Chopin's Piano: A Journey through Romanticism

by Paul Kildea

'Beguiling ... Limpidly written, effortlessly learned' William Boyd, TLS , Books of the YearIn November 1838 Frédéric Chopin, George Sand and her two children sailed to Majorca to escape the Parisian winter. They settled in an abandoned monastery at Valldemossa in the mountains above Palma, where Chopin finished what would eventually be recognised as one of the great and revolutionary works of musical Romanticism - his 24 Preludes. There was scarcely a decent piano on the island (these were still early days in the evolution of the modern instrument), so Chopin worked on a small pianino made by a local craftsman, which remained in their monastic cell for seventy years after he and Sand had left.This brilliant and unclassifiable book traces the history of Chopin's 24 Preludes through the instruments on which they were played, the pianists who interpreted them and the traditions they came to represent. Yet it begins and ends with the Majorcan pianino , which during the Second World War assumed an astonishing cultural potency as it became, for the Nazis, a symbol of the man and music they were determined to appropriate as their own.The unexpected hero of the second part of the book is the great keyboard player and musical thinker Wanda Landowska, who rescued the pianino from Valldemossa in 1913, and who would later become one of the most influential musical figures of the twentieth century. Kildea shows how her story - a compelling account based for the first time on her private papers - resonates with Chopin's, while simultaneously distilling part of the cultural and political history of Europe and the United States in the central decades of the century. Kildea's beautifully interwoven narratives, part cultural history and part detective story, take us on an unexpected journey through musical Romanticism and allow us to reflect freshly on the changing meaning of music over time.

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Published June 7, 2018

About the author

Paul Francis Kildea is an Australian conductor and author, considered an expert on Benjamin Britten.

Reviews

[Lyx · Rating 5 out of 5]

A comprehensive volume on Chopin's instrument, the lives it has touched, as well as the historical context it took place in.

While slightly dense and required effort to follow, Kildea masterfully weaved a tapestry of voices and influences of Romanticism and the (hidden) forces that shaped it, be it artistically, economically, and especially politically.

It was indeed, as the title suggested, "A Journey Through Romanticism" as we embark from Palma in the 1830s through major cities such as Paris, New York City, London in the late 1800s; Saint-Leu-la-Forêt and Banyuls-sur-Mer in the early 1900s; along with Berlin, Leipzig, and the towns of Germany, then back to New York, then Moscow... all the way to present-day Washington D.C., where Kildea continues to discover more. I personally really liked the closing chapters as it concluded the journey in a warm and personal way.

One could not help but wonder about the stories of other instruments - as Ruth Eshel put it, 'if only they could speak'.

[Adam Couchman · Rating 5 out of 5]

I did not know what I was getting myself into when I bought this book. Originally, I was attracted to the title, since Chopin has always been my favourite composer. The blurb did not give much away, yet there was high priaise for the text inside.

It’s hard to categorise this book. It’s an historical account of the journey of a musical instrument, yes. It takes you through Spain, France, England, Scotland, Nazi Germany, USA, and back again. But it’s so much more than just an historical biography of a musical instrument. It’s a journey of love, of pain, of homesickness, of the pain of war and the banality of fascism.

You could also consider it a kind of mystery novel. The piano, the composer, his music, specifically the Preludes, the interpreters of his music, and those who try to profit off his name. Will the authentic instrument ever be found? (No spoilers here). Along the way, we consider pianism, romanticism, nationalistic pride, beauty, love, and the barbarism of Nazi brutality and looting.

What was fascinating to consider was how Steinway pianos changed the way Chopin has been interpreted. For the better? Big, bold, pianos that fill the space with sound. It’s a far cry from the small pianino, kept in a cell in a monastery in Spain, that the composer agonised over day and night. Subdued, subtle, softer. The pursuit for the piano might somehow help us understand the music, and maybe even the musician, just a little better.

But will it be found?

As it happens, I read this book over a few months, largely on journeys between European and Australian cities. Vienna, Munich, Paris, London, Brisbane, and finally, Melbourne. Not precisely the same journey the piano took, but the romance of my own journey heightened the experience of following along the piano’s one from Spain, to France and beyond. That made this, for me, one of the most memorable reads of my life.