Birds, Bells, Drums, and More in Historical Italian Organs, Part 2

Fabrizio Scolaro, English translation by Francesco Ruffatti

Fabrizio Scolaro has studied organ, harpsichord, and composition at the conservatories of Bologna and Vicenza, and with Harald Vogel, Michael Radulescu, Luigi Ferdinando Tagliavini, Monika Henking, Ton Koopmann, and Jordi Savall. He has been a teacher of organ for several years, and is involved in concert activity both as a soloist and with chamber orchestras. Every Sunday he plays the G. Cipri organ (1556) of the Basilica di San Martino in Bologna. Since 2000, he has worked in the voicing department of Fratelli Ruffatti, organbuilders of Padova, Italy, as a reed and flue voicer and tonal finisher, both in the field of historical restorations and new instruments.

It is a general belief that the stop composition of historical Italian organs is rather standardized, based on a series of principal-scaled stops forming the Ripieno, and enriched by one or two flutes. In many cases and especially for certain historical periods, this is a correct assumption; however, exceptions abound.
Organbuilding has been greatly influenced by the peculiar Italian geographical configuration, by its very interesting history, and its political fragmentation into a number of states, to the point that even a small distance between two cities or two areas often exhibited marked differences in organbuilding practices. A notable example of this is the coexistence, around the middle of the 18th century, of two organbuilding schools, featuring drastic differences in the tonal character of their instruments: one in the city of Venice and the other in the Lake Garda territory, two areas that are geographically very close.
The Italian organ did not crystallize its tonal structure, as many believe. Quite to the contrary, it remained open to influences coming from across the Alps, by incorporating new stops, mechanical features or accessories, and special effects that ended up becoming common even in smaller instruments. A notable aspect of this is the presence of accessories and special effects. The use of the tremulant, of ingenious systems imitating birds (sometimes of different species) or of singing insects, the rolling of drums, and the sound of shepherds’ bagpipes is mentioned in a number of texts, not necessarily connected to organ music. Here are a few examples:

The organs built by Vincenzo the Flemish, the first located in the Cathedral of Orvieto played by Gio. Pizzoni, the second in S. Pietro at Gubbio and played by Grisostomo Rubiconi; they both deserve being greatly praised, and in particular the one in S. Pietro, which in addition to 12 continued organ stops [meaning Principal-scaled stops extended for the entire keyboard’s compass], is enriched by the presence of an equal number of stops imitating stopped and open Flutes . . . Drums, Tremulant, and Nightingales . . . .1

. . . there is a precious and rare organ, comprising 2,800 pipes, with 40 stops, the sound of which imitates that of Trompettes, Timpani, the song of birds . . . .2

. . . In the organ of S. Giustina in Padova one hears the Trompette, and the Viola, the Violin, and also the song of various birds . . . .3
The purpose of this article is to present the history of such effects and accessories in Italian organs and to provide suggestions for their use in musical performances, on the basis of documents, books written by scholars and composers of organ music, and also by notations in musical manuscripts (few in earlier times, but which became more and more abundant and specific later on). A further source is the Tabelle di Registrazione (registration charts) that a small number of organbuilders wrote and left with their instruments, as instruction manuals to prevent registration mistakes or to suggest the best ways to utilize their instruments.
While a wide variety of sources has been consulted, it is, however, almost inevitable to have left out some of them. Italy is extremely rich in this respect, with its large number of organbuilding schools and the variety of instruments that still exist or that existed in the past, but for which we still have documentation. Many documents (contracts, descriptions) are certainly yet to be discovered in the archives of churches and monasteries.
The starting point that I have chosen for this research is the first part of the sixteenth century. At that time, the Renaissance—one of the most extraordinary and rich periods in the history of humankind—was flourishing in Italy. The splitting of the territory into many different states ruled by marquises, dukes, princes, and kings—all very rich and prosperous, all competing with each other to obtain the work of the most famous artisans and artists—produced an artistic level that is among the highest in all of art history. The names of the painters, sculptors, and artists in general that one would have then encountered in the squares, churches, and palaces throughout Italy are the same names that we encounter today in the most famous museums. It is obvious that such intense artistic and economic activity would attract artists and artisans from other European countries. What was happening in the figurative arts had its parallel in music as well. The names of Costanzo Festa, Giovanni Pierluigi da Palestrina, and Claudio Merulo were mixed with those of Adrian Willaert, Jakob Arcadelt, and Orlando di Lasso, to mention just a few, the latter all coming from northern Europe.
In organbuilding, the work within Italy of artisans coming from across the Alps helped enrich the tonal spectrum of the Italian organ, and influenced the local organbuilding schools. The foreign organbuilders brought with them from their original countries the effects and accessories, but also different pipe types, such as stopped pipes, for example, and these new features and ideas were readily adopted by local organbuilders.
As we will see, during that period the new special effects (tremulant, rolling drum, and nightingale) were systematically introduced from the north to the south of Italy, even to already-existing instruments.

The Tremulant
The introduction of the tremulant (tremolo in Italian, also referred to in the past as tremolante, tremolare, tremolli) in an organ requires a rather simple mechanism. Two types were used in the Renaissance and in successive centuries: the open wind tremulant (also called lost wind tremulant) and the closed wind tremulant.
In the first case, a pallet, to which a spring or a weight is applied, is located externally over an opening in the windline or in the windchest. When the pallet is released and made free to move, the pressure inside the wind system will try to push the pallet open, while the spring or weight installed over the pallet will react by applying a contrasting force. The result is an oscillation of the pallet, which determines a periodic release of wind out of the system and a resulting periodic pressure drop, which in turn creates the undulating effect in the sound. This was the most common system during the Renaissance.
In the second case (the closed wind system), the pallet is installed inside the windline to stop the wind flow. When the tremulant is not active, the pallet is pulled up in the open position and the wind can flow without restrictions. The device is activated by releasing the pallet, which, by falling down in the closed position, tends to prevent the wind from flowing. This creates a periodic oscillation of the pallet, pushed open by the wind rushing through, but the pallet being heavy enough to try to return itself to the closed position by gravity. The resulting wind instability creates the undulating effect. This system is very close, if not identical, to the one described a few centuries later as Tremblant doux by Dom Bedos.4
The two types of tremulant produce two different effects on the sound of the instrument: The “open wind” system has an oscillating frequency that is independent of the number of notes played by the organist (or, in other words, by the wind absorption), while the “closed” system is effective only when a few notes are played, but loses its speed and depth as the wind consumption is increased by pulling more stops or by playing big chords, to the point of losing its effect completely.
During the restoration of the 1519 organ built by Giovanni Piffero, located in the Palazzo Pubblico at Siena, one of the oldest examples of the introduction of an open wind tremulant in an Italian organ was found.5 Starting from this date, evidence of the manufacturing of organs with tremulants, or of their additions to existing instruments, becomes more and more frequent in instruments located throughout the Italian peninsula.
In 1561, Massimiliano da Udine included the tremulant in the contract for the organ for the Sisters of San Daniele in Venice, an instrument that no longer exists.6 During the same year, in Sicily, Silvestro Colliga included a “Flute in the German style with its Tremulant” for the organ of S. Antonio Abate in Palermo.7
In 1570, the Venetian organbuilders Emiliano and Giulio Zacchino were contracted to restore the new organ in the Basilica of S. Antonio in Padova, and, among other things, to update the fiffari (meaning the tremulant) to modern practices.8 In 1577, the brother organbuilders Vittore and Federico Federici restored the organ in the Cathedral of Feltre, and among the repairs needed, they included a modification of the tremulant to make it reproduce the effect of the fiffaro.9
These last two citations are particularly important to help us understand one of the most frequent uses of the tremulant in musical performances.
It is first of all necessary to note that in Italy in the 16th and 17th centuries, the term fiffara or fiffaro was used with reference to the transverse flute (also then called traversa or fiffaro traverso).10 A further name for the same instrument was Flauto alemanno or Flauto alla todisca (or tudisca), meaning flute in the German style.11 One of the most valued characteristics of such stops was the vibrato: Martin Agricola, in 1545, in the fourth edition of his work Musica instrumentalis deudsch, calls the transverse flutes Schweitzer Pfeiffen, and writes that it is good practice to use them with oscillating breath.12
One of the first sources on the use of the tremulant is the registration chart written or dictated, probably in 1558, by organbuilder Vincenzo Colombi for the organ in Valvasone, where the use of the “flauto along with the fiffaro”13 is suggested. (Photo 1) The tremulant is there called fiffaro, thus exchanging the end result (the imitation of the transverse flute) with the means to obtain it.
As mentioned above, Silvestro Colliga in 1561 promised to manufacture a
Flauto alla todisca with its tremulant. Similarly, in other contracts for Sicilian organs, in almost every case where flutes with stopped pipes are mentioned—to imitate the flutes alla todisca, or of German style—the tremulant appears as well.14 It is therefore clear that it was rather common practice among organists to imitate the transverse flute by combining the flute stop (whether made of stopped pipes or not) with the tremulant. However, we need to wait until the beginning of 1600 in order to find texts of wider diffusion, containing specific indications on the use of tremulants in pipe organs.
In 1608, Costanzo Antegnati wrote L’arte organica. In the portion of this treatise that deals with registration practices, he explains that the tremulant can be used with the Principale alone, but only when playing slowly and without diminutions, in order to accompany motets with few voices or to play softly.15 Later on, Antegnati provides another indication on the use of the tremulant, stating that it can be used with the Ottava and the Flauto in Ottava, or (proposing the registration suggested by Vincenzo Colombi 50 years before) even with the Flauto in Ottava alone, again specifying that it is necessary to avoid fast playing or rapid phrasing. He had previously noted that those who play rapidly with the use of the tremulant show bad taste16 because such an accessory confuses the sound when notes are played at a fast pace.
In 1610, Claudio Monteverdi, in his music for the Vespers,17 expressly requests for the organ—which provides the basso continuo—the registration of Principale and tremulant,18 from the end of the 11th to the 19th measure of Versus 3 “[quia respexit] humilitatem ancillae suae” of the II Magnificat a sei voci. It is to be noted that the same verset in the primo Magnificat had been orchestrated with two real fiffare (then two trombones and subsequently two blockflutes),19 while the organ was accompanying with the Principale alone: once again, it is quite evident that the tremulant is used to imitate the “affetto” or the sensation created by the transverse flutes.
In 1622, Girolamo Diruta explains the use of the tremulant in the course of his dialogue Il Transilvano,20 saying that the second tone makes the harmony melancholy, and it requires the Principale (by itself) with the tremulant, while the fourth tone makes it lamentevole (mournful), mesta (sad) and dogliosa (grievous), and this effect is obtained by the Principale with the tremulant or a Flute stop played in the appropriate range of the keyboard and with the correct melodic behavior. As one can see, Diruta narrows down, or redefines, the use of the tremulant, by associating it to the basic tone (second or fourth) of the music being played, and to the character that such tone gives to the pieces (melancholy, mournful, sad, grievous).
Toward the end of the 16th century, with the advent of the Voce Umana stop21 (a principal-scaled rank of pipes beating with the Principale), once again called Fiffaro, the tremulant gradually disappeared from the tonal compositions of new instruments. The sound of the new stop, which played in the treble section of the keyboard, was better, richer, and more interesting than the simple mechanical oscillation of sound. However, in 1718 it is possible to find yet another citation on the use of the tremulant: it can be found in the registration table of the organ built by W. Hermans in 1650 for the Cathedral of Como. It includes a complete description of the instrument and quite a few suggestions on the use of the stops. At #45 of the list in the chart, one reads “Voce Umana, Principale e Tremolo,” where the Voce Umana is in this case a reed stop (a Vox Humana). Later on, in the paragraph entitled “For the music,” it is explained that such a Voce Umana can be used with the tremulant in the bass portion of the keyboard, while the Principale and Tromba are played in the treble section, or the contrary (left hand with the Principale and Tromba, right hand with Voce Umana and tremulant). Such combinations are made possible by the presence of two manuals. As a conclusion for the long series of registration suggestions, the registration table states that “the tremulant can be used at the discretion [of the organist], when one, two or at most three stops are played.”22

The Nightingale
The Nightingale—literally translated in Italian as Usignoli, but normally referred to with the more generic term Uccelliera (song of birds) and sometimes also called, in various linguistic variants, stortis philomelis,23 ocellj, risignoli,24 rossignoli, usignoli, passeri (sparrows), canarini (canaries)—is uniform in its construction features: it consists of a series of two or more pipes mounted upside down, with the ends of their resonators submerged in water. (Photos 2, 3 and 4) When the pipes play, the wind coming out of the resonators sets the water in motion, and this creates an effect on the sound of the pipes that very realistically simulates that of singing birds.
Traces of the presence of nightingales even in important instruments are numerous. Starting from just before the mid-1500s, they continue until 1880 without interruption all over the Italian territory from north to south, as evidence that such effects were held in high esteem by the organbuilders who manufactured them, and by their clients.
One of the first traces of such a device is connected to Vincentio Beltramo, who came from the Burgundy region of France, and who in 1544 signed a contract for a new organ for the church of San Nicola at Tortoreto (Teramo), in the Marche region, mentioning the Nightingale among the other stops.25
In 1569, Lodovico Arnoldo, a Flemish organbuilder, restored the organ at the Pieve di S. Maria in Gemona, adding, among other things, the Nightingale, as noted in the letter of payment.26 One could mention a number of other locations and organbuilders, because, as stated above, almost everywhere already-existing or brand-new organs were equipped with such a device. Its installation is very simple: a hole is made in a windline, or in an accessible location at the windchest, and a stop control is installed to allow the organist to turn the effect on and off at will by opening or closing the wind. Often the Nightingale is located at the foot of the façade pipes, and in some cases several of them can be found within one instrument, one for each section of the façade when the same is divided, as is often the case in Renaissance-style instruments. In this case, the series of nightingales is operated by a slider similar to that of the other stops. Once the slider is activated, each nightingale unit starts to operate as soon as one or more façade pipes in the corresponding section is played. The end result, when playing a scale on the façade pipes, is that of birds singing at random from one side to the other of the instrument.27
In 1797, Pietro Agati built the organ (restored in 1990 by Fratelli Ruffatti) for the Church of S. Michele Arcangelo at Vignole, in Tuscany (Photo 5), where the Usignoli can be found. In later periods such devices appear mostly in organs built in central and southern Italy. For example, in 1881–1882 the Serassi brothers of Bergamo, in cooperation with Casimiro Allieri, built their largest instrument ever for the Cathedral of San Giorgio in Ragusa Ibla (restored in 1987 by Fratelli Ruffatti). Among the special effects, still at this late stage in history can be found a Nightingale, in this case a very large one, consisting of 12 pipes! It must have been specially requested by the customer, since the Serassi brothers had stopped manufacturing such devices by that time.
On the suggested use of the Nightingale in repertoire, little information can be found until the beginning of 1600; it is a fact, however, that it was widely used, since we have evidence of its presence in pipe organs from the middle of the 16th century on.
One of the first sources that indicates its use can be found in the registration chart for the organ in Orvieto built by Vincenzo Fulgenzi.27 It was written by Vittore Federici from Belluno (mentioned above for his work in the Cathedral of Feltre). In 1602 he was hired to perform some maintenance work on the instrument and he was asked to give his suggestions as to its use. He indicated that the use of the Nightingale was appropriate in the “Battles,” to be used in conjunction with the Contrabassi (24′), the Ottava di Contrabassi (12′), the Tromboni, the Flauto in Quintadecima (6′), all of the manual stops, and Cuckoo.29 Another suggestion concerning the use of the Uccelliera (birdsong) can be found in the registration chart for the Willem Hermans organ, built in Rome in 1666 for the church of S. Apollinare, which contains the suggestion to register the combination “Flauto in 8a. Rossignollj.” In the same chart, which most likely Hermans himself wrote, we also find a rather generic suggestion as to the use of the effects in that organ: that “The tremulant, drums and nightingales be used at the discretion of the organist,”30 leaving total freedom to the organist as to their use in music.
A further indication, this time in northern Italy, can be found in the organ of the Cathedral of Como, built in 1650 by the same Hermans. In the already mentioned chart, under number 24 we find the combination: “Flauto in Ottava, Drum, Nightingales.”31
Around the turn of the 19th century, we find a similar indication for the use of the nightingales, this time without the drum, in the registration chart of the Tronci family, organbuilders active in Tuscany, who proposed the use of the Flute and the Nightingale for the “andante movements.”32
A much more varied and interesting use can be found in the music of Giuseppe Gherardeschi (1759–1824), a Pistoia-born musician from whom a large number of compositions survive, expressly composed for use on the late 18th–early 19th century Tuscan organ. Many of these works (most still unpublished) include extremely detailed registration notations; below are a few that mention the use of the Nightingale. In the Messa per Organo in Elafà, per uso del signor Francesco Baldansi di Prato, 1813, in the first verset for the Gloria the nightingales are called for twice.33
In the Sonata per Organo a guisa di banda militare che suona una Marcia, one finds the following requested registration:34 Reed stops, Flauto in Selva, and [Flauto] in 8a, Flautino Basso and Timpani (rolling drum) played in the loud passages but staccato, and nightingales where expressly indicated. One of the latest indications for the use of this effect can be found in the Pastorale, dated 1850, by another composer of the Gherardeschi family, Luigi (1791–1871), who, in two instances, suggests adding the nightingales to the initial registration, which comprises Principali, Ottava soprana, Flauti e Trombe.35
Judging from the indications that have been found, it seems prudent to conclude that the tendency was to use the Nightingale when lower pitch registers are used in contrast with higher pitched ones, to introduce it in the andante movements and in compositions such as the pastorali, and therefore in conjunction with softer stops, but also as a reinforcement in combinations using reeds and color stops.
Other effects were made to imitate the song of different species of birds: the “Nightingales, Cricket first, Cricket second, Titmouse birds and Sparrows” of Giuseppe Bonatti (1716) at San Tommaso Cantuariense in Verona,36 or the “Canaries and Cuckoo birds” in a specification by Giovan Battista Piaggia for an organ in the Cathedral of Bolzano (1752).37 The use of such effects obviously follows the same indications given for the nightingales.

The Rolling Drum (or Thunder)
In examining documents that refer to modifications of existing instruments, or contracts for the manufacturing of new organs, the rolling drum (in Italian Tamburo, but also called timpano, gran timpano, timballone, rollante, rullo, tamburro a ruolo, tuono, tremolo) is very often found in conjunction with the tremulant and the nightingales. It seems, in fact, that in most cases the three effects were all installed together.
As we have seen for the tremulant and the nightingales, the installation of the drum was also rather simple, even in already-existing instruments. In the 16th and 17th centuries, it normally consisted of a couple of pipes of 6 or 8 feet especially dedicated to this effect. They played together at close but not identical frequencies, thus producing a prominent beat that resembled rolling drums. In later years, when pedal stops began to appear in pipe organs,38 in order to avoid the construction of such additional pipes and thus save space and money, a number of pipes of the Contrabasso were made to play together by means of a special mechanism, producing a very realistic effect.
In some 19th-century organs of the Lombard school, in which the drum sound is produced by 3, 4, or 6 dedicated pipes, it is even possible to increase the intensity of sound: by pressing the pedal half-way down, only a few pipes will play, thus producing the “normal” rolling drum; pressing the pedal all the way down will cause all pipes to play at once, thus producing the effect called Gran Timpano or thunder.39 In the 19th century it is possible to find a variety of “drums” within the same instrument, obtained through different combinations of 16′ and 8′ pipes playing together.40
One of the first traces of a rolling drum in an organ dates from 1543, when Giovanni Paolo Contini used it in the organ at the church of San Francesco in Montepulciano;41 subsequent traces abound and can be found all over the Italian peninsula, thus giving us an idea of how widespread these effects were. It is possible to state that between 1550 and the second half of the 1800s, drum stops (Rollante, Timpano, Thunder, Earthquake42) were almost always present in organs built in Italy, just like the Principale or the Flute stops.
The first suggestions for using the drum come from Vittore Federici for the organ in Orvieto: he describes a registration to play a battaglia with the drum in the German style,43 which we have already mentioned under the sections dealing with the nightingales. The association of the drum with pieces describing battles is obvious, a type of performance which, according to Adriano Banchieri, was “commonly allowed on Easter Sunday . . .” with reference to the verses “Mors et vita duello conflixere mirando” (“Death and life have struggled”) of the Gregorian sequence Victimae paschali laudes.44
Willem Hermans, both in the instructions for the use of the organ in the Como Cathedral, built in 1650, and for the organ in the German College in Rome (1666), suggests “Flauto in 12a Tamburrj,”45 the resulting sound being a beautiful imitation of a military flute or a Flagioletto, very similar to one of the registrations suggested 100 years later by Dom Bedos, even if the French builder specifies the use of two 2′ flutes in place of one 22⁄3′ Flute.46
An interesting aspect in the use of the drum is the type of mechanism by which it is activated. If the organbuilder has provided a pedal, the drum can be used rhythmically, by pressing the pedal in sequence. In some cases, however, the drum is activated by a stop knob, in which case the use can only be continuous, or else the player will have to resort to the help of a registrant. The latter, more archaic method can be found in several instruments built in different times and regions of Italy, for example: an organ built in 1735 at the Church of SS. Filippo e Giacomo in Erbezzo (Verona) by Gaetano Amigazzi, a builder of the Lake Garda and Verona area in northern Italy; and an organ by Nicola Abbate, built in 1780 for the Church of SS. Annunziata in Venafro (Isernia).47
As one can see, while in most organs throughout Italy the drum was being activated by a pedal, a few builders were still continuing to build it with archaic systems. Thus one must recognize that there are no general rules in Italian organbuilding practices, and that the organist’s interpretation of a musical piece when utilizing this effect should also take into account the most common organbuilding practices in the area where the music was composed.
In 1790–1792, Girolamo Zavarise, another builder of the Lake Garda school of organbuilding, in the registration chart for the organ of Selva di Cadore (Belluno), writes that “the drum is played by gently striking the pedal and must not be held for a long time, otherwise it creates disturbance.”48 This indicates that the action for the drum allowed the organist to use this effect at will, by means of a pedal. In fact, in the Veneto region and in Lombardy, the rolling drum is predominantly activated by the last pedal at the right hand side of the pedalboard.
Likewise Gaetano Callido, the famous late 18th-century Venetian organbuilder, left many registration charts (Photo 6), all indicating the use of the rolling drum, where this effect is referred to as “drum to be played a tempo,”49 clearly indicating a change in musical taste. In all these suggestions, the drum appears in the registration for the characterization of a march, which required the Principale, the Ripieno stops, the Flauto in XII, the Cornetta (a Tierce rank in the treble), the Tromboncini (a Regal stop), the Pedal Tromboni (8′) and Contrabbassi (the keyboard being permanently coupled to the pedals). It is therefore a mélange, which included all of the organ stops except the Flauto in Ottava and Voce Umana.
I have earlier described the registration for the Sonata per Organo a guisa di Banda Militare che suona una Marcia (Organ Sonata in the mode of a Military Band playing a March) by Giuseppe
Gherardeschi of Pistoia, written between 1800–1820, where, in the same fashion, it was requested that the timpano (drum) be played staccato, together with a loud registration.50
An interesting series of suggestions and recommendations on the use of the drum is contained in the book by Giovanbattista Castelli, which was adopted by the Conservatory of Music in Milan as a “practical manual for the students who are learning the use of the organ.” Castelli was the equivalent of today’s CEO of the Fratelli Serassi factory, one of the most notable organbuilding families operating between the 18th and the end of the 19th century.51
In the chapter titled “tremolo” [sic], he deals with the rolling drum, and he describes its use in a more elaborate and creative way than other organbuilders ever did. He explains that it is used predominantly during the last few chords of a piece. He continues by stating that it is also “pleasant in the piano passages” by pressing the pedal for a longer or shorter time as required by the piece, making sure, however, that the volume of the solo part on the manuals is prominent enough. It must also be used on the weak beats of held chords. However, after stating that a “judicious application” must be used, he cautions the organist “not to overuse it in the piano passages.”52
The example by Vincenzo Petrali, which illustrates the use of the drum (no. 16), an attachment to Castelli’s text, is self-explanatory: the piece opens with two held notes of the drum, separated by a pause; the keyboard section follows, with a registration including the Principale and the Voce Umana, during which the drum is not activated, until the musical theme is introduced, underlined by two more “held notes.” Subsequently the drum is activated on the weak beats of the closing measures of the piece.
Consequently, an orchestral use of this effect should be established, and, following an accurate analysis of the musical piece to be played, it is appropriate to also use it, without going overboard, in a wider spectrum of situations, beyond allegro movements or marches. It must be emphasized that this device was commonly found throughout Italy and that consequently it would be a good practice to imagine a broader and more articulate use of the drum when performing Italian organ literature.
It is also interesting to mention a curiosity: Giuseppe Verdi, who began his musical life by playing the organ in his parish church, and who took music lessons from two organists, Pietro Baistrocchi and Fernando Provesi, must have had a good knowledge of the effect of the rolling drum and of its construction. In fact, in the first scene of Act 1 of Otello, he requires that the organ on stage hold the first three notes of the pedalboard (C, C#, D) for numerous measures. It is a dramatic beginning with “lightning, thunder, hurricane,” as specified in the introductory description; it is a natural storm, which anticipates the emotional turmoil of the leading character. The three held notes in fact reproduce the effect of thunder quite faithfully.

The Bagpipe
The narration of the birth of Christ in the Gospel according to Luke tells us that among the first to come to the manger was a group of shepherds. The nativity representations obviously incorporated such features (the first nativity scene was created in 1223 at Greccio, in the region of Umbria, by St. Francis of Assisi), and it is clear that the shepherds who participated would carry with them the typical musical instruments of their tradition: bagpipes and reed flutes, or ciaramelle. A large number of paintings also testify to this tradition. The style of the pastorale, literally “shepherd’s song,” is directly inspired by the songs of the shepherds and by their musical instruments. One of the characteristics of the bagpipe—commonly referred to in Italian as cornamusa, but also found as müsa, baghet, and piva, just to mention a few of the original dialect-derived names that were given to several instruments, all similar but sometimes incorporating marginal construction differences—is the presence of at least one Bourdon pipe, which produces a drone. In the year 1544, Vincentio Beltramo from the Burgundy region of France specifies the Zampogne (bagpipes)53 in the contract for the organ at S. Nicola a Tortoreto (Teramo). The name may have indicated a complete reed stop; however, since immediately before in the same document he had mentioned the Trombecte stop, it is likely that, in the case of the bagpipe, he meant them to be only an effect.
This device was particularly common in organs built in central and southern Italy well into the nineteenth century. One reed pipe, usually with a short wooden resonator, could be easily activated by means of a stop control, and left on to play continuously. In some instruments two of these pipes, at different pitches, can be found, but always individually controlled. These pipes can be tuned at different pitches according to the need; having two of them instead of one, of different sizes, expanded the tuning range without creating excessive speech or volume problems. The notes normally produced by these pipes rotate around the keys used for musical compositions named Pastorale: G, F, D, and C. They simulated the continuous sound of the bagpipe’s Bourdon, and music in pastorale style would be improvised over this background sound. This can be done today as well, of course, or a pastorale piece can be played that is compatible with one of the keys produced by the bagpipe effect. 
 

Sarah Mahler Kraaz

Sarah Mahler Kraaz, DMA, is Professor of Music and Chair of the Department at Ripon College in Ripon, Wisconsin, where she teaches organ, piano, and music history, and directs the Collegium Musicum. She is an active composer and has performed recitals in the U.S.A., Scotland, and Italy. She is a frequent contributor of reviews and articles to The Diapason. Dr. Kraaz spent several weeks this spring researching and playing historic organs in Italy and Spain during a sabbatical leave.

  In a perfect world, we organists would always be able to play music on the instruments for which it was written. Putting music and organs from the same time and place together produces a beautiful synchronicity, the closest thing to time travel we can experience. Happily, this was recently my fate. What follows is a description of some music and instruments that have expanded my understanding of a particular musical tradition. They will continue to inform my performances.

On March 6, I played a recital of Italian music on the Vespers Series of the Giuseppe Gherardeschi Organ Academy in Pistoia (www.accademiagherardeschi.info). Pistoia is a small city in Tuscany approximately 30 miles northwest of Florence. The remains of a medieval wall circumscribe the old town whose Cathedral of San Zeno houses a silver altar dedicated to San Jacopo, thereby putting it on the pilgrimage route to Santiago de Compostela in Spain. The cathedral, the former Bishop’s Palace, the Baptistry, and the Town Hall, all dating from the 13th–15th centuries, surround a central piazza that even today dominates the center of Pistoia. An open-air fruit and vegetable market, shops, restaurants, and cafes spread out from there in a web of narrow cobblestone streets. Wednesday and Saturday mornings are market days, when stalls appear in the centro selling everything from clothing to kitchenware. Bells from the many churches in the city mark the passage of time. Pistoia is off the beaten track for tourists. It’s a great place to visit if you want to mingle with Italians who live comfortably in the present while surrounded by the past. The city and neighboring towns are also home to a number of historic organs, most of them from the 18th and early 19th centuries.¹

 

Giuseppe Gherardeschi

A brief biography in the New Grove Dictionary of Music and Musicians² states that Gherardeschi was an organist, composer, and eventually maestro di cappella at the cathedral; except for a brief period of study in Naples, he spent his entire life in Pistoia. He began his musical studies with his father, Domenico (1733–1800), who was maestro di cappella at the cathedral, and continued with his uncle, Filippo Maria (1738–1808). The latter, also a Pistoia native, had been a pupil of Giovanni Battista (a.k.a. ‘Padre’) Martini³ in Bologna from 1756 to about 1761, when Filippo was admitted to the elite Accademia Filarmonica. Giuseppe completed his formal studies with Nicola Sala at the Conservatorio di Santa Maria della Pietà dei Turchini, one of three music conservatories in Naples. Upon returning to Pistoia, he married, fathered seven children, and became organist at the church of Santa Maria dell’Umiltà. When Domenico Gherardeschi died in 1800, Giuseppe inherited his position as maestro di cappella at the cathedral, a post he held until his death. In the tradition of the Bachs and Couperins and other families of musicians at the time, Giuseppe’s son, Luigi (1791–1871), and grandson, Gherardo (1835–1905), succeeded him. The Gherardeschi men all composed sacred vocal and instrumental music, much of which survives in the cathedral archives. Giuseppe did not confine himself to music for the church, however; five symphonies, all in the three-movement fast-slow-fast pattern favored by Giovanni Battista Sammartini and other 18th-century Italian composers, survive, as do numerous arias, chamber music, and oratorios.⁴

Umberto Pineschi’s edition of 

Gherardeschi’s organ works

That we know anything at all about the life and music of Giuseppe
Gherardeschi—and consequently, about the contemporary Tuscan organ—is due to the almost single-handed efforts of Umberto Pineschi. Organist, teacher, scholar, founder of the Gherardeschi Organ Academy, and now in “retirement” Director of the Scuola Comunale di Musica e Danza “Teodulo Mabellini” in Pistoia, Pineschi has worked tirelessly to locate, preserve, and restore organs in and around Pistoia. He edited the organ works of Gherardeschi for publication beginning in 1978. The first collection was followed by a second, third, and fourth, but as he confesses in the foreword to the newest edition (in Musiche Pistoiesi per Organo, published by the Fondazione Accademia di Musica Italiana per Organo in 2009), there was “no organized plan, since every time only the pieces considered interesting at the moment were selected.” Further, he adds, “Their context, often crucial for their understanding, was not taken in[to] account. Such a fragmented presentation of the Gherardeschi organ works did not allow one to fully appreciate both their lesson on the Pistoiese organ and the artistic relevance of the composer.”⁵ Pineschi here refers to the symbiotic relationship between organ music and the instruments for which it was written, in this case Pistoiese organs of the 18th and early 19th centuries. These deficiencies are addressed in the new edition, which is the basis for the discussion that follows.  

The present volume brings together all of Gherardeschi’s known compositions for organ, including some that have never been published. The pieces appear in the same order as in the manuscripts. Pineschi identifies several groupings by genre: 1. Sonatas; 2. Masses in C and D (Offertorio, Elevazione, and Postcommunio) and a Mass in E-flat that has versets for alternatim performance with the Ordinary; 3. Collections of versets; 4. Miscellaneous short pieces, including a colorful Sonata per organo a guisa di banda militare che suona una Marcia, two pastorales, and a fugue in G minor. Each piece has been assigned an opus number (a P followed by a number). Strict classification according to this scheme is impossible, however, since two of the sonatas (P.IV [1787]) are rondos and a number of the Mass movements (the Elevazione in D, P.I,5; the Offertorio in C, P.I,7) are sonatas. Elements of secular genres, including the concerto, aria, and symphony, also define and shape these pieces in a manner surely intended to entertain as well as sanctify the listeners.

Since the purpose of this article is to present an overview, rather than a comprehensive discussion, of Gherardeschi’s works, representative examples from each of the categories above will highlight important stylistic features of the music and the organs for which they were written, beginning with the sonatas. These all conform to the binary form and tonal design of the 18th-century keyboard sonatas of Domenico Scarlatti and others.

 

Offertorio, Mass in C: 

a representative work

The Offertory in an organ Mass is generally longer and more elaborate than other movements because it provides music during the preparation of the Eucharist. Gherardeschi takes advantage of these large dimensions by writing the Offertorio from the Mass in C as a sonata. The movement begins assertively with strong tonic chords in the left hand against clearly articulated right-hand rhythms in a 4-bar phrase. This antecedent phrase is answered by a consequent phrase in a reduced texture and registration, much like a dialogue between the tutti and solo parts of a concerto (Example 1). Indeed, Gherardeschi’s registration directions support this impression: initially, he calls for ‘[ri-]pieno con Trombe (trumpet)’ and ‘Timp[ano]’ in the pedal, which would be the equivalent of a full orchestra. The second phrase is labeled ‘p[ieno] senza ripieno [i.e., without the Trombe] e senza ped[ale]’. Without the trumpet (soloist) and pedal + timpani, the effect is of an echo. This alternation continues throughout both sections of the Offertorio. The texture is open, treble-dominated, and non-contrapuntal; occasional octaves in the manuals add a bit of dramatic emphasis at times. Harmonically, the music is predictable, with the first (A) section ending in the dominant key of G major. The B section opens in G minor, however, and moves to d, a, and F before returning via the dominant G to C.  

The energy, rhythmic drive, clear tonal design, and concerted style of the Offertorio reveal how steeped
Gherardeschi was in the music of Corelli, Vivaldi, and Sammartini. Written at the end of the 18th century, as Vienna and Paris were eclipsing Italy in the development of instrumental music, these pieces remind the listener of the connections among the various schools.

The concerto and symphony are not the only models for this music, however. Pineschi observes that the influence of opera and the theatre is clear in the Masses: “Indeed, the Offertori show the influence of the overture, the Elevazioni and the Benedizioni that of the romanza, while the Postcommunio echoes the always attractive spirit of the cabaletta; all, however, display whimsy, balanced proportions, and, above all, good taste.”⁶  

In fact, two of the three Masses in the collection, those in D and C, consist of exactly these movements, that is, Offertorio-Elevazione-Postcomunio. In modern usage, these may stand alone or be played in concert as a group of fast-slow-fast movements. The remaining Mass, in E-flat, is more complex because of versetti that alternate with chant. The Table of Mass movements summarizes the shape and content of the Messa in Elafá. One observes immediately the variety of tempos, meters, and registrations Gherardeschi uses in the versetti. The last aspect is the most important, for it tells us a great deal about the late 18th-century and early 19th-century Tuscan organ in general and the Pistoiese organ in particular. In this regard, the Mass resembles the other sets of versetti in the collection, all of which specify different stops as solos or in combinations.  

 

Registration

Gherardeschi frequently calls for “organo aperto” in his music. This means the complete Ripieno (Principale 8′, Ottava 4′, Decimaquinta 2′, Decimanona 11⁄3′, and two or three high-pitched ranks combined, the Vigesima seconda e sesta [1′, 2⁄3′] or seconda, sesta e nona [1′, 2⁄3′, ½′]), plus the Trombe (trumpet) 8′ and Cornetto.⁷ This combination, the equivalent of a full organ without flute stops, produces a clear and brilliant but not overpoweringly loud sound. “Pieno” refers to the complete or partial (i.e., 8′, 4′, 2′) Ripieno (Gherardeschi does not specify which). All the other combinations in the Messa call for specific principal and ‘da concerto’, i.e., solo, stops, including some divided stops (Musetto treble 8′; Clarone bass 4′; Trombe bass 8′). Stops divided between bass and treble registers have been a feature of Italian organs since at least 1664, when the Flemish Jesuit, Willem Hermans, built an organ for the church of Sant’Ignazio di Loyola (known in later times as “Spirito Santo” and since 1 February 2011, again as Sant’Ignazio) in Pistoia.⁸ They are advantageous on a small organ. In Pineschi’s words, “Gherardeschi’s clever use of the divided stops allows one to casually move from the bass section of the keyboard to the treble section and the other way round in such a way that the listener has no time to realize that.”⁹ He might have added that Gherardeschi must have possessed uncommon dexterity, given the lack of mechanical aids for registration changes and the fact that many of these occur in the middle of a piece. Perhaps he employed an assistant, maybe his son Luigi as organist-in-training. Pineschi suggests that these directions to change or add divided stops (which always occur at cadence points) reflect spontaneous changes made by Gherardeschi when he was improvising, as experienced organists did; the written version is for organists who were not as skilled or experienced in the art of improvisation.¹⁰

Of course, Gherardeschi’s registrations reflect and reinforce the character of individual versetti in the Messa; rhythms, tempos, and styles complete the picture. The first and last Gloria verses are of particular interest because they are cast as marches in duple meter with an abundance of dotted rhythms, repeated chords, triadic openings, trumpet-like solo lines, and liberal use of a “special effect” Timpano stop (from two to six wooden pipes, out of tune in such a way as to give a kettle-drum effect, operated by a pedal played by the right foot). The first Gloria verse begins with a fanfare in the manual accompanied by pedal and Timpano. In measure 5, another special effect (also played with the right foot), the Usignoli (Nightingale) stop, appears alternately with the timpani to simulate the trills of a clarinet¹¹ (Example 2a). Marches, whether for military bands or in concert music, were a common and popular musical genre in the 18th century.¹² As such, they connoted heroism, vigor, cheerfulness, and manliness.¹³ Gherardeschi was not the first composer to set the “Et in terra pax” couplet to a march; François Couperin had done that 100 years earlier in his Messe pour les couvents.¹⁴ Undoubtedly, the triumphal, affirmative nature of the text is a determining factor in the choice of musical style, but in the Messa there is more to the matter. Napoleon invaded Italy in 1790, defeating the Austrian army. The next 15 years were tumultuous ones in all the regions of the Italian peninsula, when French-initiated political and social reforms met with strenuous opposition from many Italians and the Church. The return of Austrian rule in 1815 after the Congress of Vienna, repressive as it was, was hailed as a return to order and normality.¹⁵ Gherardeschi composed his music against this backdrop of political turbulence amid constant reminders of a military presence. The Sonata . . . a guisa di banda militare even includes the “Janissary style” derived from Turkish military bands, a type of march in which cymbals, bass drum, and triangle are implied in the instrumentation (Example 2b, see page 28). Marches figured prominently in operas, symphonies,¹⁶ and secular keyboard music in the late 18th century, so it is not surprising to find them in organ music as well.

 

Versetti

In the preface of this volume, Pineschi lists the versetti as a third group after the sonatas and Masses. These works, though individually brief, are the most numerous and perhaps the most important for what they tell us about the Pistoiese organ of the time. There are two types of versetti, distinguished by their registrations. Versetti a pieno require the
[ri-]pieno, or full, sound, with only a tempo indicated at the beginning (the registration is implied) (Example 3a); versetti concertati require use of the ‘da concerto’ stops and have specific registrations provided at the beginning of each piece (Example 3b). From these, we learn the tonal design of the organs for which
Gherardeschi wrote his music.¹⁷ The ‘da concerto’ versetti are also labeled ‘solenni’, referring to their intended liturgical use in the Mass or other services, especially the Office of Vespers (e.g., the Magnificat). Versetti are written in all eight psalm tones, as one would expect. Interestingly, the versetti a pieno, P.II, are only figured basses; the organist must realize them in performance. Obviously this Baroque musical shorthand was still proving useful at the beginning of the 19th century.

 

Organs

Specifications for four organs that
Gherardeschi would have known appear in the preface to the Opere per organo. The first, by Hermans, was the prototype for the rest, which were built in the 1780s and ’90s by Antonio and Filippo Tronci and Pietro Agati. These instruments have been preserved and restored in Pistoia and Lucca. A similar organ built by Luigi and Benedetto Tronci in 1793 has been in the Cathedral in Pistoia since Pineschi rescued it from the chapel of the Rucellai villa, Campi Bisenzio (a small town between Prato and Florence), in 1998.  This is the instrument I played every day for five days in preparation for the Vespers performance. It is, amazingly, in its original condition. The specifications are as follows (For photos and audio clips of the Hermans and Tronci organs, visit The Diapason website,
Diapason.com>.):

 

Ripieno stops

Principale 8′ (first eight pipes are wood and play without drawing a stop because they are placed on a separate chest; the remaining pipes are tin, with C2 the major pipe of the façade)¹⁸

Ottava 4′

Decimaquinta 2′

Decimanona 11⁄3′

Vigesima seconda e sesta (1′, 2⁄3′)

 

‘Da concerto’ stops

Flauto 4′ (from C2)

Cornetto I (soprano 4′, 13⁄5′)

Cornetto II (soprano 22⁄3′)

Voce languente (the same as the Voce umana, soprano 8′)

 

Special effects: Timpano, Usignoli

Manual compass: 47 notes, C1–D5 with short octave at the bottom)

Pedals: eight notes (C–G), short octave, always coupled to manual

Divided registers between E3 and F3

 

As other writers have observed, having the ranks of the ripieno available as single stops (rather than as a multi-rank mixture stop) presents a multitude of registrational choices, many of which are subtly different. I enjoyed getting to know the sounds of all the stops individually and in various combinations. The Tronci keyboard has a uniform and light touch perfectly suited to the lively, graceful lines of 18th-century music. Using the short octave on both manual and pedal requires re-patterning of both cognitive and muscle memory. (What usually feels like a fifth is now a second, for example.) The short pedals are also quite different; one hardly needs organ shoes to play them, since only toes are used—heels remain on the floor. To sum up, playing an instrument like this, so different from a modern organ, requires total concentration, since all the senses—visual, auditory, kinesthetic—are involved in sometimes unfamiliar ways.

I hope this brief introduction—to the music of a composer who, in his own lifetime, was well known and highly respected in Tuscany, and to one of the organs he could have known—will encourage interest in both topics. This delightful, lively, and lovely music deserves to be better known on this side of the Atlantic. At present, the Opere per organo is only available from the editor, Umberto Pineschi, at . It is well worth the effort to obtain the book.

 

 

Bill Halsey

Bill Halsey was born in Seattle, where he studied piano and composition from an early age, and began organ lessons in his teens. While a student at the Sorbonne, he had access to the two-manual unmodified tracker-action Cavaillé-Coll organ at Saint Bernard de la Chapelle, in a northern arrondissement of Paris. This fueled his interest in historic organs, and after spending fifteen years serving in organist positions at St. John Cantius, St. Peter Claver, Church of the Assumption, and the Basilica of Our Lady of Perpetual Help, all in Brooklyn, New York, he took a permanent leave of absence to explore historic organs, first in France, and later in Italy. For audio and video files of the organs discussed in this article, visit the author’s website: <A HREF="http://www.williamdawsonhalsey.com/altamura.html">www.williamdawsonhals…;.

After we had spent the winter in Le Marche, visiting organs by the Venetian Callido and other builders, my wife and I went south to Puglia, living in a farmhouse 20 kilometers down the coast from Bari, burning piles of cut-up brush and tree wood to keep warm, and watching the wildflowers and the fruit trees in our orchard mark the passing time. The Murge is a limestone plateau that makes up much of the interior of Puglia. Altamura is in the High Murge, about 50 km due south of Bari, rising up unexpectedly out of the scrubby olive groves and odd unexplained declivities marked by free stone fences that the rattle-trap graffiti-clad diesel trains of FAL rumble through on their way to Basilicata from Bari.
I had originally wanted to visit Altamura because it is the birthplace of Saverio Mercadante, who grew up playing the flute for change on the steps of the cathedral, lied his way into the Naples Conservatory, and went on to become an important opera composer of the period after Rossini, and a major influence on Verdi. I had also found out that the cathedral had an important historic organ from 1880, built by Turin organbuilder Giacomo Bossi Vegezzi.
If you follow the Corso Federico II di Svevia through the whole old town you pass Mercadante’s childhood home, a four-story building with a dilapidated Spanish air and wrought iron balustrades, and then the cathedral, built out of native white limestone, with some amazing limestone carvings on the front door that depict the life of Christ from a Marian perspective, until finally coming out onto a cedar-shaded piazza overlooking the road to Matera. There is really no Mercadante site or museum in the city; his birth home has a plaque on the side, but people live there and it’s not possible to visit. The cathedral organ soon became the focus of my frequent visits to Altamura.

The Altamura Cathedral organ
The nameplate on the console indicates that it was built in 1880 by the Turin firm of Giacomo Bossi Vegezzi, organbuilders to the King of Italy. While my wife copied down the stoplist, I squeezed into the narrow space between the bench and the console and began to play, barely able to take in, let alone use, the immense selection of reed, flute, principal, and ripieno stops arrayed in four columns before me.
Most of the other historic organs in Puglia are small 18th-century instruments, much smaller than Callido organs, and somehow much less modern—usually just principals, ripieno, and vox humana. The organ in Altamura Cathedral, however, seems gigantic, the biggest two-manual organ I have ever seen. It is a true symphonic organ, because it has timbres that imitate the sounds of an orchestra, and was perhaps designed to play operatic music as it was adapted to the needs of the liturgy—something that might seem strange until you think that the modern Catholic Church has adopted both Latino music and rock music to its new liturgy.
But it is more than just a symphonic instrument, because the quality of the reeds and flutes is strong enough to play organ literature, and among the huge variety of stops each has a clear personality and function that is not duplicated by any other stop. With an organ that big, it takes time to appreciate all it can do. The Italians call two-manual instruments double organs, because they think of them as two organs played by one organist from two keyboards. Even though one organ is usually smaller than the other, they don’t think of one as subservient to the other, like the Choir to the Great, or the Rückpositiv to the Hauptwerk. It is tempting but mistaken to treat one manual as the accompaniment to the other; one must learn to use each manual as a full organ.
The natural literature for this organ, aside from orchestral accompaniment, would be the Italian Romantics, Padre Davide da Bergamo foremost among them. Padre Davide, one of a group of Bergamo composers that included Gaetano Donizetti, seven years his junior, wrote a large variety of organ music, such as flamboyant symphonies that can seem tastelessly theatrical, more somber and restrained offertories, and imitations of bagpipes and other character pieces. His music works very well for the most part on the Altamura Cathedral organ, although his pieces call for things, in terms of both stops and range (low range in the pedals, for instance), that I have never seen anywhere, even on the Serassi organ he used in Piacenza. It seems likely to me that he supplemented the organ as needed with actual woodwinds and brass, and that his organ scores were outlines that would be changed according to the different circumstances and personnel of the concerts.
But it would be a mistake to think that the Altamura Cathedral organ is only good for Italian Romantic music. The solidity of the principals (two sets of 8′ principals and one of 16′ on the big organ) and abrasiveness of the reed stops make this organ suitable for a wide variety of French music and early Italian moderns like Galiera, who wrote fugues influenced by Bach as seen through an early-twentieth-century prism.
Playing most organ music on Italian organs, even Italian music, calls for a continual process of adjustment. Although there are only two manuals on the cathedral organ, each one is divided at middle C, which allows for some independence, but not as much as if there were four manuals, or even three. The problem with the divided keyboard is that melodies often cross middle C. Even Italian music isn’t written to avoid this problem, partly because different organs break at different points, but the fact that solo reed stops in the treble often play at 16′ and in the bass at 4′ means there is a negotiable zone around middle C—for instance, by playing a bass melody an octave lower or a treble melody an octave higher than written.
Perhaps the challenges of writing music specifically for this organ inspired me to take some music, played by a wonderful brass band in the famous Good Friday procession of Noicattero, a Pugliese village walking distance from our farmhouse, and arrange it specifically for the Altamura Cathedral organ. The procession depicts Mary’s search for her son, and features local women wearing veils who assume the persona of Mary; this is depicted in the third of three “Somber Pieces” arranged from this music (p. 22).
Altamura has a different culture from some other Pugliese cities, where, when you come to visit the organ, people in the church sometimes look askance, as if you were crazy. Here, my wife, who would go downstairs to work the recording equipment, was often met by people telling her where there were other interesting and even better organs.
After our first visit to the cathedral, we went looking for a place to eat, and were directed to the Federico II di Svevia, a trattoria with a menu tipico and a back room where we struck up a conversation with a group of men, from middle age to elderly, who adopted us as members of the pack and with whom we came to lunch regularly when we were in Altamura.

The organ in the Church of St. Dominic
After lunch on our first visit we looked for Mercadante scores in the municipal library, housed along with a secondary school in a former Dominican monastery on one side of the cedar-shaded piazza overlooking the Matera road. I noticed the Church of St. Dominic next to the library. We learned that St. Dominic’s also had a Bossi Vegezzi organ, smaller but in better condition than the one in the cathedral.
The St. Dominic instrument, made in 1882, was restored in 2005 by the firm of Fabbrica Organi Continiello Vincenzo. It struck me at first how different its tone is from the cathedral instrument. Even though the stoplist is similar, the St. Dominic organ sounds much more classic, less symphonic and romantic, and I immediately thought it would work well for the big preludes and fugues of J. S. Bach. The difference can’t be explained as the result of an evolution over years in the organ builder’s taste—the two organs were built within two years of each other. Some of the difference may come from the buildings themselves and the location of each organ. The cathedral is a huge Romanesque Gothic building, full of extensive side chapels, and the organ is placed in a traditional Italian way in a loft at one side of the choir, in cornu evangeli, and obviously the sound is diffused by the space. In St. Dominic, on the other hand, the organ is centered on the back wall in a French-style choir loft, and the church itself is a smaller building, with narrow side chapels, whose only architectural extravagance is a Byzantine dome. This is the classical rectangle of great concert halls, where the sound is hardened and focused by the shape of the space.
The organ at the cathedral, perhaps because it has never been restored, gives more of a sense of place. Squeezing into the bench crammed tight against the console, seeing the blue and red draw knobs, the “pedaletti” that were their version of combination stops, gives a real sense of being an organist in 1880. I even finally figured out what the two metal contraptions on either side of the keyboards were. The one on the right had been broken off, but the one on the left was clearly a candle holder, folding out in three sections like a slide rule, with a little cup with a point in the middle for the candle and underneath a larger metal plate to catch the drips!
The firm of Bossi Vegezzi still exists (as Brondino Vegezzi-Bossi) and has made some information about its history, in particular about Giacomo Bossi Vegezzi, available on the web (www.vegezzi-bossi.com). As is usual with organbuilding firms, he was one of a long family tree of organbuilders. Giacomo died in 1883, not long after these organs were built. The interesting part of the story is that at the time of their building, after being a widower, he had taken a second wife, Annetta Vittino, herself the daughter of an organbuilder. She was not only responsible for much of the large-scale operation of the firm while he did the voicing and detail work, but also bore him a son when she was fifty-four. She died in 1886, and her son went on to start his own organbuilding firm, while Giacomo’s son from his first marriage (Carlo Vegezzi-Bossi) continued the Vegezzi-Bossi firm.
St. Dominic’s is run by a lay confraternity, the Confraternity of the Most Holy Rosary. The president of the confraternity invited me to give a concert on September 5 as part of Altamura’s White Night, when the whole city stays up with various concerts and events until dawn. I had spent August in Sicily, because the farmhouse had already been booked for August, and didn’t really have enough time to prepare, but I put together a program that I felt would be feasible. I also found the organ seemed in less good shape than when I first saw it, with some really annoying ciphers in the bass of the principals, both 16′ and 8′.
But all in all, the concert was a good experience. There were people from the church there, and also a group came from the class my wife and I had been taking in pizzica, a form of Barese dancing related to the Sicilian tarantella. I started with Bach’s Prelude and Fugue in E minor, played some arrangements of Cuban music I had made in New York, continued with a Bellini organ sonata and the Largo from Mercadante’s flute concerto in E major, then finished with the Boléro de concert and Elevation by Lefébure-Wély, and Gigout’s Toccata, which in fact is a traditional pizzica melody.
When the concert had finished, after 9 pm, the last train had left, but there was an early morning bus at 4:30 back to Bari, and so we walked around, listening to various rock concerts, watching some groups doing Murgian folk dancing as well as line dancing that could have come from an American International horror movie, and preteens doing dirty dancing that would have put Abigail Breslin in Little Miss Sunshine to shame.
Our regular trattoria was closed for vacation, so we had a nice dinner of typical Murgian antipasti and primi at a pizzeria-restaurant called Don Saverio, on the Piazza Mercadante, before we collapsed on a bench by the cedar-shaded piazza with its Victorian painted glass carousel and the baroque fountain with dolphins and lions, waiting for the bus to arrive.

 

Tradition and Development

by Francesco Ruffatti

A concert by Luigi Ferdinando Tagliavini and Gustav Leonhardt at the Basilica of San Petronio in Bologna, held on October 27, 2000, provided the inspiration for  writing an article on the historical Italian organ, its tradition and development. My goal is to give a panoramic view of the subject, and anyone knows that when looking at a panoramic view much of the detail is lost. Still, such an attempt is worth carrying out because some general guidelines can in any case be drawn. To do so, it is necessary to go back a number of centuries and try to understand the original role of the organ in the musical world of Italian churches.

 

The Basilica of San Petronio is no ordinary place from the standpoint of organbuilding history. It enjoys the presence of two unique instruments: the oldest Italian organ in existence, built by Lorenzo da Prato between 1471 and 1475, roughly 20 years prior to the discovery of America by Columbus,1 and a later organ, built by Baldassarre Malamini in 1596. The instruments are located face to face in the area traditionally reserved for the choristers, behind the high altar.

The program notes for the Tagliavini-Leonhardt concert, written by Marc Vanscheevwijck, well explain the use for which organs of medieval and renaissance times were intended:

Alternatim performance practice, i.e., the performance of liturgical pieces alternating contrasting musical forces in the various versets of the sacred texts, originates in the old antiphonal singing of psalms of the first centuries A.D. In responsorial music a soloist or a small group of singers alternated with the larger choir. Sometimes they alternated plainchant with polyphonic settings of the text. Probably as early as the organ began to be used in church, the organist already improvised "versets," alternating with the choir singing the counter versets in Gregorian chant. Obviously, the schola never repeated the texts of the versets played by the organist, who improvised (and later composed) on the relative Gregorian melodies. The earliest source of such a practice is the Faenza Codex, compiled c.1420. During the following century this alternatim practice spread throughout Italy. Many alternatim settings, particularly of the mass proper, have been preserved, some of the most famous of which were composed by Girolamo Cavazzoni, Claudio Merulo, Andrea Gabrieli, and (in the 17th century) the Fiori Musicali of Girolamo Frescobaldi.2

 

Two aspects immediately come to mind:

1. The organ location, which for effective responsorial use had to be near the choir and not necessarily in a favorable position for the congregation,

2. A tonal structure suitable for dialogue with a small group of singers.

There was no need for a sound big enough to accompany the choir, simply because the organ was intended as a soloist. And accompanying the congregation was certainly not in the agenda, since people did not sing during liturgy in Italian Catholic churches until very recently.3

What effect did all of this have on the sound? Since power was not the issue, early Italian organbuilders developed their talents in other areas, and tonal quality became the priority. They created relatively small instruments, mostly with only one manual, with gentle, beautifully voiced stops. Wind pressures were in most cases quite low, down to 42-45 mm. at the water column, and the voicing techniques as well as the tonal design in general reflected such an approach.

Listening to music by Antegnati (also a famous Italian organbuilder), Segni, Veggio, Gabrieli and others performed on the beautiful organs of San Petronio gave me and the entire audience (a few hundred people all gathered in the large space behind the high altar, to be able to best hear the organs) a good perspective of the musical experience which was originally expected from such instruments.

It is my belief that the original DNA of ancient Italian pipe organs, as defined by their original use in the liturgy, played a decisive role in the subsequent evolution of the instruments. This was due to a strong sense of tradition among the vast majority of builders and to their reluctance to introduce changes to a practice which was considered successful. Examples to the contrary do exist, but any effort of generalizing, or extracting general rules from a complex reality, always ends up sacrificing notable exceptions.

In post-Renaissance times, organ use became widespread. All Italian churches had at least one organ and often one or two Positivo4  instruments in addition to the main organ. And a very significant change took place: in addition to being used as a solo instrument for improvisations and for the performance of written music, the organ also became an accompanimental instrument for the choir. Its location within the building also changed in most cases, taking into greater consideration the congregation as the beneficiary of musical performances: the preferred location for new instruments became a balcony facing the nave, which is still considered by many to be the ideal location for the best possible diffusion of sound within a building. Naturally, broader tonal resources had to be made available in order to accommodate this new function, but this did not cause a significant change in the original voicing practices. In other words, more stops were introduced and a Pedal division was added (normally consisting of one or two stops), but the basic tonal structure remained the same and no major changes took place in the sound: still low pressures and gentle voicing. After all, organs still did not need to be big or powerful, because they were not intended to support an entire congregation, just a choir.5

A further, major evolution took place as a result of the greater demands by the repertoire of the Romantic period. A great number of new stops were introduced: reeds of various types, more flutes, strings, even percussion: drums, cymbals, bells and the like. The organs built by the Serassi family of Bergamo towards the end of the eighteenth century and during the following century are a good example of the romantic Italian organ. The occupation of Bergamo by the troops of Napoleon (1796-1813) and subsequently by the Austrians (1814-1859) influenced organbuilding practices by introducing new musical models and, as a consequence, by contributing to the development of new devices and new sounds that would improve the performance of the music inspired by the teaching of Simon Mayr (1763-1845), by his pupil Gaetano Donizetti (1797-1848) and by Gioacchino Rossini.6 The famous composer Felice Moretti (also known as Father Davide da Bergamo), a Franciscan monk and a family friend of the Serassi, composed music that was deeply influenced by opera. Also, Giuseppe II Serassi, the most innovative member of the family, introduced new devices aimed at facilitating the dynamic control of sound: the third hand, or mechanical super coupler, the fourth hand, or sub coupler, the expression shades, pedals for pre-set combinations of stops, an easier system for the coupling of the manuals (by means of a pedal and no longer by the sliding of the upper manual into position), settable combinations of stops, and the Tiratutti or Tutti for the Ripieno ranks.7

In spite of all of this, the ancient core of the instrument and the basic tonal concept behind it remained virtually unchanged for a good part of the nineteenth century. Low wind pressures were still the rule, as well as unforced voicing, fairly open pipe toes, and few nicks at the languids. As a consequence,   there was a broad harmonic development in the sound, allowing a very effective use of each stop in combination with others and forming an ensemble of rare cohesion and beauty. Pressures of sometimes less than 50 mm. at the water column naturally presented a real challenge, particularly for the voicing of reed stops, but this had the effect of encouraging builders to find original design and voicing methods to overcome the difficulties.8

At this point, it is necessary to define the tonal core of the organ which I have indicated as an element of continuity in Italian organbuilding throughout the centuries. Its main component is the Ripieno. The term does not translate to Mixture, but rather it defines a series of individual Principal scaled ranks of pipes at various pitches, creating a system of sounds at harmonic intervals, normally beginning with 8' pitch as the foundation of the manual.

The composition of a typical Ripieno with its traditional nomenclature follows:

Principale (I) 8'

Ottava (VIII) 4'

Decimaquinta (XV) 2'

Decimanona (XIX) 11/3'

Vigesima seconda (XXII) 1'

Vigesima sesta (XXVI) 2/3'

Vigesima nona (XXIX) 1/2'

Trigesima terza (XXXIII) 1/3'

Trigesima sesta (XXXVI) 1/4'

And occasionally:

Quadragesima (XL) 1/6'

Quadragesima Terza (XLIII) 1/8'

The highest pitch in the entire Ripieno is in most cases the note C at 1/8'. Beyond this limit a ritornello or break begins with pipes double the length, or one full octave lower in pitch.9

Table 1 is intended to give a clear and comprehensive idea of the tonal composition of the Ripieno. The method I am utilizing is unconventional and it consists of identifying each pipe by a number corresponding to its place in an ideal succession of notes starting with number 1 as low C of the 8' Principal. Low C at 4' will consequently be numbered as 13, low C at 2' will be numbered as 25 and so on. The highest pitch pipe in the Ripieno will be number 73, corresponding to the pitch limit of 1/8'. Once a rank reaches note number 73 it will break back and start a ritornello with note C#62 (or one full octave lower). To simplify matters, I am showing the first octave as complete (12 notes). The most common arrangement in Italian historical organs calls for a short first octave (8 notes, with C#, D#, F# and G# missing). Notes are identified by octave number, according to the Italian system, by which C1 corresponds to note C of the first octave, F3 to note F of the third octave, and so on. The chosen compass for our example is of 49 keys, C1 to C5. This system, by numbers rather than by footage, is intended to provide a more immediate idea of the repetition of equal size pipes throughout the compass for the entire Ripieno. Equal number means equal size pipe.

The conventional method is shown in Table 2. The Ripieno here is comparable, in pure terms of number of pipes, to a Principal chorus with 8', 4' and 2' stops plus a six-rank mixture. But by looking at Table 2 one can immediately appreciate the vast difference from such an arrangement. At note C#2 the first doubling or double pitch appears: pipes from the 1/2' rank (XXIX) and 1/4' rank (XXXVI) become of identical size. Consequently, between notes C#2 and F2 the tonal effect is not that of a six-rank mixture but rather of a five-rank mixture with one of the ranks doubled. This aspect becomes more and more prominent as we move up the keyboard, to the point that at note C#4 (key number 38) with all ranks from Decimaquinta (2') up drawn, only two pitches can be heard: 2', repeated 4 times, and 11/3', repeated three times. As one can easily appreciate, such tonal structure cannot be compared with that of a Mixture, or Fourniture or any other multiple-rank stop designed as a single entity. The Ripieno is simply different. It is conceived as a sum of individual ranks at different pitches, each separately usable in combinations with any other rank and all usable at once as a pleno.10

Obviously, this feature provides a great deal of flexibility in the tonal palette. From an organbuilder"s practical standpoint, it has two effects:

1. It forces the voicer to be extremely scrupulous as to the tonal balance, regulation and speech adjustment of each pipe even in the highest pitched ranks, since each can be separately used;

2. It makes tuning more difficult, due to the drawing effect on the equal pitched pipes when they play together. Only a tuner who knows how to deal with such a problem can obtain a stable tuning of the Ripieno.11

Tuning with double pitches was nothing new to ancient builders. In fact, pre-Renaissance and Renaissance organs, in Italy as well as in other European countries, often had double or even triple notes of equal length in the treble of the Principal, the Octave and sometimes the Fifteenth, to enhance the singing qualities of the instrument in the treble. This practice strangely survived, in some areas of Italy, all the way to the beginning of the 19th century. This proves that the difficulties connected with the tuning of multiple equal-pitched pipes never bothered Italian organbuilders too much.12

Other traditional stops forming the original core of the historical Italian organ include the following:

Flauto in Ottava (4'), normally tapered or cylindrical, sometimes stopped

Flauto in Decimaquinta (2') in the earlier instruments

Flauto in Duodecima (22/3')

The Terzino, or Tierce flute (13/5') was later added and, in the nineteenth century, the Flauto Traverso or Fluta (8', normally in the treble only).

Early strings appeared in the eighteenth century, at 4' in the bass and occasionally over the entire compass, but such stops were vastly different from what we think of as a string today. They had no ears, no beards, no nicks at the languids. These characteristics, combined with a very narrow scale, contributed to produce a sound with a very prominent transient at the attach and a cutting sustained tone, strongly imitative of early string instruments.

The Voce Umana or Fiffaro, a Principal-scaled stop at 8' pitch (treble only) was also used in the Renaissance and became increasingly more common in the Baroque and later periods. Its pipes were normally tuned sharp against the 8' Principal, except in the Venetian tradition and among a few builders in the south of Italy, where flat tuning was preferred.

The above description, as I have said earlier, represents a simplification of a much more complicated subject, and many examples exist that do not follow the rule.13 Also, all of those who are familiar with ancient Italian organs will agree that the tonal experience that comes from a Callido or a Nacchini organ is vastly different from that of an Agati or a Catarinozzi. They were expressions of very different artistic environments and the builders were very faithful to their own local traditions.

What happened in nineteenth-century Italian organbuilding is worth investigating a bit more closely. Early signs of rejection of the Italian romantic organ appeared. In 1824 the Cardinal Vicar of Rome promulgated an edict stating: "Organists may not play on the organ music written for theater, or with profane character, but only music that can encourage meditation and devotion . . . "14 Still, many of the major builders in the north, as well as many in other parts of the country, continued in their tradition of building instruments without changing their style.15 But at some point, foreign influence became a strong factor16 and the "new inventions," the Barker lever first and then pneumatic and electric action, came into the picture.17 Pneumatic action in particular and the new sounds, such as the "modern strings" and harmonic stops demanded higher wind pressures, and the organ sound became stronger and aggressive. But, as we all know, pneumatic action represented only a relatively short transition period in organbuilding history, and a further evolution of the instrument was soon marked in the following century by a perfected electric action and by the rediscovery, in the mid 1960s, of tracker action. This movement was immediately promoted by some of the major Italian builders18 and it became stronger and stronger over the years. The neoclassical instrument was created, based on mechanical action and on the re-discovery of the traditional sounds and voicing techniques. But, as it is often the case, the intent was not that of copying the past but rather of preserving the best of tradition within a new context which was calling for a new use of the organ: the support of congregational singing.

One may get the impression that it is impossible to extract a general trend from this entire process of evolution. Still, I believe that one common denominator can be found: the unforced, pleasing singing quality that has survived unchanged for over five centuries, and which effectively represents, in musical form, the character of the Italian language.

 

Notes

                  1.              The instrument consists of one manual and short pedalboard, as follows. Manual: F1-A4 without F#1, G#1; divided keys G#1/Ab1, G#2/Ab2, G#3/Ab3; Pedal: F1-D2 directly connected to the corresponding manual keys. The stoplist follows:

Principale contrabasso (24', façade) - doubled from C#3

Principale (12', rear façade - doubled from C#3, triple from Bb3)

Flauto in VIII

Flauto in XII

Ottava (doubled from Bb3)

XII

XV

XIX

XXII

XXVI-XXIX

Spring windchest, A = 470 Hz, meantone temperament; restoration by Tamburini, 1974-1982. The above information is the courtesy of Liuwe Tamminga, recitalist and organist at the Basilica of San Petronio.

                  2.              Concerning earlier use of the organ in western world churches, see Peter Williams (Duke University, Durham, NC) in his essay "The origin of the Christian organ with some particular reference to Italy," Acts of the International Symposium on "I Serassi--L"arte organaria fra sette e ottocento," Ed. Carrara, Bergamo, 1999, p. 12. Referring to the early Middle Ages, he writes: "I don"t know any evidence that organs were brought into church in order to accompany singing--whether it was the celebrant singing at mass, the lay people responding with their own acclamations, or the monks chanting their daily office in private or in public. All that one can be certain about is that organs were there to provide sound, and whatever later music historians may have assumed, it is seldom if ever clear what kind of sound they made, or for what purpose and at what point they made it. Only from the thirteenth century onwards the picture is clear . . ."

                  3.              While the practice of congregational singing at celebrations in Italian churches may have had its first examples at the end of the nineteenth century, it was during the Second Vatican Council that this practice was actually encouraged.

                  4.              A Positivo can be described as a smaller size "cabinet" organ, self-contained, whose casework is normally divided in two sections: the lower case, containing the bellows (normally two multi-fold hinged bellows activated by levers), and the upper case, which sits on top and which holds the keyboard, the windchest and pipes. It was almost invariably built without independent pedal stops,  and its pedalboard, when present, consisted normally of one short octave, whose keys were connected to the corresponding keys of the first octave at the manual by means of strings or wires. Although easily movable (sometimes large handles on the sides of the two sections of the case indicate this possibility), it is different from a Portativo, an even smaller instrument whose primary function was that of providing music during outdoor processions.

                  5.              Larger instruments are not unknown to historical Italian organbuilding. I will mention two examples of rare complexity:

a.) The instrument at the church of San Nicolo L"Arena in Catania, by Donato del Piano (1698-1785), with a total of five keyboards, divided between three consoles attached to the case (1 manual - 3 manuals - 1 manual) with the larger console in the center and one pedalboard for the center console, plus a separate small automatic pipe instrument activated by a rotating drum. This enormous, beautiful instrument, now in a poor state of disrepair (among other things, the pipes have all been removed and stored), includes pipework of extremely unusual shape.

b.) The great organ at the Church of the Cavalieri di S. Stefano in Pisa, built between 1733 and 1738 by Azzolino Bernardino della Ciaia (1671-1755) with the help of other organbuilders from different parts of Italy, with four manuals plus a fifth manual activating a harpsichord. This organ was later converted into a pneumatic instrument and subsequently electrified. Only a portion of the original pipework survives.

                  6.              See Luigi Ferdinando Tagliavini, "Le risorse dell"organo Serassiano e il loro sfruttamento nella prassi organistica dell"epoca," in Acts of the International Symposium on "I Serassi--L"arte organaria fra sette e ottocento", Ed. Carrara, Bergamo, 1999, pp. 80-84.

                  7.              See Giosue Berbenni, Acts of the International Symposium on "I Serassi--L"arte organaria fra sette e ottocento," Ed. Carrara, Bergamo, 1999, pp. 22-24.

                  8.              The lower the wind pressure, the thinner the tongues must be to obtain promptness of speech. But thin tongues also produce undesirable side effects, notably:  a) A thinner timbre in general, with greater development of overtones and less fundamental; b) Uncontrollable sound at the bass register, where any reed naturally tends to become louder; c) Very weak trebles. To overcome these problems, a series of interesting methods were developed. I will mention a few:

a.) Wide and deep shallots to increase the volume of air excited by the tongue, with the effect of increasing the prominence of the fundamental in the tone;

b.) Double or even triple tongues at the low register, to control volume, timbre and stability;

c.) Variable tongue thickness at the treble, with the filing of the tip to obtain promptness while retaining a good volume of sound.

For a more complete description of voicing methods on low pressure reeds, with specific reference to the reeds of Serassi organs, see Francesco Ruffatti in "I registri ad ancia negli organi Serassi," Acts of the International Symposium on "I Serassi--L"arte organaria fra sette e ottocento," Ed. Carrara, Bergamo, 1999 pp. 144-150.

                  9.              When the lowest pitched stop on the manual is the Principal 16' the nomenclature remains the same, although all stops start one octave lower in pitch. The stoplist becomes:

Principale (16')

Ottava (8')

Decimaquinta (4')

Decimanona (22/3')

and so on. In essence, the organ is still seen as based on the 8' Principal, with the extension of a counter octave towards the bass (see my article on Gaetano Callido, December, 1999 issue of The Diapason, p. 17, Note 8).

                  10.           Luigi Ferdinando Tagliavini in his article "Il ripieno," L"organo, Year 1, No. 2, July-December, 1960, Ed. Patron, Bologna, points out the difference between the Italian Ripieno and the northern European mixtures as follows:

"a) The classical Italian ripieno is divided into its constitutive elements, corresponding to separate stops, while the foreign mixtures, starting from a certain pitch (from 4', from 22/3', from 2', from 11/3' etc.) are condensed into one stop;

b) Both in the ripieno and in the northern mixtures a gradual "compression" towards the treble takes place, a compression which is more limited in the German and northern European organ, greater in the Italian organ. In fact a ripieno will have a "compressed" extension in the treble, reduced from 8' to 2', while in the Mixtur-Scharf scheme the treble is extended between 8' and 1';

c) The "masking" of the jumps produced by the breaks is done differently in Italy from abroad; in Italy, by the division of breaks into two different points, one for the octave stops and one for the quint stops; abroad by the partial or complete substitution of the break in quint and fourth with the one in octave.

The northern European mixtures, through a particular interpretation of the break and without any fear of going beyond the pitch limits in the bass and the treble as imposed by the Italian ripieno, tend to make the tonal "density" more uniform, by reducing the difference between the tonal richness of the bass and the treble. Part of such uniformity is sacrificed by the Italian organbuilder in favor of tonal beauty. This is why the use of the Italian ripieno is mostly chordal and for toccatas, while the northern European organum plenum, especially the German, can also perform a polyphonic role."

In c) Tagliavini refers to alternation of quint and unison breaks within the same rank in all ranks of the mixture.

The pitch limit of northern European mixtures and related stops is often C at 1/16', close to the limit of human hearing, one full octave higher than the Ripieno and this factor alone determines a dramatic difference in the sound from the Ripieno.

                  11.           Drawing is an acoustical phenomena by which the sound of a pipe is drawn or pulled into tune by the sound of a second pipe which is playing an interval close to being pure or in tune. This effect is stronger between unison pipes; when tuning the second pipe to the first, its sound will slide into tune as soon as its frequency approaches that of the first pipe, but before it actually reaches the same value, thus determining an apparent tuning condition. Adding a third pipe and trying to tune it to the two previous sounds becomes impossible if the first two pipes are in a status of apparent unison, because each of the two sounds will react to the third pipe differently, according to their real frequency value. The difficulties increase exponentially from note C#4 up in the example shown, where two groups of 4 and 3 equal size pipes respectively play at once. The procedure to tune the Ripieno is consequently different and definitely more complicated than that of a regular mixture stop, as it must take into account the drawing of equal length pipes.

                  12.           I am here mentioning two organs, built in Tuscany by the Paoli family of Campi Bisenzio at the beginning of the 19th century, both restored by Fratelli Ruffatti in recent years:

a.) the organ in the Church of S. Francesco in Pontassieve, near Florence, built by Giacobbe Paoli, which includes doublings at the Principale starting with note Bb3, at the Ottava from note F3 and at the Decimaquinta also from note F3;

b.) the organ built by Michelangelo Paoli in the Basilica of S. Maria, Impruneta - Firenze, utilizing the pipes of a previous instrument by Bernardo d"Argenta, 1535, which has doublings at the Principale starting from note F#3, at the Ottava from note B3 and at the Decimaquinta from C4. Having re-built the windchest entirely, the builder could have easily eliminated the doublings had he not believed in the validity of such tonal approach.

                  13.           As an example, Sicilian organs in the 18th century were often built with multiple Ripieno ranks activated by a single stop control.

                  14.           See "La riforma dell"Organo Italiano" by Baggiani, Picchi, Tarrini, Ed. Pacini, Ospedaletto (Pisa), 1990, pp. 9-10.

                  15.           The largest instrument built by the Serassi family, the "Organum maximum" with three keyboards and over three thousand pipes, was built in the romantic style as late as in 1882. This instrument was restored by Fratelli Ruffatti between 1983 and 1985. It includes many of the effects which were rejected by liturgists, such as the drum, a bell and other percussion.

                  16.           Ferdinando Casamorata (1807-1881), musician and music scholar, introduced the work of Cavaillé-Coll to the Italian musical scene by making public the work of J. A. De La Fage "Orgue de l"Église Royale de Saint Dénis, construit par MM Cavaillé-Coll père et fils, Facteur d"orgues du Roi." Rapport. II edition, Paris, 1846. See "La riforma dell"Organo Italiano" by Baggiani, Picchi, Tarrini, Ed. Pacini, Ospedaletto (Pisa), 1990, p. 12. He gave explanations and favorable comments on some of the most remarkable characteristics of the instrument, notably the variety of wind pressures, the Barker lever, the "strength" of the upper registers, especially the reed stops, etc., and presenting them as valuable innovations worth imitating.

                  17.           An important role in this process was played by George William Trice (1848-1920), a British merchant who became an organbuilder and established a factory in Italy. He built the first electric action organ in 1888 for the Church of S. Andrea, Genoa. Other notable instruments followed, among which the three-manual instrument for the Church of the Immaculate Conception in Genoa, inaugurated in 1890 with concerts by Alexander Guilmant and Filippo Capocci.

18.               

Tamburini and Ruffatti were the first major Italian companies, in the early 1960s, to resume building mechanical action instruments.

 

Francesco Ruffatti has been a partner since 1968 of Fratelli Ruffatti, builders and restorers of pipe organs, in Padova, Italy. Besides being the tonal director of the firm, he is actively involved in the research on historical Italian organs and the supervision of the many historical restorations performed by the firm.

John Collins

John Collins has been playing and researching early keyboard music for over 35 years, with special interests in the English, Italian, and Iberian repertoires. He has contributed many articles and reviews to several American and European journals, including The Diapason, and has been organist at St. George’s, Worthing, West Sussex, England for almost 26 years.

This year we commemorate the 300th anniversary of the death of Bernardo Pasquini. Although much attention has been given in the past few decades to Pasquini’s dramatic and vocal music, of which the scores for twelve operas and seven oratorios in addition to many cantatas and motets are known to survive, his extensive corpus of keyboard music has only comparatively recently received the attention it deserves. Considered one of the major Italian composers for keyboard between Frescobaldi (d. 1643) and Domenico Scarlatti (b. 1685), Bernardo Pasquini, teacher of Francesco Gasparini (author of the influential L’Armonico Pratico al Cimbalo, Venice 1708), left well over 200 pieces for keyboard.

Sources and early editions
The great majority of Pasquini’s works are preserved in four autograph manuscripts, including 121 in the autograph MS of Landsberg 215. A further partial autograph section is included in British Library MS 31501, I–III; to be found in part I are the 14 sonatas for two bassi continui, 14 sonatas for basso solo, and in parts II and III no fewer than 314 short versi, also in figured-bass format. More substantial works in MS 31501, part I, include a long Tastata, a Passagagli with 24 variations, a set of variations on the Follia and, at the end of the section, numerous short arie, more of which are to be found in part II. A few toccatas are also to be found in British Library MS 36661, which almost certainly predates the autographs by some years.
Very few of his works were published during his lifetime; three pieces entitled Sonata, ascribed to N.N. of Roma, were published in 1697 in a collection by Arresti, two of which were included in an English “abridged” edition, and other pieces were included in a collection of toccatas and suites published in 1698 by Roger of Amsterdam, which also appeared in England in 1719 and 1731. Others were included in assorted manuscripts; see bibliography for further details. In the preface to his edition of MS 964 at Braga, Portugal, Gerhard Doderer has speculated that some of the over 30 Italian (mainly Roman) compositions included therein (on folios 218–230 and 253–259) may well have been composed by the school of Pasquini, if not by Pasquini himself; certainly some of his compositions seem to have been known throughout Europe.
Pasquini’s compositions for keyboard cover all the main genres of his time, embracing some seventeen dance suites (although the term suite is not used in the manuscripts) as well as single movements, fourteen variations on both self-composed arias and stock basses, four passacaglias, sonatas including the 28 figured bass pieces mentioned above, over 30 toccatas and tastatas, about a dozen contrapuntal works, and a large number of versets. His numerous pupils in Rome included Casini, Zipoli, and possibly Durante and Domenico Scarlatti, in addition to J. P. Krieger and Georg Muffat, as well as Della Ciaja, who published a set of mercurial four-movement toccatas and retrospective ricercars and versets. It is highly probable that Handel met Pasquini in Rome in the early 1700s.

Modern editions
In addition to the facsimile edition of the Landsberg MS, there are two modern editions of his pieces. An edition by Maurice Brooks Haynes for the Corpus of Early Keyboard Music (American Institute of Musicology) was issued in seven volumes in 1964; this had the advantage of grouping pieces by genres rather than following the somewhat haphazard order in the manuscripts, but contained many printing errors and a somewhat sketchy approach to sources and evaluation. A new seven-volume edition, under the general editorship of Armando Carideo and Edoardo Bellotti, was issued in 2002; the first volume contains 60 versets and a pastorale from a recently discovered manuscript in Bologna, edited by Francesco Cera. The pieces from the Landsberg manuscript are included in volumes 2–5, with the pieces from MS 31501 in volumes 6 and 7. A further volume containing pieces from other sources, including as yet unpublished fugues in three and four voices as well as pieces of uncertain attribution, is in preparation. This edition is far more accurate but unfortunately much harder to obtain; see the bibliography at the end of this article for full details of these editions.
Below I shall summarize Pasquini’s extant keyboard music by genre; despite its shortcomings, I have used the AIM edition, and all numbers and titles cited are from this edition. Because of their extremely limited interest to the average player, I have not included the fascinating figured-bass sonatas for one and for two players, or the figured-bass versos, in this discussion.

Contrapuntal works
Pasquini is known to have made copies of the works of Palestrina and Frescobaldi, the influence of the latter being identifiable in both the toccatas and the contrapuntal works. Only eleven pieces that fall into this category seem to have survived, and two of these are incomplete. Those that survive are variable in quality, but several of them demonstrate the continuation of the variation technique so prevalent in Frescobaldi—they are included in book 1 of the Haynes edition. The first piece, in D minor, is entitled Capriccio by Haynes (although in the manuscript it is entitled Fantasia); its first section closes in the dominant and second section in the tonic. Both sections move mainly in quarter and eighth notes. In the third section the subject is introduced in 16th notes, followed by a triple-time section in 3/2. The piece concludes with a return to C time, the subject in its original time being accompanied by florid 16th-note writing (see Figures 1a–1d).

The second piece, entitled Capriccio, opens with a ricercar-like subject in 4/2, followed by a triple-time section in 3/2 that moves into 6/4, and a closing section of six bars consisting of half-note chords against 16th-note figures derived from the opening subject. The following short binary form piece is headed “Sigue al capriccio antecedente.” The third piece, regrettably incomplete in the MS, is entitled Fantasia and is another slower-moving, backward-looking work in quarter and eighth notes. The fourth piece, a ricercar in 4/2, is also slow-moving, on an archaic subject that proceeds through its 100 bars in half and quarter notes, with further subjects appearing during the piece.
By far the longest piece at some 345 bars is the Ricercare con fuga in più modi. This piece is in many sections, including the subject in diminution to half and quarter notes from bar 69, a return to original values from bar 123, a section in 6/4 from bar 209 to 246, which includes 16th-note writing, a section in C time that closes in bar 265 followed by a further section in 6/4 to bar 311, after which 12/8 takes over to the close of the piece. There is scope for shortening this piece, which makes considerable demands upon the performer.
Of the three pieces entitled Canzone Francese, the first in C major runs to only 32 bars, the second in F opens with the typical canzona rhythm of quarter note followed by two eighth notes and has a second section in 6/4, and the third piece in A minor opens with six repeated eighth-note Es (the repeated note fugal subject was very common in Germany as well as Italy, with examples by Reincken, Pachelbel, Kerll, and Buttstedt, among others) and soon becomes a moto perpetuo in 16th notes, which slows to eighth and quarter notes briefly in bar 56, the 16th notes taking over again in bar 66. A deceleration achieved via a cadence leads to a section barred in 3/4 (although headed 6/8), which starts in bar 106 and runs to bar 157. Of the next section entitled Alio modo la tripla, only seven bars survive, a great pity since this piece is of a high standard (see Figure 2a–2b). The ninth piece, of 24 bars, entitled Fuga, is an example of very loose imitative writing; the subject in the RH has LH passagework beneath it immediately.
Of the two pieces entitled Sonata, the first is also a loosely fugal work with a subject that opens with an ascending run of six 16th notes followed by an eighth note, another eighth note an octave below, and then returning to the note—now a quarter—before falling a tone, where the sequence is repeated a third below the original opening note. The second sonata opens with a short toccata-like flourish over a pedalpoint, followed by quarter-note chords modulating to the dominant; the second section is imitative, the subject rising a fifth in eighth and 16th notes, and has similarities to a Corellian fugue. Both were included under the name of “N. N. di Roma” in a collection of 18 sonatas for organ by various authors printed in Bologna ca. 1697, of which twelve pieces, including no. 10 here, were included in a London reprint by Walsh & Randall ca. 1710.
The two ricercars, nos. 139 and 140 in volume 7 of the Haynes edition, are both in G minor, the first opening with a canzona rhythm (half note followed by two quarter notes, all at the same pitch, in this case D) and proceeding in mainly quarter-note movement with a few eighth-note runs and two RH runs of 16th notes, bar 25 being repeated an octave higher at bar 34. There is tonal ambiguity at the close of the subject, which covers the minor scale descent from E-flat to G via B-natural followed by B-flat, which lends the piece charm. No. 140 is a longer piece at 83 bars that also proceeds mainly in quarter notes, with a further example of tonal ambiguity in the subject (also between B-flat and B-natural). Of interest are the written-out trill in the treble commencing on the upper note in bar 19 and the written-out alto trill in the penultimate bar with its Lombardic rhythm in the first two beats.

Suites, individual dances, and arias/bizzarrias
Pasquini’s seventeen “suites” for keyboard that are included in volume two of the Haynes edition are probably the first such examples in the Italian keyboard literature that contain several dances grouped together in the same key—the term “suite” is not used in the manuscript. They include Alemanda, Corrente and Giga, based, however, not on the examples of Froberger and the French school, but rather on Italian ensemble music. Several movements are untitled, others carry such terms as Bizzarria; but since the movements are grouped by key, they may well have been intended to form unified groups as presented in this volume. These “suites” comprise two to four movements in various combinations. Also included in this volume are several short pieces in binary form, including four entitled Bizzarria and no fewer than twenty-eight entitled Aria, all of which are attractively tuneful. By their nature the dances, bizzarrias, and arias are more suited to stringed keyboard instruments, although performance on a chamber organ would have been quite probable; for this reason a more detailed account has been omitted here.

Variations
These pieces are to be found in volumes three and four of the Brooks Haynes edition. The twenty-two sets of variations include four based on dance movements with just one or two variations, two sets on the Follia, two on the Bergamasca, with a further one on its Saltarello, and four sets entitled Variationi based on aria/dance-like themes that may well have been by Pasquini himself. Further sets are entitled Capricciose a Inventione (perhaps implying an original theme), Partite diverse sopra Alemanda, and Fioritas, with another set being entitled simply Variationi. Four passagaglie complete this genre.
A Bizzarria has just one variation in which the RH has the 16th-note figuration in the first half, the LH in the second; an untitled piece that is almost certainly an Alemanda has two variations in flowing 16th notes; a Corrente mainly in quarter notes has one variation in eighth notes; and a Sarabanda also mainly in quarter notes, some dotted, has one variation in 16th notes in which parts appear and drop out at will.
The set of variations on Fioritas has only six variations, but the manuscript contains the heading 7th, which clearly implies that Pasquini intended to write more. The Variationi Capricciose, on another tuneful theme that may have been original, is in seven partite. The theme is the first, the second in 3/4 is headed “in corrente”, the fourth is a sarabanda, the fifth in 6/4 is in quarter-note motion, and the sixth in C time makes great demands on the player, with an extended trill in the alto in each half as well as occasional simultaneous trills in the tenor. The final variation is in 3/4, with LH 16th notes against a mainly chordal RH in the first half and at the conclusion of the second half.
Of much greater substance are the remaining three sets: the Variationi a Inventione contains eleven partite; again the theme is considered to be the first variation (its first half has mainly chords in the RH over a moving eighth-note bass; the second half sees more 16th-note movement in the RH over quarter-note chords or moving eighth notes). The third set in 6/4 is in quarter-note movement in one part against dotted half-note chords throughout; the fourth, although headed 12/8, is barred in 3/4 and 6/4, this time with 16th-note passagework formed from a sequential figure against chords. The fifth to seventh sets are headed Corrente and are distinctly backward-looking, being similar to Frescobaldi’s Corrente in his two books of Toccate. Broken chord figures feature in the sixth, and insistent eighth-note movement appears in the seventh. In the eighth and ninth sets there is a further reminder of Frescobaldi in the time signatures: in the eighth the RH is in C time against 6/4 in the LH (see Figures 3a and 3b).
In both hands, eighth notes are grouped in duple as well as triple rhythms, and the figure of dotted quarter followed by two 16ths is passed between the hands. In the ninth partita, the RH is in 12/8 against a LH of 8/12, with the insistent pattern of dotted eighth followed by 16th. The tenth partita is headed 3/4 but barred as 6/4, again a corrente in form, with more broken-chord writing, sometimes in contrary motion between the hands. The final partita is headed Gagliarda and is unusually in C time (examples in C time are also to be found in Pasquini’s Spanish contemporary Juan Batista Cabanilles). Further broken chord figures and figures of ascending or descending thirds with the first note held on occur throughout, and neat syncopations in thirds in the RH appear towards the end of the second part.
The theme of the Partite diverse sopra Alemanda moves in quarter notes, but each half is followed by a written-out repeat in eighth notes, with imitation between the parts, broken chords, and contrary motion. The theme is followed by seven partitas, the first of which is in 16th-note movement, with the by-now usual figuration. The second, in binary form, is another rhythmic conundrum, with the RH in C12/6, and the LH in C6/12; this can be played most successfully as 12/8, much of it being in two parts only. The third, fifth, sixth, and seventh partitas are all headed 3/4 but barred in 6/4, the fourth actually being headed 6/4. In the third, flowing eighth notes soon give way to treble and bass quarter notes, with an alto eighth note after a rest, a figure that becomes wearing when used so relentlessly as here. The fourth partita moves in quarter notes, the second half opening with one bar of eighth-note imitation before a figure of rest followed by two quarter notes is passed between the hands.
The fifth partita has broken-chord writing in the RH over a quarter-note bass, with the LH also having broken chords in the repeats; in most of the piece, the top and bottom notes in figures are held on to produce a tonal build-up, but this is relieved in the middle of the piece by only the bass notes being held, which has the effect of acceleration. The sixth partita is based around a five-note eighth-note figure passed between the hands, while other parts have held half notes or dotted half notes; occasionally a third part in quarter notes is used as well. The final partita has continuous, mainly conjunct eighth-note motion against either full chords or just one other voice, concluding with a veritable virtuoso flourish of eighth notes in contrary motion.
The work entitled Variationi occupies some twenty pages in the Haynes edition, and consists of a theme in C time in mainly two-part texture in quarter and eighth notes followed by thirteen partite. The first is mainly RH eighth notes against LH 16th notes, the second is in 3/4 and, although not headed as such, is a corrente with a preponderance of two-part writing. The third partita is headed altro modo and has far more arpeggiated eighth-note motion. The fourth is headed 3/4, but only two bars are in this rhythm, the rest being in 6/8, again with much arpeggiated figuration beginning on the second eighth note. The fifth is in 16th notes, with frequent rhythmic imitation; the sixth is in 3/4 with eighth notes, sometimes in broken-chord format, against quarter notes; the seventh has mainly conjunct eighth notes against quarter notes in the first section, the second section with eighth notes in arpeggiated figures.
The eighth variation is another Frescobaldian corrente, with mainly quarter-note movement in the RH, against either quarter notes, dotted half notes, or half notes in the LH. The ninth has an oscillating 16th-note figure in the LH, with RH eighth notes. The tenth is constructed entirely around an eighth note in the RH followed by two 16ths in the LH, frequently in octaves. The eleventh is another movement with extended trills—in the first section placed in the alto lasting throughout the section, in the second in the tenor for just the first six beats after which imitative passagework against half notes progresses (see Figure 4).
Although the twelfth partita is headed Sarabanda, it has more in common with a corrente as it progresses in quarter-note motion with several instances in the RH of the figure of dotted quarter bearing a t (for trill) followed by two 16th notes and a quarter. The final partita is in 3/4; after the first bar it is in two parts with eighth-note figuration throughout, sometimes in contrary, sometimes in parallel motion, but also with one hand moving quite differently from the other; this virtuosic movement brings the work to a fine close. It may have been intended as a compendium of compositional techniques for students. There is a precedent in Bernardo Storace’s Passo e Mezzi in his Selva of 1664 for including variations headed corrente and gagliarda.
Together with Buxtehude’s roughly contemporary arias, the four sets of variations based on aria/dance-like themes are some of the earliest examples of keyboard variations on original subjects after Frescobaldi’s Aria detta La Frescobalda; they almost certainly pre-date Pachelbel’s set of six arias with variations published in 1699 as Hexachordum Apollinis; they have six, five, eight, and ten variations respectively (although in the latter there seems to be an error in the Haynes edition: what looks like the second half of the binary form theme is headed variation 1; this would mean that there are actually only nine variations). The first three are in the rhythm of a gavotte. All of the themes are in C time, but the first set contains variations in 3/4 and 6/8; the second has two in 6/8 including the final one; the third has two in 6/8 (one headed as 3/4, which may just be a remnant of the tempo theory mentioned by Frescobaldi in his books that related tempi to time signatures); and the final one has variations in 3/4, 6/8, 3/8 and one that is in 3/8 in the manuscript, although barred as 6/8. Again there is much variety of texture including pseudo-polyphony, violin-like figuration in the RH, and sequential figuration, with several variations requiring an advanced technical ability.
The two sets based on La Follia are very different in character. The first has fourteen variations after the initial statement and displays Pasquini’s mastery in transferring the string idiom to the keyboard in a wide variety of rhythms. Noteworthy are the continuous triplet eighth notes in the RH in variations 5 and 9, and the LH in variation 6, the figure of three quarter notes followed by a burst of 16th notes in the RH of variation 7 (see Figure 5), the virtuoso passagework for both hands in variation 10, the highly chromatic RH in the thirteenth, and the written-out trills and eighth-note figures in the final variation.
The second set has only three variations, which move in eighth notes, with thematic imitation prevalent in the first and second, and rhythmic imitation (quarter note or rest followed by two eighths and a quarter) in the final variation. The Bergamasca sets are similarly varied, with eight and twenty-four in the C time sets, and seventeen in the Saltarello, which is in 3/8 as would be expected. Although in the longer works some of the movements do not rise above the formulaic, there are many variations that carry the melodic freshness and tunefulness of an accomplished composer.
The four passagaglias are in B-flat, with twenty variations on the theme, C with seventeen (with probably more either not transmitted or never completed), D minor with twelve (again almost certainly incomplete), and G minor with twenty-four. All stress the second beat and apart from the C major, which is chordal and in 3/2 and is closer to a ciacona, they are melodic and in 3/4 (see Figures 6a and 6b). The writing in the B-flat and G minor pieces becomes increasingly virtuosic as they develop.

Toccatas and Tastatas
In volumes five and six of the Haynes edition, thirty-four pieces are entitled either Toccata (twenty-five) or Tastata (nine), there is one piece entitled Preludio, one Sonata–Elevazione; one Sonata in two sections, the second headed Pensiero; two further toccatas are included in volume 7. The choice of keys is still very conservative, not exceeding two flats, which is used for no. 83 in C minor, and two sharps used for no. 81 in A major. Space does not permit a detailed discussion of this substantial contribution to the repertoire, therefore comments have been limited to generalizations and to those pieces that are of greater interest.
Most of Pasquini’s pieces are in one movement, but at least five (70, 98–101) are in several sections, of which nos. 98–101 are included in the earlier British Library MS 36661. No. 70 is one of the most ambitious, the sections being in C time, 3/4, C time, concluding with a binary-form corrente-like movement with a variation. No. 71 opens with two bars of chords suitable for arpeggiations (indeed, in no. 94 the instruction “arpeggio” is included, relating to the first two chords) before motives are passed from hand to hand over long-held pedal notes; also featured are passages in parallel tenths (see Figure 7).
There are several toccatas that either open with chords or contain chordal passages within the piece; in some the instruction to arpeggiate is included, in others it is implicit (see Figure 7a). Pedals are also required in no. 101 throughout the first section, which is markedly similar to Frescobaldi’s Toccata Quinta from his second book; the second section is imitative, starting in C time followed by a variation in 3/2 before a short closing section in C time in which 16th-note passagework against quarter-note chords is passed from hand to hand, the final four bars again requiring the pedals for the long-held notes.
Several pieces include the old Frescobaldian written-out accelerating trill commencing on the upper note (two 16th notes followed by four 32nds) (see Figure 7b); in others it is implied via the letter t placed over the first note, normally a dotted eighth followed by a 16th one degree below. Although quite a few of Pasquini’s toccatas do contain passages that remind the player of Frescobaldi’s writing, there is not the same degree of nervous discontinuity and far more reliance on sequential writing.
It would seem unlikely that most of the suggestions on playing toccatas contained in Frescobaldi’s prefaces to his two books are applicable to these examples, although there is scope for shortening those pieces that are presented in sections, and some of Pasquini’s pieces do indeed carry the indication to arpeggiate half-note chords. Certainly there does not seem to be any reason to adopt Frescobaldi’s suggestion of dotting 16th notes in those passages in which eighth notes in one hand are set against 16ths in the other. However, his injunctions to treat the beat freely can be applied cautiously here, as can the eminently sensible comments on pausing before beginning passages in 16th notes in both hands and retarding the tempo at cadences. In the longer sequential passages, there can be a judicious slackening and taking up again of the tempo to allow the music to breathe and not degenerate into mechanistic exercises. Almost certainly, all trills should commence on the main note, this being appropriate also for every compositional genre.
One of the most popular and virtuosic pieces is no. 81, the Toccata con lo scherzo del cucco, which is based on the descending minor third. The cuckoo call is heard in eighth notes against 16th-note passagework, punctuated by sections in half notes marked arpeggio or by the nervous rhythms and modulations by chords of the seventh. At bar 47 the RH breaks briefly into triplets (although printed as 32nd notes they are actually 16th notes), and from bar 79 onwards a long-held A, first in the tenor and then in the alto, is marked trillo continuo, which will pose a most severe test to the player to maintain it against the other part to be played by the same hand. This piece is not too dissimilar to Kerll’s own toccata on the same theme (see Figure 7c).
The Elevazione-Adagio (no. 105) is also included in the Arresti publication, where it is entitled Sonata; after a slow introduction the writing continues in 16th-note figuration based effectively on sequences. The second piece entitled Sonata (no. 106) is in two sections: seventeen bars of 16th-note figures passed from hand to hand are followed by a short chordal link marked arpeggio that leads to further sequential passages. The second section, headed Pensiero—itself in two sections—is nothing like the intricate contrapuntal pieces of that name published in 1714 by Giovanni Casini, but opens with imitative passages based on a rhythmic motive, before its second section opens with passages derived from a further rhythmic motive that leads into passages based on the rhythmic motive of the first section and its inversion.
The one piece entitled Preludio, no. 95, is also in two sections, the first alternating long-held chords with 16th-note passagework against chords passed from hand to hand. The second section is again based on passagework passed between the hands, varying between conjunct movement and from bar 64 arpeggiated figures (see Figure 7d).
The two toccatas included in volume seven (nos. 141 and 142) are each in three sections, an opening and closing one in C time enclosing central sections in 12/8 and 3/2 respectively. In no. 141 much is made of sequential figures and trills, both indicated and implied; the 12/8 section is homophonic and leads to a final section in C time, which makes much of seventh chords, before a brief coda based on two 16th notes followed by an eighth note passed from right hand to left hand; a written-out trill in the left hand against this figure is reminiscent of Frescobaldi. In no. 142 the opening consists of four bars of 16th notes covering from treble G to tenor C, before a passage over a held tenor G moves into a section that includes a further example of a chromatic progression on the third of the scale, prefiguring the imitative triple-time section; the closing C time consists of only two bars—in the penultimate bar the LH consists of a written-out trill, with closing notes on tenor B, the opening two beats being a C–B in reversed dotted rhythms.

Versetti, Pastorale and other works
Francesco Cera has recently published a group of pieces that he discovered in a manuscript in Bologna. Included are an Introduzione e Pastorale, and 60 Versetti. The 27-bar Introduzione leads into a Pastorale of almost 90 bars. Both are in triple time and make much use of a dotted rhythm. Long-held notes in soprano, alto, and bass imitate the droning of bagpipes, and particularly noteworthy is the use of the Neapolitan sixth as well as the false relation (see Figure 8).
The Versetti are mainly short imitative pieces, many not exceeding five bars (they are similar to the short versetti in the 1689 collection from Augsburg known as Wegweiser), but five of them (nos. 33, 34, 42, 43, and 45) are miniature toccatas, with 16th notes against held chords. The first four of these are built on passagework against held chords, but there is some imitative writing in no. 45 (see Figures 9a–9c).
The grouping by keys in the manuscripts implies use as a series (see table). The subjects of the versetti range from archaic subjects in longer note values (nos. 1, 2, 9, and 46, for example) to more lively subjects using eighth and 16th notes (such as nos. 4, 6, 8, 13, and 14, etc,). A canzona-like dactylic rhythm of eighth note followed by two 16ths and two eighths is common, as is the figure of two 16th notes followed by two eighths and a quarter. Also notable is the insistent giga-like rhythm of dotted quarter followed by an eighth and quarter in almost every bar of no. 54. The most lively is no. 49, with its subject in 16th notes treated in inversion at the end.
There is one example in 3/8 and three in 6/8 in equal eighth notes, two in 3/2, and 10 in 3/4, with the majority in C or cut C. The part writing is relatively loose but effective. Keys used cover up to A major and C minor, with the old key signatures of one less accidental than present usage retained (i.e., two sharps and flats respectively).
Also included in Haynes’s volume seven are ten short pieces (from four to fifteen bars) without title, which are tentatively entitled Versi by Armando Carideo in volume seven of the Italian edition. Four of these are in 3/4 and have mainly continuous eighth-note motion in one hand against long chords, while the others in C time are close to the miniature toccata style noted in the versetti above. There are ten Accadenze (or cadences), which again are very short, with either toccata-like figures or based on short rhythmic figures. A different Pastorale opens with a repeated multi-section movement in 3/2 leading to a movement in C time full of dactyl rhythms, which includes the traditional drone bass that disappears and reappears at will.

Performance practice
A few general notes on performance practice relating to 17th-century Italian organ music may be helpful in determining answers to some frequently asked questions.
Ornaments: The only ornament sign found in Pasquini’s pieces is the letter t, which occurs on note values down to a 16th note. It is found frequently over the first note of a dotted eighth-16th pair (and by extension should probably be played in this figure even when not specifically indicated) and indicates a trill, probably better commencing on the main note, especially in the more retrospective pieces. It is worth mentioning, however, that Lorenzo Penna does describe the trill beginning on the upper auxiliary in his Li Primi Albori Musicali of 1656, reprinted in 1672, 1684 and 1696. On short notes only three notes (i.e., C-D-C) can be played; on longer values there can be more repercussions, possibly even pausing on the main note before trilling. It is also possible that an ornament equivalent to the mordent or pincé, with the lower auxiliary (i.e., C-B-C), could be used in ascending passages, particularly in pieces in the French style. In two pieces (Variazioni 11 and Toccata con lo scherzo del cuccu) the comment “Trillo continuo” is found. The instruction “Arpeggio” is found in some of the toccatas. Naturally there are possibilities for adding further ornaments when not expressly marked, although care should be taken not to use anachronisms such as the turn.
Fingering: This was still based on the concept of “good” and “bad” fingers for strong and weak beats, which was described in great detail by Diruta in Il Transilvano in 1593 and 1609, when he proposed using 2 and 4 as strong fingers, in direct contrast to other European treatises of the period; but during the 17th century, more theorists (including Penna, and Bismantova in his Compendio musicale of 1677) were following Ban-
chieri’s use in L’organo suonarino of 1605 of 3-4 in the RH for ascending and 3-2 for descending when beginning on strong beats, and beginning off-the-beat passages with 2 or 4 in the RH for ascending and 4 for descending.
For the LH, 3-2 is recommended for ascending when beginning on strong beats, and beginning off-the-beat passages with 2 or 4 on weak beats, and 3-4 for descending when beginning on strong beats, and beginning off-the-beat passages with 2 or 4 on weak beats. Also used were 1-2-3-4, then either repeated or followed by 3-4 for RH ascending and 4-3-2-1 repeated descending, and in the LH 4-3-2-1 for ascending, then either repeated or followed by 2-1 and 1-2-3-4 descending, then either repeated or followed by 3-4 in LH descending.
Articulation: While non-legato was still the main touch, apart from rapid divisions and passagework, the gaps between notes should be noticeably less on the organ than on the harpsichord, as described by Diruta. Not until well into the eighteenth century did a predominantly legato touch become the norm.
Registration: The Italian organ of the seventeenth century generally showed little advance on the Renaissance model, consisting primarily of a Principale chorus on one manual, from 8′ right up to the 33rd, in separate ranks that could be combined to form a Ripieno. Flute ranks were present at 4′, 22⁄3′ and 2′, but very rarely at 8′, and were not recommended for combining with the Ripieno, and reeds were also rare in most of the country, although the trumpet was very common in Rome. In addition, during the seventeenth century a Flemish influence made an impact on native development, including provision of a second manual allowing dialogues and echo effects. The manual compass was extended from a3 to f3. The Principale, and sometimes the Ottava, flute, and reed stops were divided, usually between middle e and f or f and f-sharp.
There is no evidence that Pasquini adhered to Diruta’s system of registration by mode included in the 1609 volume of Il Transilvano, but the legacy of Antegnati in offering registrations based on the type of piece and its function in his 1608 volume were still followed well into the seventeenth century (e.g., for Canzone alla Francese, the Ottava plus Flauto in ottava [4′ Flute], Principale plus either Ottava or Flauto in ottava plus Flauto in duodecima [Twelfth Flute], or even Principale plus Flauto in duodecima were suggested).
There is plenty of scope for varied and contrasting registration in many of Pasquini’s works in sections or multiple movements, but performers on modern organs need to ensure clarity and to avoid heavy reeds and fat Open Diapasons. It should be noted that pedals, if present, consisted in the main until well into the 18th century and later of pulldowns from the short octave bass in the manual, and covered an octave from C to B, with the only black note being a B-flat; some added the tenor C, and occasionally eleven notes were found, including an E-flat and A-flat. Playable in most cases by toes only, their function was primarily for long-held bass notes or to reinforce cadences. Very few instruments had a 16′ Contrabassi.
Tempi—Proportional notation: There is an interesting description of how to play triple-time (including 6/4 but not 12/8) sections in Frescobaldi’s prefaces to his books of toccatas and capricci, which, contrary to other theorists’ work, are NOT based on exact proportional interpretation but on speed by time signatures, ranging from adagio for 3/1 to allegro in 6/4, but there is no evidence from later theorists as to how proportions were treated. A mathematical rhythmic proportion can be applied successfully in Pasquini’s contrapuntal pieces far more readily than in his toccatas.
The great majority of Pasquini’s works can be performed successfully on harpsichord, organ or clavichord, although the suites and dance movements are clearly better suited to the stringed instruments. Many are not overly difficult, and their melodic charm will provide many hours of pleasure to players, from informed amateurs to professionals. In this anniversary year of his death, the best possible commemoration would be for his pieces to take their place in concerts.

 

Tan A Summers

One of the most interesting genres of music to arise during the 17th century was that of Portuguese and Spanish battle music written specifically for the organ. Iberian organs, highly versatile for their size and often equipped with formidable banks of horizontal reeds, were an inseparable factor in the development of this musical category, and still inform us how to play it. This article will examine the repertoire of Iberian battle music, its origins, and the impact of the villancico, ensalada, and the Iberian organ.

 

The repertoire

In an environment where composers wrote tientos and versets by the hundreds, the battle music repertoire seems quite small. Only about twenty pieces survive from the 17th century (Table 1), even if the list expands to include battle-like works with more generic names, or which appear to contain material borrowed from non-Iberian composers. Yet, perhaps because their unique battle-related content makes them fun to play, this small body of works appears on modern concert programs far more often than do the many tientos and versets that surround them in the manuscripts of the period. Mary Ellen Sutton¹ recommends in particular the battles marked in Table 1 with an asterisk as being of interest to modern audiences. Pieces marked + are nearly identical. The selection marked § has been attributed to both composers, or neither, as will be discussed later.

Most of the manuscripts containing battles (batalla in Spanish, batalha in Portuguese) came originally from monastery or cathedral libraries, no doubt because their composers were cathedral organists, some of them in holy orders. All of the manuscripts are now held in central libraries in or near Oporto and Braga, Portugal, and Madrid and Barcelona, Spain. Most of these works are available in modern transcription, but because so many of the anonymous pieces have similar names, I have included the original manuscript and folio numbers in Table 1.² 

In fact, almost all are described simply as a battle in a given mode. Mode designations imply that the compositions were intended for liturgical use. Fifth and sixth modes are the most common. The seven pieces in sixth mode have key signatures of F major. The four in the fifth tone are in C major. Although fifth mode is generally thought of as an F-based mode, its tenor is C. Sutton suggests that the use of C major here accompanies a general shift towards tonality. Three fifth-mode batallas, which are for all practical purposes written in the key of C, appear in Madrid MS 1357 in volumes indexed by mode. All of the fifth-mode versets in the first two volumes of MS 1357 were transposed to C.³ One of the two eighth-mode works, both thought to be by Aguilera de Heredía, is also in C major. The choice of key signature could be, of course, editorial. However, after playing the battles, I would agree with the editorial decisions. 

Most of the composers of battle music (Table 2) were famous musicians of their time and place. Pablo Bruna was considered one of the best organists and teachers in Spain. Blind since birth, he was known as “el ciego de Daroca” (the blind man of Daroca). Juan Batista Cabanilles was a master of the Spanish Baroque style, which enlarged on Renaissance practices and does not resemble the styles composers preferred in other parts of Europe during this era. A colleague said, “The world will crumble before a second Cabanilles appears.”

Some of the composers are less well known. The name of Diego (or Diogo) da Conceição appears in only one manuscript, where his few compositions are the best in the collection. Others remain unidentified, although stylistic similarities suggest that some of the anonymous pieces could be copies or variations on works by known composers. All of the known composers of battle music worked in Portugal or the Castilian region of Spain, where Iberian organ builders made improvements to the organs that facilitated this genre.

Borrowing from other composers was more acceptable in the Baroque era than it is today, and several of the battles demonstrate this procedure. The most notable is Cabanilles’s Batalla Imperial, which is identical, other than the ordering of the sections, to that of Johann Caspar Kerll, a slightly older German composer who worked in Austria. Who borrowed from whom is questionable, Mary Jane Corry positing a third composer entirely.⁵ In his article on Cabanilles in Grove Online, Barton Hudson attributes the battle to Kerll. In another example, two batalhas in Porto MS 1607 are quite similar to each other; Doderer suggests that based on their style, these might be different versions of a work by Cabanilles. In a third case, measures 58–159 of the Batalha de 6º Tom by Torrelhas are virtually identical to a section of one of José Ximénez’s Batallas.

 

Origins of the organ batalla/batalha

In approaching this topic, a person might ask what actually makes a composition a battle. The most basic consideration is the title. It is a battle if the composer says it is. However, battle pieces generally imitate the commotion of war with busy voicing, ostinato figures, lively rhythms, and percussive chords that simulate musket or cannon fire. They also often imitate the music of battle in the form of trumpet signals or fanfares. It is perhaps this trait that makes the music sound warlike in the 21st century. Trumpet signals are still in limited use in today’s military and are familiar to most listeners from ceremonies and the entertainment media.

The earliest music with these characteristics is the 14th-century caccia, which imitates the hunt with fanfares and rallying cries. A 15th-century battaglia by Heinrich Isaac for instruments with keyboard accompaniment has several characteristics that appear in most later battle music, such as ostinato figures and alternating duple and triple meter. It is interesting to note that Isaac also may have written his work for voices first, since Bianca Becherini found a poem whose text matches the music.

The music that began the battle craze in earnest, perhaps because it so cleverly captured the sounds of battle despite being written for unaccompanied voice, was Clément Janequin’s chanson La guerre. It immortalized a French victory over Swiss and Italian forces at the Battle of Marignano in 1515. Written in two large sections, this is a four-voice vocal work filled with a variety of techniques for making it sound warlike. Melodies imitate the calls of war trumpets, using actual tunes employed in battlefield communication. The onomatopoeic text that accompanies these may have come directly from the syllables players used when learning their music. Triadic figures in a simple harmonic background reflect the ensemble formation trumpeters of the time used, and quick notes simulate both the action of battle and more of the ceremonial trumpet sound.

La guerre was wildly popular and quickly spread across Europe, not only in its original form but also in imitations and transcriptions. Fifteen years later Matthias Werrecore wrote a retort, La battaglia taliana, commemorating an Italian victory over the French. Published in Germany, it was known everywhere as Die Kleine Schlacht, with Janequin’s chanson now being called Die Große Schlacht. Werrecore borrowed not only Janequin’s key (F Ionian) but copied the beginning motive from La guerre’s Secunda pars. This opening gesture, or variants of it, as well as the F-based mode, appear in a number of battles and tientos. I believe that Janequin’s motive was so widely admired because it was more than just a clever compositional device: it also accurately captured the sound of battle trumpets, both harmonically and melodically. 

 

The trumpet

To understand just what this battle sound was like, it is helpful to know a little about the trumpets that created it. From ancient times until the modern invention of radio, the trumpet was the primary means of battlefield communication. Art from ancient Egypt shows trumpet-playing soldiers on the march. After a hiatus following the fall of Rome, the trumpet appeared again in Europe as war booty collected from the Saracens. As the art of trumpet making progressed, the instruments developed from examples that could play only one low note to models that could play more than an octave above middle C and had a few diatonic notes. The trumpet ensemble became a symbol of power in the Renaissance court, and trumpet players were valued more highly than other performers.

Prior to 1975, scholars knew much about the Renaissance trumpet through two books published during the 17th century. These were Marin Mersenne’s Harmonie Universelle (1635), and Girolamo Fantini’s Modo para Imparare a sonare di Tromba (1638). Both books contain examples of battle trumpet calls, with syllables written under the notes, possibly to indicate tonguing but apparently also to aid the instrumentalist in learning the music. Scholars were able to see by studying the trumpet tunes that Janequin and his imitators had used real battle music in their compositions. While the syllables Mersenne and Fantini indicated were not the same as those Janequin used, that did not mean Janequin’s were not accurate for his time and location.

In 1970 historian Edward Tarr published a facsimile and translation of a third manuscript, Cesare Bendinelli’s Tutta l’arte della Trombetta. In 1614, Bendinelli had donated to a library his instrument and a manuscript containing a wealth of music and pedagogical material, and there they had lain for the next three and a half centuries. Bendinelli had gone a step further than Mersenne and Fantini. He described not only the notes but also the system by which Renaissance trumpeters played:

Here all the trumpeters begin to play, in the field, at princely courts, or in other places. I point out that a single [player] begins and the others follow in order, as is the custom . . . First the grosso; second the vulgano; third, alto e basso, that is, he who imitates the sonata with his notes, only lower, and who has to be quite expert; fourth the one who leads; and fifth, the clarino, who avoids octaves since they clash and are not used by those who understand music.

We can understand now why a Renaissance sovereign might have required twenty-four trumpeters. A chart of the harmonic series shows what notes each of the performers named by Bendinelli would have played (Example 1).

Understanding that Renaissance trumpeters played as an ensemble rather than as soloists now clarifies why composers so often imitated the opening gesture of La guerre’s Secunda pars. It represented not only the notes but also the harmony of the war trumpet sound of Janequin’s time. James South implies that even Janequin’s key of F may have been taken from practical example. Bendinelli’s own trumpet sounds close to our modern key of E, which may have been the F of his time and place.⁹ Bendinelli labeled the chart describing his own trumpet’s range as Trombetta Antigua, perhaps referring to the older war trumpet as contrasted with the newer C trumpet that had replaced it.

Example 2 shows how Bendinelli’s battle trumpet formation appears in Janequin’s much-imitated second section. In the first measure, all voices simulate trumpet harmony; then the bass and tenor sing the lines that the grosso and vulgano trumpets normally would have played. The rhythm of the short notes with the syllables “Fre re le le lan fan” is that of the rotta, a flourish with which both military and ceremonial trumpet music might end. I have discovered that the rotta figure features in many organ battles (Example 3). 

Perhaps the most imitated trumpet motive Janequin uses is the Boutez selle (“put on the saddle”) (Example 4). Distinctive and easily heard through the busy texture of the chanson, this figure appears in all of the Renaissance trumpet methods. In Bendinelli’s it is entitled Buta sella and includes an example of mnemonic syllables like those Janequin may have had in mind when he wrote La guerre. The Boutez selle figure appears repeatedly in the organ battles, and I have observed that it is often accompanied by battle trumpet harmony (Example 4).

The organ battles of Iberia do not simply copy Janequin’s chanson, however. They use fanfares and other trumpet-like figures that the composers no doubt heard as part of ceremonies, or perhaps even composed for trumpet as well (Example 5). Because these figures are still used today for similar purposes, we recognize them immediately.

Portuguese and Spanish organ battles also depart from Janequin in their overall structure. The actual battle depiction in La guerre, Secunda Pars, falls into roughly two parts. The first uses trumpet motives, and the second drum and gunfire sounds. The texture remains quite consistently in four voices. There are some meter changes, but the listener does not perceive discrete sections. 

Iberian organ battles, on the other hand, are distinctly sectional. The texture varies between full block chords and the battle ensemble depiction of solo voice over triads (on the organ these can also appear under the chords). Meter changes often delimit the sections. The unique shape and style of Iberian battle music developed due to the influence of three musical elements exclusive to Spain and Portugal and their colonies in the western hemisphere. These are the villancico, the ensalada, and the particular direction Iberian organ builders took with their creations.

 

The impact of the villancico, ensalada, and Iberian organ developments

The first of these influences, the villancico, vilancete in Portuguese, is a song form. Villancicos had vernacular text, folk melodies, and an energetic rhythmic style replete with syncopation, hemiola, and meter changes. The villancico was strophic with a refrain (estribillo) and sometimes many verses (coplas). Villancico-like characteristics in the organ battles may include changing meters, hemiola, and a dance-like 3+3+2 rhythm that often appears at cadences (Example 6).

At first a secular form, the villancico moved into the realm of liturgy as devotional coplas were created to accompany estribillos that often remained secular. It became customary to perform these following each lesson at Vespers and during the elevation of the Host during the Mass.¹² Buelow suggests that battle pieces, closely related to the villancicos as they were, would also have been performed at the same points in the Mass.¹³ Phillip II of Spain banned the performance of villancicos in his chapel in 1596, but his complaint apparently was that they were sung in Spanish rather than Latin, and not that they were too spirited. The rest of the Iberian peninsula ignored this prohibition, and the villancico remained popular in Spanish and Latin American churches until the 19th century.

A popular theme for villancicos was the battle between good and evil. A song might depict a battle between the Virgin or the newborn Christ Child and Lucifer. Often the battle image might become more worldly. One example from mid-17th century Coimbra begins with a symbolic battle between divine and worldly love, but then turns into a skirmish between Portuguese and Spanish troops. Amid the repeated cries of “Long live divine love!” comes the text:

 

Viva el Amor divino 

Que nos ha quitado 

la prisión esquiva

De un ciego traidor.   

 

Praise the divine Love

Who has rid us

Of the unreachable prison

Of a blind traitor.

 

It is not surprising that some images of actual war might creep into the texts of sacred music. During the 17th century, Portugal was often at war, both battling for political separation from Spain and sparring with Spain in the western hemisphere, as they divided up the Americas between them.

A second factor in the development of organ battle music was the ensalada. The word means “salad,” and in fact the ensalada was a hodge-podge, a kind of musical revue made up of hymns and villancicos, sometimes acted out. These were performed on feast days and were especially popular at Christmas, New Year, and Epiphany. Ensaladas were sung and accompanied by an interesting variety of wind instruments, all of them loud. A composition might specify two trumpets and a schalmei, although the oboe and organ were also popular. 

Because the ensalada was made up of a variety of individual pieces, it was by definition a sectional music form. Spanish keyboard music already had a sectional genre, the tiento, one based on imitation similar to the Italian ricercar. Organists had simply to move from accompanying an ensalada to writing one for the organ alone. Ricercar-like imitation, usually at the octave, appears in some battles (Example 7), and authors often include battles in discussions of the tiento.

The third factor to influence the development of Iberian organ battle music was the instrument itself. At the beginning of the 16th century, Spanish and Portuguese organs were constructed by Flemish organ builders and were the same as those in other parts of Europe. Flemish practices continued in the Catalonian region of Spain, but in Castile and Portugal local organ builders took the instrument in a new direction. 

One difference was the divided manual, or medio registro. Each half of the manual, from middle C down and from middle C# up, could have its own registration. This allowed a small instrument much more variety than it might have with just one setting for the entire manual. Composers wrote pieces for medio registro with one hand soloing and the other playing an accompaniment. On a medio registro instrument, an organist could use different registrations to create an echo effect with this type of imitation. In the battles we often see paired imitation with a figure played first in one octave and then in another (Example 8).

Another improvement was the swell box, which appears to have been developed in Spain before anywhere else in Europe.¹⁵ Some of the enclosed pipes included reeds. The swell could potentially create echo effects without changes of octave or registration (Example 9). Some Spanish organs of the 17th century even had devices that allowed quick change of registration, although this was by no means universal. 

Organs became more versatile as organ makers learned to build pipes that imitated the sounds of other instruments. Pipes might do a credible job of mimicking the bassoon, the oboe, buzzing reed instruments such as the crumhorn, schalmei, and dulzian, and trumpets in all registers. The organ could play these sounds with more volume and a greater range than could performers on the actual instruments, sounding a death knell for these players who until that time had been highly valued. 

During the 17th century organ builders began to place trumpet-shaped reed pipes horizontally for more brilliant tonal effect and visual beauty. Almost every battle has at least one solo that might have been played on horizontal reeds against a background of a quieter reed chorus (Example 10). However, Doderer believes that organists would also have used horizontal reeds for dense chordal passages, creating a truly immense volume of sound (Example 11).

Not all Iberian organs were equipped with accessory stops to simulate percussion instruments as was the one at Lérida Cathedral (it also had bells and six different birdsongs). However, composers definitely assumed that performers would imitate this effect through articulation. Batalha famoza includes an instruction to play the left hand quickly in order to imitate musket fire (Example 12). Possibly this could be turned into a special effect, since the full sound of a pipe might not speak when played with a very short stroke.

These organs had fewer pedals than do modern ones. Organs surviving from the 17th century generally have from one to three pedals that might play C, F, and/or G, depending on the organ’s basic pitch (some were based on 24′ F stops rather than the 16′ C stops common in Germany).

 

Performance considerations

Developing insight into the trumpet sounds Iberian organists were emulating in their compositions throws new light on how this music should be played. The triadic accompaniment to a solo line should not hide in the background, but sound like a trumpet chorus. The organist can phrase a fanfare or battle call so that it sounds as if an actual trumpeter were playing it.

Understanding the organ of the time provides additional clues to bringing this music to life. Sutton suggests using an organ with at least two manuals to create the contrast that one medio registro keyboard could generate.¹⁷ Use pedals sparingly, since the organs for which the battles were written could only play sustained notes in common cadence pitches. One registration possibility would be a strong solo reed and bright reed chorus contrasted with full organ at sectional divisions. Barbara Owen suggests avoiding gaps in the registration or allowing it to become too foundational or too top-heavy.

Battle music remains a satisfying part of the organ literature today. Because their trumpet fanfares and battle signal motives persist as part of our aural culture, modern audiences still respond to this sound. Today we use battle music in concert rather than as liturgical repertoire, since tastes in church music have changed. However, battle music might make a satisfying postlude on a festive occasion, much as this music was used four centuries ago. 

 

Notes

1. Mary Ellen Sutton, A study of the 17th-century Iberian organ batalla (Ann Arbor: UMI, 1978), 142–143.

2. Gerhard Doderer, Orgelmusik und Orgelbau im Portugal des 17. Jahrhunderts: Unteruchungen an Hand des MS 964 d. Biblioteca Pública in Braga (Tutzing: Hans Schneider, 1978), 198–199.

3. Sutton, Iberian organ batalla, 92.

4. Josep Elías wrote on the title page of a collection of the master’s works, “Ante ruet mundus quam surget Cabanilles secundus.” George J. Buelow, A History of Baroque Music (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 2004), 382.

5. Mary Jane Corry, “A Spanish-Austrian Battle.” Music/The AGO and RCCO Magazine (March 1970), 35.

6. Sutton, Iberian organ batalla, 65.

7. Cesare Bendinelli, The Entire Art of Trumpet Playing (1614), trans. Edward H. Tarr (Nashville: The Brass Press, 1975), 12.

8. Monteverdi provides a written-out example of the trumpet ensemble in the Toccata that opens his opera, Orfeo, 1607. See Example 13.

9. James South, “References to trumpet music in the battle chansons of Clément Janequin.” DMA diss., University of North Texas, 1990. RILM Abstracts of Music Literature, EBSCOhost.

10. Renaissance trumpets were generally pitched between modern B and F.

11. Walton, Clifford, History of the British Standing Army, A.D. 1660–1700 (London: Harrison and Sons, 1894), p. 467.

12. Buelow, History of Baroque Music, 371.

13. Ibid., 380.

14. Manuel Carlos De Brito, “A Little-Known Collection of Portuguese Baroque Villancicos and Romances,” Royal Musical Association Research Chronicle, No. 15 (1979), 17–37. Translation by Dr. Miguel Chuaqui, Professor of Composition at the University of Utah.

15. Douglas Earl Bush and Richard Kassel, eds., The Organ: An Encyclopedia (New York: Taylor and Francis, 2005), 548.

16. Doderer, Orgelmusik und Orgelbau, 203.

17. Sutton, Iberian organ batalla, 123.

18. Barbara Owen, The Registration of Baroque Organ Music (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1997), 130–134.