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Unlocking Reicha’s Variations:��The Impact of Historical Keyboards on Interpretation

Artem Markaryan

October 4, 2025

Good morning, and thank you for being here today.�It’s a pleasure to share ideas about music with colleagues and fellow musicians.

My name is Artem Markaryan. I’m a pianist and a PhD student at the Lucerne University of Applied Sciences and Arts in Switzerland.

As my research is in German and I’m not a native English speaker, please excuse any imperfections in my English. I hope I can still share my ideas with clarity.

Coming from a modern piano background, I find it fascinating how much we can learn about interpretation by exploring historical instruments and performance practices.

Today, I’ll talk about how historical keyboards can shape the interpretation of Anton Reicha’s L’art de varier — a challenging set of variations from the early 19th century.

The score gives very few performance indications, which gives performers a lot of freedom, but also makes interpretive decisions more complex.

My research looks at how performing this work on instruments from Reicha’s time — especially early Viennese fortepianos — can reveal new expressive possibilities and bring us closer to the sound world the composer knew.

This presentation has two parts:�First, some background on Reicha, L’art de varier, and instruments that may have influenced his writing.�Second, examples from my performance practice, showing how the choice of instrument can shape interpretation.

Let’s begin with a brief look at Reicha and his L’art de varier.

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Bonn

1785–1792

Played violin & flute in the court orchestra.

Close friendship with Beethoven.

│

Vienna

1802–1808

Composed *L’art de varier*.

Friendship with Haydn, reconnected with Beethoven.

Vienna as a major center of piano development.

│

Paris

1808–1836

Published theoretical treatises.

Taught Counterpoint and Fugue at the Conservatoire.

Students: Franck, Berlioz, Gounod, Liszt.

Anton Reicha

(1770 - 1836)

Anton Reicha was born in 1770 in Prague.�I won’t go into his full biography today, but I’d like to highlight three key periods of his life that I find especially important.�

The first period was Bonn, where Reicha played violin and flute in the court orchestra.�During this time, Beethoven was playing viola in the same ensemble, and the two became close friends.�

The second period was Vienna.�This was the time when he composed L’art de varier, developed a friendship with Joseph Haydn, and renewed his connection with Beethoven.�It’s also worth noting that Vienna was one of the main centers of piano development at that time.�

Finally, the third period was Paris, which became Reicha’s home for the rest of his life.�This was his most successful and productive stage: he published all his theoretical treatises, taught counterpoint and fugue at the Conservatoire, and among his students were Franck, Berlioz, Gounod, and Liszt.

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L’art de varier

Year of Publication: 1804
Number of Variations: 57
Duration: approx. 1.5 hours
Editions:

Breitkopf & Härtel (1804)
Musica Antiqua Bohemica (1961)
Henle (1971)

Recordings:

Mauro Masala (2000)
Ivan Ilic (2021)

Breitkopf & Härtel, 1804

�From the archive of the Library of the Society of Friends of Music in Vienna

L’art de varier was composed between 1802 and 1804, during Reicha’s time in Vienna.�On the screen, you can see the title page of the first edition, published by Breitkopf & Härtel in 1804."

"A printed copy of this edition is now preserved in the archive of the Library of the Society of Friends of Music in Vienna.�Today, we also have access to later editions, such as Musica Antiqua Bohemica (1961) and Henle (1971).

The cycle contains 57 variations. If you play all the repeats, a complete performance can last up to an hour and a half.

When I first encountered this piece, I was struck by the complexity of its structure.�The variations are full of Reicha’s imagination and creativity.�For the performer, the real challenge is to connect these many different ideas and make them feel like one coherent whole.

Compared to another major work by Reicha, the 36 Fugues, L’art de varier remains almost unexplored.�So far, there are only two known recordings of the complete cycle — and both are performed on a modern piano.

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Beethoven to Nikolaus Zmeskall (Vienna, 1802)�Beethoven-Haus Bonn Digital Archive

replica of Beethoven’s Erard Frères piano by Chris Maene

Now that we’ve looked briefly at the composer and the piece, let’s turn to the instrument.

We know that L’art de varier was written for a keyboard with a range of five and a half octaves — which was the limit for the most advanced instruments of that time.

An interesting clue comes from a letter Beethoven wrote to his friend Zmeskall.�In it, he says:

“Reicha was asked by the piano maker who built his own instrument to convince me to let this maker build a pianoforte for me. And this piano maker is among the best — I’ve already seen fine instruments from him.”

Unfortunately, Beethoven doesn’t name the maker.�And with over 200 piano makers active in Vienna in the late 18th and early 19th centuries, it’s impossible to know exactly who it was.

During this period, Reicha also renewed his friendship with Haydn, whom he had first met in Bonn.�This is important because, starting in 1801, Haydn owned a french Erard grand piano — a groundbreaking instrument with an una corda pedal, which Viennese pianos didn’t have at that time.

Two years later, Beethoven acquired a similar Erard and soon began criticizing the Viennese pianos.�

Since Reicha visited both men frequently, we can assume that even if he didn’t compose L’art de varier on an Erard, he was certainly aware of the new technical possibilities it offered.

However, it’s very likely that Reicha himself only had constant access to a Viennese-type fortepiano when he wrote this work.�

This gives us a strong reason to explore how the Viennese fortepiano affects the interpretation of L’art de varier.�For today’s performance examples, I’ll use the Stein type fortepiano, built by Donald Makinnon, with a five-octave range.

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Musica Antiqua Bohemica, 1961

A’

The first parameter I’d like to focus on is dynamics.

The Musica Antiqua Bohemica edition adds many dynamic markings that are completely absent in the first edition.�On one hand, these added dynamics make sense:

they grow as more voices are added,

they follow the melodic line,

and they decrease when the theme moves to the upper register.

On the other hand, Reicha himself gave no dynamic indications in the first variation.�

In this suggested version, the dynamics are secondary, subordinated to the musical texture rather than independent ideas.�But there’s no explanation for why, for instance, section B should suddenly be played mezzo forte.

If a performer strictly follows the editor’s markings, they might try, for example, to achieve this mezzo forte by:

strongly emphasizing the right-hand intervals,

and making the left-hand figuration so soft that it becomes almost inaudible.

On the modern grand piano, this approach makes some sense.�The theme is in the right hand, and the left hand is treated just as accompaniment.

But the result is that an entire layer of musical material disappears — leaving the listener to guess what the left hand is actually playing.

On the fortepiano this problem doesn’t exist, because the figurations in the lower register remain naturally audible, giving us, in a way, a natural mezzo forte.�This happens because on historical instruments the registers were less balanced: the upper register was much weaker in sound compared to the powerful bass and even to the middle range.

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A’

Breitkopf & Härtel, 1804

�From the archive of the Library of the Society of Friends of Music in Vienna

In the first edition, the only dynamic marking in the theme and the first variation is the single piano at the very beginning.�The next dynamic change appears only at the start of the second variation, marked fortissimo.

In cases like this, I often rely on the characteristics of the fortepiano,�because interpretation on this instrument is shaped much more by its technical limits than on the modern piano.�

For example, it feels unnatural to play the single-voiced opening phrase — section A — louder than the next phrase, section B,�where the figuration moves into the lower register while the theme appears in the upper voice.

Likewise, when the theme returns in the upper register in section A’,�it naturally suggests softer dynamics.�Playing this part too loudly would sound unnatural on the fortepiano.�

Let’s listen to how this variation sounds on the fortepiano.

🎹 Play the variation

Dynamics are essential — but just as important is how they are achieved.

On the modern piano, performers face far less limitation.�We can easily produce both fortissimo in the upper register and pianissimo in the bass.

On the one hand, this frees our imagination and offers many possibilities.�On the other hand, it can also lead to strange interpretive choices,�especially when dynamics go beyond what was natural on historical instruments.

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Anton Reicha:

“The scales of F-sharp and G-flat,�though identical on the piano,�are in nature very different:�the first is bright and brilliant,�while the second is dark and somber.”�

Treatise on Melody, 1814

The second parameter I’d like to discuss is timbre.

Most of the variations in the cycle are written in the main key of F major.�However, there are also very distant modulations, with some variations showing such daring tonal plans // that they clearly reflect Reicha’s imagination and adventurous spirit — he was far from being a conservative composer.�

For example, in Variation 22, after just two chords, we suddenly find ourselves in G-flat major.

🎹 Play the excerpt here

Of course, you don’t need to play a historical instrument to hear how far apart F major and G-flat major sound.�But understanding historical temperaments adds another important layer to our interpretation. In these systems, some keys sounded perfectly in tune, while others felt more tense or unusual.�This kind of knowledge — and direct listening experience — can really help in shaping interpretation.�

The 'doctrine of affections', a concept popular in the 18th century, was based on attributing certain emotional qualities to specific keys.�Many theorists wrote about this, including Mattheson, Quantz, Carl Philipp Emanuel Bach, Leopold Mozart, Sulzer, Türk, and of course Schubart.�Each of them proposed slightly different systems, but they all shared the belief that different keys could carry distinct expressive characters.

Of course, this is a subjective way of thinking, and not every composer of that time would have agreed with it.�Still, the very idea that different keys have different characters can strongly influence interpretation.

How different might our interpretation be if we knew exactly what character the composer wanted in this variation?

And fortunately, Anton Reicha himself writes about this in his Treatise on Melody, using the exact example of F-sharp and G-flat:

The scales of F-sharp and G-flat, �though identical on the piano, �are in nature very different:�the first is bright and brilliant, �while the second is dark and somber.

�So, when he writes a variation in G-flat major,

and at the same time tells us that this key is dark and somber,

it gives us a clear window into his expressive intention.

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C.P.E. Bach:

"If one truly understands proper fingering, even the most difficult pieces can be played so that the movement of the hands is hardly visible.«

Essay on the True Art of Playing Keyboard Instruments, 1753

D.G. Türk:

"The most COMFORTABLE fingering — the one requiring the LEAST MOVEMENT of the hands — is generally the BEST.“

School of Clavier Playing (Klavierschule), 1789

Muzio Clementi:

«To produce the BEST EFFECT, by the EASIEST MEANS, is the great basis of the art of fingering.�The effect, being of the HIGHEST IMPORTANCE, is FIRST consulted; the way to accomplish it is then devised;

and THAT MODE of fingering is PREFERRED which gives the BEST EFFECT, though not always the easiest to the performer.»

Introduction to the Art of Playing on the Pianoforte, 1801

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Articulation plays a double role.�On one hand, it helps to achieve the expressive effect that Clementi talks about.�On the other hand, articulation itself depends on fingering.�

On the screen, you can see three examples from the first variation.

At the top, the fingering suggested by Hans-Martin Theopold in the Henle edition.

At the bottom, my own fingering, which I based on the articulation slurs present in the first edition — where, of course, no fingering was provided at all.�

Let’s first look more closely at the fingering suggested by Henle.

In the first example, you see the first finger suggested on the note C.�This seems to encourage the performer to connect both slurs into one phrase. (play)

However, there is nothing stopping us from using the same fingering for both slurs, which actually helps to articulate them more clearly.�(play)

Similar situations appear in bar five,�where the suggested fingering in the left hand conflicts with the articulation.�This fingering also leads the performer to connect the slurs instead of following the written articulation.

(play the correct version)

By contrast, in bar eight,�where the end of the phrase and the slur over eight notes suggest a connected fingering, the edition does not provide one.�This can be easily solved with an alternative fingering choice.

In other words, articulation can point to a correct fingering,�or reveal that a fingering is not well suited to the music.

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There are several variations in the cycle where Reicha writes the instruction “senza sordini” — without dampers.

On a Viennese fortepiano, this allows the performer to play an entire variation with the dampers raised from beginning to end, creating a sustained, resonant sound.

On the screen, you can see the opening of Variation 17, where this marking appears.

🎹 Play the excerpt here

A more famous example of this instruction can be found in the first movement of Beethoven’s Sonata quasi una Fantasia in C-sharp minor, with the marking “sempre pp e senza sordino.”

By the early 19th century, Carl Czerny, in Part Four of his piano school, recommended lifting and reapplying the pedal with every bass note.

This most likely reflects the increasing volume and resonance of pianos during this period.�

On a modern grand piano, following Reicha’s marking literally — holding the pedal for the entire variation — would quickly blur the texture.�By the second bar, it would already be difficult to hear the theme clearly in the right hand.�

To solve this, we can take into account the differences in pedal mechanisms between historical and modern instruments.�Instead of holding the pedal fully, we can use half-pedal or even quarter-pedal to recreate the intended effect on today’s piano.

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References:

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Bonn, B.-H. (o. J.). Ludwig van Beethoven, Brief an Nikolaus Zmeskall, Wien, November 1802, Autograph [Text]. Beethoven-Haus Bonn; Beethoven-Haus Bonn. Abgerufen 27. September 2025, von
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Reicha, A. (1803/04) L’Art de varier ou 57 Variations sur un thème d’invention […] dédiées à Son Altesse Royale Monsieur le Prince Louis Ferdinand de Prusse F-Dur op. 57 (Wien 1802/03?), Lpz. 1803/04; Faks. Flz. 1986; Musica Antiqua Bohemica Vol.50 Praha: Orbis, n.d.[1961]. Plate H 3191.; Selected Piano Works | HN254 | HN 254. (o. J.). Henle.
Reicha, A. (2000). Treatise on melody (A219397). Pendragon Press.
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