Franz Liszt's Vallee D'obermann from the Annees De Pelerinage

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Franz Liszt’s Vallée d’Obermann from the Années de Pèlerinage, Première Année, Suisse: A Poetic Performance Guide

A document submitted to

The Graduate School of the University of Cincinnati

in partial fulfillment of the requirements for the degree of

DOCTOR OF MUSICAL ARTS

in the Keyboard Studies Division of the College-Conservatory of Music

2013

Bora Lee

MM, University of Cincinnati, 2003

BM, Yonsei University, 2001

Committee Chair: Jonathan Kregor, Ph.D.

Abstract

An informed performance of the music of Franz Liszt often requires biographical study and knowledge of numerous literary references. Composed primarily during his exile from Paris with Countess Marie d’Agoult, the keyboard work Vallée d’Obermann from the Années de

Pèlerinage, Première Année, Suisse captures the despondence and hope in two Romantic sources: the French novel Obermann (1804) by Étienne Pivert de Sénancour and the English poem Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage (1812) by Lord Byron. But the score also reflects the young musician’s unease over his career, reputation, and future.

This document will address the highly personal nature of Vallée d’Obermann and investigate musical narratives that will benefit enterprising pianists for more poetically nuanced rendition. The first chapter will discuss the compositional and literary background of Vallée d’Obermann, delving into the works by Sénancour and Byron and touching upon events in

Liszt’s life. The second chapter will present the rhetorical devices in Vallée d’Obermann that create unique music-poetic relationships. The final chapter is a performance guide to Vallée d’Obermann for pianists who wish not only to execute the technical obstacles of the score, but to project the work’s literary and autobiographical aspects.

iii

To God

for the wisdom and strength to complete this project

To my family

for their prayers and unconditional love

and

To my professors and mentors,

Dr. Jonathan Kregor Professor Eugene Pridonoff Professor Elisabeth Pridonoff Professor Sandra Rivers for their loving guidance, patience, and encouragement

iv Table of Contents

Abstract ...... ii

List of Illustrations ...... vii

Introduction ...... 1

Chapter 1. Liszt’s Literary Inspiration Compositional Background ...... 8 Album d’un voyageur Années de Pèlerinage, Première Année, Suisse Literary Background ...... 17 Sénancour: Obermann (1804) Byron: Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage (1812)

Chapter 2. Rhetorical Devices Thematic Transformation ...... 23 Tonality and Harmony ...... 33 Melodic Line and Intervals ...... 42 Presence of the Tritone ...... 50 Recitative ...... 57

Chapter 3. Poetic Performance Guide to Liszt’s Vallée d’Obermann ...... 64

Final Thought ...... 90

Bibliography ...... 92

v Copyright Permissions

vi List of Illustrations

Figures

1: Liszt, Vallée d’Obermann: Formal, Thematic, and Tonal Structure ...... 25

Musical Examples

1.1: Liszt, Au bord d’une source (1842), mm. 1–2 from Album d’un voyageur ...... 13

1.2: Liszt, Au bord d’une source (1855), mm. 1–2 from Années de Pèlerinage, Première Année, Suisse ...... 13

2.1: Liszt, Vallée d’Obermann, mm. 1–9, the opening theme with Motive A and B...... 26

2.2: Liszt, Vallée d’Obermann, mm. 75–78, the first thematic transformation in C major ...... 27

2.3: Liszt, Vallée d’Obermann, mm. 119–120, the second thematic transformation, Recitativo ...... 28

2.4: Liszt, Vallée d’Obermann, mm. 128–130, struggle between two transformed themes ...... 29

2.5: Liszt, Vallée d’Obermann, mm. 159–169, three-note motive in a spare texture ...... 30

2.6: Liszt, Vallée d’Obermann, m. 170, the third thematic transformation in E major...... 30

2.7: Liszt, Vallée d’Obermann, m. 180, the fourth thematic transformation in inversion ...... 31

2.8: Liszt, Vallée d’Obermann, m. 188, the fifth thematic transformation ...... 31

2.9: Liszt, Vallée d’Obermann, mm. 214–216, the last statement of the theme ...... 32

2.10: Liszt, Vallée d’Obermann, mm. 1–9, the opening passage, main theme ...... 36

2.11: Liszt, Vallée d’Obermann, mm. 26–36, the transition back to the main theme...... 37

2.12: Liszt, Vallée d’Obermann, mm. 66–74, the transition to the first thematic transformation ...... 38

2.13: Liszt, Sonata in B minor, mm. 1–6, the first theme ...... 39

2.14: Liszt, Vallée d’Obermann, mm. 75–78, the first thematic transformation in C major ...... 41

vii

2.15: Liszt, Vallée d’Obermann, mm. 20–25, four-octave descent of the theme ...... 44

2.16: Liszt, Vallée d’Obermann, mm. 75–78, descending three-note motive of the first thematic transformation...... 44

2.17: Liszt, Vallée d’Obermann, mm. 119–120, descending three-note motive of the second thematic transformation ...... 45

2.18: Liszt, Vallée d’Obermann, mm. 180–181, the principal theme inverted ...... 45

2.19: Liszt, Vallée d’Obermann, mm. 196–197, the principal theme inverted, bombastic ...... 46

2.20: Liszt, Vallée d’Obermann, mm. 212–216, the last statement of the theme ...... 47

2.21: Liszt, Vallée d’Obermann, mm. 1–2, the original theme in the left hand ...... 48

2.22: Liszt, Vallée d’Obermann, mm. 20–23, altered theme in both hands ...... 49

2.23: Liszt, Vallée d’Obermann, mm. 51–54, altered theme changes hands ...... 49

2.24: Liszt, Vallée d’Obermann, mm. 71–73, altered theme in the left hand ...... 50

2.25: Liszt, Dante Sonata, mm. 1–5, opening descending sequence ...... 51

2.26: Liszt, Mephisto Waltz No. 2, mm. 1–6, ascending tritones ...... 53

2.27: Liszt, Mephisto Waltz No. 2, mm. 535–540, descending tritones ...... 53

2.28: Liszt, Vallée d’Obermann, mm. 139–144, octave trading between hands and the tritone relationship in the sixteenth note passages ...... 55

2.29: Liszt, Vallée d’Obermann, mm. 149–152, the tritone in the tremolo and diminished seventh in the left hand ...... 56

2.30: Liszt, Vallée d’Obermann, mm. 155–158, the tritone in the tremolo and accented chords in the right hand ...... 56

2.31: Liszt, Vallée d’Obermann, mm. 22–25, the diminished seventh ...... 57

2.32: Liszt, Vallée d’Obermann, mm. 119–122, Recitativo ...... 59

2.33: Liszt, Vallée d’Obermann, mm. 128–130, struggle between two transformed themes ..... 59

2.34: Liszt, Vallée d’Obermann, mm. 117–118, quasi cadenza ...... 60

viii 2.35: Liszt, Vallée d’Obermann (1842), mm. 130–137, from Album d’un voyageur ...... 61

2.36: Liszt, Vallée d’Obermann (1855), mm. 160–169, from Années de Pèlerinage, Première Année, Suisse ...... 62

3.1: Liszt, Vallée d’Obermann, mm. 1–4, the initial theme and motives ...... 65

3.2: Liszt, Vallée d’Obermann, mm. 8–14, the transition after the initial theme ...... 67

3.3: Liszt, Vallée d’Obermann, mm. 13–25, the primary motive in continual descent ...... 69

3.4: Liszt, Vallée d’Obermann, mm. 26–36, the transition and the restatement of the theme ..... 70

3.5: Liszt, Vallée d’Obermann, mm. 75–78, the first thematic transformation...... 72

3.6: Liszt, Vallée d’Obermann, mm. 85–88, the first thematic transformation, second statement ...... 73

3.7: Liszt, Vallée d’Obermann (1855), mm. 119–122, from Années de Pèlerinage, Première Année, Suisse, Recitativo, first measures ...... 75

3.8: Liszt, Vallée d’Obermann (1842), mm. 89–90, from Album d’un voyageur, Recitativo, first measures ...... 76

3.9: Liszt, Vallée d’Obermann, mm. 128–134, Più mosso...... 79

3.10: Liszt, Vallée d’Obermann, mm. 139–144, Presto...... 80

3.11: Liszt, Vallée d’Obermann, mm. 159–169, Lento and quasi cadenza, the transition to the third thematic transformation...... 83

3.12: Liszt, Vallée d’Obermann, mm. 170–171, the third thematic transformation ...... 84

3.13: Liszt, Vallée d’Obermann, mm. 180–181, the fourth thematic transformation ...... 85

3.14: Liszt, Vallée d’Obermann, mm. 188–193, the fifth thematic transformation ...... 86

3.15: Liszt, Vallée d’Obermann, mm. 208–211, Coda ...... 87

3.16: Liszt, Vallée d’Obermann, mm. 212–216, closing measures...... 89

Introduction

Many Western composers have sought inspiration in literary sources, but few have allowed that inspiration to permeate their aesthetic like Franz Liszt. Even in an autobiographical work such as his keyboard magnum opus Années de Pèlerinage (“Years of Pilgrimage”), an informed performance cannot be achieved without a thorough knowledge of numerous literary references. In the case of Vallée d’Obermann (1855), a significant movement from the Années de

Pèlerinage, Première Année, Suisse, these references are integral to the composer’s story. This document will address the highly personal nature of Vallée d’Obermann, discussing the character, plot, and events in the tale within the context of Liszt’s life experiences, and it will provide pianists with a poetic performance guide that will reach audiences with greater immediacy.

Liszt’s taste in literature was unrestricted by time or place, and he counted Hugo, Byron,

Shakespeare, Dante, Schiller, Goethe, and Petrarch among his favorite authors. His presence in the Parisian salons of the early 1830s and his travels with the Countess Marie d’Agoult did more than just broaden the young composer’s knowledge and worldview. Rather, Liszt began to view literature, nature, and music as one integrated expression. At the same time, he understood that the conveyance of poetic ideas in music has greater obstacles than the delivery of those ideas in art and literature. In a letter to French novelist George Sand, Liszt explained the problem:

In contrast to the poet who speaks a language common to all and who, moreover, addresses himself to those whose minds have been shaped to some extent by the required study of the classics, the musician speaks a mysterious language that can only be understood after special study or, at the very least, extensive exposure. He is also at a disadvantage compared with the painter and sculptor, in that they address themselves to a

feeling for form, which is far more widespread than the intimate understanding of nature and the feeling for the infinite that are the very essence of music.1

Still, Liszt believed that music, more than the other arts, has a special subtlety that is unique to each individual. In his words, music “express[es] the mood that such a poem or picture evokes in the heart of the recipient, and transmutes it into musical experience, an experience to be perceived on a purely musical level.”2 In the preface to his collection of symphonic poems, he wrote:

It is obvious that things which can appear only objectively to perception can in no way furnish connecting points to music; the poorest of apprentice landscape painters could give with a few chalk strokes a much more faithful picture than a musician operating with all the resources of the best orchestras. But if these same things are subjectivated to dreaming, to contemplation, to emotional uplift, have they not a kinship with music, and should not music be able to translate them into its mysterious language?3

That is, even if music is not able to portray an object as clearly as poetry or painting, it retains the power to suggest atmosphere, mood, and emotion. As such, music and the subject matter carry equal weight, and if Liszt provides a program with his score, he is simply stating, in the words of British-Canadian musicologist Alan Walker, “how he came to write that particular work or drawing out attention to the philosophical idea that music attempts to enshrine.”4

Liszt’s desire to infuse his music with more literary and psychological content led him to develop a highly Romantic narrative style, resulting in innovations in program music and the new orchestral genre of the symphonic poem. The creation of a new genre, though, requires new

1 Franz Liszt, An Artist’s Journey: Lettres d’un Bachelier ès Musique, 1835-1841, trans. and annotated by Charles Suttoni (Chicago and London: University of Chicago Press, 1989), 34.

2 Alan Walker, Franz Liszt: The Weimar Years (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1989), 358.

3 Ibid.

4 Ibid., 305.

devices, especially in regard to form, melody, tonality, harmony, and thematic processes. These traits are all present in his piano music, especially Vallée d’Obermann, but the poetic ideas in the score require a human touch to transcend the page. Any pianist who plays Vallée d’Obermann without regard or awareness to the story and the profound emotional nuances risks alienating an eager audience. The performer who understands Vallée d’Obermann as an utterance of Liszt’s soul has the means to turn a complex and challenging piece into a highly engaging experience.

Liszt was inspired to write Vallée d’Obermann after two early nineteenth century sources: the French novel Obermann (1804) by Étienne Pivert de Sénancour and the long

English poem Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage (1812) by Lord Byron. The music reflects each work’s emotional quality—the despondent protagonist of the former, and the hopeful, searching protagonist of the latter. The first chapter of this document will address the complex literary background of Vallée d’Obermann, delving into the works by Byron and Sénancour and touching upon events in Liszt’s life. The second chapter will be an in-depth investigation of

Liszt’s rhetorical devices in Vallée d’Obermann that create unique music-poetic relationships.

The final chapter is a performance guide to Vallée d’Obermann for pianists who wish not only to execute the technical obstacles of the score, but to project the work’s literary ambitions.

Literature Review

Since the late nineteenth century, Liszt and his music have been covered in numerous books, journals, and dissertations. Resources that discuss his literary inspiration and other extra-musical relationships are widely available. The July 1936 issue of The Musical Quarterly offers two outstanding articles on Liszt: Hungarian-American musicologist Paul Henry Lang’s

“Liszt and the Romantic Movement” and American composer and music critic Marion Bauer’s

“The Literary Liszt.” Lang’s contribution begins with the Romantic movement in France, pointing out that, while Berlioz, Chopin, and Schumann embraced the new trend in descriptive music and literary association, they used traditional forms to communicate their ideas. Holding up the Années de Pèlerinage as a primary example, Lang contends that Liszt is the first

Romantic willing to disregard old structures in order to develop his aesthetic principles.5 Bauer, by contrast, places a spotlight on Liszt’s curious nature and strong interest in literature, relating how Liszt met poets, championed their ideas, and absorbed these ideas into his music.6

Recent essays have taken a magnifying glass to particular features of Liszt’s style and oeuvre. In his 1988 article “Recitative in Liszt’s Solo Piano Music,” published in the Journal of the American Liszt Society, University of Kentucky professor Ben Arnold asserts that Liszt’s employment of vocal recitative in the keyboard idiom is both an important structural feature and a remarkable dramatic effect.7 In a more specific vein, in 1991, the American musicologist

Andrew Fowler published an article dedicated solely to the connection of Liszt’s music to

Sénancour’s Romantic novel: “Motive and Program in Liszt’s Vallée d’Obermann.” Here,

Fowler draws its literary connection with music through the comparative analysis of two versions (1842 and 1855) of Vallée d’Obermann, and claims that its narrative aspects can be recognized in the later version through the process of the thematic transformation and harmonic

5 Paul Henry Lang, “Liszt and the Romantic Movement,” The Musical Quarterly 22 (July 1936): 314–325.

6 Marion Bauer, “The Literary Liszt,” The Musical Quarterly 22 (July 1936): 295–313.

7 Ben Arnold, “Recitative in Liszt’s Solo Piano Music,” Journal of the American Liszt Society 24 (1988): 3–22.

ambiguity.8 My document will expand Liszt’s rhetorical aspects in greater details, and also provide how to apply these musical narratives into performance.

Several doctoral dissertations, too, have excellent perspectives on Liszt’s extra-musical association, even if Vallée d’Obermann is not mentioned. In her 2008 dissertation “Liszt in

Italy: Musical Representation in the Années de Pèlerinage, Deuxième Année and Troisième

Année,” Nola Davidson explores Liszt’s extra-musical associations with regard to key, thematic transformation, and symbolic references.9 Judy Sharon Lively suggests a fresh approach to

Liszt’s program music in her 1990 dissertation, “Extramusical Associations in Selected Pieces from Années de Pèlerinage – Troisième Année, by Franz Liszt.”10 Here, Lively discusses the common rhetorical devices that Liszt employs in the third book of the Années de Pèlerinage, notably the tritone, key symbolism, melodic motion, harmony, and accompaniment figuration. In her 2001 dissertation, “Franz Liszt’s Lyricism: A Discussion of the Inspiration for his First Italy

Album of Années de Pèlerinage,” Meng-Yin Tsai examines the relationship between art, literature, and Liszt’s music in great detail, especially his creative inspiration.11

No study of Liszt, however, would be complete without the theory behind the music, especially with regard to how he expanded the possibilities of the tonal system. In his article

“The Role of Tonality in the Swiss Book of Années de Pèlerinage,” British scholar Paul Merrick examines Liszt’s harmonic organization and his employment of specific tonalities to depict

8 Andrew Fowler, “Motive and Program in Liszt’s ‘Vallée d’Obermann,’” Journal of the American Liszt Society 29 (1991): 3–11.

9 Nola Davidson, “Liszt in Italy: Musical Representation in the Années de Pèlerinage, Deuxième Année and Troisième Année” (MM thesis, University of Calgary, 2008).

10 Judy Sharon Lively, “Extramusical Associations in Selected Pieces from ‘Années de Pèlerinage– Troisième Année’ by Franz Liszt” (DMA thesis, University of North Texas, 1990).

11 Meng-Yin Tsai, “Franz Liszt’s Lyricism: A Discussion of the Inspiration for His First Italy Album of “Années de Pèlerinage”” (DMA thesis, University of Washington, 2001).

specific objects. Moreover, Merrick holds that each piece of the Première Année has “a symbolic use of tonality” that reflects the composer’s “inner path” of a journey.12

Other articles in this realm include Richard Cohn’s “Introduction to Neo-Riemannian

Theory: A Survey and a Historical Perspective”;13 “Maximally Smooth Cycles, Hexatonic

Systems, and the Analysis of Late-Romantic Triadic Progressions”;14 David Carson Berry’s

“The Meaning(s) of “Without”: An Exploration of Liszt’s Bagatelle ohne Tonart”; 15 and

Ramon Satyendra’s “Conceptualising Expressive Chromaticism in Liszt’s Music.” The last article is especially fascinating, as Satyendra investigates the expressive effect of Liszt’s transformation of pitch by a semitone. In doing so, he coins the phrase “pitch inflection,” noting that in Vallée d’Obermann, the gradual change in pitch seems to reflect the principal theme of the novel. This idea can be summarized by the author Sénancour in the observation that “every form changes, every time-span works itself out.”16

Resources on Liszt’s piano music from the standpoint of the performer are surprisingly few. Nevertheless, Douglas James Brett’s 1999 dissertation “Franz Liszt’s Sonetti di Petrarca:

An Eclectic Analysis and Performance Guide,”17 and Daniel Fritzen’s 2010 dissertation “The

12 Paul Merrick, “The Role of Tonality in the Swiss Book of Années de Pèlerinage,” Studia Musicologica Academiae Scientiarum Hungaricae 39, nos. 2–4 (1998): 367–383.

13 Richard Cohn, “Introduction to Neo-Riemannian Theory: A Survey and a Historical Perspective,” Journal of Music Theory 42, no. 2 (Autumn 1998): 167–180.

14 Richard Cohn, “Maximally Smooth Cycles, Hexatonic Systems, and the Analysis of Late-Romantic Triadic Progressions,” Music Analysis 15, no. 1 (1996): 9–40.

15 David Carson Berry, “Meaning(s) of “Without”: An Exploration of Liszt’s Bagatelle ohne Tonart,” Nineteenth-Century Music 27, no. 3 (Spring 2004): 230–262.

16 Ramon Satyendra, “Conceptualising Expressive Chromaticism in Liszt’s Music,” Music Analysis 16, no. 2 (July 1997): 219–252.

17 Douglas James Brett, “Franz Liszt’s Sonetti di Petrarca: An eclectic analysis and performance guide” (PhD diss., New York University, 1999).

Second Piano Concertos of Franz Liszt and Johannes Brahms: History, Analysis, and

Performance Practice”18 are two of the best resources available. The late American pianist and author Charles Rosen does not mention the Années de Pèlerinage in his 1995 book The Romantic

Generation, but he does commit an entire chapter to Liszt’s musical style by way of the landmark Sonata in B minor (1852) and etudes.19 Completed in the same “middle period” as the final version of the Première Annee, Suisse, the Sonata in B minor shares the same spirit of the

Swiss book. Rosen’s observations on the composer’s fluid structures, treatment of theme and melody, complex chromatic harmony, technical innovations at the keyboard, and increasingly personal style are all of valuable insight.

Curiously, the translation of Liszt’s musical rhetoric into performance is a topic that has yet to be addressed in scholarship. As such, this document intends to be the first to offer such a resource, constructing an analysis of Vallée d’Obermann that links Liszt’s literary inspiration to specific nuances in the music. The result will be a poetic guide that will aid performers, teachers, and listeners not only for this selection, but hopefully for other Liszt keyboard pieces as well.

18 Daniel Fritzen, “The Second Piano Concertos of Franz Liszt and Johannes Brahms: History, Analysis, and Performance Practice” (DMA thesis, University of California Los Angeles, 2010).

19 Charles Rosen, The Romantic Generation (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1998).

Chapter 1 Liszt’s Literary Inspiration

Compositional Background

The genesis of Vallée d’Obermann begins with Countess Marie d’Agoult (1805-1876).

In 1833, Liszt and the noblewoman became acquainted in the Paris salons, and as a young and sophisticated woman trapped in an unhappy marriage to an older man, Marie found a kindred spirit in the youthful and talented Liszt. In her memoirs, she described their first meeting:

“The door opened and a wonderful apparition struck my eyes, I say an apparition, for I can find no other word for the powerful emotion that stirred me at the sight of the most extraordinary person I had ever seen.”20 Marie shared Liszt’s deep affection for literature, and they got together frequently to discuss books, poetry, politics, and religion.21 The friendship turned romantic, then sexual, and in May 1835, Marie found herself pregnant with Liszt’s child. To escape the inevitable scandal, Marie left her husband and other children and embarked with Liszt on a journey through southern Europe. In June 1835, they arrived in Basle, and they spent the next five weeks through Switzerland, specifically Lake Constance, Wallenstadt, the lake of the

William Tell county, the Rhone Valley, and finally Geneva. There, they settled down, and in

December 1835, Marie gave birth to a daughter whom they named Blandine-Rachel.22

20 Bauer, 305.

21 Cameron Robert Watson, “Liszt’s Process of Revision as Shown in Selected Works from the Album d’un Voyageur and the Années de Pèlerinage, Première Année” (MM thesis, The University of Western Ontario, 1977), 32.

22 Alan Walker, Franz Liszt: The Virtuoso Years (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1987), 203.

In 1837, Marie and Liszt traveled to Italy, where they spent the next two years. In that time, Marie gave birth to two more children: Cosima (1837), later the famous second wife of

Richard Wagner, and Daniel (1839), a prodigious pianist and writer whose life would be cut short by tuberculosis. Despite their love for each other, and a budding family, Liszt and Marie could not reconcile their strong personalities. Liszt wanted to tour as a soloist and raise money for various causes; Marie wished to settle down, focus on her writing, and raise their children.

In 1839, they agreed to live apart, and in 1844, they ended their relationship for good.

Liszt’s journey with Marie d’Agoult dramatically changed the course of his life. While his travels broadened his worldview and stimulated his artistic insight, he often felt sad, lonely, homesick, and nervous about his future. He recorded his impressions and emotional states into character pieces for the piano, and in 1842, he issued a set of them titled Album d’un voyageur.

In the 1850s, he revisited the Album d’un voyageur, and his revisions produced the first book of the famous Années de Pèlerinage. Three years later, he published another volume that he titled

Seconde Année, Italie (1858), largely based on his experiences in Italy.23

Album d’un voyageur

The Album d’un voyageur is a set of nineteen introspective essays and pictorial impressions written between 1835 and 1838. In his 2002 book The Liszt Companion, Ben Arnold writes that “Album d’un voyageur represents a composite musical portrait of Liszt’s interest at the time with its diverse body of original works, improvisations on themes of others, and pieces

23 Ben Arnold, The Liszt Companion (Westport, Conn.: Greenwood Press, 2002), 75.

based on folk material.”24 Indeed, in the preface to the Album d’un voyageur, Liszt wrote not of form or construction, but rather poetic inspiration:

I have latterly travelled through many new countries, have seen many different places, and visited many a spot hallowed by history and poetry; I have felt that the varied aspects of nature, and the different incidents associated with them, did not pass before my eyes like meaningless pictures, but that they evoked profound emotion within my soul; that a vague but direct affinity was established betwixt them and myself, a real, though indefinable understanding, a sure but inexplicable means of communication, and I have tried to give musical utterance to some of my strongest sensations, some of my liveliest impressions.25

The Album d’un voyageur consists of three books: Impressions et poesies (seven in total), Fleurs mélodiques des Alpes (nine), and Paraphrases: Trois Airs Suisses (three). The Impressions et poesies chronicle the first month of the trip;26 the Fleurs mélodiques des Alpes are based on

Swiss folk tunes, but with no programmatic titles;27 and the Paraphrases are a collection of short fantasies. In his Paraphrases, the first and third pieces, Ranz de vaches and Ranz de chèvre are based on themes by the Swiss composer Ferdinand Huber (1791-1863), and the second piece,

Un soir dans les montagnes (“An Evening in the Mountain”) is a theme by the Swiss publisher and composer Ernest Knop.28 The first version of Vallée d’Obermann appears in the Impressions et poesies. The full contents of the collection are as follows:!

24 Ibid., 75.

25 Bauer, 307.

26 Watson, 220.

27 Humphrey Searle, The Music of Liszt (London, 1966), 24.

28 Ibid., 25.

Album d’un voyageur

I. Impressions et poesies

1. Lyon 2. Le lac de Wallenstadt 3. Au bord d’une source 4. Les cloches de G… 5. Vallée d’Obermann 6. La chapelle de Guillaume Tell 7. Psaume

II. Fleurs mélodiques des Alpes

1. Allegro 2. Lento 3. Allegro pastorale 4. Andante con sentimento 5. Andante molto espressivo 6. Allegro moderato 7. Allegretto 8. Allegretto 9. Andantino con molto sentimento

III. Paraphrases

1. Improvisata sur le ranz de vaches de F. Huber 2. Un soir dans les montagnes 3. Rondeau sur le ranz de chèvres de F. Huber

In 1847, during a concert in Kiev, Liszt met Carolyne zu Sayn-Wittgenstein, a Polish princess who convinced him to retire from the stage and concentrate instead on composition in Weimar, where he had been appointed Kapellmeister. The next year, he began an overhaul of the Album d’un voyageur, and in 1855, he introduced them as a new set titled Années de

Pèlerinage, Première Année, Suisse.

Années de Pèlerinage, Première Année, Suisse

Among the nine pieces in the Années de Pèlerinage, seven were revised from the Album d’un voyageur. Five of these were selected from the first part of the Album d’un voyageur, titled

Impressions et poesies; two were taken from the second part, titled Fleurs mélodiques des Alpes.

Only Eglogue (1836) and Orage (1855) are new, and the arrangement differs greatly from the presentation in the Album d’un voyageur.29 The complete contents of the Swiss volume of

Années de Pèlerinage are as follows:

1. Chapelle de Guillaume Tell (William Tell’s Chapel) 2. Au lac de Wallenstadt (At Lake Wallenstadt) 3. Pastorale 4. Au bord d’une source (Beside a Spring) 5. Orage (Storm) 6. Vallée d’Obermann (Obermann’s Valley) 7. Eglogue (Eclogue) 8. Le mal du pays (Homesickness) 9. Les cloches de Genève: Nocturne (The Bells of Geneva: Nocturne)

Liszt’s alterations are palpable, from minor changes in Au lac de Wallenstadt and Chapelle de

Guillaume Tell to an almost complete re-composition of Vallée d’Obermann and Les cloches de

Genève. While all the modified works are much improved from a structural viewpoint, the difference between the first and second versions of Au bord d’une source is noteworthy. In the

1855 version, Liszt reworked the texture of the piece by replacing large leaps in the right hand to the left hand frequently crossing over the right hand (Examples 1.1 and 1.2). In doing so, Liszt replaced technical acrobatics with a light and impressionistic tone color that calls to mind the subject of the music: the season of Spring.30

29 Walker, Virtuoso Years, 220–225.

30 Watson, 19.

Example 1.1: Liszt, Au bord d’une source (1842), mm. 1–2 from Album d’un voyageur

Example 1.2: Liszt, Au bord d’une source (1855), mm. 1–2 from Années de Pèlerinage, Première Année, Suisse

Indeed, the first book of the Années de Pèlerinage drops the listener straight into the splendor of Switzerland, from the breathtaking snow-capped mountains to the busy village hamlets nestled in the hills. Alan Walker writes that:

Années de Pèlerinage is filled with the sights and sounds of the Swiss countryside, whose natural beauty enchanted him. Earth and air, rain and storm are all represented here. Distant church bells, cascading falls, mountain echoes, and the cries of Swiss yodelers are among the charming repertoire of effects Liszt incorporates....31

31 Walker, Virtuoso Years, 217.

Specifically, Liszt depicts a storm in Chapelle de Guillaume Tell and Orage; water in Au lac de

Wallenstadt and Au bord d’une source; and bells in Eglogue and Les cloches de Genève.32 To portray these objective events through music, Liszt employs several dazzling pianistic effects.

Regarding the storm in Orage, for example, Liszt writes tremolos, cadenzas, fast-moving octaves, chromatic octave runs, and arpeggiated passages that run the gamut of the keyboard.

Existing Swiss folk melodies abound in several of the selections: a Swiss Alpine horn melody in

Chapelle de Guillaume Tell; a Swiss shepherd song (Ranz de chèvre) in Eglogue, and a lonely herdsman’s horn melody (Ranz des vaches) in Pastorale and Le mal du pays.33 Liszt brings these simple tunes to life with parallel melodic motion, dance rhythms, and the bass drone.34 Several pieces, too, call to mind a particular place. The wonderful scenery of the Swiss town called

Weesen produced the beautiful Le lac de Wallenstadt, and the Chapelle de Guillaume Tell originated on a visit to the famous Chapel at the Lake of Uri, known for the legend of the Swiss archer William Tell.35

At the same time, as Alfred Brendel notes, Liszt “experienced nature through the eyes of literature,”36 and his many references underscore his impressions of the countryside and his situation. With the exception of the Pastorale and Les cloches de Genève, each piece has a literary preface that alludes to Liszt’s wanderlust and awe of nature; his solitary nature, despite

Marie’s company; and his search for something greater than himself. The sources include

32 Karen Sue Wilson, “A Historical Study and Stylistic Analysis of Franz Liszt’s Années de Pèlerinage” (PhD diss., The University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill, 1977), 11.

33 Arnold, Liszt Companion, 78.

34 Aida Marc, “Analysis of Expressive Elements in the Dante Sonata” (DMA thesis, The University of Alabama, 2010), 9.

35 Serge Gut, “Swiss Influences on the Compositions of Franz Liszt,” Journal of the American Liszt Society 38 (1995): 7.

36 Alfred Brendel, Alfred Brendel On Music (Chicago: A Cappella Books, 2001), 257.

Lord Byron’s long narrative poem Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage (1812); Friedrich Schiller’s poem

Der Flüchtling (“The Fugitive”); the dark French novel Obermann (1804) by Étienne Pivert de

Sénancour; and a traditional Swiss motto. The first piece in the collection, the well-known

Chapelle de Guillaume Tell, bears the Swiss motto Einer für alle–Alle für Einen (“One for All–

All for One”). Only the Editio Musica Budapest of Années de Pèlerinage correctly attributes the motto to Swiss tradition; both the Henle and the Breitkopf and Härtel editions give credit to

Friedrich Schiller, even if the evidence is lacking.37 More likely, Liszt was inspired by Schiller’s play Wilhelm Tell (1804), a fanciful chronicle of the Swiss struggle for independence. Another

Schiller reference appears before Au bord d’une source, this time quoting Der Flüchtling (“The

Fugitive”), and taken within the larger context of the poem, it speaks to the yearning for peace amidst personal upheaval:

In säuselnder Kühle In the rustling coolness Beginnen die Spiele begins the play Der jungen Natur. of young nature.38

Last but not least, just before the score to Vallée d’Obermann, Liszt prints two quotations from its literary inspiration, both of which reflect the gloomy sentiment of the protagonist.

To wit, four of the nine pieces in the Première Année, including Vallée d’Obermann, are prefaced with quotations from Byron’s Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage. The story of a young British man on a sojourn through Iberia, Italy, and Belgium, Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage unfolds in four long cantos that take the reader on a quest for the meaning of true happiness. For the movements

Orage, Eglogue, Au Lac du Wallenstadt, and Vallée d’Obermann, Liszt selects for each a set of

37 Wilson, 20.

38 Translation from Arnold, Liszt Companion, 78.

lines, all of which come from Canto III, where Byron’s protagonist travels down the Rhine river into Switzerland:

Au Lac du … thy contrasted lake, Wallenstadt With the wild world I dwelt in, is a thing Which warns me, with its stillness, to forsake Earth’s troubled waters for a purer spring.

Orage But where of ye, O tempests! Is the goal? Are ye like those within the human breast? Or do ye find, at length, like eagles, some high nest?

Vallée (See below; page 21) d’Obermann

Eglogue The morn is up again, the dewy morn With breath all incense, and with cheek all bloom, Laughing the cloud away with playful scorn And living as if earth contain’d no tomb, – …

Curiously, although Les cloches de Genève does not bear a preface in Années de Pèlerinage, the earlier version in Album d’un voyageur does quote Byron’s Canto III:

Les cloches I live not in myself, but I become de Genève Portion of that around me.

These lines are more than an indication of Liszt’s pictorial inspiration for his music.

Rather, they are a reflection of the spiritual link that Liszt feels between himself and the hero of

Byron’s poem. More important than the love of nature shared between Liszt and the protagonist is the intense desire for happiness, and the search for that desire through the transcending of imposed borders, whether geographical or personal. As such, Liszt borrows from Byron the word

“pilgrimage” to describe not only the new set of scores he wrote to chronicle his journey with

Marie through Switzerland and Italy, but to express how his most private thoughts in a very

stressful time in his life.39 To this end, the responsibility of the keyboardist is two-fold: first, the overcoming of technical obstacles to delight the audience with Liszt’s vivid imagery; and second, the communication of Liszt’s deepest beliefs, sentiments, ideas, and doubts—all of which are difficult to portray in words.

Literary Background

Vallée d’Obermann draws upon two staples of nineteenth-century Romantic literature: the French novel Obermann (1804) by Étienne Pivert de Sénancour (1770–1846) and the long

English poem Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage (1812) by Lord Byron (1788–1824). The music reflects each work’s emotional quality—the despondent protagonist of the former, and the hopeful, searching protagonist of the latter. In a letter to the German publisher Schott, Liszt seems to put Byron aside, writing that Vallée d’Obermann “refers simply and solely to

Sénancour’s French novel, Obermann, the action of which is formed by the development of a particular state of mind…. The gloomy, hyper-elegiac fragment ‘la vallée d’Obermann’ which I have included in the Swiss year of the Années de Pèlerinage, evokes several of the main details from Sénancour’s work, to which the chosen epigraphs refer.”40 Yet in the preface to the score,

Liszt prints three excerpts: two from Sénancour (letters 4 and 53) and one from Byron. Thus, whatever the content of Liszt’s letter to Schott, these two writers play fundamental roles in

39 Paul Merrick, “The Role of Tonality in the Swiss Book of Années de Pélerinage,” Studia Musicologica Academiae Scientiarum Hungaricae 39, nos. 2–4 (1998): 383.

40 Franz Liszt, Neue Ausgabe Sämtlicher Werke. Series I, Volume 6 (Budapest: Editio Musica Budapest, 1976), XI.

Vallée d’Obermann, and when their keen sentiments are connected to events in Liszt’s personal life, a new psychological element gives important shape to the music.

Sénancour: Obermann

As implied in the title Vallée d’Obermann, Liszt in his score feels a special kinship with the protagonist of Sénancour’s novel. Indeed, in the original version of Vallée d’Obermann in the Album d’un voyageur Liszt dedicates the piece to the author, Sénancour, who was still living.

Written as a series of letters to his friend, Obermann is a lengthy two-volume epistolary work that chronicles ten years in the life of a talented young writer who, in order to escape the family business, flees Paris for Switzerland.41 The sensitive Obermann cherishes his solitude and yearns for a “perfect pastoral life,” but upon arriving in the remote basin of Immenstrôm, he realizes that he does not belong to the Alps either.42 His optimism quickly turns to despair, and he begins to suffer an identity crisis. The dark overtones of Obermann are somewhat autobiographical; after separating from his wife, Sénancour spent time traveling in the mountains as a way to grasp and understand his “personal moods, philosophical perspectives, and inner struggles.”43

To immerse the performer in Obermann’s troubled world and tortured emotions, Liszt introduces his scores with two excerpts from the novel: Letters 4 and 53.

41 Andrew Fowler, “Motive and Program in Liszt’s ‘Vallée d’Obermann,’” Journal of the American Liszt Society 29 (1991): 4.

42 Pauline Pocknell, “Liszt and Sénancour: Romantic Cult Heroes,” in Liszt the Progress, ed. Hans Kagebeck and Johan Lagerfelt (New York: The Edwin Mellen Press, 2001), 124–125.

43 Fowler, “Motive and Program,” 4.

Sénancour: Obermann, Letter 53 (excerpt)

What do I want? What am I? What should I ask of nature? … Every cause is invisible, every end is deceptive; every form changes, every time-span works itself out: … I feel, I exist in order to be consumed by ungovernable desires, to drink in the seductiveness of a fantastical world, to stand aghast at its voluptuous error. !

Sénancour: Obermann, Letter 4 (excerpt)

Unutterable sensitivity, charm and torment of our empty Years: immense awareness of a nature that everywhere Overwhelms and is impenetrable; all-embracing passion, Indifference, advanced wisdom, voluptuous freedom; all the needs and deep sorrows that a mortal heart can hold, I felt, I suffered in that memorable night. I took a dark step towards the age of weakness; I swallowed up ten years of my life.44

Liszt’s angst over his personal decisions bubbles to the surface in Obermann’s nervousness and uncertainty. The first excerpt, from Letter 53, is a proclamation not of confidence, but of doubt:

“What do I want? What am I? What should I ask of nature?” The powerlessness of the human condition in the face of supernatural forces is present, too, especially in lines such as “Every cause is invisible, every end is deceptive” and “immense awareness of a nature that everywhere overwhelms and is impenetrable.” The second excerpt, from Letter 4, is tinged with tender regret: “I took a dark step towards the age of weakness; I swallowed up ten years of my life.”

The music that follows is full of searching themes and poignant harmonies that mirror the

44 Franz Liszt, Vallée d’Obermann, ed. Ernst Herttrich, (Munich: G. Henle Verlag, 2005), VI.

distressed and uneasy disposition of the protagonist, and not surprisingly, Liszt himself later admitted that Vallée d’Obermann “evokes several of the main details from Sénancour’s work.”45

Byron: Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage

Lord Byron’s Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage also plays an important role in Liszt’s score.

Born into a family of wealth and status, George Gordon Byron lived recklessly, running up debt, engaging in scandalous love affairs, and volunteering as a soldier to fight in the Greek War of

Independence. He also poured his energy into writing poetry, and his penchant for adventure and storytelling made him the leading Romantic English poet of his time. In 1812, at only

24 years of age, he quickly gained fame with the publication of the first two cantos of his narrative tour-de-force Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage.

The poem follows a solitary and despondent young British man who undertakes a journey of the Continent in his quest for happiness and meaning. The work grew into four lengthy cantos: the first chronicles the hero’s travels in Iberia; the second describes the hero’s travels in the Balkans; the third observes the hero’s travels in central Europe, from the north in

Belgium, down through the Rhine Valley, and into the Alps; and the fourth takes the hero into the Italian peninsula, in particular Venice, Florence and Rome.46 Here, the narrative voice switches to the first person, and the protagonist is revealed to be Byron himself.47 Indeed, Childe

45 Liszt, Neue Ausgabe, XI.

46 Laurence W. Mazzeno, ed., Masterplots, 4th ed., s.v. “Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage.”

47 Ibid.

Harold’s Pilgrimage can be viewed as an autobiographical work, as Byron visited all the places in the poem and wrote the poem during his travels.48

In 1816, Byron released Canto III of Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage during his stay in

Geneva. In this section of the poem, Byron reflects on the relationship between human beings and nature, expressing loneliness, lost love, and amazement, all through Childe Harold’s voice.

Undoubtedly, the young and unsettled Liszt identified with Byron’s hero, as not only was the renowned keyboardist traveling through the same countryside, but deeply affected by the same impressions and thoughts. Much as Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage mirrors the life of its author,

Vallée d’Obermann reflects the state of mind of its composer, and to ensure that the performer draws a connection between these two works, Liszt prints nine lines from Canto III of Byron’s poem. The two lines “I live and die unheard, with a most voiceless thought, sheathing it as a sword” echo the bleak outlook of Sénancour’s Obermann, and could almost be mistaken as a quotation from one of Obermann’s forlorn letters.

Byron: Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage (excerpt)

Could I embody and unbosom now That which is most within me, – could I wreak My thoughts upon expression, and thus throw Soul, heart, mind, passions, feelings, strong or weak, All that I would have sought, and all I seek, Bear, know, feel, and yet breathe – into one word, And that one word were Lightning, I would speak; But as it is, I live and die unheard, With a most voiceless thought, sheathing it as a sword.

48 Christopher John Murray, Encyclopedia of the Romantic Era, 1760-1850., s.v. “Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage.”!

At heart, Liszt’s Vallée d’Obermann may be seen as a drama played out on the keyboard.

The composer embodies the lonely sentiments of Sénancour’s protagonist and Byron’s hero, and to convey them, he makes choices in tonality, harmony, rhythm, and interval relationships that require careful attention. The challenges for the performer are intricate, and the voyage through the piece can be draining, but if approached with seriousness and artistic integrity, the rewards can be great. For as many resources and suggestions that this document will offer, the enterprising pianist who tackles this work must find the honest performance from within.

Chapter 2 Rhetorical Devices

Before the nineteenth century, polyphonic Western music was primarily driven by objective aspects: intervals, form, tonality, harmony, and so forth. The idea of the composer or performer as a hero, though, was a powerful Romantic idea that introduced a narrative, subjective element that took center stage and determined how objective aspects would unfold in the course of the music. As a founder of the New German School, Liszt argued that the program of a piece was a powerful expressive tool, and his compositional devices, both customary and innovative, intend to convey specific scenes and mood. As such, a thorough understanding of

Liszt’s thematic transformation, symbolic keys and colorful harmonies, melodic gestures, and recitative should influence choices in timbre, voicing, tempo, rubato, phrasing, articulations, and dynamics.

Thematic Transformation

One of Liszt’s most influential advances in European music of the Romantic period is thematic transformation. In the late eighteenth century, Austrian court composer Franz Joseph

Haydn shaped the emergence of the Classical sonata form, a fusion of two Baroque concepts: motivic Fortspinnung, common in both choral and instrumental works; and ternary form, the latter of which came to prominence in the opera overture. In his symphonies and chamber music,

Haydn led the delineation of what early nineteenth century Paris Conservatory theorist Anton

Reicha would later call exposition, development, and recapitulation. The exposition laid out the

themes; the development pulled apart these themes and cultivated their melodic and harmonic possibilities; and the recapitulation restored the themes as presented before, albeit all in the tonic key.

At the dawn of the nineteenth century, Ludwig van Beethoven began to subvert expectations in sonata form to intensify the expressive tone of his scores, and by the time of his death in 1827, some musicians believed that Classical structures were no longer suitable for an age that valued the individual spirit over dogmatic process. These musicians respected tradition but wanted to move beyond it. As such, they looked within tradition for elements that they could mold to their personal goals. In this vein, Liszt surfaced as a leader and father figure of the movement, creating and advocating fresh and exciting ideas, but always placing craft and artistic integrity at the forefront.

Thematic transformation blends the methodologies of the exposition and the development into an idiosyncratic character piece. In his music, Liszt presents a motive of lyrical gravitas and alters the motive in accordance to the unfolding of the story.49 In fact, Liszt claimed that “the return, change, modification, and modulation of the motifs are conditioned by their relation to a poetic idea. … All exclusively musical considerations, though they should not be neglected, have to be subordinated to the action of the given subject.”50 In his 1991 book Nineteenth-Century

Music, the German musicologist Carl Dahlhaus writes that:

Liszt himself explicitly drew the conclusion that it is not so much musical themes and motives themselves as the transformations they undergo and the relations made to pertain between them that determine the “speechlike” aspect of instrumental music: “It is

49 Carlo Caballero, “In the Toils of Queen Omphale–Saint-Saëns’s Painterly Refiguration of the Symphonic Poem,” in The Arts Entwined–Music and Painting in the 19th Century, ed. Marsha L. Morton, and Peter L. Schmunk (New York: Garland Publishing, Inc., 2000), 123.

50 Roger Scruton, “Programme Music,” Grove Music Online: Oxford Music Online, http://www.oxfordmusiconline.com.proxy.libraries.uc.edu (Accessed December 30, 2011).

precisely the unlimited alterations which a motive may undergo––in rhythm, key (modulation), tempo, accompaniment, instrumentation, transformation, and so forth––that make up the language by means of which one can express thoughts (Ideen) and, as it were, dramatic action (dramatische Handlung).”51

As previously stated, the musicians of the New German School relied upon the past to enunciate their vision of the future, and indeed, a close look at Vallée d’Obermann reveals a structure somewhat akin to Classical sonata form. In the first section, Liszt introduces two thematic ideas, and in the second section, marked Recitativo, he casts them into a declarative soliloquy rife with unstable harmonies. The third section, by contrast, is nothing more than a quiet restatement of the second thematic idea. But sonata form is merely a blueprint for the music, as the motivic material in the first theme takes control and expands every subsequent section of the piece (Figure 1).

Figure 1: Liszt, Vallée d’Obermann: Formal, Thematic, and Tonal Structure

Measure: 1–74 75–118 119–169 170–207 208–216!

Tempo: Lento assai; Un poco più di moto Recitativo; Lento Più lento ma sempre lento Più mosso; Presto

Formal First thematic Second thematic Development: Recapitulation: Coda Structure: area area Recitativo Second thematic idea

Thematic Presentation First thematic Second thematic Series of thematic Structure: of theme transformation transformation transformation

Tonality: E minor C major E minor E major E major (Unstable) (Unstable)

The initial theme, which takes place over four measures, is marked by a descending stepwise motive in the left hand, escorted by block chords in the right hand (Example 2.1).

51 Carl Dahlhaus, Nineteenth-Century Music (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1991), 242.!

Cast in the gloomy key of E minor, the theme echoes that of a human moan, and it evokes the sentiments that permeate Sénancour’s novel: sadness, uncertainty, and hopelessness.

Example 2.1: Liszt, Vallée d’Obermann, mm. 1–9, the opening theme with Motive A and B

In fact, this initial thematic idea has two melodic motives that are similar in appearance but distinct in emotion. The first motive in the left hand (Motive A, mm. 1–2) hints at private anguish through the syncopation and descending motion of the first three notes. This descending motion calls to mind Letter 4 of Sénancour’s novel Obermann: “a dark step towards the age of weakness.” The next motive, also in the left hand (Motive B, mm. 3–4), is a sigh that suggests one’s acceptance of fate, and the rests on the strong beat in the right hand suggest uncertainty and hesitance. While the left hand descending scale in the first measure dominates the entire piece, Liszt isolates the melodic and rhythmic idea of the initial three notes, and as this motive transforms, it reflects the troubled character of Sénancour’s protagonist. This three-note motive

also appears in Motive B, albeit in different harmony and rhythm, and as it undergoes a variety of different keys, tempi, accompaniments, and textures, each section changes in mood and spirit.

The first transformation of the descending three-note motive occurs in measure 75 and in the key of C major (Example 2.2). The three-note cell appears in rhythmic augmentation–– quarter note–half note–quarter note––and it repeats over two consecutive measures. Afterward, the same rhythmic idea (short–long–short) recurs after a new rhythmic idea derived from the first three notes of the Motive B. This four-bar theme is significant, for it establishes the principal theme for the recapitulation section. The melody flows plaintively in the top voice over a quiet backgrounds of chords in the low register, and the passage is marked dolcissimo and pianissimo.

The net effect of this writing is hopeful and yearning, like seeking solace in a prayer.

Example 2.2: Liszt, Vallée d’Obermann, mm. 75–78, the first thematic transformation in C major

Yet this state of mind does not last long. After a series of modified ideas that intensify in volume and emotion (crescendo e più appassionato), the protagonist at measure 119 gives in to what Sénancour calls “ungovernable desires,” and here, Liszt marks Recitativo to emphasize the dramatic character of the music (Example 2.3).

Example 2.3: Liszt, Vallée d’Obermann, mm. 119–120, the second thematic transformation, Recitativo

The turbulent tremolo in the low register (m. 119) reflects the furious and restless disposition of the protagonist, and the appearance of the transformed descending third motive marked forte in octaves in the right hand (m. 120) mirrors the imposition of fate. This particular transformation is noteworthy for its violent contrast with the peaceful ambiance in measure 75.

As pianist Sok-Hoon Tan writes, “besides being the most technically demanding section of the entire piece, the tremolo also serves to break away from the slow and nostalgic moods that prevail in the previous section.”52

At measure 128, in a section marked Più mosso and agitato molto, the “ungovernable desires” burst forth with unexpected power. While the right hand plays an unnerving tremolo in the middle register of the instrument, the left hand presents the principal three-note motive in two more transformations: a group of three marcato eighth notes in octaves (m. 128) and a group of three staccato eighth notes in triplets (m. 130) in the low register. In between, the three-note motive appears in the high register in its original syncopated rhythm (m. 129). In effect, the protagonist struggles with two suddenly new feelings––the first full of impending doom (m. 128 and m. 130), the second full of faith amidst great turmoil (m. 129). The drama is one of aching

52 Sok-Hoon Tan, “The “Gypsy” Style as Extramusical Reference: A Historical and Stylistic Reassessment of Liszt’s Book I “Swiss” of Années de Pèlerinage” (MM thesis, University of North Texas, 2008), 37. !

desperation, an unnamed protagonist striving to move forward in a world of unfamiliarity and doubt (Example 2.4).

Example 2.4: Liszt, Vallée d’Obermann, mm. 128–130, struggle between two transformed themes

After the chaotic Recitativo, the principal theme appears in tearful resignation. Here, Liszt reverts back to the three-note cell of Motive A, preserving both the intervallic content and the short-long-short rhythm in a single line without accompaniment (m. 161). After the whole measure rest, this descending three-note cell appears in the bass line in chords separated by quarter rests. Taken together, the musical scene is vividly poignant (Example 2.5).

Example 2.5: Liszt, Vallée d’Obermann, mm. 159–169, three-note motive in a spare texture

The dwindling of the storm, however, brings to the protagonist a rare moment of calm.

Liszt invokes the principal theme in the original tempo (Lento); the original rhythmic notation

(eighth note–quarter note–eighth note); and the parallel major of the original key (E minor) all in a soothing middle register and with gentle fluttering triplet figuration (Example 2.6). The change is more spiritual than mellow, more transcendent than submissive, signaling a materialization of quiet confidence and self-assurance after much searching, prayer, struggling, and tears.

Example 2.6: Liszt, Vallée d’Obermann, m. 170, the third thematic transformation in E major

In measure 180, this transformation gives way to what Liszt scholar Ben Arnold calls a “sublime and glorious moment”53 through a well-timed inversion of the principal theme over soft sixteenth-note triplet arpeggios in the left hand (Example 2.7).

Example 2.7: Liszt, Vallée d’Obermann, m. 180, the fourth thematic transformation in inversion

When the principal theme comes back at measure 188, Liszt thickens the texture and recalls the repeated and articulated sixteenth-note triplets from the stormy Recitativo. Now the theme is played in both hands in a unison span that covers three octaves. The marking sempre animando sin’ al fine reinforces the emotional intensity of the scene (Example 2.8).

Example 2.8: Liszt, Vallée d’Obermann, m. 188, the fifth thematic transformation

53 Arnold, Liszt Companion, 82.

In the measures that follow, the music steadily whips into frenzy. The theme is sounded loudly in octaves, accompanied by percussive chords and scalar runs, and the short-long-short rhythm is given more urgency with strong accents on the long notes and staccato markings on the short notes. As the theme migrates up and down the tessitura between hands, the protagonist paves the way for his triumph with an ascending staircase of double octaves (Example 2.9).

But his happy ending is not to be. After a short fermata, the theme returns not in glorious transfiguration, but in its original fateful descent. With a slackening of tempo and a heavy accent on the appogiatura on the final measure, it effectively ends the work. Ben Arnold offers this poetic summary:

While moments of ecstasy are present, this joy is cut tragically short by a dramatic pause and an abrupt descending restatement of the opening theme. This epiphany proves to be an illusion, since the final descending statement harmonized with two augmented chords creates a heartbreaking close to this incredible pursuit. Liszt as Obermann almost finds life’s answer and the happiness he seeks, only to realize that it is a mirage… In the end, this work of trials, tribulations, hope, and jubilation, ends in tragedy, or in Byron’s words in the preface, “But as it is, I live and die unheard, / With a most voiceless thought, sheathing it as a sword.”54 !

Example 2.9: Liszt, Vallée d’Obermann, mm. 214–216, the last statement of the theme

54 Ibid., 82.

In essence, while Vallée d’Obermann can be analyzed in terms of a traditional sonata structure, Liszt’s thematic transformation drives the action. The protagonist, embodied in a motive that reflects his weary and lonely character, undergoes an emotional journey, and with each alteration, the music takes on a different mood or spirit. While the score mostly evokes the gloomy and sentimental aspect of Sénancour and Byron’s stories, Liszt sees hope for his hero, and the music aims for a joyful and victorious finale. But the Romantic ethos is not blind to the grueling realities of the human struggle, and Liszt acknowledges this. Instead of presenting a final variation that ends in magnificence and wonder, as Beethoven might have done, he shocks the listener with a tragic twist. The theme suddenly appears as first stated, but now the augmented second between D-sharp and C-natural makes the listener aware of the truly brutal and raw nature of the protagonist’s emotional state. The performer who endeavors to reach his or her audience with a meaningful rendition of Liszt’s Vallée d’Obermann must not only be aware of thematic relationships, but compositional correlations as well.

Tonality and Harmony

Liszt’s use of tonality as a programmatic device has been the subject of many articles and discussions. Scholars such as Paul Merrick, Robert Collet, David Gifford, Tibor Szász, and

Allen Walker have observed that Liszt frequently chooses a certain key for a certain subject.

Collet and Gifford, in particular, have examined Liszt’s symbolic tonality in his sacred works.

In his essays, the late Collet claims that the key of E major is often associated “in Liszt’s mind with serene religious feeling,” and indeed, E major is the tonic of Liszt’s two oratorios––The

Legend of St. Elisabeth and Christus––as well as the highly spiritual Sposalizio from the second

book of the Années de Pèlerinage.55 Gifford notes that almost half of Liszt’s twenty-five religious piano works are in the key of E major,56 although he writes that his preference for this key “does not seem as apparent in his choral religious works, perhaps because he had a text to express the idea without needing added symbolism.”57 British scholar Paul Merrick claims that even if one cannot definitively link a certain key to a certain character, Liszt shows a regular inclination toward programmatic key selections.58 In his 1998 article, “The Role of Tonality in the Swiss Book of Années de Pèlerinage,” Merrick states that Liszt employs specific keys to represent specific objects. To wit, the key of A-flat major is love; the key of D minor is death; the key of E major is religion; the key of B major is Heaven; and the key of F-sharp major is spiritual contemplation. Moreover, Merrick argues that each piece in the Première Année is arranged through “a symbolic use of tonality” to show Liszt’s “inner path,” a journey that ends in the afterlife with the concluding movement Les cloches de Genève, cast in the key of

B Major.59

A close look at Vallée d’Obermann shows that Liszt’s programmatic use of key is very much present. The selected tonal centers reflect the mood of the protagonist at every step of his journey: the dark key of E minor with which the opening fateful motive announces itself; the first thematic transformation in C major; the turbulent Recitativo in E minor, a rhetorical emphasis of the protagonist’s struggles; and the subsequent transfiguration into E major that reflects the

55 Robert Collet, “Choral and Organ Music,” in Franz Liszt: The Man and His Music, ed. Alan Walker (London: Barrie & Jenkins 1970; Reprinted London: Redwood Burn Limited, 1976), 323.

56 David E. Gifford, “Religious Elements Implicit and Explicit in the Solo Piano Works of Franz Liszt” (DMA thesis, University of Missouri-Kansas City, 1984), 27.

57 Ibid., 28.

58 Paul Merrick, “Liszt’s Music in C Major,” The Musical Times 149, no. 1903 (Summer 2008): 72.

59 Paul Merrick, “The Role of Tonality,” 367–68.

temporary ecstasy of the hero in the final measures (Figure 1; page 25). Even if the casual listener cannot detect Liszt’s scheme, the distinct color of each key is enough to evoke an emotional response.

Although Liszt writes the opening and the recitative in E minor, both sections are rarely able to find tonal footing. The very first measure casts doubt on the home key. While the left hand alludes to the tonic with a descending E minor scale, the right hand enunciates a subdominant minor seventh chord. (In fact, it is possible to hear the composite sonority as an altered ninth chord.) In the second measure, the tonic is delayed by a chromatic passing tone

(A-sharp) at the bottom of the right hand, and when the entry does occur, it takes place in second inversion.60 Even in isolated measures, the central harmony is always deferred: in measure 4, the

G minor chord through an F-sharp; in measure 6, the G minor chord in second inversion through a C-sharp; and in measure 9, the F-sharp minor chord in first inversion through an E-sharp.

Furthermore, in measure 8, the descending theme further obscures the home key with a remote modulation to B-flat minor, a tritone away from E minor (Example 2.10). This postponement of the tonic brings to mind the uncertainty in Sénancour’s Obermann: “What do I want? What am

I? What should I ask of nature?” Even during the eight-measure transition to the restatement of the main theme (mm. 26–34), a chain of suspensions slows the pace of the music and generates even more disquiet (Example 2.11).

60Allen Forte, “Liszt’s Experimental Idiom and Music of the Early Twentieth Century,” Nineteenth-Century Music 10, no. 3 (Spring 1987): 212.

Example 2.10: Liszt, Vallée d’Obermann, mm. 1–9, the opening passage, main theme

The first phrase in the eight-measure transition to the restatement of the main theme begins with a German augmented sixth chord in E-flat minor, and due to its status as an enharmonic dominant, it functions as a bridge from E minor to E-flat minor.61 The descending thematic idea then appears in the left hand with the same intervallic relationship as the first four notes of Motive A: half step–whole step–whole step (mm. 26–27). The top line in the right hand is a sixth above the bass, but also one quarter beat later, and in the parallel descending motion, the interval between the voices creates a slow moving chain of 7–6 suspensions that gives the music a tired and laborious quality. In measure 27, the right hand interrupts with a strong dominant B-flat major chord with a G-flat in the bass that underscores the key of E-flat minor.

The dissonant sonority of the B-flat chord dramatizes the disquiet of the protagonist, and the resolution to the tonic first inversion E-flat minor chord drives home his sense of defeat. Yet, looking forward into the second phrase of this transition passage, this same E-flat acts as a pivot note to the German augmented sixth chord in A minor. This augmented sixth chord has the very

61 Wilson, 180.

same harmonic and melodic idea as the first phrase, and the deferred harmonies and dissonant sonorities heighten the emotional uncertainty of the scene (Example 2.11).

Example 2.11: Liszt, Vallée d’Obermann, mm. 26–36, the transition back to the main theme

To be sure, the key of E minor is not much of a factor in the first thematic area. Even at the return of the main theme at measure 34, where the left hand sounds the tonic E in the low register, the right hand plays the same subdominant minor seventh chord as the beginning, leaving the overall sense of harmony vague and unsteady (Example 2.11).

At measure 67, Liszt begins a transition to the first thematic transformation, and in doing so, he gives the home key its first real presence with a pedal point on E-natural followed by three

E minor chords. But even here, rapid modulations and delayed resolutions––achieved mostly through non-chord tones and suspensions––render the harmonic progression difficult to follow.

Together with the strong feeling of a minor key, the relative absence of the tonic enhances the

emotional state of the protagonist––sad and lost, but searching. At measure 75, Liszt establishes a key center for the first time when he casts the first thematic transformation into the submediant of E minor: C major (Example 2.12).

Example 2.12: Liszt, Vallée d’Obermann, mm. 66–74, the transition to the first thematic transformation

Of course, Liszt’s manipulation of key centers and tonal perception for the purposes of enhanced storytelling is hardly unique to Vallée d’Obermann. Many of his works, both programmatic and absolute, stretch the limits of Romantic harmony in order to make a more subtle and meaningful connection with the listener.

In his landmark 1984 article “Liszt’s Symbols for the Divine and the Diabolical: Their

Revelation of a Program in the B Minor Sonata,” the Hungarian pianist and author Tibor Szász makes the case that Liszt’s Sonata in B minor (1853) has extra-musical aspects that are conveyed

through a symbolic use of musical material.62 Despite the explicit key stated in the title, the

Sonata in B minor is tonally unstable much of the time. The opening phrase begins on the submediant (G) and descends in the Phrygian mode––a natural minor scale with a semitone lowered second scale degree. When this figure recurs a short while later, the phrase descends in a “gypsy” manner––a harmonic minor scale with a sharp fourth scale degree (Example 2.13).

The second theme and the third theme are disconcerting, too, as they often present diminished seventh chords without proper resolution. Szász believes that the harmonic volatility is a metaphor for the battle between Man and Lucifer. First, Szász notes that the gypsy scale’s inherent tritone, outlined from the tonic to the augmented fourth scale degree, harkens back to the medieval notion that this dissonant interval represented the “devil” in music. Second, Szász feels that the descending scales with “two distorted sequences of B Minor pitches” reflects

Man’s struggle to reconcile devout faith with material desires.63

Example 2.13: Liszt, Sonata in B minor, mm. 1–6, the first theme

62 Tibor Szász, “Liszt’s Symbols for the Divine and the Diabolical: Their Revelation of a Program in the B Minor Sonata,” Journal of the American Liszt Society 15 (1984): 55.

63 Ibid., 50–51.

Yet major keys play an important role in Liszt’s musical symbolism, too. In his research,

Paul Merrick concludes that Liszt considers the key of C major as a beginning element, probably due to its empty key signature and its position at the top of the circle of fifths. Merrick observes that C major is the first key in much of Liszt’s collected and multi-movement music, notably the Preludio of the Transcendental Studies and Chapelle de Guillaume Tell, the first piece of the Années de Pèlerinage, Première Année.64 Merrick also states that Liszt employs C major as an earthly representation––the “human” side as opposed to the “divine.” In his solo piano work In Festo Transfigurationis Domini nostri Jesu Christi, Liszt begins in C major and through the course of the music he modulates to F-sharp major. The choice of this key is very significant––it is not only the exact polar opposite of C major through the tritone distance, but it is a key that, by virtue of its six accidentals and dual nature (six sharps or six flats) represents a kind of remote and esoteric complexity. Liszt calls upon F-sharp major as the music depicts the human Jesus becoming divine, and he does the same in other religiously inspired works as well.

In fact, in the Incarnation movement of his Missa Solemnis, he proceeds the opposite way, turning F-sharp major into C major as God, through His son Jesus Christ, becomes Man.65

To this end, the key of the first thematic transformation in Liszt’s Vallée d’Obermann is more than a coincidence. Rather, it is a carefully chosen representation of the work’s flawed protagonist and his struggle to find and retain his identity amidst a difficult and unjust world.

The depression and powerlessness of the original theme give way to feelings of longing and hope, and the clarity and optimism of the protagonist’s new vision is underlined by the simplicity of the accompaniment (Example 2.14).

64 Merrick, “Liszt’s Music in C Major,” 78.

65 Ibid., 78–79.

Example 2.14: Liszt, Vallée d’Obermann, mm. 75–78, the first thematic transformation in C major

The most significant transformation in Vallée d’Obermann, however, is the conversion of the tonic minor into the parallel tonic major. The path of the work from E minor to E major stays in line with the “emotional course” as described by Kenneth Hamilton66 and reinforces Liszt’s protocol with regard to key––that of a struggle or journey rather than a portrait of a specific person, place, or event. This metamorphosis from minor to major is found throughout the

Années de Pèlerinage: the Vallée d’Obermann in the Première Année; the Dante Sonata in the

Deuxième Année; and four pieces in the Troisième Année.67 In his symphonic music, Liszt often sticks to the model laid out by Beethoven in his Symphony No. 5—beginning in the darkness of

C minor and prevailing in the light of C major. He follows this path in his symphonic poems

Tasso and Hunnenschlacht, as well as A Faust Symphony. But Liszt also has an affinity for the journey from E minor to E major, and not just in Vallée d’Obermann. In his late piano nocturne

Schlaflos! Frage und Antwort (Sleepless! Question and Answer, 1883), Alan Walker notes that

“While the restless, ever-string Question is in E minor, the Answer is in E major.”68

66 Kenneth Hamilton, ed., The Cambridge Companion to Liszt (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2005), 70.

67 Wilson, 184.

68 Walker, Final Years, 441.

In Vallée d’Obermann, the key of E major emerges from the E minor turbulence of the

Recitative and Presto. Beginning at measure 170, the parallel major paves the way for the first peaceful incarnation of the original theme, and this key persists as this prayer transforms itself into a glorious inversion of the original theme. As mentioned earlier, the destination of E major is not a coincidence, and given the personal turmoil that the protagonist undergoes all through

Vallée d’Obermann, only an ecstatic arrival can wipe away the despair of the previous measures.

James M. Baker, in particular, gives an insightful commentary:

E major, to be sure, has strong religious connotations in many works. It can often convey a pentecostal religious ardour, as in ‘Sursum corda.’…..the key of E has more specifically to do with transcendental passion––whether spiritual or temporal––than with religion in a general sense. There seem to have been in Liszt’s mind subliminal connections between the fervour of ‘Sursum corda,’ the erotic transports of the Sonetto 104 del Petrarca, and the ecstatic transcendence of Vallée d’Obermann, all of which are in E major.69 !

Melodic Line and Intervals

In his Critical and Historical Essays, published posthumously in 1912, the American pianist and scholar Edward MacDowell (1860–1908) stated that composers who wish to write powerfully suggestive music do so through the selection of specific motivic intervals and the construction of a melodic line with direction and intent.70 Since the birth of Western music, certain intervals have always carried a particular emotional connotation, and the melodic line with purpose, especially ascending or descending, can spark the listener’s imagination.

69 Hamilton, Cambridge Companion, 114.

70 Edward MacDowell, Critical and Historical Essays: Lectures delivered at Columbia University (Boston: Stanhope Press, 1912), 268–269.

MacDowell summarizes this in one of his keen commentaries: “Suffice it to say that the upward tendency of a musical phrase can suggest exaltation, and that a downward trend may suggest depression, the intensity of which will depend upon the intervals used.”71 Liszt, too, employs carefully chosen intervals and creates melodic lines that match the narrative threads that run through his scores, and Vallée d’Obermann is no different. Through a precise assembly of compositional materials, Liszt heightens the listener’s experience and makes Sénancour’s protagonist a more sympathetic figure.

In Vallée d’Obermann, descending melodic motion is the predominant idea, and while tonality, rhythm, form, texture, and timbre all play important roles in determining the listener’s emotional response to the hero, the principal melody is crucial to the thematic transformation that drives the music and the story. The opening descending scale in E natural minor that travels from the mediant to the subdominant and in doing so subverts the tonic parallels the excerpt in

Sénancour’s novel––“a dark step towards the age of weakness”––and conveys the uncertainty and despair felt by the young Liszt in his self-imposed exile in Switzerland.

The descending scale appears frequently in the first thematic area (mm. 1–74), usually moving through the interval of a seventh in a stepwise motion, but on some occasions, the scale extends over two octaves. In the first nineteen measures of the piece, Liszt raises the atmospheric tension by casting this figure a whole tone higher upon each successive appearance. At measure

20, the entry is particularly anguished: as the right hand begins a four-octave descent in octaves, the left hand sounds a forceful dominant seventh chord in E harmonic minor. As both hands shift to the left of the keyboard, the music slows, eventually staggering to the submediant and dropping a diminished seventh to the leading tone. In E minor, such a figure, if reinforced by a reduction in sound, can create an acute question mark. The context of the larger passage,

71 Ibid., 269

however, suggests more anguish than quite sorrow, and as such, the four-octave descent should be strong and driving (Example 2.15).

Example 2.15: Liszt, Vallée d’Obermann, mm. 20–25, four-octave descent of the theme

At measure 75, the first thematic transformation proceeds in C major and projects a longing and contemplative character. It borrows the first three notes from the original theme as a head motive, and it descends the interval of a third in stepwise motion with each successive appearance beginning on the last note of the previous entry (Example 2.16).

Example 2.16: Liszt, Vallée d’Obermann, mm. 75–78, descending three-note motive of the first thematic transformation

At measure 119, the Recitative section, the second transformation explodes with fury, and the descending three-note motive cuts through the left hand tremolo with a frightening countenance (Example 2.17).

Example 2.17: Liszt, Vallée d’Obermann, mm. 119–120, descending three-note motive of the second thematic transformation

At measure 170, Liszt introduces a tranquil version of the theme in E major, a key that, as mentioned previously, often carries a religious connotation. Following this transformation, the theme undergoes two further changes, each of which builds on this positive spirituality. Yet, at measure 180, Liszt inverts the original three-note motive into an ascending figure, accompanied by arpeggiated chords (Example 2.18), and at measure 196, the three-note motive is bombastic by a pyrotechnic display of ascending and descending scales and arpeggios (Example 2.19). Far from the gloomy first measures, the rhetoric is one of emotional uplift.

Example 2.18: Liszt, Vallée d’Obermann, mm. 180–181, the principal theme inverted

Example 2.19: Liszt, Vallée d’Obermann, mm. 196–197, the principal theme inverted, bombastic !

Even as the music increases in ecstasy, though, the descending form of the motive creeps back into the texture. Although the descending motive shares the same harmonies and temperament as the rest of the music, a portentous element materializes. Near the end, this descending motive appears in the left hand in its original rhythm (mm. 212–213), and after the climatic ascending E major arpeggio in double octaves (m. 214), it bursts forth it in the original thematic structure, and anguished character (mm. 215–216) (Example 2.20).

Example 2.20: Liszt, Vallée d’Obermann, mm. 212–216, the last statement of the theme

This two-measure ending, so abrupt and devastating, completely turns the Romantic expedition of darkness to light on its head. The accumulated joy of the protagonist is nothing more than a façade or pleasurable dream, and the reality of the protagonist’s situation, captured perfectly in the opening measures, remains a cold and harsh truth.

But while melodic direction can imbue the music with a specific mood or personality, the interval––melodic or harmonic––can communicate a more subtle and powerful message to the listener. In his 1997 article “Conceptualising Expressive Chromaticism in Liszt’s Music,”

University of Michigan professor Ramon Satyendra states that Liszt’s manipulation of pitch by a semitone is an intended psychological effect.72 Satyendra refers to the observation made by Carl

Dahlhaus regarding Liszt’s “speech-like” elements in Vallée d’Obermann through an analysis of

72 Satyendra, 219.

the pitch modification in the first scalar passage of the original theme. He observes that the descent from G-natural to A-natural in the left hand recurs several times in the same manner and with the same two pitches until the first transformation of the theme at measure 75. With its gloomy descent, syncopation in the low register, and strong emotional aura, this figure is hard to miss, no matter where it surfaces in the music (Example 2.21). !

Example 2.21: Liszt, Vallée d’Obermann, mm. 1–2, the original theme in the left hand

In subsequent appearances, however, the theme has an altered pitch content. With the exception of the G-natural to A-natural motive, the descending figure changes ever so slightly.

Satyendra believes that this handling of the theme is an interpretation of Sénancour’s musing in

Letter 53 of his novel Obermann: “Every form changes, every time-span works itself out.”73

Indeed, each collection of pitches produces a different scale, and each of these scales, no matter how closely related, has a distinct quality that reflects the temperament of the protagonist.

As demonstrated previously, Liszt casts the original theme in E natural minor, but at measure 20, with a timely D-sharp, the theme evokes E harmonic minor (Example 2.22). When presented in a melodic fashion, the harmonic minor scale contains an augmented second between the sixth and seventh scale degrees, and this chromatic modification, however small, intensifies

73 Ibid., 227.

the sadness of the hero. At measure 51, the theme has more pitch variation: F-sharp to F-natural,

E-natural to E-flat, and B-natural to B-flat. The upshot of this segment––the E-flat major scale–– is the first emergence of the major sonority in the thematic zone, and Liszt reinforces this soothing turn of events with a judicious marking of dolcissimo (Example 2.23).

Example 2.22: Liszt, Vallée d’Obermann, mm. 20–23, altered theme in both hands

Example 2.23: Liszt, Vallée d’Obermann, mm. 51–54, altered theme changes hands

At measure 67, Liszt guides the listener back to the original key with a pedal point on E, and at measure 71, the original theme appears one last time before its first transformation. When this happens, the pedal point disappears, and the theme rises out of the low register in the left hand. The passage is similar to the opening measures in that the left hand enunciates the theme while the right hand harmonizes with the subdominant chord of A minor. This time, though, the theme itself is in A minor with a raised fourth (D-sharp) underlined not only in the melody, but

in the downbeat chord in the right hand. Held for three beats, the D-sharp in the right hand eventually changes to the subdominant for the plagal cadence that closes the first section

(Example 2.24).

Example 2.24: Liszt, Vallée d’Obermann, mm. 71–73, altered theme in the left hand

The D-sharp is much more than an expressive chromatic gesture. First, it serves as the leading tone in E minor, the original key of the work. Second, within the A minor scale, the

D-sharp creates the tritone, an interval that historically carries a negative connotation due to its harmonic instability and melodic dissonance.74 In fact, the D-sharp is greater than what it delivers in structural appeal. It creates an ominous soundscape that orients the listener in the despair of the protagonist before the theme undergoes its first transformation, and Liszt draws attention to the significance of the entire passage with the marking of pesante (Example 2.24).

The Presence of the Tritone

Indeed, the tritone plays a very important role in Liszt’s music. Half a century before his

Hungarian compatriot Béla Bartók promoted the tritone as a crucial structural element in his

74 William Drabkin, “Tritone,” Grove Music Online: Oxford Music Online, http://www.oxfordmusiconline.com.proxy.libraries.uc.edu (Accessed March 20, 2013).

music, Liszt employed the tritone as a programmatic device to communicate his narratives more vividly. But while Bartók was fascinated by the intervallic symmetry of the tritone, Liszt found the harmonic precariousness of the tritone more attractive. Like the Sonata in B minor, the Dante

Sonata (1849) for piano also draws a link between minor keys and tonal unsteadiness. Inspired by the Divine Comedy of the Italian medieval poet Dante Alighieri, the Fantasie quasi Sonata: d’après une lecture du Dante actually takes its title from Victor Hugo’s poem Après une Lecture de Dante.

The piece begins on an A-natural, the dominant of the tonic key (D minor), but the descending sequence lands on the flat second scale degree (E-flat), a tritone away

(Example 2.25). In fact, the subject matter and the medieval reputation of the tritone as “the devil’s interval,” led the great twentieth-century Hungarian-British pianist Louis Kentner and the British-Canadian musicologist Alan Walker to postulate that the beginning of the Dante

Sonata is a musical representation of the Gate to Hell as described in Canto III of the Divine

Comedy: “Abandon hope all ye who enter here.”75

Example 2.25: Liszt, Dante Sonata, mm. 1–5, opening descending sequence

75 Louis Kentner, “Solo Piano Music (1827-61),” in Franz Liszt: The Man and His Music, ed. Alan Walker (London: Barrie & Jenkins 1970; Reprinted London: Redwood Burn Limited, 1976), 92; Walker, Virtuoso Years, 275–276.

Yet the pianist Walter Robert suggests that a reading of the tritone motive as the devil is

“rather a naïve, trivial, and pat association.”76 To wit, he notes that in A Faust Symphony (1857),

Liszt writes the same series of tritones, but they embody only one aspect of the hero’s character.

In A Faust Symphony, Robert observes that this trait has little to do with evil and more to do with

“his fruitless searching, his being lost in confusion in doubt.”77 Indeed, such a depiction has a parallel in the beginning lines of the Divine Comedy as Dante himself comments on his troubled state of mind: “midway along the journey of our life I found myself within a gloomy wood, for the right path had been lost.” The Scottish virtuoso pianist Kenneth Hamilton, an acknowledged expert on Romantic music, feels that this interpretation fits the Sonata in B minor and Vallée d’Obermann as well: “Such an emotional course is easily fitted to a minor-key sonata form with a recapitulation in the tonic major.”78 Hungarian pianist Tibor Szász agrees that while Liszt certainly uses the tritone as a symbol in his works, it does not always refer to the devil. He notes that while the tritone figure that opens the Dante Sonata may depict the Gate to Hell, it may also refer to the uneasiness of the protagonist as he begins his travels.79

Liszt also turns to the tritone frequently in his Mephisto Waltzes, an autumnal series of four pieces that are inspired by the villain of the Faust legend. The first two waltzes (1862 and

1881) were originally written for orchestra and later transcribed by the composer for piano. The third and fourth waltzes (1883 and 1885) were cast for piano only. In the Mephisto Waltz No. 2

(1881), Liszt calls upon an ascending tritone (B–F) to begin the music (Example 2.26). Later,

76 Tsai, 72–73.

77 Ibid.

78 Hamilton, Cambridge Companion, 70. ! 79 Szász, 41–47; Tsai, 73.

he expands the interval to a perfect fifth (B-natural–F-sharp), but near the end of the piece, the contour descends, and the interval resumes its tritone identity (B–F) (Example 2.27).

Example 2.26: Liszt, Mephisto Waltz No. 2, mm. 1–6, ascending tritones

Example 2.27: Liszt, Mephisto Waltz No. 2, mm. 535–540, descending tritones

Liszt dedicated the Mephisto Waltz No. 2 to his friend Camille Saint-Saëns (1835-1921), the leading French composer of his generation. In a letter to Saint-Saëns, the elderly Hungarian composer discusses the dedication and his intention with the tritone interval:

No one feels more than I the imbalance between good will and the actual results in my compositions. Nevertheless, I continue to write, in spite of fatigue…. To aspire to higher things is not forbidden: it is only the attainment of such aspirations that remains the question, somewhat like the ending of my Mephistophelean Waltz on the pitches B–F.80

80 Szász, 47.

Once again, the tritone has a broader meaning than its traditional origins. Given the excerpt from

Liszt’s letter, the tritone in the Mephisto Waltz No. 2 can be interpreted as a symbol for the desire of Man, a flawed creature, to reach for “higher things.” The ascending tritones in the beginning of the piece is Man’s hope; the expansion of the tritone to a perfect fifth is the near “attainment” of these goals; and the descending tritones at the end of the piece is the inevitable failure of Man to achieve perfection.81

To this end, the significance of the tritone in Vallée d’Obermann must be approached with an open mind. The tritone does not dominate the music as in the Dante Sonata or the

Mephisto Waltz No. 2, but Liszt does turn to the interval to foreshadow events and to enhance feelings of uncertainty and rage. The modulation in the first eight measures, a journey from the tonic key of E minor to the remote key of B-flat minor, subverts the harmonic base of the piece, and in doing so, it draws attention to the despair of the protagonist. The tritone also makes an appearance in the most turbulent section of the score, the Presto (m. 139), where the hero’s anxiety over his situation grows into a great frenzy. At measure 139, the passage begins with a fortissimo diminished seventh chord that is immediately followed by descending fast-moving sixteenth-note octaves traded between the hands. Phrased in groups of three, these sixteenth notes mimic the opening three-note motive of the work, and the groups of the three-note motive are separated by a tritone: A-natural to E-flat, and E-flat to A-natural. And the following descending four-note of the triplet figuration in measure 141 descends through the tritone again

(Example 2.28). !

81 Lively, 37; Szász, 47.!

Example 2.28: Liszt, Vallée d’Obermann, mm. 139–144, octave trading between hands and the tritone relationship in the sixteenth note passages

From here, the diminished seventh chord becomes an integral part of the Presto section.

According to Szász, Liszt employs the diminished seventh chord as a representation of terror and unrest, much along the lines of the tritone.82 Indeed, in the Presto, Liszt alternates ascending leaps of the octave and the diminished seventh to express rage and anxiety. Since the tritone is a natural component of the diminished triad, outlining the distance from tonic to diminished fifth, the tritone remains a harmonic force throughout the emotional turmoil (Examples 2.29 and

2.30).

82 Szász, 55.

Example 2.29: Liszt, Vallée d’Obermann, mm. 149–152, the tritone in the tremolo and diminished seventh in the left hand

Example 2.30: Liszt, Vallée d’Obermann, mm. 155–158, the tritone in the tremolo and accented chords in the right hand

At the same time, Liszt skillfully foreshadows the significance of the diminished seventh.

At measure 24, a neat close of the first statement of the original theme, both hands land on a unison C-natural, a pitch whose tonic key, as previously discussed, emphasizes the human aspect of Liszt’s narratives. Together, both hands drop a diminished seventh to a D-sharp, and while the musical direction and tessitura is enough to intimate a portent for the hero, the sound of the interval and its harmonic implications may be heavier on the psyche than the listener may admit.

It calls to mind Letter 4 from Sénancour’s Obermann: an “immense awareness of a nature that everywhere overwhelms and is impenetrable” (Example 2.31).

Example 2.31: Liszt, Vallée d’Obermann, mm. 22–25, the diminished seventh

Recitative

In theatrical vocal genres, recitative pushes the story forward. Invented by the Florentine

Camerata in the 1590s as a way to approximate the supposed singing nature of ancient Greek drama, recitative quickly became an important part of song, opera, the oratorio, and the cantata.

As implied in the root word “recite,” recitative requires the vocalist to sing or enunciate in a speech-like fashion in order to supply crucial exposition to the audience.83 To make room for this event, composers often simplify the instrumental texture and infuse the music with an urgency that keeps the concertgoer engaged. Starting in the seventeenth-century, instrumental genres borrowed the concept of recitative for expressive purposes. In keyboard literature, C.P.E. Bach writes recitative-like sections in his Prussian Sonatas (1742), and Beethoven offers recitative in

83 Jack Westrup, “Recitative,” Grove Music Online: Oxford Music Online, http://www.oxfordmusiconline.com.proxy.libraries.uc.edu (Accessed March 30, 2013).

his Piano Sonata Op. 31, No. 2 in D minor “Tempest” and his late-period Piano Sonata Op. 110 in A-flat major.84

Thus, by the time Liszt began his compositional career in the late 1820s, the idea of recitative as an expressive device in instrumental music had been long established, and given

Liszt’s belief in the power of program music, the frequent appearance of recitative in his music is not only natural, but expected. According to Ben Arnold, Liszt wrote 46 passages in his piano oeuvre that are marked or best described as recitative. Whether the works are intended as programmatic or non-programmatic, the recitative passages play a major role both from a structural standpoint and a narrative standpoint. In addition to Vallée d’Obermann, where the protagonist can easily be seen and heard as a vivid theatrical figure, recitative appears in Liszt’s

Harmonies poétiques et religieuses, Vallée d’Obermann, Sonata in B minor, Dante Sonata, and

Grosses Konzertsolo.85

In Vallée d’Obermann, the recitative (Recitativo, m. 119) essentially functions as a development within the sonata form upon which the piece rests. This section is also the most dramatic of the entire work, utilizing several technical and emotional mechanisms for maximum

“poetic effect.”86 In his article, “Recitative in Liszt’s Solo Piano Music,” Arnold compares the

Recitativo to Liszt’s printed excerpts from Sénancour’s novel. He notes that the “ungovernable desires” that begin this section (mm. 119–127) and the ensuing struggle against “an impenetrable nature” (Più mosso, m. 128) are similar to the “violent or pathetic character” of the recitativo obbligato that characterizes Italian opera seria.87 As such, Liszt’s casting of the melody in

84 Ibid.

85 Arnold, “Recitative,” 3.

86 Ibid., 17.

87 Ibid., 19.

octaves in the right hand over violent orchestra-like tremolos in the left hand (mm. 119–127) makes for a tense and sensational speech-like proclamation by the protagonist (Example 2.32).

! Example 2.32: Liszt, Vallée d’Obermann, mm. 119–122, Recitativo!

At the Più mosso in measure 128, Liszt builds further intensity through the presentation of the two transformed themes in two different registers, a conflict much akin to a heated dialogue between two characters on stage (Example 2.33).

Example 2.33: Liszt, Vallée d’Obermann, mm. 128–130, struggle between two transformed themes

In addition to the decisive Recitativo at the heart of the piece, Liszt writes other passages in Vallée d’Obermann that hint at a more intimate vocal recitative. In fact, Ben Arnold believes that these passages “introduce what might be called ‘arias’–the most lyrical and beautiful parts of these works.” At measure 118, a bar before the Recitativo, the right hand moves in a single line down a B minor diminished seventh chord and then invokes the stepwise descent and syncopated rhythm of the principal theme. In the Editio Musica Budapest version, the score that provides the music excerpts in this document, the marking quasi cadenza appears in italics, an indication that the words belong to the editor, not the composer. This marking does not occur in any other extant publication, yet from an artistic standpoint, it conjures the ideal ambiance for the performer as the right hand proceeds in a solitary line that slows down into the Recitativo

(Example 2.34). Even Arnold notes that “These introductory recitatives mediate between contrasting passages of music.”88

Example 2.34: Liszt, Vallée d’Obermann, mm. 117–118, quasi cadenza

Indeed, the most compelling passage of recitative occurs after the tumult of the Recitativo.

Here, a series of short and sparse utterances of the first three notes of the principal theme, split by rests, suggest the hero heaving a deep sigh of resignation as he holds back tears. Curiously,

88 Arnold, 17.

Liszt altered this section of intense poetic sentiment between the version in his Album d’un voyageur (1842) and the version in his Années de Pèlerinage, Première Année, Suisse (1855).

In the early version, Liszt marks Recitativo; indicates piano as the sustained dynamic; employs rests more frequently, which leaves considerable space between statements; and writes two

F major chords followed by a very startling D-sharp diminished chord (Example 2.35).

Example 2.35: Liszt, Vallée d’Obermann (1842), mm. 130–137, from Album d’un voyageur

In the 1855 version, however, Liszt gives a more clear-cut tempo (Lento); requests the volume to decrease gradually; gives the right hand direction with slurs; and changes the first two chords to the minor mode: F minor and C minor. The first note of each motive outlines an [027] trichord (A-flat, C-natural, F-sharp), a pitch class set that contains the heavily symbolic tritone, and at the peak of this passage in measure 169, Liszt highlights both the tritone relationship between the F-sharp and the C-natural and the diminished seventh relationship between the

D-sharp and the C-natural.

As the right hand descends in a relatively free rhythm, the editor of the Editio Musica

Budapest version once again prints the words quasi cadenza, and as before, the appearance of this marking in italics indicates that it was added by the editor rather than the composer

(Example 2.36).

Example 2.36: Liszt, Vallée d’Obermann (1855), mm. 160–169, from Années de Pèlerinage, Première Année, Suisse

While one can argue that the 1855 version of this passage is more emotionally intense than the 1842 version, the performer must decide how much of Liszt’s original aim (Recitativo) is appropriate. Does Liszt in the 1855 version effectively spell out the recitative with enhanced dynamics and phrase markings, or does he prefer for a more direct reading without excessive sentiment? What should the hero be feeling after the inner struggle that just took place? Should the music have more pause or should the music be clear and simple?

Furthermore, if performer elects to use the Editio Musica Budapest score, how should he or she regard the quasi cadenza markings? Given the nature of the music where quasi cadenza appears, the word “cadenza” does not seem to refer to the type of extensive virtuosic passage found in the instrumental concerto of the Classical and Romantic periods. Rather, it may hint at the kind of embellished vocal line that singers of the Baroque era would insert at the end of a significant passage or at the close of an entire work. In this vein, the editor of the Editio Musica

Budapest version assists the performer in bringing to life Liszt’s expressive intentions.

As a cohesive unit, the ingredients in Liszt’s music—key, interval, melody, harmony, rhythm, theme, articulation, phrasing, accent, dynamics, recitative, and so forth—are sufficient to paint the picture of a young man searching for answers in a sea of uncertainty. Yet in the end, the genuine rhetorical reinforcement of this material lies not in the hands of the composer but the performer, whose intimate understanding of Liszt’s goals and personal experiences can communicate a deeper meaning behind the notes.

Chapter 3 A Poetic Performance Guide to Liszt’s Vallée d’Obermann

As previously discussed, Liszt employed various innovative compositional devices to convey moods and spirit of the poem through music, and a thorough understanding of Liszt’s thematic transformation, symbolic key and harmony, melodic gesture, and recitative should influence choices in timbre, voicing, tempo, rubato, phrasing, articulations, and dynamics.

Drawing upon episodes in the poetry attached to Vallée d’Obermann and the composer’s personal life, this chapter will offer informed suggestions on how best to communicate the extra-musical properties of the score.

Principal Theme (mm. 1–8)

In the opening measures, the grave tempo Lento assai and the dark key of E natural minor require the soloist to make a strong impression with the primary theme. At the same time, the performer needs to enunciate the strong difference in emotional quality between the first two-measure phrase (Motive A) and the second two-measure phrase (Motive B). In Motive A, the descent of the first three notes, prolonged by syncopation, suggests anguish with hesitation, and the knowledgeable performer can heighten the tension with a dark inflection on the long quarter note (F-sharp). The leaping diminished fourth that begins Motive B (B-natural to E-flat) is the prelude to a sigh that suggests resignation of oneself to fate, and a change of color on the ascending interval would draw sensitive listeners into this important phrase. In particular, the insightful performer should lengthen the anacrusis B-natural and enunciate the E-flat with a softer and more introverted tone. Similarly, the eventual resolution on the G minor chord later in

the measure should be deliberate and unhurried. In summary, the first motive requires a great deal of intensity, but the second motive calls for slightly less anxiety (Example 3.1).

Example 3.1: Liszt, Vallée d’Obermann, mm. 1–4, the initial theme and motives

Although Liszt writes Lento assai, a slightly more flowing tempo should lessen the temptation to drag, and while specific dynamics are absent, the marking espressivo near the left hand melody underlines the weight and gravitas of the line. The simple, single-note scalar motion and syncopation in the left hand, together with the repeated chord accompaniment with rests in the right hand, makes phrase direction difficult, yet the performer must keep the tempo moving in order not to allow the heavy character to slow the music. At the end of each phrase,

Liszt delays the resolution through non-chord tones, and at these moments, the pianist should avoid rubato and allow the composer to deliver the harmonic satisfaction on his own time.

After a short bridge that consists of a broken octave figure in G minor, the descending motive returns, now starting on a B-flat (m. 5) in G minor and with a written accent on the syncopated note (A-natural). Given the change of key and Liszt’s marking, this proclamation should be an even more powerful outcry. Emphasis on the accent and a more resolute timbre in the left hand melody will make the descent in the seventh and eighth measures even more hopeless and despondent. Yet even with this motive, the performer should not lose too much intensity so that he or she has enough tone quality to evoke the sotto voce in measure 9.

Transition Between Initial Themes (mm. 9–33)

At measure 9, the protagonist of the piece has a change in temperament. The melodic line shifts to the right hand, and the accompaniment moves to the left hand. With the markings of piano and sotto voce, Liszt turns the initial anguish into melancholy. The pick-up note D-flat, the mediant of the previous chord (B-flat minor, m. 8), is an enharmonic anticipation of the dominant pivot (C-sharp, m. 9) that sets up the new key of F-sharp minor. Because the mood of the music alters on this enharmonic pivot, the D-flat and C-sharp should be delivered in distinct tone colors. While the D-flat should carry the air of darkness and moaning that hovers around the first eight measures, the C-sharp should be enunciated with a warm and gentle touch that conjures up sadness. At the same time, the proceeding four-measure phrase (mm. 9–12) is full of harmonic ambiguity and chromatic non-chord tones, and the pianist must retain an air of tension.

Although the right hand melody should be rendered as smooth and linear as possible, the dissonant E-sharp to F-sharp suspension in measures 9 and 11 must be stressed in order to create a sense of inner anxiety and searching character.

In measure 13, the primary motive returns as a phrase extension that projects even more gloom. Liszt paves the way for this extension in the previous measure with a chromatic descent in the right hand (E-natural–D-sharp–D-natural) and the marking ritenuto at measure 12. The pianist must deliver this discouraged statement by playing each note of the chromatic passage getting quieter with lower energy. And the last note, D-natural should be as weak and pale as possible. And then the next note, A-flat of the following passage, which is a tritone higher than

D-natural, should take over this mood and tone, and should be played as pale as the previous note D-natural. The pianist can convey the protagonist’s dejection by closely following Liszt’s quick decrescendo in measure 13 and embarking on a gradual dissipation of energy. The

B-natural that holds over into measure 14 as a harmonic suspension must be present yet carry an aura of fatigue. Furthermore, the accented A-flat in measure 14 must be articulated with the feeling of emotional surrender (Example 3.2). !

Example 3.2: Liszt, Vallée d’Obermann, mm. 8–14, the transition after the initial theme

Beginning at measure 15, though, Liszt rebuilds the drama through a sequence of figures derived from Motive A. Each of these figures rises a whole tone higher until the full Motive A appears in

E harmonic minor at measure 20. The arrival in E harmonic minor is significant as a modified tonic, yet Liszt does not request a crescendo until the third figure at measure 17. The sensitive performer may feel that the first two figures of the sequence deserve some direction and intensity, but as Liszt indicates, careful pacing over the increase in volume is crucial to the passage.

At measure 20, Liszt presents a six-measure phrase with some substantial challenges.

First, Motive A descends in E harmonic minor through four octaves over a rinforzando. But, as observed in the previous chapter, this passage differs from the opening primary theme through one critical pitch––the leading tone. Liszt’s pitch modification, changing the D-natural of

E natural minor to the D-sharp of E harmonic minor, is an important rhetorical device that increases harmonic tension. As the performer navigates through the descending motive, he or she should slightly elongate the D-sharp to emphasize the distance and flavor of the augmented second (D-sharp to C-natural). The resulting phrase will produce in the listener an emotional reaction very different from the opening as well as the scalar passage between measures 13–15 where Liszt marks decrescendo through the first three notes.

Second, the performer must handle the pacing of the phrase until he or she arrives at the falling diminished seventh in measure 25. The descent of the tessitura and the heavy nature of the rinforzando invites the pianist to slow down more than necessary, and in measure 22, the change in rhythm from eighth notes to quarter notes can bring about an unintentional ritardando.

Moreover, in measure 24, the sustained C-natural over the marked ritardando may induce the performer to ignore pulse completely. As such, the soloist should push the tempo forward ever so slightly until he or she reaches the marked ritardando. A more resolute tone quality, too, will assist the intensity of the music as Liszt’s textures become thinner as the descending motive reaches the bottom of the tessitura. If the performer maintains time, volume, and strength through the passage, the last D-sharp, played in its full note value, will reach the listener with the intended abruptness that Liszt requires in order to communicate the genuine despair of the protagonist (Example 3.3).

After this dramatic gasp, Liszt suspends the music with a fermata rest and then proceeds with an eight-measure passage that sets up the restatement of the main theme. This important transition (Più lento, mm. 26–33), unfolds in a slower tempo, a softer dynamic, and an unusual phrase structure: three measures by three measures by two measures (3+3+2). Taken together,

these elements test even the most experienced pianists, and the enterprising performer should relish all the technical features within because each one is germane to Liszt’s program.

Example 3.3: Liszt, Vallée d’Obermann, mm. 13–25, the primary motive in continual descent

First, the marked tempo Più lento indicates that the passage should be played with more deliberation than the opening Lento assai. Once again, the performer must not take too slow of a tempo in the beginning nor drag the music through the descending figuration in measure 22 and the written ritardando in measure 23. Next, the performer should take care to ensure that the listener feels every harmonic nuance and melodic distance. To the receptive and sensitive audience member, Liszt’s suspensions and their dissonant sonorities reflect the protagonist’s

internal disquiet and laborious quality; the contrary motion of the hands imply a sense of separation between oneself and a world that seems too big for human comprehension; and the large pauses between phrases speak to the weariness and exhaustion of the young traveler.

In particular, the first phrase (mm. 26–28) should be rendered with a gentle yet expressive demeanor with a slight crescendo in measure 26 to bridge the melodic gap and to reinforce the 7–6 suspension. The second phrase (mm. 29–31) requires even more concentration, as a bigger crescendo will highlight the increasing melodic distance and as such, the searching quality of the music. At the same time, the performer must not succumb to exaggerated dramatization, for as the last phrase suggests, the protagonist is not angry or vengeful, but rather tired and gloomy. This last phrase should come across as somewhat softer than the previous two phrases, and the brief slowing of one’s internal clock will add weight to each chord as well as carefully place each one within the listener’s ear (Example 3.4).

Example 3.4: Liszt, Vallée d’Obermann, mm. 26–36, the transition and the restatement of the theme

When the theme returns in measure 34, Liszt presents in the bass an E-natural. Because the opening motive, cast in E minor, travels past the E-natural without a second thought, the appearance of the tonic in a structurally significant position is a notable programmatic event.

As a result, the bass E-natural must be enunciated with determination and gravitas to underline the impact of the home key, and the G-natural in the tenor line should be rendered with more delicacy.

First Thematic Transformation (mm. 75–94)

The first transformed theme is contemplative yet troubled. Cast in Liszt’s key of purity,

C major, the melodic line is simple and longing, and it floats in the high register of the piano over quiet dolcissimo ostinato chords that represent the uneasiness of the protagonist. Still, the pianist must convey the yearning character of the music through tempo, timbre, and phrasing.

The tempo poses a foremost obstacle for the soloist. Marked Un poco più di moto ma sempre lento (A little more motion but still slow), the brief phrase structure (1+1+2) and repeated chords make a continuous melodic flow difficult. The transformed theme must unwind in a larger phrase; the descending three-note motive must be plaintive without weight; and repeated chords should move forward while keeping the integrity of the pulse. In fact, the skilled pianist can render these chords with a slightly hasty feel all the while keeping them stable within rhythmic boundaries.

Timbre, too, requires careful attention because Liszt gives unusually specific dynamic, pedal, and expressive markings: pp, una corda, and dolcissimo. While Liszt creates most of the otherworldly atmosphere through register and color requests, the secret to the transcendent sound lies in the playing of the chords. Each chord consists of three notes in the middle of the keyboard

that necessitate the participation of both hands. The most effective voicing involves the left hand playing the top and bottom notes with the right hand thumb playing the middle note. This arrangement confronts the performer with issues of balance both with the top line melody and within each chord, but if successful, the upshot is a clear and shimmering texture that is ethereal yet sad. Meticulous pedal work will accentuate Liszt’s subtle and heartfelt turns in harmony from phrase to phrase (Example 3.5).

Example 3.5: Liszt, Vallée d’Obermann, mm. 75–78, the first thematic transformation

At measure 85, the first thematic transformation makes a second statement, and here, the texture grows thicker and deeper. The right hand plays the principal melody in octaves; the left hand sounds a bass line in octaves; and the inner repeated chords drift apart to occupy two octaves of space. The dynamic and color remain pianissimo and dolcissimo, and while the prayerful feelings of the protagonist are more intense, Liszt seems to retain a pathetic air in the music. Thus, although the pianist should render the melody with a warm and expressive tone, he or she must take care not to play with too much weight, especially in the middle voice chords. In doing so, the composer’s texture and voicing decisions are free to take center stage and stir the listener (Example 3.6).

Example 3.6: Liszt, Vallée d’Obermann, mm. 85–88, first thematic transformation, second statement

Second Thematic Transformation: Recitativo (mm. 119–169)

The Recitativo is the most dramatic and virtuosic section in Vallée d’Obermann. Even for a highly polished pianist, the composer’s demanding writing and psychological complexity tests all learned and practiced technical resources and confronts the soloist with difficult choices in tempo, pacing, dynamic, tone quality, and artistic insight. Still, Liszt’s markings with regard to articulation and expression are fairly clear, and to this end, he gives more detailed information here than in the corresponding Recitativo in the earlier version of Vallée d’Obermann from

Album d’un Voyageur (1842). Yet some directives in the 1842 version may help the enterprising pianist with sections of the 1855 version, for while they are not completely identical, both versions share much of the same style, figuration, and spirit.

Like many of the passages that precede it, the most important concern at the start of the

Recitativo is tempo. Liszt does not give a tempo indication, and even if the soloist logically decides to enter the Recitativo at the same speed as the previous section––the first transformed theme marked Un poco più di moto ma sempre lento––he or she would quickly find the tempo

too fast for the tremolo ornaments and scalar passages in octaves. Taken together with later tempo indications––Più mosso (m. 128) and Presto (m. 139)––the pianist is wise to pick a conservative speed. Given the lack of a tempo marking, a valid and reasonable assumption may be the same slow tempo as the beginning (Lento assai) or slightly faster. In this vein, the pianist can deliver nuance to the decorative passages and build intensity through the protagonist’s emotional trials.

The rumbling tremolo in the low register of the initial measure (m. 119) is a complication that can derail even the most knowledgeable pianist. Initially cast alone, the tremolo is designed to provoke anxiety and disorientation, especially with regard to pulse, and while any recitative or recitative-like passage will call for temporal fluctuation, basic time should be a consideration in the first two measures. Thus, the tremolo should begin in strict thirty-second note rhythm, and every pitch should fit squarely into the larger beat. This will assist the right hand with the advent of the second thematic transformation (m. 120), and once tempo is established, the soloist can place more emphasis on the restless disposition of the protagonist.

As expected in a passage of burgeoning anxiety, the rhythm of the three-note motive that comprises the second thematic transformation undergoes modification. The original theme (m. 1) and the first thematic transformation (m. 75) both unfold as a very plaintive short-long-short rhythmic pattern, but the second thematic transformation is much more urgent: quarter note- dotted quarter note-eighth note. A properly nervous tremolo in the left hand, restrained within the pianissimo marking, will set up a truly frightening forte entrance of the second thematic transformation in the right hand. Furthermore, as the second transformation presents itself, a determined accent on the dotted quarter note and a quick dampening of resonance on the eighth note will enhance the desperation of the moment. At the same time, the soloist must take care not

to raise the volume too loud too soon. The dynamic starts at forte (m. 120), and after a crescendo

(m. 126), it increases to fortissimo (m. 127 and m. 139) and finally triple forte (m. 148). As such, the right hand at measure 120 must be strong, but not heavy or excessive, and in order to deliver the theatrical feeling that the composer envisions for this section, the speech-like quality of the thematic transformation must be clear and pronounced (Example 3.7).

Example 3.7: Liszt, Vallée d’Obermann (1855), mm. 119–122, from Années de Pèlerinage, Première Année, Suisse, Recitativo, first measures

The intricate descending figure in measure 121 is one of the more fascinating moments in the score. Cast in an irregular rhythm, this figure poses an interesting question to the soloist:

Should the figure be played with exact pulse or with a flexible approach? Even at suggested slow tempo, the figure is formidable due to the short note values and the awkward leaps between some of the pitches. A promising solution, however, may be found in the 1842 version of Vallée d’Obermann from Album d’un voyageur. Aside from a few divergences in rhythm and articulation, the 1842 Recitativo and the 1855 Recitativo are nearly identical. One notable

difference is the phrase sempre a capriccio (always fanciful) that appears in the 1842 version after the title word Recitativo. A more important observation in the 1842 version, though, is the long horizontal line that appears above the intricate descending figure. In Album d’un voyageur and other early Liszt works, this horizontal line functions as part of the composer’s request for an increase or decrease in speed (Example 3.8). In fact, in the score to Album d’un voyageur, Liszt explains that:

The double lines indicate increased rapidity. The single lines –––––– indicate decreased rapidity. The ===== indicate pauses of less duration than the 89

Example 3.8: Liszt, Vallée d’Obermann (1842), mm. 89–90 from Album d’un voyageur, Recitativo, first measures

89 Franz Liszt, Pianofortewerke. Band IV. Album d’un Voyageur (Leipzig: Breitkopf & Härtel, 1916), 5. !

Thus, the long horizontal line above the 1842 figure seems to be a plea for intimate narrative over technical fireworks. Both the fermata on the bar line at the end of measure 120 and the eighth-note rest on the downbeat of measure 121 in the 1855 version could be regarded as a deep breath for a vocalist prior to the singing of a extensive and dramatic phrase, and in the same manner, the pianist, too, should pause before plunging into the passage. The pause will come across to the audience as an affecting gasp before poignantly uneven words, and a cadenza-like approach to the descending figure will render it as genuinely emotional and spontaneous. The first pitch of the figure, D-sharp, should be left abruptly to underline the syncopated rhythm that follows, and the remainder of the measure should be rendered in a continuous line to convey the frantic character of the protagonist. Even so, the pianist can provide direction through emphasis on small groups within the figure: a descent from D-sharp to A-sharp; an ascent from G-sharp to

B-natural, an ascent from E-sharp to G-sharp; and an ascent from B-natural to C-sharp. The

D-sharp that halts on the fermata should feel heavier than the D-sharp that begins the figure, and the following C-sharp should fade like another short-winded wheeze (Example 3.7).

At measure 128, the Più mosso introduces a new struggle. As previously explained, this section portrays the “ungovernable desires” that torment the protagonist. The three marcato notes in the low register (m. 128, m. 130, and m. 132) suggest the merciless reality of destiny, and the principal three-note motive in its original syncopated rhythm in the high register (m. 129 and m. 131) is the protagonist’s attempt to overcome his grief. In order to communicate these two drastically distinct sentiments, the soloist must navigate the passage with an intense tone quality; nimble and supple articulation; and a keen and adaptable approach to tempo.

In measure 128, tremolo in the right hand, marked forte and agitato molto must form a reliable rhythmic backdrop to the three marcato eighth notes in octaves in the left hand. In turn,

these eighth notes should be rendered in strict tempo and in a dry, bleak, almost ruthless manner.

In fact, the employment of pedal for each of the notes will bring clarity to the low register of the keyboard as well as project an appropriately determined and stubborn character. In measure 129, the right hand tremolo must persist in strength and tension, but the syncopated phrase calls for a warm, singing quality that reflects the yearning of the protagonist for happier times. To be sure, the phrase should have rhythmic space and a resolute tone, but it should also contrast greatly with the austere eighth notes in the previous measure. The written accents on the long quarter notes require horizontal direction rather than a vertical percussive effect, and the last chord of each two-note slur should lessen in energy without losing power.

The three marcato eighth notes in octaves, however, remain menacing. In measure 130, they appear in faster-moving triplets and in a startling fortissimo, and in measure 132, they enter in greater rhythmic compression: three sixteenth notes. The mounting rhythmic diminution suggests greater emotional urgency, and the pianist must maintain the same dry and heavy style in each group in order to distinguish them from the longing spirit of the syncopated phrase.

In measure 133, a pleading F-natural–E-flat dyad in the treble clef left hand alternates quickly with a variation on the marcato eighth note motive, and only through extremes in dynamic, style, and color the soloist will be able to juxtapose effectively the cruel fate represented by the marcato motive and the desperate protagonist captured in the syncopated phrase. In measure 134, the chromatic descent, marked rinforzando precipitato, suddenly interrupts this bi-polar dialogue, and as such, it requires even more anxiety and despair (Example 3.9). !

Example 3.9: Liszt, Vallée d’Obermann, mm. 128–134, Più mosso

In measure 139, the drama of the previous eleven measures bursts into great frenzy in the

Presto, arguably the most turbulent section of the piece. Here, the emotions of the protagonist run even more wild, embodied through thick heavy chords, fast octave runs in both hands, and dissonant intervals, notably the diminished seventh and the tritone. The first diminished seventh chord, marked fortissimo, needs the full weight of the arms to come across as truly furious and frightening. In the following sixteenth-note octaves that switch rapidly between the hands, the

left hand should lead with slightly more sound, and as the tessitura rises, the right hand should employ a crescendo and bring attention to its role as the off-beat. The first note of each three-note group should crackle with vigor, and each group should move forward to the top pitch

(E-flat) of the tessitura. This E-flat at the peak of the phrase may be elongated for emphasis, but the descending G minor scale should sprint forward into the triplets. In measure 142, the entire sequence repeats a whole tone higher, and as a result, the music demands even more energy and intensity. The soloist who observes these aspects of the score will not only highlight the crucial tritone sonority that denotes the distance between each group of notes but communicate directly to the audience the terrible rage and angst ravaging the protagonist (Example 3.10).

Example 3.10: Liszt, Vallée d’Obermann, mm. 139–141, Presto

The subsequent transition closes the emotional turmoil of the Presto and paves the way for the next thematic transformation section. To this end, it is significant from both a structural and a narrative standpoint. After the exciting crash and hushed silence in measures 159 and 160,

the descending three-note motive follows in a single-line lament (m. 161 and m. 165), divided by a series of three quarter-note chords that, partitioned by rests, seem to resemble choked sobs

(mm. 163–164 and mm. 167–168). Before undertaking this passage, however, the performer should study two issues. First, as previously discussed, this three-note motive originally appeared in the 1842 version in Album d’un voyageur in a short-long-short rhythm marked Recitativo

(Example 2.35; page 61). As such, the performer should consider phrasing the motive with a speech-like vocal quality and experiment with introspective tone colors.

Second, the dynamic marking forte in measure 161 is an editorial directive that appears only in the Editio Musica Budapest. The first edition of Années de Pèlerinage, Première Année,

Suisse published by B. Schott in 1855 does not print this marking, and the more recent G. Henle

Verlag edition, published in 1978, also does not include this marking. Most likely, the Editio

Musica Budapest added the forte in italic to distinguish this marking is from the editor. As such, the editorial forte probably spells out the view of Editio Musica Budapest that the rage of the protagonist is still present even if the tempo and the texture have both changed. If the performer agrees, the three-note motive needs to be played with a deep groaning timbre even as the energy lessens over the quick decrescendo.

After the full-measure rest, which at this point teems with tension and anxiety, the pianist should carry out the three quarter-note chords in precise note value and rhythm. The descending bass line in the left hand should be brought out, and the quarter rest between each chord should be depicted with proper pedal separation. In measure 165, as the three-note motive returns a third higher, the pianist should play with a more singing tone, and in measure 167, an elongation of the final quarter rest should be considered in order to deliver the last quarter note chord more

poignantly. Taken together, these ideas can turn an otherwise dry and uneventful passage into one of quiet weeping.

In measure 169, the three-note motive suddenly appears in its original rhythm. Now set a tritone higher than the previous entry (F-sharp from C-natural), the motive springs into a short melismatic improvisation, and as suggested by the Editio Musica Budapest editorial marking quasi cadenza, the music should come across as rhythmically free yet with phrase direction.

The soloist could draw the notes into an extended melodic line, as if to sing them in one breath, or he or she could take time to shape the ascending and descending courses to portray the protagonist’s struggle between wishful thinking and discouraging reality. Some performers may feel tempted to place a slight lift between the D-sharp and the accented C-natural a diminished seventh above in order to emphasis the protagonist’s dreamy optimism, but even so, the accent on the C-natural should be tender rather than strong. The more important part of the passage is the descent from the D-natural, a place from which the soloist should build in sound and energy in anticipation of the return of the first three-note cell: F-sharp–E-natural–D-sharp. Last but not least, the long E-natural should have weight, and D-sharp should weaken in intensity to reflect the protagonist’s succumbing to fate. The remaining five notes, marked ritenuto, should be ponderous yet aim toward the next section––the third thematic transformation (Example 3.11).!

Example 3.11: Liszt, Vallée d’Obermann, mm. 159–169, Lento and quasi cadenza, the transition to the third thematic transformation

Third Thematic Transformation: Lento (mm.170–179)

The third thematic transformation, a quiet and calm departure from the turbulence of the previous sections, is appropriately cast in Liszt’s key of serenity, E major. The tempo returns to the marking at the start of the piece––Lento––and the three-note motive mimics the rhythm of

Motive A also from the very start: eighth note-quarter note-eighth note. The sixteenth-note triplet figure in the middle voice, however, suggests that the theme could be played at a slightly slower tempo than the beginning Lento, and in doing so, this thematic transformation takes on a more gentle demeanor than the original theme. But the sixteenth-note triplet rhythm in the inner voice is more formidable than it appears. The ties that bind the third note of one triplet to the first note of the next triplet obscure the pulse through subtle syncopation, and the right hand thumb––not the most easily controlled digit of the hand––is responsible for the middle pitch of every triplet.

Thus, one slip of the thumb can result in an unwanted accent and as such a very uneven triplet accompaniment. In order to maintain the consistency of the triplets underneath the cantabile melody, the right hand thumb must remain loose and the right hand index finger must join with a very light touch. Although Liszt does not provide dynamic markings, the expressive directives dolce and una corda should influence the pianist to attain tranquility and poignancy. The melody should reach the listener with warmth and immediacy, and the triplet background should be steady and placid (Example 3.12).

Example 3.12: Liszt, Vallée d’Obermann, mm. 170–171, the third thematic transformation

Fourth Thematic Transformation: Inversion of the Theme (mm. 180–187)

In measure 180, Liszt unexpectedly inverts the principal theme, and as its tessitura ascends, it leads to arguably the most transcendent episode in the piece. To maximize the uplifting emotion that takes place, the pianist should strive for clarity in each note of the arpeggios in the right hand and enunciate the top voice of each chord. A bright and resonant tone color in the right hand will make a touching contrast with the intimacy of the previous thematic

transformation, and a smoothly rendered left hand will add to the inspirational nature of the passage (Example 3.13).

Example 3.13: Liszt, Vallée d’Obermann, mm. 180–181, the fourth thematic transformation

Fifth Thematic Transformation (mm. 188–207)

In the final thematic transformation, the protagonist allows the inspirational feelings of the previous section to fill him completely. To this end, Liszt escalates the excitement of the score with octaves, persistent accompaniment, a more dense texture, and the words sempre animando sin’ al fine, rinforzando that instruct the performer to move the music forward in tempo and intensity. The theme appears in unison in three different registers; the harmonies echo through ostinato block chords; and the articulation recalls the yearning of the Più mosso in measure 129. The dynamic marking begins at mezzo-forte, the first specific volume request since the third thematic transformation, and the music simmers with burgeoning passion and promises of triumph. When addressing this passage, the soloist must produce a rich, bold, yet transparent sound, and he or she must allow volume and vigor to build gradually, as only careful pacing will carry out Liszt’s later instructions. In particular, Liszt prints forte, fortissimo, triple-forte,

rinforzando and a crescendo that lasts until the final measure. In this vein, the theme should come across as positive and buoyant; the chordal background should be secondary but present; and each long note should have emphasis and power (Example 3.14).

Example 3.14: Liszt, Vallée d’Obermann, mm. 188–193, the fifth thematic transformation

Coda (mm. 208–216)

In the Coda, the music achieves an ecstatic state. The three-note motive alternates between the hands in extreme registers, all supported by percussive ostinato block chords at triple-forte. The theme should be played with strength and determination; long notes should

sizzle with robust accents; and short notes should be exaggerated with a staccato touch. At the same time, the pianist needs to use good judgment with the pedal, as too much can blur the theme in the low tessitura (m. 209 and m. 211), and the important material may lose sonority amidst the thick and potent harmonies. In order to achieve maximum clarity in the principal theme, the soloist must employ separate pedal between the first eighth note and the accented quarter note; ensure space between the first eighth note and the accented quarter note; and deliver the accented quarter note with great muscle, weight, and energy (Example 3.15).

Example 3.15: Liszt, Vallée d’Obermann, mm. 208–211, Coda

In measure 212, Liszt begins to push the music to the breaking point. Cast in the low register of the keyboard, the principal three-note motive repeats four times over two measures, first as a left hand single line (m. 212), then in left hand octaves (m. 213). At triple-forte and an already fast tempo, this motive can easily become static and leave the subsequent ascending

arpeggio in octaves (m. 214) without any room for a climax. The sensitive performer, though, will drop in volume at measure 212 and begin a deftly paced crescendo, employing perhaps a slight accelerando to maintain energy and build anticipation for the last statement. To amplify the drama, the pianist should overstate the syncopated motive, adding more space between the first and second notes and a more ferocious accent on the long quarter note. The ascending arpeggio in E major double octaves should explode in a visceral burst, and each pitch should carry the intensity of the previous one. In measure 214, the sforzando E major chord in both hands on the fourth beat should ring with force in order to make the ensuing pause a startling one, and while the fermata should be rendered with complete silence, it should not endure too long so that the last measures have momentum. At the same time, the experienced pianist may experiment with creative decision making that tests common thinking. For instance, while an accelerando at measure 212 allows the soloist to deal more effectively with a decrease in volume, a secure broadening of the principal three-note motive in the left hand can augment the tension of the closing bars and make the violent outbreak of the E major double octave arpeggio in measure

214 that much more frightening. Likewise, while the fermata rest should be respected as a dotted eighth note––that is, justly short––the responsive artist can read the emotional involvement of the audience. That is, if the performer knows that each and every listener is figuratively on the edge of the seat waiting breathlessly for the next sound, he or she can manipulate the moment, waiting longer than usual before proceeding with the closing measures.

These closing measures, however, are anything but celebratory. After an exhilarating

E major chord that resonates across the silence of the fermata rest, the music pivots to E minor and the heartbreaking theme of the opening. The D-sharp in the descent thrusts the pungency of

E harmonic minor upon the listener and heightens the tension of the augmented sixth chord. The

soloist must quickly switch gears, leaving behind the happy thrill of the previous measures for a dark tone and a gradual elongation of note values, and while the ritenuto is a specific command, pacing and direction are essential to the integrity of the syncopated rhythm and the emotional impact of the last chords. The final E major triad, delayed by an appoggiatura, is neither festive nor tragic, but open-ended, ambivalent, and perhaps somewhat hopeful. For now, the protagonist is finished with his journey, even if he is unsure of what comes next.

Example 3.16: Liszt, Vallée d’Obermann, mm. 212–216, closing measures

Final Thought

In his time and for some years afterward, Franz Liszt and his keyboard compositions were criticized for their perceived extraordinary difficulty; supposed lack of formal structure; and seemingly superficial sentimentality. Even today, the appearance of Liszt on a recital program implies that the soloist is prioritizing show over substance. As Vallée d’Obermann demonstrates, however, Liszt was an exceptionally sensitive and knowledgeable artist who took the new spirit of the Romantic age very seriously. To Liszt, extra-musical sources and ideas were more than pathways to the compositional method; they were personal. Much of the time, as in

Vallée d’Obermann, Liszt turned to a poem, book, or painting not merely because he thought they would produce a colorful score that would enchant audiences, but because he felt a private connection that echoed the particular situation in which he found himself.

To be sure, the pianist who chooses to tackle Vallée d’Obermann requires a large and varied toolbox. Among the tools needed are a keen awareness of motivic relationships; a thorough understanding of the thematic transformation process; an excellent grasp of key symbolism and chromatic harmony; an acquaintance with the circumstances in Liszt’s life that induced him to write; a familiarity with the literary sources that fueled Liszt’s imagination; and the discipline, technical prowess, and work ethic to turn the visual markings of the score into an aural wonder for the listener. The most crucial aspect, though, is nonacademic and difficult to quantify, and while it can be taught, it is more often shaped by a mentor who shares it. What really makes Liszt and his Vallée d’Obermann special and timeless is genuine artistic insight.

As such, a serious foray into Liszt’s Vallée d’Obermann, whether for pedagogical or performance purposes, must be more than simply foreground and background or nuts and bolts.

It should fuse pragmatic concerns with an informed and inspired character that can convey the essence of the score. Elements of biography, literature, key, tonality, harmony, motive, melody, voicing, dynamics, and expression are merely a departure for something greater. And as much as this document offers researched suggestions into the additional nuances that can be rendered or the further utterances that may lie beneath the notes on the page, the ultimate authority rests with the mature soloist: educated, confident, practiced, refined, and intuitive.

This document hopes to serve as a launching pad for future academic endeavors in music that aim to combine the practical and the learned with the perceptive and the discerning. For while the concept of a poetic performance guide can suit neither every composer nor every piece, it can show talented students and prospective professionals how to keep their art alive in a rapidly changing world and how to share their passion with new audiences.

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