Bartok Viola Concertop-The Remarkable Story of His Swansong-Donald Maurice PDF

Bartók’s Viola Concerto:
The Remarkable Story
of His Swansong
DONALD MAURICE
OXFORD UNIVERSITY PRESS
Bartók’s Viola Concerto
studies in musical genesis and structure
Debussy’s ‘Iberia’
Matthew Brown
Mendelssohn’s ‘Italian’ Symphony
John Michael Cooper
Vaughan Williams’s Ninth Symphony
Alain Frogley
Mahler’s Fourth Symphony
James L. Zychowicz
Beethoven’s Piano Sonata in E, Op. 
Nicholas Marston
Webern and the Lyric Impulse
Anne C. Shreffler
Wagner’s Das Rheingold
Warren Darcy
Beethoven’s ‘Appassionata’ Sonata
Martha Frohlich
Richard Strauss’s Elektra
Bryan Gilliam
Euryanthe and Carl Maria Von Weber’s Dramaturgy of German Opera
Michael C. Tusa
Robert Schumann and the Study of Orchestral Composition:
The Genesis of the First Symphony, Op 38
Jon W. Finson
Beethoven’s Diabelli Variations
William Kinderman
Anna Bolena and the Artistic Maturity of Gaetano Donizetti
Philip Gossett
Donald Maurice
The Remarkable Story

of His Swansong
2004
Oxford New York

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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Maurice, Donald.
Bartók’s viola concerto : the remarkable story of his swansong / Donald Maurice.
p. cm. — (Studies in musical genesis and structure)

Includes bibliographical references (p. ) and index.
ISBN 0-19-515690-0
1. Bartók, Béla, 1881–1945. Concertos, viola, orchestra. I. Title. II. Series.
MT130.B34 M28 2004
784.2'73—dc22 2003026914
9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
Printed in the United States of America
on acid-free paper
Dedicated to Rupa for her love and patience
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acknowledgments
The gathering and preparation of the material in this book has spanned
over twenty years and includes many interviews (formal and informal) in Europe,
North America, and Australasia, extensive correspondence, examination of hun-
dreds of documents, a survey of relevant literature, and a detailed examination of
copies of the original manuscripts of the Piano Concerto No.  and the Violin
Concerto No. 2 (both at the Budapest Bartók Archives) and the Viola Concerto
(facsimile edition).
Specific acknowledgment must be made of the groundbreaking work of Tibor
Serly (preparation of the first edition), David Dalton (interviews with Tibor Serly
and William Primrose), Atar Arad (early attempts to rectify discrepancies), Peter
Bartók (gift of the facsimile edition and revised score, preparation and publication
of the 1995 revision, and willingness to share much historical information with the
author and to grant copyright permission for the reproduction of letters from his
father and musical excerpts), Csaba Erdélyi (gifts of revisions since the early 1990s
that culminated in his 2001 edition), and Boosey & Hawkes (copyright permission
for various letters and musical examples from various publications).
I am indebted to the eminent Bartók authorities Elliott Antokoletz, Malcolm
Gillies, and Lázsló Somfai for their expertise, which they have shared extensively
with the wider musical community through their own publications and with me
personally at various stages along my journey. Special thanks are due to Malcolm
Gillies, whose very detailed scrutiny of my work in the earlier stages guided me and
focused the overall shape of this study, and to Elliott Antokoletz for contributing
the section in chapter 8 on pitch organization.
Finally, I must acknowledge the contributions of my brother, John Maurice, for
preparing the reproductions of documents, and of my student, Nicholas Hancox,
for his work in electronically preparing the musical examples.
Editor’s Preface
Several volumes in this Studies in Musical Genesis and Structure series have con-
fronted the question of how final a composition was when its composer departed
these earthly shores. Despite numerous versions, premières, and “definitive” edi-
tions, composers have been wont to tinker with their compositions and even to ex-
press profound dissatisfaction with what fate then sanctions as the final version of
the work. With Donald Maurice’s study of Bartók’s Viola Concerto, this series en-
ters into a realm of much more basic questions of compositional identity: Whose
work is it that we hear so frequently under Bartók’s name in the concert hall? Can
there possibly be a definitive edition of a work so substantially incomplete at its
composer’s death? If so, might it not yet be written?
The genesis of this Viola Concerto, between 1945 when the ailing Bartók
sketched an ambiguous continuity draft and 1949 when it was first performed in a
version crafted by Tibor Serly, is an intriguing tale of half-truths, distortions, and
manipulations amid many good intentions. As Maurice’s study shows, the work even
looked during these years to be heading for reconception as a cello concerto, but it
did finally end up as William Primrose had commissioned it: a viola concerto. Be-
cause the documentary and contextual evidence is so important in establishing the
chief landmarks as well as the details of this work’s multiple geneses, many of the
earlier sections of this book read as a sourcebook. Layer upon layer of testimony
is introduced, from the work’s commissioner, the composer, his heirs, his trustee,
Serly (who “prepared [this concerto] for publication from the composer’s original
manuscript” but actually did much more than that), the violist and cellist who first
tried out Serly’s competing versions, the performer and conductor of the première,
the publisher, and many more. This hitherto untold story of the work’s evolution
up to its 1949 première is, however, only half the story of the genesis and interpre-
tation of “Bartók’s” Viola Concerto. Not all, even in 1949, were satisfied that Serly’s
workmanlike score adequately represented Bartók’s intentions. Viola soloists them-
selves were among those with the longest lists of queries. But where was the origi-
nal manuscript? Who could see it during the 1950s to mid-1990s, when its facsim-
ile edition was unexpectedly published? And what, given copyright laws, can any
potential revisers do about playing or publishing their versions, even today?
The second half of Maurice’s study is devoted to the genesis of several other
“Bartók” viola concertos, including the new, official edition prepared by the com-
poser’s younger son, Peter Bartók, and Nelson Dellamaggiore in 1995. Yet, as Mau-
rice explains, these latter-day versions, which include his own unpublished one, still
x : Editor’s Preface
exist within the frame of Bartók’s initial draft and Serly’s initial version. Study of
the composer’s wider working method, especially as used with his Violin Concerto
of 1937–1938, suggests how he might creatively have transformed his initial draft
and suggests that his approach to orchestration may have been quite different from
Serly’s. Does, then, a more thoroughly Bartókian Viola Concerto still remain to be
written? And if it does, will we be able to hear it? Maurice’s painstaking research
ends with a sobering addressing of the question: Whose work is this Viola Con-
certo now? The answer is different in different parts of the world, hence Maurice’s
chapter on the legal history and probable futures of the various versions of the
work.
Donald Maurice’s study is an important contribution to the Studies in Musical Gen-
esis and Structure series. It is unorthodox in going beyond the strict confines of the se-
ries to provide a sourcebook of relevance to historians of the creative process and
a guide for all virtuoso string players who seek to understand better this work,
which — in whatever version — has become one of the mainstays of the string
repertory.
Malcolm Gillies
The Australian National University
Contents
3 Introduction
Outline of the special problems associated with this work
7 Chapter One. Genesis
Circumstances, commission, composition, influences, and the manuscript
35 Chapter Two. The Reconstruction
A critical examination of the work of Tibor Serly
53 Chapter Three. Première and Publication
An account of the events of ‒ that led up to the first performance
71 Chapter Four. Reception
Reaction to the first fifty years of the Bartók/Serly Viola Concerto
85 Chapter Five. Some Aspects of Structure
Examination of form and possible presence of the Fibonacci series
99 Chapter Six. Revisions
The revisions of Atar Arad, Csaba Erdélyi, Peter Bartók, and Donald Maurice
119 Chapter Seven. Authenticity
Future attempts to achieve a more authentic Bartók Viola Concerto
127 Chapter Eight. Compositional Interpretation
Focus on structure, melody, pitch organization, rhythm, and orchestration and texture
141 Chapter Nine. Performance Interpretation
Focus on tempi, dynamics, phrasing, and articulation in the solo viola part
149 Chapter Ten. The Future and Legal Issues
Bartók’s will and estate and matters of copyright
155 Conclusion
xii : Contents
Appendixes
159 Appendix One. Correspondence from Tibor Serly to Benjamin Suchoff
160 Appendex Two. Correspondence between Tibor Serly and Victor Bator
163 Appendix Three. Boosey & Hawkes Correspondence
177 Appendix Four. Burton Fisch
179 Appendix Five. Extracts from the Program of the World Première
184 Appendix Six. Reviews of the Early Performances
191 Appendix Seven. Tibor Serly’s Response to Halsey Stevens
198 Appendix Eight. Recording Review Summary from Strad Magazine
200 Appendix Nine. “The Thirteen Pages” by Atar Arad
205 Appendix Ten. Peter Bartók and Nelson Dellamaggiore
207 Notes
213 Bibliography
219 Index

Introduction
Outline of the Special Problems
Associated with This Work
Since the Bartók Viola Concerto first appeared in Tibor Serly’s realization
in 1949 it has remained a controversial work, with opinions that range from its out-
right dismissal as a work of Bartók to its being a fine but incomplete example of his
final period.
The inaccessibility of the manuscript sketches over the decades since 1945 pro-
longed the uncertainty about the authenticity of the work. In the meantime much
of the general musical world came to accept the work as being genuinely that of the
composer. It has become one of the most performed and recorded viola concertos
and is standard repertoire for auditions for the world’s leading orchestras and com-
petitions. As time passes, Tibor Serly’s involvement becomes less well known, and
to many concertgoers his name would now mean little, if anything.
While for most of the musical community the work has established its place in
history, there have been a significant number of musicians and musicologists, es-
pecially Bartók scholars, who have become more and more convinced that the work,
as it has become known, is not acceptable as a complete work of the composer. De-
spite this, it was probably the most performed and recorded viola concerto in the
latter half of the twentieth century.
In view of the three revisions discussed in this book, which have appeared since
1992, it is important that informed decisions can be made, by performers and mu-
sicologists, as to the authenticity and appropriateness of the material available in
published form and also to be acquainted with the views of other analysts whose
work is not or cannot be published. The three revisions include the published ver-
sions by Peter Bartók (available worldwide) and Csaba Erdélyi (available only in
New Zealand and Australia) and the unpublished version by the author.
It is possible to claim that all three revisions are significantly closer to the sketches
than is the Serly reconstruction and in fact that all represent closely the sketches as
they were left, with no compositional additions and only minimal attempts to fill
in what might have happened, had Bartók taken the work through to publication.
Even so, the three revisions have significant differences, which reflect, no doubt, the
4 : Introduction
very different cultural, stylistic, and professional backgrounds of those involved in

their preparation.
Research of recent decades into the compositional processes of Béla Bartók in-
dicates that the sketches, taken at face value, are not adequate as a basis for a com-
pleted work worthy of inclusion as a masterpiece of his final period. This does not
preclude the possibility that, with further work by a very skilled musician, a more
authentic version could be created by extrapolating from the compositional
processes in other finished works.
It is for this reason that this author’s revision is evaluated alongside the other two
revisions as an exercise in translating the manuscript in a more or less literal sense.
During the time of its evolution, which took several years, it was viewed as a new
“definitive” version. As a direct result of the research carried out since the revision,
it is now viewed as one of three honest attempts to reveal the manuscript in its pure
form, without reference to the compositional processes that invariably occurred in
Bartók’s works beyond his first drafts.
An issue, regarding the three revisions, that must be addressed is that of cross-
influence. The performance by Csaba Erdélyi of his revision in 1992, the perfor-
mance by the author of his revision in 1993, and the revision published by Peter
Bartók in 1995 represent versions without cross-influence. However, the 1996 and
2001 versions of Csaba Erdélyi have evolved partially because of exposure to the other
revisions and partly due to his own continuing research. The author has not per-
formed his revision since 1993 because of a ban imposed by Boosey & Hawkes late
in that year, but there is no doubt that should that ban be lifted the revision would
undergo further refinement, partly due to cross-influence and partly resulting from
further research. The Peter Bartók revision, published without reference to the other
revisions, is the only one that can now claim to be without cross-influence.
The first five chapters of this book are devoted to the genesis, reconstruction, re-
ception, and structural aspects of the work. Chapter 1 looks briefly at Bartók’s adap-
tation to life in the United States and traces the story of the concerto from its in-
ception through to his death in September 1945. It also investigates possible
influences in the work, then looks closely at the manuscript in terms of its content
and physical appearance and the story of its first fifty years. Chapter 2 examines the
work undertaken by Tibor Serly in his reconstruction of the concerto and discusses
his own account as given in an interview with David Dalton. Chapter 3 continues
the work’s history from Bartók’s death through to the first performance of the con-
certo in December 1949, with William Primrose as soloist, and the events that sur-
rounded the reconstruction by Tibor Serly. Chapter 4 gives a survey of the recep-
tion the work received in concerts, in recordings, and by musicologists generally
since its first performance in 1949 and the reviews of recordings up until 1995. Chap-
ter 5 looks closely at structural aspects and includes a search for evidence of the Fi-
bonacci series, which has been identified in other Bartók works.
The next five chapters examine the issues that arise in the post-Serly era. Chap-
Introduction : 5
ter 6 examines and compares the revisions of Atar Arad, Csaba Erdélyi, Peter
Bartók, and the author. Chapter 7 suggests areas in which further investigation is re-
quired in order to achieve a more authentically Bartókian sound world, and chap-
ters 8 and 9 address specific matters of interpretation and stylistic concerns that are
in the domains of the revisionist and performer. Chapter 10 presents some of the
legal issues that confront the future possibilities of this work.
The volume of documentary material on this work has grown to enormous pro-
portions, totally disproportionate to its significance beside other late works of
Bartók. This has been a result of the controversy caused by its tantalizing incom-
pleteness. Because of the volume of material on the subject, many references are
made to the work of others and extended quotations included, especially in the
opening chapters. No apology is made for this, as the scholarship of others has pro-
vided much valuable information relevant in helping to produce a comprehensive
account of the remarkable circumstances that surround this work.
Chapter One
Genesis
Circumstances, Commission, Composition,
Influences, and the Manuscript
Circumstances
Béla and Ditta Bartók arrived in New York on October 30, 1940, and re-
mained American residents until Béla’s death in September 1945. It is not intended
here to provide a day-by-day account of their five years in the United States, but in
order to establish the background against which the Viola Concerto was conceived
it is worthwhile to consider briefly the reactions and attitudes of Béla to the cir-
cumstances in which he found himself as a reluctant resident of New York during
the war years. To gain a comprehensive profile of Bartók, the man, during these
years, we rely on the impressions of those who knew him well and on his corre-
spondence to close friends and family.1 Sándor Veress observed:
Was he happy in the New World? Was his financial situation satisfactory? Was he success-
ful as a composer and pianist? It is needless to ask whether he was happy in America be-
cause he certainly was not. Can one imagine a man like Bartók who once said about him-
self that the happiest days of his life were those he spent in villages among peasants, who
lived in and with nature (dozens of his compositions have titles referring to nature), who
whenever there was a chance went to Switzerland to climb mountains, being shut in a flat
of a New York skyscraper in a noisy mid-town street? Certainly, there were some luminous
spots in this respect when friends—and also the magnanimous actions of ASCAP—made
it possible for him to spend some time in rural environments, but these were temporary oc-
casions not altering his everyday life in New York, his permanent site.2
As to his decision to take refuge in the United States, this clearly troubled him,
and his letter to Sándor Veress written in the summer of 1939 seems almost to be
the private thoughts of one trying to justify to himself his pending departure:
Of course it is another question whether one should emigrate (if possible) or not. One
could speak on this subject from different points of view. If someone stays, albeit could
8 : ba rt ó k ’s v i o l a c o n c e rt o
leave, people might say that he agrees tacitly with everything happening here. And one
couldn’t even deny this because it would only cause trouble and staying thus would lose its
purpose. On the other hand, one could also say that into whatever tangle the country gets,
everyone should remain and try to help as he can. The question is only whether one could
hope that within a measurable space of time an efficacious effort of help could be possi-
ble. Hindemith tried this in Germany for five years but then, it seems, he lost confidence.
I—but this is purely a personal matter—have no confidence at all. But certain works I can
do only here (for at least one more year) because they are connected with materials in the
Museum. Conversely I see nowhere a country where to go would be worth while if one ex-
pected more than sheer vegetating. So for the time being I am entirely without counsel al-
though my feeling tells me that anyone who can should go.3
Much has been written of Bartók’s reactions to the circumstances under which
he found himself in New York, and it is clear that he felt himself to be a misfit in
American society. The following comments in his letters to his elder son, Béla4
(reprinted by permission of Peter Bartók), indicate difficulties with the most ordi-
nary things, such as food, and minor (local) language problems:
[December 24, 1940]
We are beginning to become Americanised, e.g., with regard to food. In the morning grape-
fruit, puffed wheat with cream, brown bread and butter, eggs or bacon or fish. In the after-
noon, some time between 2 and 4, coffee with bread and butter or something else (this is
not American because the people here take a quick lunch at 1 o’clock); in the evening be-
tween 8 and 10, we have our main meal: raw carrots, lettuce, radishes, olives and other things
with bread and butter, perhaps soup, meat, possibly pastry. . . .
We had some language problems with words like “yeast” and “caraway seeds,” but now
we have got over that too. My head is bursting with new words of every kind: the names
of subway stations and of streets; subway maps, scores of possibilities of changing from
one line to another—all absolutely necessary for living here but otherwise futile.
Added to these basic difficulties were those associated with routine daily activi-
ties such as cooking and getting around the city and, on a lighter note, some of the
habits of the citizens of New York. No doubt many today who are fully conversant
with English would share the following frustrations, so it is easy to empathize with
a newly arrived Hungarian émigré in 1940:
We had a certain amount of trouble in learning how to use various electric and gas
appliances—cork screws, tin-openers etc., also with the means of transport; but we man-
age fairly well now. Only occasionally do we find ourselves in a difficulty, for instance, the
last time we wanted to go to the southernmost part of New York, I did not know exactly
where to change (the sign-posts are not exactly conspicuous enough, rather too few, and
confusing), so that we travelled for 3 hours to and fro on the subway. At last, simply because
we had no more time, we went home again, rather sheepishly and without having done what
we set out to do—underground all the way back, of course. . . .
Genesis : 9
[April 2, 1941]
I have been unable so far to get used to: human beings ruminating like cows (every second
person is chewing gum); railway carriages in semi-darkness; the cheque book system.
Béla’s account of the receipt of an honorary doctorate from Columbia Univer-

sity, while not in any sense indication of a serious disorientation, provides an ex-
ample of his dry sense of humor, and sarcasm, toward what was undoubtedly a cer-
emony of great pride and importance to the university:
On Nov. 25th I was “doctorated.” It was some ceremony. Before it could take place, I
had to be measured in yards, feet and inches, so that they would know the size of my head,
width of my shoulders, etc., and send in the details. At the University we all had to put on
our academic gowns and hoods and to march in solemnly two by two to the sound of dis-
creet organ music. We had been given exact instructions. When my name was called, I had
to stand up, when the president addressed me, I had to take off my gown, and when he
came to the end of his speech, I had to proceed towards him, so that he could hand me my
diploma, while the pink velvet sash of the Order of Music was placed on my back; and then
I could go back and sit down. And that is exactly what happened.
It was clear in a letter written in May 1941 that the living conditions at the For-
est Hills apartment had become intolerable. He noted that “we were piano-played
and radio-blasted from right and left; a lot of noise came in from the street night
and day; every 5 minutes we heard the rumble of the subway which made the walls
shake.”
The dislocation from his beloved Hungary was an ongoing stress, and in spite of
the good efforts of respectful colleagues, his continuing work prospects at Colum-
bia University, beyond mid-1942, were not promising: “It’s unlikely that my work at
Columbia University can be extended. This is all the more annoying because it
means that in July, 1942, I shall thus be compelled to leave this very interesting work
unfinished.” In this same letter, of October 1941, the possibility of an appointment
in 1942/43 at the University of Washington, in Seattle, was clearly not appealing:
“That really is at the end of the world. It is a lovely place, of course—I won’t say
it isn’t. But we are not too pleased to have to move on again like wandering gypsies.”
As the following summary of his compositional output demonstrates, Bartók’s
first period in the United States was not productive in this respect. This resulted
from a combination of factors, which included the need to produce income, the lack
of direct commissions, and, no doubt, a lack of inspiration due to the uprooting
from his familiar cultural surroundings. However, a commission from Serge Kous-
sevitsky in 1943, which resulted in the Concerto for Orchestra, was soon followed
by a request for the Solo Violin Sonata from Yehudi Menuhin. Late in 1944
William Primrose approached Bartók with his request for the Viola Concerto, and
this, together with the Piano Concerto No. 3, was Bartók’s main creative outlet un-
til his death in 1945. Details of the compositions from this period are as follows:
Suite for Two Pianos, Op. 4b. (1941). BB 122.

Concerto for Orchestra (Saranac Lake, August 15— October 8, 1943). Written for the
Koussevitsky Music Foundation in memory of Mrs. Natalie Koussevitsky. First per-
formance: Boston, December 1, 1944, Boston Symphony Orchestra, Serge Koussevitsky
conducting.
Sonata for Solo Violin (completed Asheville, March 14, 1944). Dedicated to Yehudi
Menuhin. First performance: New York, November 26, 1944, by Yehudi Menuhin.
Ukrainian Folksongs (1944–45). Incomplete, unpublished.
“The Husband’s Grief ” (A ferj keserve). Ukrainian folk song, for voice and piano (Feb-
ruary 1945). Dedicated to Pál Kecskeméti. Unpublished.
Piano Concerto No. 3 for piano and orchestra (1945). Unfinished, orchestration of last
seventeen measures completed by Tibor Serly. First performance: February 8, 1946, by
Gyorgy Sándor with the Philadelphia Orchestra, Eugene Ormandy conducting.
Viola Concerto (1945). Unfinished, reconstructed and orchestrated by Tibor Serly. Writ-
ten for William Primrose. First performance: December 2, 1949, by William Primrose
with the Minneapolis Symphony Orchestra, Antal Doráti conducting.
Commission
In late 1944 the eminent Scottish violist, William Primrose, approached Béla Bartók
with the request for a viola concerto. The precise date on which the approach was
made has not been documented, but we know from an unsent letter by Bartók to
Primrose of August 5, 1945, that the initial contact was before or in early Decem-
ber 1944. Bartók states in the course of this letter: “When you came to see me we
did not mention the commission fee ($1000) which, however, I mentioned as early
as Dec. to Mr. Heinsheimer.” The process by which this commission took place is
detailed in Primrose’s autobiography (reprinted by permission of Eiji Primrose)5:
Perhaps the best known of my commissions is the Bartók concerto. In two respects, one of
my most rewarding endeavours has been to get composers to write for the viola. Musically
the Bartók concerto has had a great success. I have played it more than any other concerto,
even the Walton. When I commissioned it, Bartók, incredible though it seems, was an ob-
scure composer. He was known to musicians, but to the great public was “a dismal uni-
versal hiss, the sound of public scorn.” Aside from performances of the Concerto for Or-
chestra given by the Boston Symphony Orchestra under Koussevitsky, I don’t recall many
other performances of Bartók’s works.
When I commissioned the concerto, most people, including my manager’s office,
thought I had made a great mistake. Who on earth was going to ask me to play a concerto
by Béla Bartók? I eventually paid his estate what he so modestly asked, and I played the con-
certo well over a hundred times for fairly respectable fees. So it was like getting in on the
ground floor when Xerox stock was issued. Hindemith might have been the more logical
Genesis : 11
choice for a commission, and Stravinsky was certainly far better known. But my strong mo-
tivation was Bartók’s second violin concerto. The Menuhin recording came to my attention
and really planted the seed in my mind.6
In the case of Hindemith, I knew that he was a difficult man to enlist and probably was
influenced by the fact that he had already written four works for viola and orchestra. The
Festival Quartet—two of the members were old and close friends of his—solicited a pi-
ano quartet from him, something that he had never essayed. But he was not inclined at that
time, and shortly afterward he died.7 Stravinsky I did request, but he turned me down, say-
ing that he was much too occupied with other commissions.
I had known Bartók no more than casually from the mid-twenties. I met him when we
visited London during that period and only occasionally after that. I didn’t know much of
his music, but few did then. In the late spring of 1945 I sought an interview with him in
his New York apartment and told him what I was seeking.8
He was reluctant at first because he felt he didn’t know enough about the viola as a solo
instrument. I admired his integrity, for at that time he sorely needed the money. I asked him
not to make an irrevocable decision until he had heard the Walton concerto, which I was
playing a couple of weeks later in New York with the late Sir Malcolm Sargent. He planned
to come to the concert, which was on a Sunday afternoon, but it so happened that that was
a day he felt particularly indisposed and did not attend. He did hear the broadcast, how-
ever, and was struck with the concerto and Walton’s use of the instrument. He subsequently
told me he would definitely accept my commission.9
Late that summer I left on a tour of South America and returned with the hope of en-
joying the cool of early fall in New England. In Philadelphia, where I was living at the time,
I found a letter from Bartók awaiting me, in which he said that the concerto was finished
in draft and “all” that remained to be done was the orchestration, which was routine work
(this is reprinted in the preface to the score of the concerto). He wanted to see me, how-
ever to discuss the concerto for reasons that he outlined. It was my intention, therefore, to
stop on my way north to see Bartók in New York City. But as it was raining heavily on that
day and parking was an insoluble problem, I decided to proceed to my destination and see
him on my return.
It was a deplorable decision, one which we all experience when we put off until tomor-
row. . . . On a beautiful day about two weeks later, on my way back from Maine, I stopped
outside New York for lunch, picked up the New York Times, and read that Bartók had died
the preceding day.
Further correspondence regarding the commissioning is very limited. Inquiries

to Peter Bartók, Boosey & Hawkes, and the Primrose Archives have failed to yield
any additional letters to those that are included here. The first available correspon-
dence between Primrose and Bartók is the letter of January 22, 1945 (figs. 1.1a and
1.1b). It is the response to either a phone call, a personal conversation, or a letter that
has not been preserved, from Mr Heinsheimer of Boosey & Hawkes.
Figure 1.1a
Figure 1.1b. Reprinted by permission of Eiji Primrose
Composition
Although the actual composition did not begin in earnest until August 1945, no
doubt Bartók had been forming ideas since agreeing to the commission earlier in
the year. The following passage from a letter, which is dated January 27, 1945, from
Mr. Heinsheimer of Boosey & Hawkes to Bartók, is noteworthy: “I am unable to
find a copy of HAROLD IN ITALY for you. There are no scores for sale. It is, of
course, in the Library and I am sure they would let you take a copy out for some-
time. If you want me to do something about it, please advise.”
Presumably Bartók eventually did get hold of a copy, and we must assume that
he wanted to familiarize himself with the treatment of the viola as a solo instru-
ment. It seems that the four-movement structure of the Berlioz may also have in-
fluenced Bartók, as he refers to this possibility in the unsent letter of August 5, 1945.
Of this letter only one page has survived, but as it was apparently never actually
sent, it could be that this is all that Bartók completed. While it did not form part
of the dialogue between the two men, it is nevertheless an extremely important doc-
ument in that it gives the only available detailed account by Bartók of work in progress
during the compositional period (fig. 1.2).
Dear Mr. Primrose:

about mid July I was planning to write to you a rather desponding letter, explaining you the
various difficulties I am in. But then, there stirred some viola concerto ideas which gradu-
ally crystallised themselves, so that I am able now to tell you that I hope to write the work,
and maybe finish at least its draft in 4–5 weeks, if nothing happens in the meantime which
would prevent my work. The prospects are these: perhaps I will be able to be ready with the
draft by beginning of Sept., and with the score by end of the same month. This is the best
case; there may be, however, a delay of the completion of the work until end of Oct. So,
about end of either Sept. or Oct. you will get from me a copy of the orch. and the piano
score—if I am able to go through the work at all. Then, certain time must be given for the
copying of the orch. parts; this of course, will be done by B.&H. who are, as far as I know,
short of copyists.
I must ask you to make no plans yet and not yet divulge the news about this work as long
as the draft is not completed. I will send you news about the completion without delay.
However embrionic the state of the work still is, the general plan and ideas are already
fixed. So I can tell you that it will be in 4 movements: a serious Allegro, a Scherzo, a (rather
short) slow movement, and a finale beginning Allegretto and developping [sic] the tempo
to an Allegro molto. Each movement, or at least 3 of them will [be] preceded by a (short)
recurring introduction (mostly solo of the viola), a kind of ritornello.
As you perhaps know, I was ill with a kind of pneumonia when you came to take me to
that Saturday rehearsal. This illness caused a considerable disturbance in our home, and
prevented me to make arrangements at least to returne [sic] you the umbrella (which we still
keep!), or to let you know in advance about my sickness.
Genesis : 15
Figure 1.2 Reprinted by permission of Peter Bartók
When you came to see me we did not mention the commission fee ($1000) which, however,
I mentioned as early as Dec. to Mr. Heinsheimer who . . .
The next letter, written five weeks later, also indicates that the previous one was
not sent, due to some restating of personal information. This is the letter from
which extracts are quoted in the front of the Serly score, where there is an editorial
“improvement.” Here the letter is reprinted in full and unedited. In his letter Bartók
refers to the orchestration being more transparent than in “a” violin concerto. In
the Serly score this is printed as “the” violin concerto. This attempt to correct
Bartók’s grammar actually changed its possible implications (figs. 1.3 a, b, and c):
Sept. 8, 1945
309 West 59th St.
New York 19, N.Y.
Dear Mr Primrose
I am very glad to be able to tell you that your viola concerto is ready in draft, so that only
the score has to be written which means a purely mechanical work, so to speak. If nothing
happens I can be through in 5 or 6 weeks, i.e. I can send you a copy of the orchestra score
in the second half of Oct., and a few weeks afterwards a copy (or if you wish more copies)
of the piano score.
I had immense externe [sic] difficulties in writing it. I could not do any composing work
in this unfortunate and inadequate apartment of mine in New York. In addition a sequence
of various illnesses visited us: not only I was ill several times but also Mrs. Bartók! You
knew when you came to fetch me for that rehearsal I was just in bed developping [sic] a
pneumonia. Finally end of June we went to our summer place on Saranac Lake quite ex-
hausted and with little hope of being able to do there some work.
However, we had such a nice quiet place there, that about mid July some ideas came to
me which I did not hesitate to grasp and develop. Alas, the quiet and undisturbed period
did not last very long! About mid August, Mrs. Bartók fell again ill (with a common but
obstinate sore throat). But with the main work—the rather detailed draft—I am through;
and the remaining work is a rather mechanical one, I repeat it.
When you came to see me we did not mention the commission fee ($1000) which, how-
ever, as Mr. Heinsheimer told me was already settled with you or Mrs. Primrose earlier.
Now another question must be settled: how long do you want to retain the exclusive per-
forming rights? It is up to you to fix this period. However, it should be fixed, because as
long as it lasts the work should not be published.— As for the use of orchestral material,
you have to settle this question with Boosey & Hawkes.
Many interesting problems arose in composing this work. The orchestration will be
rather transparent, more transparent than in a violin concerto. Also the sombre, more mas-
culine character of your instrument exerted some influence on the general character of the
work. The highest note I use is [A"] but I exploit rather frequently the lower register.
It is conceived in a rather virtuoso style. Most probably some passages will prove to be
uncomfortable or unplayable. These we will discuss later, according to your observations.
There developped [sic] an unfortunate circumstance about my New York apartment.
Maybe we will be turned out on Oct. 1. This will then mean a few weeks delay, which I
can not help. Looking for a new place to live in when no such places are available, and mov-
ing etc. are not very favorable for yielding up even a mechanical work. Maybe we will have
to go back to Saranac Lake, if we do not find anything here.
My best regards to Mrs. Primrose and to you.
Yours very sincerely
Béla Bartók
Genesis : 17
Figure 1.3a
There is some confusion over whether it was Béla or Ditta whose illness caused
the sudden return to New York from Saranac Lake. In the preceding letter the im-
plication is that it was Ditta’s health that was responsible. In spite of the reference
to his own health in paragraph 2 of the letter, Bartók does not mention any prob-
lem with his own health as being connected with the sudden return to New York.
It becomes clear, however, from several other accounts that he was clearly the cause.
The account of Bartók’s final two months as told by his wife, Ditta, and the recol-
Figure 1.3b
lections of his son Peter would tend to confirm this.10 Ditta’s account also throws
some light on the progress of the viola and piano concertos while at Saranac Lake:
Towards the end of June [1945] he sought to take a vacation, as his doctors advised and
he himself wished. We travelled to Saranac Lake, where we stayed in a small cottage. The
owner of this little house lived next door in a bigger dwelling. Béla found peace and quiet
here and worked simultaneously on the Third Piano Concerto and the Viola Concerto. I
do not remember when he began these works—unless he himself noted such a thing down
Genesis : 19
Figure 1.3c Reprinted by permission of Peter Bartók
it was difficult to find it out, as he did not talk about things like that. He once told Péter
that he was writing the piano concerto for me, and wanted to present it to me for my birth-
day on 31 October. He did not hurry with this work: he rested a lot, read many newspa-
pers—as always—and books, too, especially ones in English which he had brought with
him from New York. He always had several dictionaries to hand, because he wanted to
know the exact meaning of every word. Occasionally he played passages from his new com-
position on an upright piano that we had there. I remember that I had to turn the pages a
number of times, as he played passages from the sketches. Since the composition appeared
to be finished and the sheets followed one another in order, I thought that these were sec-
tions of a piano concerto, although he did not talk about it. At Saranac Lake he also went
walking a little, but he took care not to tire himself out.
After about 10 August the situation began to deteriorate: he felt unwell and started run-
ning a temperature. It disturbed him greatly that his fever would not go away, and though
we had planned on staying at Saranac Lake until the end of September we returned to our
flat in New York on the last day of August. Immediately we called Dr Israel Rappaport,
who was treating him. Béla felt very depressed at the state of his health. He no longer
wanted to be alone, and loved it if one came and chatted with him. He was very patient;
during the day he lay fully dressed on his bed for hours, walked around a little in the flat,
and worked, too, at his desk. But it did not last long. After 15 September the situation sud-
denly deteriorated to such an extent that the doctor had him taken to the West Side Hos-
pital, where he passed away on the sixth day [in the hospital]. . . . Béla did not work any-
more, and did not even read.
Agatha Fassett refers to a letter written some time after the event by Peter Bartók
that is notable for his recollection of events of the final month. Only an excerpt of
this letter is quoted and no date is given (reprinted by permission of Peter Bartók):
Soon after I was discharged from the Navy, on or about August 15, I arrived at Lake
Saranac very early in the morning and walked to the little hut my parents rented for the
summer in the backyard of Mr. Max Haar. It was a tiny house with two rooms and a
kitchen with ceilings barely higher than the top of our heads, a wooden outer shell with
cardboard inside walls. Since it was very early I did not know if anyone was up, and I walked
about to look in through the windows and found my mother sufficiently light-sleeping to
wake up as I looked in.
Of course we were very happy at being together, also at the end of the war news. But
what was most important to me was that I found my father in such excellent health; at least
it appeared to be so. We took many walks together, almost like the time when we spent
summers in the Alps. Once we even climbed quite far up on a nearby hill, taking lunch with
us. Father seemed to be able to do it very well, and it appeared that in another few months
he should have regained all his former strength.
In spite of such an improvement, just at the time when there seemed to be the least rea-
son for it, my mother was sad almost at all times. Looking back later one is compelled to
think as if she already knew what was to happen one month later.
During this time at Saranac Lake, Father was very busy with some musical work, com-
posing; there were two compositions in progress simultaneously. One of them was the Vi-
ola Concerto written for Primrose, and the other was something Mother should not know
about. I am not sure why, but as I remembered him telling me that it was a surprise for her
(the Third Piano Concerto).
At the end of August or the beginning of September, Father again had occasional higher
temperature in the evenings and so we decided to come back to New York a little earlier
Genesis : 21
than planned. Our trip was a nightmare—it seemed to be about Labour Day and that year
everyone seemed to pick the same time to arrive in Grand Central, and at one point after
searching for porters in vain Father carried a piece of luggage for quite a long distance be-
fore I was able to prevent him from doing so.
In New York he did not get much better. I had to learn to give him penicillin injections.
Father protested against having a nurse for this purpose — the penicillin had to be given
every four hours at that time—for nurses always talk silly things, like “How are you this
morning?” and things like that, even though the answer to that question does not in any way
affect the patient’s treatment, nor is a memorandum of it kept for the doctor; in other
words, it would be unnecessary talk and Father did not like that.
On top of everything, our apartment lease was to expire that month and our landlord
showed no willingness to let us stay any longer. Could not have happened at a worse time.
One evening Father asked me to his bed and told me of the whereabouts of various
manuscripts and about the will. I was horrified and assured him that this would be quite
unnecessary, because he was getting better. His temperature suddenly did go down, and that
was worst of all. Dr. Rappaport decided that Father should go to the hospital immediately.
There was an argument. Father did not like hospitals. What could they do to help? Besides
he had some important work to finish. (An extra day would have given him the chance to
orchestrate the last seventeen or so bars of the Third Piano Concerto, which was practically
completed at that time. As the extra day was not allowed, he marked on the score the num-
ber of bars still to follow.)
I can still see Father beg the doctor to let him stay home another day, and now, know-
ing what had to happen, I realize it would not have made any difference. Dr. Rappaport
was adamant; the ambulance came and went. At this time already Father was very sick. We
were there almost all the time, going home only to sleep. One morning early—about two
or three A.M.— the hospital called. We went over. Father was getting a blood transfusion
and was begging the nurse to take it away. Asked us to have the nurse with her needle taken
away. He knew it could not help. “In my last moment they cannot leave me in peace.”
Dr. Lax was in the hospital and paid Father a visit. We were not in the room at that time.
It was later reported: Father mentioned to him “I am only sad that I have to leave with a
full trunk.” (What was in the trunk was indicated by the works written in the last few years,
like Concerto for Orchestra, Violin Concerto, Viola Concerto and the Third Piano Concerto; which indi-
cated the beginning of a new period in his writing, his crystallized period, as I like to re-
fer to it.)
We were in the room when he died, when his eyes lost their conscious look and they
slowly became like ice. I could not then realize what it was that happened, and still cannot
fully accept it.11
Perhaps the final word on these events should be that of Peter Bartók, as ex-
pressed in a letter to the author on September 4, 1995:
Toward the end of August, 1945, my father became aware of somewhat elevated tem-
peratures. As my mother had been appearing highly depressed at these times, he wanted to
go to New York and seek for her psychiatric care. He then could consult his own doctor
about the elevated temperatures which, however, were not too unusual. However, after ar-
riving to New York, his temperatures kept going higher which began to alarm both the doc-
tors and us. Thus, it was only after arriving to New York that he considered himself to be
again ill (my mother had been told considerably earlier of my father’s terminal condition,
so she was aware of it that his apparent good health in the summer of 1945 was but an il-
lusion; something she was asked to keep to herself. This knowledge could explain her de-
pressed state also). What my father wrote on September 8, 1945, to Primrose is correct. In
August he did not know that he was becoming seriously ill again.
This letter tends to support all of the accounts in spite of the fact that inde-
pendently they appear to be contradictory. It also supports the theory that some
of the markings on the Viola Concerto manuscript are in fact his record of his tem-
perature readings.
Whatever the exact circumstances were, it seems clear that the work on the Vi-
ola Concerto was to all intents and purposes completed at Saranac Lake and that
what energy Bartók had after his return to New York was devoted mainly to com-
pleting the Third Piano Concerto. According to his wife’s account, after he was ad-
mitted to the hospital no further work was done on either concerto.
It is not possible from the evidence available to know precisely how the compo-
sition developed, although it would seem from the preceding letters that at August
5 the ideas were still in a state of flux and over the following four or five weeks the
work crystallized. By September 8 the idea of a fourth movement had been aban-
doned.
Some might argue that the manuscript did in fact leave a hint of the beginning
of another independent movement. It is the author’s view, however, that this frag-
ment is too brief to suggest a movement, bearing in mind that Bartók stated that
the concerto was completed in draft form and that the three known movements
were structurally complete. Also, one must remember that the fourth movement
Bartók alluded to was to have been a Scherzo and the small fragment that is omit-
ted from the Serly, Erdélyi (1992 recording), and Maurice versions arguably does not
suggest a Scherzo character. Incidentally, Peter Bartók absorbed this fragment into
his revision as part of an extended introduction to the third movement and this has
also been subsequently included, though in a quite different way, in Erdélyi’s revi-
sions of 1996 and 2001. This issue is discussed fully in chapter 7.
The detailed description of the manuscript by László Somfai in Peter Bartók,
Bela Bartók, Viola Concerto, Facsimile of the Autograph Draft gives suggestions of the order
of the ideas being put to paper, but it is impossible to put precise dates on this
process. A most noteworthy factor is that, in a most atypical fashion, Bartók was
composing two works concurrently. While the Viola Concerto was officially his
project at the time, he was apparently working secretly on the Piano Concerto No.
3 as a gift for his wife.
Genesis : 23
While it is tempting to search for common musical ideas to these two so closely
connected works, chronologically speaking, apart from the obvious comparisons of
the three-movement structure, the works are thematically independent. It should be
noted at this point that the often-quoted “night music” common to both slow
movements was, in the case of the Viola Concerto, inspired by Serly, in that he bor-
rowed the idea from the Piano Concerto and added it to the Viola Concerto. There
is certainly no possibility that any of the material of either manuscript found its
way accidentally into the wrong work, as the bifolios are each clear as to which work
they belong. The loose sheets sometimes referred to are not loose sheets at all. All
the material for the Viola Concerto is contained on four bifolios and could not be
confused with Piano Concerto No. 3 material.
The following tribute from Tibor Serly appeared in the New York Times on De-
cember 11, 1949, over four years after Bartók’s death, to coincide with the world pre-
mière with William Primrose as soloist:
Story of a Concerto: Bartók’s Last Work

The author of this article, a close friend of Bartók, completed the viola concerto, which had its première in Min-
neapolis about a week ago.
On the evening of Sept. 21, 1945, when I last talked with Béla Bartók, he was lying in
bed, quite ill. Nevertheless, on and around his bed were sheets of score and sketch manu-
script papers. He was working feverishly to complete the scoring of his Third Piano Con-
certo.
While discussing the concerto with him, my attention was drawn to the night table be-
side his bed where I noticed, underneath several half-empty medicine bottles, some addi-
tional pages of sketches, seemingly not related to the piano concerto. There was a reason
for my curiosity, for it was known to several of Bartók’s friends that earlier in the year he
had accepted a commission to write a concerto for viola and orchestra for William Prim-
rose.
sketches
Pointing to these manuscript sheets, I inquired about the viola concerto. Bartók nodded
wearily toward the night table, saying: “Yes, that is the viola concerto.” To my question as
to whether it was completed, his reply was, “Yes and no.” He explained that while in
sketches the work was by and large finished, the details and scoring had not yet been worked
out. The following day he was taken to the hospital, where he died Sept. 26.
During that last spring and summer of 1945, Bartók had worked simultaneously on two
major compositions. The question as to which of the two works was the “last” may never
be determined. Mme. Bartók, who spent the entire period at his side, corroborated the fact
that while he never before had worked on two major compositions at one time, on this oc-
casion he had worked some days on the piano concerto and on other days on the viola con-
certo.
What inspired Bartók to abandon the almost completed sketches of the commissioned
viola concerto when it was known he was sorely in need of funds? Why was he turning to
the task of composing a concerto for piano which was neither commissioned nor presum-
ably dedicated to any particular person, and thereby relinquishing all chances of immedi-
ate financial renumeration? Mme. Bartók suggested a possible answer:
In America, Bartók’s main source of a steady income had been through lecture and con-
cert engagements. But for two years he had been too ill to take on either and now feared
he might never be well enough to return to the concert stage. He considered his talented
wife and former pupil, Ditta Pásztory Bartók, to be among his most representative disci-
ples and greatly admired her interpretation of his piano works.
Sensing the seriousness of his illness, Bartók determined to leave her the only inheri-
tance within his power, a concerto for piano and orchestra made to order for her style, a
work that would give her an opportunity to exhibit her talents and at the same time carry
on as a disciple of the Bartók tradition.
That he was fighting against time seems to be confirmed by the curious fact that he had
prematurely scrawled in pencil the Hungarian word “vége”— the end—on the last bar of
his sketch copy of the concerto. Since he had never written this word on any other work,
it indicated how desperately he had aimed to finish the score.
drawn on
There is no doubt that something drew him on exorably to the task of completing the de-
tails and scoring of the piano concerto first while the viola concerto was left solely in
sketches. Thus from a theoretical point of view, the viola concerto may be regarded as
Bartók’s final work.
Early in September Bartók wrote a letter to Primrose telling him that the viola concerto
was ready in draft and that only some details and the scoring had to be written: if his health
permitted it would be ready within six weeks or so.
What for Bartók would have been a matter of working out the details and scoring involved
for another person a lengthy task that required infinite patience and painstaking labor.
First, there were many problems in deciphering the manuscript itself. Bartók wrote his
sketches on odd loose sheets of paper that happened to be at hand, some of which had
parts of other sketches on them. Bits of material that came into his mind were jotted down
without regard for sequence. The pages were not numbered and the separations of move-
ments were not designated. The greatest difficulty encountered was deciphering his cor-
rection of notes, for Bartók, instead of erasing, grafted his improvements onto the origi-
nal notes.
delicate task
Then there was the delicate task of completing unfinished harmonies and other adorn-
ments that he had reduced to a kind of shorthand. Technical passages for the solo viola also
had to be worked out, for Bartók had told Primrose in his letter: “Most probably some pas-
sages will prove too uncomfortable or too unplayable.”
Genesis : 25
Finally, there was the orchestration itself to be done, for there were virtually no indica-
tions of the instrumentation.
No story concerning Bartók’s last two works composed in America would be complete
without mention of the American Society of Composers, Authors and Publishers. For in
1943 it was apparent that Bartók had a serious illness and that proper care and treatment
were a matter of life and death.
Since the Bartóks were virtually without funds, musician friends brought the matter to
the attention of ASCAP executives who, despite the fact that Bartók was not a member of
the society, voted without hesitation to provide unlimited funds for specialists, hospital-
ization and, during periods of improvement, private convalescent homes. It was this care,
according to Mme. Bartók, that made it possible for her husband to continue to compose
to the very end.
This tribute by Serly alludes to a number of issues related to his reconstruction

of the Viola Concerto. These issues will be considered in depth in chapter 2.
Influences
It has been suggested that Bartók may have developed a theme derived from a Scot-
tish melody as a kind of secret tribute to William Primrose. Peter Bartók acknowl-
edged that possibility in a letter to the author of September 4, 1995, in which he
states:
I do not recall my father having told me about the Scottish melody. In recent research we
found the song “Gin a Body Meet a Body, Comin’ thro the Rye” that has a phrase almost
matching the Scottish theme in the Concerto’s third movement. I do not believe that my fa-
ther copied any section of a Scottish song, rather, he made this phrase up to resemble the
Scottish character or perhaps vaguely recalled something he had heard.
In his letter, Peter Bartók omitted to mention his article “The Principal Theme of
Béla Bartók’s Viola Concerto” (Studia Musicologica, Volume 35/1-3, 1993–94, pp.
45–50). In this article he discusses in depth his thoughts on the possible Scottish
influence.
The whole question of both Hungarian and Scottish influence in the Viola Con-
certo deserves closer examination. Belá Bartók readily admitted that, unlike Kodály,
he did not restrict himself to the music of the Hungarian peasants as his source ma-
terial. In one of his Harvard lectures he stated:
Kodály studied, and uses as source, Hungarian rural music almost exclusively, whereas I ex-
tended my interest and love also to the folk music of the neighbouring Eastern European
peoples and ventured even into the Arabic and Turkish territories for research work. In my
works, therefore, appear impressions derived from the most varied sources, melted—as I
hope—into unity. These varied sources, however, have a common denominator, that is, the
characteristics common to rural folk music in its purest sense.12
In these statements about his more global outlook, which appear at various times
in his life, he does not specifically refer to Scotland as a source. However, there are
two pieces of information that are relevant to the issue.
First, in the fourth Harvard lecture of 1943, while discussing the characteristics
of Hungarian rhythm, he made the following observation:
The third kind of rhythm is the so-called “dotted” rhythm especially characteristic for cer-
tain types of Hungarian rural music. Our dotted rhythm is a combination of the follow-
ing rhythmic patterns: xe. and e.x. Among these, the first one, with an accented short
value and a non-accented long value, is the most important. It is this rhythmic pattern
which gives that well-known rugged rhythm in many Hungarian pieces. Incidentally, it
seems to be used also in Scotch melodies although it is less frequently used there than in
Hungarian folk music.
It is noteworthy that a little later in this same lecture he states: “The combination
e. x .x
e , however occurs very rarely in genuine Hungarian folk music; I would call
this combination an ‘anti-Hungarian’ pattern.”13
Bartók then continues to explain that the high incidence of the short–long
rhythm in Hungarian music results from characteristics of the Hungarian language,
in which the first syllable of each word is accented. Although it is beyond the scope
of this investigation, a study of the language in use in Scotland in the last few cen-
turies may well provide clues as to the similarities in the folk musics of Hungary
and Scotland that were noted by Bartók.
Second, Bartók’s interest in Scottish folk music was experienced first hand by the
Chisholm family of Glasgow:
While in Glasgow Bartók stayed with the Chisholms. They found that his natural reserve
could quickly be overcome and that when he started to relax he revealed the forceful per-
sonality behind that quiet, unassuming façade. Chisholm spoke about Scottish folk-music
and his pioneering research in the field. This encouraged Bartók to listen to his folk-recordings
for hours on end, and even, on the following day, to buy a tartan rug, chanter, and all avail-
able Piobaireachd music. Bartók’s enthusiasm went as far as to arrange for a well-known
bagpipe player to perform for him.14
Having established that Bartók had taken more than a casual interest in Scot-
tish music, and was equipped with source material, the assertion that there is a Scot-
tish melody hidden in the Viola Concerto would seem to be a real possibility. It
remains unclear why Peter Bartók was looking for a Scottish tune, if he can not re-
call his father having told him about it. However, working on the assumption that
there is some substance to the rumor, the following suggestions are made for con-
sideration.
First, consider the melody The Wife, She Brewed It, which arguably is repre-
sented in the first and last movements and which, through Bartók’s use of interval-
lic imitation, pervades the whole work.
Genesis : 27
Figure 1.4 The Wife She Brewed It —traditional. Geoff Bowen. How to Play Folk Fiddle.
Ilkley. 1993. Reprinted by permission.
Second, consider the melody “Gin a Body, Meet a Body, Comin’ thro the Rye”
suggested by Peter Bartók, which he believes may be represented in the middle sec-
tion of the third movement.
Third, consider what is probably the most famous of all Scottish melodies,
“Auld Lang Syne” (Fig. 1.6), fragments of which can also be identified in this third
movement theme.
It would be fair to say that a very large number of Scottish tunes will resemble
this last theme simply because of the nature of the scale, which is restricted by the
inherent modal qualities of the bagpipes, the result being that certain melodic char-
acteristics will inevitably be present in most Scottish melodies.
Of particular note from a rhythmic viewpoint is the presence of the e. xe. x
rhythm. This is of course the “anti-Hungarian” pattern referred to by Bartók but
Figure 1.5 Gin a Body, Meet a Body, Comin’ thro the Rye —traditional
Figure 1.6 Auld Lang Syne —traditional
is very common in Scottish folk music. Examples can be found in the Viola Con-
certo in measures 21–24, 183–88, and 195–200 in the first movement and in mea-
sures 30–39 in the second movement. In the third movement there are no examples
of this “anti-Hungarian” pattern. Perhaps this is one of the reasons that con-
tributed to Halsey Stevens’s comment: “It is only in the finale that one feels a trace
of authenticity.”15
The characteristics worthy of note in “The Wife, She Brewed It” are:
1. The short–long dotted rhythm common to both Hungarian and Scottish folk music.
2. The long–short rhythm that is “anti-Hungarian” but a feature of Scottish music.
3. The falling motive through A, Gs, Fs, and E and rising back to A, which very closely re-
sembles the second subject in the first movement of the concerto (mm.61–64) — the re-
capitulation of this melody also adds the “anti-Hungarian” rhythmic pattern (mm. 183–
87).
4. The octave displacements employed here by Bartók, which result in the rather unusual
leaps of ninths and tenths — while not part of this particular melody, they are never-
theless a common practice for Scottish folk instrumentalists, especially noted in the
Cape Breton area of Nova Scotia, where a strong tradition of Scottish fiddling con-
tinues.16
5. The eighth measure that very closely resembles the third measure of the theme in the
middle section of the third movement.
6. The ninth measure that resembles the opening of the melody in the middle section of
the third movement.
7. The bagpipe drone effect produced by the frequent use of double-stops with the open
A string is also present in the orchestra during the melody in the third movement.
Peter Bartók suggests “Gin a Body, Meet a Body, Comin’ thro the Rye,” as a
source for the melody in the middle section of the Finale. Certainly there are in-
tervals here that can also be found in Bartók’s melody and some fragments are even
the same. The characteristics of “Auld Lang Syne,” actually very close in melodic
Genesis : 29
line, also typify the spirit that Bartók captured in this melody, but it is difficult to
insist that an intentional direct quotation was implied. Although the melody used
by Bartók does not demonstrate the “anti-Hungarian” rhythm, it does introduce
the only melody in the concerto that begins with an upbeat. Once again, this is a
characteristic of much Scottish folk music but unusual in Hungarian folk music,
due to the language requirement that every word has its first syllable accented.
In the fourth Harvard lecture of 1943, Bartók commented as follows:
Here again we must turn our attention first to the Eastern European rural music. First of
all, there are no upbeats; it is a music rhythmically based on starts with an arsis, as a con-
trast to Western European, Russian, modern Greek, and Arab music—all based rhythmi-
cally on starts with a thesis (but, of course, with numerous exceptions).17
No doubt one could search further and find many more Scottish melodies with
characteristics that resemble sections of motives in this concerto. It is not my in-
tention to imply that the three melodies quoted were utilized directly but rather that
they contain characteristics that are also identifiable in melodies in the concerto. I
agree with Peter Bartók’s comment stated earlier: “I do not believe that my father
copied any section of a Scottish song, rather, he made this phrase up to resemble
the Scottish character or perhaps vaguely recalled something he had heard.”
It would be misleading to leave this subject having given the impression that this
is a work dominated by Scottish influence. This aspect was highlighted because of
the special circumstances of the work’s commissioner.
The work is of course dominated by Bartók’s Eastern European heritage. The
tonal language, rhythm, and melodic sources are full of the flavor of Eastern Eu-
ropean peasant music. It is only through the supreme artistry of a great composer,
such as Bartók, that the elements of a culture seemingly so unconnected as Scotland
can be interwoven into the texture of what is essentially a work inspired by the mu-
sic of Eastern Europe.
Two other themes are worthy of comment. In the first movement in bars 112–17,
the Bf–Df–Ef–G motive is explored, and this seems reminiscent of the open-
ing theme of the second movement of the Violin Concerto No. 1, which begins
Ds–Fs–As–C. As this is an obscure variation of the Stefi Geyer motive
D–Fs–A–Cs, it is not unexpected to find this theme in this final work, given the
frequency with which it appeared throughout Bartók’s life in other works. Stefi
Geyer was the young violinist with whom Bartók, as a young man, had become to-
tally besotted. While composing his Violin Concerto No. 1 he was clearly deeply in
love with her, and this work, dedicated to her, is undoubtedly the musical ex-
pression of his feelings. Geyer was later to describe the first movement as “the
young girl whom he had loved” and the second as “the violinist whom he had ad-
mired.” Bartók himself described the first movement as his “most direct” music,
“written exclusively from the heart.” The opening D–Fs–A–Cs motive is the germ
of the work and is alluded to in many instances in later works. In its minor form,
Cs–E–Gs–Bs, Bartók described it in a letter to Geyer of September 1907 as “your

leitmotif.” This motive was also used, probably coincidentally, by Vernon Duke in
“I Can’t Get Started” (1935).
Finally, it can be argued that the first theme of the concerto is the basis of all the
other main themes. The pitches A–F–Ef–C–B–Ef represent part of the scale
A–B–C–D–Ef–F–G–A. It is well known that Bartók was fond of this scale and
that it is a scale that appears in ancient folk music.18 As an example of its presence
in nature, the tui (a native bird of New Zealand) was heard singing the pitches of
the opening theme of the Viola Concerto. On the occasion when the author noted
this phenomenon, the tui sang the notes A–F–Ef–B–C–F with an upward inflection
toward the final F and in a rhythm almost identical to the opening of the Viola
Concerto, the only difference being that the B–C (in reverse order in the concerto)
was converted into a dotted eighth note and sixteenth note instead of two eighth
notes.
The reader may be assured that the bird was not “taught” this melody, nor is it
likely that Bartók ever heard a New Zealand tui or even know of its existence. This
is a tonality that occurs in nature and may well have been heard by Bartók, and its ap-
pearance in his music should not therefore be viewed as surprising. Peter Bartók com-
ments: “At the first opportunity—beginning of the summer at Saranac Lake, New
York—he started drafting the piano concerto, for which ideas were already chosen,
such as bird calls noted down the previous year in Asheville, North Carolina.”19
The idea of a recurring motive is perhaps more easily recognizable if one takes
the melody from the middle Ab section of the third movement as the most likely
reference to an actual folk melody. This is the melody Peter Bartók identifies as hav-
ing a Scottish flavor. In its pure form it does not appear to be Hungarian, due to the
anacrusis—however, its origin is probably Eastern European rather than Scottish.
Once the melody has been fully revealed it provides an ambiguity between a mod-
ulation to F minor and a scale that comprises Af–Bf–C–D–Ef–F–G–Af. This
scale with its sharpened fourth is among those that filtered through Romanian folk
music, where it can also be identified in the music of Gheorghe Enescu.
When one compares its shape with the opening melody of the first movement,
there is clearly some resemblance that even the reconfigured pitches and resulting
tonality cannot hide. A similar shape can also be detected in the opening melodies
of the second and third movements. The expansion and contraction of melodic in-
tervals was a well-utilized technique of Bartók and indeed was one of his most im-
portant compositional devices for providing thematic unity and economy within a
work.
The Manuscript
The Viola Concerto of Béla Bartók was notated on four bifolia, a bifolium being
a double-sized sheet that enables two pages to be written on each side or, in other
Genesis : 31
words, four pages per bifolium. In all there were fourteen pages of sketches written.
Two different bifolia were left with half of one side blank. Some confusion has
arisen over the years as to whether the manuscript contains thirteen or fourteen
pages. This confusion was no doubt fueled by the fact that when, in 1963, Tibor
Serly gave a copy of the manuscript to the Bartók Archives in Budapest, he supplied
only thirteen pages.
The missing page was brought to the attention of the staff at the archives, in
1983, by Malcolm Gillies, who pointed out that part of the sketches, shown on the
record cover of the Bartók Records 1950 recording of Primrose, Serly, and the New
Symphony Orchestra, was not among the thirteen pages that Serly had supplied.
The confusion was compounded by the publication, in 1988, of Atar Arad’s article
in the American String Teacher titled “The Thirteen Pages.” (This article is discussed
in chapter 6). In both cases the missing page was one that contained a series of early
sketches of the opening section of the first movement.
It seems that Serly either had never been given this page or had decided it was un-
necessary to include this page, as it was apparently an early sketch, superseded by
the sketch that continued on to the main body of the first movement. Arad’s copy
of the manuscript originated from William Primrose, which implies that Serly also
did not give him this page. Serly added further confusion by stating, in his interview
with David Dalton, “As you can see—we have here a replica of the manuscript of
the Viola Concerto in front of us consisting of thirteen pages.”20 While there is the
possibility that Serly never received the fourteenth page, this does seem highly un-
likely, given that he was familiar with the sketches from soon after Bartók’s death. It
is also extremely unlikely that either the Bartók family or Victor Bator would have
decided to withhold it on the basis that it was superfluous. In any case, even if Serly’s
official copy was a photostat, we know that the full four bifolia were in his posses-
sion as he worked on the reconstruction, as he marked directly onto them. The full
manuscript is referred to in a letter from Victor Bator to Serly of November 7, 1947,
but even here this information is confusing, as Bator refers to “the photostats of the
viola concerto that is called the complete score, plus extra score page of some frag-
ment not connected with the concerto. Altogether there are six sheets.” This implies
that either thirteen or fourteen pages were included on five sheets and that the sixth
sheet was not part of the concerto.
whereabouts
This original manuscript has perhaps had a more interesting life than those of
Bartók’s other works. It was at his bedside in his last days before he went into the
hospital for the final time. After Belá’s death, Peter Bartók reports finding a brown
envelope with the words “Viola Concerto and Song” written on it.21 It is not clear
what the song was, but it is clear that the Viola Concerto was all together in one place
and not in any way entangled with the manuscript of the Piano Concerto No. 3.
In the early stages, Peter Bartók took responsibility for the safekeeping of the
manuscript. According to him, the sketches and final score of the Piano Concerto
were given to Serly very soon after his father’s death and the sketch of the Viola
Concerto only some time later, probably after Serly had completed the orchestra-
tion of the last two pages of the Piano Concerto. For the time being, the Viola
Concerto sketch remained in the black trunk where Peter put all of his father’s pa-
pers. It is possible that Serly saw the manuscript before Bartók died, but he clearly
did not study it.
After his father died, at first Peter Bartók was not aware that the estate’s executor’s
powers extended to musical matters. In the case of the Piano Concerto No. 3, he as-
sumed that this was not a matter for the estate to deal with as, under his father’s gen-
eral agreement with Boosey & Hawkes, he was obliged to turn over for publication
any work he wrote and completed and there was no thought of there being any rea-
son not to allow the publication of the Piano Concerto. Peter recalls that the com-
pleted Piano Concerto was given to Boosey & Hawkes promptly, probably by Serly,
and assumed that the business end of it was attended to by the executors. In the case
of the very incomplete Viola Concerto, the estate clearly became fully involved, as
is documented by correspondence between Tibor Serly and Victor Bator.
In his interview with David Dalton, William Primrose recalls seeing the manu-
script at Tibor Serly’s apartment “shortly after Bartók’s death.”22 Tibor Serly con-
firms this in his “A Belated Account of a 20th-Century Masterpiece” in the fol-
lowing words: “after I had examined the manuscript thoroughly (October, 1945 and
into 1946).”23
It is in retrospect very difficult to establish exactly who held on to the manuscript
between Bartók’s death and the formal approach of Victor Bator in late 1947, but it
seems clear that the work was some of the time with Peter Bartók and some of the
time with Tibor Serly and somehow was returned to Peter Bartók or Victor Bator
in time to be formally sent to Serly in 1947. It is also probable that Serly had the
original in his possession soon after Bartók’s death and made a copy before return-
ing the manuscript to the estate.
It is clear, however, that when his work in earnest began on the reconstruction,
Serly worked from the original, as he added a few markings of his own directly onto
the manuscript. These are identified by László Somfai in his commentary on the
facsimile edition.24
Some years later the New York Bartók Estate was established for the safekeep-
ing of materials. For some reason the Viola Concerto manuscript was missing. Pe-
ter Bartók’s explanation was that “this loss supposedly occurred when the record
cover was about to be printed and the manuscript was taken out of the estate’s
archive to be photographed. That was sometime between 1951 and 1953.” In any case,
this was rather fortunate, as it did not suffer the same fate as other manuscripts in
being cut up from the bifolium format so as to be stored in more conveniently sized
envelopes.25
Genesis : 33
From letters to David Dalton from Tibor Serly (November 1968), Benjamin Su-
choff (January 1969), Henry N. Ess III (November 1969), Peter Bartók (December
1969), and Benjamin Suchoff (February 1970) 26 it is clear that the manuscript was
considered lost even at these late dates. The whereabouts of the manuscript from
1953 until 1972 are unknown. According to Peter Bartók, the family tried unsuc-
cessfully to find out this information from Victor Bator, the trustee of the estate.
Apparently at one time he claimed that he knew where the manuscript was but re-
fused to disclose this to the family. Eventually the manuscript did reappear and sub-
sequently became securely held at Bartók Records in Florida.
In the early 1990s Peter Bartók, in collaboration with Nelson Dellamaggiore and
violist Paul Neubauer, began work on a revision. To coincide with this publication,
Peter planned to publish a full-color facsimile of the manuscript to settle once and
for all the disputes over what information it really contained. Although a number
of photocopies had proliferated over the years, the opportunity to be able to refer
to the original or, the next best thing, a color facsimile, was in the case of the Vi-
ola Concerto long overdue. We must be very grateful to Peter Bartók for having the
foresight to release this document and also to László Somfai for the most illumi-
nating commentary that he provides in the publication.
Released in late 1995, this is undoubtedly the most important document ever
published on the concerto. The reproduction is of the highest quality, with every
detail revealed, showing the differentiation between pencil and ink and of course
the different-colored markings. It is published by Bartók Records, with the actual
facsimile being produced by Nelson Dellamaggiore.
contents of the document

These fourteen pages of sketches have caused controversy since the outset, not so
much through their contents as through the lack of access to them. No doubt the
“secrecy” that surrounded them was encouraged by Serly to protect his reconstruc-
tion from scrutiny by those determined to prove that the work was not authentic
Bartók. The somewhat sharp exchange of letters between Tibor Serly and Benjamin
Suchoff in July 1975 highlights the extreme sensitivity of this matter.27 In hindsight,
an early release of the manuscript would probably have assisted the work’s accep-
tance more than hindered it. It would have dispelled the rumors that Serly com-
posed much of the work and, with the limited scholarship available in 1949 of
Bartók’s compositional process, may well have satisfied many of the critics that it
was a fair realization of the sketches.
However, during the fifty years’ delay from 1945 to 1995 in making the sketches
officially available in color facsimile Bartók scholarship developed to a very sophis-
ticated level. It is now almost universally accepted among Bartók scholars that, when
viewed beside his other late works, the draft of the Viola Concerto represents only
the first layers of the compositional process of mature Bartók. Thus it is important
to note that even with the most faithful transcription of the material in the manu-
script, it is still only the realization of a first draft, which would have developed sig-
nificantly had Bartók lived to take it to its final form. Indications for orchestration
were only occasional, and it was texturally far from complete.
When Tibor Serly was asked by David Dalton if the work was completed by
Bartók, he replied, “Well the answer to that would have to be yes and no.”28 It was
a fair answer and worthy of comment. Anyone who has scrutinized the sketches in
any detail will agree that there are three movements, which are structurally complete,
plus some extra bars, which may or may not be an integral part of the work. Bartók
provided precise timings of the three movements and a total timing, being the sum
of the three markings. This would imply that any linking sections are to be included
within these timings. The main problems that relate to this are in the placement of
the beginnings of movements. It is unclear, for instance, whether the Lento parlando
(Serly’s choice of marking) should be included in the first movement timing or the
second movement timing or left out altogether. It is also unclear whether the last
movement begins at the Moderato or the Allegro. These decisions affect the timings
and therefore the tempi of all three movements.
As mentioned earlier, the facsimile edition contains an extensive commentary by
László Somfai, who is the most respected authority on Bartók’s compositional
process. As well as providing insight into the order of the intended sequencing of
the sketches, Somfai speculates on the order in which the various layers were added,
showing how Bartók went back and forth between the pages. This is musical detec-
tive work of the highest sophistication, accomplished with expertise gained through
extensive experience with other original Bartók manuscripts. The ordering of the writ-
ing is vitally important for two reasons. First, it shows how the layering of the work
developed, and second, where sketches of material appear in more than one place,
it helps clarify which is the final version.
Chapter Two
The Reconstruction
A Critical Examination of the
Work of Tibor Serly
Before I discuss in detail the work of Tibor Serly, the issue of Kodály’s
possible involvement in the reconstruction must be addressed. In response to an in-
quiry by the author on this matter, Peter Bartók replied in a letter dated August 5,
1995:
After my father’s death in 1945, there was not yet normal communication with Hungary.
Tibor Serly was in New York, he had collaborated with my father (Mikrokosmos Suite),
he was willing to compare the completed portion of the Third Piano Concerto orchestra
score with the corresponding sketches, thus learned my father’s shorthand, orchestrated the
last two pages of that concerto; it was then a natural continuation of his work to study
the Viola Concerto sketches so he could be asked, and he agreed, to reduce [sic] the real-
ization. While Tibor Serly was at work and travel between Europe and America became
possible and Zoltán Kodály visited New York, I asked him if he would undertake to pre-
pare another realization of the Viola Concerto independent from that of Mr. Serly, but
he declined. I do not know whether this implied approval of what he was already able to
see of Serly’s work, or simply wanting to not interfere.
During an interview between the author and Atar Arad in June 1995, Arad re-
called a conversation with Ron Golan, former principal violist of the Suisse Ro-
mande Orchestra. According to Arad, Ron Golan had held a conversation with
Zoltán Kodály in which he claimed to have discussed this matter and it was his rec-
ollection that he offered early in the picture to undertake the work on the Viola
Concerto but was turned down by the Bartók family. It is possible that Peter Bartók
was not aware of this, as the approach may have been to Ditta, and the subsequent
request by Peter would then, not surprisingly, have been turned down. It is also pos-
sible of course that the conversation between Ron Golan and Zoltán Kodály has not
been remembered accurately.
The stages in Tibor Serly’s reconstruction of the Viola Concerto have been well
documented. It is the intention here first to outline the circumstances that brought
about his involvement and second to review his actual work.
The Circumstances
The following article originates from the 1970 Ph.D. dissertation by David Dalton
at the University of Indiana at Bloomington and was published in April 1976 as
“The Genesis of Bartók’s Viola Concerto” (Music and Letters, Volume 57, No. 2, pp.
117–29). It is the most comprehensive firsthand account of the circumstances un-
der which Tibor Serly became involved in the project of bringing the Viola Con-
certo to a publishable form. Many aspects of this interview with Tibor Serly require
comment; hence it is produced here in full, with annotations by this author in foot-
notes. Comments in brackets are those of David Dalton, which appeared as foot-
notes in the original published article. The transcript of the interview is reprinted
by permission of David Dalton:
3 December 1969
dalton: Would you review the circumstances that brought you into an active and most im-
portant role regarding the Viola Concerto? That is, how did the manuscript eventually
come into your hands?
serly: As you may recall, Bartók was on his deathbed on 21 September, 1945, although we
were not quite aware of it. [He died on the 26th.] That evening I visited Bartók at his home;
he had just returned from Lake Saranac. He was obviously quite ill. When I spoke to him,
he was lying in bed. By that time it was very well known that he was close to having com-
pleted the Viola Concerto for Mr Primrose. But, strangely, a totally different manuscript
was in his lap. This was the Third Piano Concerto. I had some vague notion that he had
been writing a piano concerto, but no one else knew about it. So I asked him, “What about
the Viola Concerto?” He pointed toward the other side of the bed where another pile of
manuscripts lay. That was evidently the Viola Concerto. It was then that I asked, “Well,
what is the situation with it?” He sort of shrugged his shoulders and then made some re-
mark more or less as he had written to Mr Primrose: the concerto was quite finished except
that he had to orchestrate it and talk over some technical passages that he wasn’t quite cer-
tain about.
dalton: Who was responsible for giving the manuscript over to you and asking you to
complete the concerto?
serly: I think that came out of a natural association. I had known Bartók ever since my stu-
dent days, specifically, 1923. Some years after that, I was a member of the Cincinnati Or-
chestra under Fritz Reiner. [Tibor Serly was born in Losonc, Hungary, on 25 November
1901. He was taken to America as a child. Returning to Hungary, he studied composition
The Reconstruction : 37
with Kodály at the Royal Academy of Music, Budapest, and violin with Hubay. He became
violist with the Cincinnati Symphony Orchestra, the Philadelphia Orchestra under Sto-
kowski, and the N.B.C. Symphony Orchestra under Toscanini. In the latter, he was a mem-
ber of the viola section of which William Primrose was principal violist. In 1937 he set-
tled in New York as a teacher of composition and now resides in Washington State.]
During Bartók’s first visit to the United States in 1927, he spent about two weeks in Cincin-
nati. As he didn’t speak English well at the time, and had neither acquaintances or friends,
we were almost constantly together. I was still in my twenties at the time, and a sort of
teacher-disciple, almost father-son, relationship developed. From then on, every time I vis-
ited Hungary, which I did fairly frequently, I always visited him. In 1935 when I had my great
day in Budapest, conducting a series of my own works with the Budapest Philharmonic,
Béla Bartók came to my concert. [He went to about one concert in five years in those days.]
I also became very well acquainted with his young wife, Ditta. So, the most natural thing
happened when he came to America, first in 1939 [sic], and subsequently in 1940 to stay, his
managers had contacted me that Bartók had written to inform me that he was coming. I
was there at the boat when he arrived. From the very start we lived close to each other.
dalton: Do I understand you correctly, that you were not officially or formally approached
by the Bartók family to reconstruct the concerto? This more or less devolved upon you be-
cause of your close association with the composer?
serly: No, that would not be quite right. I was approached. Let me go back to 1940. You
know from history that Bartók was not doing too well at the time. There was an occasional
chamber concert, sometimes with his wife, sometimes with Joseph Szigeti; a little solo play-
ing, and here and there an invitation to a university for a day or two. Aside from that, he
had practically nothing. He even gave a few piano lessons.1 I knew of his plight. I had been
very much fascinated with the first drafts of the Mikrokosmos cycle of piano works. I became
quite excited finding a number of pieces among them that looked quite daring, and possi-
bly would be very pleasing to the public. I scored five of the pieces for string quartet and
Bartók immediately recommended it to Boosey & Hawkes, and it was published. I thought
that by circulating a few of the less serious works, especially at that time of many radio per-
formances, Bartók would become more popular with the public so that they might later be-
come more interested in more serious and larger works. This was done to a degree, and then
I became even more excited thinking: “Why not make a larger cycle?” Then came the suite
which is still known as the “Mikrokosmos Suite” for Orchestra. At the time I was work-
ing on the suite, we spent about ten days together at Cape Cod. After it was completed, I
went to Bartók. I hadn’t just arranged the pieces from the piano, but I had enlarged upon
them and put in contrapuntal voices, actually voices that had not existed there. I’ve always
1. In fact, in November 1940 Bartók was awarded an honorary doctorate from Columbia Univer-
sity and in March 1941 he began work there on the collection of Yugoslav epic songs. This employ-
ment lasted theoretically through 1942, although not continuously, as he was plagued by illness through
part of this time.
made a point of this: not one bar was used that was not his music. In other words, even
the insertion would be either some kind of canonic imitation, or something that came ex-
actly out of the motivic material of the particular movement. I had much trepidation when
it came to showing him this. Not only that, but at least three of the movements were en-
larged to about twice as long. He examined them carefully, and all he said was, “Fine, good.”
He did make one remark when I told him that in the “Diary of a Fly” I thought it should
be at least doubled in length with a different orchestration: he said, “Yes, I had not finished
that one yet. I would recommend only one thing”— that was his only remark —“that it
come a third higher the second time.” That, I should think, would have once and for all
set the precedent. He himself allowed me to do anything I wanted, which I wouldn’t have
done anyway. I did what I thought he would like to do if he were doing it himself. I had,
so to speak, carte blanche. Everybody that was close to Bartók, his family included, was aware
of that.2
The suite was performed with considerable success. Bartók was not an easy person for
many, because he stood for only the absolute truth; he had no small talk. I wanted to make
sure that there would be no kickback or any kind of recrimination against what I had done,
so it states in the printing that everything contained in the “Mikrokosmos Suite” was done
with collaboration, and approval, of the composer. There was no collaboration, but I
wanted to do that as a gesture. So there you have it. It was therefore natural that after the
bereavement and tension of Bartók’s death had lessened, the first things that I received were
the two manuscripts; the Viola Concerto and the Third Piano Concerto. There was no
question about it; they [Bartók’s son, Peter, and his mother] simply said, “Please ask Tibor
to look these manuscripts over carefully.”3
Well there’s your answer. Nobody questioned anything. There would have been ab-
solutely no one around. They spoke of the possibility of Kodály doing it. I can tell you
without any hesitation that Kodály would not have done it. He would not have taken on
such a responsibility. He probably would have either asked me, if I had been in Europe, or
one or two students of my generation who were there. They might have done a fairly de-
cent job.
dalton: May I ask a somewhat personal question? How did you feel about this responsi-
bility of seeing both concertos through to their completion, in view of the fact that Kodály
wouldn’t have done the same?
serly: I can’t really say how I felt. I think it all happened almost automatically and natu-
rally. Who else was there to do it? Who else would or could have possibly done it? And so
I felt myself more or less duty-bound. I didn’t even question that they were great compo-
sitions because I knew that any work that was a large work of Bartók was going to be a great
2. This carte blanche presumably applied to Serly’s work on the Mikrokosmos but would hardly seem
justified in a general sense, considering Bartók’s fastidious nature and attention to detail.
3. The formal letter of approach from Victor Bator to Tibor Serly dated November 7, 1947, is in-
cluded as appendix 2.
work. At least, that was my opinion. There wasn’t a question at all. Of course I was dou-
bly fascinated because the main manuscript entailed the Viola Concerto, which was my
main instrument, though by that time I had quit playing it. Incidentally, the mistaken no-
tion many people have is that I was a pupil in composition of Bartók. From his professional
days on, Bartók never taught composition.
dalton: Did he not decline a position in composition at the Curtis Institute?
serly: That is correct. The only way I could consider myself his student was that during
the time I was still young and frequently together with him, I certainly asked him questions
about musical matters. While he lived in New York, we often played scores together. We
played Bach chorales and organ works, four hand, and discussed them. But, of course, that
was more—if I may be permitted to say—as colleagues than as student and professor.
dalton: Actually, Bartók was at work on the concerto for about six months, from April un-
til his death in September.4
serly: Yes, and as pointed out, for the first time that I know of, he worked simultaneously
on two major works.
dalton: What assurance do you have that you received all the sketches of the Viola Con-
certo that were made by the composer? Was it simply your reliance on his word that they
were all at his bedside when you last visited him?
serly: I think so, because during the last years especially, Bartók worked in such a remark-
ably tight fashion, that, as you can see — we have here a replica of the manuscript of the
Viola Concerto in front of us consisting of thirteen pages—no bar or space was spared or
wasted. He used the method of writing immediately in ink, no pencil. That is what makes
working on such a manuscript so difficult. There is a scratch here and a scratch there in the
manuscript, then Bartók would go to some other spot and make marks. But the work was
done so tightly that the sketches were put down between two to four staves, and in rare in-
stances, even overlapping four or five staves. Therefore, very few pages were used.5
dalton: Is this typical that he would compose in a—I suppose you would say, because of
its appearance—reduced score? He didn’t compose it in full score as, say, Schoenberg did
with Moses and Aron?
serly: It is not quite the way you have expressed it. Bartók never worked in a reduced score,
or a piano reduction. He did not like to make piano reductions; he always refused to do
that. Bartók was one of those rare composers who thought orchestrally. He tried to put
4. Bartók’s letter to Primrose of August 5, 1945, would suggest a starting date possibly as late as
early August.
5. In László Somfai’s analysis of the manuscript it is made very clear that Serly received all the ma-
terial related to the concerto, as it was contained within the sixteen sides of four bifolios with no ref-
erence to any other work.
down the orchestration as best he could so that it would be visible and possibly playable.
He did not think in terms of just writing down the harmonic content, then the melody,
and then going on from there. This manuscript is not a reduced sketch in any sense of the
term. Where it was completed, every single particle has been put in. However he did not
mark the instruments; he made very few designations. If you could once decipher those
parts, the orchestration was complete as it is. I had to clearly decipher the sketches so that
everything went into place; skipped bars, additions, and other alterations. Now there are a
few little places, for instance in the slow movement, where he knew exactly what he wanted
to do, but put in only touches of the orchestration. There are other parts, as in the last
movement, where only the melodic line comes up, but he knew what was going on there; he
had just not put it in.6 I did not make the piano reduction of this work. That was done by
somebody else much later.7
dalton: So we might say that there were at least two phases to your work: the assembling
of the sketches, and then deciphering exactly what he meant. You have written in the pref-
ace to the published score about a certain shorthand which Bartók employed. This would
be more typical of the last movement perhaps?
serly: No, it’s typical of each of the movements. There are certain markings, and certain
signs, and arrows which indicate that he would skip from one page to another. That was
the most difficult part. Sometimes he didn’t even mark where it was done. It took many,
many hours and sometimes many, many days to try to decipher that. Far too long a time
has passed for me to be able to give you details of such things. The signs weren’t really many,
but he did make skips. Rather than write in, he would skip on to another page. Often he
wanted to save paper, or space, or some idea came to him, something that was either not
used, or used in a different way later. I didn’t know this when I first had the score. I won-
dered, “Where does this, and where does that come in?” It was only subsequently, much
later, that the whole thing became clear.8
What I had to do was really this: I had to rewrite the sketch completely, then find the
empty holes, or what I thought were holes. At times the orchestration was so light, so spar-
6. The compositional process is analyzed in considerable detail by László Somfai in Peter Bartók,
Belá Bartók, Viola Concerto, Facsimile of the Autograph Draft, with commentary by László Somfai (Homosassa,
Florida: Bartók Records, 1995) and is referred to in chapter 1.
7. Serly’s recollection here raises an interesting point. This author has a copy of the piano part that
was given to Primrose to study from and from which changes were made before the first performance
in 1949. Serly refers to his piano reduction in his letter to Victor Bator of January 29, 1948. Clearly
Serly did make a piano reduction in order for the early read-throughs with Burton Fisch and David
Soyer to take place (Lucy Brown was the pianist). The issue appears to be that the printed reduction
of Boosey & Hawkes, copyrighted in 1949, has discrepancies with the reduction produced by Serly.
After careful examination of the various materials at the Bartók Archives in Budapest, it was con-
cluded, in agreement with László Somfai, that Serly’s reduction was amended by Erwin Stein, chief
editor of Boosey & Hawkes at the time, before going to publication.
8. It is the general opinion, not only of this author, that the implied continuity in the manuscript
is not as difficult to decipher as Serly indicates.
ing, with so few notes, I had to surmise whether he had left out any parts or not. Where I
thought he would have included them, I put them in. There were quite a few spots like that,
so sparing that there might be only one single note against the solo viola.
dalton: Where these spots become so lean, did you ever resort to composing yourself ? I’m
not talking about orchestrating, I mean actual composing.
serly: Well the answer to that would have to be yes and no. I have tried to express this many
times in conversations with musicians. That is most difficult to answer. There had to be
certain bars put in, and there had to be alterations made. Bartók, although he knew what
he was going to do, didn’t always put it in. Let’s put it this way: I did not use one solitary
bar of original music. Take the first movement for instance: Bartók, no matter how mod-
ern his style, generally stuck to sonata form. In these last works, there is almost a Mozartian-
type of pure classical form. He had the usual main and second subjects, development, and
recapitulation. But in the first movement the recapitulation is left blank. He did, however,
include the melodic line returning on the tonic, whereas the second subject is on the dom-
inant. What I did at that point was to fill in the parts which were left blank. I was tempted
to make a few deviations. If I had my own choice, I would have, but I did not do that. What
I did was to make a few different decorations on the thematic material of the recapitula-
tion and the tutti which followed, and rescored it so that it has a greater rise than it had be-
fore. The return of the subject matter, both themes, is clearly indicated, though with some
variation. Those bars that included a grand tutti, so to speak, were placed in by me with a
different orchestration. I was tempted, but made no deviations.9
dalton: Because of the brevity of the final movement, do you feel that there might have
been more music that perhaps was not given you, or was lost?
serly: I’m not so sure about that; I cannot answer, I think that I pointed out a little part
in the manuscript in which he may have intended something, either a much longer intro-
duction or something of that sort. But that part is so skimpy that I am quite certain Bartók
himself was not sure whether he would have included such a portion or not.10
I cannot see any indication in the manuscript for anything beyond what there is because
the lines are quite clear. There are no indications that there would be some more music in
empty bars, as he indicates in the first movement.
dalton: By introductory material, do you mean to the last movement?
serly: Yes, or at least some part with different thematic material as occurs just before the
rondo proper in the last movement of the Mendelssohn Violin Concerto.
9. In the recapitulation that Serly refers to he did, in fact, extend the material as it was presented
in the exposition. The issues of structure are discussed in chapters 5 and 8.
10. The material referred to here is in fact incorporated into the Peter Bartók and Csaba Erdélyi re-
visions as part of the introduction to the last movement.
dalton: I have heard stories, probably apocryphal, that in this manuscript, there are num-
bers in the margin that were unexplainable until someone came up with the answer that
these were temperature readings which the composer had been taking of himself.
serly: No, I don’t think so.11
There is a page, however, that has the entire timing based on the metronomic markings.
I forgot to mention that to you. So I cannot go along with the others’ views that the last
movement is too short. Here it is. And it is quite clear and definite; the entire three move-
ments.
dalton: You mean this is Bartók’s own timing of the concerto? These indications are ac-
curate almost to the second of the performance today?
serly: The longest, of course, is the first movement, which is 9 minutes 20 seconds.12
dalton: The second is marked 3 minutes 10 seconds, and the last, 4 minutes 45 seconds.13
serly: Making 20 minutes 15 seconds in all, which is quite close. I don’t know if I pointed
that out to Mr. Primrose. I’m not certain.14
dalton: I don’t believe so. At least he never mentioned it to me. I take it that the problems
which you have recited in the reconstruction of the Viola Concerto were not encountered
in completing the Third Piano Concerto.
serly: No, no problem of that kind at all. There were actually only seventeen bars miss-
ing.15 I had some clues in the early part of the last movement which gave indication of how
he would have finished the piano part, and some other passages. Nobody has yet remarked,
“We can tell where Bartók left off, and now we can hear Serly.” No one has complained
about it, so that is my greatest pride. I finally decided in the Viola Concerto to take the
indications that were there, keep to his statement that the orchestration would be light and
slim, and simply do the best I could to orchestrate it myself.
11. The markings mentioned as possible temperature readings are in fact almost certainly that. On
the sixth page of the manuscript the numbers 37.3/99.2 are Centigrade to Fahrenheit conversions and
would certainly suggest the kind of elevated temperatures Bartók was experiencing during the early
August period while at Saranac Lake.
12. Bartók’s marking is clearly 10'20".
13. Careful study of the manuscript reveals the second movement timing to be 5'10", which would
suggest a much slower tempo marking than Serly’s q = 69.
14. By Serly’s figures we get a total of 17'15", but with the corrected 3 to 5 minutes and 9 to 10 min-
utes we get Bartók’s total of 20'15".
15. This comment from Serly is most misleading. We know from looking at Bartók’s first draft of
this work, for two pianos, that these seventeen bars were already composed by him. It was only in the
orchestral score that the seventeen bars were left blank. Serly’s task was only to orchestrate them, and
that should not have provided any challenge, as there was much information from the remainder of
the work to draw from, especially from the immediately preceding bars in the third movement.
dalton: In his letter to Primrose, Bartók raises the question of the playability of certain
passages. Why do you suppose he would bring this up, in view of the fact that he had al-
ready had six quartets behind him in which he wrote idiomatically, and beautifully for the
instrument?
serly: I think the answer is very simple. I answer it from the point of view of a composer.
Having been a viola player, I have often written works for either the violin or viola. As
strange as it may seem, one still has to check certain passages no matter how much one
knows about an instrument. I think that any composer worth his salt is always going to do
something a little differently than he did before. In the case of Bartók, we are dealing with
a first-class creative person; a genius, we would have to say. He wanted to get new sounds
and new technical effects in the concerto. When one does that, one is bound to write pas-
sages which certainly may be awkward.
dalton: Mr. Primrose said that there were indeed some passages which he considered awk-
ward. He also remarked that he might have made some changes, but felt he was discouraged
from doing so.
serly: Yes, I, too, felt that in places some changes, or even additions—let’s say of double
stops—should have been made. In that case, I was prompted by my knowledge of the in-
strument, or tried to determine what the awkward jump or double stop was intended to be.
Though it is now very vague in my mind, Primrose and I did work simultaneously on a
number of these spots that we had picked out together. He gave his views; I gave mine. Nat-
urally, I was responsible for the entire production of the work, and consequently in the fi-
nal analysis, my views had to take precedence.16
dalton: Halsey Stevens has a somewhat demeaning opinion of the concerto in compari-
son with other works, notably the Second Violin Concerto. Do you share this opinion?
serly: I can only say that the work is now a standard repertoire piece. About three years ago
I asked Boosey & Hawkes how many performances there were of the Viola Concerto in that
particular year. The number of live performances went far above one hundred. These were
live performances, not counting the recordings. Evidently each year, if anything, it is be-
ing performed more, rather than less. So I would say that actions speak louder than words.
dalton: Are you personally acquainted with the new recordings, for instance the Menuhin
recording? Do you feel these capture the intent of the composer as well as Mr. Primrose’s
recording with your collaboration?
serly: Less than a year ago I read a review of a recording, and it ended approximately with
this phrase: “Some day we may get a better recording of the Viola Concerto, but until such
a time, the Primrose-Serly version stands as the best, and this despite the newer and better
recording techniques.”
16. The reader’s attention is drawn to the summary of discrepancies between the manuscript and
Serly’s realization that is discussed in chapter 3.
44 : b a rt ó k ’s v i o l a c o n c e rt o
dalton: I might add that I am not aware of any viola technique that matches that of Mr.
Primrose’s, not to mention his insight and great imagination.
serly: Well that’s about your answer to the old question. I only wish that we could have
recorded it once again.
dalton: I believe he has expressed a wish similar to that.
serly: Because, you know, the work was all very new and very close to us at that time, and
there was a question of money. Nobody was supporting it particularly. Boosey & Hawkes
didn’t say, “Give us a wonderful recording. Money is no object.” Peter Bartók had to get his
own money from the very little that was coming in from the estate. We didn’t exactly have
the time or the proper facilities that we might have had, had there been more money.
dalton: In looking back on the première of 25 years ago, the culmination of four years
work on your part, can you say that you are satisfied with your unique contribution, which
was the bringing to life of this work?17
serly: Well . . . I think it is one of the truly great works of Bartók. It is said that Bartók
during those last years had mellowed, and maybe felt that he was close to the end of his life,
and would now just do more conservative and less iconoclastic writing. I do not believe that
to be the case. I think that if a close examination is eventually made years from now of the
last three or four works of Bartók, it will be found that he was once again going towards
another new discovery, as he had done before: a continuation of musical style. This work
was the beginning of that, but not only the Viola Concerto; the Third Piano Concerto, and
to a great degree the Concerto for Orchestra. He went back to the triadic order in some form;
there is no question about that. This entire concerto is based on the dominant-seventh
chord.18 Some day we will get a much closer analysis and examination of what he was head-
ing toward. The dominant-seventh chord was to all of us, including myself, the great en-
emy, the hatred of the twentieth century. “Just get off that dominant chord!”
17. There is some doubt as to how long Serly actually worked on the Viola Concerto. Although the
manuscript was not officially sent to him by Victor Bator until November 1947, Serly must have al-
ready been working on the score for some time. He at one point referred to four years when his own
work lay fallow due to the Viola Concerto. However, it seems clear from correspondence from him
to Victor Bator dated December 19, 1947, and January 29, 1948, that by December 1947 he had com-
pleted a version for both solo cello and solo viola with piano reduction. The piano score he sent to
Primrose had “1945–47” written at the top.
18. This statement seems to demonstrate a surprising lack of understanding of the tonal implica-
tions of this work, which draws on several unusual modes, especially in the first movement. Apart from
the opening four notes, the reference to a pervasive dominant seventh is difficult to identify.
Serly’s Work
It is to Tibor Serly that credit must be given for bringing into the viola repertoire
Bartók’s Viola Concerto, possibly the most performed and recorded work for solo
viola and orchestra of all time. The task that faced Serly was immense, much more
difficult than actually writing a new work, as he had to attempt to put himself in-
side the mind of another.
In Serly’s “A Belated Account of the Reconstruction of a 20th-Century Mas-
terpiece” article,19 the second section (pp. 13–23) is devoted to the actual recon-
struction. That section is reproduced here. Musical examples are not included here
but may be located by measure number in the Boosey & Hawkes score of 1950. This
article represents Serly’s views on his work and as such is an important historic doc-
ument. The intention here is simply to look at the work of Serly in an objective
manner to enable the reader to understand precisely what he did in creating his re-
construction. Here Serly’s account is reviewed, with this author’s comments in foot-
notes as the text unfolds. (The excerpt is reprinted by permission of the College
Music Society, College Music Symposium © 1975.)
A Measure by Measure Exposition

of the Reconstruction of Béla Bartók’s
Viola Concerto
First Movement
From the beginning of the first movement, m. 1 to m. 168 (slightly more than two-thirds
of the longest movement in the concerto), every note including the melodic, harmonic, and
contrapuntal parts was completed by Bartók, with the exception of two separate mea-
sures.20
M. 73 is a repetition of m. 74, an octave lower. This extension was added to provide
more brilliance in the viola’s climb to the high G-sharp. Bartók’s manuscript indicates some
indecision here.21
19. Tibor Serly, “A Belated Account of the Reconstruction of a 20th-century Masterpiece,” College
Music Symposium, Volume 15, 1975, pp. 7–25.
20. While it is true that Bartók had completed the music as stated, it is not true that Serly did not
alter notes and octave registers. For instance in the first movement, in the solo viola part alone, there
are discrepancies at mm. 21, 22, 37, 39, 43, 44, 45, 70, 89, 103, 105, 106, 107, 112, 116, 117, 127, 131, 162, 163,
164, 165, and 167.
21. The “indecision” referred to here is questionable. Certainly there are some corrections to the
first idea, but the final intention appears clear and the leap from one octave to the upper one should
occur between the first two notes (D–E) of m. 73 and the following measure of Serly should be omit-
ted. The revisions by Peter Bartók, Csaba Erdélyi, and the author all agree on this point.
And m. 143 is a partial repeat of m. 142. Both William Primrose and I felt the necessity
of an extra measure of timing to resolve into the tranquil re-entrance of the orchestra af-
ter the long viola cadenza.22
M. 168 to m. 184 with one different measure, the 4/4 m. 172 added by Bartók, are ob-
viously the recapitulation (slightly modified) of m. 48 to m. 60. This includes the reprise
of the orchestra tutti, now a fifth lower, in conformity with the classical tonic and domi-
nant relationship. The contrapuntal voices, however, had not been put in, and the reprise
of the tutti, m. 175 to m. 183, though clearly implied, had to be orchestrally filled in. True,
the second time Bartók might have altered this tutti more than I dared to chance. But an
essential goal in the reconstruction of the entire concerto was to avoid, if possible, any orig-
inal music of mine. Happily, except for a few repeated or modified repeat measures, this
turned out to be unnecessary in any of the three movements. So, for example, the sixteenth-
note figure ending the recapitulation of the tutti was extended from seven to nine measures,
in order to slacken the speed (see mm. 182–184), but the figure remains precisely the same.23
Mm. 185–186 were empty except for the viola melody and a whole-note “A” in the lower
staff. Therefore, m. 184 was added to enable the unobtrusive return to the now more
poignantly varied reprise of the second theme, which is also more elaborately worked out
by Bartók than before.24 From m. 185 to m. 220, all is exactly as written by Bartók.25
It is interesting to note that, despite the ultra-chromatic guise of the second theme re-
capitulation, the only time in the entire concerto the orchestral background progresses
downwards through the complete chromatic scale is starting on E-flat, m. 197, and ending
on the low E-flat at m. 200.
The most daring adjustment was made near the end of the movement. M. 221 and
m. 222, originally written for viola solo alone in Bartók’s sketch, were converted into a com-
bined orchestra and viola passage and extended one more measure to m. 223. On this my
judgement may be faulted, but the original figure for solo viola seemed to me abrupt and
uncertain.26
Again, however, there are no changes in the actual notes in the passage. The extra mea-
sure was slowed down from sixteenth to eighth notes (m. 223), which leads into the three-
measure tutti on muted trumpets and strings. Four more measures on the solo viola
22. The three revisions all omit this added measure.

23. The Peter Bartók and Erdélyi revisions leave this section more or less as resolved by Serly. In my
revision the same length of bridge is retained as in the exposition, avoiding extending the material for
the two extra bars. While I acknowledge that Bartók may have altered the material in the recapitula-
tion, it is more faithful to the manuscript to leave the material alone. This issue is discussed more fully
in chapters 5, 6, and 8.
24. This countermelody in the bassoon, added by Serly, has been removed in all three revisions.
25. This is not strictly so, as in m. 188 Serly chose to revise the octave placements in the solo viola
part. They are restored in all three revisions.
26. Csaba Erdélyi’s 1992 revision accepts Serly’s solution here, but Peter Bartók’s and my versions
opt for the original version, which, while extremely difficult to play, is possible and arguably the most
effective. Erdélyi has adopted this original version in his 2001 revision.
accompanied by the woodwind chord above brings the movement to a close on a pure
C-major triad.
Reviewing the first movement, all told only four measures in four different places were
subjoined (74, 143, 184, 223).27
Thus, of the 230 measures which complete the first — and longest — movement (ex-
cluding the nine repeated tutti measures), 226 measures are Bartók’s; 4 are mine. This can
hardly be called an unfinished or incomplete movement. I think it most essential to bear
in mind that not one single bar of Bartók’s was omitted.
The Questionable Interlude—So Called—
Preceding the Second Movement
The Lento (Parlando) which follows immediately after the initial movement is a brief,
lugubrious but powerful “Interlude” of fourteen measures. Still based partly on the main
theme in the first movement, this passage ends with a brilliant, rapid chromatic-scale ca-
denza coming to a halt on the viola’s open C-string. At this point there is a bar line marked
2/4 (in Bartók’s sketch), followed by a blank space which also terminates page seven in the
original manuscript. This corresponds to the low C one bar before the four measure in-
troduction to the second movement proper in the printed reduced score. For me to have
omitted these forceful fourteen measures from the concerto, reproduced precisely as writ-
ten by Bartók, would have been unthinkable.28 (Even a brief glance at the original manu-
script confirms that there is no relationship to the “motto” theme of the 6th Quartet.) But
the decision to include these measures caused the most vexing problem in the concerto, as
it involved all three movements. I should mention at this point that it may have been my
description of this vexatious enigma which could have created the false rumour that Bartók
intended to add a fourth movement to the concerto. In any case, the second movement
proper, which follows immediately (p. 8 in the manuscript) contradicts any thought of the
Interlude part being intended as an independent movement. (More on this later.)
Second Movement (Adagio Religioso)

The Adagio commences on an E-major chord (p. 32 in the printed score) without any in-
dication apparent. Otherwise, the entire movement is complete in both viola solo and the
orchestra background from beginning to end of its 57 measures. In fact, until m. 30 not a
single fill-in of any sort was necessary. From there on, for the next nine measures (m. 30
27. Strictly speaking, in creating the bridge to the second theme in the recapitulation Serly created
two new measures at m. 184.
28. This of course has been the biggest structural problem for everyone who has attempted to pre-
sent a performing edition of this work. My version is the only one that does in fact leave this section
out, based on the theory that it was the first draft of a slow movement but rejected later as being too
short and subsequently replaced by the slow movement proper as we know it. This is discussed in de-
tail in chapters 6 and 8.
through m. 38), Bartók’s sketch of the accompaniment to the melody in the viola consists
simply of a descending sequence series of consonant triads. These are replenished with or-
chestral embellishments of my own invention, which were to me remindful of the “out-of-
doors” mood in the trio part of the slow movement in the Third Piano Concerto, written
at the same time. (Here is the one place Halsey Stevens came close to alluding to the “out-
of-doors” idea. It so happens, aside from the Third Piano Concerto, I had in mind several
similar passages, such as in “Musique Nocturnes” (from Out-of-Doors Suite), “Minor Sec-
onds” (Mikrokosmos). I could cite others, but these will suffice. At that, I should feel com-
plimented that my planned likeness at least received recognition. I might add also that the
embellishments used were modestly scored deliberately, so as not to interfere with the pu-
rity of the melody line.) But not one note of the basic harmony is altered, only the or-
chestration lightly filled in. At m. 40 a curtailed reprise of the beginning Adagio motive
connects into an echo-like recall of the main theme of the first movement (m. 50). From
there, the movement accelerates gradually into the brief but brilliant cadenza which leads
with stunning impact directly into the introductory Allegretto part. Thus the entire slow
movement, including the bridge connecting into the introduction to the last movement, is
set down complete and exactly as Bartók wrote it.
We return now to the enigmatic bar line at the end of the “Interlude,” which corre-
sponds to the viola’s low C five measures before the second movement (p. 31 in the printed
score). The two-fold question arises: (1) Did Bartók intend to omit the “Interlude” por-
tion between the first and second movements? If so, it seemed strangely unlike him to have
commenced the 2nd movement on a bare E-major triad.29
(2) Contrariwise, if Bartók wanted to retain the “Interlude,” did he intend to proceed
at once to the 2/4 Allegretto introduction to the Finale? But then there would have been
no place at all for the 2nd movement proper to be established. Perhaps Bartók had some
simple solution in mind. If so, in this one place it escaped me.30
Therefore, I was obliged to use the prerogative of the composer in order to preserve the
interlude verbatim. I decided to insert a connecting part which would lead smoothly into
the 2nd movement. But the question was how to do so without upsetting the balance. Af-
ter much searching, I decided to borrow the melody line at m. 154 to m. 157 from the first
movement in the orchestral interlude but to transfer it to the solo bassoon and omit all ac-
companiment. (In the first statement, this passage is played on the oboe.) The shift to a
29. It is unclear why Serly would have considered this strange. Examples of very similar change of
key between movements can be observed in the Piano Concerto No. 3, where the first movement ends
on an E major triad and the second movement begins in C major, an exact reversal of the Viola Con-
certo’s situation. The first movement of the Violin Concerto No. 2 ends in the key of B and the sec-
ond movement begins in G, again a third away. The String Quartet No. 4 moves from a tonal center
of C to E between the first two movements, providing an identical key shift. Serly’s assertion that it
seemed strangely unlike Bartók is weak but undoubtedly seemed necessary to justify his inclusion of
his own linking bassoon solo to make the modulation from C major to E major.
30. This author’s assertion that the Interlude was a first draft of a slow movement would explain
the dilemma regarding the 24 (see chapter 6).
third above at m. 157 allows the bassoon to gently modulate into the second movement
proper.31
Thus, by the simple process of adding four unison measures borrowed from a previous
passage, I solved what was to me the knottiest problem in the concerto — and this with-
out a single bar of Bartók’s music having been omitted from the original manuscript, either
in the first or second movements, including “Interlude.”
The Enigmatic Introduction to the Third Movement

With the above dilemma solved, the one unresolvable riddle occurs between the “Allegretto
Introduction” and the third movement proper. It is the only place in the concerto where I
found it unavoidable to omit eight measures. To attempt to give the details of these left-
out measures cannot be done without a minute analysis of the original manuscript (pp. 8
and 9) before and after the eight mysteriously unaccountable measures. Suffice it to say that
countless attempts were made but each clue led nowhere. And since the rest of the twenty-
five bars of introduction led perfectly into the Allegro Vivace Finale, there was no alterna-
tive but to omit these measures. This is just a guess on my part, but it is my conviction that
Bartók himself would not have included the bit.32
(I should mention that there were odd motive bits elsewhere jotted down. Some were
used, others, not. But in most instances the indications were clear.)33
Third Movement, Allegro Vivace

It must be conceded at the start that the last movement proved to be the most bafflingly ar-
duous. This is not due to its incompleteness, as it was finished to the very last measure, but
rather on account of its bareness. The two previous movements were in comparison har-
monically, melodically, and contrapuntally complete in the sketches. Apart from decipher-
ing the many strange signs and symbols and trying to locate partially-written measures
sometimes hidden elsewhere, the main task was in the orchestration which, as stated in the
printed score, is entirely mine. In the third movement the problem was quite different. Fre-
quently there was only a single melody line to go by, with a few chordal or contrapuntal
31. While it certainly provided a link, it does not in my opinion “gently modulate.” Csaba Er-
délyi’s 1992 revision left the link as Serly provided, Peter Bartók has provided a new but shorter link,
and my revision does not require any link at all because the Interlude is not included. Erdélyi has
since dispensed with the link and simply pauses on a low C before commencing the second move-
ment.
32. Erdélyi and Peter Bartók include these measures as an extension to the Allegretto, which leads
to the third movement. Another theory is that these measures could have formed part of the fourth
movement, which was abandoned during the August–September period of 1945. I favor Serly’s deci-
sion to omit them altogether.
33. All the other “odd motive bits” are connected in some way to material actually used in the con-
certo.
indications at intervals. Hence, from m. 5 to m. 80 (except here and there a bar or two of a
counter melody), the manuscript consists solely of the melody line. This includes fourteen
measures (51 to 64), which I deduced to be the first orchestra tutti. This tutti passage had
to be fully orchestrated and harmonically filled in.34
However, from m. 80 to m. 114 the basic harmony and contrapuntal parts to the solo
viola—written on two, sometimes three staves—are followed exactly as noted by Bartók.35
So too, from m. 114 to m. 230 everything is as set down in Bartók’s sketches, with the ex-
ception of nine measures which were added by me. For these nine measures (197–205) I ac-
cept full responsibility, for this reason: after the sparkling and ingeniously contrapuntal,
though classically lucid orchestral climax at m. 150 to m. 177, it seemed to me that some sort
of a very virtuoso-like passage was needed on the solo viola. This is indicated by Bartók,
but was not in my estimation quite fulfilled. The nine-measure extension afforded me the
opportunity to utilize the total range of the viola with utmost brilliance. However, I should
again point out that this was accomplished by simply repeating m. 206 to m. 211 a fifth
higher and extended from six to nine measures.36
As I recall it, Mr. Primrose, too, suggested some technical improvements on this score.
Nevertheless, from m. 81 to m. 230 (which includes the nine measures) everything is real-
ized in Bartók’s original sketches written, for the most part, on two, sometimes three, staves.
The final measures (230 to 258) were quite a different situation. Here the lower half of the
final page (p. 13) in the manuscript is a mass of hastily scribbled and blearied sketches, no-
tated mostly on four, occasionally five, overlapping and confused zigzagged staves. Yet,
strangely enough, the “last four bars”— perhaps not so surprising considering the circum-
stances—are as transparent as are the opening measures of the first movement.
Before closing this exposé of how and what was done in the reconstruction of the con-
certo, I have one more transgression to confess. The five closing measures of the finale, with
their four different tonal resolutions, emerge with such a shocking abruptness that I could
not resist interjecting a short tutti of four measures, preceding to the low entrance of the
viola. Hence bars 255 to 258 were repeated fortissimo for full orchestra with my own har-
monization. (May I say regarding these light encroachments, if such they be, that in my
Mikrokosmos Suite transcription for large orchestra, done when Bartók was still alive (1942),
34. It is the opinion of this author that Serly made a serious error of judgment here. At m. 51 in the
printed score Serly harmonized what is most likely a folk music–inspired melody with a diatonic-type
accompaniment. This predictably gives the melody a somewhat Western flavor. With the implications
of major thirds removed and the countermelody of the half-bar canon begun at the outset of the tutti,
the effect is dramatically different and certainly more “Oriental” in its modal language.
35. Two exceptions are m. 89, where the pizzicato chord of Serly should be a sustained half note,
and mm. 103 and 104, where the second violin part notes Cs to Cn should probably be Gs to A so that
the orchestral texture moves up in bare consecutive fourths as indicated by Bartók.
36. This was unjustified. None of the revisions include Serly’s extended measures. As well as ex-
tending the material and modulating, Serly also redistributes the notes in the solo part so as to pro-
duce simultaneous octaves, rather than the broken octaves indicated by Bartók. Evidence is given in
chapter 3 to show that Primrose played a significant role in altering this passage.
several repetitions of passages and extensions were added by me in the orchestra version
with his full sanction.37
Let us also recall Bartók’s letter to Primrose about certain adjustments he was prepared
to make. See letter to Primrose in printed score.38
For this I hope I may be forgiven, although I ponder what the reaction would now be,
were these four measures to be omitted.39
Thus, without intent to over-dramatize this final portion of Bartók’s posthumous Vi-
ola Concerto, here truly, the manuscript indicated to me beyond question Bartók’s desper-
ate effort to get on with the end. One needs only to glance through the lower half of the
manuscript’s final page (p. 13) to note the feverish urge that seemed to drive Bartók in-
eluctably on to the successful completion of the last five bars.
37. It is of course speculative to assume Bartók would have approved of this particular transgres-
sion, but given the circumstance at the very closing phrase and the interruptive nature of the insertion,
it would seem highly unlikely that Bartók would have approved of this solution. This is discussed more
fully in chapters 6 and 8.
38. In the letter referred to here (shown in chapter 1), the adjustments Bartók mentioned would have
been related to technical difficulties for the violist, not aspects of the concerto’s structure, in which
Primrose would certainly have been of no help.
39. In all three revisions these measures have been omitted, and to date every violist and reviewer
encountered by the author has noted that the ending is far more convincing without Serly’s added
measures.
Chapter Three
Première and Publication
An Account of the Events of 1945–49
That Lead up to the First Performance
This chapter is presented in four parts. First, the issue of the cello ver-
sion is examined. Second, the administrative matters that pertain to this period are
outlined. Third, the circumstances that surrounded the read-through by Burton
Fisch and David Soyer are examined. Fourth, the involvement of William Primrose
in the finalizing of musical details is investigated in depth.
The Cello Version

After completing his work on the Viola Concerto, Tibor Serly notified the trustee
of the Bartók Estate, Victor Bator, in a letter on December 19, 1947, that the work
was completed and written out for either viola or cello.1 The circumstances of the
existence of this cello version have often been misunderstood. In his “Belated Ac-
count . . .” article, Serly throws some light on this issue (extracts from this article are
reprinted by permission of the College Music Symposium, © College Music Soci-
ety 1975):
Now, to rectify the question of the “cello version,” referred to as follows in Stevens’ biog-
raphy (p. 253): “Although it had been commissioned by William Primrose, because of ‘ap-
parently insurmountable difficulties’ with the Bartók estate, he had given up hope of re-
ceiving it when, in January, 1950, Ernest Ansermet told him that the Concerto was being
rewritten for violoncello.” But the facts behind the rumour of a cello version of the Viola
Concerto are more involved than this brief statement implies. After I had examined the
manuscript thoroughly (October, 1945 and into 1946), it occurred to me that, in view of
Bartók’s statement to Primrose, “Most probably some passages will prove uncomfortable
or unplayable” (and indeed here were such), and remembering Bartók’s setting of his own
Rhapsody No.1 for both violin and cello (1928), I decided from the start that I would work
on a double version, one for viola and another for violoncello. And so, when both versions
were simultaneously completed in the fall of 1948, I immediately arranged for a violist and
cellist among my friends to learn the concerto. The two fine young artists who volunteered
turned out to be Burton Fisch, violist, and David Soyer, cellist, with the excellent pianist,
the late Lucy Brown, providing the reduced orchestra accompaniment. An evening was
arranged at my New York studio to which sixteen relatives, friends, admirers, and musi-
cians, all of whom were close to Bartók, were invited to listen and give their views. They
were requested to jot down on a piece of paper which version they favored, the viola or
cello. If my memory serves me well, surprisingly the vote was eight to six in favor of the
cello version, and two did not wish to commit themselves. In any case, though this may now
seem paradoxical the cello received the slightly higher vote. Nevertheless, it was later rightly
decided that the original agreement with William Primrose be honored.
The reader is also reminded of Serly’s letter to Victor Bator in which he states:
In my opinion, this Viola Concerto is in some respects the greatest work that has come
from the master’s pen and I think superior to the last Piano Concerto. It is only fair, how-
ever, to warn you that a concerto for Viola Solo is not very popular with conductors nor
from a practical standpoint, with publishers. It is a tragic shame that the same masterful ge-
nius of Bartok’s last months was not put into a more popular instrument such as a violin
or cello.
Primrose remembers things quite differently in an interview with David Dalton

(printed in full and annotated later in this chapter):
I don’t recall Ansermet’s having told me this. I remember having heard it through the
grapevine. The concerto was being peddled around; I think the estate was simply looking
for a larger commission. They approached a very well-known cellist who could afford to
pay a higher sum. It was only because I had the letter that I could force them to stick to the
original bargain.
To an inquiry to David Soyer regarding this matter the author received the fol-
lowing response: “Gregor Piatagorsky heard the recording and offered a larger sum
for the first rights than Primrose had, but Primrose objected strongly and threat-
ened to sue. He (Primrose) was given all rights for, I believe, one year.”
On February 2, 1951, William Primrose wrote to Peter Bartók, requesting an ex-
tension to the exclusive rights to performances. The letter in response to this, from
Victor Bator (trustee of the Bartók Estate), dated February 20, 1951, indicated that
the original exclusivity lasted until the end of 1951. In this letter, Bator agreed to
extend the rights to the end of the 1953/54 season. This agreement excluded per-
formances in Europe but did extend recording exclusivity everywhere.
Before I leave the subject of the cello version, the letter from Bator to Primrose
dated April 30, 1953 (figs. 3.1a and b), is worthy of inclusion. This clearly puts on the
record the position of the Bartók Estate on this matter and highlights a number of
apparent misunderstandings that surround the cello version:
Première and Publication : 55
30 East 72nd Street

New York City
April 30, 1953
Dear Mr Primrose,
I assume that you have seen the book of Halsey Stevens, THE LIFE AND MUSIC OF
BELA BARTOK.
In that book on page 253 I read the following passage.
“Although, it had been commissioned by William Primrose, because of apparently

insurmountable difficulties with the Bartok estate he had given up hope of receiving it when, in
January 1949, Ernest Ansermet told him that the concerto was being rewritten for vio-
loncello. Through the efforts of Ralph Hawkes, who assured him that “morally” the work was his,
Primrose had the score in his hands in the early summer of 1949, and gave the first per-
formance in Minneapolis the following December with Antal Dorati conducting.”
I immediately wrote to Halsey Stevens and asked him where he got that information.
His answer was that he got it from you, more specifically out of a letter written by you on
May 16, 1950, as follows:
“A few days later I heard from Ralph Hawkes that Tibor Serly, Bartok’s great friend
and closest musical associate, had undertaken to decipher the manuscript and make a
score . . . I need not say how faithfully and with what loving care he accomplished this
self-imposed task.
Six months passed and Ralph Hawkes wrote and told me that the score was finished,
but sundry and apparently insurmountable difficulties had arisen with the Bartok estate,
and I confess when I heard this I lost heart and let the whole matter drop.
. . . In January 1949 my train schedule demanded that I spend some hours in Boston,
where I saw . . . my friend, M. Ansermet . . . In the course of conversation he told me
that the Bartok Viola Concerto was being rewritten for cello; I was amazed to hear this
. . . But M. Ansermet assured me it was a fact, and advised me to get in touch with Ralph
Hawkes as soon as possible.
This I did and he confirmed M. Ansermet’s statement; but he said and I quote him:
“morally the work is yours, and if you still want it I will do everything in my power to
see that you obtain it.” This he did. In the early summer of 1949 the work was in my
hands and I spent most of that summer working (on) and memorizing this concerto
which I found to be a sensitive and inspired work, and a real contribution to the litera-
ture of the viola.”
I went through my correspondence with you and with Boosey & Hawkes, permissions
kind. I went through the entire correspondence between the Bartók Estate and Boosey &
Hawkes. Nowhere did I find the slightest sign of any disagreement or any difficulty raised
by me, representing the Estate, regarding the Viola Concerto.
From the time when the editing was done by Serly and was ready, and more especially
from the time when we received the letter of Bartok written to you and you expressed your
willingness to execute the contract between you and Bartok, I had never had the slightest
doubt in my mind that the work was yours if you wanted it. As a matter of fact, though
Serly felt that the work would be just as well edited and orchestrated for cello, I myself
was very firm in my mind that this should not be done, that we shall continue to act the
way as Bartok intended, that is to have it only as a viola concerto . . . and that was the an-
swer I gave to a very outstanding violin-cellist who came to see me regarding the first per-
formance of the work. Using the word “morally” was first done by me toward Ralph
Hawkes. Whatever information Ansermet got regarding the work being rewritten for vi-
oloncello was erroneous. Serly himself never decided in favour of violoncello, and nobody
else did. However he edited it and prepared it for both, and at a rehearsal at his home he
wanted to hear some other people’s opinion including mine. I had no objection against all
this, but from the beginning I was firmly of the opinion that I would never give my con-
sent to anything other than viola.
It is true that there were serious difficulties in the relationship of Boosey & Hawkes to
the Estate and I sued on behalf of the Estate for the dissolution of the contract. That had,
however, nothing whatsoever to do with the Viola Concerto and your relationship to the
Estate.
This is the way I know the facts. I would like to see a letter of Ralph Hawkes or any
other fact refuting this. I hope you will help me straighten out the facts.
I hope you are well and I hope that soon you will be coming to the United States again
and give me the opportunity to see you here.
With best personal regards.
Sincerely
Victor Bator
Mr. William Primrose
c/o Ibbs & Tillet
124 Wigmore Street
London W.1., England
Figure 3.1a
Figure 3.1b
Administrative Matters
Having decided that the work was a viola rather than cello concerto, Serly contin-
ued, in his “Belated Account . . .”:
Subsequently Primrose and I got together. After many sessions spent ironing out technical
details, for which we must all be grateful to him, the premiere was arranged and took place
with the Minneapolis Symphony Orchestra in December of 1949; and, shortly after, the ra-
dio broadcast took place with the NBC Symphony. But previous to the premiere perform-
ances, another delicate question had come up between the Bartók Estate, Boosey and
Hawkes and myself. This was the problem of how the publication should be inscribed. Was
the printed score to read: “Reconstructed by Tibor Serly”?, “Arranged by —”?, “In col-
laboration with —”?, “Posthumously Completed by —”?, etc. It is well known that an
arrangement of another composer’s work commonly receives equal credits such as: Bach-
Stokowski, Moussorgsky-Ravel, etc. In this instance no name recognition is allotted except
in program notes, and radio performances simply list Viola Concerto — Bartók. Be that
as it may, after a number of conferences I was persuaded to accept the phrase, “Prepared
for publication by Tibor Serly.”
The period from July through to December 1949 became somewhat intense with
the associated preparations for presenting the world première. There were logisti-
cal matters of deciding who should conduct, finding an orchestra, finding a suitable
date, promoting the work, and, last but not least, tidying up the score and parts in
preparation for publication after the première performance.
A series of letters between Tibor Serly and various representatives of Boosey &
Hawkes form a valuable source of information through this period.2 Some partic-
ular points of interest are raised by these letters.
The original negotiations for the première would have resulted in Eugene Or-
mandy conducting the Philadelphia Orchestra in late November 1949. The actual
première took place on December 2 and was given by Primrose and the Minneapo-
lis Symphony Orchestra with Antal Doráti conducting.
There was considerable difficulty in finding a wording in the credits on the
printed copy to recognize the contribution of Serly. In particular, the difficulty over
using the word “sketches” is highlighted in the letters to Victor Bator and Tibor
Serly of July 28, 1949, from Betty Bean, at Boosey & Hawkes.3 She rejects Serly’s
suggestion of “Reconstructed and Orchestrated by Tibor Serly” as “extremely ques-
tionable.” She also rejects the use of the word “sketches” and replaces it with “man-
uscript” in her choice of “Prepared for publication from the composer’s original
manuscript by Tibor Serly.”
In Bean’s letter to Serly of July 28, the issue of Mrs. Bartók’s health is raised, im-
plying that it would be unwise to make mention of her psychological state in any
published material: “Unless she is actually certified as being in a complete state of
mental unbalance, it is quite possible that suit for libel could be brought at some
time if it were said that she was not yet recovered from a mental collapse.”
In Bean’s letter to Bator of August 17, 1949, she alludes to the decision by Boosey
& Hawkes to delay publication until well after the première, in anticipation of er-
rors being discovered during the orchestral rehearsals, and also to allow for general
reaction to be taken into account before proceeding: “we are, in a sense, faced with
rather an experiment many points of which will undoubtedly be proven in rehearsal
and performance.”
In Bean’s letter to Bator of September 12, 1949, she refers to the fact that the solo
part in Serly’s full score was still written for solo cello at this late date and expresses
the need for Serly to substitute the solo viola part in the full score.
In a letter from Erwin Stein, chief editor of Boosey & Hawkes, to Betty Bean of
September 22, 1949, reference is made to the addition of Serly’s extra measure of
solo viola (presumably m. 73 in first movement of the B&H 1950 version). This is
of some significance, as it tends to support the view that the late addition of this
measure was strongly encouraged, if not actually suggested, by William Primrose,
who would have been well inside the learning phase of the work at this point in
time. Other comments in this letter refer to discrepancies between the solo viola
part edited by Primrose, the piano reduction, and the full score, the implication be-
ing that Primrose added expression marks, as well as bowing indications.
The Read-through by Burton Fisch and David Soyer

It would appear from a letter from Serly to Bator of January 29, 1948,4 that this
read-through took place on February 7 or 8, 1948. We now also know that a sec-
ond session was held at Peter Bartók’s apartment a short time later and both ver-
sions were recorded by him onto a 78 rpm disk. Burton Fisch has supplied the au-
thor with a copy of his rendition on cassette tape and of the solo viola part from
which he performed. It is now possible therefore to establish exactly the form the
work was in before Primrose received it from Serly. It was at this first gathering that
a vote was taken on whether the work should become a concerto for viola or cello.
David Soyer, cellist, in a letter to the author of November 16, 1996, could not
recall the date but remembered the location as “Tibor Serly’s apartment on W 58
St N.Y, N.Y.” Soyer could not recall all of the audience but did remember Peter
Bartók, Tossy Spivakovsky, Felix Greissle, Ditta Bartók, and Serly & his wife. He re-
membered that it was recorded and thought Peter Bartók had a copy (according to
Burton Fisch it was recorded later at Peter Bartók’s apartment). Soyer still had a
copy of the solo cello part from which he played and recalled: “I probably had the
music a few days before the reading.”
Violist Burton Fisch (photo 1) has provided a clear and comprehensive account
of the events that surrounded the read-through. (Biographical notes about Fisch are
supplied in appendix 4.) The following recollections have been drawn from a se-
ries of letters and an interview recorded by the author at his home in California in
1997 (used by permission of Burton Fisch):
Burton Fisch
In 1948 I was a studio violist at the CBS Radio and TV studios. Dave Soyer was the cel-
list working with me. We were both friends of Tibor Serly, whose music studio was only
about a half a mile from CBS. I was approached by Tibor to see if I would like to learn a
new concerto that he was finishing but for which there wasn’t any financial renumeration.
It was a challenging project and he said it was a première, that no-one had ever played it be-
fore. He said there were a lot of options where you have a chance to do things on your own
without worrying about former performances.
I was honoured to have been selected to learn this new concerto. There were many other
fine violists working in New York City who were not chosen. He told me he was finishing
a work that had never been finished before and I remember he had all kinds of sheets of
music out and he was still working on it. As we were learning the first movement, he was
still working on the last movement. Bartók was not famous at this time, his quartets only
became famous when the Juilliard Quartet started to play them and added them to their
repertoire. I don’t remember ever playing anything by Bartók until that time.
At the time Bartók was becoming slowly established in New York, Burton Fisch was
away in Germany with the armed forces.
If my memory serves me, Dave and I were both given the music in manuscript at the
same time, and we practiced the concerto in our leisure time inasmuch as we worked for
five days at the studio and had families, etc. Separately we went to Tibor to be coached on
most of the work.
At the beginning I had no piano accompaniment. He would pick the viola music apart
saying you know, “let’s hear this and let’s try that,” and technically he didn’t offer any sug-
gestions, just interpretation maybe. He would demonstrate on his own viola to show the
character of the music but didn’t give any fingerings or bowings. He wrote in the slurs but
no fingering. I probably wouldn’t have used it anyhow! I learned from playing and listen-
ing to a conductor asking people in the orchestra what fingering they were playing. They
would answer “well whatever is printed in the score” and he would say “well do you know
who put them in” and the guy would say “no” and the conductor would say “then why play
them, play your own fingering.”
Serly gave just the notes, just the nuances and phrasing, I think phrasing was more im-
portant to him. I remember trying things out maybe an octave higher or an octave lower,
just to see, but I realize from listening to the performance that some of the passages that
go very high, that if it wasn’t possible to do it, we would have probably moved it, at least
to satisfy me, even if not for somebody who might eventually have played it. I remember I
liked the way Dave Soyer played at the very beginning, the downward flourish. At the end
of the first phrase in the very first movement, he made a crescendo with a little accelerando
and whipped off the last note, which to me was very effective. We didn’t really work to-
gether but I remember we played to each other. He would play a part of it and then I would
play part of it and we would listen to one another. After several sessions, Lucy Brown would
accompany us a movement at a time. She was very calm and patient. Tibor’s studio was like
a large living room with a grand piano, overstuffed furniture, throw rugs, high ceiling. He
would occasionally demonstrate how he perceived a passage should be played and when he
finished a phrase playing upbow, he would let his bow fly through the air and land on the
closed piano. It never broke, by the way! He was not then a great violist but his interpreta-
tion of Bartók was terrific. He spent much time composing.
I remember also rehearsing somewhere in mid-town Manhattan at Lucy Brown’s apart-
ment. But it would be only the two of us. I imagine that Dave did the same thing when time
permitted. We had never compared notes or discussed this. I would guess that we had the
music about 8 weeks. I don’t recall ever seeing Tibor more than once a week at the onset.
The technical passages were different from any other literature violists had in that day.
However, they fit well in the left hand and the high areas on the A string were no problem
once they were practised.
I remember an impressive guest attendance at the playing which made me a bit nervous.
Names elude me after so many years. However, there was a famous orchestral conductor
present. It may have been Ernst Ansermet. If I recall, Dave and I were both asked to re-
peat certain sections so that the music could be heard a second time . . .
I don’t think the performance was recorded at that time. I do recall going to Peter Bar-
tok’s apartment at 309 West 57th St., New York, which was in the same area, to make
recordings there with Lucy Brown. I believe we recorded on 78s. To answer your question
about voting procedure, I don’t think the guests at the performance would have voted at
that time because the vote might have reflected on our playing or musical ability. It was
probably decided later on, although I remember more guests liked it for cello.
Of the recording of Burton Fisch and Lucy Brown, it is noteworthy that this
rendition is pre-Primrose, in that not only had Primrose not yet received a copy
of the work, but it was also still undecided whether the work was to be released
as a viola or cello concerto. One can conclude that all interpretive matters were de-
cided between Fisch and Serly and differences between this recording and that of
Primrose were as a result of Primrose’s involvement. In general one can observe
from the Fisch recording that the viola part, as performed by him, is more accu-
rate to the manuscript than that of Primrose. Of particular note is the use of
pizzicato in the three- and four-note chords in the Allegretto section, presumably
an instruction from Serly, as this is not specified in the manuscript. Fisch’s play-
ing is generally of a high order, and while it might not be of the same technical cal-
iber and polish as that of Primrose, it does convey a well-crafted interpretation,
perhaps less suave and romantic, but with a convincing understanding of the folk
element in the music.
After the performance and recording, Fisch’s involvement with the Bartók Vi-
ola Concerto was complete. Apart from occasionally playing through the work in
his private practice, he never performed it again or used it in an audition. Not only
did he not play it again, but also at the time of the interview in 1997 he had not ever
heard the work live or on record performed by anyone else. He had also never seen
a printed part. As such, he is arguably the only violist in the world, who has played
this work, who has not been influenced by William Primrose, even subconsciously,
in his concept of the work: “I never bought a recording, otherwise I would have
compared and found the differences. If I wanted to play it again I would do my
own version with my own music and play it better and more musical as I am older
and more mature than in 1948.”
It is important here to pay a tribute to a truly remarkable man whose role in the
history of the Bartók Viola Concerto has been very understated to the point of al-
most total neglect. This understatement, while it reflects the modesty of Burton
Fisch, must now be rectified, and the viola community needs to be made aware that
we have here an international treasure, a man who was in the very heart of the cir-
cumstances of the Viola Concerto between Bartók’s death in 1945 and the first pub-
lic performance by William Primrose with the Minneapolis Symphony Orchestra
in 1949.
Burton Fisch’s rendition should stand as the only interpretation influenced only
by his own instincts and those of Tibor Serly and David Soyer.
The Involvement of William Primrose

In the Ph.D. thesis of David Dalton, an interview with William Primrose (photo
2) on April 17, 1970, reveals his own recollections of his role in the reconstruction.
Annotation is provided in endnotes where comment is necessary. (The interview is
reprinted by permission of David Dalton.)
dalton: One almost automatically associates your name with the Bartók Viola Concerto,
not only because of the fact that you commissioned the work, but also because of your
splendid recording of the work which remains the definitive one. Do you consider the
Bartók to be one of your more favourite commissions?
primrose: Do you mean musically or financially? In both respects, very much so. Musically
the concerto has been a great success. I am quite sure that I have played it more than any
other concerto, not excepting the Walton concerto. When I commissioned it, Bartók—if
you can believe it—was an obscure composer. He was generally known to musicians, and
he was reviled by the public. Aside from the performances of the Concerto for Orchestra given
by the Boston Symphony Orchestra under Koussevitsky, I don’t recall many other per-
formances of Bartók’s works. When I commissioned the concerto, most people thought I
had made a big mistake, including people in my manager’s office. Who on earth was going
to ask me to play a concerto by Béla Bartók? I paid him what he asked, $1,000, and I played
the concerto well over a hundred times for fairly respectable fees.5 So it was almost like get-
ting in on the ground floor in investing in Xerox or the Polaroid camera. There are other
works that I can think of where the composer asked considerably more, and I have had
practically no performances at all.
dalton: Hindemith might have been a more logical choice for a commission, and Stravin-
sky was certainly far better known. What prompted you to approach Bartók?
William Primrose
primrose: The strong motivation was the Second Violin Concerto. The Menuhin record-
ing came to my attention, and that really planted the seed in my mind. In the case of Hin-
demith, I knew that he was a difficult man to enlist as far as commissions were concerned,
and I was probably influenced by the fact that he had already written four works for viola
and orchestra. Stravinsky I did ask; but he turned it down. He said that he was much too
busy with other commissions at that time.
dalton: Can you then further retrace the steps that led toward the commission, and the
writing of the concerto, as to your personal involvement with the composer?
primrose: I had known Bartók no more than casually since the twenties. I met him when
he visited London, and occasionally after that. I didn’t know much about his music, but
then nobody did.6
(I reflect on the fact, for instance, that although I was a member of the London String
Quartet, which along with the Flonzaley was recognized as the outstanding quartet of the
period, we never ventured a Bartók string quartet. It was unheard of for anyone to play a
Bartók string quartet except, perhaps, the Kolisch Quartet. But they were almost run out
of town for doing it.)
I sought an interview with Bartók in his New York apartment, and told him what I was
after.7 He was quite reluctant, because he felt he didn’t know enough about the possibili-
ties of the viola as a solo instrument. I admired his integrity because at that time he sorely
needed the money. I told him not to make a decision until he had heard the Walton Con-
certo, which I was playing a couple of weeks later in New York with the late Sir Mal-
colm Sargent. He planned to come to the concert, which was on a Sunday afternoon, but
it so happened that that was one of those days when he felt particularly ill, and he couldn’t
come. He did hear the broadcast, however, and was struck with the concerto and the way
that Walton used the viola. He told me that he would definitely accept the commission
and write a viola concerto. Afterwards, in the summer of 1945, I went on a tour of South
America, and I returned with the hope of enjoying the cool and early fall of New Eng-
land. It was my intention to stop on my way north from Philadelphia to see Bartók in
New York City. I had received in Philadelphia a letter from him in which he said that the
concerto was finished in draft, and that all that remained to be done was the orchestra-
tion, which was routine work. But he wanted to see me and discuss it for certain reasons
that he outlined.8
It was raining heavily on that day in New York, and parking became a problem. I
thought that I would drive on to my destination and see him on the way back. (It was a
situation which we all encounter, where we put off until tomorrow . . .) On a beautiful day
about two weeks later, on the way back, I stopped outside New York for lunch, picked up
the [New York] Times and read that Bartók had died the day before.
dalton: If you had had the opportunity to consult with Bartók as he proposed, are there
suggestions you would have made which would have altered the concerto in its present
form?
primrose: There are suggestions which I eventually did make to Mr. Serly. One of them,
which he turned down out of hand — and explained very clearly why he did — concerns
measures 102–7 in the first movement, where the arpeggios are extremely awkward. I sug-
gested a redisposal of the notes. He felt perfectly sure that Bartók himself would not have
accepted the suggestion. (It had to do with the relation of the pitch of the viola accompa-
niment to the solo oboe in the passage.) There are other minor changes, not more than a
half-measure, I believe.9
Of course, in the spirit of performance, I sometimes change a bowing here and there,
which I hope doesn’t insult the phrasing as the composer intended it.10
dalton: Would you say that the passage which you cite was one of the few passages that
was perhaps unplayable, as Bartók put it?
primrose: It is not really unplayable, but it is extremely awkward. It takes an experienced

player, I would say, to put it across.
dalton: Would you describe what you consider to be the proper interpretation regarding
the tempos and accelerando of the second theme, first movement, specifically between
measures 41–52.
primrose: This passage is usually misinterpreted. It is supposed to slow down to almost a

doppio movimento. The indication in the score doesn’t show this. A moment’s study will re-
veal that there is an accelerando which is finalized at measure 52 by a “Tempo primo.” There
must be some give somewhere to prepare that accelerando, and a place where it can com-
mence. Most performances go straight ahead without respect given the accelerando. Nat-
urally, I am influenced by the way I play it, and originally understood it should be played.11
dalton: Halsey Stevens writes in his biography of Bartók that Ernest Ansermet in 1949 in-
formed you that the concerto was being rewritten for cello. Through your own and Ralph
Hawkes’s efforts, it was supposed to have been saved from becoming another opus in the
cello literature. Would you care to add any illuminating details to this incident?
primrose: I don’t recall Ansermet’s having told me this. I remember having heard it through
the grapevine. The concerto was being peddled around; I think the estate was simply look-
ing for a larger commission. They approached a very well-known cellist who could afford
to pay a higher sum. It was only because I had the letter that I could force them to stick to
the original bargain.12
dalton: Stevens offers a less than enthusiastic opinion of the work. Do you in any way
share this appraisal?
primrose: It is difficult to say, as I naturally have a bias toward the Viola Concerto. Cer-
tainly not a bias, however that would denigrate the Violin Concerto, a marvellous work in
my opinion. Peculiarly enough, the Viola Concerto from the beginning was a work which
was very accessible to the public, and probably one of Bartók’s most successful works so
far as public acclaim, acceptability, and number of performances is concerned. I often won-
der if that sort of thing in itself doesn’t arouse the ire, not to say the hackles, of the mu-
sicologist.
dalton: I have heard opinions to the effect that one is hard-pressed to know how much of
the concerto is actually Bartók’s, and how much is Serly’s. What is your viewpoint in this
regard?
primrose: That is difficult to answer. I saw the manuscript shortly after Bartók’s death, at
Mr. Serly’s apartment in New York. I was appalled; I didn’t know how he could get any-
thing out of it. Fortunately, Serly had had experience with Bartók manuscripts before, and
he knew pretty well what Bartók meant by the sort of musical shorthand which he used.
It is my belief that Serly did not add a thing. On the contrary, the manuscript was a type
of jigsaw puzzle, and in my opinion, Serly bent over backwards to eliminate anything that
he was not absolutely sure about. The whole matter was a point which, at the time, I did
not feel compelled to raise. I was looking at it from the point of view of a performer, and
not a researcher. From what I saw, and what eventually did come out in publication, I would
say that Serly didn’t add; he probably subtracted.13
dalton: If you were to perform the concerto today, are there any substantial interpretive
changes you might introduce as compared with the recording?
primrose: I think it is highly likely, but nothing to contravene what I had done originally.
I hope there would be certain refinements in the interpretation. There is some difficulty
in putting over the ending successfully, because it comes so suddenly.14
I find the audience a little unsure if that is the place to applaud or not. It has to be done
in just a certain way, and there has to be a little bit of acting in it, as there should be in all
performances. The audience has to know that that is the end, and a very exciting end.
While it has never been clearly established exactly what part William Primrose
played in bringing the solo viola part to its published form, the markings of fin-
gerings and to some extent bowings would largely have been his. It has been gener-
ally accepted that the actual notes were as dictated by Serly and Primrose was dis-
couraged by Serly from making any modifications. Certainly that is the impression
one has after reading the interviews of the two men. While it cannot be claimed
that the changes assigned to Primrose in the following breakdown can be definitively
attributed to him, it does seem likely that he was involved in decisions to make those
changes and in many cases he was certainly the instigator. There is reason to be-
lieve that Primrose took a considerably greater role than just adding fingering and
bowing and, in fact, altered phrasing and in some instances even notes.
At some point in mid-1949, Primrose received from Serly a working copy of the
concerto (viola and piano reduction) to enable him to begin learning the work in
readiness for the première performance in December of that year. This working
copy was written in Serly’s hand and was as he had conceived the part before Prim-
rose began practicing it. While the evidence may be circumstantial, it is likely that
many changes made between this working copy and the Boosey & Hawkes printed
version of 1950 would have been as a result of Primrose’s suggestions that arose dur-
ing the learning period of the second half of 1949.
Probably most fingering markings on this working copy, which differ from those
in Fisch’s part, are supplied by Primrose. It is unlikely that Serly would have added
suggestions to the part after he and Fisch had worked through the difficulties. The
author of the phrasing or bowing suggestions is less obvious. It is difficult to de-
termine from whose hand a slur originates. It may well be that in some places Serly
left a group of notes separate and Primrose added a slur directly onto the copy, or
perhaps the slurs may all be from Serly. Phrasing discrepancies between the work-
ing part and the final printed version are most likely the result of mutual decisions
between the two men that would have resulted from either Primrose’s reactions in
the learning phase, Serly’s continued efforts to refine the viola part even after giving
it to Primrose, and/or changes being made while the two men were working to-
gether in the final rehearsals.
Discrepancies of notes, however, are more likely to have resulted from Primrose’s
experiencing technical awkwardness during the learning period. Such a case is in
measures 22 and 23 in the first movement, where Primrose substituted a sixteenth-
note rest in place of the Cf, as it is very awkward (but not impossible) to play in the
original version. Another case is in measures 198 to 211 in the last movement, where
Primrose inverts the arpeggiated figure supplied by Serly. As it turns out, this is a
section in which Serly had made considerable changes from the original anyway, so
the issue is somewhat redundant. However, the octave displacements in measures 37,
38, and 39 reflect Serly’s anticipation of technical difficulties for the soloist, and he
did not even offer Primrose the original version. There are several other such ex-
amples of Serly pre-empting Primrose’s ability to play the original version.
Attempts to find copies of any correspondence between Primrose and Serly or
between Primrose and Boosey & Hawkes during this period have been fruitless.
There are some letters between Boosey & Hawkes and Serly (see appendix 3), but
they do not discuss these details.
Courtesy of Peter Bartók, the author is fortunate in having a copy of the work-
ing part sent to Primrose by Serly, and a measure-by-measure comparison of this
solo part with the printed Boosey & Hawkes solo part of 1950 has been undertaken.
To enable the complete evolution of the solo viola part to be fully studied, first the
solo viola part was extracted from the manuscript. Second, directly below this, a fair
transcription of this was created to enable immediate comparison with the final ver-
sion. Third, the working copy that Serly gave to Primrose was added, and fourth,
the final printed version of 1950 was added. These four versions were vertically
aligned, creating a very clear picture of the discrepancies.
Where Bartók crossed out and rewrote the solo part or presented a different ver-
sion in a different place in the manuscript, both versions were presented. In the case
of the opening of the work, there is almost a full page of manuscript (with the
number 1 at the top), which appears to be a first draft. This page is the elusive four-
teenth page referred to earlier, in chapter 1.
It is important to remember that the solo part was extracted from a full sketch
and no definitive conclusions could be drawn without viewing it within the con-
text of the full sketch.
As far as possible, all markings made by Primrose on the working copy were re-
tained, as they provided an indication of the working process as he was learning the
work. As the phrasing, dynamics, and tempo markings came almost entirely from
Serly, it would be pointless to bring attention to the fact that almost every bar is dif-
ferent from the original in one or more of these respects. The focus here is on oc-
tave displacements, changed notes, enharmonic changes, and added measures.
A summary of discrepancies between the Boosey & Hawkes version (1950) and
the manuscript revealed a total of 241 octave displacements, 185 changed notes, 64
enharmonic changes, and 30 added measures. No figures for octave displacements,
changed notes, or enharmonic changes have been included from measures added by
Serly or Primrose. A further breakdown revealed the following:
In the first movement, 71 octave displacements were attributable solely to Serly.
He changed 63 notes and, post-Primrose, a further 15. Serly made 5 enharmonic
changes and added 12 measures. One extra measure was added post-Primrose (in the
cadenza).
In the Lento parlando there are no octave displacements or changed notes, but
there are 40 enharmonic changes and 4 added measures (the bassoon link to the sec-
ond movement), all added by Serly alone.
Similarly, all the changes in the second movement are attributable solely to Serly.
They comprise 11 octave displacements and 3 changed notes.
In the Allegretto section there are no octave displacements or enharmonic
changes. There are 4 notes changed by Serly and an additional 3 post-Primrose. The
question of added measures is complex. It does not affect the solo part, but this is
the point at which the extra measures, included in the Peter Bartók and Erdélyi re-
visions, were left out by Serly. It is unclear how many measures these amount to be-
cause of the ambiguous shorthand used by Bartók, but in any case it is fair to say
that there is a discrepancy here between the manuscript and the printed version.
In the third movement there are 159 octave displacements, of which very proba-
bly Primrose was responsible for 49. There are 97 changed notes, of which 49 were
probably from Primrose. These two figures of 49 refer to the same notes, in that
they were changed and displaced by an octave. There were 18 enharmonic changes
from Serly and an additional one post-Primrose and 13 extra measures added by
Serly.
It can be concluded from this information that while most deviations from the
manuscript can be attributed to Tibor Serly, William Primrose did play a signifi-
cant role in developing the solo viola part away from that given in the manuscript
by Bartók. After Primrose’s involvement, in the first movement a further 15 notes
were reassigned different pitches and an extra measure was added, in the Allegretto
3 notes were changed, and in the third movement 49 notes were changed.
The remaining part of the story, leading up to the world première, lies in the pre-
views and the program of the first performance in Minneapolis on December 2,
1949.15
Chapter Four
Reception
Reaction to the First Fifty Years of the
Bartók/Serly Viola Concerto
The Bartók/Serly Viola Concerto will continue to be performed and

recorded well into the foreseeable future. Having been performed thousands of
times, this version will not easily be pushed aside by revisions, human nature mak-
ing us creatures of habit. However, it is significant that the revisions of Peter Bartók,
Csaba Erdélyi and the author all appeared within three or four years of the fiftieth
anniversary of Bartók’s death, this event perhaps having provided an opportunity to
air new thoughts on the composer’s music in general. In 1995, many commemora-
tions, seminars, colloquia, special recordings, and concerts were devoted to the
memory of Hungary’s most significant composer. Among these special events it was
opportune to review many of the works.
The Viola Concerto was an obvious candidate for review in that another hand
was required to bring the work to a performable state as a complete work. Bearing
this in mind, it seems appropriate to review the reception of the Serly version since
its first public appearance in 1949 and up until the 1990s, when these revisions be-
gan to appear.
The following survey of commentaries, which include concert reviews, articles,
record reviews, and extracts from books, presents a cross section of reactions to the
work, and the deliberate chronological sequence of the references is intended to in-
dicate the effect the passage of time has had on acceptance or nonacceptance of the
concerto into the repertoire as a genuine work of Bartók.
The survey begins with the reactions to the first performances.1 This is followed
by a summary of the commentary by the noted American composer and writer
Halsey Stevens,2 from the early 1950s, and the reaction of Tibor Serly to this com-
mentary.3 Following this is a survey of recording reviews up until 2000, which in-
cludes an article that appeared in the Strad magazine in 1995, and gave a comparative
review of the main recordings to date of the Serly version.4 The chapter concludes
with a summary of comments by the Hungarian musicologist Sándor Kovács.5
Reactions to the First Performances

The reaction of American reviewers to the first performances in Minneapolis and
New York differ considerably from those of the British reviewers of the first per-
formances in Edinburgh and London nine months later (see reviews in appendix 6).
From the glowing praise of the work from the American reviewers, when one is
reading some of the less enthusiastic British responses, one wonders if the same
work is being discussed. Two factors may help explain the apparent divergence of
opinion between the American and British reviewers.
First and foremost, the fact that the published viola and piano version became
available between the American and British debuts meant that the British reviewers
were able to listen in a much more informed manner than had their counterparts
across the Atlantic. The British had had the opportunity to study the work at the
piano. It is noteworthy that this viola and piano score was accepted as the definitive
version and any deviation in performance was seen as a shortcoming.
The second factor may simply have been that the Americans saw the work as be-
ing a proud symbol of patriotism, coming from their recently adopted Hungarian
son, and the British saw it as no more than a work that emanated from a Hungar-
ian refugee, living in New York, whose music had traditionally received a harsh re-
ception in Britain in the 1920s and ’30s. There is also a noticeable difference in tone
of music criticism at this time between the more promotional American style and
the more dispassionate British style.
The world première was given by the Minneapolis Symphony Orchestra with
William Primrose as soloist and Antal Doráti conducting. In the review that ap-
peared in the Musical Courier (author not identified), the comments are only posi-
tive and quite plainly enthusiastic:
The work reveals great conciseness . . . The first section is tightly woven, in the character-
istic idiom of the later Bartók, pithy, rhythmically intricate, and imbued with a spirit that
suggests Hungarian folk music. The second movement is a Lento, calm and lofty, with that
withdrawn and almost eerie quality which much of this composer’s music evokes. The fi-
nale is a highly complex and spirited one, with infectious rhythms and whirlwind bowing
required of the soloist. The work came to a conclusion of great power and brilliance.
The reception by this reviewer is reinforced by that of the writer for Tempo: A
Quarterly Review of Modern Music (also not identified) who surveys the reactions of
other North American reviewers who go even further in their praise, virtually claim-
ing the work to be Bartók’s crowning achievement:
As Bartok’s last artistic testament it pretty well sums up his life work. It has the fertile,
primitive folk element which he cultivated so intensively, the technical sophistication of
a master, the deep sincerity and integrity of his soul and the tremendous fecundating
power of his imagination, which brought forth rich, flowering growths from simple, ger-
minal ideas . . .
Reception : 73
The Concerto itself seems one of Bartok’s most concise and at the same time one of his
most communicative works. Its three movements, lasting but 20 minutes, are all muscle, a
marvel of compression allowing nevertheless for lyric lines of unusual poignancy, a feel-
ing of space even, and a complete expression and development of what Bartok wanted to
say.
Two months later Primrose gave the second performance of the Viola Concerto,
this time in New York with the NBC Orchestra conducted by Ernest Ansermet.
The review by Olin Downes in the New York Times was totally enthusiastic from the
aspect of the performance:
He [Primrose] played superbly, not merely with his famed precision and virtuosity, but one
would say at a first hearing with the warmest and most penetrating understanding of the
composer’s purpose. Fortunate the composition which can benefit by such a protagonist,
in combination with such a reading of the score as was afforded by Mr. Ansermet.
However, there are hints of reservations as to the absolute authenticity of Serly’s

realization:
It is clearly and effectively orchestrated, whether the orchestration is or is not exactly what
Bartók intended . . .
One does ask whether, in the course of the wholly scrupulous and respectful treatment
which Tibor Serly has given the score in putting it together with the orchestra on the basis
of the rough draft of the work which Bartók sent Mr. Primrose (for whom he wrote the
piece) just before his death in 1945, we have the concerto exactly as the composer intended.
For Mr. Serly had a terrible task to make out exactly what Bartók intended from the man-
uscript which Bartók sent the violist.
One has the impression of a highly practical and playable version of the Bartók score,
and possibly, of elisions and clarifications which may or may not be precisely in accord with
the composer’s innermost intention. What better could have been done under the circum-
stances? As a result we have a concerto perhaps less radical in its harmony and its instru-
mentation than Bartók intended, and, possibly for these very reasons, easier to take on at
first hearing than the precise concept that he had in mind . One cannot go further on these
points, and indeed should not. As the score has emerged, Mr. Primrose has an immediately
palatable viola concerto, and Mr. Serly has done a musicianly job.
These comments, while expressing reservation, are not specific criticisms of the
work but rather speculation that all might not be as it should, simply because of the
circumstances of the reconstruction. Taken in its full context, this is really a quite
enthusiastic response, and Downes views the work favorably alongside the Violin
Concerto No. 2:
The concerto proved pronouncedly agreeable and much less problematic at a first hear-
ing than, for example, the violin concerto, which is a more extended and probably pro-
founder composition. But the first movement of the viola concerto is the biggest and bold-
est of the three in its harmonic fracture. . . . The second movement is short, poetical, in a
romantic vein. In the dance finale Hungarian rhythms share the stage with others which
could easily be derived from American jazz.
On September 2, 1950, the Viola Concerto was given its European première at
the Edinburgh Festival. This performance was given with by the Hallé Orchestra
with Sir John Barbirolli conducting. The review in the Times attributed to “Our Spe-
cial Correspondent,” while still with some reservation, is notable for its generosity
of enthusiastic adjectives:
Formally there are distinctions, in that the typically symmetrical ideas proliferate continu-
ously, in such a way as almost to break down the artificial barriers of “first and second
group.” The second movement, an Adagio religioso, recapitulates both its sections simul-
taneously with highly felicitous effect. What is most striking in this concerto is the translu-
cency of the texture which always allows a prominent sound to the soloist, and often ap-
proaches the character of chamber music, though the medium-sized orchestra is sonorously
exploited. A glowing serenity is the salient characteristic of this concerto, which may not
add cubits to Bartók’s artistic stature, but which completes most movingly the tale of his
last creative phase.
Three days later, Primrose appeared in London for a performance with Basil
Cameron and the London Philharmonic Orchestra. For the first time, the actual
quality of performance received criticism:
Mr. Primrose gave a dazzlingly brilliant reading—after all, the work was written for him!
But one would have wished for less streamlining and more rhapsodical warmth and pas-
sion. To both soloist and conductor (Basil Cameron) I would recommend a week’s diet of
Szegedin goulash, with plenty of Paprika in it, and bottles of Tokay to wash it down when-
ever Bartók is in their programme. The L.P.O. was hardly up to its usual standard.
The author of the following extract from the review in the Musical Times, ac-
knowledged only as M.C., had the least enthusiastic formal response to the concerto
to date and was the first writer to openly declare the work to be below the standard
of earlier works, even going so far as to say that the Piano Concerto No. 3 is also
inferior to Bartók’s earlier works:
The work cannot be regarded as Bartók at his best and it lets you down in the finale, the tech-
nical brilliance of which is unable to conceal the lack of inventive and structural distinction.
To my mind it is the sombre eloquence of only parts of the first movement and the deeply-
felt prayer of the second which save the work from being wholly second-rate Bartók. Rightly
or wrongly we judge an artist by his best creations, or to vary a saying of Wordsworth’s, a
composer creates the values by which he is to be appreciated. These values Bartók has given
us, so far as his concerto style is concerned, in the second piano concerto and the violin con-
certo. From these there is, as every serious admirer of the Hungarian master will have to ad-
mit, a noticeable descent to the third piano concerto and the viola work.
Reception : 75
The commentary that appeared in Music and Letters in the January 1951 issue, writ-
ten by W. S. Mann, gives a well-informed response, based on access to the printed
score. However, while the musical observations are perceptive, his knowledge of the
circumstances that led to Serly’s involvement is less reliable. His assertion that “in
part he [Serly] was persuaded by William Primrose” to take on the project seems
highly unlikely, given that there is no known correspondence between Serly and
Primrose until the work was more or less completed and also given that Serly was
well along the track of turning the work into a cello concerto before Primrose in-
tervened and “saved” the work as a viola concerto. There is no evidence to support
the claim that he was involved in the negotiations to persuade Serly to undertake the
work in the first instance.
Mann suggests that there are three approaches that can be taken when a com-
poser dies leaving an unfinished work:
The simplest is to leave it alone, as an object of pious regret. . . . The second is, when pos-
sible, to complete the dead man’s design without adding matter not of his own composi-
tion. The third is for a musician who was in close contact with the composer’s mind at the
time of the composition, to treat the uncompleted manuscript according to the ideals
known to have been in that creative mind.
Mann then suggests that Serly chose the second of these options, and indeed that
is the impression that Serly would have wished to convey, according to his various
statements regarding his work. Certainly his comments in the interview with David
Dalton would reinforce this point. However, as the comparison of the manuscript
and Serly’s score reveals, the truth of the matter is that his work really reflects his
position to be somewhere between the second and third scenarios. Without access
to the original sketches, William Mann had no choice but to accept Serly’s word.
Mann’s statement that “there must still be gnawing in Serly’s conscience the re-
alization that a composer will go on adding to his work until the last note, the dy-
namic marking and phrasing have been set down in ink on the definitive score —
particularly when the composer is as scrupulously minded as was Bartók” also
indicates that Serly had convinced him that the markings of such details were from
Bartók, but we know now that in fact Bartók left virtually no phrasing markings and
no dynamics. His assertions regarding the relationship of the Lento parlando to the
first and second movements and his observations regarding the placement of a par-
ticular tempo and rhythm and note corrections are obviously derived from his ob-
servations of the discrepancies between the printed score and the live rendition of
Primrose. Access to the manuscript reveals that neither version is necessarily accu-
rate. In spite of the reservations expressed by Mann, his overall comment is never-
theless very positive: “Once accepted in the form that has found performance, and
the compulsion, the coherence of the music follow like a charm. The solo writing
is of great brilliance and lyrical warmth. The orchestration, Serly’s own work, tells
superbly. It is a deeply moving work.”
In summing up the section on reactions to the early performances, the follow-

ing article is included purely to convey the negative attitude, which was not un-
common in the 1950s, toward the viola as a solo instrument:
First Performances
The Viola as Prima Donna and Other Improbabilities
The diverse efforts of Mozart, Berlioz, Hindemith, Walton, Arthur Benjamin, “Handel-
Barbirolli” and others have succeeded in convincing us that the best viola concerto is one
which isn’t really a concerto, and that the fingerboard of the viola ought to be cut off, un-
til further notice, at a point to be determined by a Committee of Chamber Musicians, but
none too near the regions of the eternal resin. Only thus will the viola cease to lead into
temptation. Meanwhile, painstaking musicological research has unearthed the inspirations,
primary as well as pre-disposing, which make for a viola concerto. They are precisely four.
The first inspiration is that the composer is fond of playing the viola. The second is that
Paganini wants a viola concerto. The third is that Primrose wants a viola concerto. The
fourth is that nobody. least of all the composer, wants a viola concerto, but that he hopes
that once it’s there someone will want it, since there are so few viola concertos. As for “ex-
ploring the virtuoso possibilities of the instrument,” there aren’t any, unless you want to
change the viola’s character, which nowadays isn’t at all difficult, though Mozart has done
far more in this direction than you with your whimpering and whining viola parts, simply
by tuning the instrument up half a tone. If, however, you think that exploring impossibil-
ities will give you ideas, you ought to turn to the saxophone, which offers the richest vari-
ety of them; or, since these have been dealt with by Ibert and Phyllis Tate, you might try a
concerto for cow-horn. At least this wouldn’t tempt you to throw in strings of semiquavers
whenever you thought that virtuosity was called for—a game in which almost all modern
composers of concertos for the violin family indulge. Beethoven started it, and indeed, with
the deepest admiration for the content of the violin concerto, I do not find much reason
to consider it a violin concerto. In our own time, the sense of the genuinely virtuosic pos-
sibilities of the violin family has largely been lost (for reasons that in my opinion lie ulti-
mately in the development of harmony), which in part accounts for people’s increasing
readiness to write viola concertos. I personally would propose to every composer who
writes a string concerto, including the greatest geniuses, to re-study the Mendelssohn which
qua violin concerto has remained unequalled, and which incidentally goes to support Hin-
demith’s discerning suggestion to Stravinsky, who is not a violinist, that his lack of execu-
tive ability, far from being a hindrance, would actually be “a very good thing” for writing
a violin concerto.
Bartók’s last work does not seem to lessen the improbability of the viola concerto; even
the would-be brilliant semiquavers are all there, in the last movement. At the same time
the chief problem of the Concerto, which in places one hardly recognizes as Bartók (let
alone the great Bartók), is more fundamental: should this music have been published at all?
Reception : 77
Was the composer’s MS sufficiently complete and clear for Tibor Serly to realize so much
as the master’s bare formal intentions? It was one thing for Serly to decipher and score the
last 17 bars of the 3rd piano Concerto, and another to attempt surmounting the immense
difficulties with which the state of the present manuscript presented him. In his dilemma
he chose the honourable alternative of doing too little rather than too much, but to my
mind, nothing would have been best. I am well aware of the score’s great moments (such
as the opening of the slow movement); my criticism springs from nothing but my respect
for Bartók’s genius, convinced as I am that he would not have welcomed the publication
of the score as it now stands. To take one blatant example: what is the function of the last
movement’s second episode (the one over the A-E drone, based on the first movement’s first
subject)?
If someone had told me that I would find Elisabeth Lutyens’ Viola Concerto immea-
surably more satisfying than Bartók’s, I should have laughed in his face — which goes to
warn us of even our most justified prejudices.6
Scholarly Commentary
The first and still today considered one of the most authoritative commentaries to
appear on the concerto was that of Halsey Stevens. At the time of writing The Life
and Music of Béla Bartók in the early 1950s, Stevens had not seen the full manuscript
and so one might feel tempted to forgive him for any comments that would change
in light of detailed observation. However, in a letter to David Dalton of March 6,
1970, Stevens stated:
Before writing about the Bartók concerto I had seen photostat reproductions of a part of
the manuscript, but not the whole work. Since publication, of course, I have seen photo-
stats of the entire concerto; my opinion of it was not changed thereby.
Please remember me to Mr. Primrose, whose splendid performance of the Bartók con-
certo should have convinced me — if anything could — that it is comparable to the [sec-
ond] violin concerto.7
Stevens’s comments on the Viola Concerto came a relatively short time after the
early performances and are remarkable for their perception and understanding of
the complexities in reconstructing the concerto, considering that he had only Serly’s
word on the details of the work involved and the circumstances that led to his in-
volvement (excerpts reprinted by permission of Oxford University Press):
Tibor Serly’s task in reconstructing the Viola Concerto from the confused sketches that
Bartók left at his death placed upon him a very great responsibility. He has recounted how
difficult that task was: although Bartók considered the Concerto complete, needing only
the “purely mechanical work” of orchestration with the possibility of slight reconsidera-
tion here and there on the grounds of playability, the draft was notated on odd bits of man-
uscript paper in such a way that the intended sequence was by no means apparent. Earlier
sketches appeared on some of the same pages; there were no page numbers nor movement
indications, and, most discouraging of all, Bartók wrote over passages instead of erasing
them, with the result that parts of the score were almost illegible.
The printed score bears the notation, “Prepared for publication from the composer’s
original manuscript” by Tibor Serly. This is obviously an understatement; in all fairness
to Serly he must be credited with not only the editing but the orchestration and, in fact, the
reconstruction of the Concerto.
Although it had been commissioned by William Primrose, because of “apparently in-
surmountable difficulties” with the Bartók estate he had given up hope of receiving it when,
in January 1949, Ernest Ansermet told him that the Concerto was being rewritten for vio-
loncello. Through the efforts of Ralph Hawkes, who assured him that “morally” the work
was his, Primrose had the score in his hands in the early summer of 1949, and gave the first
performance in Minneapolis the following December with Antal Doráti conducting.8
Stevens’s now famous statement that “Primrose considers the Viola Concerto a
sensitive and inspired work and a real contribution to the literature of the viola. It
would be pleasant to record that it is Bartók’s crowning achievement; it is, unfor-
tunately nothing of the kind”— became one of the points Serly seized on when he
wrote his “Belated Account . . .” article over twenty years later.
Stevens’s comments on specific aspects in the Viola Concerto that failed to dis-
play the genius of Bartók took the perception of the work to a new level, well be-
yond the understanding of most contemporary reviewers. Here was a writer, well
steeped in the whole of Bartók’s oeuvre, who was able to identify weaknesses even
without direct access to the manuscript and without the wealth of research into
Bartók’s compositional processes that is available to scholars today.
Stevens’s observations on the first movement demonstrate more than a casual
study of the score:
Both thematic facture and working-out seem perfunctory. Certain sections are like carica-
tures of pages written more strikingly elsewhere: the twisting triplet passage, measures
41–50, is a distant relative of similar lines in the Second Piano Concerto and the Violin
Concerto, but without their vitality and conviction. Even the canonic writing, so largely en-
trusted with the elements of suspense and culmination in Bartók’s music, becomes dry and
somewhat scholastic here. The architectural integration, always before so carefully calcu-
lated, is incomplete and such thematic inter-references as occur seem intrinsic.9
It is noteworthy that Stevens was suspicious of the thirty-second notes in the sec-
ond movement, yet without the knowledge that in fact these notes were added by
Serly or at least borrowed from the Piano Concerto No. 3:
The second movement, an Adagio religioso like that of the Third Piano Concerto, lacks
the distinctiveness of its counterpart. A simple ternary form, it encloses within two ex-
tremely tenuous sections, in which the solo is provided with only the barest essentials of an
accompaniment, an agitated outburst in which both the piangendo motive of the viola and
Reception : 79
the supporting thirty-second note scales seem borrowed from the Fifth String Quartet,
where they were much more effectively employed.10
In his response to Stevens’s comments, in his “Belated Account . . .” article, Serly

asserts that the Finale was the least complete movement in the sketches, yet Stevens
claims this to be the most authentic-sounding movement. While these statements
are apparently paradoxical, it could well be that both men are correct. The Finale
was the least complete in some respects, but that could also reflect the fact that the
intention here was clearer than in the first two movements. It is rhythmically and
harmonically simpler than the first movement and, due to its dancelike character,
was most probably intended to be texturally more transparent. Stevens’s impression
that the Finale is truncated may also be as a result of the way Serly rewrote the end-
ing with an orchestral insertion of four bars that interrupts the solo viola, causing
a delay in its final statement and leaving it only a fragment of its melody to bring
the work to a close. Stevens would not have been aware of this transgression on
Serly’s part. (This is discussed at some length in chapters 5 and 6.)
It is only in the finale that one feels a trace of authenticity. It is a dance-movement in the
flavor of many of Bartók’s last movements, with a character of “moto perpetuo,” folk-
inspired. Its themes are lively and rhythmic; and here at last Serly has let the orchestra be
heard. The Trio is a bagpipe-tune remotely related to the main theme of the first move-
ment. The only really serious fault of the movement is its extreme brevity: the four and a
half minutes it occupies leave an impression of truncation, and one would gladly have it
continued for as long again, since it is by far the shortest of the three.11
It was Stevens’s view that Serly had possibly taken Bartók’s indication that “the
orchestration will be rather transparent” too literally in the first and second move-
ments: “Whether the extremely sparing instrumentation which Serly has provided,
taking his cue from Bartók’s statement . . . is responsible for more than a slight
overemphasis on this rarefaction is another unanswerable question.”12 With regard
to the large-scale structure, Stevens expresses concern about the use of the Inter-
ludes:
The three movements of the Concerto are connected by interludes, the first in the style of
a cadenza (though there is also a cadenza before the reprise), the second with energetic
fourth-chords over a waddling quasi-ostinato in sevenths and fourths. Despite this device
the movements appear disconnected. . . . The interludes of the Viola Concerto . . . have
no cumulative function, and their use appears arbitrary rather than purposeful.13
This reservation is pertinent to the discussion in chapters 5 and 6. In the case

of the first Interlude, it is this author’s belief that the section is wrongly placed. In
the case of the second Interlude, this is the precise point in the score at which all
three revisions differ from one another and from the Serly score. It is not surpris-
ing that Stevens found difficulty over this section. In spite of the lack of access to
the manuscript, Stevens’s contribution to the debate on the Viola Concerto in its
early years is truly remarkable and his closing comments are important to bear in
mind when evaluating the work alongside Bartók’s masterworks: “The defects of
the Viola Concerto—aside from any inadequacies that may have resulted from its
completion by another hand — no doubt betray the painful circumstances of its
composition.”14
The appearance of Stevens’s book was obviously eagerly awaited by Bartók fol-
lowers and was naturally of great consequence to Serly. Although it took over
twenty years for Serly to respond publicly to Stevens’s comments, he did in fact, in
1975, publish an article under the well-known “Belated Account . . .” title, which was
a response to general criticisms over the first twenty-five years but particularly took
issue with many of Halsey Stevens’s comments, which Serly obviously considered
ill-informed.
The Following Decades

From the mid-1950s through until the 1980s the debate about the issues that sur-
rounded the Viola Concerto subsided, and during this period the work became
popular with music colleges and among professional violists. This resulted in many
hundreds of performances with piano in student recitals and with student and pro-
fessional orchestras, which led to its becoming standard and, indeed, expected fare
at all reputable viola competitions and orchestral auditions.
The issue of authenticity again raised its head in 1980, in the review by Tim Alps
of Daniel Benyamini’s recording.15 This assessment of the work is among the harsh-
est and is reminiscent of the opinions of Halsey Stevens. While in general the com-
ments are well informed and perceptive, one is left with the impression that Tim
Alps did not have the opportunity to view the manuscript in detail. His comments
regarding the sequence of the sketches and which sketches belong to which move-
ment show a lack of knowledge of the manuscript. As to his comments that ideas
were culled from other works, this cannot be attributed to Serly, as the only new ma-
terial he introduced was the “night music” from the Third Piano Concerto, a work
not mentioned by Alps. Any similarities to other works must be conscious or un-
conscious devices of Bartók himself and are hardly surprising in any composer who
has established a personal language and idiom. With a full knowledge of the man-
uscript, it is in the opinion of this author a little severe to describe the work as “a
viola concerto by Tibor Serly in the style of Bartók, based on Bartók themes,” and
in fact gives Serly much more compositional credit than is due. In spite of his
somewhat negative attitude to the work, Alps does concede that
this new recording by the brilliant violist Daniel Benyamini, ably supported by the Or-
chestre de Paris under Daniel Barenboim, does the work the best possible service. Benyamini
is dazzling in his upper register and has a penetrating tone on the lower strings when he
needs it, but in the Adagio Religioso he plays with great warmth and sensitivity.
Reception : 81
The review of Pinchas Zukerman’s recording with Leonard Slatkin and the St.
Louis Symphony Orchestra in the December 1991 issue of Classical Music makes no
mention of the issue of authenticity. In fact, it almost lays the blame of its only crit-
icism at the work’s previous performances:
Deciphered and finished after Bartók’s death by Tibor Serly, [it] often sounds a bit tenta-
tive and even incomplete. Not here. This is a simple, moving, and deep performance by a
fine violinist turned master violist, aided and abetted by the very excellent Leonard Slatkin
and his Saint Louis forces, arguably now one of our first-rank orchestras.16
In his review of Tabea Zimmermann’s recording in 1994, Robin Stowell highly

commends the playing but once again focuses on the perceived shortcomings of the
work itself:
Each of these concertos has strong melodic roots in folk song. Neither work represents
its composer at his best. Hindemith’s Concerto is arguably the more successful but has
never captured for itself a firm niche in the repertory. Bartók’s Concerto, completed after
the composer’s death by his pupil Tibor Serly, is an uneven and unbalanced work whose
movements seem disconnected despite the inclusion of interludes for unification purposes.
Tabea Zimmermann gives highly commendable, powerful accounts of both works, prov-
ing herself more than equal to their considerable demands of technique and interpretation.
Her performance of the Bartók is particularly laudable. With her intelligent and sensitive
musicianship she imparts to the first movement a convincing sense of architecture, con-
tributes some wonderfully expressive playing in the Andante religioso and responds to the
dance-like character of the finale with appropriate rhythmic alertness.17
In 1995 the Strad magazine published an article entitled “A Swan-song never fin-
ished,” which was a survey of all the available recordings of the Viola Concerto to
date. This survey by David Denton included recordings by violists William Prim-
rose, Wolfram Christ, Tabea Zimmermann, Rivka Golani, Raphael Hillyer, and
Pinchas Zukerman and by Yo-Yo Ma (alto violin) and János Starker (cello). This
is a purely comparative survey of the actual performances, and the only reference to
the work’s authenticity comes in Denton’s brief statement:
The task of constructing the work was left to Bartók’s friend Tibor Serly. The result is a
masterpiece of the viola repertoire, although Serly was the first to acknowledge that we shall
never know what the composer would have eventually made of his sketches.
Serly and Primrose subsequently recorded the work for the World Record Club label
(not released on CD). The significance of that performance is the number of times it di-
verged from the score.18
In the July 2000 issue of Gramophone, in a review of Kim Kashkashian’s recording

of the Serly version of the concerto, Rob Cowan comments:
More controversial was the decision to remove the bird-song woodwind flourishes that had
been added to the middle section of the second movement. Having lived with both versions
for some time, I re-affirm my loyalty to Serly. That he employed a composer’s intuition to
delve beyond the notes, adding material wherever he felt the need, increases my confidence
in his work. Those flourishes are fully in line with the many wind-topped “night music”
passages found elsewhere in Bartók’s concertos and I’m troubled by their absence.19
In The Bartók Companion, Sándor Kovács, the noted Hungarian Bartók scholar, is
author of the chapter devoted to the final concertos. No newcomer to the Viola
Concerto, Kovács had previously published excellent articles about the work. With
the advantage of over four decades of accumulated knowledge since Halsey Stevens’s
book, we are treated in those articles to a probing and scholarly assessment of Serly’s
work. In this chapter Kovács discusses at some length structural considerations in
the Viola Concerto and investigates the problems that faced Serly. As we are now
dealing with issues of reception, the following extracts deal with this aspect and also
allude to possibilities for the future (by permission Faber and Faber):
Grave reservations can certainly be admitted concerning this composition, which was re-
constructed by Tibor Serly and premiered four years after Bartók’s death, although it is clear
that, whatever its status, this work has irrevocably become part of the concert repertoire
over the last four decades. . . . Asked whether the Concerto was ready, Bartók’s answer was
laconic, yet puzzling: “Yes and No.”
How far it was “yes” and how far “no” remained a puzzle for a long time for musicol-
ogists. The manuscript was not accessible for research, and the only information about the
reconstruction came from what Tibor Serly wrote in the score’s Foreword and in various
interviews and articles. A contradictory picture emerged of the work: on the one hand the
composition seemed “strange” and, in many respects, unBartókian; on the other hand, in
the absence of decisive counter-evidence, Serly’s declaration that the work was essentially
an opus of Bartók had, at least provisionally, to be accepted. Many people tried to resolve
the dilemma by suggesting that Bartók’s creative powers had perhaps started to decline to-
wards the end, and that he had used up all his remaining energy on the Piano Concerto,
which was nearer to his heart. During a short visit to Hungary in 1963, Serly presented a
photocopy of the thirteen-page draft manuscript to the Budapest Bartók Archive and fi-
nally, more scientific analysis of the work became possible. Recently, László Somfai’s thor-
ough analysis of the original manuscript safeguarded in the United States has opened a fur-
ther level of research . . .
In summary, the Viola Concerto played in concerts today is not an authentic composi-
tion of Bartók. In fact, Serly undertook an impossible task. Given such a contradictory and
incomplete manuscript he could not, despite the best of intentions, produce a work com-
parable to the greatest compositions of Bartók. None the less, he could have produced a
more appealing, better-proportioned and more skilful version. Perhaps in the not so dis-
tant future the possibility for such a version will present itself. As the hopes for publication
of Bartók’s manuscript in facsimile form brighten, it is not unimaginable that a fertile dis-
cussion will be provoked amongst musicologists, similar to that of past years in connection
Reception : 83
with Mozart’s Requiem. Just as there continue to be new versions of Mozart’s final work,
so too can a new, more convincing version of Bartók’s Viola Concerto be produced.20
As we now are firmly in a post-Serly/Bartók era in which we are able to hear both
the Serly/Bartók version and the Peter Bartók/Bartók revision in public concerts
worldwide and at least one other revision in Australasia, the complexities of re-
viewing this work will multiply in proportion to the number of different solutions
to the many issues of authenticity.
Chapter Five
Some Aspects of Structure
Examination of Form and Possible
Presence of the Fibonacci Series
This chapter examines large-scale structure, structure within each of the

three main movements, and the significance of proportion.
Large-scale Structure
In considering any version of the Viola Concerto, the aspects of structure within
this work and comparison with other similar works is essential in coming to plau-
sible conclusions regarding some of the problems confronted in deciphering the
manuscript. In particular we must examine the large-scale structure in relation to
the first, second, and third movements, the sections that link them, and the possi-
ble missing Scherzo.
A few almost insoluble situations arise. In his unsent letter to Primrose of Au-
gust 5, 1945, Bartók wrote:
However embryonic the state of the work still is, the general plan and ideas are already
fixed. So I can tell you that it will be in 4 movements: a serious Allegro, a Scherzo, a (rather
short) slow movement, and a finale beginning Allegretto and developping [sic] the tempo
to an Allegro molto. Each movement, or at least 3 of them will be preceded by a (short) re-
curring introduction (mostly solo of the viola), a kind of ritornello.
In his subsequent letter to Primrose, which was sent, as no further reference was
made to the structure of the concerto we are left to puzzle how much of the ini-
tial plan Bartók intended to keep. Clearly, the idea of the fourth Scherzo movement
was abandoned, although some believe that the short fragment from the manuscript,
which Serly left out, may have been the beginnings of such a movement. Bearing in
mind that Bartók wrote to Primrose, in the second letter, that the concerto was
ready in draft form, it seems highly unlikely that he would have sketched only the
first few measures of a movement. It is also worth noting that in fact these measures
are close in character to the allegretto material that forms the ritornello between the
second and third movements and were more likely intended to be part of this sec-
tion. In both the Peter Bartók and Csaba Erdélyi revisions, the material is used in
this way. Bartók (Béla) indicated a section of music by writing the letters A and B
at the beginning of the last sixteen and eight measures, respectively. In the Peter
Bartók version the section between A and B is repeated, then the new material is in-
troduced. In Csaba Erdélyi’s version the section from A and from B is repeated with
the new material superimposed over the eight measures after B.
After producing my own revision between 1987 and 1993, I became fully familiar
with the revisions of Csaba Erdélyi and Peter Bartók. Many of the details were re-
solved differently, but some of their solutions have since been adopted into my
compositional and performance interpretation. This is a perfectly natural result of
cross-influence and a willingness to accept a better solution to some of the very
complex questions. The reader is also referred to Sándor Kovács’s “Final Concer-
tos” chapter in The Bartók Companion for his views on the possibilities of Bartók’s in-
tentions.
However, on the issue of structure I remain convinced that my revision of 1993
is the most cohesive of the revisions. With regard to the large-scale structural prob-
lems, the following theory is proposed:
In the initial plan Bartók intended for the first movement to include a short in-
troduction; the second movement, a scherzo, to also be preceded by an introduction
of recurring material; the third movement, Adagio, to begin without introduction,
as in the manuscript; and the fourth movement to begin with an allegretto intro-
duction, which develops into the Allegro. This would satisfy his initial description
in the letter of August 5, 1945.
A few weeks later when work was in full stride, he dropped the idea of the sec-
ond movement altogether, leaving a first movement, with introduction of solo viola
and timpani, a second movement, with no introduction, that led directly into the
Allegretto, which functions as an introduction to the last movement. This leaves
us with both the Lento parlando section omitted and the few bars that both Serly and
this author left out but which Peter Bartók and Csaba Erdélyi included as part of
the transition to the final Allegro.
As for the so-called Lento parlando, this may have been either an introduction to
the abandoned Scherzo or the first draft of the second movement, which was later
dropped, for being too short, and replaced by the second movement proper. There
is a stronger case for the second theory, on the grounds that the ending of this sec-
tion makes a perfect link to the allegretto introduction to the last movement and
also because it fits Bartók’s initial description of being a “rather short” slow move-
ment.
Assuming the Lento parlando is removed, we are left with a straightforward three-
movement concerto in which the first and third movements are preceded by short
introductory sections.
Some Aspects of Structure : 87
Some parallels may be drawn with the Second Violin Concerto, written seven
years earlier. In the Viola Concerto, the solo viola and timpani duo opens the work,
before the full orchestra enters, in a similar way to the opening of the Violin Con-
certo, where the solo violin and harp precede the full orchestra. The introductory
allegretto section to the third movement of the Viola Concerto features the soloist,
whereas the parallel place in the Violin Concerto features unison strings. Any fur-
ther structural comparison between the two works is somewhat futile, as the Violin
Concerto clearly follows a theme-and-variations concept and the Viola Concerto
contains three movements that are structurally and thematically independent. Hav-
ing said this, the possibility should not be ruled out that connections can be found
between the intervallic relationships of the themes in the three movements. As was
mentioned in chapter 1, there is a case for claiming that the Af drone theme in the
middle section of the Finale is derived directly from the opening theme of the first
movement and that the opening theme of the second movement is also connected
thematically to this melody. Which is theme and which is variant is ambiguous, al-
though it would appear that the first movement opening was most likely written
down before the others.1
The Third Piano Concerto, written concurrently with this work, bears some
noteworthy similarities from a structural viewpoint. The first movement, also in a
traditional sonata form, opens with the soloist announcing, in the first eighteen
bars, the principal theme against a shimmering texture of strings and timpani. The
movement is firmly anchored in E major with references to various other modes dur-
ing its course. Its ending, on an E major triad, is followed without transition by the
clear C major tonality of the second movement. This is the reverse of the Viola
Concerto, which goes directly from C major to E major and supports the view that
a bridge between the movements is not necessary, with or without the Lento par-
lando. The second movement is in A–B–A' format, with a principal theme re-
markably similar to that in the second movement of the Viola Concerto but in a
kind of inverted form. The “out-of-doors” music that Serly incorporated into the
Viola Concerto (the woodwind flourishes in the middle section of the second
movement) was taken directly from here, at his own admission, as was the Adagio re-
ligioso instruction. This instruction, in the Third Piano Concerto, has been identi-
fied as a reference to Beethoven’s “Heiliger Dankgesang” (Holy song of joy) in his
String Quartet No. 15, Op. 132. Unlike the Viola Concerto, the last movement of
the Third Piano Concerto starts without any bridge or ritornello theme, just some
short introductory material, and is in a rondo plan, being more extended than in the
third movement of the Viola Concerto.
Structure within each of the three main movements

The first movement clearly has a sonata-form plan. The second movement is an
A–B–A' plan, with a shortened A' section. A connecting passage links directly to
the Allegretto and utilizes the same melody as the introduction to the first move-
ment but in inverted form. The Allegretto then introduces the allegro, which is also
in an A–B–A' plan. A detailed analysis of the form follows (Figs. 5.1a, b, and c, 5.2,
and 5.3); bar numbers refer to those in the Peter Bartók/ Nelson Dellamaggiore re-
vision. In order to preserve objectivity, no indications of bowing or articulation are
included in the examples.
The source of the musical examples is Peter Bartók, Béla Bartók, Viola Concerto, Fac-
simile of the Autograph Draft © copyright 1995 by Bartók Records, and they are included
with the permission of Peter Bartók and Boosey & Hawkes.
The Significance of Proportion

Much has been written and debated about the influence of the golden section and
the Fibonacci series in Bartók’s music.2 It is this author’s view that each work should
be viewed independently and if evidence of the presence of the golden section is
present then it is worthy of note. Some would argue that any presence is coinci-
dental; others would insist it is the result of careful craftsmanship on Bartók’s part.
There is no question that Bartók was intensely interested in structures found in
nature and as a result of his reading and observations seems to have been aware of
the properties of the Fibonacci series and its presence in organic life-forms. His par-
ticular interest in pinecones and sunflowers (in which the Fibonacci series can be
observed) is well documented and no better demonstrated, albeit anecdotally, than
in the following extract from Agatha Fassett’s The Naked Face of Genius:
And the way he’d hold a pine cone to his ear as if it were a fancy sea shell—what on earth
could he have heard in it? And they ask me if I know why he should have wanted to pull
the pine cone apart and stare at each bit of it, as if he were going to discover some new won-
der in every piece . . .
While we were preparing a tray of food, I saw Ditta fill a deep bowl with pine cones that
were drying in the kitchen, and I looked at her questioningly. “He loves surprises on his
tray,” she said, selecting a variety of shapes, colors and sizes. “These will amuse him.”
When she brought back the tray of empty dishes, she sat down at the kitchen table with
a sigh of relief. “He ate everything but the pine cones! You ought to see him playing with
them, and planning to find the mother tree of each kind. I’m sure he will too.”
Ernö Lendvai, in his Béla Bartók: An Analysis of His Music, demonstrates many ex-
amples in Bartók’s music of the principles of the golden section and in particular
Fibonacci’s series of whole numbers.3 It is certainly interesting to be aware of the
principles involved when investigating an unfinished work, such as the Viola Con-
certo. While it is not within the scope of this study to either explain in full the
mathematical qualities of the golden section or quote examples of its usage in other
Bartók works, Lendvai has demonstrated both aspects extensively in his book and
Figure 5.1a First movement — exposition
Figure 5.1b First movement—development
familiarity with his findings is helpful when relating to suggestions regarding the
Viola Concerto. It is of particular interest to note Lendvai’s comments on the ap-
pearance of the Fibonacci series in the pine cone and in various other organic
forms.4
In the Fibonacci series each number is the sum of the previous two, whose pro-
portions approach 0.618 or conversely 0.382 as the numbers increase. In its purest
form in the golden section or sectio aurea this may be expressed as 1:x = x:(1–x) where
1 is the total length, x is the length of the larger section, and (1–x) is the length of
the smaller section. The series then runs as follows: 2, 3, 5, 8, 13, 21, 34, 55, 89, 144, ad
infinitum.
In the case of the Viola Concerto the following observations can be made: All
Figure 5.1c First movement—recapitulation
Figure 5.2 Second movement
92
Figure 5.3 Third movement
93
measure numbers refer to the Peter Bartók revision. Abbreviations used for com-
parison are TS (Tibor Serly), PB (Peter Bartók), CE (Csaba Erdélyi), and DM
(Donald Maurice).
In the first movement any calculations are subject to the section between mea-
sures 174 and 183 being considered an undefined quantity, as Bartók left this bridge
passage incomplete. To those in the pro-Lendvai camp this is a bonus, as the sec-
tion can be manipulated to satisfy the overall requirements of the golden section.
Indeed, they could argue that Bartók left this section blank intentionally, so that in
his next draft the development of this flexible section could be “made to order” to
perfect the necessary proportions. In the DM and CE revisions, the bridge passage
is left at the identical length it occurred in Bartók’s exposition. In the other revisions
we have extended versions:
DM/CE seven measures of 44 time, or 28 beats
PB one measure of 54 and eight measures of 44, or 37 beats
TS ten measures of 44 time, or 40 beats
According to the predictions of Lendvai, an event of some moment should oc-
cur at approximately 0.618 of the way through the movement, for instance, the re-
capitulation or some structural point of similar importance. Using the preceding
four possibilities we can establish what happens at 0.618 of the way through the
movement in each of the three revisions. This can be done by performing a calcu-
lation either on the total number of beats in the movement or on the total number
of measures. Each gives a quite different result.
First, the “beats” method is examined. Using the formal analysis presented in the
previous section it is ascertained that the exposition (mm. 1–80 inclusive) contains
344 quarter note beats, the development (mm. 81–145 inclusive) contains 271 beats,
the recapitulation (mm. 146–204 excluding the aforementioned measures) contains
88 beats, and the coda (mm. 205–27 inclusive) contains 94 beats. Therefore, the to-
tals in the various versions are:
DM/CE 797 + 28 = 825 beats
PB 797 + 37 = 834 beats
TS 797 + 40 = 837 beats (ignoring other “added” measures)
Taking the 0.618 calculation, the three versions, rounded to the nearest beat, arrive
at the following points:
DM/CE 510th beat or 2nd beat of measure 118
PB 515th beat or 3rd beat of measure 119
TS 517th beat or 1st beat of measure 120
It is clear that none of these points coincides with any structural event in the mu-
sic and, in fact, all are over twenty-five measures short of the recapitulation. No
amount of manipulation of the bridge passage could increase the possibility of the
golden section playing a significant role in this movement if beats are used as the
basis of calculation.
Second, we examine the “measures” method. The totals in the various versions
are:
DM/CE 225 measures
PB 227 measures
TS 228 measures (ignoring other “added” measures)
Taking the 0.618 calculation, the three versions, rounded to the nearest measure, ar-
rive at the following points:
DM/CE measure 139
PB measure 140
TS measure 141
Bearing in mind that the recapitulation occurs at measure 146, we are now within
reach of proportions that might satisfy the golden section. In order to achieve a per-
fect result, the bridge passage would have to be increased from that in the exposi-
tion by 13 measures. This would give the movement a total of 236 measures, of
which 0.618 would be 146. This would be almost a doubling in length of the mate-
rial in the exposition bridge passage.
In summary, it is possible that this movement could be an example of use of the
golden section, but such an assertion would be dependent on Bartók’s intention to
extend the bridge passage in the recapitulation by almost doubling its length and ac-
ceptance that such proportions were based on number of measures rather than
number of beats. It is, however, likely that this was probably not Bartók’s plan and
that the bridge passage was left unwritten simply through his wish to conserve en-
ergy and that it would not have been so drastically modified as to reappear almost
twice as long. It is possible that the golden section played a significant role in ear-
lier works, but it is likely that it was not of importance to Bartók in this first move-
ment.
In the second movement there is a new problem, this time in defining exactly
where the second movement ends. Is the Allegretto part of the second movement
or of the third movement, or does it stand alone between them? In his sketch,
Bartók gave the timings of the work as follows:
1. 10' 20", 2. 5' 10", 3. 4' 45", Total: 20' 15".
The implication is that the Allegretto section should be included as being part
of the second or third movement. Traditionally it has been included as part of the
second movement, but this is an assumption that may be questioned. As it is about
twenty seconds in duration, its placement either way can readily be absorbed into
Bartók’s timing indications.
If the Allegretto is part of the third movement, the second movement would
need to be marginally slower to last for 5' 10". The correct metronome mark for the
average tempo would then become q = 44. If it belongs to the second movement,
the average tempo of the slow section would be approximately q = 47. However if
the repeat of the Allegretto, which takes about forty seconds, is included, the aver-
age tempo of the remaining slow section would become q = 51. All the preceding
results are of course far from the q = 69 suggested by Serly.
The following calculations of the golden section are applied as though the Al-
legretto is part of the second movement and its repeat is included. In total there are
57 measures of 44 , or 228 beats, plus the Allegretto’s 36 measures of 42 and 2 measures
of 43, or 78 beats, giving a total of 95 measures, or 306 beats:
By measure 95 x 0.618 = 58.71 (the Allegretto begins in m. 58)
By beat 306 x 0.618 = 189 (no significant event)
The following calculations of the golden section are applied as though the Allegretto
is not part of the second movement:
By measure 57 x 0.618 = 35 (no significant event)
In summary, if the Allegretto is not part of the second movement, then there is
no evidence of the golden section. However, if the Allegretto is included in the sec-
ond movement, then the proportions of the Allegretto in relation to the whole
movement do demonstrate the intentional or coincidental presence of the golden
section.
In the third movement it is assumed that the Allegretto is not part of the move-
ment. All measures added by Serly are removed. The only place left that causes any
concern is the introductory measures to the middle Af section. Bartók’s shorthand
implied some kind of repeat in the first few measures. Before the entry of the solo
oboe we find:
TS two measures of 42
PB three measures of 42
CE three measures of 42
DM four measures of 42
The following calculations of the golden section are applied as though there is
a four-bar introduction to the Af section. The choice of a two-, three-, or four-
measure introduction has neglible influence on the outcome of the calculation. The
third movement contains 254 measures of 42 and 2 measures of 43, giving a total of
256 measures, or 514 beats:
By measure 256 x 0.618 = 158 (no significant event)
Further calculations that allowed for the Allegretto to be included in the third
movement did not yield any evidence to suggest the presence of the golden section.
In any discussion of the presence of the golden section in the music of Bartók,
the comments of László Somfai are of particular significance:
To summarize this survey of computations in the complete existing source materials of
Bartók’s compositions as well as manuscripts of folk-music transcriptions, drafts of arti-
cles, and scattered scrap papers in the Hungarian and American estate: there are lots of
numbers and little calculations in Bartók’s hand, but not a single calculation of the pro-
portions of a composition—with Fibonacci or other numbers—has been discovered. We
observe, on the one hand, the composer’s notorious lifelong habit of keeping and recycling
every bit of paper and, on the other, the absence of preconceived calculations for any com-
position. This is solid evidence against the widespread assumption that the fascinating
Golden Section proportions found in several of Bartók’s works by Ernö Lendvai and oth-
ers must necessarily have been deliberately planned by the composer.5
In overall summary, it has been demonstrated that there are some structural pro-
portions in the first and second movements that could approximate to the golden
section but that there is no evidence in the third movement of any intentional em-
ployment of this device. Due to the limited significance of the golden section in the
Viola Concerto, it is suggested that it is not necessary for any further structural de-
velopment to occur in a revision so as to achieve the proportions that it dictates.
Chapter Six
Revisions
The Revisions of Atar Arad, Csaba Erdélyi,
Peter Bartók, and Donald Maurice
While a limited number of copies of the manuscript were “leaked” into

the viola community during the 1950s, probably originating from William Primrose,
the musicological world’s first documented contact was in 1963 when Tibor Serly
presented a copy to the Bartók Archives in Budapest. While it may seem surpris-
ing that no revisions appeared until much later, this may be partly explained by a re-
luctance on the part of musicologists to become involved in a project that would
probably produce more questions than answers and a reluctance by most violists to
produce revisions due to their lack of analytical and compositional expertise, pre-
venting them from doing much beyond note corrections. Added to this were the le-
gal problems with the Bartók Estate from the 1950s through to the 1980s, which
would also have deterred scholars and performers from trying out new solutions
to the work.
Before a comprehensive examination of the various revisions can be carried out,
a brief statement is necessary of how each relates to the overall scheme and chronol-
ogy of the revision process.
Atar Arad
Currently professor of viola at the University of Indiana in Bloomington, Atar Arad
(photo 3) is one of the leading performers from the generation of violists who came
into prominence in the 1970s. While he did not produce a substantive revision, his
early adaptations in Bartók’s Viola Concerto are of importance in its historical
record, as he was most likely the first violist to make significant departures from the
Serly version in public performances.
During an interview with the author in June 1995, Arad confessed to being some-
what nervous about going onto the stage for the first time with many new ideas on
Atar Arad
Revisions : 101
how the viola part should be presented. From as early as 1976, for instance, he had
introduced the idea of using pizzicato in the chords in the Allegretto that link the
second and third movements. This is of particular interest because we now know
that in the recording of Burton Fisch made in early 1948, before Primrose had seen
the music, he also played this section pizzicato, presumably on Serly’s instruction.
In the Winter 1988 issue of the magazine American String Teacher, an article ap-
peared, titled “The Thirteen Pages,”1 in which Arad gives his reactions to his first
encounter with the manuscript, which was made available to him in 1980 in a pho-
tocopy held by William Primrose. This article is most important in the historical
record of the concerto, as it appeared well before the various revisions of the nineties.
Mention is made of the early work of Atar Arad not because it is appropriate
to include it in a comparative analysis but rather because many of Arad’s adapta-
tions in performance pre-empted those of the later revisionists. Because Arad’s
adaptations are mainly restricted to note corrections and do not affect the orches-
tration or structure of the work, it is appropriate to exclude it from a comparative
analysis and rather to bear in mind its importance as an early contribution to the re-
vision process of the interpretation of the solo viola part.
Since the publication of this article, we are fortunate to have been offered the
facsimile edition by Peter Bartók. Noting the unavailability of this publication in
1988, Atar Arad offered the following comment in March 2002:
The publication of the Facsimile Edition of the Autograph Draft in 1995, by Bartok
Records, made my article “The Thirteen Pages” (published in 1988) obsolete, and I am gen-
uinely happy about that. My aim in writing the article had been to give the readers an idea
as to how far the then only edition of the concerto was from Bartok’s manuscript, and how
far the manuscript itself was from completion.
It should be said that only very few violists had the privilege to have a glance at the man-
uscript at the time, as I did and, in my case, the thirteen pages I was glancing at it were
blurry third or fourth generation photocopies. With the publication of the facsimile, I re-
alized, of course, how little and incomplete was the information given in my article. Just
as an example—I not only would have had mentioned the “harmonics” in the third move-
ment, but would have had played them as such, as I do today. I hope that future editions
of the Bartok Concerto—sooner or later there will be more editions—will take one more
step in the right direction in offering under every edited stave an unedited one as well.2
Csaba Erdélyi
The initial revision of Csaba Erdélyi (photo 4), which was first performed in 1992
in Budapest, concerned primarily only the viola part’s pitches. Erdélyi’s subsequent
work has seen many more changes in the aspects of orchestration and structure,
partly as a result of his contact with the revisions of Peter Bartók and the author,
partly as a result of his own further research, and partly through contact with var-
ious Bartók scholars, in particular Elliott Antokoletz of Austin, Texas, with whom
he has worked closely in recent years, and Hungarian composer György Kurtág.
Erdelyi’s version, revised and reissued in 1996 (published privately and not for pub-
lic sale), had evolved considerably from the rendition he gave in 1992 with the Bu-
dapest Symphony Orchestra and, due to the inevitable cross-influence from other
revisions, was, strictly speaking, a summary of all existing revisions.
In general the solo viola part provided by Erdélyi in 1996 was as honest an at-
tempt as one may make in revealing exactly what Bartók left in his manuscript. In
the few places where Erdélyi changed the material, he supplied the original under-
neath. Any added slurs or dynamics were bracketed. Thus there is little to comment
on. However, it must be stated that this “unedited” solo part was not a perform-
ing part, as almost no slurs or articulations were included. As such this should be
viewed not so much as a revision but as a fair copy of the manuscript, a kind of ur-
text version.
In his quest for the definitive version, Erdélyi once again revised his work in
preparation for a performance at the opening night concert of the Twenty-ninth
International Viola Congress in Wellington, New Zealand, on April 8, 2001. This
performance with the New Zealand Symphony Orchestra was conducted by Marc
Decio Taddei and was recorded two months later for release as a compact disc,
along with Harold in Italy by Berlioz. This performance was in many respects a his-
toric occasion. It was the first time a performance of the Bartók Viola Concerto
other than the Serly or Peter Bartók versions had ever been performed “legally.”
This situation arose because the copyright period of fifty years that is observed in
Australia and New Zealand expired in December 1999, that being fifty years after
the work was first performed. In Europe and North America the work will remain
under copyright until December 2024, as both observe a seventy-five year copyright.
In effect, this means that only the Serly and Peter Bartók versions may be performed
outside Australasia until 2024. The compact disc and score of the Erdélyi 2001 re-
vision has been available in New Zealand since 2002.
Peter Bartók
In mid-1995 Boosey & Hawkes released a new publication of the Viola Concerto
with the wording: “Revised Version by Nelson Dellamaggiore and Peter Bartók.”3
This revision was undertaken by Nelson Dellamaggiore under Peter Bartók’s su-
pervision (photo 5) and with the assistance of New York violist Paul Neubauer, as
adviser on violistic aspects. Neubauer’s involvement was given impetus by the schol-
arly work in the Master of Music thesis of Kevin Call at Brigham Young Univer-
sity.
In order to restore the work as precisely as possible to the manuscript, Nelson
Dellamaggiore began by making a “fair transcription” of the manuscript,4 an easy-
Csaba Erdélyi
Peter Bartók and Nelson Dellamaggiore
to-read version of precisely the content of the manuscript. From this he and Peter
Bartók made decisions regarding orchestration and structure but for the bulk of the
work accepted the orchestration and other markings of Serly. The most obvious ar-
eas of concern were in note correction and the removal of added bars by Serly.
Phrasing in the solo viola part was added by Paul Neubauer (photo 6). This as-
pect is not commented on here, mainly on the grounds that it is not of structural
significance but also because it will be discussed in detail in chapter 9. Now that the
situation regarding the lack of indications from Bartók in the solo part is well
known, it is clear that every violist will have his/her own ideas on how things should
be done, and it would be pointless to simply list an endless number of possibilities.
The printed edition contains a preface by Peter Bartók and Nelson Dellamag-
giore that outlines the processes followed in producing the revision. This is a com-
mentary in general terms with a few specific references. Nelson Dellamaggiore sup-
plied the author with an extensive, bar-by-bar analysis of the work (“Bartók: Viola
Concerto, Revisions January 9, 1992”), which has not been released for publication.
This is in effect a detailed log of the decision-making process followed by Peter
Bartók and himself. A notable feature of this document is the comment made in the
introductory note (Mv’t 0, bar 0) that “the initials in brackets, (TS) and (PN), in-
Revisions : 105
Paul Neubauer
dicate suggestions by Messrs. Tibor Serly and Paul Neubauer respectively. Addi-
tions to the score at the initiative of those preparing the revision are identified by
the explanations or (PB/ND) or (Ed.).” These references were not included in the
publication of the revision.
To all intents and purposes, the issue of cross-influence does not exist in this re-
vision, due to Peter Bartók’s determination to avoid discussion with any third party,
other than Nelson Dellamaggiore and Paul Neubauer, in the revision process. In re-
sponse to a letter that offered to compare thoughts on his and the author’s revisions,
Peter Bartók replied in a letter dated February 15, 1993, as follows:
I would indeed be interested to learn about the conclusions that resulted from your research
but, for the moment, I would prefer not to, as I would like not to be influenced by anything
other than what I find in my father’s manuscript and my own personal reactions. After our
version is published it would be interesting to know how you have interpreted some fea-
tures in my father’s notes.
The Author—Donald Maurice

A brief statement of the relationship of the author’s revision to the overall revision
process and chronology is in order at this point. As I began initial work on a revi-
sion in 1978, there was no possibility in the early stages of cross-influence, as at that
point there were no other known revisions in progress, other than the unpublished
work of Atar Arad, of which the author was not aware. It was not until two years
after the performance in 1993 that the author had contact with the other revisions.
As such, the score and video of that performance are representative of a version
without cross-influence. In this context, this revision that culminated in the private
performance of 1993 is included for comparison with the other revisions. It is, how-
ever, now viewed by the author (photo 7) as a document of historical significance,
rather than a definitive version of Bartók’s Viola Concerto.
In future performances the author would gladly embrace some of the alterna-
tive solutions proposed by the other revisionists, such as the pizzicato in the Alle-
gretto, recorded by Fisch, proposed by Arad, and also adopted by Erdélyi, and
would reinvestigate the material that links the Allegretto to the third movement. In
a contemporary performance cross-influence would be acknowledged not as a neg-
ative quality but rather as further enlightenment of the possible intentions of
Bartók. Ongoing research confirms that the definitive Bartók Viola Concerto is yet
to be revealed. This will be discussed in greater depth in chapters 7, 8, and 9.
Comparison of the Three Revisions

Aspects to be considered include: structure, orchestration, tempi, dynamics, phras-
ing, and notes in the solo viola part. Unless stated otherwise, all measure numbers
refer to those in the Serly score. The following abbreviations are adopted for con-
venience:
TS—the Tibor Serly reconstruction
DM—the Donald Maurice revision dated 1993
PB—the Peter Bartók/Nelson Dellamaggiore revision dated 1995
CE—the Csaba Erdélyi revision dated 2001
Donald Maurice
structure
The first structural issue to arise concerns the measures added by Serly and/or
Primrose. In the case of the extra measures in the first movement at measures 73, 143,
and 223; in the second movement (in the Allegretto) at measures 62–63; and in the
third movement at measures 197–205 and 259–62, all three revisionists agree with
their removal.
The first problematic place is measures 175–85 in the first movement. This is the
place in the manuscript that Bartók left blank. In TS the material from the exposi-
tion is developed to increase its length from seven to ten measures. In PB this be-
comes a nine-measure section with an extra beat in the first measure, making a 54
measure. In CE this becomes a seven-measure section (eight measures in his earlier
revision) with a final bar with a newly introduced rhythm of eighth notes. In DM
the section is repeated exactly as in the exposition, being seven measures long. It is
at this point that one could manipulate the structure so as to make the movement
satisfy the qualities of the golden section. This is discussed in detail in chapter 5,
but that possibility is rejected. What would have been Bartók’s eventual solution re-
mains a mystery.
The second problematic place is probably the most controversial. It concerns the
thirteen measures of music labeled by Serly as lento parlando. In PB and CE the sec-
tion is left exactly as in TS. Following this, in TS there is a bar of open C from the
solo viola, followed by a four-measure bassoon solo, which connects the Lento par-
lando to the second movement. In PB these five measures are replaced by five quar-
ter notes from the viola solo—As, A, Gs, Fs, and Es —followed by a quarter-note
rest, which leads directly to the second movement. In CE the five measures are sim-
ply replaced by a sustained open C in the solo viola and the second movement fol-
lows directly. In DM the whole Lento parlando section and Serly’s five measures are
left out entirely. This results in the C major triad at the end of the first movement
being followed directly by the E major triad of the second movement.
The third problematic area is the link from the Allegretto into the final Allegro.
This is the point in the manuscript where Bartók left some seemingly unconnected
fragments that could be viewed as possible initial ideas for the missing Scherzo
movement. He wrote the letters A and B at the beginning and end of the eight-
measure section in which the solo viola plays the triple- and quadruple-stopped
chords. At the point where Serly cuts to the Allegro there is the marking “AB 2 tr.
és corni ” (2 trumpets and horns), and an additional eight measures of music follow.
In TS the section is left out altogether. In PB the A-B section is repeated and the
additional eight measures are added on as an extension to the Allegretto. In CE the
manuscript instruction is followed to repeat the section marked A-B and the oth-
erwise redundant eight measures, which Serly excluded, are superimposed. In DM
the solution of Serly is retained.
Peter Bartók makes a case for the idea of a Scherzo being intended to follow the
Revisions : 109
Lento parlando with the descending scales providing the link.5 He contends that
his father later decided to have the Scherzo following the slow movement and that
the descending scales at the conclusion of the slow movement took over the linking
function. He then suggests that the material contained within the aforementioned
eight measures provide us with a very abbreviated Scherzo, sandwiched in before the
Finale.
The fourth problematic area is measures 114–33 in the third movement. Here
Serly transposed the entire section up a semitone. This was inexcusable and sur-
prising from a man who claimed to be so close to Bartók’s compositional style. The
interrelationships of key centers is crucial in Bartók’s music, and this meddling in
such a fundamental structural element makes this probably Serly’s worst transgres-
sion. In his “Belated Account. . . .” article, this transgression is conspicuous by its
absence. All three revisionists return this section to the original key of Af, but there
is some confusion in the opening bars of this “bagpipe” section. Once again
Bartók’s shorthand implies some kind of repeat of material. Serly’s two-measure in-
troduction to the melody becomes three measures in PB and CE and four measures
in DM.
In all other places where there is a structural discrepancy between Serly and the
manuscript, the three revisions are in agreement.
orchestration
Before discussion of the orchestrations of the revisionists, a short note about the
much-noted decision of Serly to dispense with the timpani in the introduction is in
order. According to Peter Bartók, this was a decision taken for purely practical rea-
sons:
Mr Serly had mentioned to me, after he had lived with the manuscript for a while, that he
was disturbed by the number of timpani required. Indeed, the part is difficult and requires
the inclusion of the largest (thirty-two inch) instrument for playing a low C, without which
the end result would be unsatisfactory. To facilitate performance by orchestras with limited
resources, Mr Serly solved the problem by assigning the part to cellos and one bass, pizzi-
cato.6
In DM the horns are reduced to two and otherwise Serly’s specifications remain.
The amendments to Serly’s orchestration concern only those specific places where
there was a clear indication from Bartók or in which the suggestion by Serly seemed
inappropriate for textural reasons, an example being the unorthodox use of the three
muted trumpets at the close of the first movement. The specific places in the first
movement are:
1. The introduction, where the timpani takes the cello/bass line.
2. Measures 54–55—the line is kept in the viola rather than passing to the first horn.
3. Measures 61–63—the countermelody is given to the clarinet instead of the oboe.

4. Measures 70–72—the clarinet line is given to the cellos, minus the fp markings.
5. Measure 127— the chord on the third beat is restored and played by horns, cello, and
basses.
6. Measure 165— the flutes are tacet on the second beat from measure 175, where the fol-
lowing seven measures are orchestrated exactly as in the parallel exposition section.
7. Measures 220–22—Serly’s three measures are returned to two measures and the entire
descending scale returned to the viola solo.
8. The end of the first movement—the piano chords in measures 224–26 are transferred
from the three muted trumpets to three flutes.
In the second movement, the woodwind motives from measures 30–40 are en-
tirely removed, as is the motive in the flutes at measure 48. In the Allegretto the
trumpet interjections between measures 71 and 78 are removed.
The specific places of difference in the third movement are:
1. Measure 7 and measure 15—the bassoon and clarinet motives are removed.
2. Measures 19–21—the trills are taken from the oboes, clarinets, bassoons, and horn and
shared between only the solo viola and piccolo.
3. Measure 29— the flourishes in the flute and piccolo are removed and the glissando in
the viola removed and replaced with two pizzicato notes.
4. Measures 48–51—the flute is tacet.
5. Measures 51–64—the clarinets and trumpets are removed from an accompanying role
and given the melody in a one quarter-note canon with the violins, flutes, and oboes; also,
all implications of thirds are removed from the harmonies in all parts, as none are pres-
ent in Bartók’s manuscript.
6. Measures 93–96—the strings are instructed to play pizzicato.
7. Measures 236–258— the five-note sixteenth-note motive is returned to a four-note
figure.
In PB the instrumentation is amended to increase the horns from three to four,

the two trombones are redesignated as trombone, and bass trombone, and in the
percussion the small cymbal is dispensed with and a triangle added.
In PB the orchestration varies from the Serly score considerably more than in
DM, in spite of the joint statement at the front of the revision by Peter Bartók and
Nelson Dellamaggiore:
Much of Tibor Serly’s orchestration has been retained. Some of the changes in this revised
score apply to the tutti passages where a fuller orchestration is used, and in a few instances,
where the solo is playing, fewer instruments accompany. The double bass has been added
mainly in portions of the third movement. Some percussion parts have been added; as the
sketch does not cover the percussion (except the timpani passage at the beginning), a bit
of latitude in this area has been assumed, e.g., the triangle has been added in the second
movement at bar 40.
Revisions : 111
By way of comment, one could add that while the sketch does not cover the per-
cussion, it does not cover the strings, woodwinds, or brass, either. The aforemen-
tioned triangle entry is a questionable decision, as the viola is at this point about
to enter on a high piano E, after the soft entry of the low strings. The triangle serves
only to disturb the delicacy of this very beautiful moment in the music.
While for the most part the use of extra forces in the tutti passages is an hon-
orable endeavour, it is curious that some of Serly’s effective use of percussion to
highlight climaxes has been removed as at measures 93 and 94 in the first movement.
The use of four horns in the first movement is more to provide “bumper” than to
provide necessary added texture, given that there are only two places in the move-
ment where the four horns play more than two notes at once. These occur at mea-
sure 130 and measures 209–10 in the first movement, both places where an alterna-
tive could easily have been provided. The use of more than two horns is, however,
effective in the Lento parlando section (measures 228–34) and in the opening of
the Finale (measures 1–4). There are a number of places when all four horns play
the same part, such as measures 55–58 and measures 177–79 in the first movement.
Contrabassoon is added to the instrumentation partly for added textural depth but
also, notably, in measures 23–25 in the first movement, where it replaces bassoon,
providing a doubling of the lower octave with the double bass. There are some re-
distributions of lines in the strings, such as the addition of violins in measures
14–18, and among the winds, such as the transfer of the lines from the two clarinets
to oboe and cor anglais in measures 21–23. There are numerous other changes of
this nature, often justified on the basis that the manuscript implied a new voice en-
tering the texture, therefore a new instrument being required.
In the CE 2001 revision, there are a number of very subtle redistributions of
notes within the string family, such as in the pizzicato accompaniment from mea-
sure 14. In measure 17 horns enter with a Gf–Bf–C chord to reinforce the low viola
C, an entry to be found only in this revision and not notated in the manuscript. The
flute melody in measure 21 is transferred to clarinet with staccato introduced into
the articulation. Throughout the movement there are subtle shifts of color by trans-
fers of motives between instruments such as the movement of the melody in mea-
sure 26 from horn to bassoon and the reverse in measure 31 and from bassoon to
bass clarinet in measure 36. Such changes are probably not noticeable to most lis-
teners, but presumably in Erdélyi’s informed opinion they are important in estab-
lishing a more Bartókian sound-scape. It is not the intention here to identify any more
of these subtle alterations but rather to focus on more substantive modifications.
The introduction of woodwinds in measure 41 is notable, and the slurring across
the beat is not present in other versions or in the manuscript. The transfer of the
countermelody from violin to bassoon at measure 52 makes an effective tonal con-
trast with solo viola and is equally as justifiable as leaving it the strings. The passage
at measure 54 that is continued in the viola in PB and DM is here left as in TS, ex-
cept it is given to bassoon rather than horn. The busy sixteenth-note motive in
measures 55–58 is removed from the trumpets and left to the woodwinds and
strings. PB made the same decision, but DM stays with the suggestion of TS. In-
terestingly, at measure 61 all three revisions have transferred the syncopated melody
from the oboe, in TS, to the clarinet. In measure 63 CE and PB return it to the oboe.
TS stayed with oboe throughout and DM stayed with clarinet. Similarly at measure
71, the countermelody is transferred from violin to bassoon (PB) and to bass clar-
inet (CE). In DM it remains as in TS, with the violins.
At measure 81 CE transfers the contrary-motion countermelodies from bassoon
to trombones, and at measure 88 the triplet figure is transferred from violas to the
bass clarinet. PB transfers the same passage to the bassoon. DM remains with the
TS suggestion. At measure 126 both PB and CE elect to put the clarinet melody an
octave higher, and in the case of PB it is reinforced by the entire upper woodwind
section. As the viola emerges from the cadenza the horn is added to the string tex-
ture.
At the beginning of the cadenza section from measure 127, TS employs two bas-
soons, two horns, and pizzicato strings for all the chords. All three revisions add the
extra chord in measure 127, which for some reason is missing in TS although clearly
in the manuscript. PB further adds a chord at measure 128, which is not in the man-
uscript. Of the resulting chords in measures 127, 130, 132/133, and 134, DM remains
with Serly’s choice. PB increases the horns from two to four and keeps all involved
but without bassoons at measures 127 and 128 and without horns at measures 132/33
and 134. CE removes all but the pizzicato strings at measure 127, adds four horns
at measure 130, and instructs the strings to use the Bartók pizzicato (slap effect) for
the remainder of the chords. The horns are removed for the chords in measures
132/133 and 134 and are replaced with trombone and tuba. Further study of the re-
capitulation reveals a similar pattern of differences among the revisions.
The treatment of the second movement is very similar in the three revisions, all
having removed the much-discussed woodwind flourishes in the middle section. Of
note, however, is the decision in PB to utilize only tremolo in the strings through
this section. In TS and DM the tremolo effect is added to with rapid trilling be-
tween harmony notes in some of the strings. In CE only the trilling effect is used,
with sustained chords in the lower strings. The manuscript supports the decision of
PB, as only the indication of tremolo is clear.
The link between the second and third movements is not discussed here, as each
revision employs different material. The third movement is much less problematic
than the first in that it is much more lightly scored in general. In PB and DM some
of Serly’s additions are removed, such as the bassoons in measures 7–8 and 11–14.
CE, however, retains these in a less obtrusive manner. While the additions by Serly
were bold, they may well be argued to have enhanced this section. The distribution
of the trills between measures 15 and 21 varies considerably among the revisions, in
terms of both instruments and octaves.
Of particular interest is the treatment of both orchestration and tonality at
Revisions : 113
measures 51–65. Both PB and DM remove all references to Cs major or minor from
the texture, other than what exists within the canonic melody. In CE the Es (French
horn Bs) is retained, as in TS. The clear statement of Cs major at the beginning of
this section immediately creates an almost blueslike effect with the En occurring in
the melody in the following measure. The difference in effect is dramatic and of
some significance. With the major/minor reference removed from the texture, the
character changes and creates a more “Eastern” flavour. In this case the manuscript
clearly supports the latter choice, and in my view this is the more Bartókian.
Minor differences among the revisions continue through the remainder of the
movement, but apart from the final measures, none are of particular significance. In
the final two measures TS has the strings playing one chord pizzicato and the final
chord arco. DM has both chords pizzicato. PB has both chords arco. CE has both
chords utilizing the Bartók pizzicato (slap). CE is the only revision that retains
Serly’s flourish to the final top note in the piccolo and flutes. PB and DM are clos-
est to the manuscript but not necessarily the most effective.
In summary, the revisions differ more in the area of orchestration than any other.
One is tempted on one hand to suggest that each revision should clearly indicate de-
cisions that are editorial. On the other hand, as in this area virtually the whole score
is based on editorial decisions, it would be more practical to indicate clearly in the
front of each published version that the orchestration is, with only a few exceptions,
entirely the work of the revisionist, with general acknowledgment of influence from
Tibor Serly or other revisions where appropriate.
temp o
The issues of tempi are complicated by the fact that Bartók left timings of each of
the three movements but did not leave clear directions as to where each movement
should be considered to begin and end. It is unclear whether the Lento parlando
should be viewed as part of the first or second movement or left out entirely. As
mentioned in chapter 5, it is unclear whether the Allegretto should be viewed as part
of the second or third movement or whether the so-called Scherzo material should
be included in any of the timings. The markings of individual movements as 10' 20",
5' 10", and 4' 45", with a total of 20' 15", provide the only clues to the eventual tempi
of the movements. How the tempo is adjusted within the movements for the char-
acters of the various sections is left open to each interpreter and is in the view of
this author unnecessary as a definitive instruction in a revision. In idealistic terms it
should be adequate to supply no more than Bartók left for us and show at the be-
ginning of each movement what should be its approximate duration and how that
translates into an average tempo.
The only indication of tempo we are given in the entire work, other than the
aforementioned overall timings, is an accelerando in measure 108 in the first movement.
Serly placed this marking one bar earlier than shown in the manuscript. It is unclear
if this was a copying error or the change was intentional for some musical reason.
All the other markings in the Serly version are supplied by him, including the Mod-
erato, Adagio religioso, Allegretto, and Allegro vivace markings for the main sections.
Csaba Erdélyi has included, in his 2001 revision, many tempo suggestions. These
are best perceived as his observation of his own playing and are perhaps too detailed
and prescriptive, leaving little for the individuality of another performer. With the
subtitle “Critical Restoration according to the Composer’s Autograph” there should
also be a note added that all these tempo markings are editorial and that none are
found in the original manuscript. No doubt Erdélyi has arrived at these suggestions
after a great deal of comparison with similar passages in other works, and there is
no question that he brings to the work a wealth of experience of the idiomatic fea-
tures of Hungarian music. As such, the suggestions are invaluable, but it is never-
theless important for the observer to know exactly what has been added in the ed-
itorial process. In the first movement alone Erdélyi has added metronome markings
in twenty-four places, usually accompanied with instructions for slowing down or
speeding up or a suggestion of rubato.
In the Peter Bartók revision, the introductory note states:
In determining tempi the composer’s description, as well as estimated timings, have been
made use of. Reference has been made also to tempi of Rumanian folk music notations in
the composer’s collection, which resemble the Rumanian style portions of the Finale. It is
assumed that Béla Bartók combined the two ritornelli with the second movement in es-
tablishing his timings. The tempi as specified result in times for each of the three move-
ments, as well as a total duration, differing by only a few seconds from the composer’s es-
timate. As usual, it is also assumed that these will be regarded as a basic guide, with due
allowance for other factors (performer’s interpretation, acoustics, etc.), in the practical time
taken up by an actual performance.
The tempo markings are entered into Peter Bartók’s score unbracketed, but one
must assume that the performer will read the preceding introductory note. As stated
earlier, the only marking from Bartók is the accelerando in measure 108 of the first
movement. There are forty-five tempo suggestions in the first movement, (includ-
ing ritenuto, accelerando, a tempo, etc.), thirteen in the second movement (including the
Allegretto and Scherzo sections), and fourteen in the third movement. For the most
part they are the kind of interpretive nuances that a performer would instinctively
include, but special mention must be made of two instructions.
The first is at measure 41 in the first movement where the tempo is reduced from
q = 100 to q = 80 (similarly in CE score). This kind of slowing down was also pre-
ferred by Serly and taken even further by Primrose who stated in his interview with
David Dalton that slowing to half speed was Bartók’s intention:
This passage is usually misinterpreted. It supposed to slow down to almost a doppio movi-
mento. The indication in the score doesn’t show this. A moments study will reveal that there
Revisions : 115
is an accelerando which is finalised at measure 52 by a “tempo primo”. There must be some

give somewhere to prepare that accelerando, and the place where it can commence. Most
performances go straight ahead without respect given the accelerando. Naturally, I am in-
fluenced by the way I play it, and originally understood it should be played.
The second is at measure 249 (PB score) in the third movement where an al-
largando molto is marked and specified to slow from q = 152 down to q = 72. The fol-
lowing measure is marked a tempo (q = 152). Peter Bartók makes a strong case for jus-
tifying this by comparing this ending with those of several other works, notably the
Sonata for Violin and Piano, Piano Concertos Nos 1 and 2, Concerto for Orches-
tra, and the Sonata for Solo Violin.7 In spite of this well-reasoned suggestion, it can
be argued that this allargando molto weakens the momentum that has been gathering
since the general pause at measure 172. These markings are included in the score
without any indication that they are only editorial.
In DM the first movement is taken at around q = 100. This tempo is varied only
slightly through the movement and without a significant slowing down at Primrose’s
doppio movimento instruction. Obviously there is considerable flexibility in the cadenza
section and ritenuto and accelerando occur as devices to highlight points of structural
significance. It is considered not necessary to add markings to the score, and as such
instructions will never be definitive, this is perhaps best left as an interpretive ele-
ment.
In DM, in the second movement, Serly’s marking of q = 69 is reduced to 44 in
order to achieve Bartók’s timing of 5'10" (it appears that Serly read this as 3'10",
hence his quicker tempo). In PB a marking of 48 is suggested. CE suggests 48–56.
In DM the middle section is played only slightly faster. In Serly it is increased to 76,
in PB it is increased to 80, and in CE it increases to 88–92.
In DM, in the section linking to the Allegretto, an accelerando is introduced to
bring the Allegretto to almost the tempo of the third movement. There is no evi-
dence to suggest that in fact the Allegretto and the Allegro vivace should not be the
same tempo. Both tempo markings were created originally by Serly. In PB the alle-
gretto marking is removed and replaced by an accelerando, which begins four measures
before Serly’s allegretto marking and continues right through the first ten measures
of what was the Allegretto, arriving at his Scherzo (the solo viola entry), which is
marked at q = 116–120. The extended material mentioned earlier under “Structure”
is included here at the same tempo, and the final measure is marked accelerando so as
to arrive at q = 132–38 for the third movement. For some inexplicable reason the
third movement is then designated as allegretto. Serly marked this allegro vivace q = 126.
All three revisions agree with Serly that the middle “bagpipe” section should be
taken at a slower tempo. In PB a speed of q = 108–12 is suggested, (Serly suggested
the same). CE suggests 92 and DM leaves it up to the performer to decide the ac-
tual tempo.
dynamics
It is not the intention to devote any space here to the issue of dynamics. Bartók sup-
plied none. Even with comparison to other works it would be fruitless to propose
one suggestion as a definitely superior alternative to another, and this is an area that,
as with so much Baroque performance practice, is best left to the integrity of each
interpreter. Any suggestions in any of the revisions must be taken only as suggestions.
phrasing
It is also not the intention here to include a detailed comparison of phrasing and
articulation among the revisions. With a virtually total lack of instruction from the
composer, this is the area that has arguably the most scope for difference of opin-
ion. With each performer there will be brought to bear a combination of instinct,
influence, and intellect. It follows that those with the greatest exposure to the folk
music of Hungary since the earliest age will have the strongest instinct. Those with
the greatest exposure to the Serly version of the work will have the strongest sense
of influence. Those with the greatest exposure to the music of Bartók in general,
and especially his string writing, will bring the strongest “informed” or intellectual
approach.
A very general observation may be made in comparing the solo viola line in the
Serly and Neubauer versions with that in the Maurice and Erdélyi versions in that
in the latter versions the slurring generally includes less notes and crosses beats more
often. The Serly and Neubauer versions are arguably more Romantic in concept and
less conscious of idiomatic Hungarian rhythmic shapes.
In addition, as is also a failing in the Serly/Primrose version, the phrasing in the
Bartók/Dellamaggiore orchestral parts is often not unified with similar passages in
the solo part, a sign that different personalities made decisions independently, with-
out cross-referencing all decisions. An example of this occurs in the first movement
where the woodwind phrasing at measures 118–19 is followed by a quite different
treatment in the solo viola in measures 120–21 when playing a similar figure. Per-
haps there is a good reason for this change of character, but it escapes this author.
Phrasing and articulation in the music of Bartók are complex, and in the first
draft of a score, in which, characteristically, Bartók did not supply such detail, the
solutions must be explored with reference to other works with similar situations.
This aspect is examined more thoroughly in chapter 9.
pitches in the solo viola part

In comparing these revisions it must be noted that as the revisionists were all work-
ing from copies of the same manuscript sketch, the resulting revised viola solo parts
are from the point of view of pitches and octave placement almost identical and,
Revisions : 117
apart from five places, comparison among the revisions is pointless. Of the five
places worthy of special mention, three are in the first movement.
The first place is at measures 54–55. Here the manuscript implies, with an arrow,
that the viola solo should continue in quarternotes through the notes D, E, and Fs
on the second, third, and fourth beats. In DM and PB this is observed. In CE this
is left as in the Serly version. This situation also occurs also in the recapitulation
in the section that Bartók left blank. In this recapitulation section PB retains all but
the last of Serly’s added ten measures with minor modifications. CE and DM repli-
cate just the seven measures from the exposition, CE with some modifications. The
aforementioned quarter notes disappear from the texture completely in TS, PB, and
CE but are retained in DM.
The second place is at measure 68, where TS has a 64 measure. The manuscript
shows an extra triplet with the notes Ds, E, and Fs and the word marad (remains).
In DM this is left as in the Serly version. In PB the Es, Fx, and As triplet (TS) is
replaced with the Ds, E, and Fs triplet with an ossia (or) instruction and the 64 mea-
sure changed to two 43 measures. In CE both triplets are included, starting on the Ds
and going through to the As, and the 64 measure becomes a measure of 44 followed
by a measure of 34 . This may well be the correct solution but requires the note
lengths in the orchestra to be adjusted to allow for the extra beat.
The third place is at measure 162, where the manuscript shows a chord that con-
tains the note E in three different octaves. While at first this may seem an impossi-
bility, it can in fact be produced by first playing the lower two Es as a first- and
fourth-finger octave and then converting the upper E into a harmonic by slightly
raising the finger. In CE the lower E is replaced with an open G and the top two
Es are fingered together. This is a practical solution but makes the chord decisively
an E minor harmony. In PB and DM the chord is left as three Es. (TS had a single
G and E.)
The fourth place is in the third movement at measures 19–21. Here the manu-
script is quite unclear as to who should be playing what and in which octave. In PB
and CE the notes are notated through the use of artificial harmonics that will re-
sult in the stated pitches and all in the viola part. In DM the trills are shared with
the piccolo, which results in an interchange between soloist and orchestra, similar
to what occurs in TS.
The fifth place is in the so-called bagpipe middle section (measures 114–70),
where Serly presumably justified his action of transposing the section up a semitone
on the grounds that the key of A major would provide a better basis for resonance,
with the use of open strings and natural harmonics becoming available. It is at this
point that Bartók wrote “harmonics” in the manuscript. Certainly the key of A ma-
jor would allow for natural harmonics to be employed on certain notes, but it would
not provide the total solution. In the key of Af major the entire section can be
played through use of artificial harmonics, and indeed this is the solution offered
by PB and CE. In DM the key of Af is restored, but the melody is left played at
pitch without harmonics. It is extremely difficult to execute this section with arti-
ficial harmonics, as the technique forces one to slow down the tempo such that the
musical integrity may be compromised. It may well be that the request for har-
monics would have been removed if Bartók and Primrose had held the meeting to
discuss the various difficulties mentioned by Bartók.
Chapter Seven
Authenticity
Future Attempts to Achieve a More
Authentic Bartók Viola Concerto
While it is true that Tibor Serly had some experience in working with
Bartók’s works in the past, these were really exercises in orchestration on pieces that
were completed in their original form and were already established in the repertoire
to Bartók’s satisfaction. Serly’s comments about his work on Mikrokosmos pieces, as
recorded in his interview with David Dalton (annotated in chapter 2), are interest-
ing to recall. Knowing Bartók’s fastidious nature, Serly’s assertions that Bartók “al-
lowed me to do anything I wanted” and that he had “carte blanche” with Bartók’s
music do raise the question of his integrity.
The Viola Concerto was a new situation, and as has been demonstrated by László
Somfai and other experts in Bartók’s compositional process, this manuscript was,
in spite of its apparent structural completeness, still only an early draft to which
minimal layering and development had been added. As Serly’s experiences had been
only with completed works and Bartók was unlikely to have shown him early drafts
of any other works, he may not even have been aware of how different an early and
a final draft of Bartók’s could be.1 Current scholarship suggests that orchestrating
the sketches as they stand is inadequate to bring this work to the caliber of his other
late works. All three of the revisions have also taken the approach of staying as close
as possible to the manuscript, in fact much more so than the Serly version. This cau-
tion leads to an overall timbre in the concerto that is not in accordance with Bartók’s
other late orchestral works, despite his comment that the orchestration would be
“rather transparent.”
It is clear that the manuscript left by Bartók at his death was not the final form
the Viola Concerto would have taken. Any suggestions put forward as to how the
composition may have developed must be viewed as speculative, and no amount of
scholarly research or analysis can confidently claim to be able to extrapolate the de-
finitive end result. Some clues may be found by comparing the Viola Concerto to
a work of similar genre, such as the Second Violin Concerto, with its various drafts
available for scrutiny. However, one must always bear in mind that for Bartók every
work was a new creation and no two works follow an identical plan.
In general terms, it is possible to discuss the kinds of changes that may have de-
veloped in subsequent drafts and the factors that would have prompted these
changes. In order to move beyond generalities, one would need to be thoroughly fa-
miliar with the various drafts of many works of Bartók. Without doubt the per-
son who has the greatest experience and insight in this regard is László Somfai, di-
rector of the Bartók Archives in Budapest. For three decades he has developed an
understanding of Bartók’s compositional processes by thorough familiarization
with many primary source materials.
It is with the principles established by Somfai that the potential development in
the Viola Concerto is examined here. First it must be clearly established what kind
of a draft the manuscript represents and the level of development of the work in
relation to other Bartók compositions. Only then is it possible to speculate on the
kinds of development that may have occurred in subsequent drafts and refine-
ments.
In his Béla Bartók: Composition, Concepts and Autograph Sources (p. 29), Somfai suggests
the following diagram (fig. 7.1) as a generalized model of the relation of source
types to phases of Bartók’s compositional process.
Somfai further explores the chain of sources by distinguishing six chronological
periods between which the chain of sources changed. The chain is least complete in
the early years up until 1907, presumably because Bartók did not preserve his work-
ing sketches. It is most complete between 1907 and 1932. After that it is reduced
partly through the absence of a family member being involved in copying and partly
by the reduction in recordings made by Bartók. This is also a reflection of the pre-
dominance of nonpiano works in the output of his final years.
Somfai suggests the following as the normal pattern in these final two periods2:
Works lithographed by UE after 1932
1 – 2 – 3b – 6b – 7 - 6
Boosey & Hawkes prints from 1939
1 –
2 – 3b – 5 – 6a – 6
Also relevant to the Viola Concerto is Somfai’s note:

During the Boosey and Hawkes period, from 1939 onward Bartók also used india-ink fair
copies on Lichtpausen, sometimes with several, differently corrected copies of the tissue mas-
ter. Occasionally he still wrote the full score on normal music paper and returned to use
pencil in drafts when he was at Saranac Lake or Asheville, away from his normal working
environment that included a piano.3
Authenticity : 121
Figure . Somfai’s model of the relation

of source types to phases of Bartók’s
compositional process. Copyright ©
. Reprinted by permission of The
Regents of the University of California.
So the Viola Concerto manuscript lies somewhere between 1 and 2 of the pre-
ceding schema but more in the area of 2 , in that its relative completeness in form
and continuity places it beyond the category of preliminary sketches. However, there
is enough ambiguity and lack of detail for it to be called only a “preliminary draft.”
Presumably if Bartók had continued he would have moved directly to stage 3b, a fair
copy on Lichtpause masters. From there it would have progressed through 5 , corrected
proof sheets, and on into the printed first edition.4
In the case studies provided by Somfai, we find that the majority of changes that
occur beyond stage 4 are in the nature of refinements other than actual changes in
a compositional sense. Such details may include precise markings of tempo, dy-
namics, or phrasing but would not normally involve major changes of pitch, rhythm,
structure, or orchestration. Having said this, there are exceptional examples where
much further along the chain a major structural amendment occurred. Of particu-
lar note are the alternative endings to the Concerto for Orchestra, the Second Vi-
olin Concerto, and the two Rhapsodies and the rejection of a whole movement, as
with the Piano Suite (1916). It is in the progression from 1 through to 3 that these
latter categories would normally develop to their more or less final form. In order
to establish the parameters for the potential development of the Viola Concerto a
case study of the first movement of the Second Violin Concerto is presented.
First, its development is traced from its first draft through to the engraver’s copy
of the violin and piano reduction. It is important to be aware that the Violin Con-
certo and the Third Piano Concerto began as sketches for solo instrument plus pi-
ano accompaniment and the orchestral score followed; that is, the piano reduction
came “before” the full score. Second, the implications that may be drawn for the
Viola Concerto by comparison with the Violin Concerto No. 2 are considered with
reference to some of Somfai’s observations of the primary source materials of other
works.
Second Violin Concerto

The following case study was made possible by access to copies of the draft, the en-
graver’s copy, the corrected proof sheets, Bartók’s working copy (showing the first
signs of intended orchestration), the autograph full score on tissue, and the proofs
of the printed full score.5 This full score is marked, presumably by one of the per-
sonnel at the Bartók Archives: “This MSS is Bartók’s and is more reliable than the
printed f/score.” Also of note is the part given by Bartók to Zoltán Székely, who dis-
cussed with the author the changes that he brought to the score by way of making
the work more violinistic.6 This was done at Bartók’s request and with his approval.
In the following table all markings of dynamics, tempi, and phrasing were added
after the first draft unless stated otherwise. The comparison is by no means ex-
haustive but gives an idea of the sorts of things that might change at this stage of
the compositional process.
Key to abbreviations: BB: Bartók; ZS: Székely. * indicates a similar place in the
Viola Concerto worthy of note. Measure numbers refer to those in the final score.
Draft Engraver’s Copy
No indications Added “I, Allegro non troppo
of tempo given q = 100, Béla Bartók”
4 measures of chords 6 measures of B major chords, 2
before “pizz.” joins, staccato dots. 2

sixteenth notes added as upbeat to
violin melody, p at opening, slurring
added as in final version except B–Fs
slurred in m. 10. BB had triplet
slurred separately; ZS added in
with B
M.11, BB slurred Fs –B, ZS removed
“harp” texture only up to solo “harp” texture extended through to
m. 12
(19, 20, 21) BB slurred dotted quarter note to
eighth note; ZS removed slur
(21) poco allarg., cresc. hairpin, and timing of
51” to this point
(22) a tempo, q = 112–118
(26) non troppo f, espressivo
(31) FDBG, ECAFs, DsCBA FBDG, EACFs, DsCAB (reordered)
(33) 3d beat DsCBA DsCAB
Authenticity : 123
(33–34) accel. al q = 136, dim. hairpin, mf

(36) slurring added, 1, 3, 2, 3, 3, 3, 2/bow
(39) arpeggios slurred in quarter-note
beats*
(43) accomp. phrasing different
(51) tranquillo, q = 94
(55)
timing to here of 33”
two half notes
become one half, two quarters
(56)
Risoluto, q = 120
two staccato quarters
slur with dot on second quarter
(59) 4th beat slur 4, 1
becomes 3 slurred, 2 separate
(64–68) much of texture added
texture filled out
in pencil, presumably later
(74) solo BfCsFsG BfFsCsG

(76) orch. AFBFs ABFFs
(81) solo GsFACsG FGsAGCs
(82) orch. DBfEEf, FsBCGs, FACsG becomes DBfEfE, FsBGsC, FCsAG
(90) solo FsFCB FsCFB

(92) rest F half note
(96) sixteenths unslurred BB sixteenths slurred in pairs, ZS
slurs removed on 2d, 3d, and 4th
beats
(100–101) sixteenths slurred in twos become
separate with staccato dots until
m. 103
(102) cresc. hairpin, ff
(105–7) dramatically reworked,
4 measures added
(116) FBfDf FBfC
(117) FGBf FAfC, then FGsC
(121) 1st chord DfFAf DfFBf, then Bf moves to Af
(124) whole-measure slurring*
(123–36) BB one-measure slurs, ZS
two-measure slurs
(146, 60) triplet slurring*
(159–60) dim. hairpin, ’ , ff, vivace, q = 150
(179) sul pont., sempre legato in orch.
(194) slurring different from similar place
in m. 51
(198) bowing variant
(204) q = 132
(211) canonic phrasing*
(219) allarg. , q = 120
(224) 2d beat EfCBfG CEfBfG

(225) FAfFEf, CBfGF FAfEfF, BfCGF
(226) FEfC FCEf
3d and 4th beats CBfAG, FCBfG CBfFG, EfCBfG
(227) FEfD-, BfGFEf,C FEfBfC, GBfFEf, C
the following 20 measures not in revised half sheet inserted in
the draft place
(248) two quarter notes on top, quintuplet plus quarter note on
quintuplet on plus quarter note below top, two quarter notes below, then
returned to original, all quintuplets
slurred
(251) 5 slurred (5th beat) 3 slurred, 2 separate
Here follows a three-measure cut and paste over the original, i.e., Calmo at
m. 255
(263) BfCfBfAf, DfCf BfAf BfBAsGs, CsBAsG
(viola part) (enharmonic change)*
at page 12 of the draft 30 measures are deleted, possibly a draft of a cadenza, as
the first twenty measures are for violin alone
(269, 270) cut and paste over original draft
(270) final beat 5 slurred 3 slurred, 2 separate
(274) no slur but staccato dots slur added to dots
(278) 44 qqh / qhq / h becomes 34 qqd qd/, q h / hd
(283–84) comma added
(286) sixteenths slurred in twos introduced
on 1st and 2d beats only
(288) slurring now on all beats
(289) added to first draft in margin
(297) 1st quintuplet lowered a tone,
shorthand after 2d draft, just
added over
(297) 4th beat trill on Cs 4 sixteenths BsCsCxDsE
(298–305) complete reworking of draft with
quarter-tone triplet figure introduced
at m. 303
(305 and 307) 44 extra two beats inserted to make 32
(309–11) 4 x 44 rebarred to give 3 x 32 with half note
added at beginning*
(321) final note C final note B
(324) single line across three double-stops alternating over three
strings * strings
(326–28) sixteenths unslurred 2 slurred, 2 separate*
(329) only top note shown but more explicit
triple-stop implied
Authenticity : 125
Figure .
Figure .
(332–34 ) double-stop D and C C removed, so only open D
(335) becomes
(341–43) measure groupings unclear reorganized to give 68 + 2 x 4

4
(346–48) 3 measures of 4 4 becomes 4 measures of 44
(351–53) sixteenths pitches changed on first
draft
(360–63) melody in solo violin melody in orchestra, soloist tacet*
(364) B---, BCsCsB, B---, BDsDsB B---, BABD, F---, DEfDC
(365) B---, BFFB, BGGB, BAAB B---, BABD, FCsEEs, GFsGsAs
(first correction)
&B---, BGsBD, EfCEbFs, GEGAs
(second correction)
(367) B—A, BEFG, BAAB, BCsCsD B—A, BEFG, CsFGA, ABBC
(374) single line BDB,A,B,B single-line writing becomes triple-
stops on all notes*
(373) 7 measures 4 measures as draft, then new
material as unaccompanied cadenza
for 6 measures, then 6 more measures
with orchestra
From the proof sheets just a few examples have been selected of further amend-
ments taken from measures 21–50. This is simply to demonstrate that they really
are only refinements and clarifications of the engraver’s copy:
(21) 3d note clarinet eighth note, not quarter note

(22) f missing in solo violin
(27) 3d, 4th note in solo, stems incomplete
(31) sf on top F
(33) cresc. hairpin should finish on downbeat
(36) no slur in horns
(36–38) slurs removed in glissando strings
(43) ' at end of measure

(44) 1st note in oboe should be B
(46) final note in Hn III, IV without staccato
(50) Vln 3d note staccato, cresc. hairpin should end on last note
These corrections from Bartók demonstrate the care he took in proofreading the
first printed version but also serve to demonstrate that the most significant changes
took place between the draft and the engraver’s copy of the piano reduction. The
features from this crucial phase that indicate change are:
1. Structural—added and deleted measures.
2. Melodic—reordering or changing notes.
3. Rhythmic—usually increased complexity.
4. Rebarring—apparently for ease of performance. The remaining features are added de-
tails rather than changes.
5. Dynamics, phrasing, tempi, and timings.
6. Initial indications of orchestration.
Chapter Eight
Compositional Interpretation
Focus on Structure, Melody, Pitch Organization,

Rhythm, and Orchestration and Texture
Implications for the Viola Concerto
In order to focus clearly on the various aspects raised under the examina-
tion of the Second Violin Concerto in the previous chapter, the Viola Concerto is
examined under the aforementioned headings
Structure
In László Somfai’s case studies of recapitulation sections,1 he notes that in works
from the Fourth String Quartet onward the reappearance of exposition themes
shows a trend to move from the traditional form (i.e., themes in the original shape
and order of the exposition, as in the Fourth String Quartet, movement 1), toward
more “twisted” schemes. Examples of this kind of variation are given in the Fifth
String Quartet, movement 1, Music for Strings, Percussion and Celesta, movement
2, the Second Piano Concerto, movement 3, and the Second Violin Concerto. Som-
fai demonstrates by the example of the Fifth String Quartet Scherzo that even af-
ter the form appeared to be established in the first draft, the second version intro-
duced a revised concept. In summary, it was as a result of developing the Scherzo
material in the recapitulation so as to maintain evolving variation that it became nec-
essary to rework the original Scherzo material itself.
There is certainly room for speculation in the Viola Concerto that in the first
movement after the cadenza section some refinement of the recapitulation may have
occurred, especially as the bridge that led up to the recapitulation of the second
theme was left blank. Perhaps the bridge that connected the first theme and the tran-
sitional triplet theme could also have been developed in some more elaborate man-
ner in the recapitulation than in the exposition. Discounting the viola and timpani
introduction, the first thematic material is twenty-seven measures long. In the re-
capitulation, when this material is recalled after the cadenza, the corresponding pas-
sage is only thirteen measures long. The transitional triplet theme that follows is
identical in length to its counterpart in the exposition.
In the first movement’s second theme at measure 61, the two-measure phrase is
developed rhythmically in the recapitulation with the dotted “anti-Hungarian”
rhythm and melodically by octave displacements and is augmented by an extra mea-
sure after each two-measure phrase. The two measures added by Serly, in consulta-
tion with Primrose, deserve special mention.2 While they have been removed with-
out hesitation in all three revisions, it may well be that these are the kinds of
situation where Bartók may have decided to augment the phrase for reasons of bal-
ance or as a response to the performer’s suggestion.
In regard to the Lento parlando section and its placement between the first and
second movements, while this has already been discussed at length in earlier chap-
ters, it is proposed, by way of a summary, that we are seeing here, in the draft, a first
attempt at the slow movement as referred to in Bartók’s unsent letter to Primrose of
August 5, 1945, as a “rather short” slow movement and then a revised, alternative,
second attempt to create a more extended slow movement with some thematic in-
dependence from the first movement. Both versions provide a smooth link to the
2 Allegretto in C major. Deletions and revised versions are certainly not uncommon
4
at this early stage of the creative process. The main reason for the Lento parlando’s
inclusion in the versions of Serly, Erdélyi, and Peter Bartók is simply that it was not
crossed out and therefore must be included. Both Serly and Erdélyi admit to it be-
ing simply too good to discard, therefore unthinkable. Certainly it is a chance for
the soloist to show off a little, but that alone is not a good enough reason for its in-
clusion.
The slow movement proper achieves a good sense of balance in its A–B–A' form,
with a gathering of momentum in the concluding ritornello that leads directly to
the Allegretto using first movement material. This Allegretto provides a further
challenge structurally, and while Bartók probably had a clear idea how this would
be resolved, his intentions were not left clear in the manuscript. This aspect is also
discussed in chapters 5 and 6. The speculation that this was the beginning of the
missing Scherzo is unlikely, due to the lack of material and Bartók’s assertion that
the work was ready in draft form. There is certainly room for some real craftman-
ship here in producing a satisfactory link from the Allegretto into the Finale proper.
In the meantime it remains questionable whether the Serly version has not been im-
proved upon by interpreting the manuscript literally.
While the third movement has been referred to as truncated and the least com-
plete,3 it has good internal balance and, with Serly’s bars removed, is satisfying from
a structural viewpoint. The inclusions of Serly’s extra measures at the broken octave
section and just before the conclusion are not necessary and do not suggest them-
selves as places where Bartók would have made amendments. In the first instance,
Serly introduces a new key area and extends the theme an extra nine measures with
no variation in the melodic idea. In the second case, the soloist is interrupted mid-
Compositional Interpretation : 129
phrase in order to delay the ending. Of course, Bartók may have completely rewrit-
ten the closing of the work, as he was apt to do, but it would have been more than
a mere tinkering with the final burst to the last note.
In summary, solving the problems of large-scale structure needs further atten-
tion and it is possible that further refinement in the first movement could improve
its internal structural balance. The inclusion of timings of the movements by
Bartók need not preclude the possibilities of deletions and further revisions. It was
his practice to provide timings to indicate tempi, and these would more likely have
been calculated based on what he had written, rather than on a prearranged master
plan of overall length.
Melody
In the draft the melodic intention is clear for the most part. There are, however, a
few places where some refinements may have been made in the next draft partly
from suggestions from Primrose and partly from Bartók’s own initiative. Five places
are suggested from each of the first and last movements where some modification
may have occurred (figs. 8.1a, b, c, d, e, f, g, h, i, and j).
These places are all likely to have been subject to discussion with Primrose. All
but the second example present particularly challenging technical problems that,
while being within the range of most accomplished violists today, would in 1949
have been beyond the abilities of most.4 The second example is included because
Figure .a First movement mm. 21–22
Figure .b First movement mm. 74–76
Figure .c First movement m. 102

Figure .d First movement mm. 112–113
Figure .e First movement mm. 219–220
Figure .f Third movement mm. 17–20
Figure .g Third movement mm. 99–102
Figure .h Third movement mm. 125–133
Figure .i Third movement mm. 198–203
Figure .j Third movement mm. 242–244
Figure .a from Second Violin Concerto—first draft
Figure .b from Second Violin Concerto—final version
it presents the same kind of situation that Bartók continued to rework in the Sec-
ond Violin Concerto in several places, for example figures 8.2 a and b.
It may well be that all the preceding examples would have survived exactly as we
know them, but it is also likely that some would have evolved into something else,
following the precedents demonstrated in the Second Violin Concerto.
From correspondence from Bartók to Yehudi Menuhin dated April 21, 1944, we
can ascertain that the he was quite prepared for considerable changes to occur af-
ter Menuhin had assessed the playability of the Solo Violin Sonata and that, in fact,
such changes did occur:
I am rather worried about the “playability” of some of the double-stops etc. On the last
page, I give for some of them alternatives. In any case, I should like to have your advice. I
sent you two copies. Would you be so kind as to introduce in one of them the necessary
changes in bowing, and other suggestions, and return it to me? And also indicate the im-
practicable difficulties? I would try to change them. The 1/4 tones in the 4th mov. have only
colour-giving character, i.e., they are not “structural” features, and therefore—may be elim-
inated, as I tried to do in the alternatives on the last page, which you may use if you don’t
feel inclined to worry about 1/4 tone playing. However, the best would be, if I could hear
played both versions, and then decide if it is worthwhile to use those 1/4 tones.5
Menuhin played the sonata for Bartók in New York during October 1944, at
which time Bartók found that many more changes were needed.6 When, after
Bartók’s death, Menuhin edited the score, he decided not to include the quarter-
tone version. It has, however, subsequently been included in the edition of Peter
Bartók published by Boosey & Hawkes.
As far as any other development of melodic invention is concerned, László Som-
fai writes:
I risk a general observation: despite his powerful imaginative creation of highly original
themes and motives, in the course of the more or less routine compositional process of fill-
ing out the full texture, Bartók was not always at ease in shaping the melodic/polyphonic
fabric. In such cases the correction usually aimed at an emotionally persuasive rephrasing
of the progression, focussing on a melodic climax or a dramatic gesture in rhythm, even if
it meant simplification of the polyphony.7
Pitch Organization in the Finale of Bartók’s Viola Concerto

contributed by Elliott Antokoletz
In the unfinished manuscript of Bartók’s Viola Concerto, some questions of pitch
organization and content have remained ambiguous. For instance, in the trill figures
of the Finale Bartók in some cases provides the necessary accidental signs to indi-
cate the exact pitch of the upper trilled note, whereas in other cases he provides only
the trill sign. We may assume in the latter case that the unspecified upper trilled note
is self-evident from the larger linear modal configuration to which it belongs. In the
former case, the upper trilled note needs to be specified because the larger linear
configuration changes its modal pattern, so the upper trilled element acquires a
structural function; that is, it articulates the changing linear progression.
An understanding of several principles is essential in determining the scalar/
modal meaning of the trill figures in both cases. Bartók referred to the general prin-
ciple of “diatonic extension” in range of chromatic themes and the reverse, “chro-
matic compression” of diatonic themes, as fundamental to his music,8 his stated
premise of which may serve as a point of departure for evaluating some of the main
pitch-set issues in the last movement of the concerto. One of the primary differ-
ences between contrasting pieces, movements, sections, or passages within the broad
body of Bartók’s music appears to lie in the relative position of the musical mate-
rials between modal (diatonic) and chromatic (cyclic-interval or symmetrical)9 ex-
tremes. This general principle comprehends a more specific concept that underlies
Bartók’s musical language, in which the chromatic scale serves as the basic large-scale
referent for various types of scalar and modal partitionings. These subcollections
of the chromatic scale range from diatonic to chromatic (octatonic and other sym-
metrical) pitch constructions. The interactions of diatonic-modal and symmetrical
octatonic sets in particular, which are essential in the direction of linear and har-
monic progression in the Viola Concerto, establish the ever-changing scalar con-
figurations in both the linear succession and in the contrapuntal combinations.10
These configurations produce a context that can be described as “polymodal chro-
matic combination,” an approach that plays a role in permitting varying degrees of
intervallic expansion and contraction.
One of the means by which Bartók was to transform the diatonic modes of folk
music into an extreme chromaticism was by simultaneous combination of two or
more of these modes on a common tonic, which he referred to as “polymodality”
or “polymodal chromaticism.”11 This principle represents an alternative to chromatic
compression for achieving chromatic transformation of the diatonic modes. All of
these principles—diatonic extension, chromatic compression, and polymodal chro-
maticism—are essential for understanding the content and function of the trill fig-
ures and the larger linear constructions to which they belong in the Finale. Linear
diatonic-octatonic combination, which is expressly developed as hybrid scalar pat-
terns in the Finale (in the passages comprised of sixteenth-note and trill configu-
rations), is established as the basis of the opening theme of movement 1. Except for
one appoggiatura (E leading tone to F in m. 3), the exclusive scalar content of the
theme outlines a six-note octatonic segment, A–B–C–[ ]–Ef–F–[ ]–Af. In the
pizzicato accompaniment, the Fs extends this segment to seven notes, A–B–C–
[ ]–Ef–F–Fs–Af, whereas the missing octatonic note, D, is added in the next the-
matic statement (at m. 14). The single pizzicato note, G, in the orchestra suggests
a diatonic disruption of the octatonic collection, so theme and accompaniment to-
gether form a more chromatic hybrid (octatonic-diatonic) collection,
Af–G–Fs–F–[E neighbor note]–Ef–C–B–A: this implies the infusion of a dia-
tonic segment (Af–G–F–Ef–[ ]–C) into the larger octatonic content
(Af–Fs–F–Ef–[ ]–C–B–A) of the theme. Such bimodal interactions are essential
to the developmental process of the concerto in general.
A striking instance of this principle in the Finale is evident in the initial phrases
of the viola line, each of which moves from some modal configuration (or combi-
nation of modal segments) to cadential articulation by trill figures. The encircling
linear motion establishes E as the pitch-class priority of the line itself, the upper
(E–G–Fs) and lower (E–Cs–Ds) segments implying the presence of the E
melodic-minor tetrachords (E–Fs–G–[ ] and [ ]–Cs–Ds–E). At the same time,
this modal segment permits a dual interpretation, in which the five notes can also
be interpreted as an octatonic segment (Cs–Ds–E–Fs–G). The first disruption
of this dual modal interpretation is introduced by the explicit E–F trill, a change
that induces a sense of chromatic compression of the mode by means of a chro-
matic filling in, G–Fs–[F, upper-trilled note]–E–Ds–[ ]–Cs, the new note D at
measure 8 filling in the latter gap. While the direction of the phrase is simply from
diatonic/octatonic to chromatic configurations, the second phrase (mm. 11ff.) clar-
ifies the dual modal significance of the chromatically juxtaposed Ds and D, the two
notes appearing now as part of two juxtaposed diatonic/octatonic segments,
E–Ds–Cs and E–D–Cs. The octatonic significance of the first figure, E–Ds–Cs,
is supported by the first note (C) of the new diatonic/octatonic figure, C–B–A.
These two figures, which belong to different diatonic or octatonic modes, are again
absorbed into a chromatically compressed context by the cadential trill figure, B–C,
and Bf. The latter, in which the unspecified trilled C is determined by the preced-
ing diatonic/octatonic figure (C–B–A), establishes the overall chromatic meaning
of the entire phrasal content (E–Ds–D–Cs–C–B–Bf–A). The implied octatonic
significance of the chromatic trill figure (B–C) is soon established in the violins
(mm. 22–24), which unfold the exclusive seven-note octatonic segment, B–C–
D–Ef–F–Gf–Af. The implied D of the C–D trill (in retrospect of m. 23) can only
be interpreted as an octatonic D (i.e., as opposed to a Df chromatic interpretation).
While the opening phrases are based on intervallic change from diatonic/
octatonic configurations to a compressed chromaticism, which is induced by the ca-
dential trill figures, subsequent passages tend to fulfill the diatonic/octatonic im-
plications of these phrases. One prominent instance is found (at m. 26) in the dia-
tonic extension (Ef–F–Gf–Af–Bf–Cf) of the octatonic segment, B–C–D–Ef–
F–Gf–Af, which together outline the larger hybrid (bimodal) scale figure, B–C–
D–Ef–F–Gf–Af–Bf–Cf. In the following measures, both diatonic and octatonic
segments are expanded and made increasingly distinct from one another; for exam-
ple, the exclusive diatonic figure (B–Cs–D–E–Fs–G, at mm. 28–29, violins) is fol-
lowed by a distinct octatonic configuration in the solo viola, B–C–D–Ef–F–Gf,
which is then chromatically compressed (Ef–D–Df–C–B) at the cadence, as in the
opening phrases. It is striking that where chromaticism is introduced at the cadence
(e.g., m. 27, violin) Bartók indicates the specific trilled note, Ef–En, but where the
figure is exclusively in a single mode (e.g., m. 29, violin) the trilled note is not spec-
ified. However, some inconsistencies are evident, as in the trill figures in the violin
(m. 26) and oboe (m. 27). The explicit trill indications in the chromaticized flute
figures (mm. 25–28) are of course imperative.
In section B (mm. 65ff.) of the overall ABCBA form of the Finale, the trill fig-
ures that follow the sixteenth-note configurations are now extended to longer de-
scending sequences. The first occurrence (solo viola, at mm. 85–88) serves as a ca-
dential extension of the original sixteenth-note pattern, transposed up a fifth to B
melodic-minor, the two modal segments (B–Cs–D–[ ] and [ ]–Gs–As–B) also
outlining an octatonic segment, Gs–As–B–Cs–D. As in the opening passage, the
descending trill sequence establishes the direction toward chromatic compression.
In this case, none of the trilled notes is specified, so the decision by the performer
must be based on the intrinsic scalar construction of the passage itself. While the
descent is entirely chromatic, the strong-beat articulations outline the complete
C-Ionian mode, B–A–G–F–E–D–C, the weak chromatic elements simply serving
as passing notes. Both intuition and analysis seem to dictate that the unspecified up-
per trilled notes are determined exclusively by the diatonic mode. It is striking that
in the following passage (mm. 90–92) one of the trill figures (on Gf) specifies an
Ab upper note, which seems to be indicated only as a reminder that the diatonic
structure prevails. At the final return of the A section (mm. 221ff.), the first chro-
matic trill sequence is intervallically expanded (at mm. 226–28) to a complete oc-
tatonic descent, F–Ef–D–C–B–A–Gs–Fs/G–F, the unspecified trills (mordents)
obviously being dictated exclusively by the preceding octatonic notes, since the mi-
nor third sequence of the strong beats would suggest an unlikely sequence of mi-
nor third trills.
This study has briefly addressed some of the basic theoretic-analytical issues that
have existed in determining some of the primary means of pitch organization in
Bartók’s music. Since Bartók’s transformations and syntheses are based on a multi-
plicity of divergent modal and chromatic constructions, a more comprehensive
study of the “polymodal” principles discussed herein can contribute to a more

meaningful interpretation of the details of Bartók’s musical language and a deeper
appreciation of his aesthetics.
Rhythm
To speculate on possible rhythmic amendments is much more difficult. While there
is no reason to suggest that internal rhythm (within beats) would systematically have
been further developed, there are situations where extra beats, extra measures, or re-
distribution of bar lines may well have occurred, as was the case for example in the
Second Violin Concerto and in the Solo Violin Sonata. Possibilities of extra mea-
sures have already been discussed under “Structure,” but situations can be observed
where extra beats or different deployment of time signatures may have developed.
First movement examples are shown in Figure 8.3a and b.
This redistribution of bar lines would assist in ensemble considerations between
viola and timpani, for example, four measures of 34 instead of three measures of 44.
This need not affect the actual outcome for the listener but may help the performer
find what is the intended shape of the phrase.
Some confusion exists here in the manuscript (fig. 8.4a). There probably are in-
tended to be three beats of triplets with the second orchestral beat becoming a half
note. A possibility for barring would then be a 44 that includes all of the sixteenths
and a 34 that includes all of the triplets (fig. 8.4b).
This 45, 47 (fig. 8.5a) could be clearer in rhythmic intent if reversed; that is, the third
Figure .a First movement mm. 7 –10.
Figure .b Suggested alternative

Figure .a First movement mm. 67–68
Figure .b Suggested alternative
beat of measure 106 functions as a strong pulse in both the solo and orchestral lines
(fig. 8.5b).
Two bars of 44 (fig. 8.6a) could be 43, 45 (fig. 8.6b). There is no cross-rhythm to sup-
port a strong pulse on measure 111.
Four measures of 44 (fig. 8.7a) would better outline the rhythmic intent if notated
as 4 , 2 x 42, 2 x 68 , 54 (fig. 8.7b).
5
The placing of bar lines in contrapuntal textures, where emphasis occurs on beats
other than the first, is somewhat arbitrary but can lead to lack of clarity if those en-
tries, occurring on first beats, are overly pronounced. In unconducted chamber
works, it is possible to have independent barring for different parts. This device can
be observed in No. 33 from the 44 Duos for Two Violins. Bartók also uses, partic-
ularly in his string quartets, the dotted internal bar line, a device for showing the
player the rhythmic shapes within the large measure format. Zoltán Székely freely
admits to adapting his own parts in this respect to make them easier to find the mo-
tivic shapes.
From Bartók’s draft of the opening of the Fourth String Quartet the barring un-
derwent considerable transformation before arriving at the grouping as we now
know it. Zoltan Székely discussed this matter during an interview with the author
Figure .a First movement mm. 105–106
Figure .b Suggested alternative

Figure .a First movement mm. 110–111
Figure .b Suggested alternative
in May 1996. In the first drafts the time signatures reflected more closely the rhyth-
mic implications. After considering his experiences with musicians of the day and
the difficulties he encountered with them in reading music with constantly chang-
ing time signatures, Bartók apparently resorted to staying in 44 time and writing
across the bar lines. Székely, when learning this movement, rewrote his part with re-
barring to reflect the rhythmic shapes once again. One is left with the impression
that the bar line is placed for the convenience of the performer and the resultant
feeling it will produce, rather than for some obscure, abstract meaning. Normally if
the barring does not conform to the shape of the phrase, it is for reasons of a larger
ensemble issue where entries are canonic or polyrhythmic. In the aforementioned
cases in the Viola Concerto there are no complicating factors of this kind.
While, no doubt, these suggestions may be viewed as unnecessary and a com-
promise to the performer, such amendments do not detract from the end result and
Figure .a Second movement mm. 54–57
Figure .b Suggested alternative

do in fact lead to a clearer interpretation. Examples of barring according to motivic

rhythm are evident in other Bartók works and would not be setting a precedent if
adopted in a revision of this work.
Orchestration and Texture

By way of clarification of terms, within this context “instrumentation” refers to the
composition of the orchestra as stated in the front of the score. “Orchestration”
refers to the deployment of the instruments in their various combinations to con-
vey the sound world of Bartók. While development of texture could be viewed in-
dependently from orchestration, for the most part they are interconnected. There
may be examples of places where Bartók may have augmented the texture by adding
additional voicings, more elaborate counterpoint, and enrichment of the harmonic
texture, but in this we would be moving into a highly speculative area.
In general terms, a draft was usually more or less complete in regard to voicings
and contrapuntal intentions. The gaps in the Viola Concerto are in places where
such textures can be reasonably extrapolated from existing material elsewhere in the
work. The two areas that are perhaps too thin are the outer sections of the second
movement and some places in the third movement, where the writing is reduced to
only two lines. While there may be room for some fleshing out in these places, this
aspect is not overly disturbing.
In the second movement Serly openly borrowed from the idea in the second
movement of the Third Piano Concerto to provide woodwind flourishes as a foil
to the lonely solo viola line. While all three revisions have left out this addition of
Serly, some view this as one of Serly’s more inspired ideas. Sándor Kovács comments
that “some of Serly’s solutions are definitely fortunate (for example the enrichment
of the central part of the slow movement with excited wind flourishes).”12 Indeed,
without these flourishes the violist is left to carry the anguished mood alone, as
there remains only a shimmering string texture two octaves below. This situation
demonstrates well the dilemma faced by a reviser in balancing Bartókian authen-
ticity with Serlyan creativity. One is also reminded here of the observation of Rob
Cowen in his review of the recording of Kim Kashkashian in chapter 4: “Those
flourishes are fully in line with the many wind-topped ‘night music’ passages found
elsewhere in Bartók’s concertos and I’m troubled by their absence.”
As this is Bartók’s only “unorchestrated” mature orchestral work (most of his
youthful Symphony of 1902 was left unorchestrated), it is worthwhile to take a
closer look at the choice of instrumentation of Serly to see if it can be improved
upon. As to orchestration by Bartók in general terms, László Somfai comments as
follows:
It is a general opinion that orchestration is not the strongest side of Bartók’s music . . .
Specifically traditional is Bartók’s treatment of winds in many of his scores. Some of the
safety doublings of wind parts (including a special kind of tutti woodwind unison known
from the early to the latest scores) could have been connected with Bartók’s sad experience
with Hungarian orchestras. Often the sound of his instrumentation was not sharp and
loud, at other times not transparent enough.13
In Serly’s instrumentation he calls for three horns, three trumpets, two trom-
bones, and one tuba, yet Bartók had never used this brass combination before. In
the revisions of Peter Bartók and Csaba Erdélyi the horns are increased to four and
the trumpets remain at three. In the author’s revision both horns and trumpets are
reduced to two. Peter Bartók also adds cor anglais and double bassoon, and Csaba
Erdélyi adds bass clarinet.
Some examples of wind and brass combinations are:
2,2,2,2 3,2,0,0, Second Suite for Small Orchestra (1905–7)

2,2,2,2 4,2,2,1 First Violin Concerto (1908)
2,2,2,2 4,2,3,1 Two Portraits, Orchestrated (1911)
2,0,2,2 2,0,0,0 Rumanian Folk Dances for Small Or-
chestra (1917)
2,2,2,2 4,2,2,1 First Piano Concerto (1926)
2,2,2,2 4,3,3,1 (+ picc. & contra.) Second Piano Concerto (1931)
2,2,2,2 4,2,3,0 Second Violin Concerto (1938)
2,2,2,2 4,2,2,1 (tuba doubling 3d trom.) Third Piano Concerto (1945)
2,2,2,2 3,3,2,1 Viola Concerto (1945), Serly version (1950)
In terms of precedent it would seem that previous to the Viola Concerto four
horns were nearly always used and there were never more trumpets than trombones.
Possibly a 4, 3, 3, 1 combination would be suitable. The main function of the third
trumpet in Serly’s instrumentation is to enable the three muted trumpets to play the
closing bars of the first movement and to bolster up the forte tuttis. Perhaps there
is an alternative solution here.
In terms of percussion, Serly chose a fairly standard combination of timpani, side
drum, small cymbal (with choke), large cymbal, and bass drum. Other than the use
of choke, this is not unusual. In the works mentioned earlier we also see at times
harp(s), celesta, tam-tam, gong, xylophone, and triangle. While the Viola Concerto
(Serly) is not lacking in percussion effects, relative to its small-scale texture, it is
tempting to introduce a gong or something similar in the last movement in the two-
part canon to give more emphasis to the climax points and the “Oriental” flavor
of the open fifths texture.
Bartók’s legacy that “the orchestration will be rather transparent, more trans-
parent than in a violin concerto,” has perhaps been more of a hindrance than a help
in solving the problems of orchestration, in that it has imposed a serious inhibition
on fully revising orchestration and instrumentation, which has resulted in all ver-
sions to date failing to achieve fully the sound world of Bartók’s other late orches-
tral works. Perhaps this “transparency” intention is more reflective of Bartók’s cau-
tion on writing for solo viola and his fear that he might swamp the solo part, a fear
that may have been overcome if the normal course of events for preparation of a
score had been possible. The thinness of the texture has been a target for com-
mentators since the very earliest performances and is an obvious area for review in
a more “authentic” Bartók Viola Concerto.
There is no question that the instrumentation and orchestration of Serly pervade
all the revisions in spite of the attempts to improve on his decisions. That may re-
flect the inhibition referred to earlier, or it may simply reflect that Serly was to some
degree successful in his attempts to re-create Bartók’s sound world. Of course it is
also inevitable that the allocation of lines to particular instruments would have in
many cases been the same in the revisions whether or not the Serly version had been
available, as many textures are clearly intended for strings or winds.
All in all, one may conclude that Serly’s orchestration was tasteful and for the
most part Bartókian. Serly’s most serious transgression was in ignoring some of
Bartók’s precise markings, such as the indication for timpani at the opening that was
innovative and, as we now know from experience, extremely effective.
Attempts to resolve whether the revisionists have improved upon this aspect are
largely subjective, and the verdict will lie in the reception these revisions receive from
musicologists, reviewers, and performers in the early decades of the twenty-first
century.
Chapter Nine
Performance Interpretation
Focus on Tempi, Dynamics, Phrasing, and
Articulation in the Solo Viola Part
These aspects have been grouped together for purely pragmatic reasons
in that these markings were generally added at the same stage in the compositional
process, that is, while developing the fair copy. As was shown in the development of
the Violin Concerto, while no markings were evident in the first draft; they were
all included on the engraver’s copy.
In the case of the Viola Concerto all markings of tempo and dynamics were
added by Serly. Admittedly with respect to tempi he did have Bartók’s overall tim-
ings to use as a basis, but the changes of tempi within the movements are entirely
based on his own instincts and the characters suggested to him in the music. This
whole area needs reinvestigation by comparison with similar types of melodies in
other works, in particular Bartók’s later-period string and orchestral works. As is
known from the recordings of Bartók at the piano, the exact intention of the com-
poser with regard to tempo and rubato was virtually impossible to notate.
The issues of tempi and rubato are inextricably connected. From the recordings
of Bartók playing his own compositions on the piano it can be observed that within
his own indicated tempi there is considerable flexibility of tempo and considerable
use of rubato. If there was a recording of the Viola Concerto with Bartók playing
the orchestral part on the piano and Zoltán Székely playing the solo viola part, this
would undoubtedly produce a set of tempi and a use of rubato that would be dif-
ficult to regiment by a series of accelerandi and ritardandi and definitive metronome
markings. Equipped with an overall familiarity with the later-period works for
strings and orchestra and a thorough immersion in the recordings of Bartók at the
piano and of peasant musicians playing both rhythmic and parlando styles, we may
arrive at an interpretation that is closer to his intention.
Clearly, William Primrose had very fixed ideas as to what were the correct tempi
of each movement and each section within each movement. These evolved quite nat-
urally from his preparation of the work in collaboration with Tibor Serly and were
recorded for eternity on his early recording. Without doubt these are the definitive
tempi of the Serly/Primrose tradition. However, they cannot be claimed to repre-
sent the exact intentions of Bartók, as, apart from a very few places, he gave no in-
structions of tempo. In the absence of clear indications from Bartók, Primrose took
it upon himself to insist that his and Serly’s decisions were final and must be fol-
lowed by future generations as the absolute truth. Primrose’s letter to Serly (fig. 9.1)
of September 19, 1971, demonstrates well the frustration he felt on hearing “younger”
players ignoring his assumed authority on the matter of tempo in the second sub-
ject of the first movement (reprinted by permission—Eiji Primrose):
WILLIAM PRIMROSE c.b.e., f.g.s.m.

school of music
indiana university
bloomington, indiana 47401
September 19th, 1971.
Dear Tibor,
The Bartók Viola concerto is one of the test pieces to be performed at the Carl Flesch
competition in London next June. So, now, arises once again the sore point (that is, with
me and I feel sure, with you, also) concerning the passage discussed in David Dalton’s very
able doctoral dissertation, I enclose a copy of the passage in question discussed on page
27 of his theme. I keep on wondering how many of the present day young violists have ever
heard our recording, surely after all the “fons et origo” of correct interpretation. If you and
I, with your guidance, don’t know how it should go, who in hell does! The organizer of
the competition, Yfrah Neaman, is a good friend of mine and of Menuhin, the chairman
of the same. I told him (Neaman) when I was last in London that I would send him proof
of the “official” way of playing as opposed to the number of young players who observe
little or no reduction in tempo at bar 41. I would like just a short word of concurrence from
you. To save you any trouble I am enclosing a p.c. on which you may write “concur,” or
should I be wrong after all these years and performances, you then would write, “you’re all
cock-eyed.”
How is your health these days. I trust you have quite recovered and are enjoying your
new location.
Warmest greetings to you
Bill
The question of dynamics is also very elusive, as we are again dependent on es-
tablishing the type of character and mood of the various melodies and responding
with an informed instinct. When these issues were raised with Zoltán Székely, he
was very much of the opinion that only instinct will dictate how to solve these prob-
lems and that looking always for parallels will not necessarily produce the correct
Figure 9.1
end result. Unfortunately, these instincts, as we call them, are not necessarily some-
thing we are born with but to a large degree are cultivated from our environment
and cultural heritage. Fluency in Hungarian and familiarity with the indigenous folk
music is undoubtedly an advantage in interpreting the rubato, dynamics, phrasing,
and articulation in Bartók’s music. It must also be remembered, however, that the
final-period instrumental works of Bartók are often also strongly Romanian-influenced.
While Bartók was in the United States his ethnomusicological work was mainly on
Romanian folk music, plus some Yugoslav and Turkish music. The Yugoslav influ-
ences are particularly noticeable in the Concerto for Orchestra.
While we are rather left to our own devices in solving the phrasing and articula-
tion in the Viola Concerto, much of this is determined by the nature of the music.
The last movement for instance is clearly a moto perpetuo type of dance, and there
is little room for employing other than separate bows. In the true Hungarian (or
Scottish) style, the bagpipe tune in the middle of the movement (in harmonics ac-
cording to the manuscript) should be kept on the string with the articulation not
too short. The reader is reminded of Zoltán Székely’s comment: “The gypsies do
not play with lifted bowing, but rather ‘on-the-string’ and this is what Bartók had
in mind.”1
In the second movement the intention is clearly for a serene legato melody in the
opening section, and several bowing possibilities will serve this end. The crying mo-
tive in the middle section is clearly a contrast to the beautiful legato outer sections,
but there is little choice here in bowing and articulation.
The Allegretto poses an interesting question. Csaba Erdélyi, and Atar Arad many
years previously, proposed that the multiple-stopped notes built on the C-F-Bf-Ef
chord should be played pizzicato. They did so without the knowledge that Burton
Fisch, presumably on Serly’s advice, did the same in his recording in early 1948.
There are two good reasons to support this idea. First, it is actually impossible to
play exactly what Bartók wrote with the bow; and second, it has a precedent in the
later string quartets, notably in the Fourth String Quartet, where pizzicato is ex-
plored extensively in similar situations. Such strummed pizzicatos also appear in the
Finale of the First Violin Sonata.
The discussion of phrasing and articulation in the first movement has been left
until last because it is here that the greatest challenges lie. The widest range of
melodic contrast occurs here, and the most complex rhythms and pitch progressions
are to be found in this movement. Again it was Zoltán Székely’s suggestion, during
the 1996 interviews, that we must each follow our instincts and do what our hearts
tell us. While that holds true for much of the movement, there are some places
where parallels are not entirely futile. Attention is now drawn to those places where
possible parallels may be considered (figs. 9.2a and b, 9.3a and b, 9.4a and b, 9.5a and
b, 9.6a and b, 9.7a and b, 9.8a and b, and 9.9a and b).
The articulation markings on the solo viola part have been completely removed
Performance Interpretation : 145
except where given in the manuscript. Articulations on the “other works” are from
Bartók. The suggestion being promoted here is that there is sufficient similarity in
musical intent that the “other” work offers plausible solutions to similar passages
in the Viola Concerto.
Figure .a Viola Concerto, First movement m. 21
Figure .b Violin Concerto No. 2, First movement m. 39
Figure .a Viola Concerto, First movement m. 40
Figure .b Piano Concerto No. 3, First movement mm. 27–38
Figure .a Viola Concerto, First movement m. 88
Figure .b Violin Concerto No. 2, First movement m. 310
Figure .a Viola Concerto, First movement m. 103
Figure .b String Quartet No. 6, First movement mm. 222–223
Figure .a Viola Concerto, First movement m. 113
Figure .b Violin Concerto No. 2, First movement m. 100
Figure .a Viola Concerto, Second movement mm. 1–3
Figure .b Piano Concerto No. 3, Second movement mm. 1–3
Figure .a Viola Concerto, Second movement mm. 71–72
Figure .b String Quartet No. 4, Fourth movement mm. 78–79 pizzicato
Figure .a Viola Concerto, Third movement mm. 32–33
Figure .b String Quartet No. 3, First movement mm. 242–243
Figure .a Viola Concerto, Third movement mm. 57–60
Figure .b Violin Concerto No. 2, First movement mm. 107–109

Chapter Ten
The Future and Legal Issues
Bartók’s Will and Estate and
Matters of Copyright
In recalling W. S. Mann’s article of January 1951 (see chapter 4), the first
response, in which he suggests “the simplest is to leave it alone, as an object of pi-
ous regret,” is obviously out of the question, as the work, in whatever eventual form,
is firmly in the concert repertoire. The second option, “when possible, to complete
the dead man’s design without adding matter not of his own composition,” is more
or less what has occurred in the three revisions of the 1990s, although even here the
end results have not been as similar as one might expect. Mann’s third option, “for
a musician who was in close contact with the composer’s mind at the time of the
composition, to treat the uncompleted manuscript according to the ideals known
to have been in that creative mind,” is worthy of further consideration.
The Serly version falls somewhere between the second and third options. While
Serly argues in regard to the first two movements that “both of these movements
were completed by Bartók and are his music from the first to the last measures,”
the truth of the matter, as has been amply demonstrated, is that Serly did play a sig-
nificantly larger role than that defined by the second option, in all three movements.
While two or three generations of violists have accepted gratefully a concerto
that ranks as one of the best for their instrument, the issue of its authenticity has
not been important enough to lead to a boycott of the work. It is worth recalling
the amended Wordsworth quotation from the Musical Times review of 1950: “A com-
poser creates the values by which he is to be appreciated.”
Had this work appeared from Serly’s pen alone or any other lesser composer than
Bartók, it would no doubt have been hailed in its 1950 version as a masterpiece from
that composer. The bulk of criticism is connected to the fact that this work does
not measure up to many of Bartók’s earlier masterworks. Many works by many com-
posers do not match up with the creative genius and skill of Béla Bartók, but it does
not mean that they are avoided or in fact automatically compared and criticized as
having this fault. Is it not because of Bartók’s values evident in compositions that
preceded this work that the critics feel dissatisfaction?
Clearly the Serly version has not satisfied all in the musical world. However, it is
historically important and should stand as the first available version. To assist in
its correct placement in history, Boosey & Hawkes, recording companies, and con-
cert promoters should be strongly encouraged to redefine the authorship of the
Bartók/Serly score to recognize Serly’s true role more accurately. Perhaps “Viola
Concerto arranged and orchestrated by Tibor Serly from sketches of Béla Bartók”
would be more appropriate than “prepared for publication by Serly.” It is notewor-
thy to recall that it was Serly’s original suggestion to Betty Bean to use the phrase
“arranged and orchestrated by Tibor Serly.”1
The third option referred to earlier is, of course, the most difficult to achieve,
but there would be immense interest worldwide should such an attempt be even
moderately successful. Certainly Sándor Kovács’s comment “so too can a new, more
convincing version of Bartók’s Viola Concerto be produced,”2 throws down the
gauntlet to scholars, composers, and performers alike. From Kovács’s earlier com-
ments it is clear that he is implying that far more needs to be done than just tidy-
ing up the work of Tibor Serly and that the manuscript must be taken only as a first
layer of a work that would have undergone much further development. These com-
ments have been strongly corroborated in discussions with Bartók authorities El-
liott Antokoletz, Malcolm Gillies, and László Somfai.
It is in fact because of the influence of these three eminent musicologists that
this author has moved beyond his revision that evolved between 1978 and 1993 and
was prompted to write chapter 7. This chapter outlined the manner in which a work
of Bartók developed in his compositional process after a first draft and suggested
implications for the Viola Concerto and its possible development.
A number of complex logistical and legal issues arise when considering the pro-
duction of a more convincing and definitive Bartók Viola Concerto. First there is
the issue of access to source materials. Over the years since Bartók’s death, access to
primary sources has improved considerably but has not yet reached an ideal situa-
tion. Certainly the easing of relations between Hungary and the West over the final
decades of the twentieth century improved the sharing of material, both through
the possibility of travel and through the large amount of material that has been
translated into languages other than the relatively inaccessible Hungarian. Added to
the difficulties has been the development of two separate and substantial collections
of Bartók manuscripts, correspondence, books, and other memorabilia. These two
collections, housed in Budapest at the Bartók Archives, and in Florida at Bartók
Records are, at the time of writing, headed respectively by László Somfai, the em-
inent Hungarian authority on Bartók, and Peter Bartók, the second son and coheir
to the Bartók family estate.
The establishment of the Bartók Archives in Budapest was a fairly natural and
predictable development, Budapest being the capital and former residence of Hun-
The Future and Legal Issues : 151
gary’s most notable twentieth-century composer. It began as a modest collection

of manuscripts, books, and articles. Some items were acquired by the founder,
Denijs Dille (director from 1961 to 1972), and subsequent staff from (former) pub-
lishers and private sources. Other items were donated or loaned by Bartók family
members and friends. The “Bartók Archívum” has become somewhat of a Mecca
for serious Bartók scholars, with not only an extensive collection of materials but
also an associated team of resident experts on all manner of aspects that relate to
Bartók’s life and work. It is through this team, led since 1971 by Lázsló Somfai, that
many publications have appeared and international forums been held, further en-
hancing the biographical and analytical literature on Bartók and his music.
The basis of the second “source center,” the American Archives, now under Pe-
ter Bartók’s custody, is the material sent in 1939 to the United States as part of
Bartók’s belongings. This included the most valuable of Bartók’s original manu-
scripts. This second archive arose mainly due to the fact that Bartók, having made
a first will in 1940 in Budapest, before his departure for the United States, made a
second will in 1943, when in New York. Following his death the authorities of Hun-
gary and the United States held differing views on which will was to stand. Ac-
cording to the account of Péter Ruffy,3 this conflict continued right through until
1961.
In the meantime legal proceedings had begun at the office of the Budapest State
Notaries to obtain the administration of Béla Bartók’s will; the case was finally
heard in 1958, after it had been adjourned several times. In the final hearing in 1961,
probate was granted to the plaintiffs. This judgment gave effect to the general dis-
positions of the New York will but set aside the trust and the appointment of
trustees as an institution unknown to Hungarian law. It therefore awarded uncon-
ditional possession of the estate to the three legatees.
The decision of the New York Surrogate’s Court that recognized the existence
of the trust and trustees was consequently in conflict with the decision of the Hun-
garian Court of Probate.
In order to understand better the conflict, it is helpful to first examine the “Hun-
garian” will and second follow the chain of events that led to the second “Ameri-
can” will and the establishment of an American Archives. The English translation
of the Hungarian will is supplied in Peter Ruffy’s aforementioned article. The sec-
ond (American) will, while reflecting Bartók’s changed circumstances since arriv-
ing in New York, did not automatically provide a simple solution to the distribu-
tion of the estate, partly because of the problem already mentioned between the two
countries and also partly due to the interests of the appointed American trustees
being at odds with those of family members. According to Ruffy:
Dr Bátor suggested that Béla Bartók should set up a trust under Anglo-American law,
because this would be the most effective method of safeguarding his life-work, both in the
interest of his heirs and of European civilization, in the face of all the uncertainties and
risks of the war. According to the provisions of such a trust the testator leaves his estate
to the two executors in trust for the legatees of the will. They were in fact responsible for
the management of the property for the benefit of the legatees during the lifetime of the
widow. Upon her death the trust would be dissolved and the estate would pass uncondi-
tionally to the two remaining heirs.
Bartók agreed to the proposal. His obvious intention was that the trustees as American
subjects would hold the copyrights, which would thus be protected from possible confis-
cation by the fascist dictatorship.
In the autumn of 1943 he duly signed the American will setting up the trust which was
drawn up by Dr Victor Bátor. In this he set aside the will he had made in Hungary and
appointed Dr Gyula Baron and Dr Victor Bátor as trustees, with, however, far wider dis-
cretionary powers than was usual.
Two years later Bartók died. The widow came back to Hungary, Péter Bartók remained
in the States.
The New York Surrogate’s Court duly granted probate of Béla Bartók’s will and con-
firmed the trustees in their positions.
Experts in international law all agree that the property was correctly managed by the
trustees and in accordance with the terms of the trust, during the first two years. A little
later Dr Gyula Baron resigned for health reasons and Dr Victor Bátor was left in sole con-
trol of the estate.
For eleven years Bátor presented no accounts. When, finally, he produced them, it be-
came apparent that the legatees Ditta Pásztory, Béla and Péter Bartók, had received “barely
a quarter” of the very considerable sums amounting from royalties. Three-quarters of the
royalties were charged by Bátor to expenses. Neither the US law, however, nor the will it-
self authorized the trustees to charge the estate with the majority of expenses. (Reprinted
by permission of the New Hungarian Quarterly)
Bátor was eventually succeeded as trustee by Benjamin Suchoff. He had begun

working in the archives while Bátor was still trustee and took over as trustee follow-
ing his departure. It has been demonstrated that the surviving Bartók family mem-
bers were obstructed in the receipt of proceeds from royalties by the determination
of Victor Bátor to build a collection of materials second to none. However, with the
return of Bartók’s second wife, Ditta, to Hungary, after the composer’s death, it is
also probable that with the effects of the Cold War very little of the proceeds would
have reached either her or Béla junior (son of first wife, Márta), still a resident of Bu-
dapest. It is not surprising, therefore, that Peter (son of second wife, Ditta), re-
maining in the United States, became involved in a long legal battle over copyright
issues and the estate itself, finally resolving after Ditta’s death in 1982, when he was
awarded the entire American estate. These difficulties were from time to time aired
in the media, a notable example being the case of the battle over the rights for the
Concerto for Orchestra, in which Peter Bartók, representing himself, challenged a
lower court decision that the work was posthumous. According to Herm Schoenfeld,
The Future and Legal Issues : 153
“Peter Bartók was opposed in the suit by both Boosey & Hawkes and the Bartók es-
tate, representing his mother. If the appelate decision stands, then royalties from
‘Concerto for Orchestra,’ which had been going entirely to Mrs Bartók, will now have
to be split between the mother and the son.” The manuscript had been printed and
copyrighted in 1946, but it was the view of the appellate court that “since the copy-
right contract was executed before Béla Bartók’s death and since copies of the com-
position were distributed to members of the orchestra, the work was, in effect, ‘pub-
lished’ before Béla Bartók’s death and hence was not posthumous.”4
At the close of the twentieth century, we had the two source centers both deter-
mined to leave a legacy of a definitive record of Bartók’s lifework. Led by the
archives in Budapest, the mainstream scholars of Europe, the United States, and
Australasia support the concept of a Complete Critical Edition. This project remains
unrealized at present as much vital material either is located at Bartók Records in
Florida or is protected by copyrights that Boosey & Hawkes, in conjunction with
Peter Bartók, is unwilling to release.
Meanwhile, Peter Bartók, with the assistance of Nelson Dellamaggiore, has
been systematically working his way through his father’s music, republishing works
where he felt the existing editions were not sufficiently reflective of his father’s in-
tentions. As Peter was not yet, in the mid-1990s, even halfway through this work,
it remains unclear what is the long-term scenario for either his project or a Com-
plete Critical Edition.
Despite the difficulties between the two Bartók source centers, it has been the ex-
perience of this author that both have been extremely helpful in giving access to ma-
terials and advice and, in the case of Peter Bartók, recalling information on his fa-
ther’s final years, some of which is not available in publications.
Copyright issues in the field of original composition are very complex and a
minefield for the unwary. Not only is there the problem of interpretation of rules,
but we also have a situation where different rules apply in different countries. Hun-
gary observed a fifty-year copyright period until recently but now has joined a
united Europe in a seventy-five year observation. This is also the period now ob-
served in North America. Australia and New Zealand, however, still observe a
fifty-year period.
Some points are unclear and no doubt could be interpreted to the advantage of
the interpreter. For instance, do these durations apply only to works that originate
or are published in the country concerned and do copyright holders hold any ju-
risdiction in countries that observe different rules? The Australasian Performing
Rights Association advises that musical works are out of copyright in Australia and
New Zealand either fifty years after the composer’s death or fifty years after a work
is commercially exploited, whichever comes later, regardless of the origin of the
work. In itself this is a bizarre situation, in that it allows works to be republished
and performed in new versions in that part of the world, but presumably neither
the scores, performances, or recordings are permitted to be available anywhere else.
For independent operators this situation is workable, if somewhat absurd, but

one wonders how a company such as Boosey & Hawkes, with branches in London,
New York, and Sydney, will deal with the notification that a revision of one of
Bartók’s works has been published independently in Australasia. The copyright of
all Bartók’s later works is assigned to Boosey & Hawkes, so without the permission
of the living heir(s) no revisions are possible in countries that observe the seventy-
five year convention.
In regard to the Viola Concerto, the copyright situation in publishing a new ver-
sion and that in performing and recording a new version are to all intents and pur-
poses identical. It is clear that in North America and Europe it is illegal to publish
any new version, the two legal versions being the original Tibor Serly reconstruc-
tion and the recent revision by Peter Bartók and Nelson Dellamaggiore with Paul
Neubauer as consultant violist. The situation regarding performance and recording
is the same. Either version may be performed and presumably recorded, with the
normal proviso of copyright and hirage fees having being paid to Boosey & Hawkes.
Presumably minor deviations are tolerable as happens in the interpretation of any
musical work, but the all-important factor is that the performance or recording is
presented as either the Serly or Bartók/Dellamaggiore version.
The situation in Australia and New Zealand would appear to be different. There
is a gray area that concerns the expiry of the fifty-year period. According to the Aus-
tralasian Performing Rights Association, the fifty years begin at the death of the
composer or at the time a work is first commercially exploited, whichever comes
later. Normally this would be the composer’s death date. However, in the case of
the Viola Concerto it would more likely be interpreted as December 1949, when the
work was first performed (commercially exploited). This is further compounded by
the fact that the work presented in December 1949 was not in fact purely the work
of Bartók, due to the involvement of Tibor Serly. One could argue that the revision
of Peter Bartók, based more or less meticulously on the manuscript, is the real be-
ginning of the commercial exploitation, which would extend the copyright until the
year 2070 in North America and Europe and until 2045 in Australasia. One could
also argue that the Viola Concerto of Béla Bartók has never been commercially ex-
ploited because we are still awaiting the definitive version!
One would hope that common sense would prevail and that December 1999
marks the expiry of copyright in Australasia and 2024 elsewhere. Assuming this to
be the case, it would then appear to be legal to publish, perform, and record any new
version in Australasia after December 1999, but none of this published or recorded
material could be sold in countries bound by the seventy-five year convention until
2024.
Conclusion
This study has sought to present the full history of Bartók’s last work, in
order that it may be evaluated in a thoroughly informed manner, both in its first
publicly presented version and in the revisions of the 1990s. It is acknowledged that
one may also claim the Third Piano Concerto to be the last work. However, due
to the relative completeness of the Piano Concerto in relation to the Viola Con-
certo, it is not unreasonable to award this status to the latter work.
The study has also sought to convince its readers that the Viola Concerto, com-
missioned by William Primrose and drafted by Béla Bartók in 1945, has not been,
nor will ever be, heard in a form that could claim to be a totally accurate account
of the composer’s intentions, especially with regard to phrasing and articulation, or-
chestration, and, to some degree, the details of structure.
As the ten chapters have shown, much has been written about Bartók’s Viola
Concerto, much more than would probably have been the case had Bartók lived to
see the work through to publication. While the words have continued to flow and
performances and recordings have continued to flourish, statistics confirm that the
Bartók/Serly Viola Concerto has, in the words of Sándor Kovács, not only “irrev-
ocably become part of the concert repertoire” but also in fact probably become the
most performed viola concerto of all time.
The circumstances have been outlined under which the Viola Concerto was con-
ceived and the state in which the manuscript was left at Bartók’s death. The roles of
Tibor Serly and William Primrose have been clarified and details given of the many
additional factors that influenced the final details of what became the 1950 Bartók/
Serly printed score. Some details have been previously unpublished or unpublicized
and in the case of Burton Fisch and David Soyer, have possibly not been known out-
side their own circle of friends. From the outset this work has been controversial,
and as has been shown, the reception over the first five decades demonstrated that
while performers may have embraced the work as more Bartók and less Serly, mu-
sicologists have moved in the opposite direction. In spite of this controversy or per-
haps even because of it, the work’s popularity has been maintained undiminished.
The work of the three revisionists of the 1990s has been compared. The most
significant conclusion that could be drawn here is that all three can claim to have
represented the manuscript of Bartók’s first draft more accurately than did Tibor
156 : Conclusion
Serly. To claim that the revisions moved closer to a more “authentic” version of
what Bartók may have eventually produced would be true in some respects but ques-
tionable in others.
The appendixes brought together some materials in the public domain but not
easily accessible and some that have only been made available through the generous
support of people such as Peter Bartók and Burton Fisch. These materials have been
vital as the source for much of the discussions and conclusions.
It is hoped this research may assist a worthy musical craftsperson to produce a
more “authentic” Bartók Viola Concerto at some point in the future, when the re-
strictions of copyright will allow the freedom of musical speech. This would need
to be a version that moves beyond a first draft and achieves a balance between schol-
arly input and Mann’s comment that it should be written “according to the ideals
known to have been in that creative mind.” It would require a composer, thoroughly
steeped in Bartók’s compositional style and technique, who would dare to add both
vertically and horizontally, to recompose, to revise, and to continue to refine the tex-
ture and orchestration until the result was consistently representative of Bartók at
the height of his creative power.
appendixes

Appendix One : 159
appendix one
Correspondence from Tibor Serly to Benjamin Suchoff
Figure App. 1 Letter from Tibor Serly to Benjamin Suchoff, July 31, 1975
160 : Appendix Two
appendix two
Correspondence between Tibor Serly and Victor Bator
Figure App. 2a Letter from Victor Bator to Tibor Serly from November 7, 1947
Appendix Two : 161
Figure App. 2b Letter from Tibor Serly to Victor Bator, December 19, 1947
162 : Appendix Two
Figure App. 2c
Appendix Three : 163
appendix three
Boosey & Hawkes Correspondence
Reprinted by permission of Boosey & Hawkes.
Figure App. 3a
164 : Appendix Three
Figure App. 3b
Figure App. 3c
Figure App. 3d
Figure App. 3e
Figure App. 3f
Figure App. 3g
Figure App. 3h
Figure App. 3i
Figure App. 3j
Figure App. 3k
Figure App. 3l
Figure App. 3m
Figure App. 3n
Appendix Four : 177
appendix four
Burton Fisch
The involvement of Burton Fisch in Bartók’s Viola Concerto has proven to be of

enormous significance. The contemporary viola community knows little of him,
and as there is no biographical information available in the public domain, the fol-
lowing material is supplied, summarized from correspondence and an interview
with Fisch in 1997.
A native of New York, Fisch began violin lessons with Constance Seeger (Pete
Seeger’s mother). As he recalls: “When I was about six years old, my mother was
walking down the street, and she saw a shingle that somebody had hung out — a
violin teacher—and she thought it would be nice to get me lessons.”
At age eleven he won a scholarship to the Juilliard School, where he continued
studies with Conrad Held. Studies at the Juilliard continued for nine years, initially
only part-time due to Fisch’s still being at regular school. After graduating as a vi-
olinist in 1940, Fisch took up viola, and as he recalls:
I got a scholarship to the University of Miami with a friend of mine who was also a vio-
list and we both went down to school, but after less than a year we quit. It was like play-
boy school. All the teachers that came down to Miami were from northern universities.
They were sick and they wanted to live in a nice climate so they came down there. We came
to the conclusion that we were not improving our viola capabilities.
On returning to New York in 1941 Fisch took up private viola study with
Emanuel Vardi. This was soon followed by a position in the Minneapolis Sym-
phony Orchestra, which lasted for only a year and a half, as he was then drafted into
the armed forces in November 1942. After two and a half years in the United States
serving as a medic and bandsman, carrying and trying to play a tuba in the mili-
tary band, he was transferred to Germany, just one month before the war ended.
At this time he recalls that the Allies were surrounding Berlin. At the end of the war
Fisch was stationed in Leipzig as part of the military police. His musical outlet
through this period was as a pianist, trumpeter, and conductor in dance bands, as
there was little demand for a violist.
On his release in March 1946, Fisch rejoined his wife, whom he had married just
before being sent to Germany, in New York. Then began a twenty-year period of
freelance viola playing in New York. He worked with Paul Whiteman in a dance
178 : Appendix Four
band and Hildegard in the Plaza Hotel. After being recommended for the CBS or-
chestra, Fisch relinquished his position with Hildegard, being replaced by Leonard
Davis, who later joined the viola section of the New York Philharmonic. Fisch re-
calls this period as quite lucrative:
Those days we took jobs for the radio and TV stations—you only worked four hours out
of the eight hours a day, five days a week, otherwise it was overtime. So it was much better
pay than the New York Philharmonic. In the Philharmonic, those days, they started a pen-
sion plan. You got to receive 100% of your pension if you were there twenty-five years, but
as soon as you were there about twenty years they would fire you, so they didn’t have to
pay you all your pension. In the CBS orchestra on Sundays they would put a big library of
music on your stand and we had two hours of playing on the radio while people were driv-
ing in their cars and they would just talk through the rehearsal and make sure we all had the
same cuts. Also, at CBS, Dave Soyer and I played TV shows like Jackie Gleason, Ed Sullivan and
Arthur Godfrey, in addition to our Sunday radio stint conducted by Alfredo Antonini.
After ten years with the CBS orchestra and a further ten years playing for record-
ings for movies, transcriptions, and jingles and in a number of orchestras, Fisch
moved out west to California to live near his daughter and son-in-law, who were
teachers. For two years Fisch lived in San Diego, where his wife was a professor who
instructed student teachers in the Education Department. After two years he de-
cided that even San Diego was too much hustle and bustle. They bought ten acres
of bare land in Fallbrook, had a house built, and planted a thousand avocado trees.
Israel was experimenting with drip irrigation at that time, and he decided to exper-
iment on his avocados. For six or seven years during the summer he attended a six-
week course at avocado school.
Fisch stopped playing viola totally from 1968 until 1986, almost eighteen years. It
was on the occasion of his father’s ninetieth birthday that, after some prodding
from his second wife, Etta, he agreed to bring the viola out of mothballs. His fa-
ther had not heard him play since he moved out of his house as a teenager. Etta re-
calls this performance bringing tears to the eyes of his five granddaughters who had
never heard him play, and as Fisch recalls, “I started practicing, and once I got back
in shape, I didn’t want to give it up anymore.”
Since retiring, Fisch has become very involved in chamber music, attending a
summer workshop every year in San Diego and Claremont, California. He also plays
with a community orchestra and arranges music on his computer for viola solo and
various ensembles.
Appendix Five : 179
appendix five
Extracts from the Program of the World Première
Program notes of the world première, by Donald Ferguson, appear by kind permission of
the Minnesota Orchestra.
Figure App. 5a
180 : Appendix Five
Figure App. 5b
Appendix Five : 181
Figure App. 5c
182 : Appendix Five
Figure App. 5d
Appendix Five : 183
Figure App. 5e
184 : Appendix Six
appendix six
Reviews of the Early Performances
Figure App. 6a Musical Courier. January 1, 1950
Appendix Six : 185
Figure App. 6b By permission of Boosey & Hawkes
186 : Appendix Six
Figure App. 6c By permission of New York Times
Appendix Six : 187
Figure App. 6d By permission of The Times
188 : Appendix Six
Figure App. 6e By permission of The Musical Times
Appendix Six : 189
Figure App. 6f
190 : Appendix Six
Figure App. 6g By permission of Oxford University Press
Appendix Seven : 191
appendix seven
Tibor Serly’s Response to Halsey Stevens
The appearance of Halsey Stevens’s book was obviously eagerly awaited by Bartók
followers and was naturally of great consequence to Serly. Although it took over
twenty years for Serly to respond publicly to Stevens comments, he did in fact, in
1974, publish an article in Composers and Compositions, under the well-known title “A
Belated Account of a 20th-Century Masterpiece,” which was a response to general
criticisms over the first twenty-five years. He particularly took issue with many of
Halsey Stevens comments, which Serly obviously considered ill-informed. Follow-
ing is the section from this article that relates to the public debate he took up with
Stevens. Reprinted by permission of the College Music Society, College Music
Symposium. © 1975.
Figure App. 7a
192 : Appendix Seven
Figure App. 7b
Figure App. 7c
Figure App. 7d
Figure App. 7e
Figure App. 7f
Figure App. 7g
198 : Appendix Eight
appendix eight
Recording Review Summary from Strad Magazine
Figure App. 8a
Appendix Eight : 199
Figure App. 8b By permission of STRAD magazine
200 : Appendix Nine
appendix nine
“The Thirteen Pages” by Atar Arad
Reprinted by permission of American String Teacher, Atar Arad, and Boosey & Hawkes.
Figure App. 9a
Appendix Nine : 201
Figure App. 9b
202 : Appendix Nine
Figure App. 9c
Appendix Nine : 203
Figure App. 9d
204 : Appendix Nine
Figure App. 9e
Appendix Ten : 205
appendix ten
Peter Bartók and Nelson Dellamaggiore
1. Peter Bartók
Born in 1924 in Budapest, Peter Bartók studied music with his father. On Decem-
ber 16, 1941, Peter set out for the United States, to join his parents, who had been liv-
ing in New York since their arrival in late 1940. In 1944 he was enlisted into the U.S.
military service. After his discharge from the navy in August 1945, he returned to his
parents, who at that point were staying at Saranac Lake. He was more or less with his
father from then until his death six weeks later. After his death Peter attended the
Pratt Institute, Brooklyn, New York, where he studied electrical engineering.
Since his early years he had been fascinated with things electronic, so it was no
surprise that a career developed for him in the recording industry and, in fact, he
became a leading figure in the development of technology and recording techniques
in the early days of long-playing records. Through his recording company, Bartók
Records, he began to make recordings of his father’s music, and for the first record-
ing of the Viola Concerto made in 1950, with Primrose as soloist, Tibor Serly as
conductor, and the New Symphony Orchestra, he was the recording engineer, and
the record was released under the Bartók Records label.
Since 1986 he has been reviewing all publications of his father’s music and pro-
ducing revisions wherever he finds discrepancies between the published version and
the manuscript. This determination emanates from his observation that his father
always demanded precision and accuracy and became very disturbed when this was
not achieved in publications. Peter has also attempted to bring to publication the
Slovakian folk music from his father’s collection, but without success due to the im-
possibility of obtaining engravers’ services.
Nelson Dellamaggiore
Born in Córdoba, Argentina, Nelson Dellamaggiore studied harmony and compo-
sition in Buenos Aires with a private tutor and at the New England Conservatory
in Boston. He graduated in 1976 from the Berklee College of Music, Boston, with
a degree in arranging and composition. He was appointed music editor at Bartók
Records in 1988.
He is also a woodwind player and conductor. At the time of the author’s inter-
view with him in 1995, it was his view that the review of Bartók’s published music
was about one-third complete. He acknowledged that the Viola Concerto had been
a very complex project due to its incomplete state.
Notes
Chapter One
1. The reader is referred to Vilmos Juhász, ed., Bartók’s Years in America (Washington, D.C.:
Occidental Press, 1981); János Demény, ed., Béla Bartók Letters (London: Faber & Faber, 1971);
and Agatha Fassett, The Naked Face of Genius (London: Victor Gollancz, 1970), also repub-
lished as Bartók —The American Years (New York: Dover, 1970).
2. Sándor Veress in Juhász, Bartók’s Years in America, p. 13.
3. Béla Bartók in ibid., p. 11.
4. Demeny, Béla Bartók Letters, pp. 292–94, 300, 301, 305, and 316.
5. William Primrose, Walk on the North Side (Provo, Utah: Brigham Young University Press,
1978), p. 185.
6. This recollection is clearly incorrect, as there was no commercial recording of the con-
certo at this time. Menuhin gave his first performance of it in the 1943 season in Min-
neapolis with Mitropoulos conducting. One can only speculate how Primrose was familiar
with a Menuhin performance of this work—perhaps he attended the performance or per-
haps he heard a broadcast.
7. Hindemith did not actually die until 1963, almost twenty years later.
8. Primrose’s recollection here of the date is obviously wrong, both because of Bartók’s
reference to December 1944 and because of Primrose’s letter to Bartók dated January 22,
1945, which expressed his gratitude that Bartók had agreed to the commission.
9. Once again, Primrose’s recollection of dates is inaccurate. The performance to which
he refers was on March 10, 1945, yet his initial approach had been at least three months ear-
lier. Perhaps, having initially agreed to the commission, Bartók was having second thoughts
by February/March.
10. Malcolm Gillies, Bartók Remembered (New York: W. W. Norton, 1990), pp. 196-98. Ditta
Bartók’s account does not totally agree with the facts, as Bartók died on September 26. Ac-
cording to her, he must have either entered the hospital on September 19 and died six days
later or entered the hospital on September 15 and died on the eleventh day. To confuse the
issue further, Tibor Serly refers in his interview with David Dalton (David Dalton, “The
Genesis of Bartók’s Viola Concerto,” Music and Letters, Volume 51, No. 2, April 1976, pp.
117–29) to visiting Bartók at his home on the evening of September 21, 1945, and Hamish
Milne in Bartók, His Life and Times (Tunbridge Wells: Midas Books, 1982, and New York: Hip-
pocrene Books, 1982), has Bartók entering the hospital on September 21. When questioned
on this matter, Peter Bartók replied to the author in a letter dated September 4, 1995: “Serly
probably came to us a few days earlier than he later remembered; or perhaps visited us at the
hospital, but this is less likely since the sketch was not there and they could not have referred
208 : Notes to Pages 21–65
to it. I do not have the exact date my father went to the hospital; the check he made out upon
his admission is not amongst his papers.”
11. Fassett, The Naked Face of Genius, pp. 354–57.
12. Benjamin Suchoff, ed., Béla Bartók Essays (London: Faber & Faber, 1976), p. 395. The
four Harvard lectures were given in 1943 starting in February. Though a series of eight lec-
tures was originally planned, four were canceled due to illness. (See Suchoff ’s footnote on
p. 354.)
13. Ibid., p. 384.
14. Malcolm Gillies, Bartók in Britain (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1989), pp. 103–4.
15. Halsey Stevens, The Life and Music of Béla Bartók, 3d ed. (New York: Oxford University
Perss, 1993), p. 255.
16. Information acquired from discussions with Geoff Bowen, fiddler and
publisher from Yorkshire
17. Suchoff, Belá Bartók Essays, p. 383.

18. Ibid., p. 363.
19. Peter Bartók, “The Principal Theme of Béla Bartók’s Viola Concerto,” Studia Musico-
logica, Volume 35/1-3, 1993–94, pp. 45–50.
20. Dalton, “The Genesis of Bartók’s Viola Concerto,” pp. 117–29.
21. Peter Bartók, Béla Bartók, Viola Concerto, Facsimile of the Autograph Draft, with commentary
by László Somfai (Homosassa, Florida: Bartók Records, 1995), p. 1.
23. Tibor Serly, “A Belated Account of a 20th-Century Masterpiece,” College Music Sympo-
sium, Volume 15, 1975, pp. 7–25.
24. Bartók, Béla Bartók, pp. 23–24.
25. Ibid., p. 23.
26. Copies of these letters are included as appendixes in David Dalton’s Ph.D. disserta-
tion Genesis and Synthesis of the Bartók Viola Concerto, Indiana University, Bloomington, May 1970.
27. A copy of the letter from Tibor Serly to Benjamin Suchoff dated July 31, 1975, is in-
cluded as appendix 1. The author was declined permission from Suchoff to reproduce the
letter dated July 28, 1975, from him to Serly.
Chapter Three
1. A copy of the original letter is included in appendix 2.
2. See appendix 3 for Boosey & Hawkes correspondence.
3. See appendix 3.
4. A copy of the original letter is included in appendix 2.
5. The fee was not actually paid while Bartók was still alive but rather later to Victor Ba-
tor, the trustee of the estate.
6. In hindsight this seems a very naive suggestion, but it is probable that Primrose actu-
ally did believe that no one knew anything about Bartók simply because he didn’t. Bartók’s
reputation may not have fully reached the United States, but his profile in Europe was well
established, at least in professional music circles.
Notes to Pages 66–78 : 209
7. There is no documentation of this visit available and this is the only statement that im-
plies Primrose actually visited Bartók’s apartment. Bartók’s unsent letter to Primrose of Au-
gust 5, 1945, implies that a meeting had taken place during or before December 1944. There
is no letter of approach, but there may have been telephone conversations.
8. This letter dated September 8, 1945, appears in full in chapter 1.
9. This is an interesting statement coming from one who most likely had a copy of the
manuscript from very early on and shows that he must have done little more than glance
through it, a situation that is extraordinary for one normally so perceptive. The mm. 102–7
that Primrose refers to are measures in which Tibor Serly changed the notes from the man-
uscript; notably, the repeated high Cs should be a B. A quick glance at the manuscript
should have been sufficient for Primrose to challenge Tibor Serly’s alteration. The changes
instigated by Primrose are fully examined later.
10. Primrose would have been well aware that the phrasings were almost entirely added by
Serly—and himself!
11. Again these markings are all added by Serly. Bartók gave no indication that the tempo
should alter at this point. Primrose only needed to consult his manuscript to see that these
markings were, in fact, from Serly.
12. As we now know, this is not quite accurate.
13. This assertion would not have been possible had Primrose looked in any depth at the
manuscript. It is unclear when he did acquire a copy, but it would be very surprising if he
had not obtained one very early on. Almost all the copies of the manuscript that have
“leaked” over the last fifty years can be traced back to a Primrose student who was allowed
to make a copy “whilst his back was turned.” It is highly unlikely that copies were prolifer-
ated through Peter Bartók or Tibor Serly.
14. It would not have taken a great deal of musicianly research to realize that Tibor Serly’s
addition of four bars of orchestral tutti are the cause of this abruptness at the end and that
their removal would solve the problem.
15. Extracts from the actual program are included in appendix 5.
Chapter Four
1. Full transcripts of these reviews are included in appendix 6.
Press, 1993), pp. 253–55.
3. The response of Tibor Serly is included in appendix 7.
4. These recording reviews are included in appendix 8.
5. Sándor Kovács, Malcolm Gillies, ed., The Bartók Companion (Portland, Oregon: Amadeus
Press, 1994), pp. 547–54.
6. Anonymous, “First Performances: The Viola as Prima Donna and Other Improba-
bilities,” Music Review, Volume 11, 1950, pp. 321–23.
7. David Dalton, Genesis and Synthesis of the Bartók Viola Concerto, Ph.D. dissertation, Indiana
University, Bloomington, May 1970.
8. Stevens, The Life and Music of Béla Bartók, p. 253.
9. Ibid., p. 254.
10. Ibid.
11. Ibid., p. 255.
12. Ibid., p. 254.
13. Ibid., p. 254.
14. Ibid.
15. Tim Alps, “Bartók’s Viola Concerto,” Music and Musicians, Issue No. 337, Volume 29,
No. 1, September 1980, pp. 32–33.
16. E.S., “Reviews,”Classical Music, December 1991, p. 123.
17. Robin Stowell, “CDs Review,” Strad., Volume 105, No. 1253, September 1994, p. 913.
18. David Denton, “A Swan-song Never Finished,” Strad, Volume 106, No. 1261, May 1995,
pp. 535–36. See appendix 8.
19. Rob Cowan, Record Review, Gramophone, Volume 78, No. 929, July 2000, p. 50.
20. Kovács.
Chapter Five
1. The order of composition of the various sections of the work is discussed in detail
by László Somfai in his commentary in Peter Bartók’s Béla Bartók, Viola Concerto, Facsimile of the
Autograph Draft (Florida: Bartók Records, 1995), pp. 23–26.
2. The reader is referred to Roy Howat, “Bartók, Lendvai and the Principles of Propor-
tional Analysis,” Music Analysis, Volume 2, 1983, pp. 69–95; Ernó Lendvai, “Remarks on Roy
Howard’s Principles of Proportional Analysis,” Music Analysis, Volume 3, 1984, pp. 255–64;
and Malcolm Gillies, “Re: The Workshop of Bartók and Kodály,” Music Analysis, Volume 5,
1986, pp. 285–95.
3. Lendvai was born in 1925 in Kaposvar, Hungary, and died in 1993. From 1949 to 1956 he
was director of the Szombathely-Gyor Conservatoire and subsequently professor at the Mu-
sic Academy in Budapest. During 1960–65 he was musical director of Hungarian Radio and
Television. His theories were developed from the mid-1940s.
4. Erno Lendvai, Béla Bartók: An Analysis of His Music (London: Kahn & Averill, 1971), pp.
27–34.
5. László Somfai, Béla Bartók: Composition, Concepts and Autograph Sources (Berkeley: Univer-
sity of California Press, 1996), p. 81.
Chapter Six
1. “The Thirteen Pages” is included in appendix 9.
2. E-mail to the author on March 14, 2002.
3. A brief background of Peter Bartók, Bartók Records, and Nelson Dellamaggiore is in-
cluded as appendix 10. This also refers to the motivation behind Peter Bartók’s involvement
in revising the Viola Concerto.
4. Peter Bartók, Béla Bartók, Viola Concerto, Facsimile of the Autograph Draft, with commentary by
László Somfai (Florida: Bartók Records, 1995), pp. 47–74.
5. Peter Bartók, “Correcting Printed Editions of Bela Bartók’s Viola Concerto and Other
Notes to Pages 109–132 : 211
Compositions,” in Elliott Antokoletz, Victoria Fischer, and Benjamin Suchoff, eds., Bartók
Perspectives: Man, Composer & Ethnomusicologist (New York: Oxford University Press, 2000), p. 251.
6. Bartók, “Correcting Printed Editions,” pp. 251–54.
7. Ibid., pp. 254–58.
Chapter Seven
sity of California Press, 1996). The various stages of Bartók’s compositional process are out-
lined in chapters 4 through 7.
2. Somfai, Béla Bartók, p. 31.
3. Ibid., p. 32. According to information supplied to the author by Malcolm Gillies, there
was, in fact, in 1945, a piano both at Saranac Lake and at the New York flat. However, Som-
fai qualifies this further with his comment in Peter Bartók, Béla Bartók, Viola Concerto, Facsimile
of the Autograph Draft (Florida: Bartók Records, 1995), p. 24: “We suppose that the normal rou-
tine of his composition—with extensive improvisation at the piano in the isolation of the
study in his home, before he went to the desk to fix the developed longer sections onto the
paper in ink — was hindered by the lack of the necessary isolation and/or instrument in
Saranac Lake, N.Y.”
4. The full score was not produced until after Bartók’s death, although he had seen the
proof in mid-1945. Erwin Stein, chief editor of Boosey & Hawkes, probably put the score
to press and made last-minute changes, hence the “lesser reliability” referred to in the hand-
written comment.
5. The author is grateful to the staff at the Bartók Archives in Budapest, especially László
Somfai, for access to photocopies of the various drafts of the Second Violin Concerto.
6. The author interviewed Zoltan Székely at length in 1996 at his residence in Banff,
Canada. He discussed in detail his involvement with the development of the Violin Con-
certo No. 2. Changes to the violin part are also discussed in Claude Kenneson’s Székely and
Bartók: The Story of a Friendship. (Portland, Oregon: Amadeus Press, 1994), pp. 202–7.
Chapter Eight
sity of California Press, 1996), pp. 163–67.
2. Measures 73 and 143 in the Boosey & Hawkes 1950 score.
Press, 1993), p. 25.
4. In Burton Fisch’s letter to the author of May 5, 1996, he comments: “The technical
passages were different from any other literature violists had in that day.”
5. M. Gillies and A. Gombocz, eds., Bartók Letters: The Musical Mind (Oxford: Clarendon
Press, in publication).
6. Béla Bartók, Jun, Apám életének krónikája (Budapest: Zenemúkiadó, 1981), pp. 458–59.
7. Somfai, Belá Bartók, p. 150.
8. Béla Bartók, Essays, ed. Benjamin Suchoff (New York: St. Martin’s Press, 1976), pp.
381–83.
9. An interval cycle is a series based on a single recurrent interval, for instance, the whole-
tone scale or cycle of fifths, the sequence of which is completed by the return of the initial
pitch class. Combinations of cyclic-interval partitions, e.g., a pairing of two minor third cy-
cles, produce compound cyclic collections such as the octatonic scale. For an outline and
discussion of the interval cycles, see Elliott Antokoletz, The Music of Béla Bartók: A Study of
Tonality and Progression in Twentieth-Century Music (Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of Cal-
ifornia Press, 1984), ex. 70 and chapter 8 (“Generation of the Interval Cycles”), especially.
A collection of pitches is symmetrical if the intervallic structure of one-half of it can be
mapped into the other half through mirroring, i.e., literal inversion.
10. See ibid., chapter 7 (“Interaction of Diatonic, Octatonic and Whole-tone Forma-
tions”).
11. See Bartók, Essays, p. 367. Edwin von der Nüll, Béla Bartók: Ein Beitrag zur Morphologie der
neuen Musik (Halle: Mitteldeutsche Verlags A.G., 1930), p. 74, appears to have been the first
to discuss this principle in Bartók’s music, in which combined Phrygian and Lydian modes
on a common tonic produce the entire chromatic continuum. For more recent discussions
of “polymodal chromaticism,” see János Kárpáti, Bartók’s String Quartets, trans. Fred Macnicol
(Budapest: Corvina Press, 1975), pp. 126–35, and Antokoletz, The Music of Béla Bartók, espe-
cially chapter 2 (“Harmonization of Authentic Folk Tunes, passim”), 64–66 passim, 201–3
passim, and 214–29 passim.
12. Malcolm Gillies, ed., The Bartók Companion (Portland: Amadeus Press, 1994), p. 552.
13. Somfai, Béla Bartók, p. 219.
Chapter Nine
1. Claude Kenneson, Székely and Bartók: The Story of a Friendship (Portland: Amadeus Press,
1994), p. 114.
Chapter Ten
1. A memorandum from Tibor Serly to Victor Bator, dated July 27, 1949.
2. Malcolm Gillies, ed., The Bartók Companion (Portland: Amadeus Press, 1994), p. 553.
3. In 1965, Péter Ruffy wrote “The Dispute over Bartók’s Will,” which appeared in the
New Hungarian Quarterly (Volume 7, No. 22, Summer 1966) and subsequently in English in
Todd Crow, ed., Bartók Studies (Detroit: Information Co-ordinators) in 1976. According to
the editor of the Hungarian Quarterly, the article was translated from a Hungarian newspaper.
4. Herm Schoenfeld, “Court Clarifies Posthumous Work in Key Reversal of Bartók
Case,” Music-Records, October 22, 1975, p. 149.
Bibliography
Books
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Composer & Ethnomusicologist. New York: Oxford University Press, 2000.
Bartók, Béla, Jun. Apám életének krónikája. Budapest: Zenemúkiadó, 1981.
Bartók, Peter. Béla Bartók, Viola Concerto, Facsimile of the Autograph Draft. With commentary by
László Somfai, Florida: Bartók Records, 1995.
Bowen, Geoff . How to Play Folk Fiddle. Ilkley: Yorkshire Dales Workshops in Folk Arts,
1993.
Crow, Ted, ed. Bartók Studies. Detroit: Information Co-ordinators, 1976.
Demény, János, ed. Béla Bartók Letters. London: Faber & Faber, 1971.
Fassett, Agatha. The Naked Face of Genius. London: Victor Gollancz, 1970.
Gillies, Malcolm. Bartók in Britain. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1989.
———. Bartók Remembered. New York: W. W. Norton, 1990.
———, ed. The Bartók Companion. Portland, Oregon: Amadeus Press, 1994.
Gillies, M., and A. Gombocz, eds. Bartók Letters: The Musical Mind. Oxford: Clarendon Press,
in publication.
Juhász, Vilmos, ed. Bartók’s Years in America. Washington, D.C.: Occidental Press, 1981.
Kenneson, Claude. Székely and Bartók: The Story of a Friendship. Portland, Oregon: Amadeus
Press, 1994.
Lendvai, Ernó. Béla Bartók: An Analysis of His Music. London: Kahn & Averill, 1971.
Milne, Hamish. Bartók, His Life and Times. Tunbridge Wells: Midas Books, 1982, and New
York: Hippocrene Books, 1982.
Moreux, Serge. Béla Bartók. New York: Vienna House, 1974.
Primrose, William. Walk on the North Side. Provo, Utah: Brigham Young University Press,
1978.
Somfai, László. Béla Bartók: Composition, Concepts and Autograph Sources. Berkeley: University of
California Press, 1996.
Stevens, Halsey. The Life and Music of Béla Bartók. New York: Oxford University Press, 1953,
2d ed. 1964, 3d ed. 1993.
Suchoff, Benjamin, ed. Béla Bartók Essays. London: Faber & Faber, 1976.
Articles and dissertations

Alps, Tim. “Bartók’s Viola Concerto.” Music and Musicians. Issue No. 337, Volume 29, No.
1, September 1980, pp. 32–33.
214 : Bibliography
Anonymous. “Edinburgh Festival: Bartók’s Viola Concerto.” Times. September 4, 1950, p. 6.

———. “First Performances: The Viola as Prima Donna and Other Improbabilities.”
Music Review. Volume 11, 1950, pp. 321–23.
———. “The Bartók Viola Concerto.” Tempo—a Quarterly Review of Modern Music. No. 14,
Winter 1949–50, p. 1.
Arad, Atar. “The Thirteen Pages.” American String Teacher. Volume 28, No. 1, Winter 1988,
pp. 83–87.
Bartók, Peter. “Commentary on the Revision of Béla Bartók’s Viola Concerto.” Journal
American Viola Society. Volume 12, No. 1, 1996, pp. 11–33.
———. “The Principal Theme of Béla Bartók’s Viola Concerto.” Studia Musicologica. Vol-
ume 35/1-3, 1993–94, pp. 45–50.
Carner, Mosco. “Bartók’s Viola Concerto.” Musical Times. Volume 91, August 1950, p.
301–3.
———. “The Promenade Concerts.” Musical Times. Volume 91, October 1950, p. 399.
Cowan, Rob. Record Review. Gramophone. Volume 78, No. 929, July 2000, p. 50.
Dalton, David. Genesis and Synthesis of the Bartók Viola Concerto. Ph.D. Dissertation, Indiana
University, Bloomington, May 1970.
———. “The Genesis of Bartók’s Viola Concerto,” Music and Letters. Volume 57, No. 2,
April 1976, pp. 117–29.
Dellamaggiore, N. “Bartók: Viola Concerto, Revisions January 9, 1992.” Unpublished, 41
pages, D. Maurice private collection.
Denton, David. “A Swan-song Never Finished: David Denton Compares Recorded Ver-
sions of Bartók’s Viola Concerto.” Strad. Volume 106, No. 1261, May 1995, pp. 535–36.
Downes, O. “Primrose Excels in Bartók’s Work.” New York Times. February 12, 1950, p. 74.
F. W. “Bartók’s Viola Concerto Constructed by Tibor Serly.” Musical America. No. 72,
April 1, 1952, p. 28.
Ferguson, Donald. “Concerto for Viola and Orchestra - Béla Bartók.” Minneapolis Sym-
phony Orchestra Program, December 2, 1949, pp. 211–14.
Gillies, Malcolm. Non-fugal Imitation in the Late Works of Bartók. Dissertation, Cambridge Uni-
versity, April 1980.
———. Notation and Tonal Structure in Bartók’s Later Works. Dissertation, University of Lon-
don, 1987.
———. “Re: The Workshop of Bartók and Kodály.” Music Analysis. Volume 5, No. 4,
1986, pp. 285–95.
Howat, Roy. “Bartók, Lendvai and the Principles of Proportional Analysis.” Music Analysis.
Volume 2, 1983, pp. 69–95.
Kovács, Sándor. “Formprobleme beim Viola Konzert von Bartók/Serly.” Studia Musicolog-
ica. Volume 24, 1982, pp. 381–91.
———. “Re-examining the Bartók/Serly Viola Concerto.” Studia Musicologica. Volume 23,
1981, pp. 295–322.
Lendvai, Ernó. “Remarks on Roy Howat’s Principles of Proportional Analysis.” Music
Analysis. Volume 3, No. 3, October 1984, pp. 254–64.
Mann, W. S. “Bartók Viola Concerto.” Music and Letters. Volume 32, No. 1, January 1951,
pp. 88–89.
Bibliography : 215
Maurice, Donald. “Bartók’s Viola Concerto: New Light from New Zealand.” Music in
New Zealand. Winter 1993, pp. 26–27.
Ruffy, Peter. “The Dispute over Bartók’s Will.” In Todd Crow, ed., Bartók Studies, Detroit:
Information Co-ordinators, 1976, pp. 141–46.
S. E. “Reviews.” Classical Music. December 1991, p. 123.
Saunders, L. C. M. “Auckland University Orchestra at the Maidment Theatre Last
Night.” New Zealand Herald. May 5, 1993.
Schoenfeld, Herm. “Court Clarifies Posthumous Work in Key Reversal of Bartók Case.”
Music-Records. October 22, 1975, p. 149.
Serly, Tibor. “A Belated Account of a 20th-century Masterpiece.” College Music Symposium.
Volume 15, 1975, pp. 7–25.
______. “Story of a Concerto: Bartók’s Last Work.” New York Times. December 11, 1949.
Slonimsky, N. “Tibor Serly.” Baker’s Biographical Dictionary of Musicians. 8th ed., 1991.
Solare, Carlos. “Viola Verve in Illinois.” Strad. Volume 104, No. 1243, November 1993, pp.
1095–96.
Stowell, Robin. “CDs Review.” Strad. Volume 105, No. 1253, September 1994, p. 913.
T. L. “Minneapolis Premiéres Bartók Work.” Musical Courier. No. 141, January 1, 1950, p. 35.
Taylor, Lindis. “Polytech Plays Redraft of Bartók Concerto.” Wellington Evening Post. May
10, 1989.
Whittall, A. “At Source.” Musical Times. Volume 137, February 1996, pp. 10–12.
Published scores
Bartók, Béla. Piano Concerto No. 3. Full score. Boosey & Hawkes, 1947.
______. Sonata for Solo Violin. Ed. Yehudi Menuhin. Boosey & Hawkes, 1947.
______. String Quartet No. 3. Full score. Universal Edition, 1929, assigned to Boosey &
Hawkes, 1939.
______. String Quartet No. 4. Full score. Universal Edition, 1929, renewed by Boosey &
Hawkes, 1956.
______. String Quartet No. 5. Full score. Universal Edition, 1936.
______. String Quartet No. 6. Full score. Boosey & Hawkes, 1941.
———. Viola Concerto. Prepared for publication from the composer’s original manuscript
by Tibor Serly. The viola part edited by William Primrose. Boosey & Hawkes, 1950.
______. Viola Concerto. Revised version by Nelson Dellamaggiore and Peter Bartók.
Boosey & Hawkes, 1995.
______. Violin Concerto No. 2. Full score. Boosey & Hawkes, 1946.
Unpublished manuscripts/scores
Bartók, Béla. Piano Concerto No. 3. Various manuscript drafts. Bartók Archives, Budapest.
———. Viola Concerto. Revision by Donald Maurice. Private collection, Dunedin, New
Zealand, 1993.
———. Viola Concerto. Critical restoration by Csaba Erdélyi. Private collection, Blooming-
ton, Indiana, 1996.
216 : Bibliography
———. Violin Concerto No. 2. Various manuscript drafts. Photocopies in the Bartók
Archives, Budapest.
Discography—Private Recordings
Bartók, Béla. Viola Concerto. Burton Fisch viola, Lucy Brown piano. Recorded by Peter
Bartók, 1948
———. Viola Concerto. Csaba Erdélyi viola, Erich Bergel conductor. Budapest Symphony
Orchestra, 1992
———. Viola Concerto. Donald Maurice viola, Uwe Grodd conductor. Auckland Univer-
sity Orchestra. Videotaped performance, 1993
Commercial Recordings
(Alphabetical by soloist—Serly version unless stated otherwise)
Benyamini, Daniel, viola, Daniel Barenboim conductor, Orchestre de Paris. DG 2531 249,
(1980), LP record, 12 in.
Binder, Davia, viola, Herbert Kegel conductor. Leipzig Radio Symphony Orchestra.
Berlin classics, 0031252BC. 1967
Christ, Wolfram, viola, Seiji Ozawa conductor, Berlin Philharmonic Orchestra. DG 437
993-2, CD.
Elaine, Karen, viola, Eleazar de Carvalho conductor, Orquestra Sinfonica da Paraiba.
Delos DE - 1018 (DDD), CD.
Erdélyi, Csaba, viola, Marc Decio Taddei conductor. New Zealand Symphony Orchestra
(Erdélyi 2001 revision). Concordance CCD03. 2002
Golani, Rivka, viola, András Ligeti conductor, Budapest Symphony Orchestra. Conifer
CDCF 189, CD. 1990
Hillyer, Raphael, viola, Akeo Watanabe conductor, Japanese Philharmonic Orchestra.
Nonesuch Records/H 71239, (1970), LP record. microgroove. stereo, 12 in. Also on Al-
bany Troy 076 (AAD), CD. 1970
Karlovsky, Jaroslav, viola, Karel Ancerl conductor, Czech Philharmonic Orchestra. Great
Masters of Music/Gmm-49, (1962), LP record, mono 12 in. Also on ALP 199/Artia,
(1963) LP record. microgroove, 12 in. 1963
Kashkashian, Kim, viola, Peter Eötvös conductor, Netherlands Radio Chamber Orches-
tra. ECM New Series. 465 420-2 (50 minutes: DDD) 1999
Koch, Ulrich, viola, Alois Springer conductor, Orchestra of Radio Luxembourg. TV-S
34483/Turnabout , (1972), LP record, stereo 12 in. 1972
Lemoine, Micheline, viola, Louis de Froment conductor, Orch. Louis Fremont. Club Na-
tionale. Disque France CND 6, LP record. 1955
Lukács, Pál, viola, János Ferencik conductor, Staatliches Konzert-Orchester. Deutsche
Grammophon Gesellschaft, (1964), LP record, microgroove, stereo, 12 in. Recorded by
Qualiton, Budapest. 1964
Ma, Yo-Yo, alto violin, David Zinman conductor, Baltimore Symphony Orchestra. Sony
SK 57961, CD. 1993
Bibliography : 217
Menuhin, Yehudi, viola, Antal Doráti conductor, New Philharmonia Orchestra of Lon-
don. EMI 567-754 101-2, CD. 1966
Németh, Géza, viola, András Koródi conductor, Budapest Philharmonic Orchestra. Hun-
garoton MK1 018, (1976). On side 2 of cassette, stereophonic, 4-track. Also on Hun-
garoton/SLPX 11421, (1970, 79). LP record. stereo, 12 in. 1970, 1979.
Primrose, William, viola, Tibor Serly conductor, The New Symphony Orchestra. BRS
309/ Bartók Records, 1950, 1 side of 1 LP record, microgroove, 12 in. Also on CM
20/Recorded Music Circle/World Record Club, 1960, 1969.
———. Otto Klemperer conductor, Concertgebouw Orchestra. Amsterdam, HEK ARC
101, Music and Arts CD, live performance. 1951
Starker, János, cello, Leonard Slatkin conductor, St Louis Symphony Orchestra. RCA
RD 60717-2-RC, (DDD), CD. Also on Cassette 60717-4-RC.
Thompson, Marcus, viola, Paul Freeman conductor, Slovenian Radio Symphony
Orchestra. Centaur 2150, CD. 1990
Xiao, Hong-Mei, viola, Janós Kovacs conductor, Budapest Philharmonic Orchestra.
Recordings of Serly and P. Bartók versions Naxos. DDD 8.554183 CD. 1997
Zidarov, Nikola, viola, Dimiter Manolov conductor, Sofia Philharmonic Orchestra. AVM
Records AVZ-3025 (DDD), (1991), CD. 1991
Zimmermann, Tabea, viola, David Shallon conductor, Bavarian Radio Orchestra. EMI
567 54101-2, CD. 1989
Zukerman, Pinchas, viola, Leonard Slatkin conductor, St. Louis Symphony Orchestra.
BMG RD 60749-2 RC, (DDD), CD. Also on Cassette 60749-4-RC. 1990
index
Alps, Tim, 80 Bartók’s will, 152–53

Ansermet, Ernest, 63, 73, 173, 186 health, 16–18, 22, 59
regarding the cello version. See Viola Piano Concerto No. 3, 23–24
Concerto, cello version Bartók, Márta, 152
anti-Hungarian rhythm, 26, 27, 28, 29, 128 Bartók, Peter, 11, 105
Antokoletz, Elliott, 102, 132–35 (contribu- approach to Serly, 38
tion), 150 biographical notes, 104, 205
Arad, Atar, 5, 35, 99, 100 Estate. See Bartók Estate
pizzicato chords, 101,106, 144 Facsimile Edition, 101
“Thirteen Pages” article, 31, 101, Fisch read-through, 60
200–204 health of parents (1945), 18, 20–21
APRA (Australasian Performing Rights Kodály, 35
Association), 153–54 manuscript, 31
ASCAP (American Society of Composers, permissions, 8, 15, 19, 88
Authors and Publishers), 7, 25 Primrose’s copy, 69
revision, 3–5, 22, 41n.10, 26, 71, 83, 102,
Barbirolli, John, 74, 76, 187 104, 106, 131
Barenboim, Daniel, 80 revision comparisons. See revision
Baron, Gyula, 152 comparisons
Bartók Archives, Budapest, 120, 122, 150, 151, Scottish influence, 25–30, 93
153 Bator, Victor 31–32, 40n.7, 44n.17, 152
copy of the Viola Concerto manuscript, correspondence, 38, 53–59, 159, 165, 170,
31, 40n.7, 82, 99 172
Bartók Estate, New York, 32, 44, 53–59, Bean, Betty, 59–60, 150, 163–76
78, 153, 150–56 “Belated Account of the Reconstruction . . . ,”
Bartók Records, Florida (American 32, 45, 53, 59, 78, 79–80, 109, 191–97
Estate), 31, 40, 150, 151, 152, 153, 205 Benyami, Daniel, 80
copy of the Viola Concerto manuscript, Berlioz, Hector, “Harold in Italy,” 14, 76,
33, 82, 88, 101 102
Bartók’s wills, 21, 149–54 bird calls, 30
Bartók, Bela Boosey & Hawkes, 4, 11, 16, 32, 37, 121, 153,
health, 14–22, 36 154
impressions of New York, 7–10 correspondence 14, 56, 59–60, 69,
Saranac Lake, 16–20, 30, 36, 42, 205 163–76
Bartók, Bela junior, 152 permissions, 88
Bartók (Mrs.) Ditta, 7, 25, 35, 60, 88, 159 Viola Concerto, 40n.7, 43–45, 68, 102,
approach to Serly, 37–38 131, 150
220 : Index
Boston Symphony Orchestra, 10, 64 Fisch, Burton, 61, 68, 155, 156
Brown, Lucy, 40, 54, 62–63 biographical notes, 177–78
Budapest Symphony Orchestra, 102 read-through, 40n.7, 53–54, 60, 62–64
recording, 101, 106, 144
Call, Kevin, 102
Cameron, Basil, 74, 188 Geyer, Stefi, 29–30
Carl Flesch Competition, 142, 143 Gillies, Malcolm, 31, 150
Christ, Wolfram, 81 Golani, Rivka, 81
chromatic compression, 132–35 Golden Section. See Fibonacci
Columbia University, 9, 37n.1
Complete Critical Edition, 153 Hallé Orchestra, 74, 187
Concerto for Orchestra, 9–10, 21, 44, 64, Harvard lectures, 25–26, 29
115, 121, 144, 152, 153 Hawkes, Ralph, 55–56, 67, 78
Cowan, Rob, 81 Heinsheimer, Mr., 10–11, 14–15
Curtis Institute, 39 Hillyer, Raphael, 81
Hindemith, Paul, 11, 64, 65, 76, 81
Dalton, David, 31, 54, 77, 142 Hungarian folk music, 26, 28, 30, 72
Primrose interview, 54, 64–68, 114 Husband’s Grief, The, 10
Serly interview, 4, 31–32, 34, 36–44, 75,
119 Kashkashian, Kim, 81, 138
“The Genesis of Bartók’s Viola Con- Kodály, Zoltan, 25, 35, 37, 38
certo,” 36 Koussevitsky, Serge, 9–10, 64
Dellamaggiore, Nelson, 33, 88, 102, 106, 110, Kovács, Sándor, 71, 82–83, 86, 138, 150, 153
153, 154 Kurtág, György, 102
biographical, 206, 104
Denton, David, 81 Lendvai, Ernö, 88, 90, 94, 97
Diary of a Fly, 38 London Philharmonic Orchestra, 74, 188
Dille, Denijs, 151 Lutyens, Elisabeth, 77
Dorati, Antal, 163, 170, 172–73, 174, 176
reviews of world première, 184, 185 Ma, Yo-Yo, 81
world première, 10, 55, 59, 72, 78, 179 Mann, William, 75, 149, 156
Downes, Olin, 73, 186 Maurice, Donald, 106, 107
Duos (44) for Two Violins, 136 revision, 22
revision comparison. See revision
Edinburgh Festival, 74, 185, 187 comparisons
Enescu, Gheorghe, 30 Mendelssohn Violin Concerto, 41
Erdélyi, Csaba, 26, 32, 103 Menuhin, Yehudi, 9, 10, 11, 43, 65, 131, 142
revision, 3–5, 71, 101–2 Mikrokosmos Suite, 53, 37, 38, 48, 50, 119
revision comparisons. See revision Minneapolis Symphony Orchestra, 10, 59,
comparisons 64, 70, 72, 169, 176
reviews of world première, 184, 185
Fassett, Agatha, 20, 88 program of world première, 179–183
Fibonacci (Golden Section), 4, 85, 88, 90, Music for Strings, Percussion and Celesta,
94–97 127
Index : 221
NBC Symphony Orchestra, 186 performance traditions, 43, 114, 115, 141,
Neaman, Yfrah, 142 142, 143
Neubauer, Paul, 33, 102, 104–6, 105, 116, 154 recordings, 31, 81
New Symphony Orchestra, 31, 206 reviews of first performances, 184, 185,
New York Times, 11, 23, 66, 186 186, 187, 188
New Zealand Symphony Orchestra, 102 Scottish influence, 25
Serly interview, 42, 43, 50, 51
octatonic sets, 132–35 viola part, 40n.7
Orchestre de Paris, 80 Promenade Concerts, 188

Ormandy, Eugene, 10, 163, 167–68
Out-of-Doors Suite, 48 revision comparisons, 99, 106
cross-influence, 4, 102, 105, 106
Pásztory, Ditta. See Bartók (Mrs.) Ditta dynamics, 116
Philadelphia Orchestra, 10 Fibonacci considerations, 94–99
Piano Concerto No. 1, 115, 139 harmonics, 101, 117–18
Piano Concerto No. 2, 78, 115, 127, 139 orchestration, 108–13, 138–39
Piano Concerto No. 3, 9–10, 18, 22, 24, 82, phrasing, 116
121, 139, 155 pitch, 116
comparison with Viola Concerto, 23, 54, pizzicato, 112, 113, 144
80, 87, 138 structure, 22, 41n.10, 45n.21, 46nn.23, 26,
completion by Serly, 21, 35, 42, 77 49nn.31, 32, 70, 86, 108–9, 128
gift for Ditta, 20 tempo considerations, 113–15
as a late work, 44, 74 Rhapsody No. 1, 53, 121
manuscript, 31–32, 36, 38 Rumanian Folk Dances, 139
material used in Viola Concerto, 48, 78, Ruffy, Péter, 151
80
musical examples, 145, 146 Sargent, Malcolm, 11, 66
Piano Suite (1919), 121 Schoenfeld, Herm, 132
Piatagorsky, Gregor, 54 Second Suite for small orchestra, 139
PIVA (Primrose International Viola Serly, Tibor, 119
Archives), 11 acknowledgement in printed score, 164,
polymodal chromaticism, 132–35 165, 166, 172
Primrose, Eiji, 10, 13, 142 article in New York Times, 23–25
Primrose, William, 36, 37, 53, 65, 78, 101, “Belated Account” article. See “Belated
118, 155 Account . . .”
changes to score, 60, 69–70, 108, 128, Boosey & Hawkes, 59, 60, 68, 69
129 comparisons with revisions, 22, 94, 96,
commission, 9, 155 102, 104–6, 108–17
correspondence, 10–11, 12–19, 24, 39n.4, correspondence, 33, 54, 159, 164, 166, 169,
55–58, 85
171, 175
Dalton interview, 32, 54, 64–68
Dalton interview, 34, 36–44
first performances, 4, 10, 25, 59, 64,
Fibonacci considerations, 94–97
72–75, 179
Fisch, 60, 62–64, 101
manuscript, 99
letter from Bator to Primrose, 55–58
222 : Index
Serly, Tibor (continued ) Ukranian Folk Songs, 10

manuscript, 31, 32, 99 University of Washington, 9
orchestration. See Viola Concerto, Serly’s
orchestration Vardi, Emanuel, 177
performance interpretation, 141–44 Veress, Sándor, 7
Piano Concerto No. 3, 10, 23, 138 Viola Concerto
post-Serly, 83 articulation, 141, 144–47
Primrose interview, 66–68 cello version, 44, 53–60, 62–63, 67, 78,
printed score of Viola Concerto (1950), 15 162, 173
read-through, 60, 62–64, 162 commission, 7, 10–12
reception of the Serly version, 71, 73, 75, dynamics, 141, 142
81 Facsimile of the Autograph Draft, 22,
reconstruction of Viola Concerto, 3, 4, 32–34, 40n.6, 88, 101
35–51, 69–70, 128, 149–50, 154–56 Hungarian influence, 25
Stevens’s comments, 77–80 melody, 129–32
Slatkin, Leonard, 81 missing Scherzo movement, 22, 47, 49,
Somfai, László, 33, 40n.7, 119–21, 127, 131, 85, 86
138, 150–51 phrasing, 141, 144–47
Facsimile Edition, 22, 32, 34, 39n.5, pitch organization, 132–35
40n.6, 82 pizzicato chords, 101, 106, 112, 113, 144
Fibonacci, 97 read-through, 40n.7, 53–54, 60, 62–64
Sonata for Solo Violin, 9, 10, 115, 131, 135 reviews, 71–77, 183–90, 198–99
Sonatas for Violin and Piano, 115, 144 rhythm, 135–38
Soyer, David, 40n.7, 53–54, 60, 64, 155, 178 Scottish influence, 25–29, 91, 93, 117, 144
Starker, János, 81 Serly’s orchestration, 41, 42, 75, 139–40
St. Louis Symphony Orchestra, 81 structure, 89–93, 127–29
Stein, Erwin, 40n.7, 60, 171, 174 tempo indications, 42, 67, 95–96, 141, 142–43
Stevens, Halsey, 28, 43, 48, 53, 67, 71, world première, 10, 53, 59, 70, 72
77–80, 82 Viola Concerto manuscript, 30, 33–34, 39,
correspondence, 55, 77 102, 109, 117, 119, 135
Stowell, Robin, 81 whereabouts, 3, 21, 31–33, 36
Stravinsky, Igor, 11, 65, 76 Violin Concerto No. 1, 29, 139
String Quartet No. 3, 147 Violin Concerto No. 2, 11, 65, 78, 127, 139
String Quartet No. 4, 48, 127, 136, 144, 147 as a late work, 21
String Quartet No. 5, 79, 127 comparison with Viola Concerto, 87,
String Quartet No. 6, 47, 146 145–47
Suchoff, Benjamin, 33, 152, 159 manuscript drafts, 120–26, 131, 135, 141
Suite for Two Pianos, 10 relative popularity, 43, 67, 73, 77
Symphony (1902), 138 tonality, 48
Székely, Zoltan, 122, 136, 137, 141, 142, 144
Szigeti, Joseph, 37, 162 Walton, William, 11, 64, 66, 76
Taddei, Marc Decio, 102 Zimmermann, Tabea, 81

Two Portraits, 139 Zukerman, Pinchas, 81

Bartok Viola Concertop-The Remarkable Story of His Swansong-Donald Maurice PDF

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Bartók’s Viola Concerto:

The Remarkable Story

OXFORD UNIVERSITY PRESS

Bartók’s Viola Concerto

studies in musical genesis and structure

Bartók’s Viola Concerto

The Remarkable Story

Oxford New York

Copyright © 2004 by Oxford University Press, Inc.

198 Madison Avenue, New York, New York 10016

Oxford is a registered trademark of Oxford University Press

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced,

stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means,

electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise,

without the prior permission of Oxford University Press.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

p. cm. — (Studies in musical genesis and structure)

MT130.B34 M28 2004

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Outline of the Special Problems

Associated with This Work

very different cultural, stylistic, and professional backgrounds of those involved in

Circumstances, Commission, Composition,

Inﬂuences, and the Manuscript

Béla’s account of the receipt of an honorary doctorate from Columbia Univer-

Suite for Two Pianos, Op. 4b. (1941). BB 122.

Further correspondence regarding the commissioning is very limited. Inquiries

Figure 1.1b. Reprinted by permission of Eiji Primrose

Dear Mr. Primrose:

Figure 1.2 Reprinted by permission of Peter Bartók

309 West 59th St.

New York 19, N.Y.

Figure 1.3c Reprinted by permission of Peter Bartók

Story of a Concerto: Bartók’s Last Work

This tribute by Serly alludes to a number of issues related to his reconstruction

Figure 1.6 Auld Lang Syne —traditional

Cs–E–Gs–Bs, Bartók described it in a letter to Geyer of September 1907 as “your

contents of the document

A Critical Examination of the

Work of Tibor Serly

dalton: By introductory material, do you mean to the last movement?

A Measure by Measure Exposition

22. The three revisions all omit this added measure.

The Questionable Interlude—So Called—

Preceding the Second Movement

Second Movement (Adagio Religioso)

The Enigmatic Introduction to the Third Movement

Third Movement, Allegro Vivace

Première and Publication

An Account of the Events of 1945–49

That Lead up to the First Performance

The Cello Version

Primrose remembers things quite differently in an interview with David Dalton

30 East 72nd Street

April 30, 1953

In that book on page 253 I read the following passage.

“Although, it had been commissioned by William Primrose, because of apparently

With best personal regards.

Première and Publication : 59

The Read-through by Burton Fisch and David Soyer

The Involvement of William Primrose

primrose: It is not really unplayable, but it is extremely awkward. It takes an experienced