THE ORCHESTRA
_The Orchestra as an instrument; instruments of the Sixteenth
Century,—Chitaroni, theorbo, lutes; Claudio Monteverde
(1567-1643); Marc Antonio Ingegneri; Orchestra of Orfeo;
Chitaroni; Il Combattimento di Tancredi e Clorinda;
Incoronazione di Poppea; Adrianna; Vergilio Mazzocchi
(1593-1646), and his music school; Stefano Landi; Orchestras
in Rome; Orchestras in Venice; Antonio Cesti and his opera,
“Il Pomo d’ Oro”; Cardinal Mazarin; growing popularity of the
violin; the first French Orchestra—the Twenty-four Violins of
the King; Bocan’s playing; anecdote of Cardinal Richelieu;
Louis XIV and his magnificence; Twenty-four Violins of the
King; amateur orchestras; instrumental musicians; Jean Baptiste
Lully (1632-1687); La Grande Mademoiselle; the “Petits
Violons”; Lully and Molière; death of Lully; Lully, the first
real conductor; Lully’s Orchestra; Descoteaux, the famous
flute-player and tulip-fancier; Philbert; quotation from La
Bruyère; La Bas, the bassoon-player; Verdier; Jean Baptiste
Marchand, the lute-player; Teobaldo di Gatti, the basse de
viole; Jean François Lalouette; Pascal Collasse; Marin Marais;
La Londe, the violinist; pay-roll of Lully’s men; Orchestra
of Charles II of England; Thomas Baltzar of Lübeck; music in
England in the Seventeenth Century; quotation from Anthony
Wood; quotation from Dr. Burney; Corelli; Amati and Stradivari;
development of the violin; Giovanni Baptista Bassani; Corelli’s
great vogue; Geminiani’s estimate of Corelli; Corelli’s
Orchestra and conducting; Corelli’s compositions and their
influence on violin-playing; Alessandro Scarlatti, “the Father
of Classical Music”; Francischello’s violoncello-playing;
importance of strings in Scarlatti’s compositions; Domenico
Scarlatti, originator of the Sonata form; Rameau and what he
did to develop the Orchestra; the North-German Chorale; Johann
Sebastian Bach, the “Musicians’ Musician”; Bach’s contribution
to the Orchestra; Handel and his treatment of instruments;
Handel’s Orchestra; Handel’s conducting; Handel’s use of the
horn, violoncello, bassoon and kettledrums; neutral tints
of the Orchestra of Bach and Handel; Handel’s great use of
crescendo and diminuendo; Gluck’s devotion to Handel; Gluckists
and Piccinists; Gluck’s contribution to the Orchestra; Gluck’s
dramatic sense; Gluck’s ballet-music; Haydn; Prince Esterhazy;
the second and “magnificent Prince Esterhazy”; “Papa Haydn,”
the “Father of the Orchestra”; Haydn’s Orchestra; Haydn’s
knowledge of the kettledrums; quotation from Stendhal; how
Haydn composed; Dr. Burney’s estimation of Haydn and his new
style of music; a modern critic on Haydn’s style; Mozart,
the supreme genius; Stendhal on Mozart; Mozart’s gift to the
Orchestra,—tone-color; influence of Mozart and Haydn upon each
other; the Mannheim Orchestra; Mozart’s love of the clarinet;
Mozart’s conducting; Mozart’s first composition; Beethoven
s admiration for Mozart; an early appreciation of Beethoven
(1818); Beethoven’s unhappy life; Orchestra of the Elector
of Cologne in 1791 in which Beethoven played; Beethoven’s
improvization; Beethoven in Vienna; the Lichnowskys; a
Beethoven concert in 1795; Beethoven at the piano; appearance
of Beethoven; Mozart’s and Beethoven’s Orchestra; Beethoven’s
Symphonies; Beethoven’s treatment of instruments; Beethoven’s
enrichment of the Orchestra; Beethoven, the last great classic
and prophet of the New Era; Classic and Romantic contrasted;
the Romantic School; Carl Maria von Weber; Weber as conductor
of the Dresden Orchestra; Weber’s development of the woodwind;
Weber’s fondness for the clarinet and horn; Weber, a painter
of Nature; Schubert’s gifts to the Orchestra; Schubert’s
Symphonies; Mendelssohn’s grace, charm and brightness of
spirit; Mendelssohn’s happy life and varied accomplishments;
Mendelssohn’s orchestration; Mendelssohn’s conducting; “Music
of the Future” and its three great exponents,—Berlioz, Liszt
and Wagner; Romantic Movement of 1830; Berlioz, a follower of
Beethoven, Weber and Gluck; Berlioz’s love for the colossal;
Heine on Berlioz; Berlioz’s volcanic temperament; Berlioz, the
“Father of Modern Orchestration,” Berlioz, a forerunner of
Wagner; Wagner’s confessed indebtedness to Berlioz; monster
concerts; Berlioz’s symphonies; Paganini’s gift to Berlioz;
Franz Liszt, a favorite of fortune; Liszt’s education; Liszt
in Paris; the Romantic Movement; Liszt impressed by Paganini;
phenomenal concert-tours; Liszt’s generosity; Liszt in Weimar;
Liszt becomes an Abbé; Finck on Liszt’s genius; Liszt, a
follower of Berlioz; the Symphonic Poem; Liszt’s orchestration;
Franz Liszt, a wonderful spirit; Richard Wagner; Liszt’s aid
to Wagner; Wagner’s dream fulfilled; Wagner’s introduction of
the Symphonic Orchestra into the opera; Wagner’s treatment of
instruments; Wagner’s orchestration and Wagner’s Orchestra;
Wagner’s novel effects; Richard Strauss; Strauss’s life and
education; novel use of instruments; complex and gigantic
effects; Tschaikowsky; his education and career; Orchestra
and scoring of Tschaikowsky; the “Casse Noisette Suite”
(Nut-cracker Suite); Tschaikowsky’s love for Mozart; French
composers and symphonic music; Saint-Saëns; French composers
return to national fountains of inspiration; modern French
composers; Debussy and his music; Debussy’s orchestral effects;
Debussy’s Orchestra,—a melodious atmosphere and musical web;
Debussy’s opalescent effects; Debussy’s love of water—sea,
fountains and silvery rain; L’Après Midi d’un faune; Debussy’s
Nocturnes; Catholic tastes of American audiences; Symphony
Orchestra and Orchestra of the Eleventh Century compared._
Now that we have become acquainted with all the instruments in the
Orchestra, we must turn our attention to the Orchestra itself.
We must consider the Orchestra as _one great instrument on which the
conductor plays_.
The Orchestra is made up of all these varied instruments, which, as
we have seen, have been brought to perfection during centuries of use
and experiment,—instruments of long ancestry and historical interest,
instruments that have figured in song and story and romance.
The Orchestra is, therefore, a very unique instrument itself.
It holds within itself nearly every kind of tone from the deepest rumble
of the bass tuba and growl of the double-bass to the cool, flowing notes
of the clarinet and bassoon and to the penetrating call of the flute, the
cry of the violin and scream of the piccolo. It holds within itself every
kind of vibration from bowed, or plucked, strings, and air blown upon
quivering reeds, or through pipes, or tubes, or horns; it has every kind
of thump on tightly-stretched skin; it has every kind of rattle, clang
and clash; and every kind of sharp blow, from the heavy stroke on the
steel rod to the silvery notes of bells, or the brilliant, fiery sparks
from the triangle.
But there is one thing more that we have not yet taken into
consideration,—and that is the _human_ element.
What would these instruments be if there were no musicians to play them?
Is there anything more melancholy than a case full of musical instruments
hanging lifeless and silent in a museum?
We recall the striking illustration Shakespeare makes of unused
instruments in his _Richard the Second_, where the Duke of Norfolk, being
banished, breaks forth with:
“_A heavy sentence, my most sovereign liege,_
_And all unlook’d for from your highness’ mouth._
_The language I have learn’d these forty years,_
_My native English, now I must forego:_
_And now my tongue’s use is to me no more_
_Than an unstringed viol, or a harp;_
_Or like a cunning instrument cased up,_
_Or, being open, put into his hands_
_That knows no touch to tune the harmony._”
In addition to the rich and varied instrumental material, we have
_ninety_ personalities possessed of brains, emotions and artistic ideals
and aspirations.
We call the Orchestra an instrument, or even a machine; but let us think
for a moment of these intelligent personalities behind their instruments,
or merged into their instruments, and we shall realize what a _sensitive_
organization a Symphony Orchestra is.
The Orchestra is a corporate body that is ruled by the Conductor. His is
the power that holds all these forces together; he it is who guides these
ninety men through the mazes of the vast musical composition, or fabric
of woven melodies and harmonies, the patterns and colors of which he will
place before our auditory nerves, which will carry to and impress upon
our brains the musical forms and figures that also charm our senses; and
to do this the Conductor must understand the technique of his Orchestra
every bit as thoroughly as each man knows the technique of his instrument.
The Orchestra began to be an instrument just about the time that Gasparo
di Salò (see page 21) fixed the form of the violin.
Let us look for a moment at the instruments that were in use at the
beginning of the Sixteenth Century—the instruments that formed an
Orchestra in Shakespeare’s time—the Orchestra of the Renaissance. Whether
in Italy, France, or England, it was the same.
“We are in a small square chamber, panelled and floored with oak. It has
a table with two silver candle-sticks, a couple of chairs and a few dozen
books arranged on a sort of dresser. In the window is a settle, and on
it a jumbled heap of music. We turn it over and see that it is almost
all manuscript—single-line parts of madrigals, ballets and canzonets.
But there are one or two printed books, such as Mr. Anthony Munday’s
_Banquet of Dainty Conceits_, published in 1588, and some later things,
such as Mr. Peter Philips’s Madrigals that came out four years ago. Here
is even a proof-copy of Mr. Morley’s new five-part _Ballets_. Clearly the
owner of this room is an advanced thinker. That locked case opposite, of
stamped Spanish leather, evidently contains his favorite _gamba_.[29]
“However, we must not loiter any longer in this room. We had better
make our way into the corridor, go down the staircase, and walk through
the great gallery that runs the whole length of the building. We
are now in the East Wing, where apparently the musicians have their
quarters. In the main room the logs are blazing; and on the table are
scraps of lute-tablature altered and re-altered, with odds and ends of
minnikins—the thin top-strings of the lute. There has evidently been a
rehearsal here.
[Illustration: THEORBO MADE IN PADUA IN 1629]
“Near the fireplace are the lutenists’ boxes. We notice on them French
and Italian, as well as English, names. If we open any of the boxes
we shall find inside them some very lovely instruments. Their vaulted
bodies are built up of strips of pine and cedar, and there are exquisite
purflings and ornaments of ebony, ivory and silver. In front is at
least one beautifully carved and inlaid ‘rose’; while the necks are
all ‘fretted,’ semitone by semitone. Each lute has twelve strings of
catgut tuned in six unison-pairs. But if we touch two or three lutes in
succession, we shall see that all players do not adopt the same tuning.
The average lutenist seems to prefer for his six pairs of strings a
system of fourths joined by a third in the middle.
“The instruments are made in three chief sizes, but the _tenor-lute_, or
_theorbo_, from Padua,[30] appears to be a favorite. If we take up one of
these lutes and pass our hands across its strings, we shall become aware
of a deliciously tender harmony. The instrument has no strength—only a
sort of _melancholy quietude_. And this is due, in some measure, to the
length of the strings. For much tension is out of the question in an
instrument whose bridge is merely glued to the belly.
“Here is a tall lute case in the corner, reaching almost to the ceiling.
From its appearance it has travelled far, over rough roads. Its owner’s
name suggests Italy. Let us take it out very gingerly. It is the latest
thing in lutes—a big Roman _Chitarone_,[31] or archlute, or bass-lute,
with seventeen strings—practically two instruments in one. For besides
the usual _pairs-of-strings_ that run up to the lower ‘nut,’ there is a
second series of _single-strings_ stretched to a second nut at the lute
head. These are the newly invented _diapasons_, a set of bass-strings
which hang free of the fingerboard and can therefore only be plucked
to give the one note of their full vibrating length. This addition is
naturally a great advantage in _consort_, or ensemble, playing; for it
extends the compass diatonically downwards.
“Before we leave the rehearsal room for Lord Strange’s performance in
the Hall we shall make free to open the huge oak cupboard that runs
across the upper part of the room. This is a boarded chest, as they call
it; and we know very well that we shall find inside a set of six viols.
They are heavy and cumbersome instruments and they run downwards like a
Noah’s Ark procession from No. 1, the big Double-Bass, to No. 6, the High
Treble. The favorite is No. 2, the Bass Viol, or _Gamba_. That is _viola
da gamba_ (leg-viol). The Italians also used the names _da spalla_ (the
shoulder) and _da braccio_ (arm) for the next two smaller viols. It is
doubtless a choice specimen of this instrument which was under lock and
key in the other room. It may have been made by Gasparo di Salò.[32] For
the Italians are rapidly coming to the fore as viol-makers; and a new
man, Andreas Amati,[33] is manufacturing a very small instrument, which
he calls a _violino_, or _violin_. But the Queen’s violists probably
regard this as a rather cheap and not quite worthy attempt.
“The tone of the viols is sombre and somewhat nasal. It lacks brightness
altogether. Excellent for _arpeggios_ and quiet vocal passages, the
instruments are apt to sulk unless continually coaxed by the bow. And
the bow unfortunately has to be used with considerable caution. For the
true viols have no fewer than six strings apiece. And in their tuning
they follow the irregularities of the lutes by using a series of fourths
joined together by a third. But the makers are beginning to see the
necessity of reducing the number throughout the whole Viol Family; for
the difficulties of bowing are very great. Accordingly they are just
introducing a modified type of instrument with five strings. They call
these _quintons_; and those players who use them are adopting a tuning
which gives them perfect fifths, at any rate, in the lower part of their
compass. This is interesting. For it shows that some change is in the
air. We should like to have ten minutes’ private conversation on the
subject with Signor Amati. If we did, he would first warn us that what
he was about to say must not on any account be repeated to his best
customers, the violists. Then he would probably give it as his opinion
that his new _violino_ with its simple regular tuning in fifths and its
lovely caressing tone-quality is worth all the viols that have ever been
made; and that all the talk about ‘vulgarizing’ and ‘popularizing’ is
nothing more than professional stupidity.”[34]
Orchestral music begins in Italy. It also begins with the dawn of the
Opera. We must first remember that the Italians always cared more for
solo-singing than for chorus-singing. It was just the same with their
instrumental music. Instruments playing _solo_, or holding a dialogue
together, with brilliant improvisations, occupied a much higher place
in the Italian taste than harmonies produced by a number of instruments
playing together. In other words, the Italians preferred _monodic_
music to _polyphonic_ music. So we find in the first operas, or plays
interspersed with music, that the only instruments that were welcomed
were the clavecin, the organ, the _chitarone_, and the lyre.
Now that combination is not as thin, nor as simple, as we might
think. The clavecin and organ could supply both bass and treble. The
_chitarone_, as we have just seen on page 137, was a big bass-lute known
also as the archlute, with two sets of strings: one reaching all the way
down the enormously long neck; the other, and shorter, reaching only
about a third the way down. Each set of strings had separate pegs.
The lyre was very complicated. It was a kind of viol with twelve, or
fourteen, strings, tuned either in fourths or fifths, alternately
ascending and descending. This very singular way of tuning permitted the
performer to find all kinds of chords in all kinds of positions beneath
his fingers.
[Illustration: THREE CHITARONI
_Seventeenth Century_]
The composer carried his melodies, however, on a very simple bass. If
the opera had “symphonies,” that is to say instrumental interludes,
and ballet-music, the composer would often indicate in his score “at
this place the instruments can play”; and the musicians selected what
they pleased. As time wore on, if the composer indicated a place for
one or two violins to play, he would give them a little theme; and the
players worked it up and elaborated it to suit their fancy and according
to their skill. Very often, indeed, they added a brilliant musical
_divertissement_. The scores of the earliest Italian operas have very
little accompaniment save two or three violins above a bass played on the
theorbo, or clavecin.
At the beginning of the Seventeenth Century a change took place in music.
A great many of the old kinds of wind instruments and the grave old
viols began to disappear. They were too old-fashioned for the New Art of
the time. The famous opera of _Orfeo_ by Monteverde (1607) is, perhaps,
the last of the great operas of that period that contained all that was
considered in those days the _rich voices of the Orchestra_. _Orfeo_ is a
landmark in musical history for many reasons. We shall presently see that
it is also the _starting-point of our modern Orchestra_.
And who was this Monteverde to whom we look back through three hundred
years of musical history? One of the most interesting facts about him is
that he was born in Cremona, that famous “violin town,”[35] where music
was literally in the air, although the Amatis and Stradivaris were not
yet working.
Claudio Monteverde was born in 1567. He was a contemporary of Gasparo di
Salò and Maggini.[36] At an early age he was an expert violist and was
taken into the service of the Duke of Mantua. The Duke’s Court was the
centre of every luxury and elegance in Lombardy and music had long been
one of the arts beloved there.[37] The Mantuan collection of instruments
was famous; and the Duke, like all other noble princes of the time, had
his own band of private musicians. At their head for his _Maestro di
Capella_, he had a very learned musician named Marc Antonio Ingegneri;
and young Monteverde was put under him at once to finish and perfect his
musical education.
Ingegneri, however, was unusually fond of counterpoint and of writing
fugues and Monteverde cared very little about _polyphonic_ music. And
we can imagine, therefore, that when at the age of sixteen he burst
forth with a beautiful _Book of Madrigals_—madrigals were all the rage
in those days—his artistic nature sought relief from studies that he
thought horribly dry and tiresome, but which undoubtedly did him a lot
of good. This set of madrigals was so well received that he followed it
with four more books of this lovely, lyrical form. Then in 1603 Ingegneri
died and Monteverde was chosen to succeed him. He had been superintending
the music at the Court of Mantua for four years and providing brilliant
entertainments and concerts of all kinds when the Duke’s son, Francesco
di Gonzaga, married Margharita, Infanta of Savoy. It was a brilliant
alliance; and the Duke of Mantua, wishing to celebrate it in royal
style, charged Monteverde to write the most splendid opera possible
and to stage it in the most magnificent manner. So Monteverde composed
_Orfeo_. This was one of the most popular of all subjects. It seems as
if every Italian composer had to write the search of Orpheus for his
beloved Eurydice. Ever since Dante had drawn his fantastic scenes of
the _Inferno_, Italian audiences had thrilled to stage pictures of the
lower regions for three hundred years! But it was strange that Monteverde
should have picked out this subject; for while he was writing his opera
his own lovely wife died and he was in bitter grief for her. So, perhaps,
one reason that Monteverde’s _Orfeo_ is so vital a work lies in the fact
that the composer was singing of his own despair.
We often see in histories of music that Monteverde astonished the musical
world with a novel Orchestra in _Orfeo_ and that he introduced a great
many new instruments into his score.
Nothing of the kind! What Monteverde called for in his Orchestra of
_Orfeo_ was _exactly what the Court of Mantua had been accustomed to
see and to hear. There was not a single new instrument of any kind
whatsoever!_
Now this is what he had: an Orchestra of forty instruments. As
instruments of the piano class he had two _clavicembali_, two _organi di
legno_ (little organs with flute tones) and a _regale_ (little organ).
As instruments of sustaining bass—_bass continuo_—he had two double-bass
viols, three _violas da gamba_ and two _chitaroni_ (deep lutes).
As instruments for string ensemble he had two little violins _à la
française_, or _pochettes_, ten _violas da braccio_ (soprano, alto, tenor
and bass), and ordinary violins (such as Gasparo di Salò and Maggini were
making). As wind instruments he had a _clarino_ (shrill trumpet) (see
page 110); three _trompettes_ with _sordini_; four trumpets and two
_cornets à bouquin_; flutes, both shrill and deep; and two oboes. He also
had an _arpa doppia_ (double harp).
First of all, as was usual in those days, the trumpets gave a fanfare,
or “flourish,” to announce the beginning of the drama. Then came the
introduction. Though called a “Toccata,” it was very nearly a _real
overture_. It had to be repeated three times before the rising of
the curtain. The organ, clavecin and _chitaroni_ seem always to have
accompanied the singers; the _ritournellas_, which marked the entrance of
the singers, were usually played by two solo instruments—the little tiny
“French violins,” or the little flutes, on a continued bass from some of
the bass instruments; and in the “symphonies” two groups of instruments
were used—first, a group of violins in five parts, _viole di brazzo_ (ten
in number) supported by the bass of double-bass viols, clavecins, or
_chitaroni_. Then a group of seven instruments (five trombones and two
cornets). The “symphonies” were very short—just an air played through
once; but they are very sweetly harmonized and resemble dance-tunes.
The groups of instruments were intended to express, accompany and even
symbolize each personage in the drama. _Orfeo_ was, therefore, not an
innovation; it was the highest expression of the _end of a period—the
crowning-point of the music of the Italian Renaissance_.
There were several new ideas in _Orfeo_, however, even if the instruments
of the Orchestra were just those of the Italian Renaissance. In one
place, for instance, two violins were allowed to play independently of
the viols; and _that_ was absolutely novel. The fact is _Monteverde was
new_, if his Orchestra was not; and his originality was going to express
itself more fully in after years as we shall presently see.
[Illustration: CLAUDIO MONTEVERDE]
Let us run through the arrangement of Act III. The curtain rises on the
Infernal Regions with scenery painted in the magnificent style of the
Italian painters of the period—Titian, Tintoret, Correggio—any of the
great masters we may like to think of—and with many ingenious mechanical
devices; for these brilliant Italians were very well accustomed to
getting up pageants and _festas_. The trombone, cornet and organ play
large and sombre chords to evoke the idea of Hades. Orpheus enters and
tries to conquer the Powers of Darkness with all the resources of his
art. The first couplet of his song is accompanied by the _organo di
legno_ (organ with the flute tones) and the _chitaroni_; and when Orpheus
begins to sing, the two violins play. At the second couplet, after a
_ritournella_ by the violins, two cornets take their places and play; and
at the third couplet, when Orpheus sings “Where Eurydice is, is paradise
for me,” the double harp plays graceful arpeggios. Then Orpheus sings
some very elaborate vocalizations accompanied by two violins and a _basso
da braccio_ (a deep violin). When Orpheus bids Charon, the ferryman,
let him pass over the river Styx, the string-quartet plays chords; and,
finally, when Orpheus is triumphant, the whole Orchestra bursts forth in
one grand _finale_.
_Orfeo_ was a truly wonderful work. It was startling in many ways; but
its _Orchestra was conservative_. The instruments played together in
families. There was no attempt to mingle all their voices together,
nor to combine instruments except at the very end when the curtain was
falling.
It is not _Orfeo_, therefore, that marks the beginning of our modern
Orchestra, but an opera that Monteverde brought out twenty years later
called _Il Combattimento di Tancrede e Clorinda_.
In the _Combat of Tancred and Clorinda_, to give the opera its English
name, Monteverde used a very different Orchestra from the one he had used
in _Orfeo_. Here he has two violins, two viols (tenor and bass) and the
_contrabasso da gamba_. At this very moment—the year 1627—_the violin
took root in the Orchestra_. In ten years’ time it became the leading
instrument.[38] By 1639 _there were no more players on the viol in Italy_
that amounted to anything. From 1634 the violoncello was also established
as an orchestral instrument.
Truly, a great change had taken place! Monteverde’s Orchestra—we can now
call it so—had become one in which the violins and the instruments of the
piano class—the clavecin, etc.—form the _new body of the Orchestra_.
When Monteverde wanted certain effects, he now used special _timbres_,
or kinds of voices: trumpets and drums for triumphal scenes; cornets and
trombones for fantastic scenes; and flutes for pastoral scenes. Such
was the Orchestra that Monteverde used in his celebrated opera, the
_Incoronazione di Poppea_, which he brought out in 1642, at the end of
his life, and which the _Orchestras of Venice followed for years_.
Another thing that Monteverde did that was new in the _Coronation of
Poppea_ was to make his violins describe the excitement of the combat by
a long _tremolo_, using the passage exactly as we do to-day. It was so
novel that the violinists refused to play it. But they had to!
Monteverde also did not hesitate to introduce an instrumental
_intermezzo_ in the midst of a tragic scene.
Monteverde was a painter of life. His music was vital and vivid and in
spirit much like that of the great Italian portrait-painters who were his
contemporaries. He saw his characters and he explained them in musical
language; and _he made his Orchestra help him to do so_. And he did this,
moreover, in such an artistic way that Wagner thought him worthy of
copying nearly three hundred years later.
Monteverde stands forever as one of the greatest figures in musical
history.
After the representation of _Orfeo_, Monteverde continued to compose;
and in 1608 he brought out an opera called _Adrianna_, which aroused the
whole of Italy to enthusiasm. Then he produced a number of ballets and
comedies. In 1612 he went to Venice, for he had been appointed _maestro
di capella_ in the beautiful church of St. Mark’s. The people went wild
over him. He was honored in every way; and his music travelled into
Germany, Holland, France, and England and was studied by all the leading
musicians.
After the terrible epidemic of the Plague in 1630, which carried off
fifty thousand persons in sixteen months in Italy alone, Monteverde
entered the Church; but this did not prevent him from composing dramatic
works and madrigals (which he still loved to write) on love and war. He
saw the first public opera-house opened in Venice in 1637, which was an
important musical event, and he died in 1643, at the age of seventy-six.
After _Orfeo_, Monteverde gave up his “noisy Orchestra,” as it was
considered. He now simplified it. He weeded out the old instruments whose
tones did not harmonize with the new instruments—for the Brescian and
Cremonese-makers were very busy in these days turning out new models;
and, as he lived in the region of the great violin-makers, Monteverde saw
every new model as it left the hands of Maggini or Amati.[39] The idea
had dawned upon him of _mixing his instruments_—our modern Orchestra was
beginning!
We must not imagine, however, that Monteverde was the only great musician
of the day, though he was _the most popular composer in Europe_.
[Illustration: CAR OF MUSICIANS. TRIUMPH OF MAXIMILIAN
_By Albrecht Dürer, about 1518_]
Florence, Venice and Rome, to say nothing of all the smaller cities,
had their operas, ballets and musical-contests. Rome was very active.
And, moreover, there was a great musical educator in Rome, whose
name was Vergilio Mazzocchi (1593-1646), who was one of Monteverde’s
contemporaries. He was _maestro di capella_ in St. John Lateran’s and
in St. Peter’s. It will give us an idea of how seriously music was
studied in those days if we remember what Mazzocchi required and what
extraordinarily proficient pupils he sent out from his school. They
could sing, play instruments, compose and write musical dramas and
ballets; they could read music at sight and copy it; and they were also
well trained in literature. Few of us would care for a day like this:—
In the morning—“an hour to singing difficult exercises; an hour to the
study of literature; an hour to practise singing before a mirror so as
not to make disgraceful faces. In the evening—half an hour to theory;
half an hour to the study of counterpoint; an hour to composition; and an
hour to literature.” The rest of the day was devoted to practice on the
clavecin, to composing for pleasure, and taking a walk in the open air.
Pupils were also sent to the theatre and concerts, so that they could
hear and study celebrated singers and performers; and they had to write
an account of their impressions! Poor young things! A busy schedule for
work and _pleasure_!
About this time an opera by Stefano Landi was produced in Rome (1632).
It was called _S. Alessio_; and the libretto was written by Giulio
Rospigliosi, from the _Golden Legend_. This work is very important in
musical history, not only because it has a double chorus and a double
Orchestra, but because the second act opens with a real overture in
three movements. It begins with a rapid _Fugato_ in 4-time; then comes
a majestic _Adagio_ in 3-time; and then another rapid _Fugato_ in
4-time. The “_sinfonia_,” or “symphony,” introducing Act I, is in five
movements,—a theme treated in fugue and counterpoint; a little piece
described as an “echo”; a short, slow number in 3-time; and a rapid
_Fugato_. The orchestral score is written in _five_ instrumental parts:
(1)-(3) violins; (4) harps, lutes, theorbos, violoncello and bass viol;
and (5), _clavicembali_.
Music in Rome was kept almost exclusively for the wealthy and
aristocratic circles. At the Barberini Theatre, which could easily seat
3,500 persons, only guests were admitted who had invitations. The public
was not allowed to see one of these fine operas! Woe betide anyone who
tried to get admittance! On one occasion in 1639 the Cardinal Antonio
Barberini chased out of the opera-house with his stick a nice-looking and
well-dressed young man, because he had not sufficient rank to come there!
In Venice matters were different. The public was not only allowed to
attend, but the director of the opera-house would even permit gondoliers
to sit in the boxes when the owners were absent. Consequently, the
Venetians were very well educated in artistic music. Many beautiful works
were given there. And the Venetian Orchestras were of the very best.
Mr. Goldschmidt, who examined the scores of 112 of these old operas in
the Library of St. Mark’s, found that the main support of the Orchestra
was the clavecin, which usually accompanied the singers; that the violins
were in general charge of the _ritournelles_ and the _entr’actes_; that
the trumpets played in the overtures and marches and often with the
voices; that the cornets, trombones and bassoons were used for fantastic
effects; that horns, drums, and other instruments of percussion were
used; and that flutes were not as popular as they were in France.
[Illustration: CAR OF MUSICIANS. TRIUMPH OF MAXIMILIAN
_By Albrecht Dürer, about 1518_]
Can we not see in these old Venetian Orchestras of three hundred years
ago some ideas gradually approaching towards our own?
Let us turn to Vienna, which was the great centre of the Central Empire.
One work will suffice to show that there was splendid music in that
brilliant capital. In 1666 Antonio Cesti, one of the members of the Papal
Choir in Rome and then _maestro di capella_ for the Emperor Ferdinand
III, in Vienna, wrote for the Emperor’s wedding festivities an opera
called _Il Pomo d’oro_. It was described as a “dramatic festa.” The
theatre seated 5000 persons. The Orchestra was separated from the last
row of chairs by a wide space and the conductor, who was the composer
of the work, sat at the _cembalo_, with his thirty musicians around
him. His Orchestra consisted of six violins; twelve alto violas; tenor;
bass; contrabass; two flutes; trumpets; two cornets; three trombones; a
bassoon; and a little organ.
The strings seem to have played most of the accompaniments to the voices;
the flutes were used for the pastoral scenes; the trumpets for the great
choral scenes; and the cornets and trombones for the infernal regions,—of
course, they had to have infernal regions!
An overture preceded each act. The opera was a magnificent spectacle. By
turns heaven and hell were represented; there were tempests on the sea;
there were battles on the land; towns were besieged with armed elephants;
and there were gardens and lovely landscapes and superb costumes.
And the Orchestra had to be worthy to accompany all this stupendous
stage-setting.
An idea of the Orchestras of the Renaissance may be had by looking at the
three pictures facing pages 148, 150 and 152, representing the _Triumph
of Maximilian_ by Albrecht Dürer.
The Emperor Maximilian, who stood at the head of the old Roman Empire
and the German nation, took a childish delight in the glorification of
his own person. Instead of having a Triumphal Arch in marble erected,
he engaged Dürer in 1512 to make a record of his fame in engravings.
There was to be a Triumphal Arch and a Triumphal Procession followed
by a Triumphal Car in which the Emperor and his whole family were to
appear. Maximilian died in 1518. Dürer, to honor his memory, brought out
the _Triumphal Procession_ in eight large plates, three of which are
represented in this book. They show exactly the kinds of instruments that
were used in the Orchestras in Rome, Florence, Venice and Vienna, of
which we have been talking; but they give the Spirit of the Renaissance
as interpreted by the German mind.
Cardinal Mazarin, who brought so many Italian tastes into France when
he became Prime Minister to the Queen Mother, Anne of Austria, also
introduced the Italian Opera. In 1643 he sent to Rome for musicians.
It is very interesting to note the growing taste in France for “Strings.”
Like Italy, France had lost all pleasure in the big, bass woodwind
instruments; and as for brass instruments, they were not tolerated. All
had gone. Germany and Spain kept wind instruments in their Orchestras;
but in France and Italy the bowed strings were growing in favor every
day. Sometimes in church the cornet was played to mingle with the voices,
but nowhere else.
[Illustration: CAR OF MUSICIANS. TRIUMPH OF MAXIMILIAN
_By Albrecht Dürer, about 1518_]
The only instruments that French ears cared to listen to were Strings
(including the whole Violin Family), oboes and flutes. France always
loved the flute, which was comparatively little cared for in Italy, where
it was chiefly used in operas, as we have observed, for pastoral scenes.
The violin was becoming more and more popular every day. In every kind
of music it took the lead. It had been so much used for dance-music that
it had developed into a supple and graceful instrument and one that gave
itself most willingly to many delicate shades of expression in the hands
of a good player. The violin was often combined with the clavecin and
theorbo.
The combination was delicate and charming, rich and beautiful.
The old author of the _Comparison of Italian with French Music_ says:
“I beg to remark that with its four or five strings, the violin makes
you feel certain passions in the most striking manner, for it expresses
them in a way peculiar to itself. It really does not matter if it has
four strings, or five strings. The Italians tune their five strings in
fourths, we tune our four strings in fifths; and it comes to the same
thing. The violin mounted in either way is always the perfection of
music.”[40]
About this time the first _real_ French Orchestra came into existence. We
may almost consider it as an ancestor of our own, as we shall presently
see. This was the famous “Twenty-Four Violins of the King.” Although it
originated in the days of Louis XIII, it is more identified with the
reign of his successor, Louis XIV.
The “Twenty-Four Violins” were the best performers of the period and they
are constantly spoken of in the _Memoirs_ and _Journals_ of the day. One
of them, for instance, Jacques Cordier, called Bocan, was dancing-master
at the Court of France, as well as violinist, and followed Henrietta
Maria, the King’s daughter, to England when she married Charles I. When
the Revolution broke out and Charles was beheaded, Bocan returned to
France and to the King’s household. He was one of the best violinists of
his day.
“The sound of his violin is ravishing,” writes Mersenne (who wrote a book
about the instruments of his time); “he plays perfectly, just as sweetly
as he wishes; and he makes use of a kind of trembling sound, which charms
our spirits.”
This was evidently the _vibrato_, which is produced by oscillating the
finger rapidly upon a note without allowing it to leave the string; and
it does produce “a kind of trembling sound.” The old writer described it
exactly.
Bocan played on that memorable evening when the Cardinal de Richelieu
danced a Sarabande for the Queen Mother, Anne of Austria. At this moment
the great Prime Minister of France was taking part in all the momentous
affairs of Europe; and we get a glimpse of him in a play hour that few of
his contemporaries had. The Comte de Brienne wrote of it in his Memoirs:
“Richelieu,” he says, “was dressed in trousers of green velvet. On his
garters were silver bells and he had castanets in his hands. He danced a
Sarabande, which Bocan played. The violinist and a few spectators were
hidden behind a screen where we could see the antics of the dancer. We
nearly split our sides laughing; and I declare that now, even after fifty
years, I nearly die laughing when I think of it.”
When Louis XIV ascended the throne the “Twenty-Four Violins” became the
finest and most celebrated Orchestra in Europe. Though founded, as we
have said, in the former reign, the “Twenty-Four Violins” is particularly
the _Orchestra of Louis XIV_, the magnificent “Sun-King.” In the superb
palaces of Versailles and Marly Louis XIV blazed with all the glory that
is possible to mortals. Magnificent furniture, magnificent paintings,
magnificent gardens, magnificent fountains, magnificent costumes,
magnificent ladies, magnificent gentlemen, magnificent feasts and
magnificent operas, plays and concerts!
Everything “the Grand Monarch” had was the very best that could be found;
for in his reign France was the leading Power in Europe. So, of course,
he had the finest Orchestra.
The “Twenty-Four Violins” surpassed everything of the kind that had been
known up to that time. They represented the greatest heights to which
brilliancy and sonority could attain.
The “Twenty-Four Violins” played in the Court entertainments; they
played in the churches; they played in the gardens; they played on the
lawns; and they played for the King and his Court to dance. They also
frequently took part in the Court Ballets, when they were dressed in
peculiar costumes with masques worn hind part before, so that they gave
the ludicrous appearance of playing behind their backs. They played in
the gilded and tapestry-hung galleries and Salons of Versailles and Marly
and at the banquets of the King. And whenever they appeared they excited
the greatest admiration.
Although they were called the Twenty-Four Violins, the whole violin
family was represented. There were violins, altos, tenors, basses and
double-bass viols; and they played in four-part, or five-part harmony.
“All these parts sounding together,” wrote Mersenne, “make a symphony so
precise and agreeable that whoever hears the ‘Twenty-Four Violins’ of the
King play all kinds of airs and dances, confesses willingly that he never
heard such suave and delicious harmonies before.”
Mersenne also remarked that the deeper instruments, particularly the
basses, were much more sonorous and stronger in tone than the violins.
We know of some of their names. There was Constantin; there was Lazarin;
there was Bocan;[41] there was Foucard; and there was Léger.
“What could be more elegant than Constantin’s playing?” cries Mersenne.
“What could be warmer and more fiery than Bocan’s style? What could be
more ingenious and delicate than the diminutions of Lazarin and Foucard?
And if you add Léger’s bass above Constantin’s part, you will hear the
most perfect harmony.”
[Illustration: CHAMBER MUSIC IN 1635
_By Abraham Bosse_]
Perhaps, if we could hear the gentlemen represented on page 160 draw
his bow, we should think his tone very thin and we might not be at
all enthusiastic over the style of his playing; but we must remember
our ears hear very differently from those that listened to Bocan and
Constantin and have been educated along other lines. But certainly the
contemporaries of the “Twenty-Four Violins” considered that they were
supreme artists. And literature is full of allusions to them.
We also know that Guillaume Dumanoir was first a member and than
conductor of the “Twenty-Four Violins.”
Sometimes the King sent his “Twenty-Four Violins” to play for his great
princes and favorite courtiers. We learn from a contemporary poem that at
a superb dinner given by Cardinal Mazarin in 1660, “the feast was fine,
joy universal and the ‘Twenty-Four Violins’ played while we ate melons,
_pâtés_, tarts, _biscuit_ and dishes of delicious fruit piled up like
obelisks. We enjoyed ourselves immensely while they played a thousand
beautiful airs.”
There was hardly a great gentleman who did not have his little band of
violins, or his string-quartet, to entertain his friends and to amuse
himself. Those who could not afford to support an Orchestra, or a
quartet, would hire one on occasions.
There were many associations of musicians in the big cities like Paris
and London (survivals of the old minstrel guilds) and in small towns
throughout Europe where there were violinists, clavecinists, organists,
flute-players and a few players of old instruments—like the lute—so fast
becoming obsolete—ready to accept engagements. Such men carried the
growing taste for instrumental music, and the latest compositions as
well, to remote towns and country-houses. They were really preparing the
ground for us to-day, though they did not know it.
At this period Jean-Baptiste Lully comes on the centre of the stage.
When we think of the magnificent reign of Louis XIV—he of the long,
curling wig, the hooked nose, the supercilious smile, the long robes
and the high-heeled and diamond-buckled pumps—we think of the men who
made his century so great. We think of the great artists, Lepautre
and Bérain; we think of the architect, Mansart; we think of the great
furniture-maker, Boulle; we think of the landscape-gardener, Lenôtre; we
think of the great ministers, Condé and Colbert; we think of the great
generals, Turenne and Fontenoy; we think of the story-writers, Perrault
and La Fontaine; we think of the essayists, La Bruyère and Bossuet;
we think of the dramatists, Racine and Molière; and we think of the
musician, Jean-Baptiste Lully.
Jean-Baptiste Lully was not a Frenchman. His name was Lulli and he was
born in Florence in 1632. He was of humble origin and was taught by an
old Franciscan monk to play the guitar and to sing. Lulli was unusually
clever. He attracted the attention of the Chevalier de Guise, who was
visiting Italy; and this gentleman was so fascinated with him that he
took him to France and handed him on to Mademoiselle de Montpensier,
the daughter of Gaston d’Orléans, that eccentric person who is known in
history as “_La Grande Mademoiselle_.”
_La Grande Mademoiselle_, like every other person of place and wealth,
had her own Orchestra; and Lully (as his name was now written) was
given a place in it as one of the violins, while the Comte de Nogent,
who became interested in him, saw that he had lessons. _La Grande
Mademoiselle_ gave very brilliant ballets and concerts at the Tuileries;
but when the Royal Army occupied Paris, she was banished to her old
_Château de Saint-Fargeau_, which was quite far in the country. Lully
went with the rest of the household; and when he was not playing in the
Orchestra, or dancing in the ballet, he was employed as page. Some say,
indeed, he even served in the kitchen.
Lully, full of tricks and mischief and fun, composed a satirical song on
his mistress, _La Grande Mademoiselle_, who was a tempting subject for
a young boy’s wit. But _La Grande Mademoiselle_ heard the song; and she
very naturally dismissed him from her household. But this disgrace did
not affect Lully. In fact, it helped him in his career; for he very soon
got a place in the Twenty-Four Violins,—and there he was in the King’s
private band! And _La Grande Mademoiselle_ had to see and hear him play
very frequently.
_La Grande Mademoiselle_ does not refer to Lully’s insolence in her
_Memoirs_. Her version is as follows: “He did not want to stay in the
country and asked for his dismissal. I gave it to him and he has since
made his fortune, for he was a very great dancer.”
Lully was as clever as he was musically gifted. It was not long before
he had charge of all the “King’s Music,” which consisted of the Chamber
Music, the Chapel Music and the _Grande Écurie_ (the Stable). The latter
comprised the music for hunting and processions and out-of-door _fêtes_.
The famous “Twenty-Four Violins” played at dinner, at the Court balls,
and gave concerts for the Court, as we have seen.
In 1655 the King created a new Orchestra especially for Lully called the
“_Petits Violons_.” At first it consisted of sixteen players, but soon it
was increased to twenty-one. This Orchestra played at the Court balls,
at the morning toilet (or _lever_) of the King, at the dinner (or _grand
couvert_) and on various other occasions. Some persons thought it played
even better than the “Twenty-Four.” Lully composed a great number of
dances for it—sarabandes, gigues, chaconnes, etc., which delighted the
King and his Court. Sometimes the two Orchestras played together under
Lully’s guiding hand.
Jean-Baptiste Lully now became the most important musician in Europe.
After a time he felt that the violin, which he played so well, was
beneath his dignity, so he gave it up and devoted himself to the
harpsichord. He staged and danced in ballets for the Court; wrote operas
to the poetic _libretti_ of Quinault and produced them with superb
scenery; and he _composed all the musical interludes for all of Molière’s
plays_!
He also played in several of Molière’s comedies. He took the part of
the physician in _Pourceaugnac_ and he played the comical Muphti in _Le
Bourgeois Gentilhomme_.
[Illustration: ONE OF THE TWENTY-FOUR VIOLINS OF THE KING, 1688]
Lully ruled like a king.
Lully _was_ the King of Music, not only in France, but in all of Europe
in those grand days when France stood at the head of all nations in
wealth and power under her “Sun-King.”
One day in 1687, while conducting a _Te Deum_ in honor of the King’s
recovery from an illness, Lully, “the better to demonstrate his zeal,”
the contemporary account relates, “he himself _beat the time with the
cane he used for this purpose_, and he struck himself in the heat of
action a blow upon the end of his foot. This caused a small blister.”[42]
The quack doctor who was summoned was incompetent and Lully died from
blood-poisoning. He left four houses in Paris and a large fortune.
His portraits, which represent him in the big flowing curls of the
day—much like the King’s own wig—and with large heavy features, are said
by contemporaries to flatter him.
Lully was an undoubted genius and he was always clever. We sometimes
wonder if he did not know what he was doing when he wrote his satirical
song on “Big Mademoiselle,” who had plenty of enemies ready to laugh at
her expense.
Lully always knew how to attract attention to himself and he never seems
to have made a mistake.
I think we may call him the first _real conductor of an Orchestra_.
Certain it is that Lully was the first to gather together a virtuoso
Orchestra and train it by methods that approach those of to-day.
Lully’s Orchestra is, therefore, of the greatest interest to us. So
let us stop and examine it: “Lully got together the best Orchestra
of his time in Europe. It is perhaps an exaggeration to say that he
was the first man to train an Orchestra in France and that before him
(accordingly to Perrault) musicians did not know how to play from score
and had to learn their parts by heart. But he certainly did improve
instrumental execution, especially with regard to the violin, and he
created traditions in the conducting of Orchestras, which rapidly became
classic and were followed in France and even served as a model in Europe.
Among the many foreigners who came to Paris to study was an Alsatian,
named Georges Muffat, who especially admired the perfect discipline
and strict time of Lully’s Orchestra. He said that Lully’s method
was characterized by trueness of tone, by smoothness and evenness of
execution, by clean attack and by the way the bows of the whole Orchestra
bit into the first chord, that famous ‘first stroke of the bow,’ as well
as by the irresistible ‘go,’ the well-defined rhythm and the delightful
combination of vigor and flexibility, of grace and vivacity. But of all
these qualities, the best was the _rhythm_.”[43]
Robert Eitner called it an “incisive and expressive rhythm.” Others
tell us that Lully thought quite as much of delicacy of expression; for
there are many marks on his scores, such as “Play softly—almost without
touching the notes” and “Do not take off the _sordini_ until you are told
to.”
Lully’s Orchestra showed off splendidly in his operas.
“The Orchestra had for its chief instruments: violins in five parts,
which played the _ritournelles_, doubled the choruses and beautified
the solos with their harmonies. In excited airs expressing quick
passion, the voice was accompanied by two violins which played a very
elaborate part and when the passion abated returned to their ordinary
recitative. Flutes, usually straight flutes and _flutes à bec_, though
sometimes ‘transverse,’ or ‘German,’ were much used by Lully. Sometimes
they played in unison with other instruments. Sometimes they formed
separate ‘concerts’ and sometimes they were combined with the trumpets
and violins. The trumpets had a magnificent _rôle_. They played alone
in three, or five, parts with the drums. Lully also employed oboes,
bassoons, and instruments of percussion, and in his ballets he made a
great use of the _tambour de basque_, (tambourine), castanets and drums.
He also introduced bag-pipes, guitars and hunting-horns (in _La Princesse
d’Élide_); the charcoal-burner’s whistle (in _Acis_); and, like the
composer of _Siegfried_, he did not fear the sound of the forge and the
noise of anvils (in _Isis_). The characteristic trait of the Orchestra
(and one essentially French) is that Lully rarely employed it all at
once. He divided his Orchestra into groups that have conversations with
one another, or with the voices. This system puts lots of light into the
picture, as it were, and the air circulates freely. Strangers were always
struck by this.
“Lully’s Orchestra was large. It was carefully recruited and trained by
him. The violins were extraordinary, especially in ‘the first stroke of
the bow.’ People came from Italy, England and Germany to hear Lully’s
Orchestra. Everybody admired his correctness, rhythm, the perfection of
his _ensemble_; and, above all, the sweetness, preciseness and smoothness
of his violins.”[44]
And now let us see what a contemporary has to say:
“Lully would have nothing but good instrumentalists. He tested them first
by making them play _Les songes funestes_ from _Atys_. It was a nimble
hand that he demanded. After all, ease of execution was a reasonable
qualification to require. He supervised all the rehearsals; and he had
so nice an ear that from the far end of the theatre he could detect a
violinist who played a wrong note. And he would run up to the man and
say, ‘You did that. It is not in your part.’ The artists knew him and
they tried to do their work well. The instrumentalists particularly never
dared to embellish their parts, for he would not allow any more liberties
from them than he would from the singers. He thought it far from proper
that they should assume a greater knowledge than his own and add what
notes they pleased to their tablature. If this happened he became angry
and would make lively corrections. More than once he broke a violin
on the back of a man who was not playing to his taste. But when the
rehearsal was over, Lully would send for the man, pay him three times the
value of his instrument and take him out to dine.”
This characteristic little picture well shows the methods of the
conductor.
[Illustration: JEAN BAPTISTE LULLY]
Now these were neither ordinary men, nor ordinary musicians, whom Lully
was accustomed to strike with their instruments. Some of them were indeed
famous in their art and friendships. It only proves how supreme Lully was
that they would submit to his temper and rude treatment. Evidently it was
a distinction to play in Lully’s Orchestra. So they put up with anything
at rehearsals.
Take, for instance, Descoteaux, one of the most famous flute-players
of the time. Descoteaux was a great friend of Boileau, Molière and La
Fontaine. He lived to be very old, and Marais (the _viola da gamba_ of
Lully’s Orchestra) speaks of him in his _Journal_ in 1723 as follows:
“During the _fêtes_ I saw Descoteaux, whom I thought was dead. It was
he who carried the German flute to its highest point and who brought to
perfection the pronunciation of words in singing according to the rules
of grammar. The value of literature he understood better than anybody.
He sang words very correctly. Descoteaux had the love of flowers to a
supreme degree and he was one of the greatest amateur florists in Europe.
He lives in the Luxembourg, where they have given him a little garden,
which he cultivates himself. La Bruyère has not forgotten to include him
in his _Caractères_ and that fad of his for tulips, to which he gave
names as he pleased. He wants to be a philosopher now and talk Descartes;
but it is quite enough to be such a musician and such a florist.”
Thirty years before, when the tulip mania had spread from Holland
throughout Europe, causing people to win and lose large sums—fortunes
indeed—upon choice bulbs—and to spend time and money on the production
of new species—(a fad so well described in Dumas’s novel of _The Black
Tulip_), La Bruyère wrote of Descoteaux in _De la Mode_ (1691). He
did not mention Descoteaux by name; but everybody knew for whom the
pen-portrait was intended. Descoteaux had his garden then in the faubourg
Saint-Antoine.
Here is La Bruyère’s picture of Lully’s first flute: “The florist has
a garden in a faubourg. He runs to it at break of day and he visits it
before he goes to bed. We see him as if he were planted and had taken
root in the middle of his tulips and before the _Solitaire_. He opens
his eyes wide; he rubs his hands with delight; he goes closer to look at
it; he kisses it; his heart swells with joy, for he thinks he has never
seen it look so beautiful. Then he leaves it for the _Orientale_. From
the _Orientale_, he goes to the _Veuve_ (the widow); then he goes to the
_Drap d’or_ (Cloth of Gold); then he goes to _Agathe_; and then he goes
back to the _Solitaire_, where he takes root again. There he stands or
sits, rapt, and forgets all about his dinner. How beautiful her shading,
her stripes, her satiny, oily skin! How lovely her chalice! He gazes
upon her, admiring God and nature in her; and he would not give up that
tulip bulb for a thousand _écus_. But he will be glad to give it away for
nothing when tulips go out of fashion and pinks come in. This sensible
man, who has a soul and a religion, as well as a fad, returns home
fatigued but very contented; for he has seen his tulips!”
Descoteaux was a great virtuoso. So was Philbert, who was also a member
of Lully’s Orchestra. Descoteaux and Philbert often played together; and
they often played with Vizé, who was just as celebrated on the theorbo
and guitar as they were on the flute.
Philbert was famous for his gayety, his wit and his talent for mimicry.
He saw the ridiculous in everything and everybody; and he burlesqued
everything and everybody to make his friends scream with laughter.
In his chapter on _Des Femmes_, La Bruyère touches him off under the
name of Dracon. Addressing Lélie, he says: “But you have Dracon, the
flute-player! No one else in his profession can puff out his cheeks
so decently in blowing into an oboe, or a flageolet. The number of
instruments that he can make talk is infinite! Pleasanter still, he can
make children and young women laugh! Who can eat and drink more than
Dracon at a single meal? Dracon enlivens a whole company, and he is
always the last to get up!”
Poor Dracon had a sad love-story. A woman fell in love with him—not an
unusual thing to happen with Philbert—but she poisoned her husband so
that nothing might stand in the way of marrying him. At the last moment
she confessed her crime; and she was hanged and burned in the old _Place
de Grève_ in Paris. Philbert was perfectly innocent; but he, doubtless,
suffered terribly—poor fellow!
An artist’s life is not always a happy one!
Both Descoteaux and Philbert were great favorites of Louis XIV. As the
Philidor and Hotteterre families were renowned for their skill on the
flute, oboe and bassoon, some of them, undoubtedly, played in Lully’s
Orchestra. These families were famous in musical Paris for generations.
One of the bassoons was La Bas. He married an opera-singer, named Mlle.
Le Rochois. The marriage was somewhat unusual. Mr. Bassoon wrote his
promise to marry the lady on the back of a card—the Queen of Spades
(_Pique Dame_) and then he tried to get out of it; but the lady showed
the Queen of Spades to Lully; and Lully made Mr. Bassoon keep his promise.
Conductors have many duties!
One of the first violins, Verdier, was also the husband of an
opera-singer; but we do not know the story of his marriage.
Then there was Jean Baptiste Marchand, who played the lute and also the
violin. He wrote such a fine Mass that it was performed in the noble old
cathedral of Notre-Dame of Paris.
Then there was Teobaldo di Gatti, a native of Florence, who was so
charmed with the “symphonies” in some of Lully’s operas that he had heard
(and perhaps played in) that he went to Paris in 1676 especially to see
Lully. As soon as he arrived, he hurried to call on the great composer
and conductor and told him why he had taken the journey. Lully was
highly flattered; and, after hearing him play, he recognized his ability
and gave him a place in the Orchestra at once. And here Teobaldo, the
_basse de viol_, played for fifty years! He died in 1727, playing in the
Orchestra up to the last. Teobaldo was a very well-known figure in Paris;
and everybody went to hear his opera, _Scylla_, when it was performed in
Paris.
Perhaps the best musicians in all this Orchestra of _virtuosi_ were the
two violinists, Lalouette and Collasse, and the bass violist, Marais,
whose snap-shot of a fellow-member is quoted on page 165. Each of these
three artists became Lully’s assistant conductor.
Jean François Lalouette, the first of Lully’s conductors, was born in
1615. He studied the violin under Guy Leclerc (one of the Twenty-Four
Violins) and began to play under Lully when he was only twenty. First he
played among the violins; and then Lully made him his secretary and put
him to writing recitatives. He also instrumented some of Lully’s operas.
But when he boasted that he had composed the best parts of Lully’s
opera of _Isis_, Lully discharged him. Lalouette then devoted himself
to composition. Finally, he became _maître de chapelle_ at Notre-Dame,
Paris. He died in 1728. When Lalouette was dismissed in 1677, Lully gave
his place to Pascal Collasse.
Collasse was born in Rheims in 1649. At an early age he was taken to
Paris, where he became a chorister at St. Paul’s and a pupil of Lully.
He was more fortunate than Lalouette, for he stayed with Lully until the
latter’s death and completed his operas that were left unfinished.
Marin Marais was conductor at the same time as Collasse. Perhaps they
alternated, perhaps there was so much to do that two were kept busy. It
looks as if Lully only conducted when he wanted to—perhaps on a first
performance of one of his operas. At any rate, Marais and Collasse
worked together. Marais was a Parisian and was born in 1656. He sang in
the choir of Sainte-Chapelle and took lessons on the _basse de viole_[45]
with Sainte-Colombe. At the end of six months Sainte-Colombe, seeing that
his pupil was likely to surpass him, told him that he could teach him
nothing more. But this did not satisfy Marais; for he loved the _basse
de viole_ passionately and wanted to perfect himself by learning from
this master. At that time Sainte-Colombe used to practise in his garden
in a little shed he had built around a mulberry-tree where he could
be undisturbed. Marais hid behind the shed and listened to his master
practise some very difficult passages and bowings that Sainte-Colombe
wished to keep for himself. This did not last long because Sainte-Colombe
found it out. The next time he heard Marais he congratulated him on his
progress. Moreover, one day when Marais was playing for a company of
great distinction, Sainte-Colombe, who happened to be present, was asked
what he thought of Marais. He replied that “there were always pupils who
could surpass their master, but that nobody would ever be found who could
surpass Marais.”
Marais became the best performer on the _basse de viole_ of his time. It
was Marais who gave the instrument a seventh string and it was he who
wrapped the three lowest strings with wire. In 1685 he was soloist in
the King’s Chamber Music and he also played in Lully’s Orchestra. Lully
gave him lessons in composition. In 1686 he published a collection of
pieces for the _basse de viole_. An _Idylle Dramatique_ came out in the
_Mercure de Paris_ in 1693.
[Illustration: MARIN MARAIS]
Marais wrote a great deal of music for the strings. “We know,” writes a
contemporary, “the fecundity and beauty of the genius of this musician by
the number of works that he composed. They are astounding in taste and
variety. His great knowledge appears in all his works; but particularly
in two pieces: one, in his fourth book called the _Labyrinth_, where,
after having gone through various scales and touched on diverse
dissonances, and marked his way by grave tones and then by lively and
animated ones, describing the uncertainty of a man who is going through a
labyrinth, he comes out happily in a graceful and natural _Chaconne_. But
he astonished connoisseurs still more by a piece called the _Scale_—_La
Gamme_—a symphonic composition which mounts insensibly through all the
notes in the octave and then descends again with harmonious and beautiful
melodies through all the musical scales.”[46]
Marais also wrote several operas, one of which, _Alcyone_ (1706), had
in it a storm that the people of the time thought perfectly terrific;
for the drums rolled continually; the violins played on the highest
string—the _chanterelle_; the oboes screamed; and the bass viols and
bassoons added to the horrors in depicting the agitated sea and the
whistling wind.
Many were shocked!
In 1725 Marais, very old, lived in a house in the rue de Lourcine and
devoted himself to the cultivation of flowers. He also rented a room and
gave lessons two or three times a week to talented pupils.
Marais died in 1728.
Then there was La Londe, who began life as a _valet de chambre_ to
the Maréchale de Grammont. He was very talented and became one of the
best violinists in Europe. Then there was another violinist known as
Baptiste. It is supposed that he was Baptiste Anet, a pupil of Corelli.
We know of a few other names: Nicholas Baudry, _dessus de violon_; Julien
Bernier, German flute; Bernard Alberty, theorbo; Jean Théobalde, _basse
de violon_; and Jean Rabel, clavecin. There was also connected with the
Orchestra Jean Fischer (born in Swabia in 1650), who came to Paris when
very young and belonged to Lully’s orchestral family as a music-copyist.
An old document came to light in Paris several years ago that gave the
pay-roll of Lully’s Orchestra. Here it is:
Batteur de mesure 1,000 livres
10 instruments de petit chœur à 6,000 6,000 ”
12 dessus de violon à 400 4,800 ”
8 basses à 400 3,200 ”
2 quintes à 400 800 ”
2 tailles à 400 800 ”
2 hautes contres à 400 1,200 ”
3 hautbois flutes ou basson à 400 3,200 ”
1 timbalier à 150 150 ”
------
21,150 livres
This shows that there were forty men in the Orchestra and that the
average pay was 400 livres. We also learn that the clavecin player
received 600 livres. The ten instruments that had the biggest salary
were, of course, Lully’s pet _Petits Violons_.[47]
The Abbé Raguenet, in comparing the Italian and French Orchestras of the
time, says: “Besides all the instruments they have in Italy, we still
have the oboes, which, with their equally soft and piercing tones have
such advantage over the violins in ‘airs of movement,’ and also the
flutes such as the illustrious Philbert,[48] Philidor, Descoteaux[49] and
the Hotteterres know how to make wail in a manner so touching and to make
sigh so amorously in our tender airs.”
How we wish that we could go to one of the King’s Little Suppers at
Marly and hear a concert by this famous Orchestra! How we should like to
hear Descoteaux and Philbert play a duet on their flutes, or hear the
whole Orchestra play a Sarabande, or a Courante, under Lully’s careful
conducting!
Charles II of England had not been on the throne very long before he
created an Orchestra of Twenty-Four Violins like that he had heard so
many times with delight at the Court of Louis XIV.
The chief violinist and leader of this organization was Thomas Baltzar of
Lübeck.
“His Majesty, who was a brisk and airy prince, coming to the crown
in the flower and vigor of his age was soon, if I may so say,” says
Burney, “tired with the grave and solemn way which had been established
by Tallis, Byrd and others, ordered the composers of his Chapel to
add symphonies with instruments to their anthems; and thereupon
established a select number of his private music to play the symphony and
_ritournelles_ which he had appointed.
“The old way of consorts was laid aside by the prince immediately after
his restoration when he established his band of Twenty-Four Violins after
the French model; and the style of Musick has changed accordingly. So
that French Musick became in general use at Court and in the theatres.
Indeed, performers on the violin had a lift into credit before this
period when Baltzar, a Swede, came over and did wonders upon it by
swiftness and double stops. But his hand was accounted hard and rough,
though he made amends for that by often tuning in the lyre way and
playing lessons conformable to it, which were very harmonious.
“During the first years of King Charles’s reign all the Musick in favor
with the _beau-monde_ was in the French style, which at that time was
rendered famous throughout Europe by the works of Baptiste Lully, a
Frenchified Italian and master of the Court Musick at Paris, who enriched
the French Musick by Italian harmony which greatly improved their
melody. His style was theatrical; and the pieces called _branles_, or
_ouvertures_, consisting of an _entrée_ and a _courante_ will ever be
admired as the most stately and complete _mouvements_ in Musick. All the
composers in London strove hard to imitate Lully’s vein. However, the
whole tendency of the air affected the _foot_ more than the _ear_; and
no one could listen to an _entrée_ with its starts and leaps without
expecting a dance to follow.
“The French instrumental music, however, did not make its way so fast as
to bring about a revolution all at once; for during a great part of this
King’s reign the old Musick was still used in the country and in many
private meetings in London; but _the treble viol was discarded and the
violin took its place_.
“It may be ascribed to the peculiar pleasure which King Charles II
received from the gay and sprightly sound of the violin that this
instrument was introduced at Court and the houses of the nobility and
gentry for other purposes than country-dances and festive mirth. Hitherto
there seems to have been no public concerts and in the Musick of the
chamber, in the performance of _Fancies_ on instruments which had taken
the place of vocal madrigals and motets the violin had no admission, the
whole business having been done by viols.
“The use of the violin and its kindred instruments, the tenor and
violoncello, in Court was doubtless brought from Italy to France and
from France to England; for Charles II, who, during the Usurpation had
spent a considerable time on the Continent, where he heard nothing but
French Musick, upon his return to England, in imitation of Louis XIV,
established a band of violins, tenors and basses, instead of the viols,
lutes and cornets of which the Court band used to consist.”
Anthony Wood, that quaint old English writer, also throws a light on the
question of violin-playing in England at that time.
“The gentlemen in private meetings,” he writes, “which A. W. frequented,
played three, four and five parts with viols as treble viol, tenor,
counter-tenor and bass, with an organ, virginal or harpsicon, joined with
them; and they esteemed a violin to be an instrument only belonging to
a common fiddler and could not endure that it should come among them
for fear of making their meetings to be vaine and fiddling. But after
the Restoration of Charles I, viols began to be out of fashion and only
violins used, as treble violin, tenor and bass violin; and the King,
according to the French mode, would have Twenty-Four Violins playing
before him while he was at meals, as being more airy and brisk than
viols.”
Then he goes on to tell us something about the chief violinist.
“Tho. Baltzar, a Lübecker born, and the most famous artist for the violin
that the world had yet produced, was now in Oxford; and this day, July
24, A. W. was with him and Mr. Ed. Low, lately organist of Christ Church,
at the house of Will Ellis, A. W. did then and there to his very great
astonishment hear him play on the violin. He then saw him run up his
fingers to the end of the fingerboard of the violin and run them back
insensibly and all with alacrity and in very good time, which he, nor any
in England, saw the like before. A. W. entertained him and Mr. Low with
what the house could then afford and afterwards he invited them to the
tavern; but they being engaged to go to other company, he could no more
hear him play, or see him play at that time. Afterwards he came to one
of the weekly meetings at Mr. Ellis’s house and he played to the wonder
of all the auditory; and exercising his finger and instrument several
ways to the utmost of his force. Wilson, thereupon, the public professor,
the greatest judge of music that ever was, did, after his humorsome way,
stoop down to Baltzar’s feet to see whether he had a hoof on, that is
to say to see whether he was a devil or not, because he acted beyond the
parts of man.”
Burney goes on to say:
“We are able to ascertain the time when concerts consisting of two treble
violins, a tenor and a bass violin, or violoncello, came into practice;
that they had their origin in Italy can scarce admit of a question; and
it is no less certain that they were adopted by the French.
“Indeed the idea of a performance where the instruments for the bass and
intermediate parts were in number so disproportionate to the treble,
seems to be absurd; and there is reason to suspect that the song
‘Four and Twenty Fiddlers all in a row,’ in D’Urfey’s _Pills to Purge
Melancholy_, was written in ridicule of that band of twenty-four violins,
which, as the French writers assert, was the most celebrated of any in
Europe.”
This old song begins:
“_Four and twenty Fiddlers all in a Row;_
_And there was fiddle fiddle and twice fiddle fiddle._
_’Cause ’twas my Lady’s Birthday,_
_Therefore we kept holiday,_
_And all went to be merry._
“_Four and twenty Drummers all in a Row,_
_And there was tantarra rara, tan, tantarra._
_Rara, rara, rara rar, there was rub, etc._
“_Four and twenty Tabors and Pipers all in a Row_
_And there was whif and dub,_
_And tantarra rara, etc._”
and goes on in the same way for several verses.
The next name of importance after Lully is that of Corelli.
We must not imagine that Corelli suddenly appeared like a great shining
star in a dark night. No artist ever leaps suddenly upon an astonished
world. Every artist builds on the works of those who have gone before him.
To understand Corelli, we must go back a little and recall something that
we have already noticed; and that is the importance of the work of the
Italian violin-makers.
Let us then fix it in our minds that when Corelli was born, in 1653,
Nicolò Amati had already made a great number of fine violins and that
Stradivari was working all through Corelli’s life and that he outlived
him. So that the question of violin-playing was the chief one that
engaged the attention of the composers of Corelli’s time. They were all
working on the question of _how to play the new instrument_, just as
the makers had been, and were still working on the _technique_ of the
instrument itself. Amati and Stradivari, like those who had gone before
them, were trying for _tone_. The composers were now trying to show off
the voice, or _tone_, of the new instrument to the best advantage.
This question is of the greatest importance for us to remember, because
_the violin is the very foundation of our modern Orchestra_.
At first the violin was the _prima-donna_ of the Orchestra; but
eventually the other members of the Violin Family—viola, violoncello and
double-bass—also became singers. In short, the Violin Family became the
very backbone of the Orchestra.
[Illustration: ARCANGELO CORELLI]
Corelli had much to do with making this the case.
Before Corelli was born in Fusignano in 1653, the Italian composers,
particularly those who were attached to the cathedrals and private
Orchestras of the wealthy princes and lords of Lombardy—Brescia, Cremona,
Mantua and Padua—who were right in the midst of the activities of
violin-making, had been writing sonatas, “Flowers” and dances of all
kinds for the new violin, to be accompanied by the spinet, the organ, or
two or three other stringed-instruments. Their compositions gradually
grew more elaborate as they discovered the possibilities of the last
new model sent from the workshop of Gasparo di Salò, Maggini, Amati, or
Stradivari. There was a great deal more Italian music—and good music,
too—composed at that time than most people have any idea of.
Arcangelo Corelli studied the violin under Giovanni Battista Bassani, a
musician who is almost forgotten to-day, but who was a great violinist,
a composer, a conductor of the Cathedral-music, first in Bologna and
afterwards in Ferrara; and he was particularly happy in his writings for
the string-quartet. Bassani was about the same age as Corelli; and to his
pure instrumental style and knowledge of counterpoint Corelli and modern
music owe not a little.
After studying the violin with this master, Corelli went to Rome and
studied with Matteo Simonelli, who had had a splendid musical education.
Corelli travelled in Germany and was for a time attached to the Court of
the Elector of Bavaria. Then he went to Paris in 1672, and, returning to
Italy, settled in Rome. He became a favorite in society and lived in the
household of the splendid Cardinal Pietro Ottoboni, taking charge of that
prince’s music. His regular Monday concerts were a feature of the social
and artistic life in Rome.
Pupils swarmed to him. One of them was Geminiani. Corelli became one of
the great personages of Rome. When Christina of Sweden went to Rome,
Corelli conducted an Orchestra of a hundred and fifty men in her palace.
When he died in 1713 he was buried in the Pantheon, not far from Raphael.
For years after his death a musical service was held annually at his
tomb, where some of his compositions were piously played by his pupils.
Geminiani’s estimate of Corelli’s character seems very just. He said:
“His merit was not depth of learning, like that of Alessandro Scarlatti;
nor a great fancy, nor rich invention in melody or harmony, but a nice
ear and most delicate taste, which led him to select the most pleasing
harmonies and melodies and to construct the parts so as to produce the
most delightful effect upon the ear.”
At the time of Corelli’s greatest reputation Geminiani asked Scarlatti
what he thought of him. Scarlatti answered that “he found nothing greatly
to admire in his composition, but was extremely struck with the manner
in which he played his concertos and his nice management of his band and
uncommon accuracy of the whole performance gave the concertos an amazing
effect; and that, even to the eye as well as the ear”; for, continued
Geminiani, “Corelli regarded it as essential to the _ensemble_ of a band
that their bows should all move exactly together, all up or all down;
so, that at his rehearsals, which constantly preceded every public
performance of his concertos, he would immediately stop the band if he
discovered one irregular bow.”
“There can be no doubt that above all Corelli was a great violin-player
and that all he wrote grew out of the very nature of his instrument.
In his _Chamber-Sonatas_ and _Concerto-Grossi_ he must be considered
the founder of the style of orchestral writing on which the future
development is based; while in the _Sonatas_ (op. 5) which have merely an
accompanying fundamental bass, he gives a model for the solo sonata; and,
thereby, for all writing for the violin as a solo-instrument.
“All his works are characterized by conciseness and lucidity of thought
and form, and by a dignified, almost aristocratic, bearing. The slow
movements show genuine pathos as well as grace, and bring out in a
striking manner the singing-power of the violin.
“Corelli’s _Gavottes_, _Sarabandes_ and other pieces with the form and
rhythm of dances, do not materially differ from similar productions of
his immediate predecessors and contemporaries, although, like everything
that he wrote, they are distinguished by great earnestness and dignity
of style and are especially well adapted to the instrument. He was not
so much an innovator as a reformer; he did not introduce new striking
effects; it cannot be denied that his technique was a limited one—he
never goes beyond the third position—but, by rigidly excluding everything
that appeared to him contrary to the nature of the instrument, and by
adopting and using in the best possible way everything in the existing
technique which he considered conformable to the nature of the violin,
he not only hindered a threatened development in the wrong direction,
but also gave to this branch of art a sound and solid basis, which his
successors could, and did, build upon successfully.”[50]
Burney tells us that “After the publication of Corelli’s works, the
violin seems to have increased in favor all over Europe. There was
hardly a town in Italy, about the beginning of the present century (the
Eighteenth), where some distinguished performer on that instrument did
not reside.”
The next link in our chain is Scarlatti.
Alessandro Scarlatti was born in Trapani, Sicily, in 1659. We find him at
a comparatively early age settled in Naples, where he was celebrated as a
singer, and a performer on the harp and the harpsichord and as a composer
of operas. He was the chief of the Neapolitan School. Modern critics have
proved that on his ideas the great Gluck built his musical edifice.
Scarlatti was a prolific composer. He wrote one hundred and fifteen
operas and two hundred masses, besides oratorios, cantatas and other
works.
He is of importance to the Orchestra because of the new way he wrote
for the instruments. He made the accompaniment of vocal recitative of
new importance and gave the Orchestra a great part to do throughout the
entire opera. The strings formed the groundwork of his Orchestra; and he
also used oboes, flutes, bassoons, trumpets, drums and horns (the latter
an innovation).
[Illustration: CONCERT BY SCARLATTI, TARTINI, MARTINI, LOCATELLI, AND
LANZETTI]
Scarlatti was the creator of modern opera, and the “Father of Classical
Music,” the forerunner of Gluck, Mozart and Haydn and many others. Dr.
Burney put the debt that great composers owe to Scarlatti concisely when
he said: “I find part of Scarlatti’s property among the stolen goods of
all the best composers of the first forty years of the present century.”
With regard to his treatment of the violoncello, Dr. Burney says:
“The violoncello parts of many of his cantatas were so excellent that
whoever was able to do them justice was thought a supernatural being.
Geminiani used to relate that Francischello, a celebrated performer
on the violoncello at the beginning of this century, accompanied one
of these cantatas at Rome so admirably, while Scarlatti was at the
harpsichord, that the company, being good Catholics and living in
a country where miraculous powers have not yet ceased, were firmly
persuaded it was not Francischello who had played the violoncello, but an
angel that had descended and assumed his shape.”
Scarlatti also divided his strings into four parts and carefully balanced
with them the wind instruments that he used; but the strings were the
most important and stood out in relief against the wind; or, if we prefer
to think of the matter another way, the wind was subordinate to the
strings.
Very little is known regarding his private life.
His son, Domenico, was also a prolific composer and was a famous player
on the harpsichord (_Gravicembalo_). To him is due the original idea of
the _form of the Sonata which Haydn afterwards perfected_. Domenico
Scarlatti is remembered, too, for his “_Cat’s Fugue_,” written on the
notes that his favorite cat touched one day when she walked down the keys
of the harpsichord.
Next in line comes Rameau, who was born in Dijon, in 1683, just two
years before Bach. He was at the height of his fame when Mozart was
born. Rameau came of a musical family, showed his talent early, played
the clavecin at seven and studied the violin and organ. Eventually he
settled in Paris. First he wrote little musical comedies, and, finally,
operas—_Hippolyte et Arcie_, _Les Indes Galantes_, _Castor et Pollux_
are some of them—and ballets, which as M. Choquet truly says, “contain
beauties which defy the caprices of fashion and will command the respect
of true artists for all time.” Rameau died in 1774. Rameau looked very
much like Voltaire. He always used the violin when composing. Rameau’s
new ideas of orchestration created animosity among the followers of Lully.
What did Rameau do for the Orchestra?
_He gave to the different members of the Orchestra an individual rôle_;
he extended the technique of the violins; he made an increasing use of
arpeggios; and he was the first to use _pizzicato_ chords with all the
strings at once. He also made a delicate and light use of the woodwind.
Every day Rameau is taking a larger place in Music. French critics
consider him the most _French_ of all their composers.
[Illustration: RAMEAU
_By Restout_]
While the Italian Renaissance had developed the opera, the dance
and music that delighted the drawing-room, under the bright skies
of Italy, in the colder North, under the influence of stern Martin
Luther, the _Chorale_, or hymn-tune, had arisen to supply the needs
of the new Lutheran religion. The _Chorale_ is austere and solemn,
although melodious. It was largely owing to these chorales that the new
Reformed religion made its way so rapidly among the people of Northern
Germany. The sources of these Chorales were various: some came from
old church-hymns; others, from folk-songs. A good example is the “_Old
Hundredth Tune_” beginning “Praise God from whom all blessings flow.”
The custom of playing these _Chorales_ on the organ with elaborate
accompaniments and treating them also as themes for fugues and
counterpoint was a special fancy of the German organists.
Germany had the finest organists in Europe in the Seventeenth Century;
and there was no greater one among them than Johann Sebastian Bach.
Moreover, no one understood the _Chorale_ better, or made more use of it,
than Bach.
Bach’s life was uneventful. He was born in 1685 in Eisenach, near the
Wartburg (celebrated for the legend of Tannhäuser), was organist at
Weimar and _Kapellmeister_ at Cothen for the Prince Leopold and Cantor of
the Thomas School in Leipzig from 1723 until his death in 1750. He was
also organist and director of the two chief churches in Leipzig.
Bach wrote every form of music except the opera. His industry was
prodigious. “In Bach’s hands the music of the period marked its climax
of expression, the _Chorale_ was idealized to its highest pitch, the
combination of Orchestra, chorus and solo voices in the Passions, the
B-minor mass and the Church Cantatas became pillars of the house of
musical art for all time, the principle of equal temperament[51] was
fixed for good in Clavichord work, the _violin became a solo instrument
which could speak unaided for itself_, and the organ came finally
into its own. All this immense range of work was accomplished by an
unobtrusive, unadvertising man of the highest moral force and of simple,
deeply religious and deep-feeling character, a personality who would have
considered it the highest possible tribute to be called the worthy father
of a devoted family.”[52]
When Bach and his son, Philipp Emmanuel, went to work to draw their
family tree, they found they had fifty-three musicians to hang on the
boughs.
The whole Bach family played the organ and every other keyboard
instrument. They were all marvellous players of the harpsichord.
Bach’s contribution to the development of the Orchestra is that
he treated each separate instrument lovingly and as if it were an
individual, so that _he prepared the way for the occasional solos in
orchestral compositions_. He wrote for a great many instruments that were
rapidly going out of fashion, such as the _oboe d’amore_, the _oboe di
caccia_, the _viola d’amore_ and the _viola da gamba_.
Bach stands at the parting of the ways of ancient music and modern music.
Bach is the bridge between the Old and the New. He is often called the
“musicians’ musician.”
Bach’s four Overtures for Orchestra are usually spoken of as _Suites_;
but they are compositions on the Lully type. Critics have pointed out
that Bach uses instruments to get the effect of _fulness_ rather than
_color_.
[Illustration: JOHANN SEBASTIAN BACH
_By Lissewsky_]
Bach’s compositions for a solo violin, unaccompanied, are the most
stupendous works ever written by anybody for a single instrument. Great
players have always delighted in mastering their technical difficulties,
which are very great.
Handel was born the same year as Bach, in 1685, though he seems a little
nearer to us somehow. While Bach was living his quiet, uneventful life,
Handel was gaining experience in the world. He was a native of Saxony
and was the son of a surgeon, who considered music a degrading business.
We know under what difficulties little Handel practised the spinet in
the garret. The Duke of Saxe-Wessenfels heard him play and persuaded
his father to let him follow the bent of his genius. Handel played in
the Orchestra in the Opera House of Hamburg, “the Northern Venice,” a
cosmopolitan city where the people had the best of music.
Then Handel travelled in Italy, where he met the famous Alessandro
Scarlatti[53] and had his opera of _Agrippina_ performed. Then he went to
the Court of Hanover to become _Kapellmeister_.
But Handel wanted a larger field for his activity, and so he went to
London in 1710 and brought out several operas. Queen Anne was reigning at
this time and her Court was famous for its brilliant literary men—Pope,
Addison, Steele, Sheridan and many others; and Handel’s music pleased
many of the Court, as well as the Queen herself. In 1713 he wrote a
_Birthday Ode_ for her, which delighted Her Majesty. It was literally “to
the Queen’s taste.”
But Queen Anne died in 1714; and a strange thing happened for Handel—the
Elector of Hanover, his old patron, was called to the British throne as
George I. Handel now became director of the King’s Music.
In 1717 he left George I to become Chapel-master for the Duke of Chandos,
who had a palace at Cannons, not far from London, where he lived in great
magnificence. For instance, he had a guard of a hundred Swiss soldiers
and a chapel like those of Italy. His Orchestra was of the best.
Handel stayed at Cannons three years and then he became director of the
Italian opera in London, where he produced one opera after another, some
of which brought forth witty satires from Addison and Steele, but all
of which attracted large audiences. Most of them were on mythological
subjects, were written in the Italian style and were superbly staged.
Occasionally, a beautiful aria from one or another of these operas
appears on a programme to-day; and it is so noble and lovely that we long
to hear the old operas themselves. As a rule, these arias are accompanied
by several instruments supporting one that plays an _obbligato_ part;
and these show what Handel did to develop and exhibit the _technique_ of
various instruments.
The last years of his life were devoted to composing the magnificent
oratorios of _Saul_, _Samson_, _The Messiah_ and _Israel in Egypt_.
[Illustration: HANDEL
_By Thomson_]
Handel became a naturalized English subject and lived far into the reign
of George II. When he died in 1751, he was buried in Westminster Abbey.
Handel’s contribution toward building up our modern Orchestra is that he
helped make it more solid, more sonorous and more vital.
The balance of Handel’s Orchestra was very different from ours, because
of the overwhelming number of woodwind instruments. If he had twenty-five
strings, he would sometimes have as many as five oboes and five bassoons!
The clarinet had not then come into use, and some stringed and some
woodwind instruments that Handel used became obsolete after his death.
Handel was particularly fond of the oboe: it is often conspicuous in his
scores.
Handel made his Orchestra a very strong ally of his operas and his
oratories. He conducted seated at the clavier, or organ, and accompanied
the singers with the most marvellous art possible to imagine, following
their fancies and pleasures and whims; and then, when they had finished,
he would _improvise_ to suit his own taste. His audience was always
enraptured.
It is little wonder, therefore, that Handel’s orchestration sounds scanty
to our ears, if his works are played from the original scores; for we
miss the filling in of all this elaborate work done on the spur of the
moment and in all the excitement and exhilaration of the concert-hall
before the audience who had learned what to expect.
We are told that when Handel conducted one of his oratorios the chorus
had their leaders who listened to the organ from which they took their
cues. The Orchestra was divided into three sections. Section No. I
was the _Concertino_, consisting of a first and second violin and a
solo violoncello. Section No. II was the _Concerto Grossi_, consisting
of eight first violins, eight second violins, six violas, four to six
violoncellos and four double basses. Section No. III was the _Ripienist_,
or the supplementary band, consisting of six first violins, six second
violins, four violas, three to four violoncellos and three basses. This
_Ripienist_ band was employed to fill in the harmonies, or to support the
solos, and the _concertante_ parts.
The picture facing this page, taken from an old print in the British
Museum, represents Handel seated at the clavecin (a _cembalo_ with
two keyboards), of which the lid is raised. On his right hand is the
violoncellist. Before his eye are two violins and two flutes. The solo
singers are near him, on his left, close to the clavecin. The rest of
the instrumentalists are behind him, out of sight. “Thus his directions
and his glances would control the _Concertino_ who would transmit, in
their turn the chief conductor’s wishes to the _Concerto Grossi_ and
they, in their turn, to the _Ripienists_. In place of the quasi-military
discipline of the modern Orchestra, controlled under the _bâton_ of a
chief conductor the different bodies of the Handelian Orchestra governed
one another with elasticity; and it was the incisive rhythm of the
_cembalo_ that put the whole mass into motion.”[54]
We rarely hear any of Handel’s music with exactly the Orchestra for
which he wrote. All conductors realize the difficulty of having anyone
improvise on the organ, or piano, to fill in the bald and empty spaces.
Moreover, it would confuse the singers and terrify the audience.
Improvising at concerts has gone out of fashion.
[Illustration: HANDEL CONDUCTING THE ORCHESTRA
_Handel at the Cembalo_]
This was even realized in Mozart’s day; and so Mozart wrote those
beautiful “additional accompaniments” to _The Messiah_, which give to
that oratorio no little of its grace and nobility. Mozart, as we know,
was a genius in instrumentation and even in his day people demanded
something different from the Handelian concert.
Handel, however, was always seeking for novel effects. He was one of
the first to introduce the horn into the Orchestra and he was “the
first to assert the expressive personality of the violoncello.”[55] He
also appreciated the fantastic and lugubrious quality of the bassoons;
experimented with all kinds of instruments; and used the kettledrums as a
solo for Jupiter’s oath in _Semele_. This was so unusual and so startling
that Sheridan in his burletta on _Jupiter_ had a pistol fired suddenly,
upon which one of the characters exclaims: “This hint I took from Handel!”
Handel was considered horribly noisy in his day. His friend, Goupy, the
artist, made a caricature that doubtless amused Handel, who saw himself
represented at the organ as a huge, unwieldy figure with a boar’s head
and enormous tusks (referring to his violent temper) and the room full of
horns, trumpets and kettledrums, while a donkey is also present braying
loudly and in the distance a battery of artillery is ready for action.
It is noticeable, too, in Handel’s Orchestra, as in Bach’s, that we get
no (or very little) tone-color. Handel’s Orchestra is neutral in tint.
The organ and the keyboard idea is still prevailing—all the instruments
combine, as it were, to produce the one hue.
“But great painter as Handel was, he did not work so much through the
brilliancy, variety and novelty of his tone-colors as by the beauty
of his designs and his effects of light and shade. With a voluntarily
restrained palette and by satisfying himself with the sober colors
of the strings, he yet was able to produce surprising and thrilling
effects. Volbach has shown that he did not contrast and mix his strings
but divided the same family of instruments into different groups. In
the introduction to _Esther_ (1732), the violins are divided into five
groups, in the _Resurrection_ (1708) into four groups. The violas are
sometimes divided into two, the second group being reinforced by the
third violin, or the violoncellos. On the other hand, when Handel wanted
to do so, he reduced his instrumental forces by suppressing the viola
and the second violin, whose places were taken by the clavecin. All his
orchestral art is the true instinct of balance and economy, which, with
the most restricted means in managing a few colors yet knows how to
obtain as powerful impressions as our musicians to-day with their crowded
palettes.
“One is prone to accept too readily the idea that expressive _nuance_
is the privilege of modern musical art and that Handel’s Orchestra knew
only the great theatrical contrasts between force and sweetness, or
loudness and softness. It is nothing of the kind. The range of Handel’s
_nuances_ is extremely varied. We find with him _pianissimo_, _piano_,
_mezzo piano_, _mezzo forte_, _un poco più F._, _un poco F._, _forte_,
_fortissimo_. We never find the orchestral _crescendo_ and _decrescendo_,
which hardly appears marked until the time of Jomelli and the school of
Mannheim; there is no doubt, however, but that it was practised long
before it was marked in the music. The President of Brosses wrote in
1739 from Rome: ‘The voices like the violins used with light and shade
with unconscious swelling of sound, which augments the force from note
to note, even to a very high degree since its use as a _nuance_ is
extremely sweet and touching.’ And endless examples occur in Handel of
long _crescendi_ and _diminuendi_ without their expression being marked
in the scores. Another kind of _crescendo_ and _diminuendo_—made on the
same note—was very common in the time of Handel. His friend, Geminiani,
helped to set the fashion.
“As Geminiani explains it: ‘The sound ought to commence softly and should
swell out in a gradual fashion to about half its value. Then, it should
diminish to the end. The movement of the bow should continue without
interruption.’”[56]
Padre Martini said that Gluck combined in the music-drama “all the finest
qualities of Italian and many of those of French music with the great
beauties of the German orchestra.”
Gluck began where Handel left off. Handel had already treated
mythological subjects. He had also written an _Alceste_ and an _Armida_
before Gluck appeared on the scene. Handel (who is said not to have liked
Gluck at all) was Gluck’s chosen master on account of “the wonderful
beauties of his melodies, the grandeur of his style and his rhythms like
armies on the march.”
Gluck not only followed Handel, but he adored him. He kept Handel’s
portrait over his bed!
“Gluck gave the Orchestra a new life, assigning the first place to it in
some cases, letting it express the feeling that captivates the listener.
With him violins, oboes and trombones are not merely sonorous agents;
they are living entities, personages of action. Through the Orchestra he
adds dazzling beauty to a temple scene, or a scene in the Elysian Field;
and by little touches on certain instruments here and there he can make
us feel the mystery of the infernal regions. Gluck’s great gift to the
Orchestra was to make it _speak_.”[57]
Christoph Willibad Gluck was born near Neumarkt in the Upper Palatinate
(Austria) in 1714. He was educated in music in Prague and in Vienna; and
fortunately attracted the attention of Prince Melzi, who took him to
Milan to direct his private Orchestra. We all know how his successful
operas in Vienna prepared the way for still greater triumphs in Paris,
where Gluck enjoyed the patronage of the Queen Marie Antoinette, who,
being an Austrian, had known and loved Gluck’s works in Vienna.
[Illustration: GLUCK
_By Duplessis_]
All the histories and memoirs of the time speak of the quarrel between
the followers of Gluck and Piccini. Piccini represented the old Italian
style and Gluck stood for the new dramatic style—the latest thing out it
happened to be. The Piccinists accused Gluck of composing operas with
little melody, no truth to nature, little elegance or refinement, and a
noisy Orchestra. “Gluck’s modulations,” they said, “were awkward and he
had no originality, no finish, no polish.” In short, Gluck was everything
that was abominable.
Dr. Burney informs us that: “No door in Paris was opened to a visitor
without the question being asked—‘Monsieur, are you a Picciniste, or a
Gluckiste?’”
The Piccinists are forgotten: the Gluckists still live. We are among
them; for, to our way of thinking, nothing more noble and inspired than
_Orfeo_ was ever written. And if polish and elegance are to be found
anywhere in music, they appear in the scores of Gluck.
“Yet, if he had merely carried to perfection the work begun by Lully
and Rameau; if his efforts had been limited to removing the harpsichord
from the Orchestra, introducing the harp and trombones, employing the
clarinets, scoring with skill and effect, giving more importance and
interest to the overture and using with such magic effect the artifice of
momentary pauses to vary or emphasize speech in music,—if he had done no
more than this, he would have earned our gratitude, but he would not in
that case have been one of the monarchs of art.
“What then did he accomplish that was so extraordinary?
“He grasped the idea that the mission of music was not merely to afford
gratification to the senses, and he proved that the expression of moral
qualities is within its reach. He disdained all such tricks of the trade
as do not appeal to the heart—in fact, he preferred the Muses to the
Sirens. He aimed at depicting historic, or legendary, characters and
antique social life; and in his works of genius he put into the mouths of
each of his heroes accents suited to their sentiments and to the spirit
of the time in which they lived. He made use of the Orchestra to add to
the force of a dramatic situation, or (in one noble instance) to contrast
external repose with the internal agitation of a remorseful conscience.
In a word, all his French operas show him to have been a noble musician,
a true poet and a deep thinker.”
Gluck also contributed to the development of the ballet and made the
dance a vital part of the story of the opera, as, for instance, the
ballet of the Spirits of the Blest in _Orfeo_.
His ballet-music is very beautiful in form and melody and choice of
instruments that play it.
“With Gluck,” says Romain Rolland, “the ballet lost some of the
delightful exuberance it had had in Rameau’s operas; but what it lost in
originality and richness, it gained in simplicity and purity; and the
dance airs in _Orfeo_ are like classic bas-reliefs, the frieze of a Greek
Temple.”
“To think,” said Beethoven in his last days, looking at a picture of
Haydn’s birthplace, “that so great a man should have first seen the light
in a peasant’s wretched cottage!”
Haydn’s career once again proves that genius finds its level in the
world. Haydn was born of poor parents in Rohrau, a small Austrian village
near the borders of Hungary, in 1732. We all know how as a child he sang
in the choir at St. Stephen’s in Vienna and played the kettledrums, piano
and violin. At an early age he began to compose; and when he was about
thirty he became assistant director of music in Prince Esterhazy’s house
at Eisenstadt.
The story of Haydn’s entering into the service of one of the most
important princes in Europe is interesting.
Haydn had attracted the attention of Prince Esterhazy by one of his
symphonies; and friends of Haydn’s arranged that he should compose a
symphony to be performed at Eisenstadt on the Prince’s birthday.
“Haydn executed it and it is worthy of him. The day of the ceremony
having arrived, the Prince, seated on his throne and surrounded by
his court, attended at the usual concert. Haydn’s symphony was begun.
Scarcely had the performers got to the middle of the _first Allegro_,
than the Prince interrupted them and asked who was the author of that
fine composition.
“‘Haydn,’ replied Friedberg, and he made the poor young man, all
trembling, come forward.
“‘What!’ exclaimed Prince Esterhazy, ‘is it this Moor’s music?’ (Haydn’s
complexion, it must be confessed, gave some room for this sarcasm.) ‘Well,
Moor,’ he said, ‘from henceforth you remain in my service. What is your
name?’
“‘Joseph Haydn.’
“‘Surely I remember the name. You are now engaged to me. Go and dress
yourself like a professor. Do not let me see you any more in this trim.
You cut a pitiful figure. Get a new coat, a wig and buckles, a collar and
red heels to your shoes; and I particularly desire that your shoes may be
high, in order that your stature may correspond to your intelligence. You
understand me? Go your way and everything will be given to you.’
“Haydn kissed the Prince’s hand, and retired to a corner of the
Orchestra, a little grieved at being obliged to hide his natural hair and
youthful figure. The next morning he appeared at his Highness’s Levee
imprisoned in the grave costume which had been ordered. He had the title
of Second Professor of Music, but his new comrades called him simply _the
Moor_.”[58]
In 1762 Prince Nicolaus Esterhazy succeeded his brother and Haydn soon
became head of the entire music of the household. The “Magnificent
Prince Esterhazy,” as he was called, now turned an old hunting-lodge
into a splendid residence, making it a miniature Versailles. The house
was not only palatial, but there were deer-parks, gardens, hot-houses,
summer-houses, temples, grottoes, “hermitages,” two theatres equipped
with scenery and also a chapel. The musical establishment was large.
The Prince paid big salaries and the musicians were engaged for several
years at a time. There was a large opera company, a large Orchestra and
individual solo players on certain instruments. Haydn had charge of it
all. He was on friendly terms with Prince Esterhazy himself, for whose
_viola di bardone_, or _baryton_, he had to write a new piece every
day. Haydn lived at “Esterhazy,” as the place was called, until Prince
Nicolaus died in 1790. Then he went to Vienna, where he died in 1809.
Haydn was fortunate in having such a patron as Prince Esterhazy; for,
of course, he had no trouble in getting his works performed. For thirty
years he had an opera-house, an Orchestra—and both of the best—and a
cultivated audience as well; for Prince Esterhazy entertained royal and
noble personages and amateurs from every nook and corner of Europe.
When Haydn first went to Eisenstadt the Orchestra numbered eighteen
instruments, six violins, viola, violoncello, double-bass, flute, two
oboes, two bassoons and four horns. Then it was enlarged to twenty-two
and twenty-four instruments, including trumpets and kettledrums. There
was a great advance in the Orchestra of Esterhazy as the years rolled by;
and the last symphonies that Haydn wrote are very much richer than his
early ones.
Haydn represents the Orchestra in the same way that Gluck represents the
music-drama, Bach the organ and Handel the oratorio. He has been called
the “Father of the Orchestra”; and the name, “Papa Haydn,” that Mozart
gave to him, has been affectionately retained by posterity.
Haydn fixed the form of the quartet and the Symphony. Mozart and
Beethoven were his actual pupils as well as followers. Yet from Mozart,
Haydn learned much in the way of writing for instruments. Haydn left the
Orchestra in shape for Beethoven to carry still farther.
Haydn’s Orchestra consisted of the string-quartet, two flutes, two oboes,
two clarinets, two bassoons, two horns, two trumpets and kettledrums.
His practical knowledge of the kettledrums made him very partial to
them; and he was the first to give this instrument an individuality and
artistic part in the Orchestra.
Haydn introduced a loud blow on the kettledrum in the _Surprise Symphony_
to startle and wake up the audience. “Here all the women will scream,” he
laughingly said when he wrote the part.
Regarding Haydn’s quartets we have the following clever and humorous
analysis by Stendhal:
“An intelligent woman said that when she heard a quartet of Haydn’s she
fancied herself present at the conversation of four agreeable persons.
She thought that the first violin had the air of an eloquent man of
genius of middle age who supported a conversation, the subject of which
he had suggested. In the second violin she recognized a friend of the
first, who sought by all possible means to display himself to advantage,
seldom thought of himself and kept up the conversation rather by
assenting to what was said by the others than by advancing any ideas of
his own. The alto was a grave, learned and sententious man. He supported
the discourse of the first violin by laconic maxims, striking for their
truth. The bass was a worthy old lady, rather inclined to chatter, who
said nothing of much consequence, and yet was always desiring to put in
a word. But she gave an additional grace to the conversation, and while
she was talking, the others had time to breathe. It was, however, evident
that she had a secret inclination for the alto, which she preferred to
the other instruments.”
[Illustration: HAYDN
_By Gutenbrunn_]
Stendhal, who knew Haydn well, also writes:
“You must know, my friend, that before Haydn, no man had conceived the
idea of an Orchestra composed of eighteen kinds of instruments. He is the
inventor of _prestissimo_, the very idea of which made the old square
toes of Vienna shudder. In music, as in everything else, we have little
conception of what the world was a hundred years back; the _Allegro_, for
instance, was only an _Andantino_.