© Michel Cardin
The London Manuscript
35 individual Pieces
Part II
The complete and updated version of 'London unveiled' by Michel Cardin can be downloaded as pdf files: 'London unveiled'
The Gavotte (p.199) and the Minuet (Men:) (p.199) in d minor are found beside a sonata in the same tonality, though they clearly do not belong to it, not least because this sonata is one of the two hidden duo-sonatas of the manuscript. The gavotte exists, with supplementary ornamentations, in three different copies in the Warsaw manuscript. Here, the Da Capo reprise is clearly indicated. On the other hand, the Petite reprise of the minuet (no other source) was added by myself. The gavotte is rhythmically dynamic and the minuet seems innocuous at first glance, though more character is revealed through deeper acquaintance with the piece. Harmonically speaking, it has a certain kinship with the bourree of the ninth S-C 13 solo sonata.
There is now an almost 100 pages jump in the manuscript, with no description of the minuet in F of p.242 which has been previously integrated to the sonata no.26 S-C 32. The Prelude and Fugue in E flat is only identified by the term Praelude (p.290) (no other source). We note nevertheless an allegro indication at the beginning of the fugue. In the heading appear also the words Del Sig.re Silvio Leopold Weis with a double-underlined Parte 10. This strange nomenclature has not been hitherto discussed by the analysts. (See the General Context).
The beginning of the prelude is imbued with an austere majesty that accurately portrays the character of E flat major. All of a sudden, the discourse becomes rudely interrupted by a series of enigmatic chords, over which has been indicated adagio and einen jeden ein mahl Stoccato or, ‘each chord once, staccato’. An alternative reading, as put forth by Ruggero Chiesa, would be F toccato, as in ‘play loudly’. Since Stoccato exists in other sources, and is a synonym that has been corroborated by writings of persons like Leopold Mozart, I would lean favourably toward the first meaning. These hammered chords cede to a descending line marked presto, which in turn is followed by arpeggiated arabesques leading to heavy chromatic descending lines (never encountered previously in the work of Weiss! ) that convey an intense feeling of anxiety. This strangeness becomes gradually subsumed in the continuous flow of arpeggios that prepare the serene aerial beginning of the fugue. This light theme is constantly taken up in the bass, which, in the context of this three (occasionally four) voice texture makes it increasingly weighty and pompous. There is a certain flavouring to this fugue, possibly caused by the repeated perfect authentic cadences in the same tonality, that brings Monteverdi to mind. An Adagio section terminates the work, in the manner of an overture.
The Minuet (title missing) and Trio (p.292) in G (no other source) represents a special case in the London Manuscript. There is a unanimous body of opinion that claims the work either to be a composition by someone other than Weiss, or, as a best possible alternative, a duo from which the second part is missing. I admit that during my initial readings, I also found the piece to be the work of a less able hand, of limited technical prowess. Once ‘in the fingers’ however, one realises that the delightful ritornello is anything but monotonous and that what seems to be of simple or incomplete construction is in fact a refined, learned discourse. It would have been an error had the composer included incomplete phrases that would necessitate further development. Weiss has proven time and again that even the tiniest of his pieces are of perfect manufacture. Both pieces have a Da Capo, and the Trio is, in this instance, in g minor. The offbeat theme of the minuet seems to be distantly related to the mediaeval hoquet, reminding us also of the simplicity of the Loure found in Bach’s partita for lute or violin BWV1006a. A noteworthy moment in my recording occurs at the end of the first section where a cadential overlap on the last measure gives the impression of shortening it by one beat. The Bourée (p.299) in F (entitled Bourrée II by Smith and Crawford) is characterised by a steady alternation between singing lines and undulating arpeggio passages. Having performed the piece, I now believe that it is of Weiss’s construction. I also feel that it is not related to the bourree in the neighbouring sonata in F, if for no other reason than the presence of diametrically opposed tempi in the works in question. This bourree could never attain the same speed as that of sonata S-C 31 due to the technical demands placed on the performer, to say nothing of a certain ridiculousness that would be the result of an attempt to play this bourree at the faster tempo. Conversely, the other bourree would fall apart at the tempo of this one, which has neither the theme nor the modulations of a second bourree. If more convincing is required, one has only to compare these works with bourrees, gavottes, and minuets of the Divertimento à solo/sonata no 17, S-C 23, which are truly complementary. This supports also an idea which I have been developing whilst systematically performing Weiss, which suggests that in his compositional universe, it makes sense to sub-categorise pieces of the same type according to tempo and sonic thickness.
The Tombeau (p.300) on the death of Mur (Monseigneur) Count of Logÿ arrived 1721. Composed by Silvio Leopold Weifs (written in French) is one of the pearls of the manuscript (no other source). It is in b flat minor and is sub-titled Adagio. It was inspired by the Prague Count Jan Antonin Losy (1650–1721), himself an excellent lutenist and composer who was to influence Weiss. Losy was one of the important links in the French lute tradition, which was transmitted to Eastern European composers, Weiss being the supreme example. A supreme example, but by no means the end point in the tradition, since this musical lineage would last up to Scheidler, who lived in the first quarter of the nineteenth century. Speaking of the next generations of lutenists, if one looks at the engraving known to be Falckenhagen, with lute in hands, it would appear that his fingers are possibly poised to play the first chord of this particular tombeau by Weiss. This is one of the masterpieces of this artistic genre, regardless of instrumental medium. As with the preceding tombeau (for Baron d’Hartig) this unusual key casts a sombre colour that exaggerates a certain sadness. Slurred phrasings fall onto strong beats, giving an agonising allure to the work, especially in the last section. All of the work devolves to a breathlessly expired ending where melodic lines weaken, deteriorating into dense chords that must be arpeggiated in clusters. At this point the piece, though extremely well thought-out, with each note occupying a precise place in a larger musical constellation, assumes an improvisatory aspect, with audaciously pleasant surprises. The richness found herein is truly unique, and could not have been created by anyone other than S.L.Weiss. Luise Gottsched, speaking in 1760, proclaimed this piece to be of incomparable beauty, even when compared with the other Weissian masterpieces. As was the case with the Tombeau d’Hartig one could, while listening to this piece, imagine a scenario that recounted the life of a person according to the character of the different musical phrases. While acknowledging the influence of Julian Bream, my decision was to avoid doing the repeats. I can also affirm that the defining moment in my lifelong passion for guitar and lute, indeed the primary motivation for my recordings, came through an audition of that magical recording of Julian Bream playing the Tombeau de Logy on a modern guitar in 1965.
The Prelud: de Weifs (p.302) in C (no other source) is in my recording followed directly by the Fantasie (p.305), in C (no other source) which is a logical linking, the fantasy being a large improvisational fresco on the theme of the prelude. In the manuscript, the fantasy is found three pages further on, after the minuet and gavotte, in the same key. We find this prelude to be a lustrous demonstration of the nobility of the theme, a theme that appears as an ineffably pure incantation. In the middle can be found an harmonic progression that recalls the allemande of the third solo sonata in g minor, another moment that is bursting with pathos. The fantasia is, for all practical purposes, a fireworks display, with continuous successions of rising phrases evoking a deliriously passionate musical climate. The highest pitch available on the lute is attained in this fantasy, and I am fairly certain that it is the only time it is called for in the London Manuscript. I agree with most interpretations of the calligraphically blurred notes found in this tablature, as expressed by D.A. Smith in the Peters complete edition.
The Menuet (p.303) in C (no other source), in two voices instead of three, seems to me to be somewhat of an academic exercise – possibly a study, destined maybe for a student? The musical discourse is subtle nevertheless, never descending to the banal, using a delicate working-through of phrases and an excellent breath control between them. It is necessary to add a surplus of ornamentation to this piece, almost like making a reconstruction of the phrases to adequately re-invigorate the musical discourse. The surprise modulation in the middle of the second part, a luminously expressive moment, serves as a reminder of the composer’s modernist tendencies. The Gavotte (p.304) in C (no other source) is joyously dance-like. This lightness of spirit seems somewhat at odds with the inscription in French at the end that reads: Composed in fear at Töplitz, July 12, 1724. (It is also possible that these words are related to the Fantasy, because a line fragment can be found under the gavotte). It is entirely possible that this expression, which is a germanicism typical of a German writing in French was intended to mean ‘in the fear of God’, according to Pierre Pénisson, a specialist in 18th century German, in the sense that one commends their spirit to God. Töplitz, which is today known as Teplice, is situated in the Czech Republic, halfway between Prague and Dresden.
After these four pieces in C major, the last four solo pieces are in D major (b minor for the second minuet). As mentioned above, these groupings raise the question as whether they should be considered as sonatas, even partial ones. The fugally themed Capricio (p.306) breathes joy and assurance, an assurance of the kind that beams from the countenance of Weiss as portrayed by Denner. This thematically modulating motif is constantly alternating with graciously arpeggiated sections in an unfurling of triumphant good humour. This type of mood deviates from the more serious side of Weiss, which is usually predominant even in his vigorous bourrees or rapid prestos. The London version is short, although curiously terminating in a long and grandiose cadence. Upon examining the two other sources of the work, contained in the Warsaw manuscript (which are essentially similar), we find that they are not really a variant, but rather an essential complement. The initial part of the Warsaw version is the same as almost all of the London version (except the cadence), while the second half helps enormously to reveal the correct grandeur of its thematic lines, as one can appreciate while playing the work. Indeed, one finds that it is quite possible to join this second half to the London version, slightly before its final cadence. If the splice to the London manuscript is made at the right point (a few notes after it has been left – notes that are included in the Warsaw addition anyway) we will have all of the thematic elements of the London manuscript with the added bonus of a second development. This second development justifies the cadence, which is much too long in the London version. On the other hand, the end of the Warsaw version seems hastily conceived, using two incongruous chords. Things become clearer when it is understood that the London and Warsaw versions were not variants of the same piece, but were intended rather to complete each other, which explains why the author felt no necessity to offer any kind of a cadence in the Warsaw manuscript. I would be willing to wager that Weiss, for evident reasons of equilibrium, elongated his Capriccio in the second source, with a view to joining it with the London version in his performances.
The second development in the Warsaw version begins when entering the key of F sharp minor. The best transition for London would then be at measure 44. Nothing needs to be changed in the music except maybe by adding two accompanying basses under the top line, in order to help smooth the modulation. I would even call those optional. If at the penultimate measure of Warsaw we come back to London at the third beat of measure 47 (which now becomes measure 75), everything fits perfectly and the grand cadence is naturally justified. Interestingly enough, measures 44-45-46 and the first half of 47 are not lost since they appear also in the Warsaw development. This seems to confirm, in my opinion, the intention of the composer to complete his work with meticulous attention. (See the reconstructed work in the LSA Quarterly, Vol.38 no 4, November 2003)
Filled with maturity, the large Menuet (p.308) and Menuet 2 (p.309) (no other source), with their typically erratic themes, are part of a broader group of heavier minuets that, according to principles discussed previously with respect to the bourree, stand in opposition to the group of lighter sprightly minuets. This constant returning to three-voice texture at the conclusion of every cantabile line leads to a sonic thickening that reinforces a certain philosophical character in the work. Due to technical difficulties, it is not easy for the interpreter to allow the phrases to sing. It is not easy, but it is nevertheless very necessary because the work of Weiss is of a continuously singing quality. The Minuet 2 is harmonically reminiscent of the Rondeau of the solo sonata no 20 S-C 26 in the London ms, which is in the same key. The second part of this piece explores some interesting modulations and syncopated rhythms in the bass tones. As is the case with Mozart, Weiss exchanges systematically the same phrases in major and minor. The Da Capo without repeats is made very clear by the inscription ‘Il primo Minuetto si replica, ma senza repetizione’.
The dynamic Mademoiselle Tiroloise (p.310), a paysanne which can also be found titled as such in two copies within the Warsaw manuscript, displays the same writing style and technical features that can be seen in the paysanne of the solo sonata no 12, S-C 17 and in the piece Comment savez-vous ? of the solo sonata no 20, S-C 26. Some measures are better in the London ms, while others are more convincing in the Warsaw version. I have integrated, through the use of repeated sections, the Warsaw variants on my recording, which give an adequate effect of ornamentation.
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