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Aspects of French Symphonic Organ Music: L’Organiste Liturgique, L’Organiste Moderne, L’Organiste Pratique?

Joris Verdin

Joris Verdin studied both organ and musicology. This combination is the reason for his preference of reviving forgotten music at the same time as he creates contemporary compositions. He has recorded over 30 CDs as a soloist, spanning many musical eras and styles. After various activities as accompanist, arranger and producer, he now focuses on the organ as well as the harmonium, and has become internationally reputed as a specialist. He teaches at the Royal Conservatory of Antwerp and the University of Leuven. Master classes, musical editions and articles are an important part of his activities—among them, the first complete edtion of César Franck harmonium works and the first handbook of harmonium technique. The Spanish town Torre de Juan Abad (Ciudad Real) appointed Joris Verdin as honorary organist of the historical organ built by Gaspar de la Redonda in 1763. He obtained the Diapason d’Or and Cecilia award from the Belgian Press in 2001, was named Musician of the Year of the Flanders Festival 2002, and is artist in residence at the Fondation Royaumont, France 2008. The author gratefully acknowledges the assistance of Chris Bragg, Amersfoort, Holland/Perthshire, Scotland, in translating this article.

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Introduction
We can no longer refer to the 19th century as the “last century”; it belongs now, definitively, to history. As a result, 19th century music has become “early music.” Whether this is a positive or negative development I cannot say, but as a consequence of this music becoming ever more distant from our own time, the importance of collecting and preserving as much knowledge as possible increases. Such insights are essential for an accurate assessment of the surviving scores, texts and other sources.
This article will deal with several aspects of 19th-century French symphonic organ music, each of which can influence our appreciation and performance of this literature. Our perceptions of the repertoire in question are colored by such typically 20th-century ideals that it is now high time for the 21st century to contribute its own. As well as the currently typical philological (“musicological”) approach to the score, one should now evaluate the bigger picture. The context of French symphonic organ music as a part of 19th century music in general is an important concept for those who approach it creatively.

“Mon orgue c’est mon orchestre”
“French” is not difficult to define. It indicates, in general, the areas where the French language defined the culture in the 19th century: France, Belgium, parts of Switzerland and Spain, but with influences felt throughout Europe.
“Symphonic” has more or less the same clear meaning for everyone: we speak about symphonic music, a symphony orchestra, a symphonic suite, etc. Symphonic organ music, then, refers to symphonic music played on the organ, or music played on a symphonic organ. The first definition, in the sense of musical structure, requires no further comment. It is self-explanatory that the typical forms of symphonic music could also be applied to organ music. The second explanation describes the ensemble playing of different groups of instruments resulting in a cumulative sound-concept: that of the orchestra. This is nothing new, but still this idea has an essential importance for the sound of the organ.
The term “romantic” is often used in this context within the organ world. But what IS romantic? Is it a synonym for tempo rubato? For legato? Ad libitum? Senza rigore? In any case it has little to do with symphonic music, but refers rather to the evoking or expressing of extra-musical feelings. In this regard 19th-century music is no different than the music of any other period. An O Mensch bewein dein Sünde gross is at least as “romantic” as a Scherzo Symphonique. A Toccata per l’elevazione conjures at least as many images above the altar as a Prière à notre Dame. In fact, what we have here is one of those 20th-century ideals that color our view of 19th-century music: the term “romantic” was used in the 20th century to distance itself from the previous century, but today we are hardly aware of this. We would rather, therefore, speak about symphonic music and symphonic organs.
Of course some organs, mainly from the early 19th century, were “romantic.” However, the stops that were introduced at the time to imitate colorful instruments were intended as “decoration,” without influence on the sound of the ensemble, and therefore not symphonic. The “real” symphonic organ came about when the ensemble-ideal began to determine the direction of organ-building development. Solo stops remained important, but only on the condition that their function within the ensemble was of primary importance.
What would we think of a colorful Cor Anglais without the necessary Hautbois, just as in an orchestra? This is why one finds a minimum of solo stops on small organs. Not for nothing did Lefébure-Wely describe the harmonium as a “symphonic instrument”: an instrument with a compact and flexible ensemble made up of strongly differentiated colors. One of the consequences is as follows: In the context of the orchestra it is normal practice to hold sectional rehearsals. Why not then for the organ? Because an organist only has one head? But the conductor also has only one head and he allows the different groups to play beautifully together.
Symphonic organ music does something similar. The “symphonic organist” is comparable with the conductor; it is up to him to decide whether the oboe solo works with the accompaniment of the strings, for example. It is not the oboist’s problem in the first instance. The two hands of the symphonic organist behave in exactly the same way as the orchestra. The soloist determines his own expression while the accompaniment gives the framework wherein the soloist’s freedom comes to life. In other instances, where the orchestra sounds as one instrument to illustrate power and rhythm, for example in the scherzo or finale of a symphony, then it is the responsibility of the conductor to ensure that everything sounds together. In short, the organist must be able to adapt his way of playing to every musical situation. Insight, when referring to a symphonic score, is not limited to the study of the notes—insight dictates which voices may have freedom, and which may not.
The connotations of the term “symphonic” with regards to the organ changed substantially around the beginning of the 20th century. Initially it referred to the sound-concept it shared in common with the orchestra. However, with the reform movement in church music, and especially in organ philosophy, the term gradually began to become separated from its direct reference to orchestral instruments. The symphonic organ became “elevated,” even “spiritualized.”
Widor explains it as follows:
The possibility to enclose a complete organ in an opened or closed prison (at the will of the player), the freedom to mix sound-colors, the means by which to louden or soften, independence of rhythm, certainty of attack, equality of contrasts, and, finally, a complete expansion of colors; palette full of the most varied sounds, harmonic flutes, strings with beards, English horns, trumpets, Voix Célestes, foundations and reeds of an until then [until the organs of Cavaillé-Coll] unknown quality and variety. This is the modern organ, essentially symphonic.1
This has consequences for performance practice:

This is the way in which the organ symphony is different from the orchestral symphony. Confusion of the styles is not possible. One shall never again write in the same manner for organ as for orchestra . . .2
In other words, we see here a clear line of separation between the secular symphony and organ repertoire. Only the structural element remains important within the context of the symphony; the performance elements become different. They become adapted to the demands of the “modern” organ—distant and monumental.

It is not necessary to require the same precision and co-ordination of the hands and feet with the release as with the attack.3

. . . whereby Widor indicates that such an approach was considered sound.

L’Orgue Moderne
The French classical organ of around 1700 also had orchestral associations, referring to the orchestra of the time. Trompettes, cromornes and flutes were typical colors, but without the concept of ensemble being of importance. The irreplaceable Plein Jeu can be considered the most characteristic organ sound in this context. But the Plein Jeu is of course decidedly non-orchestral, far less symphonic. It remains a Blockwerk, a massive pyramid of sound. The Plein Jeu is also the first element that disappears in the 19th century. (The Plein Jeu as registration remains in use only in the liturgy, to accompany plainchant.) Of course the Jeu de Tierce also disappears; the sound is too nasal, and reminded the listener too much of old instruments with more overtones than fundamental. As a result it was less useful for the ensemble registrational ideal.
Now, an important difference between the classical and the symphonic organ can be found in the pitch basis of the basses, specifically in the pedal. The classical organ is based completely on the 8?. In the case of the Plein Jeu, a 16? stop can be used, but the tonal basis remains the 8?. The pedal specification is based on the 8? flute or trompette, not the 16?. The classical French organ shares this feature with the French baroque orchestra where no (or at least very few) double basses were used.
The great change happened around 1750 with the so-called “Concerts Spirituels,”4 where double basses were indeed introduced. From this time onward, French organs began to feature 16? stops in the pedal. This didn’t make the organ symphonic, but it can at least be considered a condition for an organ to be deemed symphonic. The pedal department of the symphonic organ is then just an expansion of the flutes and reeds at 8? and 4? with the corresponding 16? stops. The essential implication is that the “symphonic” pedal completely takes over the bass function.
One can see this in the music of Lefébure-Wely and his colleagues, for example Franck or Batiste. If one then considers that the pedal represents the basses of the orchestra, this leads of course to implications for the way in which the pedal must be played. The double-basses are of course played with bows, while the bass trombones, and tubas (or ophicleides in this musical context), represented in the organ by the reeds, are dependent on the human breath, with all the implied consequences for the initial sound. Total legato is, then, unthinkable, just as in the symphony orchestra.
This original symphonic manner of playing, that is to say not absolutely legato, is mirrored by the construction of the organs. Basses, by definition, sound low—in the lower regions of the pedal, easily accessible by the left foot. This leaves the right foot free to manipulate the cuillère swell box, which is found on the right hand side of the pedalboard. Legato playing in the pedal finds its origins when the organ began to become considered “sacred” or least disassociated from its human elements. It receives, then, an endless, eternal breath, more of which anon. From that moment the swell box and its position also changed: it became balanced and centrally located in the console.

La Peste de l’orgue
The swell box brings us to the following essential element of the symphonic style: dynamics.5 In the context of the importance of control and flexibility of volume in the symphonic “language,” it must be recognized that the increase of intensity, in the strings as well as in the brass, is reflected in the specifications of the organs. As a direct consequence comes the desire to be able to completely control the sound using a flexible mechanical system.
In order to be able to understand this better, we turn our attention briefly to the principles of expression in this period. The main factor when considering expression is dynamics. The normal shape of the dynamics is determined by the content of the musical phrase. A normal curve describes a rise-and-fall movement: an “opening out” from the point of departure, a climax, and a return to the initial point. To work against the gravity requires a certain energy—in other words, a general crescendo-diminuendo pattern is the basis for a normal musical phrase. The beginning and end of the phrase are determined by rests, or by slurs. If this was indeed the normal dynamic pattern, then its notation by composers was not necessary. It was only when the composer wished to indicate another expression that the change in intensity was expressed in symbols or words.
Over this basic curve are added the accents of a phrase. These accents were classified into three types, each of which has a consequence for the dynamic.6 The first is the metrical accent: this places the emphasis on the strong part of the bar. The metrical accent determines how the listener experiences the bar, and also determines the basic character of the piece. (In the current performance practice of early music, the metrical accent is omnipresent.) The second accent is rhythmic: it determines the rhythms or figures, further illustrated by upbeats, syncopation, subdivision of the beat, etc. The rhythm of the phrase requires a dynamic indication whereby the meter no longer follows a straight line, but instead follows an interesting and varied course. The third accent is pathetic: the feeling of the performer, or the transmission of this feeling to the listener giving rise to additional strong accents, independent of those already discussed. These accents can be notated in the score, but this is not necessarily the case. The essence of this accent is the experience of the performing artist who transmits the expression of his emotions through dynamics.
This phenomenon was already recognized, by Rousseau for instance, but it becomes a parameter of primary importance in the middle of the 19th century. A hierarchy of accents begins to develop. The pathetic accent becomes more important than the rhythmic, which in turn is more important than the metrical. The “virtuosity” of the swell box must be seen within this context. If one, as a consummate artist, wishes to able to express the whole gamut of feelings, then one must have complete control over the dynamics. Therefore the right foot spends ever more time on the swell pedal. (It goes without saying that this clarifies the great success of the harmonium.) In this way the organ gains the power of expression of any other instrument. This was essential to bring the organ out of the historical low-point it had found itself in.
The old joke that French organists could only play with the left foot was simply the truth! They were “left-foot virtuosi” and “right-foot virtuosi,” but the right foot remained on the swell pedal (certain Hammond virtuosi still have this technique). This is evidenced by an astonishing comment from Lefébure-Wely writing in L’Organiste moderne (2ème Livraison, Offertoire): “It is better to abandon the swell pedal and to play the pedal with both feet.” Dynamics therefore are incompatible with legato in the bass: with the “left-foot virtuosi,” expression always took priority over legato.
December 31, 1869 (the day Lefébure-Wely died) can be seen as the symbolic end of the left-foot virtuosi. The swell box became abandoned and both feet were now available for the performance of legato passages. The arrival of Widor as titulaire of St. Sulpice pushed the organ in a totally new direction. Widor’s succession of Franck at the Conservatoire further strengthened his grip on the organ culture.

Musica Sacra
The turmoil of the revolution and everything that followed severely affected not only the church, but of course everything associated with it. To recover from such a low point the church had to “pull out all the stops.” One of its best weapons was music. The up and coming bourgeoisie had set the tone as far as music was concerned. Musical culture was not only blossoming in the concert hall, but also at home. Those who wished to attract these people to the church were duty-bound to offer music that reflected that of the secular world. For those from the lower echelons of society, the church offered the only possibility to come into contact with the musical fashion of the time. This is the reason that Boëly was so unsuccessful—his music was simply too reminiscent of the Ancien Regime—and why Lefébure-Wely was seen by the parish authorities as a hero. This fashionable music brought the extremes of dynamic flexibility into the church. This was one of the most important aspects objected to by the opponents of the new church music. The problem, of course, was nothing new. Berlioz describes it well in his Traité d’Instrumentation (1844):

Without wishing to again stir the debate about the endless issue of expression in spiritual music, which above all should be simple (without a hidden agenda), we do allow the advocates of “plain” music, plain chant, and the non-expressive organ, to express their admiration when the performing choir, singing a spiritual work, delights with its sophisticated nuances of crescendo-diminuendo, light-dark, swelling, exalted sounds. They clearly contradict themselves; at least by their asserting (which they do very well) that the, in essence, moral, liturgical and Catholic expressive possibilities of the human voice, when applied to the organ suddenly become immoral, not fit for liturgical use, Godless.7
Berlioz was not the only figure to discuss the problem. One of the leading figures in church music, Joseph d’Ortigue, was very much against this increase of expression. He cited the swell box as the defacing of the godly instrument:
. . . all the attempts today to corrupt the organ from its origins and to rid it of its Christian roots, are no less reprehensible.
The ensemble of the organ—even, continuous, plain—determines, precisely because of these properties, the character of the plain-chant. The orchestral instruments, which, in a certain context speak to our feelings, have, in the church only a contrived and caricatured expression, but the organ, whose keyboard is cold and insensitive, has, in the same house of God, a grandiose expression full of majesty . . . It is barely more than 160 years ago that people tried to rid the organ of the majestic character it had, due to the equality and “planitude” of its accents, in order to introduce the nuances and convolutions of secular music which imposed themselves on the expressing . . . of the sentiments of man in his most earthly worries . . . some were not able to resist this fatal impulse, and, as a result the power of secular music has tried to impinge on spiritual music for nearly two centuries . . .
The organ is “monotone,” it is distanced from all earthly basis. But church music is just as “monotone,” that is to say plain, distanced from earthly expression, full of a calm and heavenly expression, and of the human breath; I say again, the organ and church music have the same character, just as they share the same goal, and one can say that the circumstances of the origins of both are just as sacred as each other . . .8
. . . this expression, which we view as destructive for the character of the instrument.9

The successors of d’Ortigue such as Joseph Regnier attack the “persistent allowing of the mouth of the public to fall open” through the “persistent swelling of the sound.” To quote him, “Your box is the plague of the organ.”10 Adrien de La Fage, the other authority on the subject of church music, stuck resolutely to a position against the opinions of d’Ortigue:

The expression gained through such a simple method as a box with louvers is a very useful improvement made available to organists and one which has long been desired.11
Over the question of whether all the manuals of an organ should be enclosed, Ply offers the following pragmatic answer:

Recently Cavaillé-Coll and Merklin have applied swell boxes to all the manuals of an organ, at the request of organists . . . is this a positive development? Or a negative one? The critics have not yet clarified the official position. As far as we are concerned we can not reject it in an organ intended for concert use. On the other hand we would not see it as useful should all stops of a church organ be under expression.12

The tendency against dynamic expression becomes more important from the middle of the 19th century. One of the most notable results can be seen in organ building: the cuillère became gradually superseded by the centrally placed balanced pedal. A protagonist of this static conception of dynamics was Charles-Marie Widor, of whom more anon. Lefébure also followed this trend to a degree: L’Organiste moderne (1867) contains few dynamic indications, certainly much fewer than earlier in his works, like the Meditaciones religiosas (1858); there are a considerable number of pieces without indications and his notated crescendi are discreet. What a difference from his earlier publications!
Incidentally, it is worthwhile to compare the sacred music of Lefébure-Wely with his secular works. One sees from the outset a differentiation with regards to dynamics: the church music is, in general, less flexible. A good example of this is to be found in the Suites pour harmonicorde. The second piece from the first suite “Roma,” contains a footnote that reads: “This Prayer can be performed, if desired, without expression (NB: Lefébure means the dynamic changes), as long as one takes care to pump softly where ‘p’ is indicated”—and at the end of the piece: “played by the composer on the organ of the Madeleine Sunday 17 May 1857 during the High Mass.” This teaches us two important things: First, that good composers made the distinction between church and concert; second, that Lefébure-Wely within this context created for himself a clear line of separation. His music is also clear evidence of the ongoing evolution of church music. A comparison of the dynamics of L’Office catholique, op. 148, with Vademecum de l’organiste, op. 187, shows a sobering of the crescendi and diminuendi.
This trend becomes more and more common in church music; and in organ building: less flexible swell boxes; in organ-playing: the increasingly common use of absolute legato; and the new organ schools that were founded under the influence of Palestrina and Cecilia: École de Musique Classique et Religieuse (École Niedermeyer, Paris), Kirchenmusikschule (Regensburg), École de Musique Religieuse (“Lemmensinstitute,” Mechelen), Schola Cantorum (Paris). The development is noted in the French edition of Riemann’s Dictionnaire de Musique:

About the real crescendo, comparable to that of the orchestra, that is today certainly not applicable to the organ. Maybe this is a good thing, as it led to the loss of the organ’s majestic “impersonality” and also, without doubt to the era of sentimental and pathetic organ playing.13
It is reported, incidentally, that Tinel, director of Lemmens Institute, solved the problem on behalf of that institution, by rephrasing the French term for “swell pedal” thus: “La pédale faussement appelée expressive” (The falsely named expressive-pedal).14

L’Ecole du Choral
The banning of expression of feeling in the form of dynamics is not the only way to improve church music. Another element is rhythm. During the first decades of the 19th century cheerful and driving pieces made a substantial impact: the polka, mazurka, boléro, march, fanfare are interspersed with light and restful cavatinas, serenades, nocturnes and romances. The musical elements of these pieces were used in order to bring a picture of the prosperity of the outside world into the church. In some parishes these pieces entirely dictated the mood, in others their application was limited to certain moments in the service. The believers arrived and departed to a march, during the collection the public were treated to a brilliant offertoire, in order, of course, to encourage their generosity! The versets and communions reminded the listener of the cozy Soirée musicale of the day before.
However, a reaction against such music also manifested itself, particularly from those who considered the churches only to be full of believers attracted by the mundane music. These figures went back to the sources of church music, such as Gregorian chant and early polyphony, preferably before Monteverdi and the “seconda prattica”—in other words, Palestrina. This aesthetic can be recognized by its simple rhythm, preferably made up of long note values: half notes or quarters.
Via this “side door,” the Protestant chorale made its entry. It answered musically the requirements of “real” church music; the associated text can be left out or replaced. The vertical harmony with its, ideally, affiliated melodic movement brings forth a new genre, the choral. A typical example is Gounod’s edition of a selection of Bach’s chorales. Their titles have disappeared, but each is commented upon from a harmonic viewpoint, such as le Ré bémol, c’est de la démence (the d-flat is insane) in no. 130 (Vater unser im Himmelreich).
The rhythmic characteristics of the chorale and of counterpoint became an element of good Catholic church music. Rhythmic sobriety, simple meter, and absence of whimsical interjections are typical. The real church music is differentiated from the mundane not only by the rejection of lively accents, but also through the rejection of clearly profiled rhythmic figures (such as in a boléro). This is clearly evident if one compares Guilmant’s L’Organiste Liturgique with his sonatas, or Lefébure’s L’Office catholique with his Soirées Napolitaines, or even Lemmens’s organ school and the songs written for Helen Sherrington. An amusing example can be found in the Messe Solennelle of Rossini: the Prélude religieux consists of a 120-bar-long string of eighth notes. Truly religious!
But we can also see this phenomenon in L’Organiste Moderne: the “strophes” on a Gregorian melody exhibit a uniform picture of equal note values with the comment “dans le mouvement du plain chant.” This trend is officially recognized in Catholic church music in the encyclical Motu Proprio, 1903. Among organists, it was Widor who, above all, explored and forwarded it. His early symphonies are firmly rooted in the brilliant style, but the Romane and Gothique are classic examples of the new religious style; inspiration from Gregorian chant, rhythmically calm, classical registrations without extreme effects, sober dynamic indications.
Another nice example of this differentiation comes from Edgar Tinel, not only an important representative figure through his position. He was the successor of Lemmens, after the latter’s untimely death just after the foundation of the École de Musique Religieuse in Mechelen. As its director he was in the midst of Catholic church music in a country which, at the time, provided a model in a number of fields for its southern neighbors. Because of this, Tinel had an important influence on the following generation of organists. His legendary speech to the Societé Saint-Grégoire in 1883 was published in Musica Sacra, the magazine of the episcopacy.

How does one create a good organist? . . . it comes down to determining what is good taste and to educate . . . what is appropriate to perform in this context . . . Some works written in a somewhat concertante style . . . are easily recognizable because of their joyful worldly style, of their lively spiky rhythms, their military tempi, dancing or overly fast. Sometimes it suffices just to survey which stops the composer indicates . . . Piccolo 1? and Bourdon 16? on the Grand Orgue, Hautbois with tremulant and dynamics on the Positif or Récit . . . these works—sometimes composed by famous people—are certainly not appropriate for use in the church, whether performed before, during, or after the service. The good taste of the pupil is formed by his study of the great masters of the 16th and 17th centuries: Frescobaldi, Asola, Pitoni, Fasolo, Hassler . . . also Palestrina . . . works where calm majesty and serene beauty are ideal encouragement for silent reflection. But these masters alone are not sufficient.
J. S. Bach and his school are also necessary . . . not the complete Bach of course, but the “Catholic” Bach . . . in one word, the Bach of the chorale. This “Bach of the chorale” has already been, several years ago, brought to the attention of Catholic organists, to their benefit. Mr. Ferdinand Kufferath . . . has published a book entitled “The school of the chorale,” a volume containing the purest teaching of the organ-playing style of the church.15

Their tempi
The separation of church and concert music manifests itself in another area, also noted by Tinel. Tempo plays an important role in the character of 19th-century music in general, and of organ music in particular. Here, we must differentiate between two levels, the basic tempo of a piece and the flexibility of the basic tempo during the course of the piece, the agogics. As a general rule, the tempo of concert music is fundamentally quicker than that of church music: “their tempo” speaks volumes. This of course should hardly surprise us, but it is interesting to bear in mind that this is reflected in the tempo markings notated by Lefébure-Wely, Guilmant and Lemmens. A typical example from Guilmant is a Marche for harmonium and piano: 69 for the half note; Marche Religieuse: 60 for the quarter—in both pieces the smallest note value is a 16th note. A comparison of the metronome indications of Lefébure-Wely in his Meditaciones religiosas with his opera indicates even more pronounced differences.
The question of tempo was then a vexed one in the 19th century. The review of the organ exams of the Lemmens Institute in 1882, written by Kanunnik Van Damme, one of the founders of the school, tells us that the public criticized the tempi of the performed works. Van Damme agreed that “certains artistes” had made the listeners accustomed to quicker tempi, but states firmly that such dizzy speeds often obscured clarity, and, moreover, were not appropriate for the church. In other words, in the church music school, a moderate tempo was taught as an essential quality in a performance:

through them [the pupils], the listeners admired the incomparable qualities of the Master, perfection in fingering, excellent use of the pedal . . . and, above all, the extremely steady rhythm that lends greatness to organ playing, is indeed for the organ, what the claw is for the lion.16
Here, the agogic aspect is highlighted. Worthy church music is as firm and immovable as the rock on which one can build. This tallies exactly with a review of Lemmens’s piano playing, cited by Duclos.17

Just like all great musicians he has, at the highest level, the feeling for rhythm, and his expression is not reliant, as with many talented famous artists, on freedom of tempo. That feeling for rhythm is so strong that he never, even in the quickest passages, hurries, and in slower passages never drags, a rare skill, which is at no time a hindrance to the warmth of feeling, or the unexpectedness of the poetry.18

Later we will see how Widor used these ideas of Duclos in his manifesto for the new organ culture. Widor liked to see himself in the famous line which, via Lemmens eventually leads back to Bach himself, but forgot to mention that, as far as is known, Lemmens himself never cited this link.
This brings us, inevitably, to the tempo problems of Franck. One statement we can make immediately: Franck’s “great” organ works are concert music; not a single title refers to the church. After his death, his works were saved from certain obscurity by their “declaration,” as it were, as church music. Pious tempi and discreet nuances elevated Franck to the “worthwhile” composers of the 19th century, and neatly to tally with Lenoir’s statue of Franck in the garden by St. Clotilde.19

Le Génie du Christianisme
The sacred character of the organ can only convincingly be accounted for by laying its origins in religion.
Just as with Christian architecture, the Christian instrument is an anonymous and collective discovery, just as a learned figure once said (M. Boyer, Notice sur l’orgue et l’organiste), the person prompted by the Holy Spirit to worship the supreme Lord.20
The literary source for this idea can be found in the manifesto of the revival of the Catholic Church in France: Le Génie du Christianisme (1802). In his short chapter about music, De Chateaubriand sets the basis for the purification of church music. He refers to Plato in order to determine the true basis of music:

Music is, in fact, an imitation of nature—art is cited in the same way. Her perfection is then the most beautiful possible manner in which to depict nature.21

The “real” music, produced by religion, contains the essentials of harmony: beauty and mystery. It goes without saying that these are lost through all human disturbances—“le trouble et les dissonances.” The closing sentence of the last paragraph would later be endlessly quoted: “Christianity discovered the organ and gave it breath.”22
D’Ortigue would also use this sentence at the beginning of his extended chapter about the organ. He goes on to add to it:

Indeed, the religious genius alone was able to make of the organ the wondrous instrument that we know, and with it the most complete and perfect expression of the Christian life, in art envisaged in the form of liturgy . . . antiquity, continuation, universality, unity, authority. As a monumental instrument, it represents the unchangeable elements in the structures of liturgical singing, in this art which develops independently.23

The Christian architect . . . with help from the organ and the suspended bronze, has attached as much to the Gothic temple himself, as the sound of wind and thunder, which rolls in the depth of the forest. The centuries summoned by these religious sounds, let their ancient voices sound again from the heart of the stones, their breath in the enormous basilica.24

Chateaubriand of course wasn’t alone. Victor Hugo (Chants du Crepuscule, about the “suspended bronze”) and Lamartine added their voices:

One cannot hear his deep and lonely voice/ mixes itself, outside the temple with the idle sounds of the earth ( . . . )/
( . . . ) But he directs himself to God in the shadow of the church/ his great voice which swells and hurries like a breeze/ And with voices raised unto God/ The song of nature and humanity.25
Finally, Ply published the text of the inaugural speech of the pastor of Clermont-Ferrard Cathedral, at the consecration of the new organ. Here, the ideas of “Le Génie du Christianisme” go rather in the direction of Widor’s “calme des choses définitives.” The text quotes “un auteur très-compétent” (and should you, the reader, know who this author is, I should be grateful to know).

There is in the thousand voices of the organ, in that smooth, supporting, enduring static mass of sound, something of the restiveness of the Cathedral, vast and calm like the ecstasy and adoration; something that flies as a “Hosanna” in an enormous heaven, something as unchangeable as God, a knowledge, a meditation of the unknown being, indestructible, from an eternal Word, the unending story of him who is.26

Widor had, just as did all his contemporaries, read all these books. The “organ-vision” of Widor fits precisely within the ideal of “Le Génie du Christianisme.” Therefore, the organ, and the way of playing it, had to become independent from human attributes (read “inadequacies”). There is in this context no place for the expression of personal feelings which have anything to do with sensuality, in the most literal sense of the word. As a result, no strong accents, no passionate crescendi, no excited agogics. In their place came a musical architecture with clear, straight lines, just as in the structure of cathedrals:
The great voice of the organ must have the calm of definite things: she was made for stone arches, and is reliant on natural proportions. Where orchestral instruments search for more or less neurotic virtuoso affects, the organ gains its maximum strength through the simple chord of C major, and with it the sound which seems to have neither beginning or end.27
Orgue is continuously written with a capital O, the supremely worthy instrument. Hereby the organ departs the mortal world and the organist depicts a new mysticism. In the early 1930s when Widor himself was rather closer to his own passing, he wrote in his preface to Felix Raugel’s Les Maitres français de l’Orgue aux XVIe, XVIIe, et XVIIIe Siècles, Recueil de 50 Pièces d’orgue ou harmonium:

When . . . the sound of this pipe shall become lost under the high arches of our Cathedral, taking with it our soul to the eternal, only then shall the organ truly be “The mystic instrument.”
The organist, due to the nature of his instrument, is elevated to the universe of the almighty.

When one can receive a note of unlimited duration under one’s finger, in all freedom, without the need to spare the performer’s lungs, when one feels, so to say, the master of time and power, then one has realized the true character of the instrument; of the language which it must speak, and of the style to which it belongs.28
How far away the 1850s seem now! The predecessors of Widor, whether Berlioz, Lefébure-Wely, or Franck, lived in another world. The ideal organ of their time is flexible, and is suited, just as an orchestral instrument, to the translation of the most refined nuances of the artistic sentiment. The organ and its music in that time really represented an attempt to break free of monumentality and stardom. In order to entice people into church, the organ had not to remind them of God, but had rather to reflect the human, the artistic, the refinement of the circles in which good was to be found, the earthly paradise. Dizzy luxury, blinding colors, sumptuous decors, all within easy reach of the man in the street. He who wishes to play Lefébure or Franck is best advised to read first a book by Zola, as this would give better results than reading a book about organ music or reading this article. The exuberance of this time and its music were banished by Widor and his generation. The technical means came first, the artistic consequences became sidelined:

She wants to sing in strict rhythm, this great voice needs rhythm, phrasing, a desire. Let us admire the cadences in Bach’s works which here and there break up the flow of the text, so that we may enjoy a minute rest. Whatever the movement, the Master shuns all suggestion of restlessness, and of hurrying. He never loses his calm and keeps his listeners with him.29
We find ourselves again at the rythme imperturbable, of Lemmens, elevated and stable, like a Grand Orgue. The accents described by Lussy are limited to the metrical and the rhythmic, with the resolute exclusion of the dominant pathetic accents. However, and precisely because of this, the organ gained its allure of greatness and eternity:

What string and brass instruments, the piano and the human voice gain through the bursting forth of the accent and the unpredictability of the attack, the organ gains as a result of its own majesty, speaking as a philosopher; it alone can display such an eternally unchanging volume, that it creates a vision of the religious and of the eternal. Surprises and accents are strangers to it; one lends them out, they are “adopted” accents.30

Through these words, Widor sets himself, for example, against the opinions of Berlioz regarding expression in religious music. Moreover this is completely in accordance with his rejection of Berlioz’s ideas about the organ: “Who informs Berlioz, which organist did he so unfortunately seek advice from?” (Widor, Technique, p. 176) This regarding the instrumental aspect, but it becomes immediately clear that this fits completely into a broader concept of the organ, which is resolutely against that of Berlioz. Though the citing of accents, and, as a result, expression, as being against the true nature of the organ, one must consider tempo and flexibility of agogics within this same context. The rigid structures of Roman and Gothic architecture are reflected in modern organ playing:

Rhythm itself will be influenced by modern tendencies: it shall become a sort of elasticity of the bar, though the essential elements shall be preserved. It will allow the components of the musical sentence to breathe when necessary and be phrased, assuming that it keeps hold of the reins, and that it keeps pace . . . And when the essential qualities of the style are defined by the words purity, clarity and precision, then we regard them as the basis of organ music.31

Provisional conclusion: the term “symphonic organ music” can be defined in very different ways. The whole spectrum of musical genres in 19th century music is represented. The repertoire is unique in its amalgam of profane and sacred ingredients. The performer must, therefore, continually make decisions. The listener can either follow him, or not.

Notes
1. Charles-Marie Widor, Symphonies pour Orgue, ed 1901, Preface.
2. Ibid.
3. Ibid.
4. Nicolas Gorenstein, L’Orgue post-classique français, Chanvrelin, Paris, n.d., pp. 7–11.
5. Joris Verdin, “The Organ: fit for expression?” in Het Orgel 2000/5, pp. 15–22.
6. Mathis Lussy, Traité de l’expression Musicale, Paris, Heugel et Cie, 1877, and: idem, Le Rythme Musical, Paris, 1884.
7. Hector Berlioz, Traité d’Instrumentation, Paris, 1844, p. 169.
8. Joseph d’Ortigue, Dictionnaire liturgique, historique et theorique de Plain-Chant, et de musique d’église, au moyen age et dans les temps modernes, Paris, 1853–1860; “Orgue.”
9. Ibid., “Expression.”
10. H.J. Ply, La Facture moderne etudiée à l’Orgue de St-Eustache, Paris 1878, facsimile Leonce Laget, Paris, 1981, p. 18.
11. A. de La Fage, Le Plain Chant, 2nd year, no. 7, quoted from Ply, p. 19.
12. Ply, op. cit., p. 19, note 1.
13. Hugo Riemann, Dictionnaire de Musique, entièrement remanié et augmenté par Georges Humbert, Lausanne, 1913, p. 235.
14. Musica Sacra, 6th year, no. 2, 1886, p. 11.
15. Musica Sacra, no. 12, p. 99.
16. Kanunnik Van Damme, cited by Joseph Duclos, “Essai sur la vie et les travaux de l’auteur,” in Du Chant Grégorien, ouvrage posthume de Jacques-Nicolas Lemmens, Gent, 1886, p. XXXVI.
17. Duclos, op. cit., p. XXXIV.
18. Recent research has revealed the anonymous reviewer to be none other than Fétis; see Annelies Focquaert, Jacques-Nicolas Lemmens: leven en werk van een organist, unpubl. dissertation at the Orpheusinstitute, Gent, 2006 (2 vol., 314 + 181 pages).
19. Joris Verdin, “Discussions on César Franck,” in Het Orgel 2001/2, pp. 5–9.
20. Ply, op. cit. p. 309.
21. François-René de Chateaubriand, Oeuvres Completes, Tome Premier, Bruxelles, 1852, p. 251.
22. Ibid., pp. 252–253.
23. D’Ortigue, “Orgue.”
24. Chateaubriand, op. cit., p. 262.
25. Ply, op. cit., p. 311.
26. Ibid., p. 306.
27. Charles-Marie Widor, Technique de l’Orchestre Moderne, faisant suite au Traité d’Instrumentation et l’Orchestration de H. Berlioz, Édition Revue et Augmentée, Paris, Lemoine, 1925, p. 188.
28. Ibid.
29. Ibid.
30. Ibid.
31. Ibid.

Addenda: summaries of the mentioned articles in Het Orgel
“The organ: fit for expression?” (Het Orgel 2005/5)

Dynamic and agogic aspects play a major role in 19th-century expression. In this article the first one of these is explored. Based on investigation of period literature we conclude that expressiveness, dynamics and the term “expression” cannot be separated, even are quite inseparable. The importance that is attributed to dynamics is not only documented in general publications about musical aesthetics (Lussy, Riemann), but also, and in the first place, in harmonium methods (Lickl, Lefébure-Wely, Mustel). This makes completely sense, as the harmonium is, among the keyboard instruments, particularly suited to control the parameter of volume. Several quotations from the above-mentioned literature show that there are general “rules” with respect to the dynamic curve of a musical sentence (the up- and downwards movement of crescendo and diminuendo), and that individual musicians, on the other hand, differ from each other, so each of them can individualize his playing.
With regard to the organ we conclude that Charles-Marie Widor represents a school with another point of view: the nature of the instrument, its location and its repertoire demand a less flexible, more objective kind of expression, which is described by Widor as “architecture.” Sigfrid Karg-Elert develops the notion of expression into an idea of transcendent art, in which controlling of dynamics is regarded as the most important individual means of expression.

“Discussions on César Franck” (Het Orgel 2001/2)
The discussions on the “correct” interpretation of Franck’s organ works are mainly a result of the difference between a certain a priori concept of Franck and musicological investigation. Whereas this concept is patently based on unverifiable “testimonies,” the musicological investigation, led by Joël-Marie Fauquet, results in a coherent whole. A very important aspect is the difference between church and concert music. Interpreting Franck’s organ works as religious music requires accepting some assumptions that are contradictory to the entire context of organ playing in France, as well as to the objective indications of Franck himself.

 

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Introducing Charles Quef: Forgotten master of La Trinité in Paris

Steven Young

Steven Young holds the Doctor of Musical Arts degree in organ performance from Boston University and holds the Associate Certificate from the American Guild of Organists. He is an assistant professor and department chair of music at Bridgewater State College, Bridgewater, Massachusetts, where he teaches courses in music theory and serves as director of choral activities. Dr. Young is the organist/music director of the Old South Union Church in S. Weymouth, Massachusetts. He is an active recitalist, conductor, accompanist, and choral adjudicator.

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Despite the long and glorious history of outstanding organist-composers at l’Eglise de la Sainte Trinité in Paris, France, featuring such notables as Alexis Chauvet, Alexandre Guilmant, and Olivier Messiaen, another fine composer, Charles Paul-Florimond Quef, remains in virtual obscurity. This author first encountered Quef’s music in L’Orgue moderne, a quarterly publication of organ music. In the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, L’Orgue moderne featured shorter organ works by many excellent composers who, in recent times, have been overlooked or neglected.1 Among those forgotten is Charles Quef, whose substantial legacy includes at least 47 sets of pieces from 75 opus numbers. In addition, several of Quef’s pieces lack any opus numbers, making it difficult to create an accurate catalogue of his works. It appears that many of these compositions never received performances outside of Paris or La Trinité, the church Quef served as organiste titulaire for 30 years.2

Quef’s life and career

Few details concerning Quef’s life can be documented. He was born in Lille on November 1, 1867, during the early years of the Third Republic. He had a brother, Maurice, a sculptor, to whom he dedicated two pieces (Opus 13 and 28, No. 2), and a sister, Marie. He attended the conservatory at Lille, taking the deuxième prix d’harmonie in 1890. In 1894, he attended the Conservatoire Nationale et Superieure de Musique et Déclamation in Paris, as an organ student of both Charles-Marie Widor and Guilmant; his studies there included improvisation, harmony, counterpoint, and fugue. During his student days, Quef served as organist at Ste. Marie de Batignolles and St. Laurent. After garnering prizes in organ and improvisation, including the coveted première prix in 1898,3 he spent the next two years as organiste de choeur at La Trinitè before being appointed organiste titulaire in November 1901.4 (Quef accepted this position following the sudden resignation of Guilmant, under circumstances examined more fully below.) Quef married Clara Cornélie Madeleine Luys, and they had two daughters, Amélie and Hélène; Quef dedicated his Opus 46 piano pieces to the latter.5 In 1903, Quef moved from the boulevard Clichy6 in Paris to Meudon, a suburb, and lived some 28 years on the rue Ernest-Renan. (See photo 1.) (Meudon was also the home of Guilmant and Marcel Dupré.) Quef served in the French army during World War I.7 (See photo 2.) Following his military service, Quef developed his skills as an organist and improviser at La Trinité. He remained active as both composer and performer, and after thirty years of service to La Trinité, he died at his Meudon home. The funeral services took place at the church of Notre-Dame de Bellevue, his home parish, and he was buried in the family grave at Meudon cemetery. (See funeral card.) He was awarded the Chevalier de la legion d’honneur posthumously, on July 2, 1933, exactly two years after his death in Paris.8
Composers frequently dedicate pieces to family, friends, and students. If one were to use this as a measure of Quef’s interpersonal relationships with the musical community of Paris, it would appear that he had very few close musician-friends. Only a handful of the pieces he composed after 1902 bear dedications to other French organists,9 and only three French composers (Lucien Bourgeois, Alexandre Guilmant, and Henri Libert) dedicated works to Quef.10 Despite the apparent lack of peer recognition, Quef seems to have enjoyed a moderately successful career as both performer and composer, as indicated in the following newspaper review:
Le 1re Fantaisie, de M. Ch. Quef, est assez brève de proportions; l’instrument soliste y brille en traits ingénieux sans cependant tenir le seul rôle intéressant; l’orchestre est vigoreux sans écrasement l’écriture élégante, la construction logique. C’est l’œuvre d’un musicien probe et non-dépourvu d’originalité. (The premiere Fantaisie of M. Ch. Quef is somewhat small in its proportions; the solo instrument shines with ingenious traits without holding the only interesting role; the orchestra is vigorous without overwhelming the elegant writing, the logical construction. It is the work of an honest musician who is not lacking originality.)11
Additionally, he performed with many of the prestigious conductors and orchestras in Paris and was active in many smaller concert organizations, though it appears he never took an active leadership role in any of these groups, with one exception. With the short-lived Orchestre Philharmonique de Paris, Quef served as the choir director for a group that sought to perform music for orchestra and choir, which conductor Lucien Wurmser felt had been sorely neglected.12 Unfortunately, this organization lasted for less than one concert season due to “the rough difficulties of life,” according to a contemporary source.13
Quef wrote music for the organ, harmonium, piano, choir, and solo voice, as well as for orchestral and chamber ensembles. He harmonized many sacred melodies for choir and composed accompaniments for solo popular songs.14 He also transcribed and arranged six of Handel’s organ concerti for organ solo and several movements of Handel’s Suites for violin and violoncello.15 Other transcriptions included adaptations of several classic funeral marches, including as the marche funèbre from Chopin’s Sonata in B-flat minor, in two volumes: one for organ and one for harmonium.16 Much of Quef’s music was published in musical quarterlies or little-known journals;17 he published some pieces independently, using his own copyright.18 Several English and Belgian firms published his works: two of his organ works appeared in a series known as The Modern Organist, edited by the eminent British musicologist A. Eaglefield Hull, as well as in the Belgian series Repértoire de l’organiste. Among Quef’s notable accomplishments, he ranks among the first French composers to write a film score, Vie de Jesus (1908), for the band cinématographique.

Status within the Parisian musical community

Although prolific and innovative, Quef remains little known. Until recently, only Henry Eymieu, a music critic and historian, ever provided biographical information on Quef, and that essay appeared in a little-known journal with a brief existence.19 In organists’ circles, his obscurity may be attributed to the fact that he never wrote the large symphonic organ works that established the popularity of Vierne, Guilmant, and Widor.20 In addition, he appears neither to have had many private students nor to have served on the faculty of either of the major French musical institutions of the time.
Another explanation for Quef’s fairly low profile might be found in the circumstances surrounding his predecessor’s decision to resign from La Trinité. Alexandre Guilmant had served as organiste titulaire at La Trinité for some 30 years. He abruptly resigned his post following a difficult struggle with one of the clergy over organ renovations performed by the Merklin firm, the arrangements for which were made by one of the parish priests. Guilmant found the changes unacceptable and refused to sign the official report (procès-verbal de vérification et de réception du grande orgue). According to Louis Vierne, Guilmant was so distressed by the situation that he saw no alternative but to resign.21 Quef, serving as organiste de choeur, signed the agreement accepting the changes; he was subsequently appointed as titular organist on December 1, 1901. This acceptance of the post caused quite a stir in the musical community, grievously upsetting some of Guilmant’s students and friends, including Vierne, one of Quef’s former teachers. Within this close-knit group of musicians, Quef appeared opportunistic.22 Yet Guilmant and Quef may have resolved any resulting tensions as early as 1902, when Quef dedicated his Prélude-Choral, Opus 25 to “mon cher maître, Alexandre Guilmant.” Though regrettable, this unfortunate situation in the organ community appears to have had little effect on Quef’s career during 1902, as he performed that year as organ soloist and with orchestra as part of the Associations des Grands Concerts, while other concert organizations gave several performances of his compositions.23 (A sample program appears as figure 1.)
Quef was among a handful of French organists who played his own organ works, as evidenced by a cursory examination of the service music repertoire listed for the churches of Paris between 1919 and 1923.24 However, his wide-ranging repertoire also included music of Bach, Handel, Mendelssohn, Schumann, Liszt, and Karg-Elert, among the great German composers, as well as music by French masters such as Clérambault, Franck, Saint-Saëns, Chauvet, Guilmant, Lucien Mawet, Widor, and Eugene Gigout.25 He also played music by composers Alan Gray (1855–1935) and William Faulkes (1863–1933); these men were most likely contacts from England where Quef and his music were known and respected, and where he gave at least one recital.26 By invitation from Guilmant, Quef performed at the Schola Cantorum in 1905.27 Also at the request of Guilmant, Quef frequently served as a member of the organ adjudication committee at the Conservatoire, and even provided fugue subjects for these examinations. Although few accounts of Quef’s playing exist, composer and organist Olivier Messiaen, who succeeded Quef as organist at La Trinité, commented that he played neatly and with precision and chose tasteful registrations.28 It seems clear that Quef earned considerable admiration as an organist.29

Musical style

Reviews of Quef’s orchestral and chamber music, though relatively scarce, generally praise his innovation and compositional skill as well as his musical depth and sensitivity.30 Many of the prestigious concert series of the time premiered Quef’s music.31 However, most of these works received a single performance and then fell into obscurity. The only non-organ works within his output that received more than one documentable public performance, according to present research, are the Suite pour instruments à vent et piano, Opus 4, and the Fantaisie pour piano et orchestre.32 From his earliest extant opus, the Suite, one can observe Quef’s fascination with counterpoint. In the second movement, Quef introduces two melodic ideas that he later combines in the closing section of the movement. In the five Pièces d’orgue, Opus 11 (1898), one finds both a fugue and a trio that relies on melodic imitation, in the style similar to the six organ sonatas of Bach (BWV 525–530). These early works attest to the composer’s solid training in traditional composition.
Another example of Quef’s use of complex compositional techniques can be seen in the aforementioned Prélude-Choral, Opus 25 (1902). Eymieu,33 in his sketch of Quef, makes special mention of this organ work because it combines traditional techniques with the new chromatic style so prevalent during this period. Compositional devices include augmentation and diminution, as well as double (invertible) counterpoint. This contrapuntally intricate work is based entirely on its opening melodic figure, making for a tightly constructed, economical work. Both economy of style and fascination with counterpoint continued to prevail in his music as he matured. (Messiaen noted that even Quef’s improvisations at La Trinité revealed a profound knowledge of counterpoint.) For example, in the Prélude funèbre et fugue, Opus 30, of 1903, the material used for the fugue subject comes directly from the prelude.
In the motet Ecce panis, Opus 71, the opening four-note motive permeates the entire composition. (See musical example 1.) The conciseness of the musical language may reflect the Neo-Classical movement that enveloped many French composers during the 1920s. Quef’s devotion to and refinement of contrapuntal techniques continued into the late works, such as the Sancta Maria, Opus 72/1, for choir and organ (1924), in which the outer sections begin imitatively. In addition, he published three organ fugues, more than many of his contemporaries (compare this to only one fugue by Widor and Vierne).34 The textbook style of his fugal writing reveals again his devotion to the techniques taught at the Conservatoire; André Gedalge, author of La Traité de la Fugue and professor of fugue at the Conservatoire, would have been proud!
In other works by Quef, one encounters a more Romantic spirit, embodied in titles such as Rhapsodie, Idylle, and Reverie. Evidence of Franck’s influence, namely the cyclic treatment of thematic material, also appears. For example, in the Suite, Opus 4, the opening theme of the Entrée returns in the final movement, Rondo-Final, here transformed into a dance tune. (See musical examples 2a and 2b.) This cyclic treatment occurs more subtly in the other chamber works. For example, in the Sonate pour violon et piano, Opus 18, an intervallic transformation links the first and last movements: specifically, the opening melodic tritone and fifth of the first movement are expanded to a sixth and a seventh in the opening theme of the last movement. (See musical examples 3a and 3b.) In Trio, Opus 34, for piano, violin, and cello, the opening tune of the first movement hauntingly recurs just prior to a dramatic coda that closes the third movement.
Reviews of Quef’s music, including those by the eminent English organist and editor Harvey Grace, offer glowing praise for the composer’s skill and imagination. Grace claimed that Quef was at his best when writing smaller pieces.35 Echoing this sentiment, French reviewer M. Courtonne praised the short works for harmonium, Impressions religieuses, Opus 54. The same writer criticized the state of religious music that merely represented a pastiche of Gregorian chant fragments, preferring Quef’s synthesis of a religious spirit with beautifully modern harmonic tints.36 The reviewer felt that “no organist, great or small, should be without this collection.”37
This essay offers only a preliminary survey of the music of Charles Quef; further research is required to place Quef in proper historical and musical context. Closer study of the music and other documentary evidence may further our understanding of Quef’s personal life, his career as performer and composer, and his substantial artistic contributions.
The author is deeply indebted to the staffs of the Bibliothèque Nationale, Paris, France; the Library of Congress, Washington, D.C.; and the British Library, London, England for their gracious help. Additional thanks go to musicologists Agnes Armstrong, Jean Kreiling, and Kurt Lueders for their invaluable assistance in the preparation of this article, and to the Center for the Advancement of Research and Teaching (CART) at Bridgewater State College for its financial assistance.

Théodore Dubois and César Franck at Sainte-Clotilde

A New Look at the Chronicle of the Years 1857–1863

Helga Schauerte-Maubouet, English translation by Carolyn Shuster Fournier

Through her concert tours, radio recordings and CDs (the complete organ works of Jehan Alain and Dietrich Buxtehude, portraits of Buttstett, Reger, Boëllmann, Dubois and Langlais, comprising some twenty recordings), as well as her musicological research, Helga Schauerte-Maubouet has become one of the outstanding musicians of her generation. Organist of the German Lutheran Church in Paris, teacher at the Paris Conservatoire Nadia et Lili Boulanger, lecturer and jury member for international organ competitions, she maintains a brilliant career as a performing artist in Europe and the USA. Author of the first book in the German language on Alain’s music, she has discovered and acquired some 40 of Alain’s musical autographs. She has been engaged by Bärenreiter to contribute to the new edition of MGG, to write on French organ music subjects in the Handbuch Orgelmusik, and to publish scholarly-critical editions of the complete organ works of Léon Boëllmann, Théodore Dubois and Louis Vierne as well as of vocal music of Marc-Antoine Charpentier. She has also composed French Noël and German carol settings for other instruments and organ published by Merseburger-Verlag. In 1987 she received the cultural prize of Olpe, Germany. Since 1990 her biography has been included in the International Who’s Who in Music, and she has been included in 2000 Outstanding Musicians of the 20th Century.
A French-American organist and musicologist, Carolyn Shuster Fournier is an international concert artist and titular of the Aristide Cavaillé-Coll choir organ at La Trinité Church in Paris, France (cf. <www.shusterfournier.com&gt;). Her latest CD, “An American in Paris” (Ligia Digital, distribution Harmonia Mundi), recorded at La Madeleine Church, is dedicated to French and American music. Chevalier in the Order of Arts and Letters, Dr. Shuster Fournier has written several articles for The Diapason.

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Much is known about the first musical activities at Sainte-Clotilde in the years 1863 to 1868 when César Franck, the organist of this church, worked together with the young Théodore Dubois, his choirmaster. Much less known is the reversal of these roles, which occurred precisely from 1857 to 1863 when César Franck was choirmaster and Théodore Dubois was the choir organist. Dubois’ memoirs,1 recently rediscovered at the Bibliothèque nationale de France and partially published in the complete edition of his organ works,2 shed new light on many of the unclear details in the unfolding of what has been labeled as “the Sainte-Clotilde Tradition.”
In 1857, at the time of the inauguration of this church, Théodore Dubois (1837–1924) was only twenty years old. The son of a modest basket maker in the Champagne region, Dubois was a third-year student at the Paris Conservatory, earning his living as a choir organist at the nearby Saint-Louis des Invalides Church. He recalls:

The Church of Sainte-Clotilde was to be consecrated and I learned that the newly appointed choirmaster César Franck (still unknown at that time) was looking for an organist accompanist. In spite of my shyness, I didn’t hesitate and introduced myself to him without any recommendation. He immediately subjected me to a test in accompanying Gregorian chant, sight-reading and transposing. He finally engaged me on the spot for an annual salary of 1200 francs. With the incidental emoluments (700 or 800 francs) it was a fortune! Just imagine my joy at finally being delivered from all financial worries! […] This was how I got to know C. Franck, who was always good and very kind to me, whose friend and admirer I became and remained up to his last hour.
Shortly after the consecration of the Ste-Clotilde Church, since no organ had been built yet, I accompanied the singers on a good Mustel harmonium. […] Through my daily contact with C. Franck, I grew to love and admire this great artist. I was lucky enough to witness him composing his Mass, his Motets, and the beautiful Offertories, and to be the first to accompany them, including top-level works—due to their sublimity and their personally colored expressive harmonies—such as Dextera Domini [1861], Quae est ista [1861] and the Offertory for Lent. What a contrast with the works usually heard then in most of the churches in Paris! This was the beginning of a reaction against banality and poor taste which, after so many years, had not completely disappeared from the repertoire found in the church choir schools!”3

Religious music was in fact in a state of real decadence, sung with dramatic sentimentality; the tonal result was closer to that of salon romances [for house gatherings]. This was the bona fide beginning of the tradition that distinguished Sainte-Clotilde from other Parisian churches. Here, the music was made with serenity, power and lyricism. As there was no organ in the church, it was essentially vocal. The choir, directed by César Franck (1822–1890) and made up of three male voice parts (soprano, tenor and bass), sang with an orchestra or was simply sustained by a double bass and a Mustel harmonium played by Théodore Dubois. Dubois, who was fifteen years younger than his choirmaster, did not hide his admiration for him.

These memories are dear to me because they remind me that C. Franck was such a noble-minded artist. The affectionate kindness that he showed towards me and also the great impression that his works made upon me; they were written in a style so new for me. Nobody will be surprised to hear that the church members of Ste-Clotilde took a somewhat refractory view of their music director’s compositions. They preferred the banalities of the current repertoire. Hasn’t it always been like that and doesn’t one see that time finally puts everything right in its place and that the name of C. Franck is met with universal admiration today!
The artist’s outward appearance did not correspond to his talent, to his genius. Had his eyes not been lively, flashing and full of intelligence, one would more likely have taken him in a peaceful moment for a sort of upright provincial citizen. But as soon as he started talking, he changed: with the persuasive power of his words he focused his attention with brilliant observations on art and literature, becoming convincing, almost fascinating; one felt that one was in the presence of a powerful strong will! There are in fact few young artists who knew him that were not influenced to some degree by him.4
Very concerned about the splendor and the magnificence of the worship services, the abbot Pierre Ambroise Hamelin (1800–1883), priest at Sainte-Clotilde, only moderately appreciated his choirmaster’s music. Nevertheless, Franck dedicated his motet Dextera Domini, Offertory for Easter Sunday, to him. Théodore Dubois describes in detail one of the dreadful confrontations between the two men. It was in 1861, the year of the composition of this motet, that Hamelin launched this quip to Franck in front of the choir members:

“Mr. Franck, you do not know your job!” Franck simply replied to this, but with a firm and convincing voice: “Father, I affirm to you that I know my job!” I believe that he did know it. But our good priest never suspected so. He loved blaring music: and still the blaring music, this was not at all Franck’s cup of tea. We were all appalled at such an outburst. Franck alone remained impassive and with an angelic air he told us upon leaving: “He does not know; he cannot know!” Deep thought, simple, just, full of philosophy, of observation and of kindness!5
Until then, Franck only carried out his duties as choirmaster. Accumulating the multiple functions of this post hardly left him any free time:
Lessons for the choristers nearly every day, general rehearsals, services on Sundays and feast days, Thursday masses, Friday Benedictions of the Holy Sacrament, certain evening services, the Marian month, the octaves of certain feast days, weddings, funerals, the preparation and the choice of the programs, engaging additional artists if needed for a service; the choirmaster was responsible for calculating each person’s salary at the end of each month; he supervised the music library and the performance repertory; he recruited children to sing after some voices had broken and other various circumstances.6
Also in 1861, Théodore Dubois won the Prix de Rome with his cantata Atala. He had to leave Paris on December 26, 1861, to travel and stay in Italy for two years, until the end of 1863. Concerned about resuming his accompanying post upon his return from Rome, he quickly went to see his priest in order to request his permission to find a substitute among one of his students during his absence.
With the agreement of C. Franck my choirmaster, I asked him if he would allow Mr. Bourjuge’s nephew, one of my occasional students who knew what the job entailed, whom I had already shown what the post involved, to substitute for me during my absence. My request was accepted and I was thus assured to find my position upon returning. My mind was at ease and I was then able to look forward to the happiness that I anticipated for this trip and stay in Rome.7
This account contradicts Joël-Marie Fauquet’s version, which states that

when Dubois left for the Villa Médici in 1861, Franck held concurrently the functions of organist and of choirmaster so that Dubois could resume his position upon returning.8
Moreover, from a practical point of view, concurrently carrying out both positions could hardly be imagined. Théodore Dubois then boarded at the Villa Medici while keeping his position as organist-accompanist. Very happy in Rome, he later described these two years of absence from Sainte-Clotilde as the most beautiful days of his life. However, in November 1863, upon returning from a tour in Italy, he was actually urged to decide on the spot to shorten his stay and return hastily to Paris in order to succeed Franck. Here is his account:

Shortly after returning to Rome I received news from Ste-Clotilde that made me happy and sad at the same time. I was told that they had finished constructing the ‘Grand Orgue’9 and that César Franck wished to exchange his position as choirmaster for that of organist, that the priest had agreed to this, and that they would gladly offer me this position if I was prepared to return forthwith(!). The prospect of this situation, which would insure my livelihood—so difficult for so many musicians returning from Rome—made me happy of course, but at the same time the thought of having to leave the Villa Medici before the end of my two years greatly grieved me. After all, it was in November and I should normally have stayed until the end of December. My parents wanted me to have a secure position. After much hesitation and thoughtful consideration, I decided to apply for permission to leave Rome in November, and to forgo my travels to Germany, which I would have gladly carried out, but which—I don’t know why—few of the scholarship students took at that time.10

After returning from Rome in November, 1863, the roles at the Sainte-Clotilde Church were reversed. With César Franck at the Grand Orgue tribune, Théodore Dubois immediately assumed his new job as choirmaster. His account is of utmost importance because it reveals precisely and without ambiguity that the Sainte-Clotilde Grand Orgue was not completely finished before the fall of 1863 and that Franck was not named titular organist until after the completion of the work.11 It also clearly reveals the unexpected urgency of the missive from Sainte-Clotilde. Why did Franck so suddenly make up his mind to change roles and become organist? This crucial moment of the completion of the organ was thus revealed to be the real turning point in his musical career. Until that time, he had not yet composed any important organ pieces. But suddenly in September and October of 1863, he began composing with great intensity, which until now seemed to be surprisingly unexplained.
Théodore Dubois’ account thus allows us to place in its true context the genesis of Franck’s Six Organ Pieces, his first symphonic works, composed in 1863/1864 and edited in 1868. It establishes a link between the Sainte-Clotilde organ on the one hand, and his nomination to the organist position on the other hand. The Six Pieces, as the composer presented them at their first performance at Sainte-Clotilde in November 1864, are thus indebted to the finished state of the Cavaillé-Coll organ in the fall of 1863. Two of the Six Pieces, the Grand Pièce symphonique and the Pastorale (dedicated to Cavaillé-Coll), are dated precisely on September 16 and 29. The other ones—such as the Fantaisie, one of whose versions is dated October 1863, or the Final—were revised. It is incontestably the new aesthetic of the Sainte-Clotilde organ, one of Cavaillé-Coll’s most beautiful instruments, which is at the origin of Franck’s new genius and which transformed and directed his creative thoughts towards new horizons.
Théodore Dubois’ memoirs attest that the “completed” Sainte-Clotilde organ does not date from 1859 but from 1863. In his memoirs (cited above), the composer specifically uses the same phrase “the Grand Orgue was just constructed.” A second witness concerning the work carried out between 1860 and 1863 was Charles-Marie Widor. He reports that one of the first to try out the instrument “which had just been finished” in the Sainte-Clotilde Church was the “old Hesse,” on June 30, 1862.12
However, since the archives are missing, the rereading of the chronicle of these years shows uncertainties concerning the different revisions of the organ. Actually, the known documents concerning the construction of this organ suddenly end on December 2, 1859, namely three days before the originally determined date for the inauguration. Following some uncareful work carried out by the workers of the architect Théodore Ballu (1817–1885) during the installation of the top of the organ case, Cavaillé-Coll declared that

the instrument has become unplayable. Sawdust, wood shavings and even heavy objects had fallen into the organ, had stifled the sound of the pipes and altered their sonority so much that it was then impossible to repair the organ for the inauguration, announced for the fifth of this month.13
The date of the inauguration was then moved to December 19, the time allowed to “repair, clean and tune all the damaged material.” To accomplish this, the organ builder not only required this delay, but also requested a compensation of more than 500 francs from the architect. Since the new date was set fifteen days later, what was he able to do in such little time? Was the organ entirely repaired? The reference found in the newspaper articles is evasive and puzzling. Adrien de la Fage announced that he would speak about “the organ in another article or that certain questions, rather serious, would eventually be dealt with.”14 La France musicale praised Ballu’s marvelous case and reported that

this instrument ought to have been as complete as possible, in keeping with the proportions of the church, that is, to possess 46 stops on three keyboards and a pedalboard, 14 combination pedals and 1796 pipes. This is, in fact, the Sainte-Clotilde organ.15
Why then was new work carried out on an organ supposedly “complete,” finished and inaugurated? Moreover, the caliber and the undetermined length of the work threatened to put the organ “out of service” for many long months, restricting the parish to remain without a titular. Théodore Dubois’ memoirs lead us to believe that this work continued until the fall of 1863. After studying the various archives (estimations, letters) published in Fenner Douglass’s book, quoted above, only one explanation emerges. To render our hypothesis more pleasant and more familiar we imagine it under Théodore Dubois’ pen, who, of course, in his memoirs does not say one word about these events.

The year 1859 marks a date in my career: I finally obtained my First Prize in organ and in November La Maîtrise published my first organ piece, an Offertory that I composed with the inspiration of the Sainte-Clotilde organ. The construction of this large three-manual instrument was finished at the end of August, the great Lefébure-Wély who had been chosen to inaugurate it had come to play it in September in the presence of the Duchess d’Albe as well as at the ceremony of the large wedding celebrated by the Bishop of Carcassonne. The previously announced inauguration, which was to have been brilliant, had been set for December 5 and it had become urgent to install the top of the imposing organ case. Pressed for time, the architect’s workers allowed some debris and even some heavy objects to fall into the organ. One of these ‘shells’ had violently crashed into a special device for the wind chests of the Grand Orgue placed at the base of the great case towers. Regardless of the pneumatic levers, Cavaillé-Coll had to construct this new mechanism that required this special very expensive device (3,000 francs) in order to overcome the difficulties that had been raised. Alas, all attempts to tune the Grand Orgue were useless and the inauguration took place using only the rest of the undamaged stops.
It was then necessary to dismantle, verify, repair or reconstruct the damaged mechanism—or to change it. This took time and new funding. Wouldn’t it just be easier to inverse the keyboards? Our hypothesis is then that Cavaillé-Coll would have inversed, between 1860 and 1862, the order of the Positif and the Grand-Orgue keyboards to simplify the mechanism of the note transmission to the pipe valves of the Grand Orgue. More appropriate to the quite special location of this tribune, the new layout thus presented the Grand-Orgue on the first keyboard and the Positif on the second one.16
The first public performance of all of the Six Pieces was given by Franck himself in the Sainte-Clotilde Church on November 17, 1864: this represented, in a way, a second but genuine inauguration of the completed organ. The columnist S. Dufour from the Revue et Gazette musicale de Paris underlines the immense influence that the organ’s construction had on these compositions. Here is his report published in the 47th number of this periodical, on November 20, 1864:

Last Thursday at Sainte-Clotilde the elder M. César Franck gave a recital on the Cavaillé-Coll Grand Orgue which was attended by a great number of artists and amateurs. M. Franck performed the pieces he had composed, written by a master, and one remarked in the first a choir on the Voix Humaines which was most effective; and in the Grande Pièce symphonique a most distinguished melody was played initially on the Clarinet and then repeated on the Voix Célestes stops. This recital, in which M. Franck was revealed as much as a learned composer as a skillful instrumentalist, will have proved once again that the artistic level of the organist is rising from day to day in France, and that the accomplished proficiency in modern building, far from harming the musical composition, gives it, on the contrary, a precious and powerful means of expression. The beautiful organ at Sainte-Clotilde was not less brilliant in this recital by this learned organist.17
Concerning Franck as an improviser, Maurice Emmanuel (1862–1938), who met him for the first time in June 1881, reports that his sonorous creations

were always colored with very rich registrations. He even was able, through ingenious devices, to multiply the resources that the master builder had put at his disposal. It is thus that he gladly improvised on the Positif coupled to the Récit, in order to profit from the Positif 16′ stops and to surround them momentarily on the voices of the Récit in a more vast choir; this realization thus anticipated the great Récit with 16′ stops, which Cavaillé-Coll later endowed in the Saint-Sulpice organ.18

In his memoirs, Théodore Dubois boasts about having seen the birth of Franck’s Six Pieces, for which he helped the composer by pulling stops when Franck practiced on the Grand Orgue. In 1866, he also witnessed firsthand the famous meeting between César Franck and Franz Liszt who “religiously listened to these beautiful pieces which appeared to produce a great impression on him.”19 The happy collaboration between Franck and Dubois at Sainte-Clotilde continued until 1868, the year when Dubois was named choirmaster at the Madeleine. The relationship between the two musicians, founded on mutual esteem, always remained very fraternal. Théodore Dubois dedicated to Franck the first piece of his Twelve Pieces for the organ (Leduc, 1886), whereas Franck indicated that one of his Three Chorals would be dedicated to Dubois.20 Shortly after the success of his oratorio The Last Seven Words of Christ, when Théodore Dubois changed his post at Sainte-Clotilde with that at the Madeleine and became professor at the Paris Conservatory, he did everything he could to renew his collaboration with César Franck by pleading favorably for his nomination to the post of organ professor in 1872.
The discovery of Théodore Dubois’ memoirs permits us to maintain that the Sainte-Clotilde organ, whose completion in 1863 no longer corresponded to the initial 1853 project, is later than that of Saint-Sulpice (1862). Closely related to the emergence of his symphonic works, the “Sainte-Clotilde Tradition” was established beginning with Franck’s Six Pieces, which he composed or finalized at the time when he took possession of the completed organ. If the young Dubois’ testimony irrevocably clarifies the mystery that hung over the genesis of these works, it engenders on its own another mystery widely accepted by all the biographies, organ monographs, dictionaries and encyclopedias: that of Franck’s false nomination as titular organist at Sainte-Clotilde in 1859.n

Notes
1. Théodore Dubois, Souvenirs de ma vie [Memories of My Life], autograph, BNF Rés. Vmc. Ms. 3. Signed and dated in August, 1912, this autobiography, written in Rosnay between 1909 and 1912, consists of seven books that are continuously numbered. Given to the Bibliothèque nationale by his son Charles Dubois (1877–1965), these books, which were lost for a longtime in the archives of the Music Department, were refound in 1997 after an investigation by Christine Collette Kléo.
2. Théodore Dubois: The Organ Works, edited by Helga Schauerte-Maubouet, published by Bärenreiter, Kassel. The urtext edition has been in progress since 2005. Three of the six volumes are actually available: Volume I (BA 8468): the early works and organ pieces with minimal pedal or optional pedal; Volume II (BA 8469): The Twelve Pieces from 1886; Volume IV (BA 8471): The Twelve Pieces from 1893, Ascendit Deus. All the volumes are provided with explanatory texts in three languages and numerous illustrations.
3. Théodore Dubois: The Organ Works, edited by Helga Schauerte-Maubouet, Vol. I, Kassel, 2005, p. XIII.
4. Ibid.
5. Dubois, Souvenirs de ma vie, pp. 138–139.
6. Cf. note 3, p. XIV.
7. Ibid.
8. Joël-Marie Fauquet: César Franck, Paris, 1999, p. 313.
9. Should one read “grand orgue de tribune” [“Grand Orgue in a gallery”] or “Grand-Orgue” in relation to the Positif and the Récit keyboards?
10. Dubois, Souvenirs de ma vie, p. 134; cf. illustration. On page 137 Dubois marks the exact date of his return to Paris: “November, 1863.”
11. According to the past organ literature, the construction of the Grand Orgue at Sainte-Clotilde lasted from 1853 to 1859. As to Franck’s nomination to the organist position, it is usually presumed to coincide with the organ inauguration, in December 1859.
12. “Cavaillé-Coll recalled, with the same astonishment, the slow tempo of the Fugue in D Major under the fingers of the old Hesse on the organ that had just been completed in the Ste-Clotilde Church in Paris.” Charles-Marie Widor in his Preface (Venice, October 20, 1904) to Albert Schweitzer: J. S. Bach, Edition Maurice and Pierre Foetisch, Lausanne [1905], 6th printing, page IX. Hesse came to Paris twice: in 1844 and in June 1862.
13. Cited in Fenner Douglass: Cavaillé-Coll and the Musicians, Raleigh, 1980, p. 1501.
14. Revue et Gazette Musicale de Paris 27, no. 1, 1er janvier, 1860, pp. 4–5.
15. La France musicale 23, no. 52, December 25, 1859, p. 506.
16. The established order of an organ with three keyboards was the Positif (1st keyboard), the Grand-Orgue (2nd keyboard), and the Récit (3rd keyboard). Until then, Cavaillé-Coll disapproved of the idea of changing this accepted order (cf. Douglass, op. cit., p. 1440). All of the estimates of the Sainte-Clotilde organ mention the keyboards in the generally adopted order. This said, the little applied notation of certain estimates (cf. for example Douglass, p. 1391) can lead to a misunderstanding: one may read “2nd [Article] [ - ] Positif Keyboard” and not “2nd Positif Keyboard” (cf. the writing, more explicit, in other estimations, for example, in that of the Invalides Church communicated in Douglass, p. 1315).
17. The indication of the cited stops is in accordance with that of the Durand 1880 Edition (Maeyens-Couvreur, 1868). The Sainte-Clotilde organ then included an Unda Maris on the Positif and a Voix Céleste on the Récit. Cf. my article on the organ music in France in Handbuch Orgelmusik, Kassel, 2002, p. 376.
18. Maurice Emmanuel, César Franck, Paris, 1930, p. 108.
19. Cf. note 3, p. XIV.
20. According to Théodore Dubois (Souvenirs, page 223), César Franck, in 1890, had named him as a dedicatee of one of his Three Chorals. The posthumous publication (Durand, 1892) changed the names of the dedicatees.

This article appeared in French in L’Orgue, no. 278-279, 2007, II-III, pp. 7–13.

 

The Musical Tradition at the Sainte-Clotilde Basilica in Paris, France

Carolyn Shuster Fournier

A French-American organist and musicologist, Carolyn Shuster Fournier is an international concert artist and titular of the Aristide Cavaillé-Coll choir organ at La Trinité Church in Paris, France (cf. www.shusterfournier.com). Her latest CD, “An American in Paris” (Ligia Digital, distribution Harmonia Mundi), recorded at La Madeleine church, features French and American music. Chevalier in the Order of Arts and Letters, Dr. Shuster Fournier has written several articles for The Diapason.

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1. In the beginning
As soon as he was appointed choirmaster at the Sainte-Clotilde church in Paris, France, Franck had the ambition of becoming the titular of the Cavaillé-Coll under construction: one of his programs, a concert given on February 22, 1858 in Orléans, attested that “the piano will be played by M. César Franck, the choirmaster and the first organist at the Sainte-Clotilde parish in Paris.”1 During the official inauguration of the church on December 19, 1859, during which he played (as did Lefébure-Wély), the musical press presented him as the “organiste titulaire de Sainte-Clotilde.”2

In his biography of César Franck, Maurice Emmanuel justly reveals:

César Franck was choirmaster at Sainte-Clotilde (1858) where Théodore Dubois accompanied his choir. Imposed upon him by Abbot Hamelin, the parish priest, this choir could be compared to a loose-fitting overcoat whose sleeves hampered him from conducting. Franck was also organist in this same church, where he possessed one of the most beautiful instruments ever constructed by Cavaillé-Coll and whose admirable voices gradually aroused his genius as an improviser.3

Franck generously allowed Théodore Dubois to play this instrument occasionally when he conducted the choir, as on April 2, 1861, for the first performance of his three-voice Mass in A Major, op. 12 (1860) with orchestra.4 As Dubois has confirmed in his Souvenirs, it was only in 1863 that Franck was finally named titular of this most poetic instrument.5
Although Dubois left Sainte-Clotilde to begin his functions as choirmaster at La Madeleine beginning on November 27, 1868, he remained César Franck’s close friend. He strongly supported his nomination in 1871 as organ professor at the Paris Conservatory. He recalled this moment in his short speech given during the inauguration of the monument in César Franck’s memory, by Alfred Lenoir, in the square located in front of the Sainte-Clotilde Basilica on October 22, 1904:

When the position as organ professor became vacant following Benoist’s death, I went right away to see my master Ambroise Thomas, then director, and I said to him, “There is only one man truly dignified to now occupy this post: it is César Franck”; he responded to me: “This is true.” And he named him to this post.6

Dubois dedicated to Franck his Prélude, the first piece in his Twelve Pieces for Organ or Piano Pédalier (Paris, Leduc, 1886).
Among the liturgical works written for ceremonies at Sainte-Clotilde, Franck composed several choral works during the first decade of his service as choirmaster: in addition to his three-voice Mass, op. 12, a dozen offertories, motets and several hymns, his oratorio The Seven Last Words of Christ on the Cross, finished on August 14, 1859, and notably his Dextera Domini, Offertory for Easter, op. 11, dedicated to the Abbot Pierre Ambroise Hamelin (priest from 1857–1883).7 In 1867, Théodore Dubois composed, at Hamelin’s request, his version of the Seven Last Words of Christ for Good Friday. This work was then traditionally performed each Good Friday at the Madeleine church. Samuel Rousseau, a musician who served this parish between 1870 and 1904, also composed religious music with harmonies openly inspired by Franck, which was used for the ceremonies at Sainte-Clotilde: two collections of his music even indicate this in their titles: Répertoire de Ste-Clotilde (Le Beau, 1887; reissued by Pérégally & Parvy, 1893–94) and Hymne à Sainte-Clotilde (1897, Pérégally & Parvy), with the text by Abbot Le Droz, which was dedicated to Abbot Gardey, General Vicar of Paris, the main priest at Sainte-Clotilde from 1883–1914.

2. The heritage
The Sainte-Clotilde musical tradition remains unique because it produced a group of musicians whose line of transmission from the professors to their students remains unbroken. The line of students of the titulars at Sainte-Clotilde who belonged to this tradition, listed below, is the most complete one to this day, without however pretending to be exhaustive:

César Franck (his organ students at the Conservatory)8
Samuel Rousseau (Nov. 1871; 2nd acc. 1872; 1st acc. 1875 ; 1st prize, 1877)
Guillaume Couture (Canadian) (1873 to 1875)
Charles Bordes (ca. 1880)
Georges MacMaster (ca. 1880), also a student of Théodore Dubois
Gabriel Pierné (Dec. 1880; 2nd prize, 1881; 1st prize, 1882)
Dynam-Victor Fumet (Dec. 1885)
Charles Tournemire (Dec. 1889; 1st acc., 1890)

Théodore Dubois (his students in harmony at the Conservatory)
Guillaume Couture (1873–1875)
Maurice Emmanuel (1st acc. 1883)
Léon Cazajus (2nd prize 1887)
Jules Meunier (ca. 1895)

Charles Tournemire (private organ and improvisation students)
Ermend Bonnal (beginning in 1904)
Maurice Duruflé (beginning in 1920)
Daniel-Lesur (ca. 1927)
Henriette Puig-Roger (ca. 1930)
Jean Langlais (1931)
Bernard Piché (1938–1939)

Jean Langlais
(private organ students or those enrolled at the Schola Cantorum)
Pierre Denis (beginning in 1932)
Pierre Cogen (beginning in 1950)
Marie-Louise Jaquet-Langlais (beginning in 1966)
Jacques Taddei (1980).

The example of Théodore Dubois to Maurice Emmanuel
An example of faithful support of a professor to his students, that of Théodore Dubois to Maurice Emmanuel alone illustrates the quality of their relationship. At the time of Emmanuel’s nomination as choirmaster, on October 20, 1904, Dubois wrote him the following letter:

My dear friend,
I am delighted that you have accepted the functions of choirmaster at Ste-Clotilde. You have plenty of ideas, a cultivated spirit; you know how to manage, in these particularly difficult circumstances when we have imposed the “Motu proprio,” the departure of some good and of some bad. You will scarcely be the sectarian and uncompromising man from the “Schola Cantorum,” and you will neither glide to the side of worldly music, so-called more or less religious or rather more or less poorly written. You must be firm and active. You will have all of that, and in addition you are young. Please accept therefore my congratulations and my most sincere wishes, and you know that I am always affectionately devoted to you.
Théodore Dubois9

Two years later, on July 1, 1906, Dubois congratulated him for his actions within this parish:

My dear friend, I would like to express my complete satisfaction with the beautiful performance of my Mass in the Palestrinian style this morning at Ste-Clotilde. I congratulate and heartily thank you for your fine artistic interpretation. It is difficult to acquire the necessary suppleness in such a style. You must then encourage the singers of your choir and give them the compliments they deserve.
Congratulations also for the Plain-Chant [sic], which, thus sung and phrased, loses all of the cavernous severity that one is in the habit of giving to it, and which too often renders it disagreeable.
Beautiful organ pieces, well-played.
All my respects to Mrs. Emmanuel and affectionately to you,
Th. Dubois10

One year later, after Maurice Emmanuel resigned from his position as choirmaster at Sainte-Clotilde, Théodore Dubois wrote to him on April 2, 1907:

My dear Emmanuel,
That which you have told me does not surprise me! My long personal experience in this field where I worked for so many years of my life, has not hardly left me any illusions neither on the goodness, nor on the piety nor on the intelligence of those whom you know!
I was just going to write to you to say that I just learned about your resignation from Mr. Meunier, without a doubt the one whom you refer to with a M.— He just came to visit me, telling me this: “Mr. Emmanuel resigned from Ste-Clotilde, I am most certain; I am not less certain that my candidacy has a chance; I would be grateful if you would support me with a recommendation to the priest.” In these conditions, I could not refuse to write him this note, especially since I have known him for quite a long time. I therefore wrote a small letter to the priest conceived more or less in these terms: “I have been informed that Mr. Emmanuel has left his position as choirmaster at Sainte-Clotilde. If this is true, please allow me to etc. . . .”
Since I always tell the truth, I was going to write this to you, really certain that you did not take this solemn decision until after a series of all sorts of disgusting events in which you did not want to tarnish your dignity.
You remain a Christian and a believer; this is good! Strong souls support without weakness all human iniquities. You are among them!
The last phrase of your letter reminded me of my past. How many times my most sincere efforts remained unknown and were ridiculed and how many times I was treated unjustly and in a biased manner! But like you, I can say that I had “received sympathy from a minor elite, and that a sincere work in view of an elevated art is never entirely lost.”
Madame Dubois joins me and hopes that you will share with Mme. Emmanuel the assurance of our most affectionate sympathy.
Théodore Dubois11

The dedications
The dedications of works by composers from the Sainte-Clotilde Tradition to their colleagues demonstrate their mutual esteem and their fraternal relationships. Samuel Rousseau dedicated his Fantaisie, op. 73, “to the memory of my dear Master César Franck,” the Cantilena of his Fifteen Pieces (Paris, Leduc, 1892) to Léon Cazajus, and an Offertoire funèbre in this same collection to the Abbot Chazot, named second vicar at Sainte-Clotilde in 1889. Maurice Emmanuel dedicated his Three Organ Pieces (Paris, Lemoine, 1986) to his assistant Emile Poillot. Ermend Bonnal dedicated his Prayer and Chorale, op. 27, to the memory of his friend Samuel Rousseau. Gabriel Pierné dedicated the Prelude of his Three Pieces, op. 29, to the choirmaster Samuel Rousseau, and the second piece in this collection, the Cantilène, to Théodore Dubois, who became titular of the Grand Orgue at La Madeleine. Pierné also composed a Tombeau de César Franck for piano (published posthumously), based on one of César Franck’s improvisation themes.
Following Samuel Rousseau, Charles Tournemire dedicated his first important organ work to César Franck, his Triple Choral (Sancta Trinitas), op. 41, written in November, 1910 (Lyon, Janin, 1912) “to the memory of my venerated Master César Franck. This work renders homage to my master’s musical testament, his Three Chorals (1890).” For Tournemire,

the highest expression of organ music is manifest in the choral. The refined style which ensues gives it a special significance. This is not only a question of writing, its significance is higher: it is the result of a special state of the soul. . . . From the instant when the composer enters this temple perfumed with incense, he feels penetrated with dignity: his prayerful soul is filled with light.12

Tournemire’s Triple Choral contains three sources of inspiration:

1st Choral—You are grand, oh Father! You have created the world. You have regulated the grandiose rhythm. You have created life. We glorify you and we love you.
2nd Choral—The one who regulates the immense rhythm of the world, this power that is beyond all our comprehension, in order to save us took on our humanity, was born in a manger, grew up among men, lived a life in a miserable world, taught with sublime maxims, died on a cross between two thieves. Admire Christ’s ineffable sweetness and admire his unfathomable goodness and greatness. Love Christ.
3rd Choral—This grandiose manifestation of the silent march of the stars in space, the sublime act of Christ on the cross, all of these acts beyond our comprehension were dictated by the Holy Spirit.13
Charles Tournemire dedicated several of his works to his substitute organists: in 1930, to André Fleury, no. 15 of the op. 56 from l’Orgue mystique (Laetare), and to Daniel-Lesur, no. 16. In 1934, he dedicated no. 40 (for the XIVth Sunday after Pentecost) to Emile Poillot as well as no. 41, op. 57, from l’Orgue mystique (for the XVth Sunday after Pentecost) to Maurice Duruflé. Duruflé, in turn, reconstituted Five Improvisations for organ, which Tournemire had recorded at the beginning of 1931 for Polydor.
To his former student, substitute, and friend Ermend Bonnal, Tournemire dedicated several of his works: in 1895, Le Ménétrier (one of his Six Pieces for piano, op. 20—Marseille, Georges Kaufmann, 1900), an Offertory in G Major, op. 21, from the Variae Preces for harmonium (edited in Lyon by Janin in 1904, along with an Entrée in B Major, dedicated to Samuel-Rousseau) and in 1931, the 33rd office of l’Orgue mystique, op. 57, for the eighth Sunday after Pentecost (Paris, Heugel, 1931). In turn, Bonnal dedicated to his maître his Paysage landais (Paris, A. Durand & Fils, 1904), and to André Fleury, the third piece of his Paysages pyrénées, rebaptized Paysages euskariens, Cloches dans le ciel. Bernard Schulé dedicated in memory of Ermend Bonnal his Icône, the fifth of his organ pieces entitled Enluminures, op. 12 (Rouart Lerolle et Cie., 1946).
Tournemire dedicated his Fioretti, op. 60, no. 2 (Paris, Hérelle, 1932) to his friend Jean Langlais. It is moving to read the text written to his student, blind since the age of two:

You judge me well because, to punish me for my deep faults you weakened my eyesight and momentarily I lost my sight! Oh! Am I not only too worthy of these tribulations? And don’t I deserve even yet greater ones?14

Let us recall that it was with much emotion that Jean Langlais played this work at a concert at Sainte-Clotilde in homage to Tournemire on November 16, 1989 (to commemorate the fiftieth anniversary of his death). This was the last time that Pierre Cogen heard Langlais play in this church that he had served as an artist for 43 years. Too weak to go up to the Grand Orgue tribune, Langlais, who strongly wished to perform this work, decided to perform it on the choir organ. Jean Langlais dedicated his Rhapsodie Grégorienne (no. 9 of his Nine Pieces, op. 40, published in Paris by Bornemann in 1945) to the memory of his maître Charles Tournemire as well as his In Memoriam, op. 231 (Paris, Combre, 1987).
In September, 1986, Langlais dedicated his Three Antiphons to the Holy Virgin, op. 242, for solo voice (or for unison choir) and organ (Pro Organo, 1991) to Father Joseph Choné, who had just been named head priest at Sainte-Clotilde, as well as several works to his colleagues: to his former student and substitute organist Pierre Denis, Hommage à Landino from his Twenty-Four Pieces for Harmonium or Organ, op. 10 (Paris, Hérelle, 1939) and his Suite française, op. 59 (Paris, Bornemann, 1948); to his disciple and substitute organist Pierre Cogen in 1973, “Oh oui, viens Seigneur, viens Seigneur Jésus,” no. 4 from his Five Meditations on the Apocalypse, op. 175 (Paris, Bornemann, 1974); and to the choirmaster François Tricot, Dominica in Palmis, op. 83 (Paris, Schola Cantorum, 1984). Pierre Cogen dedicated several works to his maître: in 1988, Offering (Paris, Combre, 1990) and his Two Chorales (Paris, Combre, 1993); in 1980, he dedicated his Hosanna in exsilio to François Tricot (the first of his Two Hosannas on Gregorian texts; Vienna, Universal, 1985).
To his student and second wife Marie-Louise, Jean Langlais dedicated his “Il était, Il est et Il vient,” no. 2 of his Five Meditations on the Apocalypse, op. 175, and his “Feux d’artifice,” no. 4 of his Rosace, op. 211 (Paris, Combre, 1981). In turn, Marie-Louise Jaquet-Langlais wrote a biography on Langlais and his work: Ombre et Lumière, Jean Langlais, 1907–1991 (Paris, Combre, 1995). To Jacques Taddei, Jean Langlais dedicated, in 1988, “He is Born,” no. 6 of his Christmas Carol Hymn Settings, op. 243 (H. T. Fitzsimons, 1988).

Improvisation
Improvisation on the Grand Orgue played a primary role in the music at Sainte-Clotilde. As Joël-Marie Fauquet emphasized,
the fame of César Franck as an organist was founded on improvisation. . . . As a composer, he rarely put himself in the forefront. . . . Of the six hours of his class each week, the Master devoted at least five of them to improvisation. This says everything. . . . Franck intended to bring it to a level of perfection that had never been achieved, thus transcending the liturgical requirements which motivated this transient art.15
His two books of improvisation themes, which later belonged to Gabriel Pierné, were used especially at Sainte-Clotilde. This art served as a springboard for his imagination, which he expressed with fluidity, poetry and lyricism. Franck transmitted this art to his students. It is notably Charles Tournemire who understood so well his improvisations and their relationship with specific aspects of the Cavaillé-Coll at Sainte-Clotilde. Maurice Emmanuel was a first-hand witness to this transmission:

Please allow me, as one of Charles Tournemire’s comrades, to share a past experience during a heroic moment when, at Sainte-Clotilde, we attempted to charm our parishioners with music that was far too austere. Several weeks ago, while listening to the brilliant postlude he improvised, this brought back distant memories of how amazed I was when I listened to Tournemire’s musical commentaries during the service; on certain days, during the Postlude, his playing produced furious outbursts from the organ: for this mystic is also a genuine dramatist. If his art voluntarily brings serenity and peacefulness, it can suddenly break forth with energy: and, trembling, he attacks the keyboards, which previously sang meditatively, in response to the liturgical functions.16

Tournemire transmitted this art to his students; his pupil Jean Langlais relates:

His pedagogy, as admirable as it was, was not lacking in originality. For example, concerning a plan for improvisation: First, create the atmosphere . . . Secondly, impose it on your listeners, so that the central part is rich. Rise . . . Rise . . . then, your public will follow you . . . They will begin to pant . . . no longer able to breathe . . . Then play for them two brief and dissonant chords on the entire organ . . . Observe a long silence . . . The audience is dead . . . Then, open the gates of heaven with a poetic conclusion on a Bourdon 8? and a Voix Céleste . . .17

3. In conclusion
All of the musicians who served Sainte-Clotilde during the past 150 years had personalities and religious beliefs that were strongly different. César Franck, who kept Ernest Renan’s The Life of Jesus on his bedside table, loved the splendor of the worship services,

that which exalts the exemplary and transcending quality of sublime drama, above all human, as the pediment of Sainte-Clotilde shows, where the sculptor represented Christ showing his wounds, according to the sad bent of the piety that it thus affirms.18
Samuel Rousseau was kind, cordial, obliging and elegant. His compositions were easily accessible to the parishioners. Gabriel Pierné was neither a practicing nor a fundamental Christian, a true contrast to the great mystics Dynam-Victor Fumet, who was closely associated with anarchists and who married into a family close to the founder of the Theosophical Society, and Charles Tournemire, an emotional eclectic fond of the writings of Ernest Hello, Joseph Péladan and Dom Guéranger. For Tournemire, “all music which is not written to glorify God is useless.” This last statement puzzled Jean Langlais who dared to ask his master in 1931: “But what do you do with Debussy, Ravel, Stravinsky, Bartók?” “USELESS, he responded dryly.”19 A firm Christian believer from Brittany, Jean Langlais was attracted at a young age by the ideals of his professor at the Institute for the Blind in Paris, Albert Mahaut, the author of the book, Le Chrétien: l’homme d’action.20
In spite of the many difficulties encountered throughout the history of this parish, the musicians of Sainte-Clotilde were able to respond as best they could to the aristocratic parishioners’ taste for worldly music, to the various reforms of church music (notably to the separation of the church and state in December, 1905, to the restoration of plainchant and Gregorian chants and to Palestrinian music and much later, to Vatican II). They also kept their artistic ideals, in order to strongly adhere to high-quality music. Maurice Emmanuel, who did not succeed in accomplishing his mission within this parish, remains “historically victorious”21 because he later did so in other contexts, notably in the circles in Saint-Germain-en-Laye and in his classes at the Paris Conservatory, where he formed an entire school of church musicians, notably Olivier Messiaen. His lucidity concerning César Franck and Charles Tournemire sums up the role of the musicians in the Sainte-Clotilde musical tradition:

If Franck ignored the joys that the least of artists can ever know, he was conscious of their force and of their liberty. The survivors of the time when the Saint-Clotilde organ sounded under the fingers of a master, his happiness in playing, his improvisations that he delivered, was recalled by privileged listeners, . . . In his organ loft, Franck was king. It took several minutes for his power to break forth in all its fullness, and it brought forth an orchestral tumult, in which the master played an imposing prelude. To compel him to intone the triumphal hymn, he seemed to shake the keyboards; suddenly the hymn appeared in a grandiose construction . . . More than once the horrible bell, rang by the singers’ accompanist “to tell the organist to stop playing,” announced the end of the offertory and the necessity to conclude . . . Franck, who had just played a series of evocative arpeggios, then began to proclaim: “I have not yet said anything!” or if indeed he was completely inspired: “What a shame.” But he obeyed the bell. During the Vespers, the verses of the Magnificat gave him the opportunity to create brief masterpieces in spite of the clergy’s reprimands and the congregation’s impatience, totally insensitive to the splendors of this art. It is at the organ that Franck spent his best moments when his energies were renewed, where the disdain of his contemporaries no longer troubled him, where the dignity of his life without intrigues received in the Lord’s house its supreme reward.
Art is made of new beginnings, the destiny of artists as well. Franck was not the last of musicians for whom life was sparing of favors. The most noble ones, with character and talent, those who avoid pushing others around, meditate, and only claim of their works that they be written, remain ignored for too long. César Franck, the service finished, delivered treasures to them. Have the times changed? The parishioners, do they listen to the artist who today (1926) through a close alliance with liturgy and with art, equally respecting the religious and musical functions, constructs an edifice built on the themes taken from the service of the day that is as disciplined in its structure, as those by César Franck, of whom he was one of the last students? His master bequeathed to him the gift of these contemplative and impassioned improvisations, sometimes serene, other times tumultuous, and which are like mystical dramas conceived in the secret corners of the soul. The successor of the master of the Beatitudes also buries himself in the meditation of his work and only emerges to express the thousand voices of his organ with much lyrical rejoicing, which the congregation does not seem to understand . . .22
For more information concerning the musicians of the Saint-Clotilde church in Paris, France, one may contact the following associations:
Association E. Bonnal
“Héritage Musical”
Chemin des Jardins
30700 St. Victor des Oules, France
www.bonnal.org
[email protected]

Association Théodore Dubois
Christopher Hainsworth, président
Rue de la Fontaine
34800 Lacoste, France
[email protected]

Les Amis de Maurice Emmanuel
Anne Eichner-Emmanuel, présidente
30, rue Céline
92160 Anthony, France
[email protected]

César-Franck-Gesellschaft E. V.
Internationale Vereinigung
c/o Dr. Christiane Strucken-Paland & Dr. Ralph Paland
Berrenrather Straße 134
50937 Köln, Germany
tel: 0049-(0) 221-5103355
[email protected]

L’Association des Amis de Jean Langlais
Brenda Dean, Présidente
3, rue des Moulins
35560 La Fontenelle, France
www.jeanlanglais.eu
Monsieur Denis Havard de la Montagne
“Le Moulin blanc”
87300 Bellac, France
[email protected]

This article first appeared in French in L’Orgue 2007, II-III, no. 278-279, pp. 177–185.

Acknowledgements
Carolyn Shuster Fournier warmly expresses her gratitude to Francis Dubois, Anne Eichner-Emmanuel, Denis Havard de la Montagne, Helga Schauerte and to the Ruth and Clarence Mader Memorial Scholarship Fund for its grant in 2006.

Choirmasters and Organists at the Sainte-Clotilde Basilica, Paris
The following list was established with the kind assistance of Denis Havard de la Montagne (substitutes and assistants are indicated in parentheses).1

Choirmasters
1857–1863: César Franck
1863–Nov 1868: Théodore Dubois
Nov 1868–1869: Edouard Marlois
1869?–1875: Stéphane Gaurion
1876–1882?: Alexandre Georges
1882–1904: Samuel Rousseau
1904–1907: Maurice Emmanuel (Emile Poillot)
1907–1946: Jules Meunier, replaced during the war by Etienne Audfray (Pierre Besson and Robert Vincent)
Dec 1946–June 1987: François Tricot
June 1987–Sept 1988: Yves Castagnet
Sept 1988–Aug 31, 1989: Philippe Brandeis
1989–1993: Pierre-Michel Bédard
1993–June 1994: Marcel Bardon

Organist Accompanists
1857–1863: Théodore Dubois
1863?–1869: Stéphane Gaurion
1870–1878: Samuel Rousseau (Guillaume Couture)
1879–1887: ? (Dynam-Victor Fumet, organist of the Catechism Chapel in 1884)
1888?–1890?: Clotaire-Joseph Franck
1891–1923: Léon Cazajus (Emile Poillot)
1923–ca. 1964: Pierre Besson
ca. 1964–June 1987: François Tricot
June 1987–Sept 1988: Yves Castagnet
Sept 1988–Aug 31, 1989: Philippe Brandeis
Sept 1989–1993: Pierre-Michel Bédard
1993–Dec 2003: Sylvie Mallet
2004: Olivier Penin

Titulars of the Grand-Orgue
1863–1890: César Franck, but already in 1859 he played the Grand Orgue (Gabriel Pierné, after 1885)
1890–1898: Gabriel Pierné (Georges MacMaster in 1893–1894)
1898–1939: Charles Tournemire, numerous substitutes:
Ermend Bonnal ca.1910
Roger Stiegler ca. 1920
Maurice Duruflé 1920–1927
André Fleury ca. 1922–ca. 1930
Daniel-Lesur 1927–1936
Henriette Puig-Roger in 1929
Antoine Reboulot ca. 1935
Bernard Piché in 1938 and 1939
Bernard Schulé 1938–1945
Dec 1941–Aug 1944: Joseph-Ermend Bonnal (Bernard Schulé until 1945)
Nov 4, 1945–Dec 1987: Jean Langlais (Pierre Denis 1945–1972; Pierre Cogen 1972–1975, then titular; Marie-Louise Jaquet-Langlais 1979–Dec 1987)
Jan 1976–June 21, 1994: Pierre Cogen
since Easter 1988: Jacques Taddei (Olivier Penin)

Cavaillé-Coll in Oberlin June 12-15, Oberlin College

by Rudolf Zuiderveld

Rudolf Zuiderveld is Professor of Music and College Organist at Illinois College, Jacksonville, Illinois, and organist of First Presbyterian Church, Springfield, Illinois.

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Wednesday, June 12

Acoustics dominated the discussion with David Pike of C.B. Fisk and acoustician Dana Kirkegaard, who has made modifications to the stage area, with handsome wood structures to improve the acoustical environment for performing musicians, and enhancing the ceiling area over the stage--work that can be carried further in the future, and perhaps (if the building is equipped with air conditioning) address the acoustically transparent windows. More reverberation time and better bass response would be a desirable result.

Improvising in a predominantly homophonic French-Romantic style, William Porter demonstrated the peculiar qualities of slotted Cavaillé-Coll principals alone (as they are seldom employed) and combined with strings and flutes, producing subtle tonal variety that added up to more than the sum of its parts. The blended ensemble sounds of the French Romantic organ form the true criteria that make a Cavaillé-Coll "symphonic" rather than "orchestral"--as heard in early 20th-century American organs with their highly individual, un-blending voicing using electric actions. Like Cavaillé-Coll's organs, the Fisk retains the classic air-channel, slider windchest, but, rather than using Barker-lever machines to manage the heavy touch, employs a "servo-pneumatic" aid, in which the action follows the motion of the key exactly in attack and release.

It must have been a pleasure for Professors David Boe and Haskell Thomson to introduce the Fisk organ to over 170 registrants, repeating the dedicatory recital from last September (reviewed by Larry Palmer in The Diapason, January 2002, pp. 18-19), playing another historically-informed "period organ" at Oberlin, which joins John Brombaugh's 1981 organ in Fairchild Chapel and the comprehensive Flentrop organ in Warner Recital Hall, enabling students to study organs authentic to the Renaissance, Baroque, Romantic, and Modern eras.

David Boe opened with an exciting performance of the Final from Vierne's First Symphony, followed by a subtly impressionistic "La Vallée du Béhorléguy, au matin" from Paysages euskariens by Ermend Bonnal, and Franck's Grande Pièce Symphonique, op. 17. Organ and performer combined to give a true sense of the large-scale architectural proportions of the work; Boe's strong, rhythmically vital playing, with nuance expressing sentiment (not sentimentality), projected an overall sense of unity to Franck's masterpiece.

Haskell Thomson followed with later music of the French repertoire, conveying many refined tonal subtleties: Duruflé's colorful Veni Creator variations, the strings and soaring harmonic flute in the "Andante sostenuto" from Widor's Tenth Symphony, and the piquant, picturesque sounds of "birds and springs" in the Communion of Messiaen's Pentecost Mass. The Fisk's power was again demonstrated in the Sortie from the Mass--more clearly heard in the relatively dry acoustics of Finney Chapel than in the wash of sound in an immense stone cathedral. In the conclusion of Franck's Third Choral, it was difficult to hear the thematic quality of the manual figuration when combined with the chorale theme, all over a thundering pedal (which perhaps masked the figuration). A programmed, entertaining encore, Scène pastorale by Lefébure-Wély, complete with twittering birdsongs (Messiaen's musical ancestor?), drew smiles, and a comment that, by comparison, Franck's Pastorale is an "art of fugue"!

A gracious reception hosted by Oberlin Conservatory, with time to visit with colleagues from far-flung places, concluded a rewarding day.

Thursday, June 13

Thursday morning's lecture by Jean Boyer showed thorough knowledge of keyboard performance practice in 19th-century France, based on contemporary piano technique as illustrated in common piano methods, illuminating "Legato matters through Franck's organ works." This is not the place to review these insightful lectures; rather, one hopes that papers by Boyer, Near, Ericsson, Peeters, Porter, and Peterson will be made available in print. The panel-of-experts discussions following each lecture/paper produced varied insights, such as the lesson procedure followed for American students in France: literature first, then the maître's works.

John Near's outstanding scholarly editions of Widor's organ works for A-R Editions will soon be supplemented by a biography on this influential and authoritative "Napoleonic commander" of the French musical world from 1870 to 1937. (Perhaps it is only historically coincidental that Widor became titulaire at St. Sulpice in 1870, just as Pope Pius IX was promulgating the doctrine of papal infallibility in matters of faith and doctrine at Vatican I.) A photo and sample scrawled signature of "Widor" confirmed the point. Near spoke about Cavaillé-Coll as a "poet architect of sounds," an inspiration to Widor and the further development of the French organ symphony.

In a late Thursday afternoon session, versatile improviser William Porter played the marvelously colorful collection of 12 stops in John Brombaugh's 1981 organ in little Fairchild Chapel. Having just heard the Fisk's great variety of subtle stop combinations, it became clear how individual stops can be voiced with strong character, like the surprisingly stringy spitzflute, richly colorful regal and trumpet, and singing "vocale" praestant (so different from the amalgam of stops that comprise an "instrumentale" French "fonds"). Also, equal temperament produces a kind of evened-out blandness in the Fisk's warm Romantic sound, compared to the kaleidoscopic harmonic colors and degrees of harmonic tension heard in the ensembles of the small meantone organ. "In te Domine speravi" of Samuel Scheidt made a grand impression in a plenum that reached greater brilliance (shimmering "zing" in the mixture) than in the attenuated top of the full French Romantic organ sound.

Two masterful artists concluded Thursday's schedule. Martin Jean gave a superb performance of Vierne's Fifth Symphony, in honor of his teacher Robert Glasgow who was present. Jean played with control, refinement and grandeur, demonstrating fine technique and superb musicianship. The third movement scherzo was delightful in using some of the high-pitched aliquots (a "carillon" can be synthesized using Positiv mutations 13/5', 11/3', and 1' registers). Robert Glasgow's championing the French symphonic repertoire was amply rewarded in this virtuosic, profoundly satisfying performance.

Hans-Ola Ericsson of Sweden played an interesting group of Olivier Messiaen's organ works, surveying music from 1932 to 1984. With the performer playing in a darkening chapel, with immense control, occasionally conducting himself, the recital became a kind of spiritual experience in the hands of this devoted Messiaen interpreter. Messiaen's repertoire of organ effects included extended birdsong (Chant d'Oiseaux from Livre d'Orgue), rhythmically free plainsong-like monody (including the two-page Monodie of 1963), the adaptation of ordinary meters into timeless unending rhythmic reveries, plus extreme dynamic contrasts. The overwhelmingly loud held last chord of Verbe et Lumière from the Holy Trinity meditations produced a mental hallucination (a bit like seeing flashes of light with one's eyes closed)--near the threshold of aural pain. Ericsson created a totally entrancing musical tableau in his powerful performance.

Friday, June 14

 serious, thoughtful manner characterized Hans-Ola Ericsson's lecture the next morning, focusing on the special characteristics of Cavaillé-Coll's organ at La Trinité in Paris during Messiaen's tenure. Addition of stops so useful to Messiaen's coloristic musical effects created a kind of "North-German concept." The organ's comprehensive restoration (perhaps prompted by the mid-1950s poor-sounding recordings made by Messiaen), showed the improviser/composer's close connection to the special beauties of his La Trinité organ (not that he did not favor adapting his music to other organ styles). Ericsson proved to have many insights to share, having spent a great deal of time with Messiaen in his last years.

Musicologist Paul Peeters, former editor of the Dutch journal Het Orgel, now working at the Göteborg GOArt project in Sweden, shared a wealth of information about Belgian/French Romantic organ culture, based on a deep and wide knowledge of the instruments, for example the existence of carillon registers in Dutch organs a century before the French Romantic organ incorporated them. Varied, rather than standardized, registration was his theme--as in the different ways to compose a "fond d'orgue" sound, depending on the disposition of a particular organ. (On the Fisk the fonds with its integral oboe sounded at one point like a harmonium--perhaps the intention.) It was during the following discussion that Jesse Eschbach pointed out that St. Clotilde's organ (built with Franck's advice, as he was already titulaire) had both a classic mixture in its Great plenum for the required traditional improvised Kyrie registration (Plein Jeu plus pedal trumpet), and a novel "progressive, harmonic" mixture on the Positif for the new symphonic organ music (intended for concert rather than liturgical music?).

The following panel discussion was moderated by Fenner Douglass, recently awarded a well-earned honorary doctorate from Oberlin, and for whom the new Fisk represents the culmination of a dream in a career devoted to solid research into French organ culture. He was present to enjoy his accomplishments in the company of many grateful students and admiring colleagues.

Again as a welcome foil to all things French and Romantic, Haskell Thomson gave a demonstration of the 1974 Flentrop organ in Warner Concert Hall, and William Porter demonstrated the Brombaugh organ of First Methodist Church, adjacent to the campus. Professor Thompson gave a comprehensive demonstration of the "all-purpose" Flentrop--less authentically "Dutch" in the sound of its flues than the specification and visual design implies, with brighter principals and choruses than typical in Dutch historic instruments, but very pleasing nevertheless, and a good match for the pleasant daytime-light-filled ambience of the modern concert hall. Revised reeds, including solid, North-German style pedal reeds by Taylor and Boody, and a wonderfully full sounding colorful Bovenwerk trumpet revised by Oberlin's organ curator Hal Gober, give the organ a more authentically Dutch/German character.

The 1974 Brombaugh 18-stop organ of First United Methodist Church gave proof to the idea that North-German/Dutch style organs are tonally appropriate in a typically dry American sanctuary acoustic. Although the organ was not in perfect condition, given the un-air-conditioned hot and humid June weather, it was effectively demonstrated by William Porter in congregational music, culminating in a rousing rendition of Cwm Rhondda.

Jean Boyer's recital on Friday evening was spectacular in his brilliant performance of Widor's Sixth Symphony. Played a bit more quickly than usual (perhaps responding to the relatively dry acoustics), the outer movements were especially effective in their driving rhythms with Boyer truly "playing" spontaneously with the music. The Final, indeed the entire Symphony, proved an exhilarating tour de force in Jean Boyer's bravura performance.

Saturday, June 15

In a closely reasoned paper, William J. Peterson, adapting French scholar F. Sabatier's three-part scheme in Cavaillé-Coll's stylistic development--(1) Classic (1841-58), (2) Romantic (1858-75), and (3) Symphonic (1875-98)--considered ten organs built between 1870 and 1898. These included some of the builder's most famous organs: at the Trocadéro in Paris, St-Étienne in Caen, St-Sernin in Toulouse, and St-Ouen in Rouen. Cavaillé-Coll seems to have returned to classical precepts in his late-period organs (such as dropping the progressive mixture in favor of the more historically traditional breaking mixtures). Oddly, it was an introductory recording of the Caen organ that proved revealing: its clearly heard fiery French-style bombarde/trompette/clarion reeds produced typical Grand Jeu timbres evident in both 17th/18th-century classic-period organs and surviving in the Romantic Cavaillé-Colls, but not so apparent in the smoother reed choruses of the Oberlin Fisk. The big Fisk reeds seem more like those at St-Sernin in Toulouse, where their sound needs to travel down an extremely long and relatively narrow nave. Perhaps Barbara Owen spoke to this point in the stimulating panel discussion that followed, describing the Fisk organ as an "English Town Hall Organ."

In further discussion, David Pike emphasized the "symphonic," "sounding together" ensemble character of the organ, necessitating a mindset in organ builders (especially voicers) that goes beyond naive, simplistic ideas of copying historic instruments. Steven Dieck, giving candid insight into how the Fisk company continues to grow artistically, made an interesting point about approaching compromise of a Fisk ideal that an organ breathe "with a single breath," related to the necessity of employing double-pallet, divided windchests at Oberlin. Paul Peeters, commenting on the size of the proposals for the Antwerp O.L.V. Cathedral organ in 1888, recalled that Pierre Schyven proposed 87 stops, Walcker 100 stops, and Cavaillé-Coll only 75--"build as many as needed, as few as possible" was Cavaillé-Coll's recommendation. The Belgian Schyven firm got the contract.

Saving some of the most intriguing music for last, two distinguished performers shared a remarkable program. Christa Rakich opened with Jeanne Demessieux's Repons pour le Temps de Pâques, a brilliant toccata/fantasy (comparable to Touremire's improvisation, transcribed by Duruflé) employing the "Victimae Paschali" chant, followed by four chorale preludes from Demessieux's Opus 8--each a gem, beautifully realized on the Fisk's refined individual stops and small combinations, concluding with a thrilling Veni Creator Spiritus toccata. A little known "Nocturne" by Germaine Tailleferre (1892-1983) (a member of "Les Six," explained Christa Rakich in her engaging verbal program notes), proved to a be a gentle lullaby, a song without words. Marcel Dupré's famous Opus 7 Preludes and Fugues closed Rakich's half of the recital, but she effectively played No. 3 first, then No. 2, on the organ's warm fonds, and concluded with the carillon effects of No. 1. Sitting at various places in the chapel for the recitals, it was obvious from the palpably shaking pews under the rear balcony that the Fisk was producing plenty of bass sound. The instrument speaks with authority!

Westfield Center president Susan Ferré concluded the recital and the conference with music by Tournemire, Alain, and Langlais, completing a wide-ranging survey of French Romantic organ music performed during the conference, perhaps surprising, given the Center's more usual focus on early music. Two excerpts from Tournemire's Opus 67 masterpiece, Sept Chorals-Poemès d'orgue pour les Sept paroles du Xrist (which had 39 people at its St. Clotilde premiere in 1937), "Eli, Eli, lamma sabacthani" and "Consummatum est," proved to be  some of the most powerfully moving music of the entire conference. The organ's fonds (with the harmonic flute giving a rich, pervasive sound), the smooth clarinet, the pleading vox humana, the serene flute harmonique solo, and the piercing jabs of the full organ--all sounded perfectly authentic on the Fisk, contributing to Susan Ferré's spiritually moving performance. In Jehan Alain's Variations on "Lucis Creator," a trumpet solo accompanied by a full Swell, delicate flutes, and Plein Jeu plus cantus firmus trumpet demonstrated additional Fiskian Cavaillé-Coll aural authenticity. Jean Langlais' turbulent, abrupt and tragic Chant Héroïque, dedicated to the memory of Jehan Alain, was followed by the pastiche and sentimental simplicity of Boystown (1961). A refreshing (Neo-Baroque?) Trio (1957) concluded the Langlais group. Gregorian chant and birdsong-like motives incorporated into the Paraphrase-Carillon from Tournemire's In Assumptione B.M.V. (1928), showed the connection to Messiaen's inspiration, and ended the recital and an entire conference that had managed to touch on most of the major organist-composers of the French Symphonic School. (Guilmant was mentioned but not heard.)

Serious scholarship presented in stimulating lectures and panel discussions, perfection in performance on authentic organs, and convivial collegiality combined to make the Oberlin conference one of the most informative, entertaining, and inspiring in recent memory.

Near the end of the conference, the double CD "September 28, 2001 Inaugural Concert" recorded live in Finney Chapel was released. The program opens with The Oberlin Orchestra, conducted by Paul Polivnick, performing Elgar's Nimrod variation from Enigma Variations with loving tenderness, a moving memorial to the tragedy of September 11, followed by the audience joining in singing a thrilling Star Spangled Banner. David Boe is soloist in Oberlin graduate Robert Sirota's organ concerto In the Fullness of Time, which incorporates Bach's "Es ist genug" into a colorful, lyrical and dramatic work for organ with a large virtuoso orchestra. The outstanding undergraduate student orchestra also performs two chestnuts of the symphony plus organ repertoire, Saint-Saëns' Third Symphony, with David Boe, and Joseph Jongen's Symphonie Concertante, the latter brilliantly performed with Haskell Thomson, organ soloist. Both are impassioned, professional-level performances, played with the extra edge of a live event--all in all, a spectacular concert and CD!

A special feature on the recording is another Oberlin graduate, Michael Barone, giving a musical guide to organs at Oberlin. David Boe plays H. Praetorius on the Brombaugh, Andrew Fredel plays Rheinberger on the first Holtkamp "Martini," and Christopher Harrell plays Hakim on the Warner Flentrop. So listen for yourself to the superb music making found at one of America's leading undergraduate colleges! It is available for $25 (plus shipping) from Oberlin Music and Cafe, an outstanding source for obtaining high quality organ music, books, and CDs, operated by Oberlin graduate James Dawson (; ph 440/774-9139; fax 440/774-8430) who also sponsored the coffee breaks during the conference.

Remembering André Marchal, 1894–1980

Ann Labounsky

Ann Labounsky, Ph.D., is Professor and Chair of Organ and Sacred Music at the Mary Pappert School of Music, Duquesne University, Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. Author of Jean Langlais: The Man and His Music, she studied with André Marchal and Jean Langlais in Paris from 1962–1964.

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Performance artists are most often remembered after their deaths through the compositions that they leave behind. Organ students learn to play works written by J. S. Bach or Franz Liszt, César Franck or Marcel Dupré, Olivier Messiaen or Jean Langlais; and thus their names and their works live on from one generation to another. For the rest, great performers are remembered during the lives of audiences who heard their memorable performances—great teachers, through the lives of their students.
David Craighead, legendary organ performer and now retired professor at the Eastman School of Music, has often lamented about the fleeting nature of fame. Some, like Arthur Poister, are remembered principally through competitions named for them, as in the Poister competition sponsored annually by Syracuse University where he taught; but even now, a few short generations after his death, there is included in the competition application a biographical sketch telling of his life and work.
For very many, there is no immortality of memory. In the words of the hymn: “Time, like an ever-rolling stream, soon bears its sons away. They fly, forgotten, as a dream dies at the opening day.” It is a sad dictum that those who do not compose most often decompose without leaving a mark on succeeding generations.
There are exceptions, of course. One thinks, for example, of opera singer Enrico Caruso or conductor Arturo Toscanini, great artists whose names continue to resound with their successor performers and audiences beyond specialists in music history. In those cases, they were people who transcended the limitations of the performance practices of their day, and thus left the arts they served transformed forever. For organists, the name André Marchal, the thirtieth anniversary of whose death is commemorated in 2010, must be added.

Marchal’s legacy
There are reasons for which André Marchal will be remembered as a transformational figure in the history of organ building and organ performance. He had an important impact on the organ reform movement in France, and subsequently in America—an influence that is only now beginning to be understood.
In particular, he influenced the Neo-classical style of organ building and aesthetics, through his association with the French organs of Victor Gonzalez. These instruments, in turn, influenced the aesthetics and registration practices of later twentieth-century French organ composers such as Langlais, Duruflé, Alain, and Messiaen. At the same time, Marchal was a forerunner in the formation of the performance practice now common today, especially in the interpretation of earlier organ works.

Life
André Marchal entered the world at the end of the French Romantic era and lived until 1980. He was born without sight to middle-class parents in Paris, February 6, 1894. Both his father and grandfather noticed his musical talent at a very early age and encouraged his study of the piano.1 At the age of nine he enrolled at the Institute for the Young Blind (Institut National des Jeunes Aveugles–INJA) in Paris, where he studied organ with Adolphe Marty, and harmony with Albert Mahaut, both students of César Franck.
At the age of seventeen he entered Gigout’s organ class at the Paris Conservatory, obtaining first prize in organ and improvisation two years later. In 1915 he succeeded Augustin Barié as organist at Saint-Germain-des-Près. In 1917 he received the Prix d’excellence in counterpoint and fugue at the Conservatory, in the class of George Caussade. Four years later he was hired as an organ teacher at INJA, where he continued to teach from 1919 until 1959. He succeeded Joseph Bonnet as organist at the Church of Saint-Eustache in 1945, where he remained until 1963.

Recital career
His long and distinguished career as an organ virtuoso began in 1923, when he gave the premiere performance of Vierne’s Fourth Symphony, with the composer present, at the Paris Conservatory. Two years later, he followed with his second public performance at the Salle Gaveau in Paris. In 1927 he toured in Belgium, Switzerland, and Germany. Again, in 1928, he gave the premiere of a work by Vierne, this time the third suite of his Pièces de fantaisie.
In 1930, he made his first tour of the United States, having no assistance from a guide and without any knowledge of English. (It was through Arthur Quimby—a student of Nadia Boulanger, and Curator of Musical Arts at the Cleveland Art Museum, who had heard Marchal perform in Paris—that the first tour was arranged.) At the Cleveland Art Museum, he played ten recitals of the music of
J. S. Bach. Seth Bingham, who taught at Columbia University, welcomed him in New York City, where he performed an improvised symphony in four movements at the Wanamaker Auditorium in New York City.2 This was followed with recitals in Chicago and in Canada. In 1938 he gave 30 concerts in the United States and Canada.
After World War II he performed in London at the Royal Festival Hall in the presence of Queen Elizabeth. On that occasion he met the English journalist Felix Aprahamian, who became a close friend and accompanied him on the tour to Australia in 1953.
His concert career spanned half a century; between 1930 and 1975 he made 19 trips to the United States to perform and teach.3 His importance as a teacher drew students from many parts of the world to study with him in his home or at INJA. It should be noted that his first American student, Lee Erwin, who made a career as a theatre organist, came to study with him just prior to his tour in 1930 and was responsible for the first recording on his house organ. His recordings, which also spanned over four decades, likewise have had a continuing impact on organists throughout the world.

André Marchal and the Organ
Reform movement

The Organ Reform movement (or Neo-classical movement as it is called in France) began in the 1920s in Germany and France, spreading to the United States in the 1930s. Albert Schweitzer was a pivotal originator. In France, it was realized primarily through the work of three men in tandem: the performer and teacher, André Marchal; the noted historian and musicologist, Norbert Dufourcq (1904–1990); and the organbuilder, Victor Gonzalez (1877–1956).

Victor Gonzalez
Victor Gonzalez, who was originally from the Castile region of Spain, began his career with the firm of Aristide Cavaillé-Coll, where he became their chief voicer. He then worked for the firms of Gutschenritter and Merklin. In 1929, after declining to assume leadership of the Cavaillé-Coll firm, he established his own firm with the help, encouragement, and financing assistance of Béranger de Miramon Fitz-James, founder of Association des Amis de l’Orgue, together with a group of de Miramon’s friends. Gonzalez’s first organ was built in 1926 for the home of Béranger de Miramon, followed the same year by an organ for the parish church in Ligugé. By 1937 there were 50 employees at the firm who worked to rebuild the Cavaillé-Coll organ at the Palais de Chaillot, and in the following year to renovate the organs at the Versailles chapel and the Cathedral of Rheims.
From 1929 until 1936, Rudolf von Beckerath worked for Gonzalez on restoration projects for organs in Saint-Eustache, Saint-Nicolas-des-Champs, Solesmes, Bailleul, the Goüin residence, and the world’s fair in Brussels in 1935, prior to founding his own firm. Though the Gonzalez name is no longer in use, he was succeeded in the business by his son, Fernand Gonzalez, and then by his son-in-law, George Danion. Fernand Gonzalez, who was killed in World War II, was responsible for the design of the Palais de Chaillot. After his death, Bernard Dargassies was charged with the maintenance of most of the Gonzalez organs.4
In 1931 Victor Gonzalez built an organ for the Condé estate of Joseph Bonnet.5 Gonzalez built this instrument very much in the Cavaillé-Coll style of that time, with two enclosed divisions, the usual plan for his house organs. He departed, however, from Cavaillé-Coll by adding a three-rank mixture on the Swell and a series of mutations. The romantic Merklin organ at Saint-Eustache, which was rebuilt by Gonzalez, and the Gonzalez organ from 1934 in the home of Henry Goüin are landmark examples of the wedding of early music to the recreated sounds of early instruments.6 These instruments included many mutation stops and mixtures, which allowed authentic performances of early music. Under the influence of Marchal and Dufourcq, Gonzalez became the leading builder in France for half a century.

Collaboration with Norbert
Dufourcq

Norbert Dufourcq’s collaboration with Marchal began in 1920, when he became Marchal’s organ student after studying for three years with Gustave Noël at the Cathedral in Orleans. Two years after beginning his organ study with Marchal, Dufourcq became principal organist of Saint-Merry in Paris, a post that he retained until his death in 1990. Dufourcq earned a degree in history from the Sorbonne (1923). In 1927 he was one of the founding members and secretary of Association des Amis de l’Orgue. Between 1932 and 1983 he was a member of the organ division of Commission of Historical Monuments. From 1941–1975 he served as professor of music history at the Paris Conservatory. (He also taught at the Collège Stanislas, Paris, from 1935 to 1946.)
During the years 1941 to 1975 Marchal performed many concerts in which Dufourcq provided the commentary. A gifted musicologist and persuasive public speaker, Dufourcq was able to give a poetic overview of the pieces performed, so that the uninitiated listener could follow. His mellifluous voice and the frequent use of the imperfect subjunctive case were noteworthy. Included in the commentaries was a series of eight concerts, entitled The Great Forms of Organ Music, with genres including prelude and fugue, toccata, chaconne, canzona, passacaglia, the chorale, partita, and fantasia. These recitals continued and included symphonic music and program music.
By 1933, Marchal and Dufourcq had become the leaders of the French national committee for the oversight of historic organs throughout France: the Commission des Monuments Historiques under the minister des Beaux Arts. Many of the nineteenth-century Cavaillé-Coll instruments, and earlier instruments by Clicquot, which were under the control of this commission, had fallen into disrepair and required renovations. This circumstance gave the commission the opportunity to rebuild those organs using the ideals of the Neo-classic design that Marchal, Dufourcq, and Gonzalez favored. Their work could be seen in the restorations at La Flèche, Saint-Gervais, Saint-Merry (where Dufourcq was organist), Les Invalides, the cathedrals of Auch, Soissons, and Rheims, the Palais de Chaillot, and the new concert organ in the French National Radio Studio 103, among many others. Many of the foundation stops were replaced with higher-pitched ranks and the reeds re-voiced. Marchal recorded on many of these instruments in the 1960s.
Influence on the Holtkamp Organ Company
This three-part collaboration among André Marchal, Norbert Dufourcq, and Victor Gonzalez, which affected the Neo-classical organ movement in France, subsequently came to the United States through the work of both Walter Holtkamp, Sr. and his son Walter Holtkamp, Jr., who wrote:

André Marchal came to the microcosm that is the Holtkamp Organ Company soon after World War II. While he had been in this country prior to the war, it was not until after that he brought his many talents to us with such marvelous results…. Both my father and I traveled to many cities of our country to sit with André Marchal at the console to evaluate our instruments. He would play and discourse upon the merits and demerits of that particular organ. From every encounter we came away with a new perspective of our work and our ideas.7
A transcript of one of these conversations with Marchal and the two Walter Holtkamps, Senior and Junior, which was recorded following a Marchal recital on the Holtkamp organ at St. Paul’s Episcopal Church, Cleveland, on May 10, 1957, gives an example of how the Holtkamps relied on Marchal’s advice regarding voicing:
WH (Walter Holtkamp, Sr.): André, we heard last night no 16′ Principal or 8′ Pedal Octave. My son and I would like to go to St. Paul’s and have a lesson on the use of the 16′ and what is lacking in this one.
AM (André Marchal): Your 16′ Principal is too large. There is too much gap in dynamic between the 16′ Subbass and the 16′ Principal. It is too big to be used without the reeds, and when the reeds are on the Subbass does just as well as the 16′ Principal.
WH: Perhaps this is a result of the 16′ Principal being placed against a stone wall rather than in the buffet as in the French organs.
AM: No, I noticed this same character at Baltimore, where the 16′ stands in the open. This is true on all your organs. The 8′ Pedal Octave is also too loud at St. Paul’s, Oberlin, Berkeley, Baltimore.
C (Walter Holtkamp, Jr.): I would like to know Mr. Marchal’s idea of the relationship as to loudness and quality between the Great 8′ Principal and Pedal 8′ Octave.
AM: In theory, the Pedal 8′ should be larger in scale than the Great 8′, but in use I really like the Pedal 8′ to be a little milder than the Great 8′. It could be a little more flutey.8

It is possible that Walter Holtkamp, Sr. heard Marchal’s series of ten recitals of the music of J. S. Bach at the Cleveland Museum of Art in March of 1930. In August of 1956, Walter Holtkamp, Sr. and Walter Blodgett, Curator of Musical Arts at the Cleveland Art Museum, drove to Methuen to hear Marchal play during the Summer Organ Institute, organized by Arthur Howes, and again the following year to hear him perform and record on the Holtkamp organ at MIT. Along with Fenner Douglas, in the early 1960s Walter Holtkamp and Walter Blodgett traveled to France to study the historic instruments there, including many by Gonzalez. In later years Marchal performed and taught frequently on Holtkamp organs at Syracuse University and Oberlin College. (Despite his love of Holtkamp organs, he often spoke of the similarity between the American builder G. Donald Harrison’s reeds and the French reeds that he loved.)

Giuseppe Englert
The composer Giuseppe Englert, another of Marchal’s students, who in 1954 married Marchal’s daughter Jacqueline, served as translator for the Holtkamps and Marchal during Marchal’s tours to the United States and the Holtkamps’ trips to France. The Englerts’ apartment in Paris, across the street from Les Invalides, was home to a Gonzalez organ, with a similar design to one in Marchal’s home. Maurice Duruflé admired this instrument and was inspired by it for the specification for the Gonzalez instrument in his own apartment. (The organ in Marchal’s home was originally a Gutschenritter, which was enlarged by Gonzalez.)

Marchal and performance practice
In the early 1920s Marchal continued to play in the style he had been taught by Gigout, a uniformly legato touch and a non-interpretive approach to the music of Bach and the Romantic composers. Gigout followed the tradition of the Lemmens school, learned from Widor and Guilmant. During his study of the music of the early masters, in preparation for a series of recitals of early music in 1923, Marchal rethought his approach to technique and interpretation. He was the first, in 1929, to play the two complete Masses of François Couperin. In an interview with Pierre Lucet for a series of recitals on the French National Radio in 1979, Marchal explained the process by which he changed his approach to early music and the organs upon which it could be performed:

Pierre Lucet: Maître, permit me to inquire first of all about your approach to the music of Johann Sebastian Bach:
Marchal: It [his approach] was made at two times. I was admitted to the Conservatory and at that time I listened to what was told to me, I learned technique; I was greatly in need of it. And it was from that point of view that I studied Bach. Ten years later [1921], in establishing my repertoire, I began to concertize, and relearned Bach in a completely different manner. This time I studied each piece in depth, trying to understand it in the best way possible; and having assimilated it, I tried to bring out the beauty of each piece by certain ways of playing; for example, the phrasing, the breaths, the registration. Obviously, at that time, there were few organs on which one could register well the music of Bach; we were still in the full Romantic period. But one could still look for lighter stops, clear in any case, which would permit the beauty of Bach’s counterpoint to emerge.
After having obtained my prize in organ [1913], while continuing to play the organ I worked a great deal on piano. Paul Braud, a student of Franck, took an interest in me. I became then more oriented toward the piano, which permitted me to know more music and to play more chamber music. I worked relentlessly . . . I purchased a small mechanical organ to practice my repertoire. It was at that time [1921] that I really tried to express Bach. My colleagues said: “Marchal? He plays the harpsichord”—and that was almost true, since my interpretations that were closest to what I hoped them to be were like the marvelous ones of Wanda Landowska on her harpsichord.9

This process of searching for the appropriate style for early music and the instruments that would bring it to life continued for him through the early 1930s, when he gave a series of recitals of early music on Neo-classical instruments built by Gonzalez. After 1930, Marchal played very differently from his teacher, Gigout, and the other blind teachers from INJA. It was as if he grasped the essence of the music from within himself. His style was powerful, lyrical, and always convincing. His personality was also very strong. There was a radiance about him and a “joie de vivre” that came through in every piece that he played.
His touch was a radical departure from the 19th-century seamless legato that was carried on by Marcel Dupré and his predecessors. He had an infinite variety of touches. By the 1940s Marchal had become one of the most popular performers in France. The public related easily to the musicality of Marchal’s playing and to his vibrant personality. It is not surprising that such a different style—full of authentic poetry and lyricism—would win the hearts of the French public as well as those from other countries. It must also be said that with him and all the other blind organists, there was also something captivating at seeing a blind person being led onto the stage and then left alone to play the instrument, no matter how large, completely independently. When one contemplates the style of playing during the 1920s through the 1950s, which was completely dominated by the legato Romantic style, what is utterly amazing is this new, radically different sound and interpretation. Begun by Marchal, it was later adopted by Marie-Claire Alain and others.
Guilmant and Pirro, in the monumental Archives des Maîtres de l’Orgue, 1897–1910 (volumes 1–10 available online), made available for the first time, at the end of the 19th century, the music of Couperin, de Grigny, Clérambault, and many others. Although Guilmant and Pirro recommended the use of the Cornet registration, their grounding in the 19th-century style of playing and registration prevented them from recommending for this early music a complementary early style and registration. Likewise, the six volumes of Joseph Bonnet’s Historical Organ Recitals series, published between 1917 and 1940, continued the same style of playing and registrations. Bonnet’s role in the movement, however, should not be ignored. He was intensely interested in early music but played it in the manner that he had been taught by Guilmant.
Although he had substituted for his teacher, Eugène Gigout, as organ teacher at the Paris Conservatory, Marchal was never connected to any school in France except at INJA and the summer school of Nadia Boulanger in Fontainebleau. Nonetheless, so many students requested Fulbright grants to study with him, that by the 1950s he agreed to be referred to as a school himself. In America, many other organists fell under his influence through the many masterclasses he gave at Oberlin College, Syracuse University, Union Theological Seminary, Northwestern University, the universities of Illinois and Indiana, the Eastman School of Music, and the Organ Institute in Methuen.

Marchal’s recordings
In the release on CD (Arbiter, 2003) of his first recordings, originally recorded between 1936 and 1948 at Saint-Eustache and the Goüin residence, one can easily understand Marchal’s interest in early music and in the type of instrument that would be well suited to the music of earlier periods. The lyricism, so unlike the usual style of playing during the 1940s, was notably displayed in his performance of the Bach chorale prelude O Mensch bewein dein Sünde gross. His use of free trills, so unlike the measured trills found in the playing of his contemporaries, was quite a departure from the traditional style of playing.
The subtle rubato in all the playing is striking. In the Bach Passacaglia and Fugue, the phrasing of each variation gives life to the great work. The articulation of the pedal line and the variety in the registrations gives much interest to the form of the piece. What is compelling in all of his playing is the strength of the rhythm, especially noticeable in the fugue of this work. While listening to his performances, one senses that it should not be performed otherwise, that it is right.
What we understand today of the stylus fantasticus can already be heard in Marchal’s opening performance from 1948 of Buxtehude’s Prelude and Fugue in F-sharp Minor. There is considerable contrast between the free sections and the fugal sections. His personality comes alive in his commentary for demonstrating each stop, with brief improvisations that give fine examples of this style of organbuilding. The Blow Toccata in D Minor brings out the bass in the reed registers with great clarity. Listening to these improvisations on the individual sonorities of the Gonzalez house organ in the Goüin house gives a clear picture of this aesthetic: a Neo-classical organ that, in America, we would call an eclectic organ.
Other recordings include:
Chefs d’œuvres pour orgue de J.S. Bach “10 de répertoire” en 1989. Zurich, Grossmünster 1964. MUSIDISC 203412 AD 650.
Orgues et organistes français du XXè siècle (1900–1950) by EMI Classics (2002) as well as Jeux et registrations de l’orgue, Improvisations, Toccata de Gigout, Final de la 4ème Symphonie de Vierne, Apparition de l’Eglise éternelle de Messiaen, Choral dorien de J. Alain, Saint-Merry, 1958 et 1976. EMI Classics, 1 CD, 71716 2 (1997), Saint-Merry et Saint-Eustache.
The Organ Historical Society website lists the two recordings available through Arbiter (135 and 111) with these annotations:
The works by Buxtehude, Bach, Blow, Purcell, Sweelinck and Vierne were recorded by André Marchal (1894–1980) in April 1948, on the organ at St. Eustache in Paris, then a Merklin which had been rebuilt by Victor Gonzalez in 1927–32. In 1936, the Pathé firm released a 12-disc set entitled Three Centuries of Organ Music from which Marchal’s performances of Cabezon, Santa Maria, Landino, and Palestrina are taken. These first recordings of these early works are performed on an organ designed especially for early music and completed in 1934 by Victor Gonzalez at the home of Henry Goüin in Paris. Marchal also demonstrates the organ stop-by-stop, and narrates his demonstration. Available on Arbiter-135.
Arbiter 111 is described:

This unique CD reissues the 1956 stereo recordings made by André Marchal on his 3/28 house organ built by Gonzalez. The fidelity of the recording is unusually fine, capturing Marchal’s way with 12 of the Bach Orgelbüchlein, BWV 603–612, 614–615, and Toccata, Adagio & Fugue in C, BWV 564. There are no revelations here for most of us, and the organ is located in an anechoic environment. The CD is a must for Marchal fans, who will revel in his spoken description and demonstration of the organ.
Although more difficult to locate, it is possible to find in libraries the Lumen recordings of Franck and early French music (Grand Prix du disque 1952); the Bach large fantasies and fugues by Ducretet Thomson; the Clérambault recordings at Auch Cathedral, by LDE 3231; many of these recordings contain the commentaries by Norbert Dufourcq. The Unicorn recordings from MIT (UNLP 1046–1048) of Bach and early French music on the large Holtkamp organ there from the 1950s are excellent.
Marchal’s Complete Organ Works of César Franck, originally released by Erato, has been reissued by Solstice ([email protected]). This recording was awarded the coveted Diapason d’Or. There are many unpublished recordings (some from Syracuse from 1960s, and two recordings from his last American tour in 1974 at the Church of the Assumption in Bellevue, Pennsylvania and in Rochester, New York) as well as many given on the French National Radio.

His teaching and legacy
His system of teaching usually began with having the student play a chorale prelude from Bach’s Orgelbüchlein. He usually heard a piece only one time giving all his ideas in the one lesson. For the early French music he did not use “notes inégales” during the 1960s, but by the 1970s he realized that this was, in practice, the style of this music, and adopted its use. His mind was always engaged and he heard every phrasing and nuance. His use of agogic accents to bring out the shape of a phrase was notable. Above all, he made each part sing independently of the other voices regardless of the period in which it was written. He was demanding especially with his more gifted pupils, desirous that each one achieve his/her highest potential.
His influence is continued not only in the legacy of performance practice and organbuilding. A number of publications and prizes have appeared since 1980: a thesis by Lynn Trapp at the University of Kansas (Lawrence, 1982), “The Legacy of André Marchal;” “Tribute to André Marchal” reprint of the L’Orgue Dossier I in 1997, with the addition of tributes by many American students who did not have the opportunity to be included in the original document; and prizes at the biennial Marchal competition in Biarritz.
The Académie André Marchal was founded in Biarritz, France in 1982 by Denise Limonaire to perpetuate the memory of this musical giant, his innovative style of performance, his neo-classical influence on organbuilding, and his rediscovery of early music. Susan Landale serves as president of the Académie, with Jacqueline Englert-Marchal as honorary president. Among other projects, the Académie has partnered with the town of Biarritz to sponsor the “Prix André Marchal,” an international organ competition with prizes in interpretation and improvisation. The competition is held every two years and has grown in quality and size. The ninth competition, held in 2009, accepted eighteen candidates of twelve nationalities. Americans desirous of supporting this valid and significant mission are strongly invited to become members; dues of $80 for two years may be mailed to Ralph Tilden at P.O. Box 2254, Banner Elk, NC 28604. André Marchal awards are given at Duquesne University, in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, for excellence in organ performance.
His impact as a teacher was important. His blind students who obtained the first prize in organ at the Paris Conservatory included: André Stiegler, 1925; Jean Langlais and Jean Laporte, 1930; Gaston Litaize, 1931; Antoine Reboulot, 1936; Xavier Dufresse, 1952; Georges Robert, 1953; Louis Thiry, 1958; Jean Wallet, 1963; Jean-Pierre Leguay, 1966 (who had studied with both Litaize and Marchal). Two other pupils who obtained the first prize who were sighted were Noëlie Pierront, 1925, and Anne Marie Barat, 1976.
His other pupils included Corliss Arnold, Linda Clark, Craig Cramer, Philip Crozier, Alan Dominicci, Norbert Dufourcq, Giuseppe Englert, Lee Erwin (the first American pupil before 1930), Robert Eshenour, John Fenstermaker, Philip Gehring, Emily Gibson, Lester Groom, Jerald Hamilton, Ruth Harris, William Hays, Allan Hobbs, Howard Jewell, Elna Johnson, Margaret Kemper, Ralph Kneeream, Suzanne Kornprobst, Marilou Kratzenstein, Charles Krigbaum, Ann Labounsky, Susan Landale, David Liddle, Denise Limonaire, Robert Lodine, Alan Long, Robert Sutherland Lord, Chamin Walker Meadows, Kathryn Moen, Earline Moulder, Margaret Mueller, Arsène Muzerelle, Lois Pardue, Garth Peacock, Stephen Rumpf, Daniel and David Simpson, Robert Sirota, Rev. Victoria Sirota, Carl Staplin, Roger Stiegler, Edith Strom, Haskell Thompson, Ralph Tilden, Parvin Titus, Robert Judith Truitt, Marie-Antoinette Vernières, Gail Walton, Nicole Wild, and Mary Alice Wotring.

Influence on subsequent
composers

His influence on subsequent composers such as Langlais, Duruflé, Alain, and Messiaen in their approaches to organ registration is likewise important to this reflection of André Marchal upon the 30th anniversary of his death. Jean Langlais studied organ with Marchal at INJA and at his home and was influenced by the work of Gonzalez in these two venues, as well as the organ at the Palais de Chaillot, where he performed his first symphony in 1943. His choice of the Schwenkedel organs of Neo-classical design, which he installed in his home and at the Institute Valentin Haüy, next door to INJA, shows this influence. The stops that he added to the organ at Sainte-Clotilde in 1962 included a Larigot 11⁄3′ on the Positif, a Prestant 4′ and Clairon 2′ on the Récit, and a Prestant 4′ and Doublette 2′ on the Pédale.10
The many Neo-classical registrations in his pieces likewise show this influence. For example, even the titles of a number of his pieces refer to these types of registrations: Dialogue sur les mixtures (Suite brève, 1947) and all the movements of Suite française (1948), which are based on titles found in classical French organ music such as Prélude sur les grands jeux and Contrepoint sur les jeux d’anches, and Suite baroque (1973).
As I have already mentioned, Maurice Duruflé often visited the home of Giuseppe Englert to study the specifications and dimensions of the Gonzalez organ, which inspired him for his house organ, also built by Gonzalez. Englert’s house organ was based on the specifications of Marchal’s house organ.11 In Duruflé’s organ works, even starting with the Scherzo from 1926, his registrations depart from the normal 19th-century models.
Marchal and Jehan Alain’s father, Albert Alain—an amateur organbuilder—were close friends and worked together on ideas for the specifications for their house organs. Similarities can be seen in the specifications of each.12 When Marchal had built his organ with a rather classic Positif, Albert Alain wanted to do the same thing.13 Jehan Alain’s first experiences of organ music in his home were influenced by the aesthetics of Marchal and Gonzalez. Jehan Alain and Marchal enjoyed playing and improvising together in Alain’s home. A very early work, Variations sur un thème de Clément Jannequin, demonstrates registrations that call for Neo-classical stops as well as the recall of early music in the title of the piece. Another work of Jehan Alain, Le Jardin suspendu, calls for a typically classical French stop, the Gros Nasard 51⁄3′ on the Positif. Marchal was among the first organists to perform Alain’s music, including Litanies, Variations sur un theme de Clément Jannequin, and Danses à Agni Yavishta, and had them transcribed into Braille notation.
Olivier Messiaen was also influenced by the Neo-classical trends in France. He changed the Cavaillé-Coll organ at La Trinité, where he was organist from 1930 until 1991, to include many mutation stops that were not part of the original specification. Even his earliest organ work, Le banquet céleste (1928), is a departure from the normal registration practices of the period, including Flûte 4′, Nasard 22⁄3′, Doublette 2′, and Piccolo 1′ for the pedal line. As he continued to compose, his works called more frequently for higher-pitched sonorities, often to imitate birds. One could say that it was a far cry from D’Aquin’s imitative harpsichord piece mimicking the cuckoo, but these sounds were all part of an interest in both the future and the past.

Conclusion
It is time to re-evaluate André Marchal’s contributions to the organ reform movement in France; his impact on organbuilding in the United States, particularly in his relationships to Walter Holtkamp and Walter Blodgett as well as Fenner Douglas; and his influence on the leading organ composers of the 20th century: Langlais, Alain, Duruflé, and Messiaen. In light of the development of early organ techniques and the number of publications that have been published and used in the thirty years since his death, it is time to listen again to Marchal’s recordings with a discerning mind and ask where his place is in the development of performance practice.
One certainly hears a wide variety of touches in all his playing. What was his “ordinary” touch? What were the main differences between his style and that of Joseph Bonnet, Alexandre Guilmant, and Marie-Claire Alain? Robert Noehren admired the sensitivity of his touch both on tracker and electric actions. It is also time to re-evaluate his influence on organ building; for example, in the composition of the Plein jeu mixture, which reserved the breaks until after middle C to enhance the clarity of the polyphonic line, and his use of different mixtures for each polyphonic composition that he performed.
Consider, too, the changes in the organ registrations in the music of Duruflé, Alain, Messiaen, and Langlais as compared to many other composers of the 20th century. The required foundations plus reeds on each manual, as a given for organ registration, changed as a result of Marchal’s impact on the Neo-classical organ in France. There is, indeed, much to ponder.
Perhaps Norbert Dufourcq, who was the most eloquent of his collaborators, best expressed the essence of his artistry:

André Marchal seemed to have found by himself the sources to which he probed the depths of his rich and attractive personality: the discovery of the works of the French organists of the 17th and 18th centuries, that of the complete works of Bach (he played almost all of it), of Cabezón, Frescobaldi, Buxtehude . . . It was for André Marchal to penetrate the secrets of a page of music, to discover the tempo, in searching the phrases, in marking the strong pulses, the weak pulses, without ever breaking the melodic line nor the polyphonic structure, without ever losing a rhythm which gave a work its forward motion, its line. One has praised the sensitivity of the Maître. It is better perhaps to speak of his sense of poetry.
To this static but mysterious and majestic instrument, he knew how to assure a poetic and lyric “aura” that he insisted on creating in a convincing phrasing with thousands of details in a style made more subtle by the use of minimal retards; of suspensions slightly brought out or by the imperious accents thrown into the center of the discourse. Goodbye to the inexpressive and neutral legato, André Marchal sought to impose on his instrument a suppleness with the use of imperceptible tensions—jolts of the soul—which did not stop. It is in this that he transformed the lens of the entire school of the organ, in France as in America . . . Under his fingers the organ no longer preached in an impersonal manner; under his fingers, the melodies rushed into the nave to touch the heart of each person. But it was never he who descended upon us. It was us, whom he seized with love, and attracted us to him.14 ■

 

Remembering André Marchal Thirty Years Later

Philip Crozier

Philip Crozier was born in Preston, England, and was a boy chorister in Blackburn and Carlisle Cathedral Choirs. In 1979 he graduated from Cardiff University, being awarded the Glynne Jones Prize for Organ in two consecutive years. He moved to Montreal in 1984 and is married to organist and painter Sylvie Poirier, with whom he has commissioned and premiered eight organ duets, undertaken numerous concert tours, and released several CDs. He maintains an active career as an international recitalist and is in regular demand as an accompanist to various choral and instrumental groups.

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Studying with one of the greatest organists of all time was a remarkable privilege in my life. It is already more than thirty years since André Marchal passed away on August 27, 1980 in Saint-Jean-de-Luz, near Hendaye in the south of France, where he had a summer home. I had private lessons with André Marchal in London and Paris from autumn 1978 until July 1980. These lessons came about by chance.
In August 1978 I was browsing through the Musical Times when I saw a notice in small print announcing that André Marchal would be in England in October to give masterclasses and private lessons. I promptly wrote for details, and after an exchange of correspondence with Malcolm Rudland, a private lesson was arranged at All Saints’ Church, Durham Road, London. I was asked to bring any music I wanted, but was told that his métier was Bach, Franck, and Clérambault.

Lesson 1: Fantasia and Fugue in g, BWV 542
At the time, I was a twenty-year-old student at Cardiff University in South Wales and traveled to London on an early train in time for my lesson at 11 am. Arriving in the church, I found that the organ was in the chancel on the left side, with the console backing on to the choir stalls. Several people were already there, including well-known London music critic Felix Aprahamian (Marchal’s host for the visit) and Marchal’s daughter Madame Jacqueline Englert-Marchal. To the right of the attached console, seated on a stool, was 84-year-old André Marchal, blind, his eyes fast shut. The people were talking amongst themselves, the previous pupil having finished his lesson. I felt like an intruder as I approached, but I was made to feel so welcome by Marchal, who leaned forward holding his hand out to greet me as I introduced myself. I felt altogether very humble and awestruck.
I really did not know what to expect, but the following hour was unforgettable and left a very deep impression on me. I had brought the Bach Fantasia and Fugue in G Minor, BWV 542. Marchal spoke in French, which was translated for me by Felix Aprahamian on this occasion. Marchal stated that we must bear in mind the vast structure of the Fantasia, and then felt his way carefully onto the organ bench. His hands went up and down the stopboards of the modest-sized three-manual instrument, halting here and there to draw stops. It was fascinating to watch—there was no question as to which one was which, and no wrong ones were drawn. He played up to bar 9 with full magisterial treatment, absolutely note perfectly and no failing in memory.
Then it was my turn to play, and he covered all aspects of it in his detailed discussion and instruction. His choice of stops and indeed everything throughout this lesson was all carefully directed to the idea that he was putting across and was exactly right all the time. Arriving at bar 31 and once again at the console, Marchal played to the beginning of bar 35 with a layered crescendo. It was so smooth that at first I thought he was using the Swell pedal. He started on the Swell, bringing the Choir in on the D of bar 31, adding the G on the second beat of bar 32, then the last beat all on the Choir, followed similarly by the Great coming in on the tenor F in bar 33, adding the B-flat on the fourth beat and then the E-flat in bar 34, remaining with three notes on the Great and two on the Choir until the first beat of bar 35 (there is a recording of Marchal playing this work at Saint-Eustache on YouTube where he does this: www.youtube.com/watch?v=SQaG_hSejXY).
After the lesson, he said he was “very pleased” with the progress made in the hour, and said I could watch him teach some other pupils that afternoon. I had seen some veritable feats by organists, but there was altogether something intangible about Marchal that made me wish to see more.

Lesson 2: Toccata, Adagio, and Fugue in C, BWV 564
As there was a lesson vacancy the following week, I went to London again, which was his last day in England, and had another lesson, which was kindly delayed for me until after lunch because of an unexpected travel difficulty. I played the Fantasia for him again and he was pleased with it, and so we passed on quickly to the Fugue, during which Malcolm Rudland who had arranged everything arrived, and I was introduced. Marchal covered the Fugue with the same exactness as the Fantasia. We then turned to the Toccata, Adagio and Fugue in C, BWV 564. I scribbled down some notes on the inside cover of my Peters Edition of Bach so I would not forget.
“The beginning of the Toccata is like a question (Choir) and answer (Swell), then the Choir again on the downward scale. The upward scale in bar 2 after the rests is on the Great. Then echo on the Choir at the same parts where there is exact repetition (bar 5); observe the rests.” Marchal adds the Swell reeds for the Pedal solo. “Rallentando as the arpeggios proceed to the low Gs (bar 23).”
In bar 30 from the F-sharp “begin slowly and accelerando. Detach the chords at the end of the pedal solo from the ensuing passage. The Rondo theme (bar 32) is on the Great. The first episode is on the Swell and the second one on the Choir. Detach the left-hand and right-hand eighth notes (bars 32, 34 and similar) where the theme is in the other hand. Observe the length of the rests and the notes. Clearly detach the pedal A, E, F (Bar 70).”
For the Adagio, Marchal uses a Cornet for the solo, with a staccato pedal. He makes an interesting point in bar 7 about the repeated trills being increased in repercussions the way his own teacher Eugène Gigout had told him to do it. In bar 23 Marchal continues the downward scale on the solo stop then plays the chords on an 8′ 4′ 2′ registration. The Fugue was not played.
The lesson concluded with the Gigout Scherzo, which Marchal on this occasion directed to be played on a light registration without reeds. Afterwards I observed another couple of lessons, which included the first movement of Vierne’s Fourth Symphony, which I did not know at the time. Marchal spent much time correcting the printed text, and Felix Aprahamian turned to me and whispered, “by God he knows it!” One pupil offered an improvisation that Marchal guided as it progressed. Unfortunately, improvisation, for which Marchal was so renowned, was a subject I never studied with him. (He was not a composer, but several composers had submitted themes on which he improvised a four-movement organ symphony in London in the 1930s: Albert Roussel, Sibelius, Joseph Jongen, and Vaughan Williams; and then on another occasion with themes sent by Alan Bush, William Walton, Benjamin Britten, and Constant Lambert.)
After this we closed for the day. Outside there was a car waiting. Both back doors were open and Marchal was guided in, but he slipped over an invisible object and fell into the back of the car behind the front seats. Alarmed, I grabbed hold of him and although he was a bit shaken, he saw the funny side of it. He was told who had “saved” him and then Felix Aprahamian took me aside and said “the Master would like to have you as a student.” I was completely overbowled!

Lessons in Paris
I wrote to him in Paris, and shortly afterwards received a letter from France, the envelope bearing the words “Concert André Marchal.” He began: “I shall be most happy to see you and hear you again on Saturday, February 10th [1979], afternoon. Could you come from 2 pm to 4 pm; my daughter will be free then to do the interpreting. . . . I shall be very pleased to hear your Bach, Franck, and do bring as much Couperin and Clérambault as possible, which sound very well on my home organ. Happy New Year and see you soon.” His daughter had written the letter and she arranged all my lessons in Paris as well as acting as interpreter (as my French was rudimentary then), which she did with great skill and clarity throughout every lesson. I was curious over his references to seeing, which he often made, and apparently he knew parts of the south of France very well and would point things out, which he would never see, for the benefit of others.
This lesson, like all the others I had in Paris, was at his home in rue Duroc. When I saw the three-manual organ for the first time (named “Philippe-Emmanuel”) it was quite a sensation for me, never having seen a pipe organ of such magnitude in a private home. The room it was in was not enormous, but also had a grand piano, a sofa, and a large globe of the world in Braille amongst other furniture. It was all just so impressive, and still remains so in my mind.
This is the stoplist of the organ “Philippe-Emmanuel”:
Grand-Orgue (56 notes, 2nd manual) tracker action
8′ Montre (façade)
8′ Flûte à fuseau*
4′ Prestant*
2′ Doublette*
III Plein-Jeu*
16′ Ranquette (Pédale)
* In a Swell box
Récit expressif (56 notes, 3rd manual) tracker action
8′ Principal
8′ Voix Céleste
8′ Quintaton
4′ Principal
2′ Doublette
13⁄5′ Tierce
11⁄3′ Larigot
III Cymbale
8′ Trompette
Positif (56 notes, 1st manual) electric action
8′ Bourdon
4′ Flûte conique
22⁄3′ Nasard
2′ Quarte
13⁄5′ Tierce
1′ Piccolo
8′ Cromorne
Pédale (32 notes) electric action
32′ Soubasse* (acoustic)
16′ Soubasse*
8′ Bourdon*
4′ Flûte*
2′ Flûte*
16′ Ranquette**
4′ Chalumeau**
8′ Trompette***
4′ Clairon***
*By extension
** By extension
*** from Récit expressif
Couplers
Tirasses I, II, III, III 4
Pos/GO, Réc/GO, Réc/Pos
Pos/GO 16, Réc/GO 16
Réc 4

Pistons
6 adjustable pistons for each manual and pedal
6 general pistons for the whole organ
Tutti for the whole organ and each manual
General cancel for the whole organ and each manual
Arbiter Records has reissued on CD the 1956 Zodiac recordings made by Marchal on this instrument before the extension of the Pedal Ranquette 16′ comprising extracts of the Bach Orgelbüchlein, BWV 603–612, 614–15, as well as BWV 564. Marchal describes and plays each stop, with Jacqueline Englert-Marchal translating. There is a quote from Francis Poulenc on the cover: “No one has an ear like Marchal. He has the best ear in Paris.” I have since heard an anecdote of Maurice Duruflé, saying “if you want to hear a true Cromorne, it is on this organ.” Philippe-Emmanuel was the model for the Lincoln Center/Tully Hall instrument inaugurated by Marchal in 1975. The booklet notes, which also contain an extensive biographical note on Marchal, are available online at www.arbiterrecords.com/notes/111notes.html;.
Marchal also had a small two-manual mechanical-action organ by Victor Gonzales named “Jean-Sébastien” in his villa Guereza in Hendaye-Plage, with the following stoplist:
Grand-Orgue
8′ Bourdon
4′ Prestant
II Cymbale
Récit expressif
8′ Quintaton
2′ Doublette
Pédale
16′ Soubasse
8′ Bourdon
4′ Flûte 4 (by mechanical extension)

Three usual manual and pedal couplers.

Marchal’s playing style
For this first lesson in Paris, I had brought the Franck Choral No. 3. Marchal knew it, as everything else, absolutely inside out. He had learned all his vast repertory from Braille, involving the arduous task of learning each line separately and assembling them afterwards, thus making a thorough study of the construction of each work, and this would be pointed out in his interpretation, giving a true re-creation of the music from the inside.
In his lessons as a whole, traits of his own playing style came through. He gave the experience of a full lifetime of performances to me—a young student—condensed into small points. He had a magnificent sense of rubato, as shown in his own recording of Franck’s Choral No. 1, which I later studied with him. He would often play fugal passages (e.g., Vierne Symphony No. 4, second movement in the middle) without reeds, and would delay ever so slightly such imposing entries as the theme in the Pièce Heroïque to give it more drama. The tempo would not be altered, and often there would be no slowing down at a cadence (Vierne Symphony No. 2, first full close).
Frequently he would say “Make that note more waited for,” and at the start of the Choral No. 3, which he emphasized should not be played rapidly, he gave insistence to the first note and every time a similar passage came. There would be no overall alteration of tempo, and any dreaming and dragging that can creep into Franck was eradicated, but it would still be so sensitive and overall extremely musical.
His own sense of coloring was remarkable, and he would gain effects that would do wonderful justice to the music through his intimate knowledge of every part of the piece he was concentrating on. Another point in his interpretations was to repeat notes well and clearly. If he added Swell reeds, the box would always be shut “so as not to be brusque,” and he would not move from full organ to Swell-pianissimo (as in parts of Vierne’s symphonies for example)—he would take the Swell loudly and then diminuendo, but all was done with the greatest of subtlety.
I was allowed to record on cassette all these lessons in Paris, which make fascinating listening. He was a man full of history, and he would occasionally reminisce over the past. Each lesson was two hours long, and for me one was arranged on a Saturday and the other on Monday so that I could hear the organs in Paris on the Sunday. I was a frequent visitor to Saint-Sulpice, where I heard Jean-Jacques Grunenwald on many occasions, and met him along with many others who climbed the steps to the organ loft during the Sunday service.
One day I went to Sainte-Clotilde and Jean Langlais was actually there, and we had a long discussion that I also recorded. I was not aware that he lived next door to Marchal until a few years later! I never heard Pierre Cochereau at Notre-Dame as he was always away on the weekends I was there, but I did hear the organ in the Sunday afternoon recitals.
All this was a tremendous experience for me, especially since a young blind organist, David Aprahamian Liddle, and I were André Marchal’s last two British pupils. David later inherited “Jean-Sébastien,” which my wife Sylvie Poirier and I played for the first time at Felix Aprahamian’s home in Muswell Hill, London, not so long after it arrived there from France. I last saw Marchal in July 1980, a few weeks before his death, and among the works studied then was the Franck Pièce Heroïque (the last complete work I played for him) and the Fourth Symphony of Vierne.

Marchal and the Vierne Fourth Symphony
Marchal supplied a personal note on his association with the work and its composer to Felix Aprahamian for a performance in 1970, which reads in part as follows:

. . . (Vierne) spoke to me of this new Fourth Symphony which, published in the United States, had not yet been heard in France. This was in 1922, when I was preparing to make my first real contact with the public in four historical recitals of organ music ranging from Cabezón to Marcel Dupré. Tempted by the work, the first performance of which Vierne seemed happy to entrust to my care, I set to learning it with enthusiasm.
The four recitals were given under the patronage of the Minister of Fine Arts, and Vierne’s Fourth Symphony opened the third program on Wednesday, 24th January 1923.
The work is of severe technical difficulty, and I remember my nervousness and beating heart on reaching the fugal passage in the Allegro. But happily this remained only an inward uneasiness. The symphony had an immense success. Vierne embraced me on the platform and let his feelings flow in a flood of affectionate and encouraging words. Having to leave the hall before the end of the recital, he wrote me the following letter the same evening:
“Thank you again with all my heart, my dear lad, for the great joy you have just given me. I will retain forever the memory of this emotion, which is one of the most profound that I have experienced in my life as an artist. You have admirably understood and felt this work, which is brightened for a moment by the fragments of a happy dream, and finishes in a fever. You have interpreted it like a poet, and this is manifest. I could not refrain from telephoning B. this evening so that he could tell you of my enthusiasm before this note reaches you. See in this a sincere and spontaneous gesture, the natural reflex of people of my kind and one that cannot be withheld.”

To learn the work, Vierne had loaned Marchal, for the Braille transcription, his own beautifully bound copy, a present from the publisher, G. Schirmer. (Marchal also described this occasion in one of my lessons.)

Marchal’s four historical recitals
These four concerts given by Marchal in the Salle Berlioz at the Paris Conservatoire to a highly critical audience, consisting largely of professionals, were of representative works by the following composers: Cabezón, Frescobaldi, Buxtehude, de Grigny, Bach, Daquin, Couperin, DuMage, Mendelssohn, Schumann, Franck, Saint-Saëns, Boëllmann, Widor, Guilmant, Gigout, Déodat de Séverac, Tournemire, Gabriel Dupont, Barié, and d’Indy, along with Dupré’s newly published Prelude and Fugue in B major. So already Marchal’s memorized repertory was quite extensive. He developed this later into a series of recitals at the Palais de Chaillot in Paris in 1942 under the heading “Les Grandes Formes de la Musique d’Orgue,” with commentary by Norbert Dufourcq. (See the flyer for the series he gave in private homes from December 1935 to March 1936, on p. 24.)

Recitals at the Cleveland Museum of Art
Since his death, I have been more and more amazed by his phenomenal repertory from all the programs collected by Felix Aprahamian of Marchal’s recitals, duplicates of which he gave to me in the 1980s. These programs are from all over Europe, the USA, and Australia, spanning from the 1930s to the 1970s. Among them stands out a booklet of the complete series of ten recitals given at the Cleveland Museum of Art during the 1947–1948 season (most Wednesdays from October to December and two in January), entitled “The Large Forms of Music for Organ,” which is a further extension of the aforementioned. The subjects are (the titles are in French in the booklet):

1) Le prélude et fugue
2) La Toccata
3) La fantaisie
4) Chacone, Canzone, Passacaille
5) Musique d’orgue d’inspiration grégorienne
6) La Musique d’inspiration populaire
7) Le Choral expressif et contrapuntique
8) Le Choral à variations et la Partita
9) Sonate, concerto, symphonie
10) Le thème libre

In total, he performed 96 works of all periods without duplication. Each concert ended with an improvisation in the form to which the program was devoted. Walter Blodgett, then Curator of Musical Arts, wrote in the booklet “M. Marchal is esteemed as one of the great musicians in our time. To be able to present so distinguished an artist in this illuminating survey of musical literature is a privilege.”

Works studied with Marchal
Here is a list of the repertory I studied with André Marchal.
In London (lessons not recorded):
Bach­—Fantasia and Fugue in G Minor, BWV 542; Toccata, Adagio (not the Fugue), BWV 564
Gigout—Scherzo (Dix Pièces, No. 4)

In Paris (lessons recorded):
Franck—Trois Chorals (No. 1 dedicated to Marchal’s teacher, Eugène Gigout); Cantabile; Pièce Héroïque
Vierne—Symphonie II, op. 20; Symphonie IV, op. 32; Impromptu, op. 54, no. 2 (dedicated to André Marchal); Carillon de Westminster, op. 54, no. 6
Clérambault—Suite du Premier ton: Grand Plein Jeu, Fugue
Bach—Prelude and Fugue in E Minor, BWV 548; Prelude and Fugue in A Minor, BWV 543; Trio Sonata No. 2 in C Minor, BWV 526, Vivace

Marchal answers stylistic
questions

In these lessons I asked multiple questions that I had prepared beforehand. For some of the questions I already had a good sense of what Marchal might answer, but I wanted to hear what he had to say directly. Here is a small sample, with the actual words he used, via translation:

1) PC: What are the general rules for “tying over” in César Franck? (quoting the opening of the Choral theme in bar 30 of Choral 3).
AM: Theoretically you only repeat the notes that are repeated at the same pitch in the same part, but when you have two voices that succeed each other on the same note, that is when they are legato—unless it is specifically indicated otherwise. The different voices are treated exactly as you would treat vocal parts.

2) PC: Does the “tying over” rule apply to other composers of the period?
AM: It is the same for Vierne—but Vierne is a bit different; he uses those ties just like violin bows. Vierne used those ties because he wanted one to sense the direction of the melody. And Vierne was a violinist—and so sometimes in his music you realize that he thinks of the bow of the violin. But it would be a big mistake every time you have a rupture of the legato to make a big silence. And sometimes you just have a look at it enough not to do it.

3) PC: Do we stick rigidly strictly to the string-like phrasing of Vierne?
AM: YES! And you must have a very muscular way of playing. Vierne insisted very much on the rhythm. He did not like so much metronomically played music, but he liked a good strong rhythm. Keep in mind that Vierne was above all a musician. He would not like to have his music being ruined by playing too strictly in tempo. Generally speaking he does indicate what he wants.

4) PC: What is a good substitute for the Voix humaine in Franck?
AM: The Célestes—you can use the célestes—it is not the same in effect. But the important thing is, it is quite different from the other registration—but it is most important that it comes out as something entirely different from the rest.

5) PC: (AM had mentioned in one lesson that he is quite sure that some details in registration in Franck’s Chorals are not probably what he meant). Are his other organ works more “exact” in this context?
AM: For all the works of Franck, not just the Chorals, you must always keep in mind that all his registrations were meant for his organ at Sainte-Clotilde. Remember that this instrument was so special. You always must adapt the registration to the instrument you are playing on. [In his recordings of the complete organ works on Erato made at Saint-Eustache, Paris, also reissued on CD, Marchal supplies a valuable note on his registrations.]

6) PC: Can Swell to Pedal be used in Franck? (There was no such stop at Sainte-Clotilde in Franck’s time.)
AM: Of course! Franck was the first one to be sorry not to have one.

7) PC: When it specifies for example Fonds et anches 16, 8, 4 in French organ music of this period, can we use the mixtures also? What is the rule for using mixtures in this context?
AM: It means also mixtures when there are some mixtures. Cavaillé-Coll invented the idea of dividing the stops of each manual into two to make the registrations easier. Generally speaking, on one side you would have all the 16, 8 and 4 foundations. The 2-foot, mixtures, cornets and reeds were on a separate chest. In order to have those you had to push on a pedal [ventil], which also allowed you to suppress them. Before the era of adjustable pistons, it was a way of helping you change the stops. And that was not only in France. The Germans had a different and complicated system. [AM was referring to the Freikombination system.]

8) PC: In Clérambault, can ornaments be added at will, and can the existing ones be made more expressive by prolonging?
AM does not think it is necessary to add them—“it is safest to do as written. Not everybody does this. It is certainly possible to make them more expressive by prolonging them. Often ornaments replace the expression of the Swell box, which didn’t exist yet.”
On the subject of notes inégales:
AM: “It is a matter of taste. Each one must do according to his own taste.” But he is not very attracted himself, considering it a bit of a fashion.
On the subject of ornaments:
AM: All ornaments should be played on the beat—where there is a mordent, appoggiatura, etc., always on the beat.

9) PC asking about the best editions of de Grigny, Daquin, Marchand.
AM likes the Guilmant edition very much except for the registration. “The registration is very bad because Guilmant tried to adapt it to the nineteenth-century organ. Guilmant was very conscientious however, so if we avoid the replacement registrations he suggests, his editions are the best.”

10) PC: What are your registration plans for Trio Sonatas, particularly No. 2 and No. 6?
AM: “It is very easy. Always an equivalence of sound but a different timbre.” In the second movement of BWV 526 he likes using a reed stop in the LH, which makes a nice dialogue with the flute RH. Since the tempo is slow there, a 16′ can be used on the Pedal. For the third movement a little more sound, for example, the Cornet.

In one lesson he played through the complete Bach Fugue in C, BWV 547, demonstrating phrasing, registration, and manual changes. Several other works were also used as examples in many lessons, where he would play and explain, jumping directly into the middle of a piece to make a point.

About the recorded lessons
I am most grateful to Claude G. Thompson of Montreal, who transferred the original cassette tapes of my lessons to CD in 2008 to ensure their preservation. Listening to them again after three decades, it hardly seems it is so long ago and it is like having the lessons all over again. Sometimes I cringe at my innocence, but at the time most of this repertory was very fresh in my fingers, so I had not fallen into the habit of doing it all the “wrong way,” which can be hard to unlearn afterwards. Since having these lessons, and living in Montreal for more than 25 years and being married to Sylvie Poirier, who is French-Canadian, I understand everything Marchal says in these recordings directly, so it is doubly enlightening for me hearing his teaching in his own language also. I have always tried to apply what I learned from him, transcribing the lessons into my scores.
There are thirteen CDs of lessons I recorded in Paris in 1979 and 1980. In some parts there is a lot of repetition and revision covering the same passages. The Franck Chorals are conveniently on one CD each, approximately one hour each, except Choral 2, which is 77′55″. Pièce Héroïque and Cantabile are on the same CD (63′45″). BWV 543 and 526 are on two CDs of nearly one hour each. BWV 548 and the Clérambault are one CD (71′00″). Vierne Symphonie IV is on three CDs (75′05″, 51′50″, and 65′09″), plus 2′30″ on a fourth CD with Impromptu and Carillon de Westminster, totaling 53′11″ with related questions. Vierne Symphonie II is on two CDs (59′10″ and 65′54″), including 37′51″ of questions. Ideas on Vierne Symphonie III (the very last part of my final lesson with him), which I did not play for him total 10′16″ and are tagged onto the Symphonie IV 51′50″ CD.
Generally, the organ sounds very loud in contrast to the voices. There are extraneous noises from time to time. The telephone rings sometimes and is deafeningly loud (perhaps the cassette machine was close to the bell!) and it covers some of the spoken word. Marchal’s cat, present at some of these lessons, can be heard here and there, and Marchal’s clocks chime beautifully as we go along. The windows were open when it was warm and so there is the sound of people walking past outside, some no doubt curious on hearing the organ as the room was on ground level.
André Marchal left a profound mark on those who knew him, and extensive tributes poured in after his death. In 1981 L’Association des Amis de l’Orgue published Hommage à André Marchal, a special issue of the trimonthly review L’Orgue. This was reprinted and expanded by the American Guild of Organists in 1997. Entitled Tribute to André Marchal, it contains a number of personal homages from a fascinating cross section of organists, students of Marchal (myself included), organbuilders, composers, friends and colleagues, and people outside the music profession, all of whom have something in common—André Marchal had touched their lives in a very significant way. The Tribute also contains details of the two Marchal home organs in Paris and Hendaye, many photographs, and a complete discography. Much of this information is also available on the André Marchal website www.andremarchal.com (in French). In 1982 the Académie André Marchal was founded www.academieandremarchal.org (in French), whose initial focus was a teaching academy, but from 1991 in association with the town of Biarritz, a Prix André Marchal was established within an international organ competition.
So the life and work of André Marchal continues through his legacy of recordings and students. ■

 

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