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The resources of the pedal piano, designed to allow organists to practise outside church, were turned to advantage by Schumann, Liszt, and especially Charles-Valentin Alkan (1813–1888), who gave virtuoso performances in the salons of the piano manufacturer Érard. Gounod was present there in 1875 to hear him premiere a Fantaisie by Saint-Saëns. Just ten years later, having given up operatic composition for sacred music (masses, oratorios) and the instrumental repertory (the Petite symphonie, string quartets), Gounod himself wrote four works for the pedal piano. These pieces representative of his late style were inspired by the talent of the young Lucie Palicot (born circa 1860), a pupil of Alexandre Guilmant on the organ and Élie Delaborde on the piano. The latter, who was the natural son of Alkan, may have guided her towards the study of the pedal piano at a time when his father was renouncing public performance. On 6 March 1882, Lucie Palicot played music by Bach, Alkan and Guilmant at the Salle Pleyel.

The visual spectacle was as appealing as the talent of the artist. The musicologist Paul Landormy later recalled the scene: ‘I remember what a strange impression was produced by the sight of this graceful and dainty person perched on a huge case containing the lower strings of the pedal-board beneath a grand piano resting on the aforementioned case; and what surprised us above all, pleasantly enough to be sure, was to see Mme Palicot wearing a short knee-length skirt (entirely necessary, but astonishing in those days), and her pretty legs darting most adroitly to reach the different pedals of the keyboard she had at her feet, very similar to an organ pedal-board.’ Lucie Palicot (née Schneckenburger) seems to have given up her career in 1895 when she embarked on her second marriage, to David Gilmon Henderson.

The Fantaisie sur l’hymne national russe dates from 1885. Completed towards mid-September, this paraphrase of Alexey L’vov’s anthem God Save the Tsar was premiered on 16 November at the Salons Érard in Paris by Lucie Palicot, its dedicatee, with the composer accompanying her on a standard piano. The orchestral version received its first performance under the direction of Édouard Colonne at the Théâtre du Châtelet on 23 February 1886. We do not know what opportunity or reasons of friendship may have prompted Gounod to choose this theme.

After a brassy introduction, a condensed synthesis of the anthem, the piano states its two sections, then repeats them with the orchestra enriched by virtuoso pedal playing. A second exposition follows the same principle of contrast of colour and texture, but now it is the brass, not the piano, that alternates with the full orchestra while the soloist presents a countermelody in semiquavers, sometimes on the pedal-board and sometimes on the keyboard.

The development introduces more numerous modulations. It is based on a broken four-note motif ‘à la Bach’ that eventually takes on the form of a fugal subject. The climax comes with a varied restatement of the hymn by the entire orchestra, supported by piano arpeggios and brightened by the glittering sound of the triangle. The conclusion, though deploying all the pomp called for by the context, is none the less coherent for that.

More personal and of another stature altogether is the Suite concertante in A major, completed in early spring 1886. Its premiere in Bordeaux on 17 March 1887 was followed by a second performance at the Royal Philharmonic Society in London on 23 April, while in Paris the Société des Concerts du Conservatoire had to abandon a projected performance because the firm of Pleyel-Wolf anticipated needing forty minutes to set up the instrument and twenty to remove it.

The score is conceived as a sweeping fresco, giving pride of place to clarity, simplicity and a wholesome brio. After the neoclassical flavour of the opening tutti, Entrée de fête, a deliciously frivolous motif precedes the reprise of the first theme by the soloist. But this restatement is elliptical and modulatory, leading to a succession of parallel sixth chords that introduce the second theme: a long flowing, undulating melody sung by the left hand.

The evocation of the hunt in the horns and strings of the Chasse is thoroughly realistic. The piano takes up these formulas and soon launches into galloping figuration. A harsh ‘mort’ on the pedal-board gives the signal for a second crescendo, grimmer and more concise, modulating and rising to fortissimo. Then the strings establish a meditative mood. The piano responds with a cantabile theme in almost choral style, shifting curiously from the religious to the galant. The orchestra takes up the cantabile theme, accompanied by arpeggios from the soloist. Anguished tremolos bring back the hunting motif, which bursts forth in a fortissimo tutti. This recurrence of the initial motif is the starting point for a true development in which the full forces are deployed.

A chain of modulating arpeggiated chords provides a transition to the Romance. A long introverted clarinet theme, prolonged and intensified by the strings, prepares the entry of the piano. It is tempting to consider the central section as an ornamented free variation of the opening theme, in which the soloist emerges from the amiably supportive orchestra in a highly Mozartian style of pianism. Halfway through, the accompaniment is reduced to almost no more than the Alberti bass in the violas. Thus, when the violins take up the opening theme of the first section, it seems natural that the piano should accompany it with that same Alberti bass, as in Beethoven’s ‘Emperor’ Concerto. The cadenza, which extends over a tonic pedal in the horns, sets the ethereal piano against the melancholy song of the lower woodwind in one of those valedictory atmospheres whose secret Gounod found in Mozart.

The piano leads the way in the Tarentelle, for the orchestra seems merely to cling to its coat-tails. When the flutes and clarinets, in flowing parallel thirds, impose C major over a double pedal point, the effect is like a ray of sunshine that increases the tension: modulations, crescendo, chromaticisms, rapid exchanges between the sections of the orchestra and the soloist up to an imposing fortissimo over 6–4 harmonies that are maintained virtually until the conclusion.

On 4 September 1888 Gounod wrote to his wife: ‘All at once I have come up with two pieces that will do nicely for my little Palicote [sic] this winter: one is a Chorale and Toccata [this has not been not located], the other a concertante Danse roumaine with orchestra that will fill out her repertoire somewhat, and I am sure that our good Mme Desgenétais will give her the opportunity to play them at her soirées.’ One hesitates to link this inspiration with the advent of a ravishingly beautiful Romanian singer, Hariclea Darclée, who was scheduled to sing Juliette at the Opéra.

The Danse roumaine was premiered in Paris by Lucie Palicot during the winter of 1888–9, when the composer informs us it was encored, but it remains unpublished. The work is cast in sonata form with an orchestral introduction that outlines the themes. Then a furious toccata for pedal-board alone sweeps the orchestra along with it, and the first theme—a simple cell, energetic and piquant, in D minor without leading note—makes its appearance. It has a whiff of eastern Europe about it, no more than that. Modulating variations lead to the second theme, which runs up and down the scale of F major in dotted rhythms, supported by a viola countermelody.

A furious outburst from the piano launches the development: a folk-like motif combining woodwind and percussion frames further exchanges on the opening motif of the first theme; the latter’s reappearance heralds a recapitulation in which the second theme, introduced by trumpet calls, undergoes considerable development until the advent of a vigorous coda.

The Concerto for pedal piano in E flat major remained unpublished because Gounod, finding that the cost of hiring the parts for the Suite concertante hindered its diffusion, gave sole ownership of this new work to Lucie Palicot in September 1889, thus guaranteeing her exclusivity and free use. The desire to spotlight the contribution of the pedal-board is more apparent here than in the Suite and the recurrence of certain formulas from one movement to the next reinforces the work’s cohesion.

From the outset the tone of the Allegro moderato is that of Beethovenian heroism. An initial development leads to the second theme, which is chordal without excessive heaviness and suggests a song of triumph. First stated by the piano, it no sooner receives an embryonic echo from the orchestra than the soloist transposes it, and the power struggle between them will form the material for this second, more modulatory development. A disguised recapitulation brings back the second theme, followed by a final development.

A modulating introduction on the orchestra, then the piano, opens the brisk, piquant Scherzo. The solo piano presents the initial strain of the first part of the movement, in which keyboard and pedal-board interact in imitation. The orchestra joins in, doubling them, for the second part, where legato phrases attempt to dominate staccato. The Trio is more sustained in character. The piano occupies the foreground with fairly subdued support from the trumpet, then a few discreet doublings. The Scherzo section is then reprised dal segno al fine without formal repeats.

The Adagio ma non troppo gives the impression of a funeral march. After a sombre orchestral introduction, the piano threads its solitary way through the first section. The central section provides the first broad, lyrical melody in the work. This song of hope is one of those eloquent inspirations so characteristic of Gounod. Then the march is resumed by piano and orchestra, which follow a common course until the conclusive wails from the horns.

The more important role accorded to orchestral timbres, the brio of the keyboard writing and the sustained rhythmic verve all ensure the finale makes an undeniable effect. The music has the character of a rondo, although not the structure: four episodes succeed one another linked by their sheer affinity. Despite the warlike accents of trumpets and percussion, the movement never abandons a spirit of playfulness.

Gérard Condé © 2013
English: Charles Johnston