS MArKeD WiTh MeTrONOMe TeMPOS
We find metronome markings in the works published by Chopin with the opus
numbers from 1 to 27, with the exception of the Waltz in eb, Op. 18, the Bal-
lade in G minor, Op. 23 and the 2 Polonaises, Op. 26 (in C# minor and in Eb
minor), and in the Grand Duo Concertant for piano and cello published without
an opus number (Dbop. 16). in addition, they are written in autographs of the
Variations in D for four hands (Ne 5), the song ‘Wojak’ (Ne 34) and two youthful
compositions that Chopin originally prepared for print but ultimately refrained
from publishing: the Variations in e (Ne 6) and the Sonata in C minor (Op. 4).
All these works date from the period 1824–1836.
52
METRONOME TEMPOS
We can only speculate as to why Chopin abandoned metronome tempos

after 1836. It did not mean that he abandoned the metronome altogether; ac-
cording to one of his pupils, Karol Mikuli, the metronome ‘never left his piano’,
and the fact that it did not stand there merely for decoration can be seen from
the metronome tempos added by Chopin to two works in the teaching scores of
Camille O’Méara, who was one of Chopin’s best pupils in the years 1843–1848
(andante spianato from Op. 22 — correction of the printed marking; Nocturne
in Ab, Op. 32 No. 2 — addition of marking).
Many analysts of Chopin’s metronome tempos have taken into account the
markings that appear in the posthumous works published by Julian Fontana.
These, however, were certainly added by the editor, and as such are not
considered in the present discussion (despite the fact that some of them may
correspond to Chopin’s tempos, known to Fontana, for example, from the com-
poser’s performances).
The reliABiliTy OF MeTrONOMe TeMPOS
This question may arouse reservations on two counts:

— The mechanical metronomes used by Chopin were not always precise. For
example, Clara Schumann stated that her husband’s metronome was slow,
with the result that the tempos marked by robert in his works were too quick.
Well, Chopin’s metronome, as Arthur hedley relates in his monograph,19
‘worked reliably’, as the author had the opportunity to ascertain by examining
the device in person, before it was destroyed during World War ii.
— The recorded metronome tempos may contain errors. Such a risk is by no
means insignificant, especially where there are no manuscript sources avail-
able, since mistakes both in the rhythmic values used to define tempos and
also in the numbers defining them are very difficult for proofreaders to spot.
Several of the markings given in first editions may indeed be regarded as
erroneous, yet they represent only a very small percentage.
in general, therefore, the metronome tempos given by Chopin may be re-
garded as reliable.
The rOle OF MeTrONOMe TeMPOS

iN ChOPiN’S PlAyiNG AND TeAChiNG
in performance and in teaching, the metronome fulfils two tasks: information,

by suggesting an overall tempo for a work (or its beginning), and control, by
19
Arthur hedley, Chopin (london, 1947).
53
TIME
making it easier to spot and eliminate unwanted irregularities of tempo. Just how
important the metronome’s informational role was for Chopin can be gauged
by the fact that in several compositions which he himself prepared for publi-
cation, he confined himself to giving a metronome tempo as the sole indicator
of tempo-character, without any verbal marking that might suggest tempo even
indirectly. These are the Mazurkas in F# minor and in C# minor from Op. 6, in
F minor, Op. 7 No. 3 and in Ab, Op. 17 No. 3, and also some of the variations
in the sets Ne 6, Op. 2 and Op. 12.
We do not know whether Chopin, a master of rubato, used a metronome to
control his own playing, but it would seem unlikely. it is almost certain, however,
that he used it (recommended it?) not infrequently to keep a check on his pupils’
playing. Such is clearly indicated by Mikuli:
in keeping tempo Chopin was inflexible, and it will surprise many to learn that the
metronome never left his piano.20
unfortunately, apart from the general statement of the fact that he did use
metronome to keep time, Mikuli’s remark provides no details of how often, for
what compositions or in whose lessons Chopin used it.
MeTrONOMe TeMPOS iN WOrKS

OF A DANCe ChArACTer
Chopin gave a metronome tempo many times in music inspired by dance forms,
most often in mazurkas and polonaises:
— Mazurkas, Opp. 6, 7, 17 and 24, as well as the finales of the Fantasia
on Polish airs, Op. 13 and the Concerto in F minor, Op. 21, which are of
a mazurka character,
— Polonaises, Opp. 3 and 22, as well as the finale alla Polacca of the Variations
in Bb, Op. 2,
— krakowiak, Op. 14, as well as the finale of the Concerto in e minor, Op. 11,
which displays some features of a krakowiak,
— Finale Tempo di Valse of the Variations in e, Ne 6,
— Bolero, Op. 19,
— Menuetto, movt ii of the Sonata in C minor (Op. 4).
Nearly all these works tend to adhere in tempo and character to the dance
prototypes (the sole exception being the minuet, which — like many minuets in
Classical sonatas — has a quick tempo and scherzo character). What is more,
the forms corresponding to the polonaise and krakowiak have on each occasion
20
K. Mikuli, op. cit.
54
METRONOME TEMPOS
the same tempo, q = 96 for the polonaise and q = 104 for the krakowiak, which
confirms the presence of the choreographic aspect in their music. in the case
of the polonaises, however, it must be emphasised that all three of the above-
mentioned works date from an early period in Chopin’s oeuvre and adhere to
the style brillant. Therefore, we cannot mechanically apply the tempo given for
them in later works of a generally different character, as indeed is indicated
by the term maestoso used to define the character of most of them. A remark
noted down by Charles hallé is significant here:
i remember how, on one occasion, in his gentle way he laid his hand upon my
shoulder, saying how unhappy he felt, because he had heard his ‘Grande Polon-
aise,’ in Ab, jouée vite! thereby destroying all the grandeur, the majesty, of this
noble inspiration.21
The choreographic aspect also appears very distinctly in the mazurkas, even
though the tempos given to them by Chopin display considerable differentiation.
That is due, however, to the fact that there were not one, but three dance
prototypes for the Chopin mazurka: the kujawiak, the mazur and the oberek,
which — despite their rhythmical similarities — differ in character and tempo.22
ChOPiN’S MeTrONOMe TeMPOS TODAy
Present-day pianists do not always take into account Chopin’s indications for
metronome tempo. In light of what we said earlier on the subject of the reliability
of those markings and the weight attached to them by Chopin, we may propose
the following approaches to this question:
— in works in which Chopin gives it, the metronome tempo is an integral part
of the work’s text.
— Performers should familiarise themselves with the tempo indicated by the
composer and shape their own tempo in relation to it, taking into account
their expressive conception and pianistic capabilities.
The following general principles determining the relationship between the
mechanical definition of tempo and the music as performed may prove helpful:
1. The metronome tempo is an abstract notion and only acquires any meaning
when filled with concrete acoustic content. hence, for example, two performances
of the same work by different pianists may — despite the uniform metronome
21
life and letters of Sir Charles Hallé, ed. C. e. and Marie hallé (london, 1896).
22
More on tempos and other performance aspects of the polonaises and mazurkas can be
found in the source commentaries to the relevant volumes of the NE.
55
TIME
tempo — give the listener the sense of different tempos, due to the different
articulation, dynamics, pedalling and other performance elements of the work.
2. in each work, one must be aware whether the metronome marking indi-
cates the tempo of the beginning or the average overall tempo.
3. The metronome tempo indicated by the composer — like most performance
markings — has a zonal significance. Pianists must gauge for themselves the
extent of the zone in which they may, or may wish to, find themselves, and by
the same stroke the ‘distance’ of their tempo from the original tempo. In other
words, the metronome tempo is a guideline rather than a normative tempo.
4. The tempo chosen by the performer always has the character of a refer-
ence tempo, around which — depending on the character of the work — the
real tempo, of shorter or longer agogic deviations, winds itself.
8. TeMPO ruBATO23
‘rubato is swaying the order,

but not bringing disorder’.
Tadeusz Wroński
The foregoing chapter on metronome tempos naturally focussed on what is fixed

in the phenomenon of musical time and explained it in terms of its mechanical,
mensurable and maximally objectified aspect. The chapter devoted to tempo
rubato concerns something that is diametrically different, highly subjective, hard
to define and incommensurable. What is more, whilst we can say rather a lot
about Chopin’s dynamics, articulation, pedalling and ornamentation, and even
tonal colouring — comparing the text as notated by the composer and the tes-
timony of musicians who heard him play with the instruments he used and the
conditions in which he performed — the analogous records and descriptions of
his rubato cannot be compared with anything that might allow us to recreate it
more precisely in our imagination. This is determined by the following difficulties:
— the very object of our considerations, the time in which music is performed,
an irregular time, spontaneously formed, and so not registered — either in
the score or in a recording — cannot be objectively grasped. The period of
The text of this chapter is based on two papers: Jan ekier, ‘rubato Chopinowskie’
23
[Chopin’s rubato], and Paweł Kamiński, ‘Poszukiwanie śladów rubata w tekście Chopinowskim’
[The search for traces of rubato in Chopin’s text], published in the fourth volume of the series
Chopin w kręgu przyjaciół [Chopin in his circle of friends], edited by irena Poniatowska (War-
saw, 1998).
56
TEMPO RUBaTO
time that separates us from Chopin’s epoch makes it incredibly difficult to

gain a feel for the way in which music was perceived in his day;
— our conception of Chopin’s rubato is hindered by our awareness of the well-
known fact, confirmed many times by listeners to his playing, that Chopin
never performed one of his works the same way twice, even if he played it
several times in a row;
— various traditions have arisen around the question of rubato, some of them
false.
On the other hand, we cannot forgo attempts at presenting the essence of
this phenomenon, which was portrayed by many listeners to the master’s playing
as an extremely important and original characteristic of that playing. It is worth
quoting here one single sentence written by Chopin’s pupil Wilhelm von lenz:
That which particularly characterized Chopin’s playing was his rubato.24
A GeNerAl DeFiNiTiON OF ruBATO
Some years ago, the well-known pianist, teacher, editor and great expert on the
music of Mozart and Chopin, Paul Badura-Skoda, delivered a short paper in
Warsaw entitled ‘My experiences with rubato’. He began with the words ‘rubato
is as old as music itself’ and gave the following definition:
rubato is a state of tension between the metre, or beat, and the free flow of the
melodic line.
Whilst concurring with the assertion that rubato is a phenomenon that has
accompanied music from the beginnings of its existence, i would extend the
above definition in both its parts. here is my proposition:
rubato is a tension between the measuredness of music and the freedom with
which it is performed.
extending the first part of the definition to the notion of regularity enables
us to take account of a greater number of crucial points of reference: besides
metre and beat, also metronome tempo and accompaniment. extending the
second part allows us to cover with the notion of rubato freedom not just in the
melody, but in the whole of the music.
24
Wilhelm von lenz, The Great Piano Virtuosos of Our Time from Personal acquaintance,
tr. Madeleine r. Baker (New york, 1899).
57
TIME
The OriGiNS AND KiNDS OF ChOPiN’S ruBATO
rubato was present in virtually all Chopin’s great musical fascinations, with
traditional Polish music and Italian opera to the fore. That is also where one
should seek the sources of his inspiration in relation to this means of expression,
although there is no doubt that Chopin — like every genius — subconsciously
synthesised all external stimuli and transformed them into a unique, specific
element of his performance art, so admired by his peers.
A freedom in the shaping of rhythm and agogics, strictly linked to the intended
expression, is one of the fundamental elements of traditional music in Polish
lands. During his childhood and youth, Chopin became very well acquainted
with that music, and we can easily find traces of that familiarity, for example, in
his correspondence. Already as a fourteen-year-old, in the humorous Szafarnia
Courier, he describes how he bribed a rustic Catalani to reprise for him the
‘little mazurka’ he had just heard her sing. Then in 1831 he writes in a letter
to a friend:
you know how much i wanted to feel, and in part succeeded in feeling, our na-
tional music.25
The influence on his music of the kind of rubato that occurs in the songs of
the regions of Mazovia, Cuiavia and Greater Poland has also been convincingly
demonstrated by scholars of Polish folk music.26
Chopin worshipped opera from his early youth to the end of his life, as
he expressed many times in his letters. In the operatic vocal art traditionally
associated with italy, where it had flourished for centuries, rubato played a great
role. in musical notation, the first suggestions of rhythmic latitude appear around
the turn of the sixteenth century (the term sprezzatura — ‘nonchalance’, ‘stud-
ied carelessness’), but we may assume that similar performance mannerisms
were being used in singing as early as the fourteenth century. We find a term
similar to rubato — rubamento del tempo (‘robbing the tempo’) — in a treatise
by the opera singer, composer and teacher Pier Francesco Tosi, published in
1723,27 where he marks the addition to a note (or notes) of part of the rhythmic
From a letter to Tytus Woyciechowski in Poturzyn, Paris, 25 December 1831.

25
Marian and Jadwiga Sobiescy, ‘Tempo rubato u Chopina i w polskiej muzyce ludowej’
26
[Tempo rubato in Chopin and in Polish folk music], Muzyka, 1960/3.

27
P. F. Tosi, Opinioni de’ cantori antichi e moderni (Bologna). The Italian roots of Chopin’s
rubato, including the history of the phenomenon in italian music, are described in detail by
Gastone Belotti in le origini italiane del ‘rubato’ Chopiniano (Wrocław, 1968).
58
TEMPO RUBaTO
value ‘robbed’ from the next note (or notes), or the reverse, but always with
a measured accompaniment preserved. This mannerism passed from vocal
artistry into instrumental performance, above all in the violin, where it endured
to the times of Paganini, whom Chopin heard in Warsaw. This kind of rubato,
involving freedom of the melody against a regular tempo (in one-part singing)
or a regular accompaniment, was later dubbed contrametric rubato.
yet we also speak of rubato in relation to certain changes of tempo over
longer segments of a work — changes that are synchronised between melody
and accompaniment. This manner of free performance, described by Girolamo
Frescobaldi in 1624, is now known as agogic rubato.
Both kinds of rubato came to Poland during the seventeenth and eighteenth
centuries, together with italian opera, and lasted until Chopin’s times. So already
in his youth he had the chance to appreciate the role of this means of expression.
DeSCriPTiONS OF ruBATO iN ChOPiN’S PlAyiNG
So now we have some idea of the likely models for Chopin’s rubato, let us take
a look at how Chopin’s listeners and pupils described the well-formed rubato in
his playing and teaching. We cannot quote all the dozen or so verbal accounts
relating to this kind of playing by our composer. in any case, they coincide to
a considerable degree. The accounts are of varying character — poetical, critical
or factual — and they also differ with regard to the amount of detail.
here are two accounts by Ferenc liszt:
‘look at these trees!’ he said, ‘the wind plays in the leaves, stirs up life among
them, the tree remains the same, that is Chopinesque rubato.’28
in his playing, the great artist rendered quite ravishingly this sort of emotional trepi-
dation, timid or breathless [...] he always made the melody undulate, like a skiff
borne on the bosom of a mighty wave, or else he made it move indecisively, like
an aerial apparition, sprung forth suddenly into this tangible and palpable world.29
Contrary to appearances, these vivid poetical descriptions have a certain

cognitive and normative value: they indicate the character of movement in rubato
and its emotional connotations. They are lacking, however, precise indications
as to their use.
And here is a critical assessment of Chopin’s free playing, expressed by
Hector Berlioz:
28
F. Niecks, op. cit.
29
F. liszt, F. Chopin, 4th edn (Paris, 1890).
59
TIME
Chopin chafed under the restraints of time and to my mind pushed rhythmic free-
dom much too far. […] Chopin simply could not play in strict time.30
After this rather general opinion on the part of a symphonic composer who
may not have been au fait with some phenomena from other areas of musical
performance, let us turn to the group of more objective descriptions:
‘The left hand’ i often heard [Chopin] say, ‘is the conductor, it must not waver
[from the tempo], or lose ground; do with the right hand what you will and can.31
Everyone knows that rubato is an indication often encountered in old music; its
essence is fluctuation of movement, one of the two principal means of expression
in music, namely the modification of tone and of tempo, as in the art or oration,
whereby the speaker, moved by this or that emotion, raises or lowers his voice,
and accelerates or draws out his diction. Thus rubato is a nuance of movement,
involving anticipation and delay, anxiety and indolence, agitation and calm; but
what moderation is needed in its use, and how all too often it is abused! […]
There was another aspect: Chopin, as Mme Camille Dubois explains so well, often
required simultaneously that the left hand, playing the accompaniment, should
maintain strict time, while the melodic line should enjoy freedom of expression
with fluctuations of speed. This is quite feasible: you can be early, you can be
late, the two hands are not in phase (ne sont pas en valeur); then you make
a compensation which re-establishes the ensemble.32
We owe the first of these quotations to Chopin’s pupil Wilhelm von lenz,
whilst the second is the fullest and most comprehensive description of Chopin’s
rubato, made by another of his pupils, Georges Mathias, a future professor of
the Paris Conservatoire.
The next two accounts concern the rubato employed by Chopin in his Ma-
zurkas: one was given by Wilhelm von lenz, the other by a discerning listener
to the master’s playing — the pianist, conductor and composer Charles hallé.
The two accounts converge on a number of points and complement one another,
and their reliability is confirmed by other contemporaries of Chopin.
Once Meyerbeer came in while i was taking my lesson with Chopin. [...]
i was just playing the Mazurka in C, Op. 33 [No. 2]. [...] Meyerbeer had seated
himself; Chopin let me play on.
The Memoirs of Hector Berlioz, tr. and ed. David Cairns (london, 2002).
30
W. von lenz, op. cit.

31
32
Georges Mathias, Preface to isidore Philipp, Exercises quotidiens tirés des œuvres de
Chopin (Paris [1897]); as translated in J.-J. eigeldinger, op. cit.
60
TEMPO RUBaTO
‘That is two-four time,’ said Meyerbeer.

For reply, Chopin made me repeat, and kept time by tapping loudly upon the
instrument [...]
‘Two-four,’ Meyerbeer repeated quietly.
i never but once saw Chopin angry; it was at this time! [...].
‘it is three-four,’ he said loudly, he who always spoke so softly!
‘Give it me, for a ballet for my opera (l’africaine, then kept a secret), i will show
you, then!’
‘It is three-four,’ almost screamed Chopin, and played it himself. he played it
several times, counted aloud, and stamped the time with his foot — he was
beside himself! it was of no use, Meyerbeer insisted it was two-four, and they
parted in ill humor. [...] Chopin disappeared into his cabinet without saying
a word — the whole thing had lasted but a couple of minutes. […] But Chopin
was right. Though the third beat in the composition referred to is slurred over, it
no less exists.33
A remarkable feature of his playing was the entire freedom with which he treated
the rhythm, but which appeared so natural that for years it had never struck me.
It must have been in 1845 or 1846 that I once ventured to observe to him that
most of his mazurkas (those dainty jewels), when played by himself, appeared to
be written, not in 3/4, but in 4/4 time, the result of his dwelling so much longer
on the first note in the bar. he denied it strenuously, until i made him play one of
them and counted audibly four in the bar, which fitted perfectly. Then he laughed
and explained that it was the national character of the dance which created the
oddity. The more remarkable fact was that you received the impression of a 3/4
rhythm whilst listening to common time. Of course this was not the case with
every mazurka, but with many.34
Finally, three opinions offered by musicians contemporary to Chopin who try

to convey rather more the impression created by his rubato than the mechanism
of the phenomenon. Ferdinand Hiller writes:
rhythmic firmness was combined with freedom in the declamation of his melodies,
so that they would seem to have occurred to him at that very moment.35
Ignaz Moscheles, meanwhile, discusses the subject thus:

The ad libitum playing, which in the hands of other interpreters of his music
degenerates into a constant uncertainty of rhythm, is with him an element of
exquisite originality.36
33
34
life and letters of Sir Charles Hallé, op. cit.
35
Ferdinand hiller, Briefe an eine Ungenannte (Cologne, 1877); as translated in J.-J. eigel-
dinger, op. cit.
36
Charlotte Moscheles, life of Moscheles (london, 1873).
61
TIME
And again hector Berlioz, with acknowledgement, but not without a certain
reserve:
unfortunately, virtually nobody but Chopin himself can play his music and give it
this unusual turn, this sense of the unexpected which is one of its principal beau-
ties; his playing is shot through with a thousand nuances of movement of which
he alone holds the secret, impossible to convey by instructions.37
From the above descriptions and accounts, the following conclusions may
be drawn concerning rubato in Chopin’s playing:
— Chopin employed two kinds of rubato: contrametric (with the independent
leading of the melody, fragments of which could anticipate the accompaniment
or be delayed in relation to it) and agogic (synchronised in the two hands);
— Chopin’s rubato arose in a natural way from the character he imparted to
the phrase he was playing; it was spontaneous and in no way did it disturb
the logical progression of the music, merely bringing into relief the intended
expression; he employed it with elegance and taste;
— already in Chopin’s times, his rubato was considered utterly original and
impossible to imitate.
TrACeS OF ruBATO iN ChOPiN’S NOTATiON
We find the term ‘rubato’ in eleven Chopin compositions. (That does not include
two instances in works published posthumously that may have been added
by the editors.) it was twice placed by Chopin at the beginning of a work,
which may indicate its recommended use either throughout the work or else
in its opening section alone (Nocturne in G minor, Op. 15 No. 3, Mazurka in
G minor, Op. 24 No. 1). The remaining occurrences can easily be referred to
the relevant phrases (e.g. in the Mazurka in C, Op. 24 No. 2).
it is difficult to state with the utmost certainty whether Chopin, when writing
‘rubato’, had in mind contrametric or agogic rubato. it is even more difficult to
point to any specific indications regarding its realisation.
It is intriguing to note that Chopin used the term ‘rubato’ only until the year
1836, subsequently abandoning it entirely. This phenomenon was noticed by
Ferenc liszt, who made the following remark:
But since anyone who knew apprised nothing of the word, which also said nothing
to anyone who did not know, did not understand or did not sense, Chopin later
37
h. Berlioz, le Rénovateur, 2/345, 15 December 1833; as translated in J.-J. eigeldinger,
op. cit.
62
TEMPO RUBaTO
ceased to add this explanation [rubato] to his music, convinced that anyone of
intelligence could not fail to divine this rule of irregularity.38
in this utterance from the great pianist, besides the accurate assessment of
the situation, we can also admire his definition of rubato as a ‘rule of irregu-
larity’ — a definition that is quite apt in its paradoxicality. unfortunately, it does
not provide us with any details of the execution of rubato.
Most striking of all, however, is the fact that the period when Chopin used the
term ‘rubato’ coincides exactly with the period during which he gave metronome
tempos, such that there is not a single composition containing the term ‘rubato’
that does not have a metronome tempo. This link between the extreme form of
regularity that is the mechanical metronome and the extreme form of freedom
that is tempo rubato seems to confirm the aptness of the definition of rubato
proposed above, as tension between regularity and freedom.
however, the term ‘rubato’ is not the only trace of this phenomenon in the no-
tation of Chopin’s music. Moreover, it is precisely in his notation that we can find
entirely concrete indications as to the character of Chopin’s rubato. The search
for such traces is justified by the following circumstances:
— The prevailing tendency during the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries for
musical notation to be rendered more precise. Composers defined the manner
of performing their works with increasing exactitude, notating embellishments,
dynamics, articulation, agogics, phrasing and specifications of the character
of the music. it is significant, however, that various forms of notation often
exist side by side in the oeuvre of a single composer; for example, embel-
lishments written out note for note and embellishments marked in short (or
not marked at all — left to the intuition of the performer, who is assumed to
be familiar with the general rules accepted within a particular milieu). Wanda
landowska39 relates how J. S Bach could have notated the second movement
of his Italian Concerto using ways of notating ornaments that were in general
use at that time.
it would be strange, therefore, if Chopin’s rubato, described many times as
one of the characteristic features of his playing, were not clearly reflected
in the notation of his works. One should rather anticipate that in some situ-
ations the composer notated his performance, taking account of the rubato
employed there as well.
38
F. liszt, op. cit.
39
Wanda landowska, la musique ancienne (Paris, 1909).
63
TIME
— Attempts of this kind have been undertaken already to a limited extent in

relation to other composers (Paul Badura-Skoda gives examples of what he
sees as rubato in the second movements of Bach’s Italian Concerto and
Mozart’s Sonatas in C minor, K 457 and in F, K 332/300k40) and also to
Chopin (Gastone Belotti41 and Paul Badura-Skoda42).
We regard as the notation of agogic rubato, that is, the fluctuation of tempo
without disturbing the synchronisation of the parts or of the tonal plans, closely
set pairs of the type stretto-ritenuto. Below are three such examples:
Concerto in e minor, Op. 11, movt i, bars 272–275:
Nocturne in F#, Op. 15 No. 2, bar 24:
Mazurka in Ab, Op. 17 No. 3, bars 21–24:
One further example, from the Nocturne in F minor, Op. 55 No. 1, is given
in chapter 22 of this part of the Introduction, on p. 134. ‘isolated’ ritenutos,
meanwhile, are deliberately overlooked here, since the lack of the moment of
40
eva and Paul Badura-Skoda, Mozart-Interpretation (Vienna, 1957).
41
G. Belotti, op. cit.
42
P. Badura-Skoda, Hinweise zur stilgemäβen ausführung der Werke Chopins, supplement
to an edition of Chopin’s preludes, ed. P. Badura-Skoda, edition Peters (n.d.).
64
TEMPO RUBaTO
compensation for the drawn-out tempo prevents us from regarding them as

manifestations of rubato.
Contrametric rubato, in which fluctuations of tempo concern only the melodic
part, whilst the regular flow of the accompaniment is preserved, can be notated
as a certain kind of rhythmic complication or variation of the melodic part. Given
that rubato is a means of expression resulting from performance practice, from
‘live’ music-making, traces of it should be sought in rhythmic variants of similar
or analogous fragments and in places of particular or heightened emotional
tension. A search thus orientated throws up many examples, which are divided
below into five groups.
1. The lengthening of one note at the expense of the next note(s):
Scherzo in e, Op. 54, f##1 in bar 421:
Nocturne in B, Op. 62 No. 1, d2 in bar 61:
Sonata in B minor, Op. 58, movt i, d#2 in bar 159 (compared with the melody
of the analogous bar 51, transposed from D major to B major):
A group of quite numerous variants (over the course of a work or between

sources) in the rhythm of regular quavers and dotted quaver with semiquaver;
examples include variants in the Nocturne in F minor, Op. 55 No. 1,
65
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bar 19:
and bar 58:
and the Sonata in B minor, Op. 58, movt i, bars 149 and 41 (transposed from
D major to B major):
and bar 57:
2. The lengthening of a note or motif at the expense of the preceding note or

group of notes:
Given on the added stave at the top in each of the examples is the rhythm we
would expect without the rubato. In places where such a rhythm does indeed
66
TEMPO RUBaTO
appear in the work, the authentic rh part is given — if needs be transposed

— in the relevant place.
Concerto in e minor, Op. 11, movt ii, bar 85 (on the top stave, the rh part in
bars 35–36 of this movement, transposed from B major to G# major):
67
TIME
Ballade in G minor, Op. 23, bar 167 (on the top stave, the rh part in bars
68–71; beneath it, the ‘default’ rhythm):
Ballade in Ab, Op. 47, bar 142 (on the top stave, the rh part in bars 137–138):
Nocturne in B, Op. 9 No. 3, bar 73 (on the top stave, the rh part in bars 49–50):
Scherzo in C# minor, Op. 39, bar 601:
68
TEMPO RUBaTO
These two groups of examples provide a good illustration of the following

utterance by Jan Kleczyński, derived from the tradition passed on to him by
Chopin’s pupils:
[with rubato] a long note is lengthened even more and a short note shortened
further still; we always steal time from less important notes for the benefit of more
important ones.43
3. The insertion of a rest dividing up a passage of regular rhythmic values. Both

forms of the rhythm given in the three examples below are authentic:
Scherzo in C# minor, Op. 39, section 31 and analogous:
Mazurka in Ab, Op. 41 No. 3, bars 6, 8 and analogous:
Sonata in B minor, Op. 58, movt i, bar 139:
43
Jan Kleczyński, O wykonywaniu dzieł Chopina [On the performance of Chopin’s works]
(Cracow, 1959); the published english translation of this work does not give this passage in full,
and so it is translated here from the Polish edition (tr. note).
69
TIME
Chopin’s hesitation over the notation of such a simple figure suggests that the
actual execution he intended did not correspond exactly to any of these nota-
tions.44 The rest probably signifies a gesture — a raising of the hand between
approximately regular rhythmic values. Both forms of the rhythm appear also
(without discrepancies between sources) in other works by Chopin where the
predominant rhythms are of the kind given in the top parts of the above ex-
amples. in my opinion, in many of them, we are dealing not with the shortening
of a note after a rest in relation to preceding and following notes, but rather the
condensing of the whole group of notes that follows the rest. Although every
attempt at establishing why Chopin decided on one form of notation in one place
and another form elsewhere inevitably remains in the realms of speculation,
I am convinced that the following explanation is quite likely:
— the shortening in the notation of a note before a rest signifies that the inserted
rest is very short and causes only minimal disturbance to the regularity of
the rhythm,
— the shortening in the notation of a note after a rest signifies a slightly longer
pause, causing a more distinct condensing of the notes after a rest, as such
a notation indeed suggests.
4. An accelerando of the melodic part, written out in rhythmic values:
Concerto in F minor, Op. 21, movt ii, bar 62:
ibid, bar 64:
See ‘Performance Commentary’ to the volumes of Scherzos, Mazurkas (series A) and

44
Sonatas.
70
TEMPO RUBaTO
Nocturne in G minor, Op. 37 No. 1, bar 16:
Berceuse, Op. 57, bar 23:
5. Combinations of elements from the previous groups and other examples of

freely treated rubato:
Nocturne in Bb minor, Op. 9 No. 1, bar 3:
The broken lines written into the above example, specifying the placement
of the last notes of the rh in relation to the lh, come from Chopin (from
a teaching score). What they signify is that the end of the run is to be played
more slowly than its regular division would indicate. Therefore, some part of
it (probably the middle) must be played more quickly. The top staves give the
rhythmic groupings of this figure proposed by the Ne editors.
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TIME
Concerto in F minor, Op. 21, movt ii, bars 58–61:
in both pairs of bars, there occurs an accelerando written out in rhythmic

values combined with a shifting of the turning-points of the melody to past the
strong beat. in addition, we see extensions of the opening gb-gb1 in bars 58
& 60 and bbb-bbb1 in bar 61 (a notation analogous to that discussed in the
case of inserted rests). The hypothetical rhythm without rubato results from
the natural distribution of the turning-points in the melody. The accents on the
2nd note in bars 59 and 61 suggestively reinforce the sense of shifting in relation
to the accompaniment of the beginning of the second bar in each of the phrases.
in the next two examples, there is a visible drawing-out of entire motives,
combined with their earlier (than anticipated) entrance.
Prelude in C, Op. 28 No. 1, bars 18–20:
72
TEMPO RUBaTO
Ballade in F minor, Op. 52, bar 153:
In the Waltz in Db, Op. 64 No. 1, bars 43–45,
the accelerando, written out in rhythmic values, and the quadruplet together
produce a tangible condensing of the rhythm in bar 44 (cf. rhythm of this
phrase’s repeat in bars 59–60). A suitable accentuation of the eb2 in bar 44 may
give the impression of the following rhythm, in which the rh part is played in
bar 43 more slowly than in bar 44: .
Waltz in C# minor, Op. 64 No. 2, bars 81–88:
in this example, the rh part, besides the distinctly audible shifts in relation
to the accompaniment and the accelerando written out in rhythmic values, is
also melodically enriched (cf. corresponding phrase the first time around, from
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TIME
bar 65). This is not an isolated case: the ornamental expansion of a melodic
line is often linked to certain rhythmic shiftings of its main points, which may
be perceived as rubato (Pier Francesco Tosi gave a similar account of the re-
lationship between rubato and ornamentation in 172345). Chopin’s pupil Wilhelm
von lenz stresses that in both his rubato playing and his improvised ornaments,
Chopin was a master of elegance and good taste.46
At this point, i would like to draw attention to certain characteristic features
of the examples cited above. They further justify treating these fragments as
notated rubato.
— in the vast majority of the examples, one has no difficulty in pointing to the
original rhythm, from which, due to the use of rubato, the rhythm actually
notated by Chopin arose. That hypothetical original rhythm results in a natural
way (and so in accordance with the law of good continuation, as leonard
Meyer calls it47) from the previous passage, and in general it actually occurs
in the work, in the vicinity of the place under consideration or in an analogous
fragment.
— in the clear majority of the examples, the rhythm of the melodic part causes
it to ‘miss’ the notes of the accompaniment or the main beats in the bar. This
effect is often achieved by means of syncopation and irregular groupings,
and it helps create the impression — so characteristic of rubato — of the
rhythmic independence of the two parts.
— in most cases, an execution that departs to a slight extent from the notated
rhythm (in order to heighten the rubato effect) is possible, and in many in-
stances it is even essential.
To sum up, we can state with considerable likelihood that in the case of the
rhythmic figures of this type which appear in the examples presented above,
Chopin drew on an arsenal of means characteristic of tempo rubato. however, it
is the performers who determine the degree to which the suggestion of rubato is
conveyed to listeners, through their choice of suitable phrasing and accentuation.
lATer SeMBlANCeS OF ruBATO
As already mentioned above, we have no reliable description of Chopin’s rubato

taken directly from one of his pupils or even an assertion that it was actually
used.
45
P. F. Tosi, op. cit.
46
47
leonard B. Meyer, Emotion and Meaning in Music (Chicago, 1956).
74
TEMPO RUBaTO
We do observe, however, during the second half of the nineteenth century,

various kinds of deformation of the rhythmic flow in performances of Chopin’s
music. Among the most frequent phenomena is the continual shifting of the more
important strikes of melodic notes, which fall slightly after their corresponding
accompaniment notes (more rarely, the shifting of melodic notes to before the
accompaniment), and all of this under the aegis of Chopin’s rubato.
This phenomenon soon drew criticism from Camille Saint-Saëns, who in
describing genuine Chopin rubato (in 1910), on the basis of an account from
Chopin’s singer-friend Pauline Viardot, adds:
This way of playing is very difficult since it requires complete independence of the
two hands; and those lacking this give both themselves and others the illusion of
it by playing the melody in time and dislocating the accompaniment so that it falls
beside the beat; or else – worst of all – content themselves with simply playing
one hand after the other. it would be a hundred times better just to play in time,
with both hands together.48
The one who codified this supposed rubato and introduced it into concert
practice for many decades to come was the well-known pianist and teacher
Theodor leschetizky, who at the beginning of the twentieth century, in the words
of his assistant Malwine Brée, writes the following in her book on method:
Neither should bass tone and melody-note always be taken precisely together,
but the melody-note may be struck an instant after the bass, which gives it more
relief and a softer effect [?]. however, this can be done only at the beginning of
a phrase, and usually only on important notes and strong beats. (it is better for
the hands to coincide precisely on weak beats.) The melody-note must follow so
swiftly as to make the pause hardly noticeable for the uninitiated.49
Brée accompanies this remark with an example from the beginning of the
Nocturne in Db, Op. 27 No. 2, marking the striking of some notes of the melody,
after the corresponding notes of the accompaniment, with broken lines. here is
a reproduction of that example:
48
C. Saint-Saëns, op. cit.
49
Malwine Brée, The Groundwork of the leschetizky Method, tr. Dr Th. Baker, 2nd edn (New
york, 1905).
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This manner of performance was popularised by some wonderful pianists,

pupils of leschetizky, and it can still be heard on concert platforms and in re-
cordings today.
It met with a robust assessment on the part of the French composer and
critic Florent Schmitt, who, in writing about clean, straightforward renditions of
Chopin’s works, couched it in dramatic words:
A profound, moving Chopin, without those repulsive rubatos, those mutilated bar
endings that for eighty-five years, in the name of so-called tradition, generations
of illustrious pianists have indulged in. What parliament, what league of nations
will protect Chopin against these vandals?50
CONCluDiNG reMArKS
It is not easy to formulate concrete suggestions with regard to the present-day

use of Chopin’s rubato. On one hand, it is impossible to remain indifferent to the
fact that the composer marked or wrote rubato in his works, alongside reliable
opinions that consider rubato to be a characteristic feature of his playing, and also
the misunderstandings of various kinds that have arisen over the years regarding
the essence of the phenomenon. On the other hand, we must remember that
rubato is a highly individual, and in some sense unique, means of expression,
and when used inappropriately it can significantly deform a musical idea. May
the following remark made by one of the master’s most gifted pupils, Friederike
Müller-Streicher, serve as a warning:
[Chopin] required adherence to the strictest rhythm, hated all lingering and drag-
ging, misplaced rubatos, as well as exaggerated ritardandos.51
With regard to contrametric rubato, we must remember that most of Chopin’s

peers saw in it just the captivating and unique originality of Chopin the pianist.
The fact that even towards the end of the eighteenth century pianistic contra-
metric rubato modelled on vocal artistry was rather an unusual phenomenon
is attested by a letter that Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart wrote to his father on
23 October 1777:
Everyone is amazed that I can always keep strict time. What these people cannot
grasp is that in tempo rubato in an Adagio, the left hand should go on playing in
strict time. With them the left hand always follows suit.52
50
Quoted in raoul Koczalski, Frédéric Chopin. Betrachtungen, Skizzen, analysen (Cologne, 1936).
51
F. Niecks, op. cit.
52
The letters of Mozart and His Family, tr. and ed. emily Anderson, 3rd edn (london, 1985).
76
TEMPO RUBaTO
This passage not only corresponds perfectly with the impression of the ‘con-
ductor’s left hand’ cited — with minor deviations — by many of Chopin’s pupils,
but also indicates the difficulty and, by consequence, rarity of such a manner of
performance (‘everyone is amazed’; ‘with them the left hand always follows suit’).
So let us try to list the elements that might help present-day pianists to find
a stylish approach to the question of rubato in Chopin’s works.
— Sincerity and naturalness.
If they are not supported by a genuine emotional need and if they do not
arise from our most profound understanding of the phrase being played, attempts
at introducing rubato as something external to the music — on account, for
instance, of a general notion of Chopin’s style or sources attesting that Chopin
himself used rubato — are doomed to failure and will lead to the deforming of
the music and not to the enhancing of the expression.
— Making use of those places — by no means rare — in which the composer
suggested how to play rubato in his notation.
This concerns in particular ornamental figures with an irregular number of
notes and certain rhythmic phrases and sets of agogic markings, discussed
above, that are characteristic of rubato. Such places should be performed with
a rhythmic flexibility, which will create the impression of latitude that is proper
to tempo rubato without exceeding the framework set by the composer’s nota-
tion. Where contrametric rubato might be used in other situations, the greatest
possible economy and caution are advisable.
— Moderation, elegance and taste.
These features are obligatory in all the elements of Chopin’s music, yet in
relation to rubato they are absolutely essential, due to the lack of a living, re-
liable tradition of Chopin’s authentic rubato. in the realisation of agogic rubato,
exaggeration should be avoided in the frequency and degree of tempo deviations.
— A familiarity with the models for Chopin’s rubato.
expression of this type is still traditionally employed in vocal artistry, particu-
larly in opera, and in Polish folk music.
— The avoidance of pseudo-rubato.
The regular delaying of melodic notes has nothing to do with Chopin’s rubato,
and it neither creates the impression of a freedom of execution nor enhances
the expression of a particular phrase.
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9. CONVeNTiONAl AND ‘PlASTiC’ rhyThMiC NOTATiON

DOTTeD rhyThMS WiTh TriPleTS
‘At present, the point, taken as a power

of the note, is always equal to the half of
that which precedes it. So, after the
semi-breve, the point is equal to
a minim [...] &c. But this method of fixing
the powers of a point is not certainly the
best that might be imagined, and often
causes useless embarrassments’.
Jean-Jacques rousseau, The Complete Dictionary of Music (1768)
One of those ‘embarrassments’ noted by rousseau almost two and a half

centuries ago, and still today generally not resolved, is the execution of dotted
rhythms in one part against triplets in another ( ). With regard to sources,
this problem was discussed at length, with numerous examples, in the first part
of this Introduction.53 There is no doubt whatsoever as to the performance, in
figures of this type in Chopin’s works, of the combination of a semiquaver and
the third quaver of a triplet in a manner that accords with the notation of one
note directly below the other, and so simultaneously (with one exception in the
Nocturne in C minor, Op. 48 No. 1, bar 51; see below). At this point, however,
we must emphasise a certain requirement concerning the interpretation of this
figure. Some pianists, adopting an overly rigorous approach to the implementation
of this rule, accentuate, and even draw out, the last note of the triplet together
with the semiquaver struck at the same time (this occurs in particular when
a pianist has just learned about this ‘Baroque’ convention54 in Chopin’s music
and was previously accustomed to playing the semiquaver after the last note of
the triplet). That is a mistake. The third note of the triplet in this configuration
should be played lightly and not drawn out. Then, it can give the singular, seem-
ingly impossible, impression of a smooth triplet in one part and simultaneously
a natural dotted rhythm in the other.
53
Available as a free ebook, at http://www.pwm.com.pl.
54
This convention was in general use up to the mid nineteenth century, as is shown by
numerous manuscripts and editions of works from that period, e.g. by Ferenc liszt and robert
Schumann. In Hexameron, a set of variations on a theme of Bellini written by the six most
famous composer-virtuosos of the time, liszt, Thalberg, Pixis, Czerny, herz and Chopin, published
in 1838, the figure described here appears many times in the parts of the work written by liszt,
Thalberg, Czerny and Chopin. On the basis of the notation of the first editions, we can state
that they all employed this manner of notation.
78
CONVeNTiONAl AND ‘PlASTiC’ rhyThMiC NOTATiON
‘PlASTiC’ NOTATiON
This term is used, among other things, for notation in which the rhythmic values
of some notes are written in an approximate way and the proper execution results
from the layout or the musical context. The problem discussed above may be
regarded as one of the examples of just such a notation. Chopin employed it
also in other situations, a few examples of which are given below.
in the first two examples, the rhythm of the top voice is written in an approximate
way (the Prelude in C, Op. 28 No. 1, example on p. 72, has a similar notation
of the bottom rh voice).
Nocturne in F#, Op. 15 No. 2, middle section, e.g. bars 25–27:
Nocturne in C minor, Op. 48 No. 1, doppio movimento section, e.g. bars 57–58:
(the above-mentioned ‘exceptional’ bar 51 of this Nocturne may also be regarded
as an example of plastic notation: ).
A peculiar sort of notation, both simplified and plastic, can be found in the
Sonata in G minor, Op. 65, movt iV, bars 57–58 and analogous:
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TIME
Taking into account this theme’s melody, the rhythm of the accompaniment and
the rapid tempo, the rh figure should probably be understood as .
In the allegro de concert, Op. 46, in bar 162, we find a simplified notation of
a tied note:
The figure marked with an asterisk should be understood thus: .

The last example has a slightly different character: although it concerns rhyth-
mic values, it is not connected with any problem relating to the interpretation of
the rhythmic flow. yet taken with the others, it enables us to illustrate Chopin’s
characteristic preference for an economy of notation and the care he took over
its suggestive layout.
80
D. Formal issues
10. rePeTiTiON
in works where Chopin employs conventional forms of short notation, such

as repeat signs or markings like Da Capo al Fine, an imprecise notation can
sometimes cause doubts regarding the intended shape of a work. This phenom-
enon occurs more frequently during the early period in Chopin’s oeuvre. In the
case of several works, doubts of this type result not so much from an unclear
notation as from certain general aesthetic premises and historical circumstances.
Imprecisely marked repeats of particular sections of a work appear in sources
for both Polonaises, Op. 26, as well as in the Polonaise in Ab, Ne 3, the Vari-
ations in D on a theme of Moore (for 4 hands), Ne 5, and the Mazurka in Ab,
Ne 45. in all these works, there consequently appear variants, consisting in
the possibility of including or omitting the repeat of a section. Furthermore, the
length of the section to be repeated as the reprise in dance pieces (Da Capo)
is not always clear; doubt arises several times in posthumous works, and also
in the Mazurka in A minor, Op. 7 No. 2, where in one of the teaching scores
the printed marking Fine was crossed out and written 16 bars later.
We come across a particular kind of ambiguity concerning the repetition of sec-
tions of a work in Chopin’s songs. Several of them are of a simple stanzaic form,
but it is not clear from the sources whether Chopin wanted all the poem’s stanzas
to be sung or just some of them.
in all the instances outlined above, performers, when deciding whether or
not to play an optional repeat, should be guided by their own sense of form. To
put it another way, they must assess how a repeat would affect the following:
1. the proportions between the sections of the work,
2. the clarity of any motivic similarities between different phrases (will the lis-
tener manage to remember them, so as to sense the significance of their return),
3. the logic, and occasionally the drama, of the emotional unfolding of the
work as a whole.
81
FORMal ISSUES
The same questions may also be posed in relation to certain repeats that
cause no doubts with regard to sources. in the Scherzo in B minor, Op. 20,
the repetition of bars 9–68 may be omitted, given that this section will still be
repeated — with minor alterations — four times.
The expositions of the first movements of all Chopin’s works in sonata form –
Opp. 4, 8, 35, 58 and 65 — have unquestionable repeats marked, in accordance
with the convention of sonata form adopted from the Classical era. however, in
the case of the last two sonatas, the Sonata in B minor, Op. 58 and the Sonata
in G minor, Op. 65 (with cello), the first movements are so expansive that many
performers omit the repeats, presumably opining that a first movement lasting
over ten minutes would over-dominate the sonata as a whole. So in this case
the answer to the first of the questions posed above justifies the omission of
the repeats. With regard to the second question, at a time when music lovers
are universally familiar with Chopin’s works, repeating the exposition no longer
seems essential for the listener to be able to understand and sense the sonata
allegro structure. in this respect, the situation of listeners in an age when re-
cordings, radio, television and other media are universally accessible is entirely
different to the situation of music lovers of Chopin’s day. Thus the question
of the shaping of the overall drama of a work should perhaps be left to each
performer’s individual sensibilities.
In the case of the Sonata in Bb minor, Op. 35, the answers tend to suggest
including the repeat. Particularly crucial here would appear to be a reminder of
the Sonata’s opening motif, which plays an important role in the development.
The situation is made more complicated, however, by the fact that in the first
German edition bar 5 was wrongly indicated as the start of the repeated section,
and that was transmitted in most of the popular editions of Chopin’s works.
Sonata in Bb minor, Op. 35, movt i, bars 101–104 and start of the repeated
exposition:
Erroneous text:
82
INTRaOPUS CYClICITY
Authentic version:
Here, then, the repeat is advisable, but in the form notated by Chopin, including
the four-bar Grave.
To sum up, repeats should generally be treated as binding, unless the repe-
tition of a particular section does not ensue unequivocally from the sources. By
way of exception, one may omit the repeats in the Scherzo in B minor, Op. 20
and in the first movement expositions of the Sonatas, Opp. 58 and 65.
11. iNTrAOPuS CyCliCiTy
All the opuses of mazurkas, nocturnes and etudes, as well as the opus 28
Preludes and some opuses of polonaises and waltzes, contain groups of com-
positions of a particular kind. The question arises as to whether they are groups of
self-standing, unconnected works or whether Chopin was forming cycles, and so
logically designed, primary entities, unfolding with their own characteristic drama.
The answer is not clear-cut: some opuses certainly form highly organised
cycles; others are wholly devoid of such features. in each instance, particular
works certainly preserve their individuality and can be performed separately.
however, those which form part of a cycle, when played together, complement
one another, enhancing the overall effect.
The cyclicity of the Preludes, Op. 28 is already well established in the aware-
ness of pianists and music lovers. The clear principle behind the succession
of keys – pairs of relative keys arranged according to fifths (C major, A minor,
G major, e minor, D major, B minor, etc.) — the deliberate, most often con-
trastive, juxtaposing of neighbouring Preludes in terms of character, certain
motivic affinities and the consistent dramatic design of the whole set link these
24 miniatures together in a monumental cycle.
Most mazurka opuses are also perceived increasingly often as cyclical.
The opuses from 17 to 59 display a distinct regularity to their arrangement, in
which the last mazurka is always minor-key, more elaborate and distinguished
83
FORMal ISSUES
by a greater dramatic charge.55 Another bonding element — in the opuses from

24 to 59 — is key relationship, which invariably links the last two mazurkas, and
sometimes the others as well. Neighbouring mazurkas are also often connected
in such a way that the ending of one passes smoothly into the opening of the
next (most perfectly in Op. 41). in Op. 30, in the first three mazurkas, Chopin
makes characteristic use of distinct dynamic contrasts of short segments, which
should be counted as an element bonding this cycle together.
When performing the cycle, the pianist — besides imparting an appropriate
and distinctive character to each of the mazurkas — should consider the links
between works and take care over the overall dynamic and emotional shape.
Among the other genres, only the opuses of etudes may be regarded as
loosely integrated cycles; this is slightly more distinct in Op. 25. interestingly,
when writing the opus 10 etudes, Chopin planned to perform some of them
conjointly, as is attested by the instruction attacca il presto con fuoco placed at
the end of the autograph of the etude in e, Op. 10 No. 3. ultimately, however,
he abandoned that suggestion.
As regards the Nocturnes, Polonaises and Waltzes, they do not display any
features of intraopus cyclicity. in practice, this means that from a musical point of
view there is no greater justification for playing together, say, the two Nocturnes,
Op. 32 than for combining, for example, the Nocturne in B from that opus with
the Nocturne in F# minor, Op. 48 No. 2.
55
in many editions, the Mazurkas, Opp. 33 and 41 are arranged in an altered, inauthentic
order. We can speak of cyclicity only if the authentic order to the works is retained. See ‘Source
Commentary’ to the volume Mazurkas (series A).
84
E. Pianistic issues
12. ChOPiN’S FiNGeriNG
‘One cannot overpraise the genius who

presided over the construction of the keyboard,
so well adapted to the shape of the hand. Is
there anything more ingenious than the higher
[=black] keys — destined for the long fingers —
so admirably serving as points of pivot’.
‘As many sounds as there are fingers —
everything is a matter of knowing good fingering’.
Chopin, sketches for a piano-playing Method
‘The third finger is a grand chanteur ’.
Chopin’s words as recounted by his pupil, Mme Courty
‘Chopin thought with his fingers’.
J. E.
The German pianist and composer Ferdinand hiller, a friend of Chopin, encap-
sulated the character of Chopin’s playing as follows:
No one had ever touched the keys like that.56
The aptness of this opinion lies in the fact that it combines several of the most
crucial, and strictly interconnected, aspects of the art of pianism: we have
the physical instrument (‘the keys’), the hand’s connection with the keyboard
(‘touched’) and the unparalleled result of that contact (‘no one had ever’).
in works prepared for publication, Chopin gave quite a lot of fingering, the
greatest amount — understandably — in the etudes (e.g. in the etude in A minor,
56
F. hiller, Briefe an eine Ungenannte (Cologne, 1877).
85
PIaNISTIC ISSUES
Op. 10 No. 2). in addition, he wrote fingerings into his pupils’ lesson scores. in
several works, we find fingering already in the sketches, which perfectly illustrates
the fundamental significance that the connection between the audible effect and
the instrumental aspect carried for Chopin.
in Chopin’s fingering, we can distinguish two types:
1. instrumental, linked to the hand-keyboard relationship, and
2. expressive, corresponding to the finger-sound relationship.
This division is not a strict one, since both relationships are constantly present
in playing. in most situations, however, the predominance of one or the other
seems sufficiently discernible to justify such a distinction.
iNSTruMeNTAl FiNGeriNG
This kind of fingering serves the most comfortable possible execution of

a particular fragment, with an unconstrained, flexible hand. here, Chopin intro-
duced a number of innovative ideas; quite a lot has already been written about
them, so here we will confine ourselves to giving a few characteristic examples.
— crossing fingers 3, 4 and 5, the whole of the etude in A minor, Op. 10
No. 2, e.g. bars 1–2:
— crossing the thumb onto a black key, e.g. the etude in A minor, Op. 25 No.
11, bar 17:
— passages with the use of all five fingers:
Impromptu in Ab, Op. 29, bar 81:
86
CHOPIN’S FINGERING
Prelude in D minor, Op. 28 No. 24, bar 66:
— striking a third with the thumb, Prelude in A, Op. 28 No. 7, bar 12:
Concerto in e minor, Op. 11, movt ii, bar 16: .
— a note taken over silently by the other hand, indicated, for example, in the
Nocturne in e, Op. 62 No. 2, bar 35, with a special notation of the note
a as a held minim with stems pointing down or up (for clarity, here is the
Ne editors’ proposed fingering and a sign indicating the moment when the
rh takes over the note):
A detailed consideration of these phenomena would exceed the scope of

the present remarks, encroaching into the expansive domain of piano-playing
technique. One crucial question is the value that Chopin’s instrumental finger-
ing has for performers today. One must take into account, above all, the fact
that in the pianos built from more or less the mid nineteenth century onwards,
the parameters of the keyboard’s action were altered: the keys now fell a little
more deeply, gave greater resistance and above all were wider: the difference
in the span of an octave could be as much as 1 cm.57 Thus the playing of
57
See Beniamin Vogel, ‘Fortepiany epoki Chopina a współczesna praktyka wykonawcza’
[The pianos of Chopin’s era and modern performance practice], Rocznik Chopinowski, 17 (1987).
87
PIaNISTIC ISSUES
modern pianos demands much greater effort, which in some situations affects the
possibility of applying Chopin’s fingering. Together with the possible differences
in the build and functioning of the hand, this allows us to adopt the principle
that in the event of difficulty we may make changes to the instrumental finger-
ing, treating it like any other proposed fingering. it is always worth, however,
trying it out carefully, to test its acoustic effect and assess whether a change
of fingering will not give rise to a change in sound that has a crucial impact on
the expression. in our edition, alternative fingerings proposed by the editors are
given in small italics above (for the lh below) Chopin’s or else in the ‘Perfor-
mance Commentary’ appended to each volume.
eXPreSSiVe FiNGeriNG
This involves exploiting the individual characteristics of each finger to obtain

special effects of colouring and expression. The most characteristic example
of this phenomenon is playing several successive notes of a melody with the
same finger, to enhance their expression:
Etude in G# minor, Op. 25 No. 6, bars 45–46
Mazurka in F minor, Op. 63 No. 2, bars 7–8
Nocturne in Eb, Op. 9 No. 2, bar 26
88
CHOPIN’S FINGERING
Occasionally, Chopin uses two fingers in a similar way:

Nocturne in Eb, Op. 9 No. 2, bars 27–28
Statistical analysis of the use of this kind of fingering clearly ennobles the
third finger (see the third quotation at the head of this chapter). A representative
example is the fingering written by Chopin into a teaching score of the Nocturne
in C minor, Op. 48 No. 1, bars 1–2 (repeated in bars 5–6 and 17):
The repeated use of the first finger is common, although in this case it is
not always an expressive effect that is the object:
Impromptu in Gb, Op. 51, bars 37–38:
The eleven-fold sequence of the first finger on the black keys in the etude
in Db from the Méthode des méthodes, Dbop. 36 No. 3, bars 69–70, may be
called instrumental-expressive fingering, as it combines an articulatory effect with
a technical problem:
89
PIaNISTIC ISSUES
An interesting fact is that no instance of an expression-motivated repetition

of the second finger has been found in Chopin’s works (it only occurs when
the finger slips from a black to a white key, which is rather an instrumental
procedure). One may surmise that Chopin did not esteem the second finger’s
capacity for artistic expression of this kind as highly as that of the other fingers.
A special kind of expressive fingering consists in the multiple marking of
double fingers on a single note:
Variations in Bb, Op. 2, bar 59:
Mazurka in A minor, Op. 59 No. 1, bar 25:
irrespective of whether Chopin had in mind here switching the fingers or

striking the notes with both fingers simultaneously (it is not entirely certain), this
fingering imparts a quite specific sound to these passages.
let us just add that the occurrence of expressive fingering extends over
a considerable period in Chopin’s oeuvre (from the Concerto in F minor,
Op. 21 to the Mazurka in F minor, Op. 63 No. 2), that we find it in around
20 compositions, not infrequently several times in a single work, and that it was
noted by his pupils:
he often took two successive notes with one and the same finger (and not only
in the transition from a black key to a white one), without the slightest break in
the tonal flow becoming noticeable.58
To summarise these observations concerning Chopin’s expressive fingering,

we may state the following:
1. This fingering, as a special kind of melodic expression, ought to be retained.
2. in each case, the performer should imagine what effect of colouring and
expression Chopin might have had in mind when indicating this kind of fingering.
The pianist may be assisted in this by other authentic markings (slurs, accents,
58
K. Mikuli, op. cit.
90
‘HaRMONIC lEGaTO’
staccato dots) appearing in the same fragment. On this basis, guided by their
own artistic sensibilities and capabilities, performers should elaborate an integral
conception of a given phrase, taking account of the articulation and accentuation,
and even possible rubato.
13. ‘hArMONiC leGATO’
‘[Chopin] produces marvels of nuance by the use of the pedal,

[...] and by his unique legato’.
Joseph Filtsch
The term ‘harmonic legato’ is used here for an instrumental device, already
widespread in harpsichord music, consisting in sustaining the elements of the
harmony with the fingers. it was also used from the beginning in piano music,
for instance in the form of lengthened bass notes in accompaniment figures —
the so-called Alberti bass. An execution of this kind was marked in three ways:
— by means of the term legato and related expressions (legatissimo, molto
legato, etc.),
— by means of slurs,
— by notating the holding of the notes explicitly, with rhythmic values.
Chopin used this device often, obtaining harmonic effects that were admired
by listeners for their originality and peculiarity. He availed himself of all the above
manners of notation, often at the same time.
Concerto in F minor, Op. 21, movt i, bars 105–106, sustaining of notes:
Sonata in B minor, Op. 58, movt iii, bars 33–34, sustaining of notes:
33
91
PIaNISTIC ISSUES
Scherzo in Bb minor, Op. 31, bars 310–313, ‘legato’ and sustaining of notes:
Etude in Ab, Op. 10 No. 10, ‘legatissimo’, slurs and sustaining:
Thanks to such a precise notation, the execution of the above examples is

beyond doubt.
As the motto of this chapter, i chose a passage combining legato with pedal.
It is that combination which allows us to surmise that what was being discussed
was ‘harmonic legato’, which in many situations complements pedalling, enabling
the pianist to preserve clean chords despite the need to change pedal. let us
analyse the following example from that perspective:
in the first four bars, we see that pedal and ‘harmonic legato’ — marked by the
extension of the bass notes — are used in alternation to obtain harmonic chords.
A natural reason — though not necessarily the only reason — for Chopin to
use pedal in bars 249 and 252 but hold the bass notes with the hand in bars
250–251 seems to be the span of the figures: taking the tenths B-d#1 and F#-a#
may prove uncomfortable or even impossible. Now let us look at the sign in
bar 253: not taking the pedal until beneath the 4th quaver is certainly designed
92
‘HaRMONIC lEGaTO’
to avoid the dissonant notes c#2 and e1 in the rh, but it deprives the nascent
B major chord of the note B — its root. That was certainly not Chopin’s intention,
and one can prevent this by holding that note with the finger until the pedal is
taken, and so employing ‘harmonic legato’.
We also find a complementary combination of legato and pedal in the Prelude
in F#, Op. 28 No. 13:
Chopin probably had in mind here the following execution of the lh part:
This tallies with Chopin’s pedalling, written where the span of the figure
(C#-b) prevents the use of a similar device for ensuring the absolute purity of
the harmony. unfortunately, on modern pianos, with their broader keyboards,
many pianists are unable to take the initial figures as well; a possible solution
to this problem is as follows:
in situations of this kind, in which Chopin limits himself to just a general

indication, leaving its interpretation to the performer’s intuition, suggested exe-
cutions of the ‘harmonic legato’ are given in the Performance Commentaries to
the relevant volumes. To close, two examples of a notation in which the use of
‘harmonic legato’ has to be inferred.
Nocturne in C# minor, Op. 27 No. 1, bars 1–4:
93
PIaNISTIC ISSUES
in this context, the term legato suggests from the outset the possibility of using
the device in question, but in bars 1–2 we don’t really know what it might be
needed for here, given that Chopin wrote practically continuous pedalling. it only
becomes clear in bar 3, where with the first change of pedal the pedal point C#
disappears and instead of forming the root of changing chords it sounds for just
a brief moment at the end of each figure of the accompaniment. yet just a slight
holding of that note with the fifth finger suffices for it to sound the whole time:
Also in this example (which we used earlier to illustrate notated rubato),

the ‘disappearing bass’, together with the authentic pedalling, gives us grounds
for applying ‘harmonic legato’. The solution given below for bars 421–422 is
a more radical proposition from the editors, in keeping with the spirit of Chopin’s
‘harmonic legato’, but not resulting from the original notation:
On the basis of the above examples, readers will certainly be able to discover
similar details for themselves and execute them with a full and clean harmony.
94
PEDal
14. PeDAl
‘The correct employment of [pedal]

remains a study for life’.
Fryderyk Chopin
‘The pedal is the soul of the piano’

Anton rubinstein
DeFiNiTiON AND BrieF hiSTOry OF PeDAl
Pedalling — in the narrow sense of the word — is what we call the ability to
make artistic use of the piano’s right pedal, the mechanism of which raises
the whole set of dampers. The use of this pedal gives a dual acoustic effect:
not only do the hammer-struck strings quiver even after the keys are released,
but also many other strings begin to sound together, stimulated by resonance.
‘The more i play, the more i am thoroughly convinced that the pedal is the soul
of the piano. There are cases where the pedal is everything’.59 When Anton
rubinstein said this, he was certainly thinking of the instrument’s right pedal.
A simple experiment, suggested to me by the outstanding musician, violinist and
teacher Professor Tadeusz Wroński, suffices to demonstrate just how character-
istic of the piano this device is: let us briefly strike one note (e.g. a1) without
pedal, and then the same short note with pedal, and let us ask which of them
is the more typical piano tone? i have tried this experiment many times, and it
always points to the second of the tones. Whilst in the former case it is as if
we were playing with just a part of the piano, in the latter we hear the whole
instrument engaged in producing the sound. If such an elementary experiment
is convincing, what can we say about highly organised sets of notes played with
pedal, displaying all the features of artistry?
yet the term ‘pedalling’ can be given a broader meaning as well: operating
those mechanisms of the piano which are moved by levers pressed by the feet.
in successive periods in the development of the piano, the number of pedals
has varied. Although during the times of Haydn and Mozart there were still
pianos without any pedals, by 1830 there were already instruments being built
with as many as eight. During his youth, in Warsaw, Chopin already had the
opportunity to play a four-pedal piano made by Buchholtz, and we know that
erards of the same kind were owned by Beethoven, Weber and Clara Schumann.
59
Anton rubinstein and Teresa Carreño, The art of Piano Pedaling. Two Classic Guides,
introd. Joseph Banowetz and Brian Mann (New york, 2003).
95
PIaNISTIC ISSUES
Some pedals gave octave doublings; others imitated the sound of the dulcimer,
the lute or the bassoon. here, we are interested in the set of pedals that has
endured to our times since around the mid nineteenth century, and so the right
pedal that we have just been discussing and the left pedal, which shifts all the
hammers a little to the right so that they strike the strings with the softer part
of their heads. That is precisely the set of pedals which Chopin employed in
his piano music, and this chapter will be devoted to discussing their role in his
music, with particular attention paid to the right pedal. i will also mention briefly
the third pedal, known as the sostenuto pedal, placed between our right and
left pedals in concert instruments. Although it was not yet familiar to Chopin,
we may ponder whether, and if so in what situations, we have the right to use
it in our composer’s works.
Although various kinds of mechanism altering the piano’s sound by such
procedures as moving the dampers away from the strings had already existed
earlier, composers did not indicate the use of pedals in their works until the turn
of the nineteenth century. Such markings cannot be found in Mozart, but they
do occur in the late sonatas of haydn, for example open Pedal in the Sonata
in C, Hob. XVI 50 (1794–1795). Beethoven gave instructions for the use of
both the right (senza sordini, con sordini) and left (una corda, due corde, tre
corde) pedal many times, but they are most often single markings, connected
with special textural and timbral phenomena.
During the first decades of the nineteenth century, in connection with the
increasingly frequent need to notate pedalling, the system — still applied today
— of marking a pedal’s depression with the sign and its release with an aster-
isk became widespread. And those are precisely the markings used by Chopin.
ChOPiN’S PeDAlliNG — The OPiNiONS OF liSTeNerS
First let us hear a few general opinions from listeners to Chopin’s playing,
unanimously expressing their supreme admiration for his art of pedalling.
Antoine Marmontel, a long-serving professor of the Paris Conservatoire,
describes it in his famous work les pianistes célèbres in the following words:
No pianist before him employed the pedals alternately or simultaneously with

so much tact and skill. [...] Chopin [...], while making constant use of the pedal,
obtained ravishing harmonies, melodic whispers that charmed and astonished.60
60
Antoine-François Marmontel, les pianistes célèbres (Paris, 1878); as translated in
J.-J. eigeldinger, op. cit.
96
PEDal
Elsewhere, the same author writes:

Chopin used the pedals with marvellous discretion. He often coupled them to ob-
tain a soft and veiled sonority, but more often still he would use them separately
for brilliant passages, for sustained harmonies, for deep bass notes, and for loud
ringing chords. Or he would use the soft pedal alone for those light murmurings
which seem to create a transparent vapour round the arabesques that embellish
the melody and envelop it like fine lace.61
And one of Chopin’s best pupils, Friederike Müller-Streicher, says:

in this use of the pedal he had […] attained the greatest mastery, was uncommonly
strict regarding the misuse of it, and said repeatedly to the pupil: ‘The correct
employment of it remains a study for life’.62
ChOPiN’S PeDAl MArKiNGS
Compared to other great nineteenth-century composers, Chopin marked pedalling

in his works with exceptional precision. It would not be an exaggeration to say
that Chopin’s pedalling is a singular phenomenon in the history of the artistic
use of this mechanism of the piano.
When taking a closer look at Chopin’s pedal markings, we notice that there
occur sections, and even whole works (e.g. the Tarantella, Op. 43 and some of
the etudes), in which those markings are absent. That does not mean that the
composer wanted them to be played entirely without pedal; it simply indicates
that he left pedalling to the performer’s taste, without giving any detailed sugges-
tions in that area. it will be instructive to examine a few situations of this type,
in which pedal is indicated only in certain characteristic places.
Prelude in e minor, Op. 28 No. 4, pedal markings solely in bars 17 and 18:
61
A.-F. Marmontel, Histoire du piano et de ses origines (Paris, 1885); as translated in
J.-J. eigeldinger, op. cit.
62
F. Niecks, op. cit.
97
PIaNISTIC ISSUES
Prelude in C minor, Op. 28 No. 20, pedal only in the ending:
Fantasy in F minor, Op. 49, bars 1–20, pedal only in bars 2–3 and analogous:
Already from these examples, we can see that Chopin liked the effects of
combining sonorities from different registers as part of the same harmonic func-
tion and indicated pedal in places where the actual effect does not ensue from
a literal reading of the rhythmic notation – the bass notes last longer thanks to
the pedal and enrich the sound of the subsequent chords.
The sign denotes the depression of the pedal, but if it occurs immediately
after , then together they most often signify a change of pedal; depending on
the context, however, it might also be syncopated pedal. With syncopated pedal,
at the sign the foot is raised, before immediately depressing the lever again.
So this sign indicates not a specific movement of the leg, but the acoustic effect:
the holding of the notes written above the sign (and possibly further notes as
well, up to the sign ).
Our discussion of Chopin’s pedal markings may be completed by three fur-
ther observations:
— he never used the expression senza pedale,
— he carefully checked the pedalling he wrote into a score at the piano, as is
indicated by numerous instances of corrections in autographs, for example
in the Prelude in Bb minor, Op. 28 No. 16, where pedal signs are clearly
deleted in bars 2–3:
98
PEDal
— besides unconventional acoustic solutions, he also employed unconventional

notation, for example the markings placed above the rh in the Prelude in F#,
Op. 28 No. 13, bars 33–35, and in the Concerto in F minor, Op. 21, movt
i, bar 96:
or the short lines illustrating the effect of the pedalling notated in the ending
of the Polonaise-Fantasy, Op. 61:
ChOPiN’S PeDAl TriCKS
Chopin most often employed harmonic pedal, joining successively struck notes
into a single chord. This is not the place for an exhaustive discussion of all the
types and variants of pedal notated by Chopin, but we will give some examples
of tricks that are characteristic of his pedalling but are often overlooked by
pianists.
A natural device in the harmonic pedal typical of Chopin is to hold down one
pedal on several separate accompaniment figures:
Nocturne in Db, Op. 27 No. 2, bars 1–4:
99
PIaNISTIC ISSUES
Mazurka in Bb, Op. 17 No. 1, bars 4–6:
Prelude in D minor, Op. 28 No. 24, bars 54–55:
etc.
A similar effect, but with a change of bass note to a dissonant one:

Scherzo in Bb minor, Op. 31, bars 334–335:
Placing a melodic line on top of a harmony that is already formed and held with
pedal (cf. above example from the Nocturne in Db):
Mazurka in C# minor, Op. 6 No. 2, bars 40–41:
100
PEDal
The effect of composing the final sound at the end of a work from elements of
different texture, cast around different registers:
etude in F minor, Op. 10 No. 9, bars 64–67:
Nocturne in Db, Op. 27 No. 2, bars 74–77:
Prelude in D minor, Op. 28 No. 24, bars 73–77:
All three examples in this group also illustrate another of Chopin’s pedalling
tricks — the lack of a pedal release sign at the end of a work. Although one
may occasionally suspect an inexact notation, this is generally a deliberate
effect, since there are autographs in which Chopin deleted this sign, e.g. the
Prelude in A, Op. 28 No. 7:
The lack of a pedal release asterisk suggests a lengthier, gradual fading of the
music, in contrast to the emphatic cut in those works where this sign appears
at the end.
101
PIaNISTIC ISSUES
in several places in Chopin, we find pedalling that might be called dynamic

or — occasionally — harmonic-dynamic.
Prelude in Bb minor, Op. 28 No. 16, bars 44–46:
Sonata in Bb minor, Op. 35, movt i, bars 9–15:
We find the key, rhythmic pattern and pedalling from this last example, in the
same arrangement, also in the Prelude in Bb minor, Op. 28 No. 16, bars 2–4
(see photocopy of the autograph on p. 99), where the dynamic effect is even
stronger.
Finally, one must mention the famous ‘melodic whispers’; that is, delicate
figures, of an often ornamental character, performed with one pedal or both. We
have already seen two examples at the end of the chapter on embellishments
(p. 48); let us add a couple more here:
102
PEDal
Nocturne in B, Op. 62 No. 1, bars 85–87:
leFT PeDAl
The above examples provide us with an opportunity to broach the question of

the left pedal. Chopin never indicated its use in print, and we know from one
of his letters that he did not esteem pianists who — doubtless mechanically
and too often — used it:
Thalberg plays well, but he’s not my man, […] he renders piano with the pedal,
not the hand, takes tenths like i take octaves…63
On the other hand, the testimony quoted at the beginning of this chapter dis-
tinctly tells of Chopin’s masterful use of both pedals. in lesson scores, there
are several examples of signs that we have managed to identify as indications
for the use of left pedal, including in the above fragment from the Nocturne in
F#, Op. 15 No. 2 (example on p. 48). This gives us grounds to suppose that
in all places of this type, particularly when they are marked pp or dolcissimo,
Chopin took into consideration the use of left pedal.
ClOSiNG reMArKS
We may hazard the thesis that pianists attach too little importance to Chopin’s
authentic markings in this area, dismissing the problem with arguments about
the supposed dependence of pedalling on the individual features of the piano,
the hall’s acoustics and other factors. Generally speaking, these arguments are
of dubious value, since at best they might justify modifications to certain details
of Chopin’s pedalling, but not the disregarding of its core principles.
By way of summary, set out below are a few statements defining the desir-
able attitude on the part of the present-day pianist to Chopin’s pedal markings:
1. Chopin’s pedalling is an integral part of the authentic text of his works. To
put it humorously: in writing pedal markings, Chopin didn’t stop being a genius.
63
From a letter to Jan Matuszyński in Warsaw, Vienna, 26 and 29 December 1830.
103
PIaNISTIC ISSUES
2. Care should be taken to arrive at a proper interpretation of Chopin’s

pedalling, together with any additional ‘harmonic legato’. The pianist should
also remember about the various shades of meaning to the pedal release sign,
which may indicate either the pedal’s actual release or merely its change, and
the movement of the foot can be quick (see below, end of point 4), made at
normal speed, or ‘soft’, gradual, giving a different sound in each case.
3. Pedal markings indicate both the movement of the pedal lever and the
intended acoustic effect. If — due to various factors — the effect obtained by em-
ploying Chopin’s pedalling is not satisfactory, the movements of the foot operating
the pedal may be modified. The possibilities here include using half-pedal, and so
a shallower depression, and not raising the foot entirely when the pedal is
changed. however, this effect generally requires prior knowledge of the func-
tioning of the pedal in a particular instrument.
4. Where it is justified, the middle pedal (sostenuto) may be used, as in the
ending of the Mazurka in A minor, Ne 42 A, where Chopin gives only one sign
at the beginning of bar 125, doubtless intending the pedal to be left until
the end of the work. On modern pianos, such a pedalling does not sound good,
but with the use of the sostenuto pedal the intended effect can be obtained:
The third pedal may also be used — as one of the possible solutions — in the
Ballade in Ab, Op. 47, bars 9–10; the relevant proposition is written beneath
the authentic pedalling:
in the Ballade, an alternative to the sostenuto pedal might be a very rapid

change of the right pedal, as a result of which the bass octave will not be muffled.
104
F. The many layers of Chopin’s music
15. POlyPhONy
In none of Chopin’s works intended for publication is the basic means of ex-
pression polyphonic texture. The Fugue in A minor was solely an autodidactic
exercise, one of those pieces which, with his dying wish, Chopin certainly in-
cluded in the group meant for burning. yet it remains proof of Chopin’s interest
in the art of polyphony, on a par with the copies he made of Cherubini canons
and his reading of the same composer’s counterpoint handbook:
Cherubini’s traité […] du contrepoint […] send without fail.64
Chopin was perfectly familiar with Johann Sebastian Bach’s Wohltemperiertes

klavier, to which he always willingly returned:
in my idleness, i’m correcting for myself Bach’s Paris edition, not just of the
engraver’s errors, but of errors accredited by those who supposedly understand
Bach (not with the pretence of understanding him any better, but in the belief that
I’ll sometimes guess right).65
Friederike Müller-Streicher recalls:
One morning he played from memory fourteen Preludes and Fugues of Bach’s,
and when i expressed my joyful admiration at this unparalleled performance, he
replied ‘Cela ne s’oublie jamais’ [That, one never forgets].66
64
From a letter to Julian Fontana in Paris, Nohant, 1841.
65
From a letter to Julian Fontana in Paris, Nohant, summer 1839.
66
F. Niecks, op. cit.
105
THE MaNY laYERS OF CHOPIN’S MUSIC
it is a peculiarity of the Chopin oeuvre that we find the greatest amount of

quasi-polyphonic phenomena and of strict polyphony in the Mazurkas:
Mazurka in C# minor, Op. 50 No. 3:
Mazurka in C, Op. 56 No. 2, bars 53–68 (a few exemplary bars):
Mazurka in F# minor, Op. 59 No. 3, bars 97–102:
106
POlYPHONY
We find an extraordinary example of polyphony in a copy of the Waltz in

A minor, Op. 34 No. 2 belonging to Chopin’s pupil Camille O’Méara-Dubois.
Written in bars 121–136 above the rh part is an additional voice imitating the
melody of this part of the Waltz, probably improvised by Chopin during a lesson.
We can only regret that the two melodic lines are too far apart for one pianist
to perform adroitly.
Of course, polyphony is not confined to imitation techniques. One may cite

here beautiful examples of dialogues between bass and soprano:
Polonaise in C# minor, Op. 26 No. 1, bars 54–57:
Polonaise-Fantasy in Ab, Op. 61, bars 168–172:
107
Chopin’s later work (from more or less Op. 50 onwards) displays his generally
increased interest in enriching texture with polyphonic elements. They serve to
heighten expression, add variety to the emotional narrative and strengthen the
logic to the development of a phrase. Chopin’s polyphony is more a means of
expression than a principle of design.
What conclusions arise from this for performers? Well, it is good to be
sensitive to the quasi-polyphonic strands that are occasionally plaited into the
most diverse types of texture. Dialoguing voices should be subtly emphasised
with a slightly deeper tone, particularly when they contain characteristic melodic
phrases, ornamental groups, and longer and accented notes. yet remembering
about the subordinate role of Chopin’s polyphony in relation to expression, one
must be decidedly wary of an exaggerated, artificial ‘bringing-out of voices’.
One may gauge the weight that Chopin attached to developing and reinforcing
polyphonic thinking in the pianist from an instruction he gave to one of his best
pupils (Camille O’Méara-Dubois) during their last meeting in 1848. it is quoted
by Frederick Niecks in his biography of the composer:
Madame Dubois told me that […] [Chopin] recommended her ‘de toujours travailler
Bach,’ adding that that was the best means of making progress.67
16. POlyrhyThM AND POlyMeTre
Polyrhythm and polymetre are striking means for ensuring the independence of
tonal plans whilst maintaining the regularity to the flow of each of them. Poly-
rhythm appears rather seldom in Chopin, but it is not an exceptional phenom-
enon. There are no examples of polymetre in works published by the composer,
but they do appear in the autograph of one of his works not intended for print.
POlyrhyThM
Polyrhythm is a design principle of a whole piece or a substantial section in just

a handful of works, generally in connection with their didactic intention.
The combining of quaver triplets with pairs of quavers underlies the regular
rhythmic flow of the etude in Ab, Dbop. 36 No. 2:
67
F. Niecks, op. cit.
108
POlYRHYTHM aND POlYMETRE
The combining of groups of four semiquavers with quaver triplets occurs in

the Impromptu in C# minor, Ne 46, e.g. bars 5–6:
in the etude in F minor, Dbop. 36 No. 1, the triplets of the melody are presented
against the accompaniment’s quavers grouped into fours:
An unusual instance of polyrhythm is formed by the etude in F minor,

Op. 25 No. 2, in which sextuplets of quavers in the rh (grouped into threes)
are combined with crotchet triplets in the lh:
The subtle charm of this idea — but also the difficulty with its execution —
lies in the fact that there is ostensibly no polyrhythm here, since the lh notes
correspond to every other rh note, with the result that one sometimes hears
this Etude wrongly performed in the following way:
109
A correct rendition must be based on consolidated thinking in terms of

quaver triplets in the rh (in accordance with the original notation), manifest in
the delicate accentuation of the first notes of each of the triplets. This gives
a slight, but tangible, pulsation of ‘ordinary’ crotchets in the rh, polyrhythmically
set against the triplets of the lh:
Considerably more numerous are examples of polyrhythm occurring over

shorter segments. We find semiquavers against a background of quaver triplets
in a work by the eleven-year-old Fryderyk: the Polonaise in Ab, Ne 3, bar 45:
Among other such examples, given below is a selection of the more rarely
encountered combinations:
Ballade in G minor, Op. 23, bars 170–172, quintuplets in the rh, six-note groups
in the lh:
Nocturne in Db, Op. 27 No. 2, bar 75, septuplets against ‘sixes’:
110
POlYRHYTHM aND POlYMETRE
Ballade in F minor, Op. 52, bars 175–176, a unique example of double poly-
rhythm:
— semiquaver triplets in the rh are set against ordinary semiquavers in the lh,
— 9 rhythmic values (marked by Chopin as quavers) form a melody educed
from the rh figuration, against 4 groups in the accompaniment:
in the Concerto in e minor, Op. 11, movt i, bar 603, we find a combination
of quintuplets and triplets set against a pair of quavers; the first two groups
must be played with one hand:
. The solution proposed in the Performance Commentary
to that bar enables the pianist to approach a strict rhythmic division relatively
easily: . An identical combination of rhythms occurs in the Fan-
tasia, Op. 13, bar 159.

The execution of polyrhythm becomes more difficult when one of the voices
contains different rhythmic values, as in the impromptu in F#, Op. 36, bar 57
(a quaver quintuplet set against two rhythmic figures ):
111
The above combination of rhythms can be reduced — with practically no

detriment to the flow of the music — to a rhythmically simplified configuration:
Simplifications of this kind are possible also in several other situations, as is

suggested in the performance commentaries of the relevant volumes.
POlyMeTre
The only known example of polymetre in Chopin is the middle section of the
earlier version of the lento con gran espressione, Ne 37. The rh part in bars
21–22, 25–26 (reminiscences from the Concerto in F minor, Op. 21, movt iii)
and 30–32 (a reminiscence from the song ‘Życzenie’) is notated in the autograph
in 3/4, in accordance with the metre of the compositions from which Chopin
was quoting. At the same time, the lh accompaniment remains in the constant
metre that reigns throughout the first section of the lento:
in the later version of that work, sent by Chopin to his sister ludwika, the
rh rhythm in the above fragments was modified in such a way as to embed
the quoted phrases in a natural way into the metre of the accompaniment:
Was this motivated solely by a wish to make the work easier, with his sister’s
pianistic capabilities — incomparable with his own — in mind? This assumption
seems justified: although mathematically three rh quavers correspond to two in
the lh, the rh quavers come in even-numbered groups, which, together with
112
THE ‘POlYaUTHENTICITY’ OF CHOPIN’S TEXT — VaRIaNTS
the heterogeneous rhythm of the melody (the presence of crotchets), makes the
execution of the original polyrhythm by no means easy.68
SuGGeSTiONS FOr PerFOrMANCe
The difficulty with some of the combinations cited above lies most often not in
achieving the correct synchronisation, but in maintaining a smooth but distinctive
shape to the phrases and motives that contain them. When playing individual
irregular groupings (triplets, quintuplets, etc.), it is worth remembering as well
that they often appear in tandem with heightened expression, and the precision
and naturalness of the rhythm are not the only means for achieving the right
expression.
in general, no great difficulties are presented by the execution of homo-
geneous polyrhythmic combinations. Good results are given by a conception
in which the basic point of reference is the left hand; then the right hand is
superimposed upon the left in our imagination before a specific realisation of
the rh part is placed upon this foundation.
17. The ‘POlyAuTheNTiCiTy’ OF ChOPiN’S TeXT — VAriANTS
‘Varietas delectat’69
Phædrus from Euripides’ Orestes
‘[Chopin] noted important little variants’

Wilhelm von lenz, a pupil of Chopin
Anyone opening a few volumes of the National Edition for the first time might
be struck by the relatively numerous variants placed above or below the staves
of the main text, and occasionally at the bottom of the page. Only some of
these minor variants of the text are the result of difficulty with interpreting the
authentic notation. Most of them derive from one special feature of Chopin’s
creative thinking, involving, on one hand, a wealth of invention, suggesting var-
ious solutions for certain fragments and, on the other, indecision regarding the
choice of just a single version. This feature, which might be called ‘variance’,
68
The relationship between the two versions is discussed in slightly greater depth in the
source commentary of the volume Various Works (29 B V).
69
‘Variety delights’.
113
manifested itself even after a work was finished and published: teaching scores
contain many variants of this sort, often of an ornamental character, written by
Chopin for his pupils during lessons.
relatively few in number, meanwhile, are instances where the whole of a work
has been preserved in more than one version displaying a comparable degree
of polishing. in such situations, those alternative versions are included in the
National Edition. This concerns series B in particular, in which there are some
compositions for which we have several sources written originally by Chopin at
different times without comparing them with one another, displaying no evidence
of having been meticulously prepared by him. in series A, the only work with
two authentic versions is the Polonaise in A, Op. 40 No. 1.
A separate mention is due to the Nocturne in Eb, Op. 9 No. 2. The version
with variants given in our edition as the second version is not — strictly speak-
ing — a source version, but only an editorial solution aimed at presenting in
a legible and practical form all the variants — exceptionally numerous in this
Nocturne — that Chopin wrote into his pupils’ scores.
This is not the place for a meticulous analysis of Chopin’s variance.70 From
the point of view of the performer using the National Edition, the variants and
alternative versions of whole works are a fact to which some reference must
be made. Consequently, a few hints are given below:
1. Pianists seeking a single, most secure, version should perform the text
given on the principal staves, including all the notes and other markings given
in brackets. When a work as a whole has two or three versions, it is the first
version, marked with the letter ‘a’, that is recommended.
2. Pianists deciding to look through the variants may then choose from them
at will, guided by their artistic sensibilities. in respect to the sources, some
combinations of variants are inadmissible, and this is always signalled in a foot-
note; these restrictions should be respected unconditionally. Designations such
as ‘original version’, ‘admissible variant’ and ‘variant of uncertain authenticity’,
meanwhile, inform pianists about certain source-related aspects of a given variant,
which may or may not be taken into consideration when choosing a version.
3. in the case of some variants, performers may master both versions —
the main text and the variant — and choose between them in performance, as
if improvising. This way of employing variants is the closest to Chopin, yet it
requires considerable concert experience.
70
Many aspects of ‘variance’ are discussed in the first part of the Introduction, in the chapters
‘The type of Chopin’s inventiveness’ and ‘Variants’.
114
nú3 ª úª búª
THE #Ï‘POlYaUTHENTICITY’ OF CHOPIN’S
3
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TEXT
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of series B
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contain versions of some works that are clearly less polished or unlikely to be
233
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J 2, bars 319–320, Ï . .
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B ## J ä ä ÏJ ÏJ ä ÏJ Ï
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con forza 2
etc.
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To close, a few examples of variants which, in the editors’ opinion, are attract-
ive on account of the equally high artistic value of the two alternative versions.
Ballade in F, Op. 38, bars 202–204:
115
Mazurka in Bb, Op. 7 No. 1, bars 56–58:
Several other examples have already appeared in the first chapter of this
part of the Introduction; see pp. 16–19. All of them are designed to encourage
readers to seek for themselves in the volumes of the Ne interesting, and often
unfamiliar, variants of Chopin’s music.
116
G. The performance of works
for piano and orchestra
18. DiFFereNT VerSiONS OF CONCerT WOrKS
The MAiN VerSiON — WiTh OrCheSTrA
Both the two Concertos (Opp. 11 and 21) and also the four other concert works
(Variations in Bb, Op. 2, Fantasia on Polish airs, Op. 13, krakowiak, Op. 14
and Grande Polonaise in Eb, Op. 22) usually have on the title pages of their
autograph fair copies and first editions the subtitle pour le piano-forté avec
accompagnement d’orchestre, which indicates unequivocally that they were
essentially intended to be performed by solo piano and accompanying orchestra.
Chopin himself performed in that way five of the works listed above (Opp. 2–21),
sometimes — in the case of the concertos — only some movements.
During Chopin’s lifetime, the orchestra part was published solely in the form
of separate instrumental scores. The extant manuscript sources suggest that al-
ready those first printed parts did not always strictly transmit Chopin’s intentions.
Full scores were not published until the second half of the nineteenth century;
already the earliest of them departed somewhat from the versions of the parts
of the first editions, and further changes were made in subsequent editions. in
our edition, we reconstruct — correcting errors as far as possible — their original
form, in keeping with the composer’s intentions.
A special case here is that of the two largest works: the Concertos. Meticulous
analysis of all the available sources of the orchestra part convinced me that the
universally familiar version of the orchestra part may even depart from Chopin’s
intentions to a considerable extent. That induced me to attempt a reconstruction.
in this way, in the Ne, the score of each of the Concertos has two versions:
— the ‘historical’ version, which transmits what Chopin agreed to have published,
and
117
THE PERFORMaNCE OF WORkS FOR PIaNO aND ORCHESTRa
— a ‘concert’ version, reconstructing what — it would appear — Chopin wanted

to hear.71
regardless of the difficulty with establishing the text of the orchestra part,
in romantic music practice it was not always possible (e.g. when performing
in drawing-rooms) to assemble a complete large-scale performance apparatus.
hence the recourse to various kinds of reduction of the accompaniment part,
so that listeners might enjoy hearing the sound of works they liked even when
having very limited performance possibilities at their disposal.
ChAMBer VerSiON
The first degree of reduction consisted in performances with chamber forces:

piano and — depending on the possibilities — string quartet or quintet, and
occasionally just a trio. Traces of this kind of practice have been preserved in the
composer’s correspondence and in other accounts. Chopin wrote the following
to Tytus Woyciechowski:72
you should know that Kessler hosts little musical gatherings every Friday [...]. last
Friday, there was ries’s Concerto in C# minor with quartet.
A little-known, but valuable, piece of information regarding music-making of

this kind has been provided for us by Jean-Jacques Eigeldinger.73 It concerns
elise Peruzzi, a pupil of Chopin whom he held in high regard on account of
her musical and pianistic talent. in her Paris salon, Peruzzi organised private
musical matinees, where the works performed included both Chopin’s Con-
certos, as we learn from mentions in the Revue et Gazette musicale de Paris of
29 January 1843 (Op. 21) and 21 April 1844 (Op. 11). unfortunately, those
texts do not tell us in what version those works were performed there, but an
account from another performance given by Peruzzi, published in l’artiste of
11 February 1842, probably refers to a chamber rendition of one of the Concertos:
‘A quartet [!] by Chopin was performed admirably at the piano by Mrs Peruzzi,
accompanied by three of our best artists’, presumably comprising a string trio,
accompanying the soloist.
On the threshold of the twenty-first century, interest in such performances
of the concertos grew considerably. Due to the lack of an authentic text of any
71
For an extensive discussion of this issue, see the commentaries to the volumes containing
the scores of the concertos (18 A XVb, 21 A XVe, 33 B VIIIa and 34 B VIIIb).
72
letter of 20 October 1829.
73
J.-J. eigeldinger, Chopin vu par ses élèves, 4th edn (Paris, 2006); this passage is not given
in the published English translation of this book and is translated here from the French (tr. note).
118
DIFFERENT VERSIONS OF CONCERT WORkS
of Chopin’s concert works prepared by him in such a version, transcriptions of

various calibre have been produced, most often based on the published — and
so, as already mentioned, not wholly reliable — scores of the Concertos. The
NE editors are considering preparing a chamber version of the accompaniment
of the concertos in the form of additional volumes in series B.
VerSiON WiTh SeCOND PiANO
Another way of reducing the orchestral accompaniment was the piano score:
thus a work for piano and orchestra was performed on two pianos. This version
was employed in Chopin’s day primarily during lessons, but also in more low-key
public performances. So the situation was not much different from present-day
practice. here is Wilhelm von lenz’s description of part of a lesson with Chopin,
in which his brilliant pupil Carl Filtsch was playing the first movement of the
Concerto in e minor, Op. 11:
Chopin said, ‘Now this movement is sufficiently “in place” for us to play it: i’ll be
your orchestra’ […] With his incomparable way of accompanying, Chopin evoked
all the ingenious and elusive qualities of the orchestration. He played from memory.
i have never heard anything comparable to that first tutti as he played it himself
at the piano. As for the lad [Filtsch], he worked marvels. it was the experience
of a lifetime.74
And here is an extract from the memoirs of Friederike Müller-Streicher,75 in

which Chopin again appears in the role of accompanist in one of the movements
of his Concerto (Op. 21), this time during his pupil’s public performance:
[...] at a soirée (Dec. 20, 1840) [...] he played with me the andante of his
F minor Concerto, which he accompanied magnificently on the second piano.
Chopin employed this version for notating his concert works during the
initial stages of their composition, as we can see from the extant sketches of
bars 34–35 of the Fantasia, Op. 13 and bar 225 of the Concerto in F minor,
Op. 21, movt i.
As with the chamber versions, we have no authentic sources for the whole
text of a reduced orchestra part at our disposal. yet this situation is much more
advantageous, since piano reductions of all the tutti parts were included by
Chopin in the version for one piano. As regards the accompaniment parts, only
74
Wilhelm von lenz, ‘uebersichtliche Beurtheilung der Pianoforte-Kompositionen von Chopin’,
Neue Berliner Musikzeitung, 4 September 1872; as translated in J.-J. eigeldinger, op. cit.
75
F. Niecks, op. cit.
119
THE PERFORMaNCE OF WORkS FOR PIaNO aND ORCHESTRa
reductions produced by composer-friends of Chopin have come down to us: movts

ii and iii of the Concerto in e minor, Op. 11, prepared by Auguste Franchomme,
and movts ii and iii of the Concerto in F minor, Op. 21, by Julian Fontana.
VerSiON FOr ONe PiANO
Finally, in the most radically reduced version, one pianist would play everything,
and so both the solo part and also the reduction of the accompaniment. In all
his works with orchestra, Chopin prepared the piano part in a way that made
just such a performance possible: the solo piano is given in normal type, the
tutti and some cues for orchestra instruments in smaller type. This was not
only an editorial convention, as is attested by the printed auctorial variants for
use ‘when performing without accompaniment’ that appear in smaller concert
works by Chopin (Opp. 2 and 14) and the composer’s handwritten inscription in
a teaching score of the Concerto in F minor, Op. 21 also containing a variant
of this type (lh harmonic accompaniment played with the recitative in movt ii,
bars 45–72).76 It cannot be excluded that Chopin himself performed the Concerto
in E minor in a version for one piano in public.
This kind of performance of concert works is also gaining increasing popularity
on concert platforms in our times, and in the case of the Grand Polonaise in Eb,
Op. 22 it has long since been the basic mode of performance.
in contemporary musicological literature, we sometimes read about performing
the concertos ‘à la sonate’. i am not convinced of the aptness of this term, as it
presupposes — at least within particular movements of a concerto — a uniformity
to the realisation of the sound. A rendition ‘à la piano avec orchestre’ suggests
a clear distinction between the planes of the solo instrument and the orchestral
reduction in the whole wealth of orchestral timbres that it is possible to imitate
on the piano. This concerns, moreover, not just the sound, but also the tempo,
which the soloist always shapes slightly more flexibly than the orchestra. For
that reason, performing a concerto in a version for one piano represents quite
a challenge for pianists: they must assume two roles: soloist and conductor.
The difficulty with such a rendition is compounded by the modern convention
in concert renditions of solo repertoire from memory, which demands that the
pianist master the text of two different versions of the work, one of which — the
concert version, with orchestra — has usually been assimilated earlier.
76
All these variants appear in places where the two hands of the solo part are led in paral-
lel (at the distance of an octave or two). When playing the version for one piano, the pianist
would play the top line — the original rh part — and a variant of the lh part containing the
harmonic ground.
120
H. General issues
19. iSSueS relATiNG TO eXPreSSiON
[Music is]
‘The manifestation of our feelings through sounds’.
‘The expression of our thought through sounds’.
F. Chopin, sketches for a piano-playing Method
‘Music is the art of thinking with sounds’.

Jules Combarieu
Many of Chopin’s listeners saw the origins of the incredible impression made
by his music as lying in its naturalness and sincerity of expression.
[listening to Chopin] One never thought of ‘execution’, though that was marvellous.
it seemed to come from the depths of a heart, and it struck the hearts of listeners.77
it’s truly sublime; every note has a value, an idea which [Chopin] knows how to
convey perfectly. […] every sound goes straight to the heart.78
One of the sources of that naturalness and immediacy was Chopin’s under-
standing of music as a kind of speech:
We use sounds to make music just as we use words to make a language.79
The master’s playing was characterised in the same spirit by his pupil Karol
Mikuli:
77
From a letter sent by an anonymous female listener to James Cuthbert hadden, quoted
in J.-J. eigeldinger, op. cit.
78
From a letter sent by elizavieta Cheriemietieff to her mother, Paris, 11 November 1842;
as translated in eigeldinger, op. cit.
79
Chopin, sketches for a piano-playing Method.
121
GENERal ISSUES
under his fingers each musical phrase sounded like song, and with such clarity
that each note took the meaning of a syllable, each bar that of a word, each
phrase that of a thought. It was a declamation without pathos; but both simple
and noble [schlicht und gross].80
however, in order for the musical communication to be clear, the performer

ought to speak in a language that he knows. let us summon Mikuli again, who
in the foreword to his edition of Chopin’s works81 quotes a comparison readily
used by the composer:
On the subject of bad phrasing, [Chopin] often repeated the apt observation that
it seemed to him as if someone were reciting a speech in a language he didn’t
know, a speech laboriously memorized by rote, in which the reciter not only did
not observe the natural length of the syllables but would even make stops in the
middle of individual words. The pseudo musician who phrased badly revealed in
a similar way that music was not his native language but rather something strange
and incomprehensible.
Jan Kleczyński, familiar with Chopin’s opinions from accounts given by

his outstanding pupils, above all Princess Marcelina Czartoryska and Camille
O’Méara-Dubois, gives the following vade mecum for natural musical expression
and declamation:
We will here mention the chief practical directions as to expression which Chopin
often repeated to his pupils: ‘A long note is stronger, as is also a high note.
A dissonant is likewise stronger, and equally so a syncope. The ending of a phrase,
before a comma, or a stop, is always weak. if the melody ascends, one plays
crescendo, if it descends, decrescendo. Moreover, notice must be taken of natural
accents. For instance, in a bar of two, the first note is strong, the second weak,
in a bar of three the first strong and the two others weak. To the smaller parts
of the bar the same direction will apply. Such then are the rules: the exceptions
are always indicated by the authors.82
80
Quoted by raoul Koczalski, op. cit.; as translated in J.-J. eigeldinger, op. cit.
81
K. Mikuli, op. cit.
82
Jean Kleczynski [Jan Kleczyński], Chopin’s Greater Works, tr. Natalie Janotha (london,
n.d.).
122
PROGRaMME
VerBAl MArKiNGS
As already mentioned in the chapter on tempo markings, in works that he pre-

pared for publication, Chopin used italian markings alone.83 Nowadays, most of
these belong to the canon of basic musical terms, and so there is usually no
difficulty in understanding and interpreting them correctly. Consequently, i shall
limit myself here to drawing attention to the expression con anima — literally
‘with soul’, ‘with life’ — used on more than one occasion by Chopin, which may
also be rendered as ‘assuredly, with fantasy’, and which, due to the similarity of
the words, is often confused with animato (‘with animation’).
Occasionally, Chopin also turned to rarer words, and to close this chapter i
would like to present a few of those original markings, together with proposed
free translations:
— lusingando e leggiero in the Rondo à la mazur, Op. 5, bar 53 — ‘with light
coquetry’,
— andante spianato from Op. 22 — ‘wandering over a plain’; it is interesting
to compare this marking with the picture conjured up in the imagination of
Felix Mendelssohn by Chopin’s rendition of this work:
a vision […] of a garden peopled by beings walking in silence amidst fountains

and strange birds.84
— dolce sfogato in the Barcarolle, Op. 60, bar 78 — ‘with gentle surfacing’;
this indication gains a special suggestiveness when we consider that the
Barcarolle is one of Chopin’s last works, from a period when he gave verbal
markings very sparingly.
20. PrOGrAMMe
Chopin bore in his heart an unuttered ideal of pure, self-sufficient music; music
that — when well performed — would create an impression on the listener without
the crutch of any depictive title, motto or commentary. This is testified by the
lack of such elements in his works, which he furnished solely with conventional
titles designating their form or genre (‘ballade’ is the most ‘atmospheric’ title in
83
The French term naïvement, written into the autograph of the Mazurka in C#, Op. 6
No. 2, bar 32, was replaced in the printed version by the italian gajo. Naïvement also appears
in ‘Gdzie lubi’, Ne 22, bar 25.
84
robert Schumann, Erinnerungen an Felix Mendelssohn Bartholdy, ed. Georg eismann
(Zwickau, 1947); as translated in J.-J. eigeldinger, op. cit.
123
GENERal ISSUES
the Chopin repertoire). Chopin bridled at his english publisher, Christian rudolf
Wessel, arbitrarily giving pretentious titles to his works, undoubtedly in line with
the prevailing fashion on the music market at the time:
As for Wessel, he’s a dolt, a cheat [...] if he has lost out on my compositions,
then it is doubtless on account of the stupid titles that he gave them in spite of
my injunction and in spite of the repeated chiding on the part of Mr Stapleton
[Wessel’s partner].85
Chopin’s sole programmatic title, Berceuse, Op. 57 (‘lullaby’), is the typical

exception that confirms the rule: initially, in a letter to one of his publishers,
Chopin offered this composition under the title Variants. We do not know why
he changed his mind, but we may assume that he did so at someone’s —
rather felicitous — prompting. We encounter a reverse switch, in keeping with
his principal stance, in the case of the famous Funeral March (Marche funèbre)
from the Sonata in Bb minor, Op. 35. Chopin took advantage of the opportunity
presented to him by the repeated proofreading of the first French edition of the
Sonata to remove the designation funèbre from the March’s title.
Finally, his reaction to an enthusiastic, but overly literal in his eyes, review of
the Variations, Op. 2 on a theme from Don Giovanni is most telling. In a letter
to a friend, he did not spare the reviewer, despite being genuinely amused by
his ideas:86
The Variations in Bb major, for which i received a few days ago from Kassel, from
a certain German, enthused with these Variations, a ten-page review, where, after
a vast preamble he sets about dissecting them bar by bar. He explains that they
are not like every other set of variations, but that it is some fantastical tableau.
Of the second Variation, he says that Don Juan is running with leporello, of the
3rd that he’s squeezing Zerlina and that Masetto in the left hand is angry, of the
5th bar of the Adagio he declares that Don Juan is kissing Zerlina in Db major.
Plater asked me yesterday where she’s got that Db major, and so on. One could
die from the German’s imagination […] rather than clever, it’s very stupid.
These observations allow us to state that Chopin did not like excessively
literal illustration in music, and above all he did not wish to impose upon his
works any fixed, inseparable extra-musical associations. That does not mean,
however, that he did not sometimes have such inspirations, particularly in relation
to conveying specific sentiment or atmosphere:
85
From a letter to Julian Fontana in Paris, Nohant, 9 October 1841.
86
From a letter to Tytus Woyciechowski in Poturzyn, Paris, 12 December 1831.
124
PROGRaMME
i already have, perhaps to my misfortune, my ideal, whom i faithfully serve, not

having talked with her for half a year, whom i dream of, to whose memory i wrote
the Adagio from my Concerto87
They vouch […] that the day after a visit to the theatre for a performance of
Hamlet, he wrote the Nocturne, Op. 15 No. 3 and gave it the inscription ‘at the
cemetery’, but when it was to go to print he effaced the inscription, saying ‘let
them guess for themselves!’88
In the autograph of the song ‘Wojak’, we even find in the ending of the work
a kind of illustrative commentary: under the lower stave of bars 62–64, Chopin
wrote ‘patata patata patata poleciał’ (‘clippety clippety clop, he’s flown’), and so
that fragment is intended to depict a horseman riding away:
This song, although popular among the composer’s friends, was never desig-
nated for publication.
In Histoire de ma vie, George Sand describes the following scene:
There is one [Prelude] that came to him on a gloomy, rainy evening, which makes
the soul frightfully despondent. [...] when i had him listen to the drops of water
falling rhythmically on the roof, he denied having heard them. he was even angry
at what i translated by the expression ‘imitative harmony.’ [...] his composition that
evening was certainly full of raindrops resonating on the tiles of the monastery,
but they were perhaps translated in his imagination and in his music into tears
from heaven falling on his heart.89
This recollection shows us on one hand the source of Chopin’s inspiration but
on the other his reluctance to reveal it, motivated by the intimacy and complexity
of the inner experiences associated with it. Chopin lends a distinctly pejorative
connotation to the term ‘imitative harmony’.
87
From a letter to Tytus Woyciechowski in Poturzyn, Warsaw, 3 October 1829.
88
M. A. Szulc ‘Zbiór wiadomości i uzupełnień dotyczących życia i utworów Fryderyka
Szopena’ [Collected information and addenda concerning the life and works of Fryderyk Chopin],
Echo muzyczne, 1880.
89
George Sand, Story of My life, group tr., ed. Thelma Jurgrau (Albany, 1991).
125
GENERal ISSUES
Finally, we have evidence that in his teaching work Chopin occasionally had
recourse to extra-musical images to explain to a pupil the correct interpretation
of the sense of his music. here are two examples, relating to the etude in Ab,
Op. 25 No. 1 and the Nocturne in F# minor, Op. 48 No. 2 respectively:
It is said that Chopin explained to one of his pupils the manner in which this study
should be executed. ‘imagine,’ he said, ‘a little shepherd who takes refuge in
a peaceful grotto from approaching storm. In the distance rushes the wind and
the rain, while the shepherd gently plays a melody on his flute’.90
When Guttmann studied the F# minor nocturne with Chopin, the master told him
that the middle section (the Molto più lento, in Db major) should be played as
a recitative: ‘A tyrant commands’ (the first two chords), he said, ‘and the other
asks for mercy.’91
He also received associations put forward by others — insofar as they were

not contrary to his perception of the music — with understanding, and even
satisfaction:
even in Chopin’s presence we called it [Mazurka, Op. 17 No. 4] ‘the mourner’s

face’ [das Trauergesicht] — [Chopin] was quite happy about this name.92
As we can see, Chopin avoided revealing the sources of his inspiration,

but he did willingly draw on depictive, emotional or other parallels in order to
stimulate his pupils’ imagination.
We may also advance the hypothesis that Chopin felt that an open programme
curbed the listener’s imagination, narrowing the scope of the music’s effect to
the suggestion contained in the programme. Thus the avoidance of programme
would be aimed at strengthening the effect of the music, which in listeners’ minds
could stir various associations, which were familiar and close to them alone.
When we consider how often Chopin has been dubbed the poet of the piano
and what grandiloquent terms his listeners sometimes used to describe their
impressions, we can assert that his aim was achieved: his music did not need
programmes in order to be deeply felt. As our last testimony, we might invoke
an unquestionable parallel between the image that Chopin — according to his
own words — wrote into the second movement of his Concerto in e minor,
Op. 11 and that which hector Berlioz received on listening to it:
90
Passed on by Jean Kleczynski [Jan Kleczyński] in Chopin’s Greatest Works.
91
F. Niecks, op. cit.
92
W. von lenz, ‘uebersichtliche Beurtheilung...’; as translated in J.-J. eigeldinger: op. cit.
126
PROGRaMME
The Adagio for the new concerto is in E major. It is not intended to be power-
ful, it is more romance-like, calm, melancholy; it should give the impression of
a pleasant glance at a place where a thousand fond memories come to mind. It
is a kind of meditation on the beautiful springtime, yet to moonlight.93
That ravishing composition, where the most absorbing grace is allied to the
most profound and most religious of thoughts, plunged the auditorium into
a sort of calm and ecstatic joy [...] Thus, after having followed the harmonious
dwindling of the half-tints of an evening twilight, one dwells motionless in the
darkness, eyes fixed unerringly at the point on the horizon where the light has
just disappeared.94
PerFOrMANCe SuGGeSTiONS
let us not seek extra-musical associations by force when performing the works of
Chopin, but at the same time let us not eschew those which present themselves
spontaneously, helping us to fathom the substance of the music. An image or
a scene, be it real or imagined, can make it easier to sense the meaning of the
music and at times can even lead us to discover crucial inner, and so musical,
connections in a work — its peculiar logic.
By way of exemplifying this phenomenon, i shall quote an example taken
from personal experience. The interaction of three elements — musical, pic-
torial and literary — enabled me to feel my way into the atmosphere of one of
Chopin’s masterpieces, the Polonaise-Fantasy, Op. 61. Those three elements
were as follows:
— the musical ‘narrative’ of the Polonaise-Fantasy,
— Jan Mateyko’s painting Wernyhora at the National Museum in Cracow,
— a passage from one of Chopin’s last letters to Fontana.
A feature that all these three elements have in common, in my opinion, is their
visionary character: from the remotest past to the distant future. It can be found:
— in the tonal conception of the Polonaise-Fantasy, especially when we consider
that this work originally (in sketched form) began in C minor, not Ab minor.
As much as the ultimate key of the opening reaches back further (at least as
i sense it), so Ab minor corresponds more strongly with the prophetic vision
of the ending in Chopin’s favourite key of Ab major.
— in the content and the context of Matejko’s painting: the legendary Cossack
lyrist Wernyhora reveals to the Poles their past and prophesies their future.
93
From a letter to Tytus Woyciechowski in Poturzyn, Warsaw, 15 May 1830.
94
hector Berlioz, le Rénovateur, 5 January 1835.
127
GENERal ISSUES
Jan Matejko Wernyhora (National Museum in Cracow)
128
POlISHNESS IN THE PERFORMaNCE OF CHOPIN’S WORkS
The propheticism of this figure is emphasised by Wernyhora’s head, shown

against the background of the setting sun, and his extended arm, as if pointing
to the future.
— in the hope for the regaining of independence expressed in the letter, awoken
by the revolutionary moods of 1848:
terrible things are sure to occur, but at the end of it all there is Poland, magnifi-
cent, great, in a word: Poland.95
21. POliShNeSS iN The PerFOrMANCe OF ChOPiN’S WOrKS
‘you know how much i wanted to feel,

and in part succeeded in feeling,
our national music’
Chopin, from a letter to a friend
‘And there was in it Poland,

taken with a rainbow of wonder
from the zenith of history’s omniperfection –[...]
(I would recognise it at the ends of existence!...)’
Cyprian Kamil Norwid, ‘Fortepian Chopina’ [Chopin’s piano]
‘as if Chopin had wished to make his countrymen

pardon him the French origin of his family, he
showed himself more Polish than Poland.’
louis Énault, Frédéric Chopin96
‘Chopin was the only political pianist.

he interpreted Poland, he composed Poland!’.
Wilhelm von lenz, a pupil of Chopin97
Today, no one questions the Polishness that pervades Chopin’s works. Born
in a village not far from Warsaw, the years of his childhood and early youth
were divided between the capital and its surrounding area — Mazovia. During
the summer holidays spent in the country, he listened with delight to the songs
of rural Poland. he spent almost half his life abroad, but he always dreamed
95
From a letter to Julian Fontana in New york, Paris, 4 April 1848.
96
Paris, 1856; as translated in F. Niecks, op. cit.
97
W. von lenz, Die grossen..., op. cit.
129
GENERal ISSUES
of returning home. in 1837, he wrote to Teresa Wodzińska, the mother of his

one-time fiancée, Maria:
Today i’d rather be in Służewo than writing to Służewo.
Having played through the allegro de concert from the manuscript to his
physician friend Aleksander hofman, he added:
That is the first piece i’ll play in my first concert in the free Warsaw upon return-
ing home.98
Chopin’s pupil Adolf Gutmann recalled that once, when he was playing for his
teacher the etude in e, Op. 10 No. 3, Chopin raised his folded arms and cried:
O, my homeland!99
As the years passed, his yearning for those he had left behind grew. he
wrote to his family in 1845:
I always have one foot back at home with you
…and two years later:
yesterday […] evening i spent at home, playing and humming airs from back home.100
A year before his death, he complained to a close friend:

And where did I squander my heart? I barely still remember how they sing back
home.101
He began his life’s work with the childhood Polonaise in Bb, written down by
his teacher, Józef elsner, and ended it with a sketch for a Mazurka in F minor,
which his lack of strength prevented him from finishing at the piano. Those two
forms — the most numerous among his larger (Polonaises) and smaller (Ma-
zurkas) works — are always associated with the music of his homeland. Their
inspiration from national and folk dances is an obvious criterion here.
The postulate of Polishness in the performance of Chopin’s music, usually iden-
tified with grasping the characteristic features of the Polonaises and Mazurkas,
can be extended to other criteria as well, more difficult to express in words.
198
M. A. Szulc, op. cit.
199
F. Niecks, op. cit.
100
From letters to his family in Warsaw, Nohant, 18–20 July 1845, and Paris, 28 March–
19 April 1847.
101
From a letter to Wojciech Grzymała in Paris, edinburgh, 30 October 1848.
130
POlISHNESS IN THE PERFORMaNCE OF CHOPIN’S WORkS
The poet Stefan Witwicki, author of the words of most of Chopin’s songs,
wrote the following to the composer on 6 July 1831:
May you just keep in mind the whole time: the national, the national, the national
spirit; [...] The native melody is like the native air [...] The mountains, forests,
waters and meadows have their native, inner voice, though not every soul com-
prehends it. [...] leave imitation to others, let mediocrity occupy them. you be
original, native [...].
karol Mikuli, a pupil of Chopin and editor of a collected edition of his works,
wrote thus in the preface to that edition (1879):
if the Mazurkas and Polonaises, with their national hues inspired by faithful memory
of the beloved fatherland and by lifelong, unrelieved, passionate longing for it, have
a great and unsurpassed charm for Polish hearts, they have also garnered the
warmest appreciation in the whole musical world. Their value bears absolutely no
relation to the narrow frame into which they are compressed. They are brilliantly
executed genre paintings in whose every bar the whole of Polish life pulses with
accents at one moment noble, at the next rapturous or boisterously merry. Proud
of its possession, his fatherland celebrates and loves him and will always count
him among its greatest sons.102
And here are the words of Ignacy Jan Paderewski, from a solemn speech
delivered on the centenary of Chopin’s birth, in which the rhetorical pathos,
appropriate to the exalted moment, envelops some apt observations on the
subject of interest to us here:
No nation in the world has reason to pride itself on greater wealth of mood and
sentiment. [...] yearning maidenhood, grave manhood, tragic and sad old age,
light-hearted, joyful youth; love’s enfolding softness, action’s vigour, valiant and
chivalrous strength — all these are ours, swept together by a wave of lyric instinct.
[...] Change follows change in us almost without transition; we pass from blissful
rapture to sobbing woe; a single step divides our sublimest ecstasies from the
darkest depths of spiritual despondency. We see proof of this in every domain of
our national life [...] Maybe this is only an inherent characteristic; yet when we
come to compare ourselves with other happier and more satisfied races, it strikes
us rather as being a pathological condition; if this be so, it is one which we might
specify, perhaps, as inborn national Arythmia. [...]
102
K. Mikuli, op. cit. Bearing in mind the character of Poles, ‘chivalrous’ might be a slightly
better word than ‘noble’ for the original German ritterlichen, and schwärmerischen could be
rendered as ‘dreamy’ as well as ‘rapturous’.
131
GENERal ISSUES
Not one of those great beings to whom Providence entrusted the revelation of
the Polish soul was able to give such strong expression as Chopin gave to this
Arythmia. Being poets, they were hampered by limiting precision of thought, [...]
But Chopin was a musician; and music alone, perhaps alone his music, could
reveal the fluidity of our feelings, their frequent overflowings towards infinity [...].
This music, tender and tempestuous, tranquil and passionate, heart-reaching,
potent, overwhelming [...], this music bids us hear, know, and realise that our
nation, our land, the whole of Poland, lives, feels, and moves ‘in Tempo rubato’103.
karol Szymanowski wrote in 1923:
The ‘Polishness’ of Chopin’s work is beyond the slightest doubt; yet it does not
reside in his penning of polonaises and mazurkas [...], onto which, on occasion
[...], extraneous ideological or literary content has been thrust. In the absolute
‘musicality’ of his works, he transcended his epoch in a twofold sense: as an
artist he sought forms that stood outside the literary-dramatic character of the
music that marked the aspirations of romanticism; as a Pole, he did not reflect
in them the essence of the tragic breakdown in the history of the nation that had
occurred at that time, but instinctively aspired to encapsulating what might be
termed the suprahistorical, deepest expression of his race, reasoning that only by
emancipating his art from dramatic historical content would he be able to ensure
it of the most enduring, and truly Polish, values. This approach to the question of
‘national music’ — the brilliant solution that he employed in his own art — enabled
Chopin’s works to be universally comprehended beyond the borders of Poland [...],
set them on the heights of universal art. [...] Therein lies the wondrous secret of
his timeless contemporaneity.104
One very important criterion of the Polishness of Chopin’s music is the long
since noted fact that all his songs were written exclusively to words by Polish
poets.
PerFOrMANCe SuGGeSTiONS
The aim of the above remarks and quotations is to remind us of the frequency,
diversity and intensity of the circumstances in which Polishness, as broadly
understood, infused Chopin’s music, as well as to answer the question as to
what suggestions, if any, arise from all this for performers of his works and
where they might seek clues to forging an atmosphere of Polishness in the
music they are performing.
103
ignacy Jan Paderewski, Chopin, tr. Katarzyna Diehl, special edition on fiftieth anniversary
of Paderewski’s death (Warsaw, 1991).
104
Karol Szymanowski ‘Fryderyk Chopin’, Skamander, 29–30, May–June 1923.
132
CONSTaNT aND VaRIaBlE ValUES
The first, self-evident, source is the musical text, in its pitch motion and
rhythm and in its performance markings. Those elements, being mensurable
and contained in the texts of works displaying the character of Polish dances,
above all Polonaises and Mazurkas (tempos, peculiar accentuation, pedalling)
are relatively easy to pick out. Other, incommensurable, elements, pertaining
to the deeper levels of the performer’s psyche, can be found in a sensitivity to
the climate and geography of Poland, its flora and fauna, in a familiarity with
its history and tradition, in a feel for its inhabitants’ temperament. The effect
of these factors is dependent on the personal circumstances and experiences
of the performer, and also on his or her ability to assimilate them. This is not
the place to consider them in detail, but it must be stressed that the ability to
discover and transmit the spirit of Polishness in Chopin’s music is by no means
the sole preserve of Polish pianists, as is attested by prizes in successive edi-
tions of the Chopin Competition awarded to young pianists representing different
nations and cultures. One spectacular example of this was the prize for the
best performance of Mazurkas in the Fifth Chopin Competition awarded to the
Chinese pianist Fou Ts’ong. in the case of non-Polish pianists, a natural factor
helping them to sense the Polishness in Chopin’s works might be a sojourn in
our country, becoming acquainted with its culture and with its traditions in Chopin
performance, accessible through historical recordings for disc and television, and
also the influence of Polish music pedagogy on their artistic formation.
22. CONSTANT AND VAriABle VAlueS
in assessing performances of the music of different eras, we often refer to

their style. it sometimes occurs, for instance, that a pianist gives a rendition of
Chopin that is technically flawless but lacking in style, or an overly romantic
interpretation of Bach or Bartók. let us attempt to gain a better idea of what
performance style in music is — a question that every artist has pondered. Here
are the reflections that for several decades have been borne out in my own
artistic and didactic practice.
The performance of the music of every era, and of the music of every
composer, contains two groups of elements: constant (primary, essential) and
variable (secondary, incidental). The constant values include the musical text;
the variables comprise all the material, external elements of performance, such
as the instrument, the acoustics, the performance style of a particular era and
the individuality of the pianist. Of course, this division is rather schematic, since
certain elements lie on the boundary between the two groups, with a tendency
133
GENERal ISSUES
towards one or the other. Constant values should always be preserved, whilst
variable values may be modified, albeit to the right extent and in the right di-
rection.
let us look at bars 71–72 of the Nocturne in F minor, Op. 55 No. 1, quite
rich in Chopin’s performance markings:
We see a crescendo over a bar and a half, stretto in the first bar, ritenuto
in the second, and a pause on the final chord. how may we apply the constant
and variable values here? We certainly cannot change stretto into ritenuto or
ritenuto into stretto; that would violate the constant value that is the text. We
may, however, as part of the stretto, increase or reduce the degree of ‘tightening’
to the music. Similarly, we cannot change crescendo into diminuendo, but that
crescendo can be evenly distributed, delayed until near the end, or commenced
earlier. in practice, the combinations are infinitely great.
Of course, in order to accurately classify elements of performance as constant
or variable, one must be an artist. So how — in general terms — should one
approach this principle in Chopin’s works?
Among the constant values, we should number the following:
— the (authentic) text; the naturalness of the musical narration; the beauty of the
sound; simplicity.
The variable values include the following:
— Chopin’s rubato; the volume of the piano’s sound and the characteristic profile
of its registers, which have obviously altered as the instrument’s design has
changed; the acoustics of modern concert halls; the performer’s individu-
ality.
Among borderline values with a tendency towards the group of constant
values, i would classify the following:
— pedalling, dynamics.
Now we may define style as the relationship between the constant and
variable values.
The elements that make up Chopin’s style have been discussed in more detail
in other parts of the present Introduction. here, i would just like to emphasise
134
PERFORMER–lISTENER
that their assignation to one of the above groups, although ensuing from my
own vision of Chopin’s music, is borne out by numerous utterances made by
Chopin and his contemporaries and quoted on these pages.
23. PerFOrMer–liSTeNer
When discussing — even in brief — performance issues relating to the piano,

we cannot overlook the question of the pianist’s relationship with the listener.
And although it is a question of a general nature, extending beyond the domain
of the performance of Chopin’s works, i feel that it ought to be addressed here.
Particularly valuable will be the words of Chopin himself — alas, all too few.
i know that i’ve never been of any use to anyone, but then i’ve never been of
much use to myself.
Chopin shared this reflection with his close friend Julian Fontana, in a letter
from March 1839. Two and a half years later, on completing the Fantasy in F
minor, Op. 49, in another letter to the same addressee, he uttered this oft-quoted
sentence:
Today i finished the Fantasy — and the sky is beautiful, there’s a sadness in my
heart — but that’s alright. if it were otherwise, perhaps my existence would be
of no use to anyone.105
One may marvel at the wealth of content contained in so few words. it is also
significant that both fragments include the verb ‘to be of use’, and so — accord-
ing to a dictionary definition — ‘to render a service to someone with something
of one’s own, to give someone something from oneself’. in the context of what
Chopin was writing here, he probably means serving others with his music.
in order to find some point of reference for the question of the performer-
listener relationship, we must return for a moment to the problem of defining
music; this time — if you’ll forgive — on my terms. Although at the beginning
of chapter 19 (‘Issues relating to expression’) I quoted a motto of Chopin’s from
his sketches for a ‘method’ defining music in terms of an analogy with speech,
i also gave the definition put forward by the French musicologist Jules Com-
barieu, from the beginning of the twentieth century, as ‘the art of thinking with
sounds’, yet neither of those well-observed definitions enables us to grasp the
relationship between the performer and the listener. That is because they are
105
From a letter to Julian Fontana in Paris, Nohant, 20 October 1841.
135
GENERal ISSUES
cast too widely. So let us try to narrow down the definition of music by taking
that relationship into account. Here is my proposition:
Music is a mysterious form of contact between one person and another by means
of non-notional sounds.
Two words of this definition require clarification: ‘mysterious’ is close in

meaning to ‘irrational’, and ‘non-notional’ is introduced because without that
restriction ordinary speech would be music. Thus in the proposed definition we
find a reference to the giver of music and its receiver.
This contact may be of varying strength. There are splendidly talented pianists
who make only limited reference to that mysterious connection with the listener.
A good illustration of this phenomenon can be found in the memoirs of Charles
hallé,106 who arrived in Paris in 1836 as a seventeen-year-old musician with the
intention of improving his pianistic skills. he describes his first encounter with
Friedrich Kalkbrenner, and then with Chopin, in the following words:
[Kalkbrenner] offered to play for me, saying that it might prove useful to me to
hear him. i accepted eagerly and was full of expectation, when he sat down and
played a new piece of his composition, entitled, ‘le Fou’ [The madman], one of
the most reasonable and dullest pieces ever perpetrated. I admired the elegance
and neatness of his scales and legato playing, but was not otherwise struck by
his performance, having expected more…
[...] two or three days later [...] i heard [Chopin] play, and was fascinated beyond
expression. it seemed to me as if i had got into another world, and all thought of
Kalkbrenner was driven out of my mind. i sat entranced, filled with wonderment,
and if the room has suddenly been peopled with fairies, i should not have been
astonished. The marvellous charm, the poetry and originality, the perfect freedom
and absolute lucidity of Chopin’s playing at that time cannot be described. It was
perfection in every sense. He seemed to be pleased with the evident impression
he had produced, for [...] he played again and again, each time revealing new
beauties, until i could have dropped on my knees to worship him. i returned home
in a state of complete bewilderment...
This kind of truly hypnotic effect of Chopin’s playing was noticed when he
was still just a child. There is the familiar story, for instance, drawn from family
tradition and transmitted by the composer’s biographer, Maurycy Karasowski,
about how the little Fryderyk first calmed and then ultimately sent to sleep
a riotous group of boys and their tutor with an improvised musical tale.
106
life and letters of Sir Charles Hallé, op. cit.
136
I shall give two more examples of the mysterious contact that is struck up
between the ‘giver’ of music and its ‘receiver’. They do not concern Chopin as
a performer, yet they enable us to grasp more distinctly a crucial aspect of that
performer-listener relationship. First, the shorter example: a description of contact
that was triggered by my playing.
it is wartime, the autumn of 1943 or the spring of 1944, the German occu-
pation. The home of Jarosław iwaszkiewicz in Stawisko near Warsaw. My concert
on a Sunday morning — a sort of conspiratorial event. A well-tuned, good quality
piano (a Bechstein, if memory serves) was waiting for me. On the programme:
Bach, and above all the banned composer Chopin. A select, artistically-orientated
audience. After the concert, which i felt had gone well, the host came up to me,
gave me a friendly hug and said:
you know, Janek, when i listen to you play, something changes inside me.
i chose this incident not because of the person of the performer, but on ac-
count of the performer’s circumstances and the person of the receiver. A great
writer and splendid music connoisseur expressed in simple but insightful words
the essence of music’s effect on a listener.
yet the most penetrating description of this phenomenon was given by Tadeusz
Szeligowski, a composer and doctor of law from the Jagiellonian university of
Cracow.107 here is an abridged version of his account, written after a concert
given by ignacy Jan Paderewski in Paris, in 1935.
The concert in question took place in the magnificent building of the Champs
elysées theatre. […] We had been given seats on the concert platform. […] But
it was difficult to get seated. it turned out that there were a host of people who
wished to avoid, at all costs, sitting in the front row (there were three rows of
seats on the stage). They didn’t want, so they said, to meet with Paderewski’s
gaze, as he had a habit of fixing his eyes on someone sitting more closely as
he played. It supposedly produced an incredible impression. That seemed to me
to be a slight exaggeration, and i took a seat quite calmly in the front row, right
by the keyboard of a wonderful Erard.
[...] The artist’s appearance is greeted by the auditorium with a standing ova-
tion. The applause lasts until the moment when Paderewski takes his seat at
the piano and begins to prelude. Silence falls. Paderewski continues to prelude
and then, without a break, goes straight into variations by handel-Brahms. This
offended my artistic sensibility. Can one really pass so directly, without pause,
107
T. Szeligowski, ‘Zamiast przedmowy’ [By way of a preface], in I. J. Paderewski, Mała
kronika życia pianisty i kompozytora [i. J. Paderewski. A short chronicle of the life of the pianist
and composer] (Cracow, 1960).
137
GENERal ISSUES
from banal runs and chords into handel’s brilliant theme? Meanwhile, Paderew-
ski plays — fantastically, of course, but i notice some flaws. The left hand never
tallies with the right and precedes it; the finger technique is no greater than the
fluency of other outstanding pianists. More than that, even his touch — which
seemed to me so fabulous when I had heard Paderewski playing in a sym-
phonic concert a year ago — that touch which so struck me at that time has gone.
i feel a little deflated. it’s as if i’m glad to have cause to criticise such a titan; on
the other hand, i’m sorry to have discovered some faults. [...]
Just as I’m more occupied with my thoughts than with listening to the music that
is flowing from under Paderewski’s fingers, the artist turns his head and looks
right at me. I meet his gaze for a moment. Suddenly I feel hot. Paderewski is
distinctly irate. Am I behaving inappropriately? Did I make some movement that
disturbed his playing? i don’t know what’s bothering him. Or perhaps he is reading
my mind? in any case, i feel very ill at ease. Of course, all these thoughts pass
through my mind in a split second. i can’t hold his gaze. Some fluid flows from
those eyes that is too powerful for me to endure. it suddenly occurs to me, they
are the eyes of a man who is creating. i lower my eyes, embarrassed at not
having understood that at once...
But the variations are drawing to a close. The auditorium erupts. As for me, i’m
not yet convinced, though undoubtedly dazed.
Beethoven’s Sonata, Op. 28. Again thoughts enter my mind: why this ritenuto in
a place where Beethoven never dreamed of marking it? I’m irritated by the left
hand, in constant separation from the right. Suddenly i hear the piano changing
its sound. hallucination? i pinch myself in one hand then the other. No, i’m
definitely awake and conscious. The sound of the piano is becoming dematerial-
ised, it’s losing its pianoforte colouring [...] At this point, a great change comes
over me, as well. i’m so preoccupied by what is happening at this moment that
I begin to comprehend the ridiculousness of my grievances over some ritenuto
or tempo rubato or even over the left hand. I sense that things are happening
at this moment that are far more important than pianistic requirements. Already
the preluding before Chopin’s B minor Sonata fails to annoy me. From the very
beginning of the Sonata, the impression is strong. But it’s the Finale that really
shows who Paderewski is. here, i understand clearly that no pianistic criteria
measure up to the dimensions of Paderewski. I sense distinctly that this is not
a pianist, but a person who is playing: it matters not what he is doing on that
piano, because he possesses the ability to use the music to draw the listener into
ecstasy, into other climes, about which it is impossible to write. [...] Paderewski
plays not for pianists or for musicians — he plays simply for people. He moves
within them every nerve, every corner of the soul. he imposes his conceptions,
which must be accepted as the only possible solution at that given moment in time.
The composition that Paderewski is playing is merely a pretext for the manifestation
of the great artist’s magic. Beneath Paderewski’s fingers, Brahms’s rather trite,
hackneyed Hungarian Dance (No. 6) becomes a masterpiece. For Paderewski is
able to change the value of a work with his playing. In Chopin’s Etude in A minor
138
(Op. 25), in one single note, he gave so much of the purest music that with the
striking of the first note i was struck dumb [...]
Numerous encores, including Debussy, bring the concert to a close. Paderewski
bows dozens of times. [...] Now we go off to the artist’s room, where Paderewski
is surrounded by a multilingual crowd. The brilliant Nadia Boulanger is pale and
deeply moved; she just keeps repeating ‘what an artist, what an artist...’ i meet
the young russian pianist Svyatoslav Stravinsky, the great igor’s son. The young
man repeats relentlessly: ‘C’est magnifique, c’est magnifique’ and is extraordin-
arily moved. We in the Polish group look at one another and wonder what has
happened to us. We are just as we were before the concert, and yet different.’
This is a truly remarkable account of the contact between the psyches of

a performer and a listener of piano music. On one hand, a legendary pianist,
whose gaze was avoided while he played by his most ardent admirers; on the
other, a composer experienced in the reception of music, initially sceptical about
the legends surrounding the great pianist. (I knew Tadeusz Szeligowski well and
would never have suspected him of exaltation.)
Far from comparing the artistic personalities of the two ‘givers of music’ (per-
formers) in the above descriptions, i would like to draw attention to a common
denominator of the impressions gained by their ‘receivers’ (listeners). In both
cases, they noted a change occurring in their mental disposition — a change
that resulted from the artistic activity of the giver. iwaszkiewicz, ‘when i listen to
you play, something changes inside me’; Szeligowski, ‘We are just as we were
before the concert, and yet different.’
in the latter account, the role of the sound was also emphasised; all but re-
lieved of its physical properties, it becomes a singular medium of that influence
that flows directly from the artist’s personality. Also stressed was the significance
of the player’s concentration, straining to establish contact with the listener.
We may approach the problem by answering the question as to what message
we wish to communicate to the receiver and, to paraphrase Chopin’s words, what
use we wish to be to him. Here we enter the domain of the ethics of musical
performance. Not wishing to be accused of moralising, i shall confine myself to
indicating certain approaches that might increase the strength of that contact.
The overriding principle is a positive approach to the receiver. My detailed advice
would be worded as follows:
— to play as if it were the most important thing in the world for the listener at
that moment in time;
— to play as if the audience was composed solely of your close friends, elimin-
ating from your awareness the possible presence of listeners ill disposed
towards you;
139
GENERal ISSUES
— an attitude of humility in respect to the piece you are playing is always

a more secure way of striking up contact with the listener than an attitude of
over self-confidence. For my own purposes, i employ the maxim ‘the smaller
i am when i take to the platform, the greater are my chances of giving my
listeners good music’.
— to not worry about the possibility of making mistakes — to treat them not as
a defeat, but as an opportunity to avoid them in the future.
These and similar attitudes, acquired with experience on the concert platform,
may bring about the result which Chopin defined as ‘to be useful to someone’.
24. ArTiSTry
‘Simplicity is everything’
F. Chopin
‘And there was in what you played such a simplicity

of Periclean perfection,’
Cyprian Kamil Norwid ‘Fortepian Chopina’ [Chopin’s piano]
This feature of Chopin’s playing, so beautifully defined by Norwid, was noted by

many of his pupils, listeners and heirs to his performance tradition. The eminent
German pianist Henriette Voigt wrote the following in her diary:
yesterday Chopin was here and played an hour on my piano [...] [his playing]
made me hold my breath. [...] What delighted me was the childlike, natural manner
which he showed in his demeanour and in his playing.108
yet most penetrating of all is Chopin’s own observation. We owe its trans-
mission to one of the composer’s most accomplished pupils, the concert pianist
Friederike Müller-Streicher. its aptness is reinforced by the circumstances in
which Chopin expressed it. Here is that passage:
On the 20th of April, 1840, liszt, who had come back to Paris after extend-
ed artistic tours, gave a matinée to an invited audience in Erard’s saloon. He
played, as he did always, very brilliantly, and the next morning i had to give
a minute account to Chopin of what and how he had played. He himself was too
unwell to be present. When i spoke of liszt’s artistic self-control and calmness
in overcoming the greatest technical difficulties, he exclaimed: ‘Ainsi il parait que
108
As translated in F. Niecks, op. cit.
140
aRTISTRY
mon avis est juste. la dernière chose c’est la simplicité. Après avoir épuisé toutes
les difficultés, après avoir joué une immense quantité de notes, et de notes, c’est
la simplicité qui sort avec tout son charme, comme le dernier sceau de l’art. Qui-
conque veut arriver de suite à cela n’y parviendra jamais, on ne peut commencer
par la fin. il faut avoir étudié beaucoup, même immensement pour atteindre ce
but, ce n’est pas une chose facile’.109
These words of Chopin’s carry special weight. Although uttered ad hoc, they
are certainly the result of profound consideration (‘it seems my opinion is right’).
The emotional nature of the composer’s reaction (‘Chopin exclaimed’) can be
explained by his joy that a principle which he himself certainly respected had
been borne out even in relation to an artist so diametrically different as liszt;
this was — and is — proof of its universality.
This credo of Chopin’s may be seen as summing up our search for Chopin’s
understanding of his own works — a search that has taken various forms and
led in various directions. The important thing is that in our performances we
attempt to express those disiecti membra110 — as far as our cognitive capaci-
ties, aesthetic conceptions, instrumental skills and overall musical experiences
allow — in a synthetic way in a single, indivisible artistic whole.
109
Excerpts from the recollections of Mrs Streicher, as quoted by Frederick Niecks, op. cit.
The French passage may be translated as follows: ‘So it seems my opinion is right. Simplicity
is everything. After having exhausted all the difficulties, after having played a huge quantity of
notes, and more notes, it is simplicity that emerges, with all its charm, like art’s last seal. Anyone
who wishes to get there all at once will never make it; one cannot begin at the end. One must
have studied a great deal, enormously even, to achieve this goal; it is not something simple.’
110
‘scattered fragments’ (horace, Satires).
141
Bibliography
Badura-Skoda, Paul (ed.) Hinweise zur stilgemäβen ausführung der Werke Chopins, supplement
to an edition of Chopin’s Preludes (Dresden: edition Peters, n.d.).
— and Badura-Skoda, eva, Mozart-Interpretation (Vienna and Stuttgart, 1957).
Belotti, Gastone, le origini italiane del ‘rubato’ chopiniano (Wrocław, 1968).
Berlioz, hector, article in le Rénovateur, 5 January 1835.
eigeldinger, Jean-Jacques, Chopin: Pianist and Teacher as seen by his Pupils, tr. Naomi Shohet
with Krysia Osostowicz and roy howat, ed. roy howat (Cambridge, 1986); Fr. orig. Chopin
vu par ses élèves (Neuchâtel, 1970).
ekier, Jan, Introduction to the Polish National Edition of the Works of Fryderyk Chopin, Part 1:
Editorial Issues (Cracow, 2011); Pol. orig. Wstęp do Wydania Narodowego Dzieł Fryderyka
Chopina. 1. Zagadnienia edytorskie (Cracow, 1974).
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hedley, Arthur, Chopin (london, 1947).
hipkins, edith J., How Chopin played. From Contemporary Impressions collected from the Diaries
and Note-books of the late a. J. Hipkins (london, 1937).
Kamiński, Paweł, ‘Poszukiwanie śladów rubata w tekście Chopinowskim’ [The search for traces
of rubato in Chopin’s text], in irena Poniatowska (ed.), Chopin w kręgu przyjaciół [Chopin in
his circle of friends], vol. iV (Warsaw, 1998).
Kleczynski, Jean, Frederic Chopin’s Works and their Proper Interpretation, tr. Alfred Whitting-
ham (london, n.d.); Pol. orig. Jan Kleczyński, O wykonywaniu dzieł Szopena. Trzy odczyty
(Warsaw, 1879).
— Chopin’s Greater Works, tr. Natalie Janotha (london, n.d.); Pol. orig. Jan Kleczyński, Chopin
w celniejszych swoich utworach (Warsaw, 1886).
Koczalski, raoul, Frédéric Chopin. Betrachtungen, Skizzen, analysen (Cologne, 1936).
korespondencja Fryderyka Chopina, ed. Bronisław edward Sydow, 2 vols (Warsaw, 1955).
korespondencja Fryderyka Chopina, ed. Zofia helman, Zbigniew Skowron and hanna Wróblewska-
Straus, vol. 1 (Warsaw, 2009).
landowska, Wanda, la musique ancienne (Paris, 1909).
lenz, Wilhelm von, ‘uebersichtliche Beurtheilung der Pianoforte-Kompositionen von Chopin, als
Prodromus eines kritischen Katalogs seiner sämmtlichen Werke’, Neue Berliner Musikzeitung,
4 September 1872.
142
BIBlIOGRaPHY
— The Great Piano Virtuosos of Our Time from Personal acquaintance, tr. Madeleine r. Baker
(New york, 1899); Ger. orig. Die grossen Pianoforte-Virtuosen unserer Zeit aus persönlicher
Bekanntschaft (Berlin, 1872).
Marmontel, Antoine-François, Histoire du piano et de ses origines (Paris, 1885).
Meyer, leonard B., Emotion and Meaning in Music (Chicago, 1956).
Michałowski, Aleksander, ‘Jak grał Fryderyk Szopen?’ [how did Fryderyk Chopin play?], Muzy-
ka, 9 (1932).
Mikuli, Karol, ‘Foreword’ in Frédéric Chopin: Fantasy in F minor, Barcarolle, Berceuse and Other
Works for Solo Piano (New york, 1989); Ger. orig. F. Chopin’s Pianoforte-Werke (leipzig:
Kistner, 1880).
The letters of Mozart and His Family, tr. and ed. emily Anderson, 3rd edn (london, 1985).
Niecks, Frederick, Frederick Chopin as a Man and Musician (london, 1888).
Peru, F.-henry, ‘Mes souvenirs de Frédéric Chopin’, Revue de la S.I.M. 9/12 (1913).
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(Warsaw, 1998).
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Schumann, robert, Erinnerungen an Felix Mendelssohn Bartholdy (Zwickau, 1947).
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rubato in Chopin and in Polish folk music], Muzyka, 1960/3.
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and modern performance practice], Rocznik Chopinowski, 17 (1987).
143

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Introduction to the Polish National Edition

of the Works of Fryderyk Chopin

Translated by John Comber

© by Fundacja Wydania Narodowego Dzieł Fryderyka Chopina, Warszawa, Poland 2012

Cover design by Maria Ekier

Computer music typesetting: Paweł Kamiński

H. GeNerAl iSSueS ......................................................................................121

misunderstood) by publishers and as a consequence are not transmitted to

Part of the sub-chapter devoted to tempo rubato is based on a paper delivered

Music constitutes a sort of continuum of various interpenetrative phenomena.

lends more clarity to the presentation of individual performance-related issues.

1. The PiANO’S COMPASS

in the Rondo à la mazur in F major, Op. 5, we can discern in bars 289–292

(authentic text, up to f4)

(octave lowered to Bb2)

in the source version, the natural octave progression of the lh (downwards)

— Scherzo in C# minor, Op. 39, bars 197 and 241, lh:

(version of the first editions)

(Chopin’s variant, reaching up to ab4)

(version of the first editions)

(Chopin’s variant up to a4)

— Nocturne in F# minor, Op. 48 No. 2, bar 113, rh:

(version of the first editions)

(Chopin’s variant reaching up to f#4)

— Nocturne in e, Op. 62 No. 2, bar 68, rh:

(version of the first editions)

(Chopin’s variant reaching up to g# 4)

(version of the first editions)

— Nocturne in Ab, Op. 32 No. 2, bars 50–51, lh:

(version of the first editions)

in this last example, it is worth drawing attention to the structural significance

(first German edition, original text)

(first French edition, supplemented version)

to volume 23, Works for Piano and Cello.

Accounts describing Chopin’s playing, considered with regard to the dynamics

A virile, noble energy — energy without rawness — lent an overwhelming effect

Chopin used markings of two kinds to gradate dynamics:

The lack of dynamic markings at the beginning of a work is often compen-

reprise ff, since there is no reason to play it in a completely different character

it sometimes occurs, when a phrase (or a work) begins with an anacrusis,

What one hears is no piano; it is a succession of fresh, touching thoughts, often

Accents are a very frequent phenomenon in Chopin’s notation, and it is hard

also syncopated notes, dissonances, unexpected harmonic turns, the beginnings

Ballade in F minor, Op. 52, bars 215–216

Scherzo in e, Op. 54, bar 9 and analogous.

in some situations, Chopin might use a single kind of accent to indicate

To close, i would like to draw attention to one of Chopin’s characteristic

Berceuse, Op. 57, bars 53–54, fivefold accentuation of ab3:

in each of these places, which are masterful manifestations of Chopin’s linear

A talented pupil of Chopin, the professional pianist Friederike Müller-Streicher,

Karol Mikuli describes his playing thus:13

Of most crucial importance in these quotations would appear to be two com-

For marking a staccato articulation (Italian staccare – ‘tear off’, ‘disconnect’,

etude in A minor, Op. 25 No. 4, bars 1–3:

krakowiak, Op. 14, bars 270–273:

Variations in Bb, Op. 2, bars 207–211:

DiFFereNT VArieTieS OF ArTiCulATiON AND Their COMBiNiNG

Different nuances of articulation within a phrase:

Nocturne in Bb minor, Op. 9 No. 1, bars 74–75:

The simultaneous use of legato together with staccato or portato:

etude in A minor, Op. 25 No. 4, bars 9–12:

andante spianato from Op. 22, bars 45–46:

Nocturne in Eb, Op. 55 No. 2, bars 47–48: