Excerpt: "Chopin and Beyond" by Byron Janis

8/6/2019 Excerpt: "Chopin and Beyond" by Byron Janis

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CHOPIN WALTZESTHOIRY, BERLIN , YALE

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Ileft paris with my wife, Maria, on a gray October day in1967 for a visit to the ve -hundred - year -old Ch teau de Thoiry

to meet the Viscount Paul de la Panouse. As we drove through thepicturesque French countryside, with its charming villages andlovely woods, little did I realize that this would be one of the mostimportant days of my life and that the day s events would commandfront -page headlines around the world.

I had been on a concert tour in France for several weeks, andMaria was traveling with me. One night in Paris, we dined with afriend of the de la Panouse family, Claudine d Aigueperse, who toldus that the Viscount Paul was a great admirer of mine and that hewould like us to come out to Thoiry and meet him for lunch or tea.


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Thoiry, she said, was a gem of a ch teau, comparable to a Faberg eggin its beauty and the intr icacy and compactness of its design. I said,

Wonderful. I would love that, and arrangements were made.We drove through Monfort l Amoury, a little French village that

had been the home of the great French composer Maurice Ravel,and then along a small country road that wound through lush mead-ows and dense woods that gave us a sense of traveling through anenchanted landscape. Quite abruptly, the forest ended, and in a clearingon top of a hill, at the end of a mile - long vista of French gardens and

a double alle of 250 - year -old lime trees, the Ch teau de Thoiry burstupon us like a magnicent architectural bouquet.The Viscount Paul de la Panouse came to greet us as we drove

up the gravel roadway to the entrance. We could feel his warmth ashe came toward the car to meet us. There was something very spe-cial about him. I felt an immediate kinship, and before too long, hebecame just Paul.

As we went into the castle, Maria whispered, Dear God, he lookslike you; he could be your younger brother! Paul was about thirty

Paul de la Panouse and I are standing in front of his family home, the Chteaude Thoiry, holding the newly discovered Chopin waltz manuscripts.


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(I was thirty -nine), and he was slightly shorter than I was, aboutve foot eight. He had a staccatolike walk, which I gather was the

result of a difcult birth, but he handled it with ease even though it wasquite a serious impediment. Maria couldn t help commenting againon our resemblance the same broad cheekbones, broad jaw, strongforehead, and brown eyes. His eyes were remarkable childlike, seem-ingly capable of innite wonder, and yet I saw passion there, too. AsI got to know him it became evident that his was one of the brightestminds I had ever come across, an intellect that could speak with great

knowledge on many subjects.During lunch, we asked Paul if he would tell us a little about thehistory of Thoiry. With pleasure, he said. He began by explaininghis familys background. There are 150 noble families in France, whosenoblesse is said to be immemorial because there were very few archivesat that period in history, and many of them have since disappeared. Therst documents concerning these families appeared between 1000 and1200 AD, proving that there were already nobles at that time. Amongthese 150 noble families, the de la Panouse family is dated as theftieth -oldest family in France. Interestingly, Paul told us that thereare between ten thousand and fteen thousand families in France whohave adopted noble names but who are, in fact, not of the nobility.

He continued, In 1559, Raoul Moreau gave birth to the ch teau.He was a man of wealth, treasurer of the king of France and also analchemist. He didn t nd the philosopher s stone he was searching for,

but he did nd the ideal place to conduct his research. He chose thishilltop location because it united the characteristics necessary to harnessthe forces of heaven and earth. He knew that the telluric forces weremagnicent at this point due to the magnetic fault running from thenearby city of Chartres to Amiens, thereby creating the vital ambi-ence needed for his esoteric studies. It was interesting to hear thatthe great Renaissance architect Philibert de l Orme used the golden

mean, also known as the divine proportion, to construct this rare,architectural monument that was in perfect harmony with nature sforces and the sun s course. It was apparently perfectly placed in timeand space. The ch teau was designed to be a transparent bridge of


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light in whose central arch, the grand vestibule, the sun seems torise and set following the summer and winter solstices. The architect,

by staggering the placement of the windows on either side of thegrand salon, gave the room almost twice the amount of light it wouldnormally have had. That the imperfect alignment of the windows wasimperceptible was a tribute to the great artistry of de l Orme.

Strangely enough, the same principle can be applied to music. A phrasemust be given the same kind of disciplined freedom so all of its beautycan shine through. We call it rubato , which comes from the Italian word

robare , meaning to rob. In music, its basic meaning is to give and take. In other words, if you take a little time here, you must give it back there.How you take it, how you give it back, is the hallmark of a great artist.Again, it should not be perceptible. Done poorly, however, it becomesvery obvious when there is more taking than giving, or vice versa.

As we nished lunch, Paul suggested that we take a tour of thechteau. He asked if we would like to see the archives room. Thathardly required a reply! He ushered us into a huge room lled withold trunks scattered willy -nilly around the oor, ancient - lookingbooks piled from oor to ceiling, and bundles of precious historicalpapers and letters. What beautiful chaos!

We were overcome with emotion at the sight of all these extra or-dinary documents, the indescribable feeling that we were beingshown historical treasures that few had ever seen. Letters from thetime of the Crusades, coded messages from one king to another.

Do you think we should behead so -and-so? We must think of therepercussions. There was even a letter on the bounty to be paid for eliminating a certain number of wolves in Paris.

Wandering around in this maze of history, we noticed a beautifulwooden trunk held together with copper nails and covered withboar s skin. The trunk was surely one of the most unusual andeye-catching I had ever seen. What s inside that? I asked. Paul

replied, It belonged to my great -great -grandmother Clmence dela Panouse, who was a very beautiful lady, as you can see from her portrait in the foyer. He pointed to a label on the trunk that said oldclothes. Upon opening it, we saw carefully folded layers of lavish


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dresses and shawls that Clmence had worn. Maria was overwhelmedas she gently lifted each layer, and that s when we noticed the letters.

I asked, Whose are these? Paul examined them and said, Oh, those were the letters of Eugne

Sue. I had known him as a French writer and diplomat and author of the famous book The Wandering Jew . I remembered that Sue, besidesbeing an admirer of Paul s great-great-grandmother (from the number of letters, obviously a fervent admirer!), was also a friend of Chopin s.

As we chatted about these letters, I suddenly stopped in midsentence

as I noticed the corner of something that looked like some sort of handwritten manuscript. As I carefully lifted it out, I saw that it wastwo music manuscripts that had been tied together with a slightlyfrayed, pale blue ribbon. It just took a few seconds to realize whatI was holding in front of me. Paul said, Ah, yes, that s just something

I am holding one of the Chopin manuscripts from the eighteenth-century trunkin which they were found.


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Clmence wrote. I was told she was always scribbling down music of one sort or another.

Wide -eyed, I replied, Oh, no! Paul, these are nothing she scrib-bled on her own. They are Chopin!

He looked dumbfounded. Chopin? Yes! These are two waltzes of Chopin. And I can tell you from

just a quick glance that there are differences between these and thepublished versions.

I was so elated by the discovery that I could hardly contain my

excitement. There was no known manuscript of the Waltz in G -at,op. 70, no. 1 the other was the famous Grande Valse Brillante , op. 18 but here they were in front of me. My eyes began to ll with tearsof joy. You can imagine what an unforgettable moment this was for me. And that delicate blue ribbon there was something so intimateabout it. I wondered about the hands that had tied it.

I quickly went to the piano with the manuscripts and excitedlypointed out their differences. I had never felt so happy in my life. I havehad a lifelong fascination with Chopin. It began when I was a child,eight or nine years old and already performing his music. I askedmy mother to please get me any book about Chopin she could nd.I wanted to learn everything I could about him and his music, whichaffected me like no other. But I also felt a strong kinship for him as aperson, which deepened as I grew older. His natural, bittersweet andmelancholic nature ( zal is the Polish word for it) was a quality my Polish

blood understood very well.Though we stayed only a few hours at Thoiry that day, it was to

become a very special home in France for Maria and me. It was aplace where we spent many happy times and many sad ones, whenI was battling problems with my hands. During that struggle, it wasat Thoiry where I wrote my rst piece of music (a French folk-song called I Love the One Who Loves Meneedless to say I was

thrilled when Eddie Marney, who had written many songs for EdithPiaf, wanted to write the lyrics for it) . When we returned to our hotel, I wrote in my journal, This is a

day I shall never forget. I held in my hand two Chopin waltzes that


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had never been seen since he penned them in 1833! Mentally, Ifound myself caressing the pages.

The next day we went to Berlin. It would be the rst time I hadever played in Germany, though I had been invited more than once.The horrors of the Nazi era haunted me, and emotionally I had notfound it possible to perform there before. But twenty - two years had

passed, and by 1967, Berlin was inhabited by a new generation notresponsible for the devastating crimes that had been committed, andI felt it would be wrong not to go and play for them. I asked thata meeting be arranged with some young professors. I steered our conversation to the war years and asked how their parents reacted towhat was going on people (Jews) disappearing, Kristallnacht , and soon. Oh, they never knew, said some. What do you mean they never

knew? argued others. Of course they did. As I had suspected, the scabcovering the not - yet -healed wound had been picked open.Later, we were having tea in our room at the Hotel Kempinski in

Berlin when suddenly my right arm began to gesticulate wildly and

I am communing with my musical friend at the Chteau Thoiry in 1968,where Maria and I spent many happy and sad times.


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uncontrollably. I was amazed at the ferocity of the movements. I triedto stop them, but I couldn t. It was one of the strangest feelings I ve

ever had nothing like this had ever happened to me before. Whatis this? I asked Maria. What the hell is going on?

Maria, a researcher in parapsychology, didn t seem too rattled by thismanifestation and responded, Maybe you want to write something.

I don t know, I replied. All I knew was that my arm was shaking,and I could not understand what was happening.

She put a pen in my hand and some paper on the table in front

of me. With the same intensity of movement, my hand swung downto the paper and began to write: Tell your friend Paul to look againin the archive room, and he will nd something that will identify thewaltzes further.

Period. Full stop. Quiet hand.This is incredible, I thought. But Paul was a new friend, and I didn t

know what to do. Should I call him and tell him this? I knew the archiveroom was such a mess it could take ages to nd anything. And the mes-sage had certainly come to me in a strange way (I had no intention of telling him how). But the experience had been too intense to ignore.

Soon I was on the phone: Paul, would it be possible for you to lookin your archive room and see if you nd anything else to do with thosewaltzes? I know it s asking a lot, but somehow I just feel there mightbe. There was a short silence, but he didn t question me. He just said,Oh. Okay. Okay! I ll do it. I was stunned when he called me back

the very next day and said, I spent six hours looking, but I have foundsomething! A folder, with my great -great-grandmother s handwri tingon it: Autographe. 2 Valses. Compos es et donne s par F. Chopin.1833. Translated from the French, it says, Autograph. Two waltzes.Written and given by Chopin, 1833. It was hard to believe that hehad discovered this folder so quickly. My message was on target.

For the rst time, we discovered that Chopin might have had

a romantic link to Thoiry, a total revelation to Paul. The waltzeshad been a present that Chopin, then twenty - three, had given tonineteen - year -old Cl mence, a girl who loved music. He adoredbeautiful young women, and the ever -romantic Fr dric had obviously


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been captivated by her beauty. Having little money, Chopin gave her these waltzes much as other admirers would have brought a dozen

roses quite a preferable alternative, I would think!Chopin never intended to publish these two waltzes, as he had

given them as a gift, and he was very much the gentleman. But, in 1835,out of nancial desperation, he did publish one of them, the famousE-at waltz, the Grande Valse Brillante . He needed money to makea trip to the Rhine music festival in Germany where some of hisworks were to be performed, and he probably wanted to show them

that he could write a waltz. (Despite Chopin s orders to destroy anyof his music that hadn t already been published, some six years after his death his very good friend Jules Fontana ignored his wishes andpublished the Waltz in G -at, op. 70, no. 1. His source for the scorewas not known until after my surprising discovery.)

The only dance music Chopin had known before his visit toVienna in 1832 was the mazurka, the native Polish dance. He oftentook melodies from native folk music and turned them into theseunique musical gems. From Vienna, he wrote to his family, Theydance a very strange dance here, called a waltz. The Grande Valse Brillante was the rst waltz that Chopin ever wrote and one of the fewthat was meant exclusively for dancing (the English called it Invitationto the Dance ). He went on to write many other waltzes, some for theheart and some where the feet join in.

When I got back to New York, I called Harold Schoenberg, the

chief music critic for the New York Times . He was totally fascinatedwhen I showed him a photocopy of the waltzes and said, This couldprobably be a front -page news story, but we will have to have theoriginal manuscripts authenticated.

It seemed the only person qualied to authenticate them wasFranois Lesure of the Soci t Fran aise de Musicologie in Paris.Lesure did indeed conrm that they were in Chopin s hand. His letter

of authentication, dated December 11, 1967, states:

The manuscripts of the waltzes Op. 18 and Op. 70, No. 1, whichbelong to the Count de la Panouse, appeared of extreme interest


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to me. In my opinion there is no doubt that two Chopin manu-

scripts are involved: a comparison with manuscripts that wehave in Paris makes the matter entirely convincing. This dis-covery will gratify all lovers of Chopin and bring to specialistsnew elements of appreciation of his music. As for pianists, itwill enable them to approach the original to greater advantage,above all the Op. 70, No. 1.

Schoenberg wrote a front -page story for the December 21, 1967,New York Times that began, That rarest of all musical items, a hithertolost complete manuscript of a major composer, has come to light ina ch teau in France. The story was picked up in newspapers and

A page from the manuscript for the Valse Brillante op.18 that I found at Thoiry.


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magazines around the world. Walter Cronkite even announced it onthe CBS Evening News .

I was amused to read in that same issue of the New York Times , inthe Man in the News column: On stage, Mr. Janis s thin, almostemaciated appearance seems to bring out the protective instinct inthe female concertgoer, not unlike Chopin himself. After he plays aChopin nocturne, one half -expects to see George Sand come out tocarry him off to her Mediterranean hideaway.

Two years later, on June 30, 1969, I played the waltzes in public

for the rst time at a small private recital at Thoiry attended byMrs. Joseph Kennedy; Ambassador and Mrs. Sargent Shriver; Frenchnance minister Val ry Giscard d Estaing (who later became primeminister); Mr. and Mrs. Pierre Salinger (press secretary for PresidentKennedy); the Comte Antoine de la Panouse; the Viscount Paul dela Panouse; my wife, Maria; and my son, Stefan, who was thenthirteen. Paul s father, Antoine, mused, Byron, do you realize that

you are the rst man to play these versions of the waltzes sinceChopin himself?

But the story of the two waltzes does not end here.In 1973, Yale University asked me to come to New Haven to dis-

cuss teaching a master class. I was already beginning to suffer from theterrible arthritis that at times would affect my performance schedule,and I had always planned to do some teaching. After lunch, HowardSamuels, the head librarian at Yale, asked me if I would like to see

their collection of musical manuscripts in Sprague Hall, one of thenest anywhere. Manuscripts have always excited me to touch thepaper on which the great works of music have been written and tofeel the close presence of the composer s hand felt to me almost likebeing there at its creation. That day, I held in my hand the manuscriptof Brahms s Haydn Variations and some works of Bach, Schumann, andcountless others.

To this day, I can t conceive of any rational motive for what I didnext, but just as we were leaving the archive room, I stopped andpointed to a folder that was sitting on a high shelf. What s that? Iasked.


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I don t know. Let s see, Samuels replied as he climbed a smallladder to get the folder. Oh, it seems to be marked Chopin.

Oh, great! Let me see it! Anything to do with Chopin, known

or unknown, was especially exciting to me.Surrounded by ve eminent Yale music professors, I sat down at a

table and opened the folder. My heart stopped beating. I was speechless.What s the matter? You don t look well. Are you all right? But you don t understand, I said. This is not possible! What s not possible? Nothing, really. I couldn t speak. I must catch my train. Do you

mind taking me to the station? Against all logic, in that folder, unbelievably, astonishingly, were thesame two waltzesthat I had found at Thoiry, and they appeared to bein Chopin s hand! The same distinctive bass clef was unmistakingly

Just prior to the rst ofcial performance of the waltzes at the Chteau de Thoiry I am at the piano with Maria, Stefan, and the de la Panouse familyand their cheetahs.


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present here. And I quickly noticed they were both dated 1832. Thiswas one year before Chopin s gift to Cl mence and three years before

their publication. I also noticed some startling differences from the1833 versions.

Forgive me, dear reader, if I did not think this was mere coinci-dence. The odds of my discovering the same two waltzes twice wouldbe astronomical. It seemed I had entered the realm of synchronicity(even beyond!), a word coined by the famous psychiatrist and phi-losopher Carl Jung to describe two or more events that are causally

unrelated occurring together in a meaningful manner. Synchronicity,unlike coincidence, is not a random event. In a broader sense it is thesign of an underlying connection or interrelationship between allthings about which we really have no understanding at the presenttime. As the years have passed, I have come to see how that deeper meaning is revealing itself in my life.

Overwhelmed, I could only speak in monosyllables to the pro-fessor, who valiantly attempted to make conversation on our driveto the train.

Once on board the train, I slowly began to focus on what hadhappened. Were my eyes and mind deceiving me? At rst I said tomyself, Byron, you are dreaming. You are hallucinating. But by theend of the ride, I knew. No. You actually did see those waltzes. I could hardly wait to tell Maria.

The culmination of the story of the twice -discovered Chopin

waltzes came about due to another synchronous event.I went directly from the train station to the apartment of our

close friend Jacques Kaplan, a pioneer in faux fur design and an artgallery owner, on East 71st Street. He was hosting one of his ever - happening open house evenings, at which fr iends would drop in fromevery corner of the globe. That night, while I was brimming withthe unbelievable events of the day, Jacques introduced me to a friend

who had just arrived from Paris who, of all things, turned out to be anindependent lm and television producer. As Maria and I made a pri-vate toast to Chopin, I regaled some of the guests with the seeminglyimpossible occurrence that had just happened. The producer jumped


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up, exclaiming, Mon Dieu! This would make a fantastic documentary.Please call me and let s talk about it. Eventually we were able to work

out a schedule for lming between my concert engagements. In thesummer of 1975, we began shooting the story of Chopin and thisextraordinary musical discovery.

The following morning I phoned Howard Samuels at Yale to askif I could look at the Chopin manuscripts again and arranged to returnthat very day. The differences between the versions were fascinating:accents were put on different notes, giving certain sections a synco-

pated rhythm; one had some measures deleted; another section was nowmarked dolente , with pain, and a few octaves were substituted for singlenotes. What could cause these very same two waltzes to be weddedagain in these two unrelated sanctuaries thousands of miles apart? Whatwas the connection? How could Yale have been unaware of the manynews reports about the discovery? Why had they made no mention of the fact that they had two other versions of the manuscripts in their owncollection that hadn t been catalogued?

When it was published, Chopin had dedicated the E -at Waltz toLaura Horsford, one of his students, who apparently gave the manu-script to her family. Eventually, a family member and alumnus of Yalegave it to the university on permanent loan.

I called Harold Schoenberg once again at the New York Times .What have you got for me this time? he quipped.Could you come to the apartment? I found something that might

interest you. I showed him a copy of the Yale waltzes. He looked at me for

a long time in utter disbelief, then said, I am not even going totell the editor about this. He simply won t believe it! A short para-graph appeared in the Times the next day titled: Janis nds two moreChopin manuscripts. But throughout the music world, there weremajor headlines announcing this coincidence.

Excerpt: "Chopin and Beyond" by Byron Janis

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