Short, seductive piano pieces tied by a secret thread
There’s a common misconception that to count as a masterpiece, a classical piece must be long, serious and abstract. Robert Schumann’s set of 21 short piano pieces, Carnaval, fails on all three counts. Yet it’s certainly a masterpiece, probably the greatest of those numerous sets of Romantic “character” pieces that are Schumann’s special contribution to piano music. In this one, various characters – some real, some fictitious – seem to whirl past us in an intoxicating pre-lenten masked ball.
Background
At the time he wrote this piece in 1834, the 24-year-old Schumann was gaining a reputation as a weirdly imaginative composer and opinionated musical journalist. He and a group of friends had set up a music journal in which he imagined that the brave Romantics of the “League of David” (Davidsbündler) would battle against the Philistines running the European musical establishment. Some entries were written by Schumann himself, under two pseudonyms. “Eusebius” reflected the dreamy, reflective side of his personality, “Florestan” his impetuous and impassioned side.
In April 1834, he met Ernestine von Fricken, the daughter of a wealthy landowner. By that time, he was already emotionally involved with the woman he would later marry, Clara Wieck. The excitement of two erotic entanglements, combined with his weirdly intense private fantasy world – now published for all the world to see – overflowed into Carnaval.
Why it’s so great
Schumann had written brilliant sets of character pieces before, but this one surpasses them in its sheer imaginative reach. Carnaval has the unpredictability and fantasy of a dreamworld, the music changing mood and pace from one moment to the next. Pieces appear to start in mid-phrase, forget what they were saying and start something else, and often they simply stop abruptly, rather than ending.
The pieces are amazingly varied but you can feel instinctively that they belong together, thanks to a semisecret thread running through all of them. Schumann described the set as “seductive scenes in four notes”, and you can hear those four notes flashing by at the beginning of many of the pieces, in different combinations. They spell out the birthplace of Ernestine – ASCH, where S means E flat and H means B – as well as his own name Schumann. This fondness for musical codes is a special feature of Schumann’s creative world.
What to listen out for
I’ve used the recording by Boris Giltburg (youtube.com/watch?v=lno2aikv-a0) given at the Arthur Rubinstein Piano Master competition in Tel Aviv in 2011.
The triumphant opening Préambule (00.50) feels like a grand opening of the ball. Soon the mood changes, becoming more elegant at 2.04, and at 2.27 a new idea emerges, which is echoed in several later movements.
At 3.12 Pierrot, the first of several characters Schumann borrowed from the Italian comic theatre tradition, the commedia dell’arte, prances on to the scene. The angular ASCH figure in the left hand and the frequent loud interjections are surprisingly raw, almost ugly. Pierrot’s friend Arlequin (4.24) is more agile and gleeful – note the comically abrupt ending. After an expansive Valse Noble at 5.00, Schumann himself enters centre-stage, in the form of the dreamy Eusebius.
Note how in the piece’s central section at 7.07 the small intimate sound becomes immense, before shrinking to intimacy again. Then comes the impetuous and apparently angry Florestan at 8.10 – but notice how anger is pushed aside by dreaminess at 8.18 and again at 8.30. This builds in fury – we think something terrible is going to happen, when suddenly…
A Coquette appears, at 9.12, and flirts among the masked revellers. Having disappeared she then whimsically reappears in Replique (10.24), followed by a group of Papillons (Butterflies) at 11.19. Then at 12.03 comes A.S.C.H. S.C.H.A. (Lettres Dansant/dancing Letters) where the four-note musical “codes” representing Schumann and his new lover flirt together.
Chiarina (12.47) probably represents the impassioned but serious Clara Wieck. A brief pastiche of Chopin’s style at 13.45 gives way to an even briefer portrait of Clara’s rival Ernestine (disguised as Estrella) at 15.10. The light Reconnaissance (15.36) probably represents Schumann and Ernestine spotting each other. At 17.19, two more
commedia dell’arte figures appear, Pantalon and Colombine, the first hectic and angry, the second cheerful and conciliatory; Colombine’s softness leads the piece to a gentle conclusion.
The next piece is the most extreme example of opposites placed cheek-byjowl. After a brief Valse Allemande (German waltz) at 18.37, a homage to violinist Niccolò Paganini bursts out at 19.32. After a massive climax in the bass region, a single hushed chord leads back instantly to the German waltz, as if nothing had happened.
After a passionate Aveu (Avowal of love – but between whom?) at 20.57 comes a Promenade at 22.20, which sounds like a conversation between two people, one relaxed (or evasive) the other passionate and pleading. A very short pause at 24.16 is a lead-in to the March of the Davidsbündler against the Philistines at 24.35, which eventually whirls to an ecstatic victory.
Recommended Recordings
The 1961 performance by the great Chilean pianist Claudio Arrau, on Youtube and on the BBC Archive label, is wonderfully impetuous. Of recent recordings, Marc-andré Hamelin on Hyperion makes us more aware than any other of the music’s haunted poetry.
The pieces are varied but you can feel instinctively that they belong together