Orchestral Performance Practice in the Vienna of Beethoven and Schubert

Jeannette Sorrell
College-Conservatory of Music, University of Cincinnati, 1988

We often assume that the instruments and performing traditions of the 19th century are the same as our modern instruments and traditions. But in truth, the instruments that premiered the early and middle-period works of Beethoven – and all the works of Schubert – were nearly identical with those of Haydn and Mozart.1 Moreover, the performance style of the time was quite different from modern performance practice. To understand how this music was meant to sound, let us first take a look at the milieu in which Beethoven and Schubert were living and working.

Beethoven and Schubert’s Vienna

Vienna of the early nineteenth century was probably the greatest center the world has ever known for musical amateurs – using the word in its original Latin sense, as one who loves music and plays music purely for enjoyment. In the homes of middle-class families, the normal evening entertainment was to gather around the piano and sing part-songs, or better yet, to sit down and play chamber music. In the large and comfortable houses of the nobility and the wealthy businessmen, weekly musical parties were held to which eight to twenty friends might be invited (bringing their instruments of course) to play duets, sing cantatas, and in the more ambitious cases, perform the smaller symphonies of Haydn and Mozart.2

There existed in Vienna several amateur orchestras, in addition to the “pick-up” concerts which were put together for special occasions, (notably Beethoven’s famous concert of 1808). Dance music was even more popular than concert music, and on a given day in 1821 there were no fewer than 1,600 balls given in a single night.3

The quality of all this music-making was informal at best. Rehearsal was only an embryonic concept, not taken seriously by the players. The Gesellschaft der Musikfreunde, (the most prominent of the amateur orchestras) normally had one rehearsal for their concerts and usually only half the players showed up for it.4 For Beethoven’s concert of 1808 (which featured the fifth and sixth symphonies, the fourth piano concerto, and the Choral Fantasia!) the critic Johann Friedrich Reichardt observed:

“Singers and orchestra were composed of the most heterogeneous elements [i.e. some professional, some amateur,] and it had been found impossible to get a single full rehearsal for all the pieces to be performed, all of them full of the greatest difficulties.”5

The result was surely a disastrous performance, and the complete breakdown in the Choral Fantasia has been described by Reichardt, Czerny, and others.

The fact that these concerts continued to be performed in spite of such questionable results is an indication of the light-hearted attitude of the Viennese toward music. For them, music was first and foremost something to be enjoyed; they were playing for themselves, not for posterity, and it was not greatly upsetting to anyone if the horns came in early or the violas got lost. It was impossible for them to know that the pieces of Beethoven through which they stumbled would later become the most revered masterpieces of Western music. To them, Beethoven was a rather irascible and temperamental neighbor who lived around the corner. And Schubert was less than that.

Beethoven’s Influence on Schubert

At the age of eleven, the young Franz Schubert won a place in the boys’ chorus of the Imperial Court Chapel. This carried with it a stipend to attend the Imperial and Royal City Seminary, the principal boarding-school of Vienna.6 Here Schubert received a thorough education in all the academic subjects as well as music, and became a member of the school’s amateur orchestra, which was led by a twenty-year-old law student. This orchestra was described by one of Schubert’s schoolmates as giving “daily performances [of] all the symphonies by Josef Haydn and Mozart, the first two symphonies by Beethoven, as well as all the overtures we could tackle at that time, even Coriolan and Leonore (the grand overture to Fidelio.)”7

Although the word “performances” is somewhat loose and might be more accurately replaced by “readings,” this source gives us an excellent idea of the repertoire on which Schubert was raised and the style which he had in his ears as he began to compose his own pieces.

Throughout his years at the Seminary, Schubert studied composition with Salieri, the eminent and elderly musical father-figure of Vienna. During his early teens Schubert was apparently influenced by the conservative master to avoid the “eccentricities of one of our greatest German artists [Beethoven]; that eccentricity which joins and confuses the tragic with the comic, the agreeable with the repulsive… so as to goad people to madness instead of dissolving them in love.”8

However, by the age of nineteen, Schubert had finished his studies with Salieri and obviously drawn to the music of Beethoven. He reportedly sold his schoolbooks in order to purchase a ticket to the first performance of the revised Fidelio. In 1822 he dedicated a set of piano variations to “Herr Ludwig van Beethoven, by his devoted worshipper and admirer.”9 Several years later he wrote to a friend of his desire to emulate Beethoven: “The latest in Vienna is that Beethoven is to give a concert at which he is to produce his new Symphony, three movements from the new Mass and a new Overture. God willing, I too am thinking of giving a similar concert next year.”10

In the course of his 31 years of life in the same city with Beethoven, the humble Schubert never once dared to knock on the great master’s door and show him his music. Although there have been various legends of meetings between the two composers, these were never documented and undoubtedly they are false (except for a possible pilgrimage to the dying Beethoven’s bedside) – for Schubert himself stated that he had never met the older master.11 How much would these two bright stars have enhanced each other had they shared their ideas? We will never know.

In 1822 Schubert contracted syphilis, there dreaded and common disease of the nineteenth century, which ruined his health for the rest of his life. When the worst stages of the disease finally receded several months later, Schubert was left a broken and broken-hearted man, his hopes for the future dashed. Nevertheless, his music was avidly performed by his circle of friends, many of whom were law students; “Schubertiades” (evenings of Schubert performances by these amateur musicians) were held regularly at various friends’ homes. These gatherings continued even after the composer became too ill to attend them.

The complete and total obscurity in which Schubert lived, worked, and died can perhaps be best illustrated by the following two events:

In 1817, Schubert’s friend Josef von Spaun sent the manuscript of Schubert’s “Erlkönig” to the publishers Breitkopf und Hartel in the hopes that they would publish it. The firm had no interest in the work, and returned the manuscript to the only Franz Schubert they knew of: a composer/bass player by that name who lived in Dresden. The Dresden Schubert was quite insulted and wrote back to Breitkopf:

“With the greatest astonishment I beg to state that this cantata 
was never composed by me. I shall retain the same in my 
possession in order to learn, if possible, who sent that sort 
of trash in such an impolite manner and also to discover the 
fellow who has thus misused my name.”12

Nine years later, near the end of his life. Schubert sent the manuscripts of the “Death and the Maiden” quartet and several other works to Breitkopf in a final attempt to raise a little money. The publisher replied (this time to the correct address) that they were “wholly unacquainted with the mercantile success of your compositions.”13 The letter was addressed, with biting sarcasm, to “Franz Schubert, famous composer in Vienna.”

Fifty-eight years later, in 1884, the “complete edition” (Gesamtausgabe) of Schubert’s works began to appear in print. The publisher, ironically, was Breitkopf und Härtel.

Instruments of the Early Nineteenth Century

Although the advantages of playing baroque music on the instruments for which it was written are widely acknowledged, there are many musicians who balk at the idea of playing the classical and early Romantic repertoire on its authentic counterparts. These people claim that the early nineteenth-century instruments are simply inferior versions of our own, and that it would be ridiculous to perform on such inferior instruments by choice.

If one considers only the technical abilities of the instruments, then these musicians are correct: the instruments of Beethoven and Schubert’s day were less efficient technically and less capable of virtuosic display. However, technique is only one side of the coin: there is also sound. And on that score there is significant evidence to suggest that the old instruments were far from inferior.

It is clear that early 19th-century wind instruments had special qualities that their modern counterparts have sacrificed, for the sake of volume. For example, regarding the early clarinet:

“In the upper register… every note offers a resistance that encourages the most expressive cantabile that is possible to 
imagine from a wind instrument. The clarinet has since gained 
in sonority and flexibility but in the upper register…the 
clarinet can never have sounded more beautiful.”14

And the early 19th-century flute:

“Even though many nineteenth-century German composers, 
conductors and flutists were aware of the ability of the 
silver, cylindrical flute for orchestral performance, these musicians consistently preferred the use of wooden flutes 
because of the distinctive sound qualities which these conical instruments possessed.”15

The state of the stringed instruments in early 19th-century Vienna was curiously transitional. The instruments themselves still retained essentially the same construction they had had under Mozart and Haydn – that is to say, a somewhat flatter neck and lower bridge than we find on modern instruments, resulting in less string tension and a softer sound. However, there were two very major developments taking place in the 1820s which would revolutionize string technique. These were the addition of the chinrest and the development of the Tourte bow.

The chinrest, which Spohr claims to have invented around 1820,16 drastically changed the left-hand technique of violin and viola players. Without a chinrest, the instrument had to be supported almost entirely by the left hand. which put serious limitations on shifting and vibrato. The arrival of the chinrest greatly facilitated these two techniques. However, with a birthdate of 1820, one can see that only a few of the more forward-looking players in Vienna would have been equipped with one during Schubert’s lifetime.

There have been many conflicting reports as to how fast and how widely the Tourte bow was adopted, but the most recent research indicates that it was quickly gaining popularity during the 1820s.17 Most probably Schubert grew up with the pre-Tourte bow as a child, but by the time he wrote the Unfinished, there would have been mixed orchestras in Vienna – the more ambitious and adventurous players possessing the new Tourte bows, and the more conservative ones playing with Mozartian bows handed down from their parents. Since the Tourte model is essentially the modern bow known to us all, I will discuss here only the pre-Tourte, which was after all the bow which must have formed the early essence of Schubert’s style.

The Viennese bows of the later eighteenth century were generally of a concave shape and were somewhat shorter and lighter than the modern bow. They could execute springy, separate strokes with ease and naturalness.18 The bow was held several inches up from the frog, resulting in a technique which offered extremely subtle variations in articulation, clarity of detail, and liveliness of rhythm.19 The bow could not, however, be forced to produce strong accents or heavily sustained sounds. As a noted performer of the early violin has observed,

“An accent in the music of Mozart is often more a leaning into 
the string combined with vibrato than a push or pressure from 
the bow: This kind of accentuation is far simpler to accomplish with a light, flexible stick than with the Tourte type of bow.”20

This evidence regarding the nature of Viennese accents has overwhelming significance for the performance of Schubert’s accents. This will be discussed in the section on interpretation.

There were no steel strings in the nineteenth century; all strings were either wound or gut. This meant that open strings were not the sore thumbs in orchestral playing that they are today; they blended quite naturally into the context, and players did not hesitate to use them. However, the weaker tension of the strings meant that a continuous and intense vibrato was flattering neither to the instrument nor to the music.21 As we will discuss later, vibrato was merely an ornament.

The wind instruments of Schubert’s day were more or less the same ones which had played for Haydn and Mozart. Although a few minor improvements had been made in each of them, the major and fundamental changes which revolutionized the sound of wind instruments did not come until the middle of the century – at least twenty years after Schubert’s death.

The flute of the early nineteenth century was a wooden, conical instrument with (usually) eight keys and a soft, expressive sound. Much has been written about the exceptional pathos and sentiment which eighteenth century composers, particularly Bach, attached to the flute. During the course of Schubert’s life, various attempts were made to correct the intonation defects of the instrument by 
adding a key here or there or by adjusting the size of various holes. None of these attempts, however, resulted in any standardized or permanent change in the instrument. It was not until 1832, four years after Schubert’s death, that the 
revolutionary Boehm flute appeared, substantially changing the 
course of woodwind instruments to come.

The oboe at this period was in a state of rather active transition. The two-keyed oboe of the eighteenth century still existed and would by no means have been considered obsolete by Schubert’s players. However, six further keys were rapidly appearing to improve intonation and increase facility.

In Vienna, the court oboist Joseph Sellner developed the 13-keyed oboe around 1820. This instrument rapidly gained popularity throughout German-speaking Europe; with its warm and robust tone, it became the model for the modern German/Austrian-style oboe.22 (In contrast is the French style oboe used in French- and English-speaking countries, which cultivates a more refined and sensitive tone.)

It is worth noting that a player on the older two-keyed oboe “had a very considerable control over inflection, more, indeed, than the average 
modern oboist may ever be called upon to exercise.”23

The Viennese clarinet at the beginning of the nineteenth 
century was a five- or six-keyed instrument made of boxwood, with passable though not excellent intonation and a soft, sweet tone. In 
the 1800s various improvements to intonation were made by the virtuoso clarinetist Iwan Muller. Muller added seven keys to the instrument, with the result that his B-flat clarinet was able to play in all registers and keys with security and ease. However, there was opposition to the idea of adopting Muller’s clarinet in place of other instruments in C and A, since each instrument possessed a distinctive tone color which would be lost.

“La clarinette en ut a le son brillant et vif; la clarinette en si-b est propre au genre pathétique et majestueux; la clarinette en la est propre au genre pastoral. Il est incontestable que 
la nouvelle clarinette de M. Muller, si elle était 
exclusivement adoptée, preverait les compositeurs de la ressource que leur donne l’emploi de ces caractères très distincts.”24

The typical bassoon in Schubert’s day was equipped with eight to twelve keys. It apparently produced a sweet, dulcet tone which did not project well in a full orchestra.25 Improvements to facility and intonation were being made at this time by the Viennese bassoonist Carl Almenräder and by Iwan Muller. The bassoon had already developed into its two distinctive types, French and German, with the German tone being rounder, warmer, and less reedy. It has been noted that the soft German reeds did not favor vibrato.26

The horns and trumpets of the early nineteenth century were, of course, “natural” instruments provided with crooks. Hand-stopping was very effectively employed on the horn, with such excellent results that it delayed the adoption of valves until well after the middle of the century.27 The trumpet was occasionally experimented upon with slides, hand-stopping, and keys, but even in 1830 it was reported that such instruments were “not often used in the orchestra,” and that the instrument in general use was the “common, or proper trumpet.”28 i.e. the natural trumpet.

Performance Practice

There are many surviving descriptions of playing in the early 19th century. They all reveal a vastly different manner of playing this music, compared with how it has usually been played in the last 80 years. The following citations show that Beethoven, Schubert and their contemporaries cultivated a style of playing which was intensely personal and dramatic – one might even say theatrical. It was a style in which the imprint of the performer was burned into the concept of the piece with a firebrand. In short, it was true Romanticism.

Vibrato and Portamento

As has been noted in the discussion of early stringed instruments, neither the lower tension of the strings nor the left-hand technique of the players (with no chinrest) encouraged a continuous vibrato.

For a solo player, vibrato was considered an expressive ornament to be used on certain notes only for special effect. For orchestral players, however, vibrato was meant to be avoided almost entirely.29

As the scholar Clive Brown has pointed out, “It is reasonable to assume that many of the rank and file players did not practise [vibrato and portamento] to a great extent in any case.”30

The issue of portamento. however, is much more curious. During the first decade of the nineteenth century, portamento became increasingly fashionable in Germany due to the influence of the French school of violinists. By 1811 it is clear that a number of Viennese players were using portamento liberally, not only in their solo playing but also in the orchestra.31 In that year, the conservative Salieri attacked the practice in the Allgemeine musikalische Zeitung:

“For some time an effeminate and laughable manner of playing 
their instruments has crept in with various weak solo 
violinists, which the Italians call maniera smorfiosa, stemming 
from an abuse of sliding the finger up and down the string. 
This feeble and childish mannerism has, like an infectious 
disease, spread to some orchestral players and what is more 
ridiculous, not merely to our couragious violinists, but also 
to violists and double bass players.”32

It should be remembered that by this time Salieri would have seemed definitely an “old-school” musician to the Viennese, and his negative opinion of portamento was certainly not shared by all. In any case, he was obliged to write a similar protest against portamento four years later, so it is obvious that the practice had not exactly been abolished by his first attempt.33

Freedom of Tempo and Tempo-Rubato

It is apparent that performers were expected to take freedom with tempo when the tension or expression or the music moved them to do so. The implication of the word “expected” is that the composers did not feel the need to mark such tempo fluctuations in their scores; any musical performer would have known what to do without specific markings, and his response would have been an appropriately personal one.

The following excerpt from Daniel Gottlub Türk’s Clavierschule demonstrates the importance the early romantics placed on this kind of freedom. It is significant to note that Türk died in 1813; the style he describes would therefore already have been well in place as Schubert was growing up.

“The final and indispensible requirement for a good performance 
is without doubt a proper and correct feeling for all 
expressive passions and emotions… There are particular cases in which the expression can be heightened by exceptional means…: (1) playing without strict measure, (2) hurrying and drawing back and (3) the so-called tempo rubato… Certain passages should be played more according to feeling than to strict time… In music whose character is impetuosity, anger, scorn, rage, frenzy, and the like, one can perform the most forceful passages somewhat accelerando. In exceptionally tender, languishing, melancholy places, where the emotion is brought to a point, so to speak, the effect may be unusually strengthened by an increasing ritardando.”34

Türk was not alone in his opinions. Descriptions of the great pianist of the period, Beethoven, indicate that he, too, was very impetuous in the area of tempo. Anton Schindler, the musician and biographer who knew Beethoven and heard him play on several occasions, gives us the following description. (Although Schindler is often considered an unreliable source regarding biographical facts, there is no reason to assume that his musical comments are invalid.)

“In general, he played his own compositions in a very capricious 
manner… In the performance of a crescendo passage, he would 
make the time ritardando, which produced a beautiful and highly striking effect… He adopted a tempo-rubato in the proper sense of 
the term, according as subject and situation might demand, without 
the slightest approach to caricature.”35

Here is is worth pausing to consider the term tempo-rubato. The most common concept of the term in Schubert’s day allowed that a soloist could take more time on a note or phrase as long as he made it up elsewhere in the bar, while the accompaniment maintained a steady tempo.36 While we know that this was a common practice in keyboard music, (even up through the time of Brahms37) evidence suggests that it was considered highly desirable in orchestral music as well, (though probably rarely achieved due to lack of rehearsal.) Ignaz von Seyfried recalled that when Beethoven rehearsed his orchestral works, “He was very particular about expression, the delicate nuances, the equable distribution of light and shade, as well as an effective tempo rubato.38 Whether or not the Viennese orchestras of their day were able to produce it effectively, there can be little doubt that Beethoven and Schubert envisioned this type of rubato in their symphonies.

One type of tempo fluctuation which may have been peculiar to Schubert (at least, there is more evidence of it in his music than in anyone else’s,) is the slackening of tempo with a diminuendo. There are many places in Schubert scores where the word “diminuendo” is followed several bars later by “A Tempo.” (Look, for example, at Walther Dürr, head of the Schubert Institute in Tübingen, draws a distinction between diminuendo and decrescendo: “In Schubert’s autographs ‘decrescendo’means ‘gradually getting softer’ while ‘diminuendo’ means ‘gradually 
getting softer and slower.”39

This distinction is certainly rarely observed by modern players.

The most surprising evidence I have found regarding rubato and freedom in general are Anton Schindler’s instructions on playing Beethoven’s Pathétique sonata. Schindler’s statements are allegedly drawn from how Beethoven and his student Czerny played the piece. He offers the following edited score of the sonata’s second theme, (see Example) with these comments:

“Even the most dried-up piano teacher would not hesitate to recognize a particular-significance in this theme… The 
necessary nuances as marked opposite are clear as day. The 
frequently repeated sign V indicates not merely a stronger 
accent, but also a short pause on the note so marked, but a 
pause not to be observed by the accompanying voice, which moves in strict rhythm to the last measure of the period.”40

Schindler’s indications of “caesura” refer to a rhetorical pause, which he claims was a frequent and integral part of Beethoven’s (and Clementi’s) dramatic vocabulary.41 It would, in these cases, have to be preceded by some degree of ritardando in order to make dramatic sense. (As we have already seen from Türk’s discussion, ritards in such situations were highly desirable.)

Clearly, Schindler’s comments carry sweeping implications about the freedom and drama that were expected of nineteenth-century performers. The editorial suggestions which Schindler considered obvious would undoubtedly shock most conservatory-trained musicians today. Having, like all piano students, grown up on the Pathétique sonata and listened to many performances of the piece by fellow students as well as concert artists, I can say that today the second theme is always played in tempo and that to make rhetorical pauses as Schindler suggests would likely be cause for criticism by the musical establishment. I challenge the reader to find a single recording of this sonata performed as Schindler describes.

Thus, the evidence suggests that performance style in the Vienna of Beethoven and Schubert was stunningly romantic. It bore the personal imprint of 
the performer – a performer who did not hesitate to use whatever 
expressive devices he had at his fingertips, regardless of whether or not they were marked in the score. Today’s critics pride themselves on faithfulness to the score. In the long shadow of Toscanini, this translates most easily as “playing only what is written.” But Toscanini, like any great artist, was only a product of his time. 
And his time was not Beethoven’s and Schubert’s.

1. Robert Winter, “Performing Nineteenth Century Music on Nineteenth Century Instruments”, Nineteenth Century Music, Nov. 1977, p. 165.

2. Maurice Brown, Schubert: A Critical Biography (London: MacMillan & Co., 1958), p. 11

3. Otto E. Deutsch, The Schubert Reader, English translation by Eric Blom (New York: W. W. Norton & Co., 1947), p. xxviii (introductory notes).

4. Adam Carse, The Orchestra from Beethoven to Berlioz (Cambridge: W. Heffer & Sons, 1948), pp. 260-262.

5. Ibid., p. 260, citing J. F. Reichardt, Vertraute Briefe.

6. Brown, p. 13.

7. Otto E. Deutsch, Schubert: Memoirs by his Friends (New York: W. W. Norton & Co., 1958), p. 58, citing Anton Holzapfel.

8. Deutsch, The Schubert Reader, p. 64.

9. Martin Chusid, ed., introductory notes to Franz Schubert’s Symphony in B Minor (New York: W. W. Norton, 1971), p. 10.

10. Deutsch, The Schubert Reader, p. 339.

11. Brown, p. 259

12. Deutsch, The Schubert Reader, p. 76.

13. Brown, p. 243.

14. Robert Winter, “Performing Nineteenth Century Music on Nineteenth Century Instruments,” Nineteenth Century Music, 1977 no. 2, p. 165, citing Anthony Baines, Woodwind Instruments and Their History (London, 1957), pp. 300-302.

15. Amy Sue Hamilton, “The Relationship of Flute Construction to the Symphonic Role of the Flute and Orchestral Performance Practice in the Nineteenth Century,” Dissertation Abstracts, 1985.

16. Sonja Monosoff, “Viva the Early Violin!” Journal of the Violin Society of America, 1977 no. 1, p. 19.

17. Clive Brown, “The Orchestra in Beethoven’s Vienna,” Early Music, Feb. 1988, p. 19.

18. Monosoff, p. 18.

19. Ibid., p. 20.

20. Ibid., p. 20.

21. Ibid., p. 19.

22. Philip Bate, The Oboe (London: Ernest Benn Ltd., 1975), p. 64.

23. Ibid., p. 57.

24. F. Geoffrey Rendall, The Clarinet (London: Ernest Benn Ltd., 1957), p. 94.

25. Philip Bate, The Bassoon and Contrabassoon (London: Ernest Benn Ltd., 1975), p. 41.

26. Ibid., p. ??

27. Carse, p. 409.

28. Ibid., p. 412.

29. Clive Brown, p. 18.

30. Ibid., p. 18.

31. Ibid., p. 18.

32. Ibid., p. 18, citing Antonio Salieri, Allgemeine musikalische Zeitung, 1811, p. 207.

33. Ibid., p. 18.

34. Daniel Gottlub Türk, Clavierschule, 1789, in Readings in the History of Music Performance, Carol McClintock, ed. (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1979), pp. 339-340.

35. Anton Schindler, Biographie von Ludwig van Beethoven, 1871, in Readings in the History of Music Performance, p. 388.

36. Clive Brown, p. 18.

37. Will Crutchfield, “Brahms by Those Who Knew Him,” Opus, Aug. 1986, pp. 14, 18. 20.

38. Clive Brown, p. 17.

39. Neal Zaslaw, “Classical Performing Practices,” Musical Times, Jan. 1978, p. 68, citing Walther Dürr.

40. Schindler, Ibid., p. 399.

41. Ibid., p. 394.


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Bate, Philip. The Flute. London: Ernest Benn Ltd., 1969.

Bate, Philip. The Oboe. London: Ernest Benn Ltd., 1975.

Bate, Philip. The Trumpet and Trombone. London: Ernest Benn Ltd., 1978.

Brown, Clive. “The Orchestra in Beethoven’s Vienna.” Early Music, Feb. 1988, pp. 4-20.

Brown, Maurice. Schubert: A Critical Biography. London: MacMillan & Co., 1958.

Carse, Adam. The Orchestra from Beethoven to Berlioz. Cambridge: Heffer & Sons, 1948.

Chusid, Martin, ed. Schubert’s Symphony in B Minor: An Authoritative Score with Essays in History and Analysis. New York: W. W. Norton & Co., 1971.

Crutchfield, Will. “Brahms by Those Who Knew Him.” Opus, Aug. 1986, pp. 13-21, 60.

Deutsch, Otto E. Schubert: Memoirs by His Friends. New York: W. W. Norton & Co., 1958.

Deutsch, Otto E. The Schubert Reader. New York: W. W. Norton & Co., 1947.

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Langwill, Lyndesay G. The Bassoon and Contrabassoon. London: Ernest Benn Ltd., 1975.

MacClintock, Carol, ed. Readings in the History of Music in Performance. Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1979.

McGegan, Nicholas. Personal Interview, May 1988.

Monosoff, Sonya. “Viva the Early Violin!” Journal of the Violin Society of America, 1977 no. 1, pp. 17-21.

Rendall, F. Geoffrey. The Clarinet. London: Ernest Benn Ltd., 1957.

Winter, Robert. “Performing Nineteenth Century Music on Nineteenth Century Instruments.” Nineteenth Century Music, Nov. 1977, pp. 163-175.

Zaslaw, Neal. “Classical Performing Practices.” Musical Times, Jan. 1978, pp. 67-8.

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