Violin Sonata in A major (1886)

franck: violin sonata in A

César Franck (1822-1890)

Violin Sonata in A major

Allegretto ben moderato

Allegro

Recitative-Fantasia: ben moderato

Allegretto poco mosso

One of the greatest of all works of its kind, César Franck’s Violin Sonata experienced one of the most newsworthy of all first performances. It took place on the afternoon of 16 December 1886 in a Brussels art gallery, where artificial lighting was forbidden and where, because of some miscalculation in the timing of the concert, it was already too dark to read the notes by the end of the first movement. Any ordinary violinist would have given up, but not Eugène Ysaÿe. As the proud dedicatee of the new work, he was determined to go through with it: rapping with his bow on his music stand and urging on his partner with the words, “Allons! Allons!” he and Mme Bordes-Pène completed from memory a performance which - as Vincent d’Indy later recalled - “held sovereign sway in the darkness of the evening.”

The achievement is all the more remarkable in that the first movement is really little more than an improvisatory introduction, designed primarily to accustom the ear to the interval of the third, which is to have a prominent place in every main theme of the work. The following movements (the ones first-performed in the dark) are much more demanding in terms of structure and technique - above all the turbulent Allegro, which is a virtuoso feat no less for the pianist than for the violinist. In much the same improvisatory manner as the first movement, the Recitative-Fantasia reviews the basic material and introduces new material without developing it. It is up to the Allegretto poco mosso to reconcile the conflicting emotions and tie together the various thematic threads - which, largely through the influence of its serene opening melody - it most triumphantly does.

Gerald Larner

arranged for flute and piano by Emmanuel Pahud

Allegretto ben moderato

Allegro

Recitative-Fantasia: ben moderato

Allegretto poco mosso

For all the advances in flute technique in France in the second half of the nineteenth century, it is difficult to imagine any flautist at that time - including even Taffanel himself - having a go at Franck’s Violin Sonata in A major. A cello arrangement by Jules Delsart was published less than a year after the original, with the composer’s blessing, and after that a viola version cannot have seemed a too extravagant idea. It would be another hundred years, however, before the violin part was adapted for a woodwind instrument - not for the clarinet, even though its range is close to that of the violin, but for the flute, which has developed the necessary colour resources in spite of its lack of an equivalent to the G-string. James Galway was the first to publish a flute arrangement and since then Emmanuel Pahud has written his own version not only of Franck’s Sonata in A major but also of Fauré’s in the same key.

The proliferation of performances of the Franck Sonata on instruments other than the violin is all the more surprising in that it is so well written for that instrument. The success of the various arrangements indicates, however, that while differences in colour might shed new light on certain passages they have no effect on the essential character of a work as passionate in inspiration and as well calculated in construction as this one. The first movement, which is really little more than an improvisatory introduction, is designed primarily to accustom the ear to the interval of the third, which is to have a prominent place in every main theme of the work, and is just as effective in that respect on flute as on violin. The turbulent Allegro is a virtuoso feat for both participants, its impetuously syncopated main theme in D minor scarcely less exhilarating when tossed between flute and piano than between violin and piano.

In much the same improvisatory manner as the first movement, the Recitative-Fantasia reviews the basic material and introduces a liberal offering of new melodies for the flute, accompanied by flowing triplets on the piano, without developing them. It is up to the Allegretto poco mosso to reconcile the conflicting emotions and tie together the various thematic threads - which, largely through the influence of its serene opening melody - it most triumphantly does.

Written as a wedding present for Eugène Ysaÿe in 1886, Franck’s Violin Sonata in A major was given a sensational first performance in the Musée Moderne de Peinture in Brussels. Artificial light was forbidden in the gallery and, this being a late afternoon in December, daylight failed at an early stage. Undeterred, Ysaÿe and his pianist partner went on to play the rest of the work from memory. According to Vincent d’Indy, who was there, “music held sovereign sway in the darkness of the night.”

The Allegretto ben moderato, the one movement performed in the daylight on that occasion, is essentially an introduction, its main function being to register the importance of the rising minor third – the interval which occurs in the first bar of the piano part and on the violin’s first entry with the main theme. There is a second subject, introduced forte e largamente by the piano alone, and this too    begins with a minor third, but falling rather than rising this time and including three notes instead of two.

Both versions of the basic interval are gently but firmly established before the piano plunges into the Allegro. The first theme, hidden between the pianist’s two hands, is based on the three-note version in rising order. It is an impetuous syncopated theme in D minor and just as well conceived for the violin as for the middle register of the piano. The initial momentum is halted for a dramatic recall of the main theme of the Allegretto ben moderato, to make it quite clear that the second-subject melodies about to be introduced by the violin are germane to the basic material of the work. In the development section, once the Allegro tempo is re-established, the first and second subjects are combined in an extraordinary feat of contrapuntal virtuosity – only to be set apart again in the recapitulation.

The D minor Recitative-Fantasia is concerned at first with an improvised review of the basic material, the piano and violin approaching it each in its own way. But they join together in a climax which very effectively melts from a forceful B flat major to a gentle F sharp minor. A liberal offering of quite new melodies for the violin, accompanied by flowing triplets in the piano, sustains the poetry to the end of the movement.

One inspired characteristic of the theme which introduces the last movement in A major is that it combines the two versions of the basic material. Another is its melodic beauty and yet another is how well it lends itself to extended canonic treatment by the two instruments. Between its several reappearances the undeveloped melodies from the F sharp minor section of the previous movement are re-introduced and integrated not only with the rondo theme but also with the basic material of the first movement. This masterful process of unification is triumphantly celebrated in the coda.

Gerald Larner©2003

Franck’s Sonata in A major was presented to his favourite violinist, Eugène Ysaÿe, at the latter’s wedding reception in September 1886. It was tried out on the spot and shortly after given a sensational first performance in an art gallery in Brussels, the Musée Moderne de Peinture, where artificial light was forbidden. Daylight failed after    only one movement but, undeterred, Ysaÿe and Léontine Bordes-Pène went to complete the performance from memory. According to Vincent d’Indy, who was there, “music held sovereign sway in the darkness of the night.”

Ysaÿe was responsible for the early acceptance of the work as a masterpiece everywhere in Europe. He was responsible too for the tempo direction of the first movement, which Franck had originally thought of as something rather quicker than Allegretto ben moderato. But when he heard Ysaÿe play it so effectively at the slower tempo he changed his mind. “A long caress,” according to the violinist, it is essentially an introduction, its main function being to establish the importance of the rising minor third – the interval which occurs in the first bar of the piano part, at the beginning of the violin’s first entry with the main theme, and at innumerable other points in the movement. There is a second subject, introduced forte e largamente by the piano alone, and this too    begins with a minor third, but falling rather than rising this time and including three notes instead of two.

Both versions of the basic interval are gently but firmly established before the piano plunges into the Allegro. The impetuously syncopated first theme in D minor, based on a rising version of the three-note motif, seems to be driven by a struggle between the pianist’s two hands. It turns out, however, to be just as well conceived for the violin as for the middle register of the piano. The initial momentum is halted for a dramatic recall of the main theme of the Allegretto ben moderato, to make it quite clear that the second-subject melodies about to be introduced by the violin are germane to the basic material of the work. In the development section, once the Allegro tempo is re-established, the first and second subjects are combined in an extraordinary feat of contrapuntal virtuosity – only to be set apart again in the recapitulation.

The Recitative-Fantasia begins, like the previous Allegro, in D minor. It is concerned at first with an improvised review of the basic material, the piano and violin approaching it each in its own way. But they join together in a climax which very effectively melts from a forceful B flat major to a gentle F sharp minor. A liberal offering of quite new melodies for the violin, accompanied by flowing triplets in the piano, sustains the poetry to the end of the movement.

One inspired characteristic of the theme which introduces the last movement in A major is that it combines the two versions of the basic material. Anther is its melodic beauty and yet another is how well it lends itself to extended canonic treatment by the two instruments. Between its several re-appearances the undeveloped melodies from the second half of the previous movement are re-introduced and integrated not only with the rondo theme but also with the basic material of the first movement. It is a masterful process of unification which fully justifies the triumphant and extended celebrations in the coda.

Gerald Larner © 2010

arranged for flute and piano by Emmanuel Pahud

Allegretto ben moderato

Allegro

Recitative-Fantasia: ben moderato

Allegretto poco mosso

Of all violin sonatas, including Fauré’s in A major, the one which attracts most interest from instrumentalists other than violinists is César Franck’s - as the proliferation of performances by violists, cellists and (more recently) flautists readily confirms. This is all the more remarkable in that the work is so superbly well written for violin and piano and so closely associated with Eugène Ysaÿe, for whom the work was written as a wedding present in 1886. It was he who gave the sensational first performance with Mme Bordes-Pène in failing light in the Musée Moderne de Peinture in Brussels in the winter of the same year and it was he who established it in the repertoire by travelling the world with it for decades after that.

Clearly, in spite of all its violinistic associations, the Franck Sonata is too passionate in inspiration and too satisfying in construction for other instrumentalists to resist. The precise colour, it might be argued, doesn’t matter as long as the content remains the same. In the opening Allegro ben moderato, which is essentially an introduction rather than a regular sonata-form first movement, the most important feature from a long-term point of view is the rising minor third - the interval which occurs in the first bar of the piano part, at the beginning of (on this occasion) the flute’s first entry with the main theme, and at innumerable other points in the movement. There is a second subject, introduced forte e largamente by the piano alone, and this too begins with a minor third, but falling rather than rising this time and including three notes instead of two.

Both versions of the basic interval are gently but firmly established before the piano plunges into the Allegro. The first theme, hidden between the pianist’s two hands, is based on the three-note version in rising order. It is an impetuous syncopated theme in D minor and scarcely less exhilarating when tossed betweem flute and piano than between violin and piano. The initial momentum is halted for a dramatic recall of the main theme of the Allegretto ben moderato, to make it quite clear that the second-subject melodies about to be introduced by the flute are germane to the basic material of the work. In the development section, once the Allegro tempo is re-established, the first and second subjects are combined in an extraordinary feat of contrapuntal virtuosity - only to be set apart again in the recapitulation.

The Recitative-Fantasia begins, like the previous Allegro, in D minor. It is concerned at first with an improvised review of the basic material, the piano and flute approaching it each in his own way. But they join together in a climax which very effectively melts from a forceful B flat major to a gentle F sharp minor. A liberal offering of quite new melodies for the flute, accompanied by flowing triplets in the piano, sustains the poetry to the end of the movement.

One inspired characteristic of the theme which introduces the last movement in A major is that it combines the two versions of the basic material. Anther is its melodic beauty and yet another is how well it lends itself to extended canonic treatment by the two instruments. Between its several reappearances the undeveloped melodies from the F sharp minor section of the previous movement are re-introduced and integrated not only with the rondo theme but also with the basic material of the first movement. It is a masterful process of unification which fully justifies the triumphant and extended wedding celebrations in the coda.

Written as a wedding present for Eugène Ysaÿe in 1886, Franck’s Sonata in A major was finished just in time for the composer to hand it over to the violinist at his wedding breakfast. It was tried out on the spot and shortly after given a sensational first performance in Brussels. It took place in an art gallery, the Musée Moderne de Peinture, where artificial light was forbidden. Daylight failed after Ysaÿe and Mme Bordes-Pène had played only one movement of the new sonata. Unable to read his copy but undeterred, the violinist rapped on his music stand with his bow and urged the pianist - “Allons! Allons!” - to complete the performance from memory. According to Vincent d’Indy, who was there, “music held sovereign sway in the darkness of the night.”

Ysaÿe was responsible for the early acceptance of the work as a masterpiece everywhere in Europe. He was responsible too for the tempo direction of the first movement, which Franck had apparently thought of as something rather slower than Allegretto ben moderato. But when he heard Ysaÿe play it so effectively at the quicker tempo he changed his mind. And surely Ysaÿe was right. Although it is important that the material of the first movement should be firmly impressed on the mind, it is not necessary to dwell on it. It is essentially an introduction, its main function being to establish the importance of the rising minor third - the interval which occurs in the first bar of the piano part, at the beginning of the violin’s first entry with the main theme, and at innumerable other points in the movement. There is a second subject, introduced forte e largamente by the piano alone, and this too begins with a minor third, but falling rather than rising this time and including three notes instead of two.

Both versions of the basic interval are gently but firmly established before the piano plunges into the Allegro. The first theme, hidden between the pianist’s two hands, is based on the three-note version in rising order. It is an impetuous syncopated theme in D minor and just as well conceived for the violin as for the middle register of the piano. The initial momentum is halted for a dramatic recall of the main theme of the Allegretto ben moderato, to make it quite clear that the second-subject melodies about to be introduced by the violin are germane to the basic material of the work. In the development section, once the Allegro tempo is re-established, the first and second subjects are combined in an extraordinary feat of contrapuntal virtuosity - only to be set apart again in the recapitulation.

The Recitative-Fantasia begins, like the previous Allegro, in D minor. It is concerned at first with an improvised review of the basic material, the piano and violin approaching it each in his own way. But they join together in a climax which very effectively melts from a forceful B flat major to a gentle F sharp minor. A liberal offering of quite new melodies for the violin, accompanied by flowing triplets in the piano, sustains the poetry to the end of the movement.

One inspired characteristic of the theme which introduces the last movement in A major is that it combines the two versions of the basic material. Anther is its melodic beauty and yet another is how well it lends itself to extended canonic treatment by the two instruments. Between its several reappearances the undeveloped melodies from the F sharp minor section of the previous movement are re-introduced and integrated not only with the rondo theme but also with the basic material of the first movement. It is a masterful process of unification which fully justifies the triumphant and extended celebrations in the coda.

Written as a wedding present for Eugène Ysaÿe in 1886, Franck’s Sonata in A major was finished just in time for the composer to hand it over to the violinist at his wedding breakfast. It was tried out on the spot and shortly after given a sensational first performance in Brussels – in    an art gallery, the Musée Moderne de Peinture, where artificial light was forbidden. Daylight failed after Ysaÿe and Mme Bordes-Pène had played only one movement of the new sonata. Unable to read his copy but undeterred, the violinist rapped on his music stand with his bow and urged the pianist – “Allons! Allons!” – to complete the performance from memory. According to Vincent d’Indy, who was there, “music held sovereign sway in the darkness of the night.”

Ysaÿe was responsible for the early acceptance of the work as a masterpiece everywhere in Europe. He was responsible too for the tempo direction of the first movement, which Franck had apparently thought of as something rather slower than Allegretto ben moderato. But when he heard Ysaÿe play it so effectively at the quicker tempo he changed his mind. And surely Ysaÿe was right. Although it is important that the material of the first movement should be firmly impressed on the mind, it is not necessary to dwell on it. It is essentially an introduction, its main function being to establish the importance of the rising minor third – the interval which occurs in the first bar of the piano part, at the beginning of the violin’s first entry with the main theme, and at innumerable other points in the movement. There is a second subject, introduced forte e largamente by the piano alone, and this too    begins with a minor third, but falling rather than rising this time and including three notes instead of two.

Both versions of the basic interval are gently but firmly established before the piano plunges into the Allegro. The first theme, hidden between the pianist’s two hands, is based on the three-note version in rising order. It is an impetuous syncopated theme in D minor and just as well conceived for the violin as for the middle register of the piano. The initial momentum is halted for a dramatic recall of the main theme of the Allegretto ben moderato, to make it quite clear that the second-subject melodies about to be introduced by the violin are germane to the basic material of the work. In the development section, once the Allegro tempo is re-established, the first and second subjects are combined in an extraordinary feat of contrapuntal virtuosity – only to be set apart again in the recapitulation.

The Recitative-Fantasia begins, like the previous Allegro, in D minor. It is concerned at first with an improvised review of the basic material, the piano and violin approaching it each in its own way. But they join together in a climax which very effectively melts from a forceful B flat major to a gentle F sharp minor. A liberal offering of quite new melodies for the violin, accompanied by flowing triplets in the piano, sustains the poetry to the end of the movement.

One inspired characteristic of the theme which introduces the last movement in A major is that it combines the two versions of the basic material. Anther is its melodic beauty and yet another is how well it lends itself to extended canonic treatment by the two instruments. Between its several reappearances the undeveloped melodies from the F sharp minor section of the previous movement are re-introduced and integrated not only with the rondo theme but also with the basic material of the first movement. It is a masterful process of unification which fully justifies the triumphant and extended celebrations in the coda.

The first Eugène Ysaÿe saw of the Violin Sonata dedicated to him by César Franck was when the manuscript was presented to him at his wedding reception in Arlon in September 1886. It was tried out on the spot and the first public performance was given in Brussels three months later by the Belgian violinist with the French pianist Léontine Bordes-Pène. Ysaÿe was responsible for the early acceptance of the work as a masterpiece everywhere in Europe – not least by way of a sensational and widely reported afternoon performance in February 1888 in the Brussels Musée des Beaux-Arts. There was no artificial light in the gallery and daylight failed after Ysaÿe and Bordes-Pène had played only one movement. Unable to read his copy but undeterred, the violinist rapped on his music stand with his bow and urged the pianist – “Allons! Allons!” – to complete the performance from memory. According to Vincent d’Indy, who was there, “music held sovereign sway in the darkness of the night.”

Ysaÿe was responsible too for the tempo direction of the first movement, which in the manuscript is marked Allegretto moderato. Having taken it rather slowly when they sight-read it at the wedding reception, Ysaÿe and Bordes-Pène insisted on retaining that tempo in their subsequent performances. Franck accepted the situation and changed the tempo direction to Allegretto ben moderato before the publication of the work in 1887. Whether he liked it or not, he no doubt agreed that it is important that the material of the first    movement should be firmly impressed on the mind and that the slower tempo helps in that respect. It is essentially an introduction, its main function being to establish the significance of the rising minor third – the interval which occurs in the first bar of the piano part, at the beginning of the first entry of the string instrument with the main theme, and at innumerable other points in the movement. There is a second subject, introduced forte e largamente by the piano alone, and this too    begins with a minor third, but falling rather than rising this time and including three notes instead of two.

Both versions of the basic interval are gently but firmly established before the piano plunges into the Allegro. The first theme, hidden between the pianist’s two hands, is based on the three-note version in rising order. It is an impetuous, syncopated idea in D minor which seems just as well conceived for the violin as for the middle register of the piano. The initial momentum is halted for a dramatic recall of the main theme of the Allegretto ben moderato, to make it quite clear that the second-subject melodies about to be introduced by the violin are germane to the basic material of the work. In the development section, once the Allegro tempo is re-established, the first and second subjects are combined in an extraordinary feat of contrapuntal virtuosity – only to be set apart again in the recapitulation.

Described by Ysaÿe as “the most gripping part of the work,” the Recitative-Fantasia begins, like the previous Allegro, in D minor. It is concerned at first with an improvised review of the basic material, the piano and violin approaching it each in its own way. But they join together in a forceful climax which then very effectively melts into the comparatively lyrical second half of the movement. A liberal offering of quite new melodies for the violin, accompanied by flowing triplets in the piano, sustains the poetry to the end.

One inspired characteristic of the theme which introduces the last movement in A major is that it combines the two versions of the basic material. Another is its melodic beauty. Yet another is how well it lends itself to extended canonic treatment by the two instruments. Between its several re-appearances the undeveloped melodies from the lyrical second half of the previous movement are re-introduced and integrated not only with the rondo theme but also with the basic material of the first movement. It is a masterful process of unification which fully justifies the triumphant and extended celebrations in the coda.