CHRISTOPHER HOGWOOD

Introduction to Elgar's Enigma Variations

INTRODUCTION

The first performance of Elgar's Variations on an Original Theme at St James's Hall, London under the baton of Hans Richter, on 19 June 1899, was celebrated as a milestone not only in the career of a 42-year-old provincial composer, but in the revival of “greatness” in English music.1 "Here is an English musician who has something to say and knows how to say it in his own individual and beautiful way”, The Musical Times declared immediately after the premiere; “He writes as he feels, there is no affectation or make-believe. Effortless originality… combined with thorough savoir faire, and, most important of all, beauty of theme, warmth, and feeling are his credentials, and they should open to him the hearts of all who have faith in the future of our English art and appreciate beautiful music wherever it is met."

Although the writer August Jaeger was Elgar’s editor and close friend, and The Musical Times was the house magazine of Novello, his publisher, this opinion was endorsed by every critic present. Over twenty years later the fiercely independent George Bernard Shaw still remembered the bracing effect of that premiere: "The phenomenon of greatness in music had vanished from England with Purcell.... England had waited two hundred years for a great English composer, and waited in vain.... For my part, I expected nothing of any English composer … But when I heard the Variations (which had not attracted me to the concert) I sat up and said, 'Whew!' I knew we had got it at last."2 Previously Elgar had had a limited national success with his Froissart Overture, but otherwise his orchestral pieces had been in a slighter vein, such as the Chanson de Matin and the inspired Serenade for strings. In 1897 there had been the patriotic uplift of the Imperial March, and, most recently, the cantata Caractacus had been premiered in Leeds. But, as he admited in his later Notes for the Variations, it was a time when his friends were “dubious and generally discouraging” about his musical future. Now, most significantly, the Variations were premiered under a German conductor, quickly published by Novello and gathered repeat performances abroad. The work even elicited from the German press the highest of compliments: “the unusual mastery of technique and the splendid tonal colouring make it highly eligible for export”3 and established Elgar as no longer provincial, but an international composer.

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According to the composer’s recollections,4 the theme originated from a casual piano improvisation after work on the evening of 21 October 1898. His wife Alice remarked “Edward, that’s a good tune”, and after some more extemporising, he asked, “Whom does that remind you of?” Thus both the theme and the idea of variations as a sequence of portraits were born. On 24 October he announced the beginnings of a new work (with his habitual comic spelling) to August Jaeger:

. . . I have sketched a set of Variations (orkestry) on an original theme: the Variations have amused me because I've labelled 'em with the nicknames of my particular friends—you are Nimrod. That is to say I've written the variations each one to represent the mood of the ‘party‘—I've liked to imagine the ‘party‘ writing the var: him (or her) self & have written what I think they wd. have written—if they were asses enough to compose—it's a quaint idee & the result is amusing to those behind the scenes & won't affect the hearer who ‘nose nuffin.‘ 5

On 1 November, Elgar played through at least six variations for Dora Penny (the Dorabella of Variation X), though his sketches and lists show that neither the ‘friends’ nor their sequence were finalised yet. However, on 5 January 1899 with the piano short-score complete he wrote cheerfully to Jaeger: "I say—those variations [—] I like 'em." Orchestration then took the two weeks from 5 to 19 February (with Alice ruling up the manuscript pages and adding the instrument names), and by 22 February he could tell Dorabella that the variations were done, "& yours is the most cheerful . . . I have orchestrated you well". Elgar sent the score off to Hans Richter, the great German conductor known for championing both Wagner and Brahms, and, after a nervous month of waiting, received a telegram saying that Richter agreed to direct the premiere in London.

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Although the Elgars considered the scheme of “character variations” to be unique (Alice remarked on the first evening, "Surely you are doing something that has never been done before!"), there were several precedents. The most recent was Richard Strauss’ Don Quixote or ‘Fantastic Variations on a Theme of Knightly Character’, premiered in 1898. From earlier in the century there was Schumann’s Carnaval and Cipriani Potter’s set of five piano variations on an unidentified Irish folk tune, each in the style of a different contemporary composer, including Beethoven and Rossini, which he had published in about 1825 as The Enigma, Variations and Fantasia on a Favorite Irish Air… Op. 5. More recent examples of orchestral variations (or ‘caprices’) on original themes came from Dvorák, Stanford (who applauded Elgar and recommended him to his publishers) and Sir Hubert Parry (who praised the Enigma Variations to the conductor Landon Ronald as ‘the finest work I have listened to for years’).

In a note for an Italian performance in 1911 Elgar summed up the public version of his intentions: “This work, commenced in a spirit of humour & continued in deep seriousness, contains sketches of the composer’s friends. It may be understood that these personages comment or reflect on the original theme & each one attempts a solution of the Enigma, for so the theme is called”.6 However, his blunt rebuke to the author of the programme notes for the premiere –– “The Enigma I will not explain – its ’dark saying’ must be left unguessed” –– has fuelled speculation for more than a century about the private implications of the puzzle. Elgar himself was clearly torn between secrecy and self-advertisment; on 16 February 1899, he wrote to Frederick George Edwards, the editor of The Musical Times:

Just completed a set of Symphonic Variations (theme original) for orchestra—13 in number (but I call the finale the fourteenth because of the ill-luck attaching to the number): these will probably be heard at an orchestral Concert in London (for the first time) in this Spring: I have, in the Variations, sketched ‘portraits’ of my friends—a new idea I think—that is in each Variation I have ‘looked at’ the theme through the personality (as it were) of another Johnny—ask Jaeger about this—I don’t know if ’tis a too ‘intimate’ an idea for print—it’s distinctly amusing.

In the run-up to the premiere, one fly in the ointment was money. Novello proposed in June that for the payment of one guinea the orchestral score would become Novello’s absolute property (publication of orchestral material had been agreed in March), and that Elgar would receive a royalty of a mere 4d [four pence] only on sales of any piano arrangements and extracts. Elgar was naturally greatly disappointed and hoped that “you will see your way to increase the royalty [on the piano arrangement] to at least 6d” (9 June 1899). The company objected that ”the length of the Composition is a drawback rather than an advantage seeing that it adds to the expense of production (especially when there are band parts) & at the same time restricts the sale” (letter of 16 June 1899, of which only a draft survives).

Even after the success of the first performance, when Novello finally decided to engrave the full score, not only was there no suggestion of an increase in royalty, but they levied an additional charge of 30 shillings for music hire, because the piece had needed an extra rehearsal! Elgar’s disgust at such a tactic resulted in a temporary rift with Novello, and Sea Pictures, his next publication, went to Boosey & Co.

But a second and more artistic fly spoilt the ointment on the very evening of the premiere: after the performance Jaeger tactlessly expressed his dissatisfaction with the brevity of the Finale coda. When Elgar ignored him, he wrote pleading for the Finale to be extended (late June 1899). Elgar refused point blank and deflected the correspondence with a volley of other defects:

I waited until I had thought it out & now decide that the end is good enough for me: as to the points in the score I am puzzled—I always said those celli were—bar one or two—the worst in the world––& a whole heap of passages they have did not come out—including that passage (unheard) on p.26 [XI, bb.16ff] (I had forgotten that they actually have it with the bassoon--& we never heard it). Again on p.27 [XI, b.34] the Celli got no tune out of those 7ths—I will assist ‘em.
You won’t frighten me into writing a logically developed movement where I don’t want one by quoting other people!
(Elgar to Jaeger, 27 June 1899)

In the same letter Elgar proposed making these improvements after he had had another chance to hear the work at its second performance, in Brighton.

As to engraving the Score of the Vars: hadn’t it better wait until after New B[righton] … How wd. this do—use the Skoughre & parts just as they are (Variations) at Bantock’s concert—I would touch up the thing after & let you have it say on the 20th of July?

But Jaeger continued his siege on the Finale, now claiming Richter as an ally (although the conductor had mentioned nothing to Elgar at the premiere). Elgar first bolstered his defence, but then changed to appeasement:

As to that finale—its most good of you to be interested & I like to have your opinion—I have my doubts as to some of the rest ‘cos it’s generally suggested to them.
Now look here [—] the movement was designed to be concise—here’s the difficulty of lengthening it—I could go on with those themes for half a day. but the key G is exhausted—the principal motive (Enigma) comes in grandioso on p.35 [of the piano score, bar 63] in the tonic & it won’t do to bring it in again: had I intended to make an extended movemt. this wd. have been in some related Key reserving the tonic for the final smash.
In deference to you I made a sketch yesterday—but the thing sounds Schubertian in its sticking to one key. I should really like to know how you heard that Richter was disappointed—he criticised some of it but not the end—the actual final flourish was spoilt in performance as you know by the insts going wild. You see there’s far too much of this sort of thing said: somebody wants to find fault & in course of conversation says ‘the end did not please so & so—I find it very poor—don’t you?’ the other chap hadn’t thought of it at all but says ‘Yes it’s very abrupt’--& so it goes on.
This sort of thing is of no value to me—what you say is your own opinion & wd. be given on anybody’s work. All the other fellows wd. never have made a remark if the work had been written by any great man.
If I find, after New B[righton,] that the end does not satisfy me, I may recast the whole of the last movement but it’s not possible to lengthen it with any satisfaction I fear.
If I can find time to make a readable copy of my ‘end’ I’ll send it to you & then you’ll see how good
E. Elgar is at heart
(Elgar to Jaeger, 30 June 1899)

Jaeger sensibly back-pedalled, claiming that his opinion was only a Nebensache (secondary matter), but Elgar’s self-confidence (never strong) was shaken, and he relented (“there is one phrase wch: I can use again”), sending an extra 100 bars to Jaeger in piano score even before hearing the work again in New Brighton. Jaeger was pleased, and it was arranged that the already published piano version would be re-issued with the revised ending. Elgar was clearly relieved:

You’re a trump! I’m heartily glad you like the TAIL, I do now it’s done: I haven’t time for a word. only here’s the M.S.—I think dear Mr. Brause can make it out but, as usual, I’ve used up (pasted it on) my sketch where not illegible. just look it thro’ again there’s a good chap.
Now. I’m going to New Brighton tomorrow—back on Tuesday: then I will revise the points in the sc: which we discussed before & score this new end (Coda)—Can you rush the piano copy thro’—I send it now on the chance—if it must be delayed, let me have the M.S. back to score on Tuesday from, ‘cos (as I said before) my sketch is cut up to gum on—see? (Elgar to Jaeger, 12 July 1899)

Jaeger could not resist sending a few more suggestions about the piano version of the new finale. Elgar replied:

Here’s the final revision of the Coda: thanks to West & you for suggestions: I see it will do to include the rhythmic bars & have done so—I can’t put in more runs: they really begin at first bar of p.39 [figure 75] and are (orchestrally) the feature, I couldn’t put ’em in for pf. they simply ‘culminate’ where introduced in the P.F. arrgt.
Now. I’ve no copy. but am revising the score (on the points we mentioned before) & will score this coda directly I receive the engraved copy [of the pf version] from you—send two copies of proof[.] I will keep one.
I think I can send you the score by the 26th but alas! we’ve lost a few days by the infernal postal arrgts. Anyhow leave full directions as to the score going to Germany [for engraving].
(Elgar to Jaeger, 20 July 1899)

Other details of scoring and engraving continued to occupy Elgar, and the continuing flow of letters between him and Jaeger show his concerns, corrections and attention to typographic detail:

Corrected String Parts received. By Jove, they are altered!
(Jaeger to Elgar, 24 July 1899)

By this post come pf. Proofs—p.40 last bar: it’s too quick for any one to grab the chord I think & as it stands it makes the next p. sound fuller (1st chord p.41 I mean) [Var. XIV bar 168]. As to p.41 do you like the look of those 3’s all down the page? wd. one do & then one 4 (as it is now)—p.42—there are 3 bars L.H. of E’s—they shd. have been small—anything to save time so don’t alter ’em unless you think fit. Now as to the score & wind. I’m going to plunge into ’em tomorrow & you shall have the score (except Finale) sent tomorrow. I can score the new end quickly: tell that nice woolly-lamb young man from Geidel’s that the score must be taken care of—I don’t mind the ‘laying out’ figures if necy but I bar greasy thumbs.
(Elgar to Jaeger, c. 25 July)

Now: hither comes pp.1—to 144 incl. of the Score and all the wind &c. revised to 76 at this point the Jaerodnimgeresque coda cometh on—I am scoring this prestissimo.
Look here—shall I put in organ ad lib: just at the end? If so
(–-– perpend) it shd. be named on the 1st page of printed score: I suppose the 1st page will give the names of all the insts. as usual & then less staves will be used (---only those necy––) afterwards: anyhow tell me at once about the organ AD LIB.
(Elgar to Jaeger, c.27 July)

Jaeger approved the organ, the full score was posted to him on 31 July and revised material for the coda was achieved in time for the Worcester Festival performance on 13 September, which Elgar himself conducted. Jaeger pronounced himself vindicated, and took advantage of his position to fire one last shot at the Finale, to which Elgar sensibly acceded.

Look here! you wont call me a d— fool & impertinent Hass for making another suggestion re the Skore, will you? When I heard the new Finale, both at the Worcester Rehearsals [in London] & the Richter [Concert], I was a little disappointed that the sudden Burst into Eb at [fig.] 82 did not ‘come off’ quite as explosively & surprisingly as I had anticipated. When I look at the score page 126 I put it down to the fact that the 1st Fiddles have not the short quaver [recte crotchet, bar 214] rest that many of the other instruments have. They seemed at the performances to glide up to the Bb instead of sharply plunging, hammering on it as with stroke of Thor’s War Axe! Would it not give you a stronger B flat & a stronger E flat chord & a greater surprise if ALL instruments had the crotchet rest before 82? The Wind could take breath for the fff & not merely use their last breath of a crescendo for THE effect; & the 1st Fiddles could get a better grip of the B flat and give greater brilliancy to it? You know I am not such a d— ass as to want to teach YOU!!! scoring. I know nothing about it & make my suggestion with all humility. I may be quite wrong.
Tant pis! The Timpani alone might sustain their Roll & keep up the sound during the moment’s breath-hiatus in the other instruments.
(Jaeger to Elgar, 17 October)

Jaeger, devoted as he was to the rhetoric of Wagner and Strauss, clearly felt strongly about his contribution to the finale; he later claimed credit not only for the expansion of the coda, but through it for the success of the whole work. In a letter of 9 December 1908 to Sydney Loeb, discussing the coda of the First Symphony (similarly too short, in his view), he maintained:

The ending is really as ineffective as was that of the Variations until I made him add 90 Bars & thus got a Coda that has made the work the success it is.

Not all musicians agreed that the right side had won this battle. Walford Davies, who later succeeded Elgar as Master of the King’s Music, wrote to Jaeger blaming him directly––“Elgar’s Finale is grand & TOO long, you sinner” (10 November 1902) –– and certainly no evidence has been produced to suggest that anyone other than Jaeger (with his Wagnerian leanings) found fault with the original. After more than thirty years acquaintance with the ‘new’ coda, the critic and scholar Sir Donald Tovey still felt this “tub-thumping” finale was wrong:

A report is now current that Elgar originally ended the variations quietly, and that this Finale was forced upon Elgar by more experienced friends. If this is true, for Heaven’s sake let every effort be made to recover the original finale. There is always the possibility that Elgar himself may have found it inadequate; and in any case the present finale has enough humour to entrap the humourless. I fell badly into the trap myself when I first heard its solemn organ-strains with their facile descent into prestissimo semibreves. But we do want to know how Elgar rounded off the work before he was induced to put a brass hat on it instead. 7

Elgar’s own annotations hint that he may not have been really convinced by Jaeger’s arguments and only made the changes under pressure. At the end of the original score he had written a (subtly adapted) stanza from Tasso: “Bramo assai, poco spero, nulla chieggio” (“I long for much, I hope for little, I ask for nothing”)8 –– illuminatingly, the resigned sigh of a disappointed lover. For the new ending, Elgar turned to his favourite Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, and added “Great is the art of beginning, but greater the art is of ending” (Elegiac Verse, 14). He presumably did not expect Jaeger (or other readers) to remember that the remainder of that stanza reads: “Many a poem is marred by a superfluous verse”.

There therefore seems strong reason to follow Tovey’s plea and include the original coda in this edition for perusal, and even performance.

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Although the changes to the Finale represent the single biggest revision that Elgar made to the work, many smaller alterations and improvements in scoring and balance were entered throughout the autograph full score, usually in a coloured ink to identify them. Most, but not all, of these found their way into print (though the trombones in Var.XI, bars 34-7, the triangle in the Finale, bar 103 and the final organ chord somehow escaped all printed editions to date). Even after the 1899 printing of the full score and parts, composer and publisher continued to worry over details and possible misprints for several years.

Elgar, for example, was particularly anxious that the quotation of his characteristic welcoming whistle on arriving home should be audible in his wife’s variation (see the revised dynamics in Variation I, bars 3ff ). Jaeger wrote on 16 September 1903 wondering whether the Cs in the first bassoon part of Troyte (Variation VII, figs. 23, 24 and 26) should be played an octave lower as the first bassoon at Hereford had apparently marked them, and offering to alter the plates of the score and parts (a signal that a new printing was imminent which could include revisions). He also queried one note in the bassoon part ( F natural instead of F sharp?) in G.R.S. (Variation XI) one bar before fig. 48 [bar 9, n.4]. Elgar replied that in both cases the parts and score were correct as printed. Even a year later, last minute queries were still arriving from J.E.West, Novello’s music editor, pointing out a possible error in the Finale. Elgar waited until after his next performance to reply:

…re 2nd bar p.100 [XIV, b.34] of the Variations: yes, it is an error undoubtedly, but on looking at it I thought it must be one of those things which sound all right owing to the timbre of the insts. I waited until yesterday when I was conducting rehearsal & concert in L’pool & listened to the bar. Do you know it sounds all right to me—sort of inverted (perverted) pedal & I don’t think we’ll alter it. If you hear the Vars: again listen & tell me what you think.
(23 October 1904).

Since West’s letter has not been traced, it is difficult to pin-point the “error” that excercised him, and in this case, no alteration was made to the score.

However, when the new edition of the full score appeared, it carried the original 1899 date and Novello made no mention of the substantial revisions, nor did all of them find their way into the orchestral parts. As can be seen in the Critical Commentary, a multitude of problems was created which persist to the present day.

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Since Elgar’s arrangement with Novello entitled him to a royalty only on extracted individual movements and on arrangements, he had a strong incentive to dismantle the construction as soon as possible. When he submitted the piano arrangement on 13 March 1899, he pointed out to Novello the likeliest candidate for extraction:

As to the “practical” portions of the work –– they are I think many: No.X [Dorabella] e.g. will do well for separate issue & many of the other numbers will arrange excellently in a variety of ways.
(Elgar to Novellos)

On the same day he confided to Jaeger that “Nimrod does not do for piano so well as orch: ”, although eventually both pieces were issued in keyboard versions.

Extracts in full score required more persuasion. It took until December of the following year for Jaeger to report to Elgar: “I have at last succeeded in getting Mr L[ittleton, chairman of Novello] to agree to doing Dorabella separately, Score, Parts & P.F. arrangement” (2 December 1900). Jaeger also proposed instrumental cues so it could be played by an even smaller band (it is already one of the slimmest portraits), and Elgar suggested the little that was possible, by shifting the horn notes at fig. 44 (bar 49) to viola (p.263) as indicated in small notes in the present edition. After some worries about the suitability of the title –– “ Don’t you think Dorabella looks foolish—I fear it” (Elgar to Jaeger, 6 December 1900) –– the piece finally appeared in 1901 simply as “Intermezzo for small orchestra.–– Wood-Wind, Drums and Strings –– from ... Op. 36”. Of all the movements in the Variations, this number was the most easily disconnected, since, as the dedicatee wrote: “E.E. said that there was only a trace of the ‘Enigma’ theme in the ‘Intermezzo’ which no one would be likely to find unless he knew where to look for it.”9 It is also strikingly “simpler” –– more diatonic and with fewer accidentals –– than any other Variation.

A recent sighting of the sketches (Source S4) revealed that, while other variations were sketched in pencil draft form, portions of this variation were preserved fully notated in ink in four-hand arrangement, suggesting that this number was possibly in existence before the Variations were conceived.

From the autograph, it is clear Elgar also planned at one time for Variation V to also be available as a separate number; the necessary final chord found in the autograph is included in this edition, although it was eventually cancelled by the composer (presumably because Novello did not agree). However “Nimrod”, the most frequently played excerpt today, was never issued separately in full score and has only ever been available as on hire. While Elgar’s alternative scorings (without contrabassoon, for example) and ad libitum organ part are conveniences less needed with today’s fully-manned orchestras, the practice of playing excerpts other than “Nimrod“ could well be reinstituted, presenting the Intermezzo and maybe even Variation V as independent concert items.

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As this extended survey of correction, counter-suggestion and re-publication indicates, the available source material for the Variations is many-layered and now offers a plethora of discrepant readings. Although all stemming from the autograph full-score, we find two states of the Novello engraved score (1899, but tacitly revised in 1904) and a single version of the printed orchestral material that frequently offers a reading that differs from both the scores. To these must be added Elgar’s later comments, annotations and corrections in his personal scores, plus the evidence of his own recordings.

The title itself exists in several states; at first simply Variations, it then became Variations on an Original Theme for Orchestra, but was announced as Symphonic Variations (The Musical Times, March and April 1899 and Elgar’s own letter, vide supra). The word “Enigma” was pencilled in (over the theme only, not as a title) in Jaeger’s hand, but was adopted eventually even by the composer. Colloquially the work is now “The Enigma Variations” but without the sanction of any publication.

Some believed that the enigma represented Elgar himself (the opening phrase, they pointed out, mirrors the rhythm of his name — Ed-ward EL-gar), a theory that was revived when he used the melody again in The Music Makers of 1912, and explained that it stood there for "the loneliness of the creative artist" (and was associated with the text “desolate streams”). For the 1899 premiere, Elgar told the programme-note writer, C. A. Barry:

It is true that I have sketched, for their amusement and mine, the idiosyncrasies of fourteen of my friends, not necessarily musicians; but this is a personal matter, and need not have been mentioned publicly. The Variations should stand simply as a ‘piece’ of music. The Enigma I will not explain - its 'dark saying' must be left unguessed, and I warn you that the apparent connexion between the Variations and the Theme is often of the slightest texture; further, through and over the whole set another and larger theme 'goes', but is not played… So the principal Theme never appears, even as in some late dramas –– e.g., Maeterlinck's L'Intruse and Les sept Princesses –– the chief character is never on the stage.

This is the first documented mention of an enigma –– clearly an added concept –– and Elgar rejected all guesses, even from close friends for the rest of his life (though he promised Hamilton Harty the solution in his will!).

The number of variations also varies, Elgar first describing it as 13 (see letter above), but later mentioning “fourteen friends” (the arithmetic works if you discount the composer’s own variation but include the bulldog). The Finale (himself) he presumably conceived as a coda to the set rather than an additional variation, hence his reluctance to enlarge the coda of the coda at Jaeger’s insistence. The mention of “another and larger theme” has led to an industry in deducing “associated” melodies (see Julian Rushton’s summary in Elgar: ‘Enigma’ Variations (Cambridge, 1999), pp. 64ff, although the number of suggestions increases weekly). The proposed ‘counterpoints’ to the theme range from the National Anthem, Auld Lang Syne and Home Sweet Home to the Dies Irae (Elgar was born a Catholic), the slow movement of Mozart’s ‘Prague’ Symphony and Brahms Symphony No. 4; one of the latest to arrive is Rule, Britannia (an earlier, and rejected suggestion) now re-proposed for the phrase “Never, never, never”, from Elgar’s punning remark that “the chief character is never on the stage”. Coincidentally, the programme in which Richter premiered the Variations happened to conclude with the Prague Symphony, preceded by a suite from Rimsky-Korsakov’s Snow Maiden; the first half had offered Dvorák’s Carneval Overture, Zorahayda by Svendsen and the closing scene of Götterdämmerung, all preceding the premiere of the Variations.

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A set of manuscript notes to the Variations can be seen at the Birthplace Museum (no. 722); although dated 1899 in Elgar’s hand, they must have been written after Alice’s death in 1920, since she is refered to in the past tense. However, they remained unpublished until 1929 when Elgar revised them for publication with a set of pianola rolls of the Variations issued by the Aeolian Company (cut directly from the piano reduction, with some later additions made by William McNaught10). In the revision Elgar opted for a more detached (third person) style––“the composer’s” in place of “my”–– and only gave in full the names of “portraits” who were dead. In the following transcript of the MS version additional or alternative comments in < > are taken from the text as printed by Novello with photographs of the dedicatees.11 Comments in square brackets are editorial.

“MY FRIENDS PICTURED WITHIN”

Theme
The alternation of the two quavers and two crotchets in the first bar and their reversal in the second bar will be noticed; references to this grouping are almost continuous, either melodically or in the accompanying figures [an empty square, possibly meaning music example] –– in * * * for example. The drop of a seventh (bar 3 ) & again (cellos etc,) in bar [omission mark] should be remembered. < At bar 7 (G major) appears the rising and falling passage in thirds which is much used later, e.g. Variation III, bars 10,16.>

Variation I. C.A.E.
There is no break between the theme and this movement. The Variation is really a prolongation of the theme with romantic and delicate additions; those who knew C.A.E. [Elgar's wife] will understand this reference to one whose life was a romantic & delicate inspiration.

Variation II. H.D.S-P.
Hew David Steuart-Powell was a well-known amateur pianist and a great player of chamber music. His characteristic (diatonic) run over the keys before beginning to play is here humorously travestied in the semiquaver passages; these should suggest a Toccata, but chromatic beyond H.D.S.-P.'s liking.

Variation III. R.B.T.
Richard Baxter Townshend, whose Tenderfoot books are now so well known and appreciated. The Variation has a reference to R.B.T.'s presentation of an old man in some amateur theatricals - the low voice flying off occasionally into 'soprano' timbre. The presentation by the oboe is somewhat pert, and the growling grumpiness of the bassoons are important.

Variation IV. W.M.B. (W. Meath Baker)
A country squire, gentleman & scholar. In the days of horses & carriages it was more difficult than in these days of petrol to arrange the carriages for the day to suit a large number of guests. This variation was written after the host had, with a slip of paper in his hand, forcibly read out the arrangements for the day & hurriedly left the music-room with an inadvertent bang of the door.

Variation V. R.P.A.
Richard P. Arnold, son of Matthew Arnold. A great lover of music which he played ( pianoforte) in a self-taught manner, evading difficulties but suggesting in a mysterious way the real feeling. His serious conversation was continually broken up by whimsical and witty remarks. The Theme is given by the basses and there is much badinage among the wind instuments.

Variation VI. YSOBEL (Isabel Fitton)
A Malvern lady, who was learning the viola . It may be noticed that the opening bar, a phrase made use of throughout the variation, is an 'exercise' for crossing the strings –– a difficulty for beginners; on this is built a pensive and, for a moment, romantic movement.

Variation VII. TROYTE (Arthur Troyte Griffith)
A well-known architect in Malvern. The boisterous mood is mere banter. The uncouth rhythm of the drums etc was really suggested by some maladroit essays to play the pianoforte [;] later the strong rhythm suggests the attempts of the instructor (E.E.) to make something like order out of chaos, & the final despairing ‘slam’ as the effort proved to be vain.

Variation VIII. W.N
Really suggested by an eighteenth-century household. The gracious personalities of the ladies is sedately shown. W.N. [Winifred Norbury] was more connected with music than any others of the family, so her initials head the movement; to justify this position a little suggestion of a characteristic laugh is given.

Variation IX. NIMROD
The name is my substitute for Jaeger who was well known as a critic & friend of musicians. Nimrod).12 > During an evening walk my friend discoursed eloquently on the slow movements of Beethoven, & said that no one could approach B at his best in this field. A view in which I cordially concurred. It will be noticed that the opening bars are made to suggest the slow movement of the eighth Sonata (Pathétique).

Variation X. DORABELLA
INTERMEZZO: the pseudonym is adopted from Mozart's "Cosi fan tutti" [sic]. The movement suggests a dance of fairy-like lightness . The inner sustained phrases (violas first, -- later Flutes) should be noted.
[Dorabella was Dora Penny].

Variation XI. G.R.S.
George Robinson [recte Robertson] Sinclair, Mus. D., late organist of Hereford Cathedral. The Variation, however, has nothing to do with organs or cathedrals, or, except remotely, with G.R.S. The first few bars were suggested by his great bulldog Dan (a well-known character) falling down the steep bank into the river (bar 1); his paddling up stream to find a landing place (bars 2 [&] 3) & his rejoicing bark on landing (2nd half of bar 4 [recte 5]). G.R.S. said, "Set that to music". I did -- Here it is.

Variation XII. B.G.N.
Basil G. Nevinson, an amateur cello player of some distinction and a serious & devoted friend. The Variation is simply a tribute to a very dear friend whose scientific & artistic attainments, & the whole-hearted way they were put at the disposal of his friends, particularly endeared him to the writer.

Variation XIII. * * *
The asterisks have been identified as replacing the name of a lady who was, at the time of the composition, on a sea voyage. The drums suggest the distant throb of the engines of a liner, over which the clarinet quotes a phrase from Mendelssohn's "Calm Sea & a Prosperous Voyage".
[Elgar claimed the Variation represented Lady Mary Lygon, but the use of asterisks rather than initials has invited speculation. Since Mary Lygon had visited Elgar the very day he completed the full score and did not leave for Australia until April, some suggest that the asterisks conceal the identity of Helen Weaver, who had been engaged to Elgar for eighteen months in 1883-4 before she emigrated to New Zealand. Elgar’s rather evasive “have been identified as replacing” in his draft of these notes might be taken as corroborative evidence of some cover-up. Most commentators avoid noting the proximity of this Romanza to the final variation, the composer himself]

Variation XIV. E.D.U.
FINALE: bold and vigorous in general style. Written at a time when my friends were dubious and generally discouraging as to my musical future, this ‘Variation’ is merely to show what ‘E.D.U.’ (a ‘paraphrase’ of a fond name for the writer) intended to do. References made to Var. 1 (C.A.E.) & to Var. IX (Nimrod), two great influences on the life and art of the composer, are entirely fitting to the intention of the piece. The whole of the work is summed up in the triumphant broad presentation of the theme in the major.

***

There are few notational quirks in Elgar’s score that could cause problems for a modern player since, as Jonathan del Mar observed in his edition of the Cello Concerto (BA 9040):

As a rule Elgar was extraordinarily punctilious, writing in every tiny articulation mark and every slur into every instrument; only where instruments are divisi on one stave did he sometimes forget to mark slurs both above and below.

Elgar was also well served by his editor and engravers, and was himself a thorough proof-reader. The real areas of confusion for the modern performer are those where issues of performance practice have changed since 1899.

Accents, for example, represent a special case for this period: the upright accent or “petit chapeau” [^] held a variety of meanings during the 19th century, at first being a lighter, more expressive version of >, and later (Meyerbeer, Wagner) coming closer to meaning sf. Elgar’s use of it with added staccato suggests that alone it did not always imply a shortening of the note-value. The same proviso applies to >, which may occur with or without an additional staccato dot. Similarly Elgar’s use of the “tenuto” marking differed from the “hold with full length and tone” interpretation that is assumed today; in the opening bars of the theme, for example, it implied a slight separation; it was also used as a light accent (Variation XI bar 6 shows [tenuto symbol] used for the echo version of bar 1, which in ff is marked >).

Occasionally we find an ambiguous use of double stems and “a 2” markings, such as in the clarinet parts at the end of Variation XIII, where Elgar had not specifically stated that the previous bars (49-50) are for a single clarinet. Equally puzzling for a modern player are the double stems provided for the double-basses in the Finale (bars 226-30) where they indicate a double-stop no longer available in modern tuning. In this period of transition from the three-string to the four- (or sometimes five) string instrument, several experimental tunings were in use. In the only known English bass tutor of the period, published in 1890, the leading London player, Adolphus Charles White, was pictured playing a three-string instrument, but described the different European tunings at the time and his own transition to a four-string bass tuned DD, GG, D, G on which Elgar’s double-stop would have been perfectly feasible:

Thus my bass stands tuned DD, GG, D, G; the double D being a very fine note, having the vibration of it's octave in addition to it's own sound. Since I have adopted this manner of tuning, I am glad to be able to say that many of our English bass players have followed my example, and I believe in a few years three-stringed basses will be as rare in Orchestras as four-stringed ones were formerly.13

With the percussion writing, we find essentially “wasted” slurs added, though not consistently, to up-beat side-drum rolls (but since Elgar seems to have favoured this notation, the missing slurs have been added editorially, despite it having no effect in performance). Accidentals have been added editorially to the timpani part, since although they are generally present in all variations, they are almost completely missing in Variation IX. Elgar appears ambivalent about his notation of the horn parts in this work, sometimes using the older convention of bass clef (Variation I, fig. 3), at other times the modern notation, reading an octave higher (Finale b.6); at b.43 of the Finale he noticed the contradiction and altered the pitch of Horn 4 to an octave lower (see marginal comment in F). With colla parte abbreviations, Elgar assumed a replication of notes but not always with the marked articulation, especially when a combination of wind and strings is involved (see, for example, Finale bb.22, 96-7). All Elgar’s cautionary accidentals have been retained, since these were born of personal experience in rehearsal and performance.

***

Elgar’s attitude to performance was famously unpredictable; Adrian Boult felt that “anything might happen”, and The Musical Times reported: “Sir Edward has a drastic way of hacking at his music. All sorts of things which other conductors carefully foster, he seems to leave to take their chance. He cuts a way through in a fashion both nervous and decisive. At the end we realize the details and rhetorical niceties have been put in their right place, and the essential tale has been vividly told”. 14 Elgar himself stated “I only know that [when] my things are performed –– when they go as I like ––elastically & mystically[––] people grumble –– when they are conducted squarely & sound like a wooden box these people are pleased to say it’s better” (Letter to Jaeger 1 July 1903). His own recorded performances demonstrate that his score was not the last word, even though it had been so carefully calculated and scrutinised. Elgar made two recordings of the Variations, an acoustic version in 1920/21 and electric in 1926 (reissued most recently as Pearl GEM 114 and HMV ALP 1464 respectively), which need to be considered by both performers and musicologists along with all paper evidence.

For example, to determine the “appropriate” tempo for ‘Nimrod’ (Variation IX) many variants between these sources need to be, if not reconciled, certainly registered. We start with the sketch marked crotchet = 66, then erased and 72 substituted; but the piano score was first marked as crotchet = 72, then altered back to 66; the autograph and first printing retained Moderato 66, but in a letter to Jaeger on 15 September 1903 Elgar remarked:

I always take ‘Nimrod’ slower than MM in Score. [Frederic] Cowen says it shd. be altered[,] what do you think?

Jaeger agreed: “Yes, I think ‘Nimrod’ in the Variations should be marked SLOWER than in sc & moderato.” But Elgar went even further, not only changing the tempo in the 1904 reprint of the score to crotchet = 52, but also replacing Moderato with Adagio (though still omitting the Nobilmente of the sketch and piano arrangement). This was not the end of the story, however, since in his 1920 recording we hear Elgar starting at 48, and in 1926 at 46, but rising to 48 and even 56 at the climax, accelerating at the very point he has marked largamente. An embarassment of shifting evidence.

Faster movements were no less susceptible to change; Troyte (Variation VII) was recorded at semibreve = 84, well above the score’s 76, and more precipitous than many orchestras would risk today, while his 1926 recording tempo for Variation XIII was crotchet = 96, against the printed 76. Yet Elgar’s reactions to tempi were well studied, however random they seemed to his orchestras. His piano scores (K 1446 and L1481) contain pencil annotations from his listening to the recordings (rather than jottings made during live performances or rehearsals, as was once claimed); he not only commented on poor balance and phrasing (“louder clar?”, “Theme obscure”), but approved of both the faster Troyte speed (“fine”) and Variation II (“delightful…lovely”) when taken at 80 instead of the marked 72. His timing of “2 and a quarter” minutes written in the margin of Dorabella (Var. X) suggests a tempo nearer crotchet = 96 rather than the 80 specified.

With Variation VIII a special conundrum arises; Elgar wrote in his score “agree with Dr. R[ichter]. a leetle slower”. But slower than what? The markings of this 6/8 variation have a complex history: in the early stages of composition Elgar marked his sketch dotted crotchet = 58, which he changed to dotted crotchet = 52 in the piano draft, and retained thus in the autograph and first edition; but in the 1904 revision this was altered to quaver = 104, and a printed footnote (added in to a reissue in October 1949) states: “The composer’s recording is played at quaver = 104, but the MS. and previous editions are marked dotted crotchet = 52. It would appear that when altering the metronome from quaver to dotted crotchet the composer inadvertently divided by 2 instead of 3”. But this suggestion may not be correct; it is possible that Elgar’s first marking was intended to be crochet = 52, equivalent to quaver = 104 (the tempo he recorded), since for a dotted crochet this would equal c.35, too slow for practical reference, and certainly off the range of any metronome.

In addition to ‘elastic’ tempi, there are other audible aspects of Elgar’s performance style discernible from the two recordings made under his direction, which differ markedly from modern practice. Current thinking is divided on whether players can, or even should, imitate what these recordings demonstrate (one wonders, were a similar situation to be possible, whether similar doubts would exist about imitating performances by Mozart, Beethoven or Brahms), but, as Robert Philip puts it, “modern performances of Elgar’s music bear little resemblance to his own performances on record”.15 His advice, however, is to try to absorb the original style rather than imitate it, while warning us that the conclusions to be drawn from these studies are “both uncomfortable and inescapable”.

For example, two aspects of string playing that Elgar and his contemporaries took for granted need re-consideration, since they are inherent to the notation of his string parts: the application of portamento and the use of vibrato. All early 20th-century recordings, as Robert Philip points out, demonstrate both slower and less disguised sliding in string playing, more frequently applied, balanced by a more sparing use of a shallower vibrato than is usual today. His analysis of the theme of the Variations as played on Elgar’s 1926 recording shows 18 violin slides in 16 bars or “roughly one slide every two seconds”.16







It is important to realise that the sliding of the 1920s was not just a way of ornamenting a melody. It affected the entire texture of the orchestral strings, because slides were liable to be heard at any change of position in any of the string parts. Compared with ‘clean’ modern string playing, this gives an unexpectedly contrapuntal feel even to simple successions of chords.17

Flexibility of both tempo and rhythm was a vital component of early 20th -century playing in all genres.18 One particular rhythmic mannerism of the period that can be heard in Elgar’s performances is the exaggerated inequality between long and short notes –– in effect a form of “over-dotting”. Thus, for example, the pattern in Variation III notated as:








is played with a scurrying effect on both of Elgar’s recordings, as:








Since special conditions applied in early recordings, the make-up, size and disposition of Elgar’s studio orchestra is irrelevant to modern concert halls. But we have adequate evidence for both size and placement of the leading European ensembles that Elgar would have known. The ensemble assembled for Richter’s 1899 premiere (advertised as an “Orchestra of 100 Members”) had string sections of 16.16.12.12.10. String proportions in the early years of the 20th century were very similar in England, Germany and America; we find 16.16.11.12.10 for the Hallé Orchestra (1908), 16.14.10.10.10 for Dresden State Opera (in concert) in 1922, and 15.15.10.10.9 for Chicago Symphony (1904).19

The Musical Times of November 1911(p. 708) shows a full-page photograph of Elgar directing the London Symphony Orchestra (66 strings, in the exact proportions of Richter’s ensemble) with the traditional antiphonal violin seating which most world orchestras continued to use throughout the first half of the century. Hans Richter (like Sir Henry Wood, Sir Adrian Boult, Toscanini and Mahler) preferred antiphonal violins “so that the treble of the string sound reaches the audience from the whole width of the front of the platform”20 and even (according to Wood) used to split the double basses, placing four in each corner of the stage.21 In the majority of orchestras the horns were placed to the conductor’s left, the trumpets to his right and the timpani and percussion centrally. One final point of performance practice must be mentioned which, although it has only been passed down anecdotally, seems from circumstantial evidence to represent Elgar’s intentions. The facts were entertainingly recorded by the timpanist James Blades:

In Variation 13 of Enigma occurs one of the few occasions where Elgar presented the timpanist with a problem, i.e. the execution of a roll with side drum sticks (solo) followed immediately by a rhythmic figure to be played naturale. To follow Elgar's instructions would not be impossible. For example, recourse could be had to side drum sticks with heads of felt affixed to the butt ends, and the sticks reversed at the appropriate moment. Even so, the combination of side drum sticks and timpani sticks would have been even less commendable to the timpanists of Elgar's day than to the players of to-day. Elgar's request for side drum sticks for this particular tremolo may have been prompted by a desire for an unusual roll to give the impression of the pulse of ship's engines, the drum's purpose being at this point to illustrate this mechanism. It is well known that this tremolo is rarely played with side drum sticks: instead, two coins are normally used. Of this, Thomas F. Dunhill says: '. . . a mysterious roll on one of the tympani, in the score, to be made by side-drum sticks, but actually played with two coins held tightly between the finger and thumb of each hand by the drummer. This device was invented by that superb tympanist Charles Henderson, who was in Richter's orchestra at the time, and it is now generally adopted.'22 Professor Kirby23, in a conversation with the present author, related the circumstances surrounding the first rehearsal of the work, as given to him by the timpanist. Charles Henderson said that after he had played the passage with side drum sticks, Elgar commented that he did not like it. Henderson then used coins, at which Elgar said: 'Good! How is it done?' Henderson replied: 'Sir, if you will give me two gold coins I will show you!'24

Christopher Hogwood
Cambridge, 2 June 2007
hogwood@hogwood.org

1. The “Richter Concerts” which started in 1876 were given with an unnamed (presumably freelance) orchestra.

2. Music & Letters, vol. I, no.1 (January 1920), p.11

3. See Kevin Allen, August Jaeger: Portrait of Nimrod: A life in letters and other writings (Ashgate Press 2000), p.114.

4. J. A. Forsyth, ‘Edward Elgar: True Artist and True Friend’, The Music Student xii (December 1932), p. 243.

5. Quotations from Elgar’s letters here and elsewhere from Jerrold Northrop Moore, Elgar and his Publishers. Letters of a Creative Life (2 vols, Oxford 1987)

6. Elgar Birthplace Museum, no. 366

7. Music & Letters vol. xvi, no. 1 (January 1935),p.4

8 Tasso (Gerusalemme Liberata, canto 2) wrote “Brama assai, poco spera, e nulla chiede” (“He longs for much, he hopes for little, and he asks for nothing”). According to Brian Trowell (‘Elgar’s Use of Literature’ in Raymond Monk (ed.) Edward Elgar: Music and Literature, 1993) the composer borrowed the quotation, and the incorrect date (Dante’s death date), from an account of the sea-battle of Sir Richard Grenville originally published in 1595, and also giving the quotation in the form that he used. The English translation pencilled by Elgar on the following page of the score is also interestingly inaccurate: “I essay much, I hope little, I ask nothing”.

9. Mrs. Richard Powell [Dora Penny], Edward Elgar: Memories of a Variation (London, 1937), p.15n.§

10. Detailed in his article on “The ‘Enigma’ Variations on Two Pianos”, The Musical Times, October 1945, pp.302-3.

11. London, Novello, 1929

12. This and the final sentence were added in Novello's publication of the Notes from Elgar's programme notes for the Jaegar Memorial Concert, 24 June 1910

13. A.C. White in Proceedings of the Musical Association (April 1887) later repeated in The Double Bass (London, Novello, Ewer and Co.,1890), p. 6

14. The Musical Times, lxvii (1926-7), p.550.

15. Robert Philip, ‘The Recordings of Edward Elgar (1857-1934): Authenticity and Performance Practice’ in Early Music Vol. 12. no. 4 (November 1984), pp. 481-9.

16. ibid., p. 482, including the musical example quoted here.

17. ibid., p. 483. See also Robert Philip, Performing Music in the Age of Recording (New Haven and London, 2004), pp.142-5.

18. For a recent summary of the techniques of solo violinists and string quartets see Journal of Musicological Research, vol. 25. nos. 3-4, July–December 2006.

19. See Daniel Koury, Orchestral Performance Practices in the Nineteenth Century. Size, Proportions, and Seating (Ann Arbor, 1986), p. 299.

20. Henry Wood, About Conducting (London 1945), pp. 53-4.

21. See Koury, op. cit., p. 307.

22. Thomas Dunhill, Sir Edward Elgar (London 1938) p. 89 (JB).

23. The ethnomusicologst, Percival R. Kirby (Emeritus Professor, University of the Witwatersrand) (CH).

24. James Blades, Percussion Instruments and Their History, revised edition (London, 1975), pp. 331-2.