Pour la main gauche

The scene is Vienna, 1917, and a family are taking tea in the courtyard of one of their sumptuous homes.

They are the Wittgensteins, and they are enjoying the rich fruits of their (deceased) philanthropic father’s monopoly of iron and steel production in the Austro-Hungarian Empire.

The man seated on the right is philosopher Ludwig Wittgenstein.

He is shortly to return to the Italian Front, where he was decorated for bravery, before eventually relocating to Cambridge, where he spent the rest of his life.

Opposite him, the man on the left is his older brother Konrad, known as Kurt, also shortly to return to the Italian Front, where he committed suicide.

But the man sitting beside him — the man in the suit — is middle brother Paul, convalescing after he was seriously wounded on the Russian Front and held prisoner in Siberia for a year. He had been shot in the arm — his right arm — which was amputated in a Russian field hospital. We can see that, in the photo, he is taking tea with his left hand.

The concerto

Amazingly, this was the man for whom composer Maurice Ravel wrote his Concerto pour la main gauche pour piano et orchestre (“Piano concerto for the left hand”) in 1930, because Paul was a virtuoso pianist.

Many years ago — I think I was around 13 or 14 years of age — I was privileged to play percussion in a performance of this concerto by a wonderfully talented music student named Gordon Murch. (As I recall, I played wood block — with my right hand.)

In this page from the score, you can see that the wood block line, indicated in red, is marginally simpler than the piano line, which can be seen just below it.

Other concertos

I was amazed that anyone could play such complex music using only one hand. I was even more amazed to learn, much later, that Ravel’s concerto is not the only one. For the affluent Paul Wittgenstein had been able to commission left-handed concerti from all manner of composers: Erich Korngold, Sergei Prokofiev, Richard Strauss, and Paul Hindemith.

The piece written by Hindemith in 1924 was never heard and presumed lost — until it turned up amongst Paul’s possessions after his widow died. Evidently, Paul had never liked it, refused to play it, and refused to allow anyone else to play it!

On a happier note, it was apparently premiered in 2004 and has now joined the canon of Hindemith’s works.