One thing seems to be forgotten in discussing Chopin piano literature—his music is more than abreast of our times. Consider the fantasy, opus 49, the scherzi, the ballades, the sonatas—the two later ones—the études and it will be seen that the figures are modern even to novelty; that Schumann, Liszt and Rubinstein borrowed, even if they amplified, and Tausig, if he did alter a few details, did not commit a sin against good taste. Carl Tausig of all virtuosi penetrated deeper into the meanings of the Polish tone-poet, interpreting his music in an incomparable manner.
As regards the coda of the first movement of the E minor concerto Tausig simply takes the awkward trill from the left hand and gives it to the ’celli and contrabasso and the piano plays the passage in unison. Most pianists, Rosenthal excepted, acknowledge that the trill is both distracting and ineffective.
The chromatic work at the end of this movement is broad and infinitely more klaviermässig than the older version, the piano closing at the same moment with the orchestra, the audience not being compelled to listen to cadences of the Hummel type to the bitter end. The piano part of the second movement is hardly touched by Tausig; it could not be improved, but the orchestration is so spiritualized and so delicately colored that even a purist may not groan in disapproval.
Against the Tausig version of the rondo the war of complaint is frequently raised. “What, he dares to tamper with the very notes, introducing sixteenths where Chopin wrote eighths!” Yes, this is true, but what an improvement! How much brighter and livelier the rhythm sounds; how much more joyful and elastic! and when the piano part enters it is with added zest we listen to its cheerful song. It is a relief too, when the flute and oboe take up the theme, the piano contenting itself with a trill. The other changes in the solo part in this movement are all in admirable taste and effective but they are not easier to play than the original. The movement loses none of its freshness by the additions, while it gains in tone and dignity. The octaves at the end destroy in some degree the euphony but add in brilliancy. It is seldom one hears them played with clearness and lightness; but when pounded out they become distressingly monotonous.
If a concerto is an harmonious relationship between the solo instrument and the orchestra then the Tausig version of the E minor concerto fulfils perfectly the idea. Of course if a poor conductor who wishes to make a scandal out of each tutti takes hold of the work and a mediocre pianist attempts the solo part, critics may indeed carp and say that Tausig has spoiled the concerto with his additions.
The argument that holds good in the case of added accompaniments of Robert Franz to Handel is the same here but best of all remains the unalterable fact that the Tausig version is more effective and what pianist can resist such an argument! Tausig in the E minor and Richard Burmeister in the F minor concerto have given these two works of Chopin a better frame; the picture appears clearer and more beautiful, details becoming more significant making both works better understood.
Mr. Burmeister has not only re-orchestrated the F minor concerto, but his cadenza at the close of the first movement—a cadenza that embodies in an admirable manner the spirit of its themes—in reality supplies a missing coda. There are also some important changes in the last movement. Mr. Krehbiel justly says, Tausig’s emendations have greatly added “to the stature of the concerto.”
IV
George Mathias has sketched Chopin in a few sincere, exquisite strokes. His alluring, hesitating, gracious, feminine manner and air of supreme distinction are touched upon, and M. Mathias—dear, charming old gentleman, how well I remember him in 1879!—speaks of Chopin’s shoulders, held high after the style of the Poles. Chopin often met Kalkbrenner, his antipodes in everything but breeding. Chopin’s coat was buttoned high but the buttons were black; Kalkbrenner’s were gold. And how Chopin disliked the pompous old pianist, with his airs and stinginess. As Mathias writes with glee of the idea of Chopin’s profiting from the instructions of Kalkbrenner:
“Je crois qu’il n’y a eu qu’une leçon de prise,” he adds most emphatically.