Harpsichord Notes: Colin Booth, Dark Harpsichord Music

Mattheson: The Melodious Talking Fingers and Harmony's Monument

Johann Mattheson: The Melodious Talking Fingers (Die Wohlklingende Fingersprache), Colin Booth, harpsichordist. Soundboard, SBCD-220, $16.98.

Johann Mattheson: Harmony’s Monument (Harmonisches Denckmahl), The Twelve Suites of 1714, Colin Booth, harpsichordist. Soundboard, SBCD-208 (2 CDs), $16.98. Both available from ravencd.com.

Of the memorable Baroque composers of quotable music and words, Johann Mattheson does not appear as a household name, but in his day he achieved recognition among his peers, particularly for his writings on music. Nowadays he is known both as a composer and author of theoretical works, and as the one who nearly brought an early end to the composer of The Messiah! Handel and Mattheson violently quarreled during the premiere of the latter’s opera Cleopatra, and were it not for an obtrusive coat button deflecting a sword thrust, Baroque music might have lost a significant body of music! The two later reconciled, and Mattheson dedicated his Melodious Talking Fingers to Handel. Keyboardists are fortunate enough to hear this work and Mattheson’s twelve suites in a masterful recording by harpsichordist and builder Colin Booth. His research into Mattheson’s life and music are well reflected in these two albums, which provide a window into the music of a highly instructive and colorful composer. In addition, Mr. Booth precedes this captivating repertoire with program notes that bait the listener without meaningless or uninformed conjecture.

Though different in many ways from Bach, Handel, and Telemann, Mattheson utilized many of the same musical ingredients via different tastes and yielding highly inventive and engaging flavor. The collection’s curious title perhaps hints at the occasionally capricious nature of its contents. These “technically competent fugues . . . do not sound as if written to demonstrate Mattheson’s desired contrapuntal rigor from his colleagues,” yet the contrapuntal mastery is evident. Numerous fugues consist of multiple subjects and demand considerable dexterity and singing interpretations to convey their richness. Additional pieces in this collection display grace and wit, providing even more opportunities for the player’s hands to sing and speak. Colin Booth does both. His performance shows admirable command of the fugues’ structure, yet the learned nature of the pieces yields to very characterful interpretations, from the singing quality of the fugues’ subjects to the unusual fugal characteristic of complete silence. The radiant first fugue gives way to a graceful and lyrical fifth fugue (complete with the buff stop), while the severe eighth and the triple-subject ninth receive their own creative colors, even with their austere nature. A palpable energy permeates most of the livelier fugues, and the listener is rewarded for embarking on this journey in the peaceful conclusion of the final fugue on the chorale Werde munter mein Gemüte. The dances are likewise imbued with character befitting their wit and charm, and Mr. Booth delivers a both a humorous Burla and a Seriosità whose sensitivity recalls the warmth of Couperin’s many sensuous pieces.

The twelve suites contrast enormously from those of Mattheson’s German contemporaries, as the former contain a more overt personal touch, especially in their fantastical opening movements. Their dance movements, though similar in nature, are far more adventurous in rhetoric and surprise, and Mr. Booth’s recording captures the adventurous qualities of these suites as a whole. His performance conveys the architecture of both individual dances and entire suites with the same mastery as in the fugues. His tempo choices and interpretations of character hold the suites together well, and his use of inegalité, though occasionally predictable in allemandes and courantes, imbues the dances with elegance. Gigues drive relentlessly and energetically, while their slower counterparts sway gracefully, whether sarabandes, airs, or minuets. The more fantastical movements rivet the listener in their arresting character, from the seventh’s virtuoso “Prelude” to the sixth’s suave “Prelude” to the second’s brilliant “Tocatine.” Mr. Booth seems especially committed to selling the unusual movements or those placed unusually; these stand out, especially the hilarious fugue that begins Suite No. 11 and precedes an equally outrageous gigue of an overture! The gorgeous third and sixth suites are the highlights of the album. Their soulful allemandes, energetic courantes, dulcet slow movements, and vivacious gigues show that composer of austere fugues could write absolutely beautiful dances.

As if the listener were not already in for a treat, Colin Booth’s instruments add yet another dimension of both inventiveness and craftsmanship to these albums. His 2016 restoration of the Nicolas Celini harpsichord yields a sound befitting to the speaking quality of Die Wohlklingende Fingersprache, and both instruments in the suites provide a vibrant sound for the many contrasting movements. Furthermore, Mr. Booth recently issued an edition of Fingersprache, available for purchase on his website (colinbooth.co.uk) and from Raven. All in all, these albums provide a rare opportunity to hear lesser-known and deserving repertoire played by someone committed to making its presence known and able to deliver it masterfully via both interpretation and instrument.

Equally at home with historical keyboards and the piano, Michael Delfín is a top prizewinner of the Jurow International Harpsichord Competition and is a member of The Diapason’s 20 Under 30 Class of 2021. Based in Cincinnati, Ohio, he is artistic director of Seven Hills Baroque. Michael Delfín’s website: michaeldelfin.com

A new edition of Mattheson’s Fingersprache

Die Wohlklingende Fingersprache (The Melodious Talking-Fingers), by Johann Mattheson, edited by Colin Booth and Matthew Brown. Soundboard, 2020, 70 pages, with preface in English and German, $37.00. Available from ravencd.com.

Two years ago, the British publishing house Soundboard unveiled a new edition of Johann Mattheson’s largely neglected Die Wohlklingende Fingersprache, best translated as “The Melodious Talking Fingers.” Edited by Colin Booth and Matthew Brown, this publication presents the performer with both a clean reprint of the original 1730s text as well as a historical preface, performance practice suggestions, and critical commentary. Considering the rarity of reliable editions of this work, Soundboard’s issue is a must-have for all historical keyboardists.

German composer Johann Mattheson published the Fingersprache in two halves, in 1735 and 1737, and dedicated it to his one-time rival and subsequently colleague George Frederick Handel. The work consists of twelve fugues as well as various dances and character pieces interspersed throughout the work. A second edition followed in 1749; though merely a reissue of the original with a French title, it specifies the harpsichord as the intended medium for enjoyment. Breitkopf & Härtel presented a new edition just over two centuries later, edited by Lothar Hoffman-Erbrecht, which presented musicians with considerable errors. Booth and Brown have corrected many of these errors, and with the addition of substantial commentary, their work fulfills a need in the historical performance field, particularly in drawing attention to Mattheson’s much-neglected output.

Mattheson’s music utilizes the same vocabulary as that of his German compatriots Handel, Johann Sebastian Bach, and Georg Philipp Telemann, but he developed his own dialect through his fugal writing and often singular dances, both of which reveal a taste for harmony and phrasing bordering on idiosyncratic. The Fingersprache’s creativity in fugal writing constantly entertains the reader, who will encounter various contrapuntal games such as multiple subjects and/or countersubjects within the same fugue, choral-sounding textures thrown in between highly idiomatic keyboard writing, and a rich figural vocabulary stemming from Mattheson’s German roots. In addition, Mattheson demonstrates a thorough knowledge of other styles such as the French clavecinists in Seriosità, an allemande-like character piece, and also a learned style combined with galant virtuosity in Fugue X for three subjects. He nonetheless closes with his Germanic roots in the final fugue, which takes as its subject the chorale tune Werde munter, mein Gemüte.

Booth and Brown provide details of Mattheson’s life that allow the performer some context into the Fingersprache’s origins and transmission. Their commentary situates the collection within the world of Bach and Handel, sometimes comparing the keyboard music of the three but more commonly highlighting the singularity of Mattheson’s unique writing.

As very little performance practice exists specifically for Mattheson’s music, Booth’s brief summary of practices will serve the performer well as a starting point for further exploration. Although sources themselves are left to the performer to explore, any keyboardist who knows of Mattheson will also know of
Carl Philipp Emanuel Bach and likely Johann Kirnberger and other Germans who penned guidance for keyboardists of their day. One might also benefit from consulting Booth’s liner notes from his recent recording of the Fingersprache for a more personal take on the music (see “Harpsichord Notes,” November 2021 issue, page 11). After all, performers are the ones actually getting their hands dirty!

Also included in this publication is a critical report by Brown, complete with a statement of editorial practice. A policy of “refraining from intervention” guided the editors, and their critical report reflects this practice. They state ambiguities in the original edition, rather than merely correcting them without comment, as many twentieth-century urtext editions tended to do. The curious performer may consult the original editions on the International Music School Library Project (IMSLP, imslp.org) to verify accuracy.

Booth and Brown’s publication deserves a place in the library of any serious historical keyboardist. As original sources become more and more easily obtainable, the need for updated, clean editions requires a critical approach to editing. Keyboardists will readily appreciate this painstaking publication that brings to light a neglected yet considerable work of the High Baroque.

Colin Booth’s website: colinbooth.co.uk

A member of The Diapason’s 20 Under 30 Class of 2021, Curtis Pavey is a graduate of the doctoral program at the University of Cincinnati where he studied harpsichord under Michael Unger and piano under James Tocco. In fall 2023, he will be the assistant professor of piano pedagogy and performance at the University of Missouri. More information is available at curtispavey.com.

Fischer: Eight Suites of 1698, Colin Booth - harpsichords. Soundboard, SBCD-222, $16.98. Available from ravencd.com and colinbooth.co.uk. 

Harpsichordist Colin Booth’s latest recording focuses on the music of German composer Johann Caspar Ferdinand Fischer’s (1656–1746) suites from 1698 published as Musikalisches Blumen-Büschlein. The recording, finished in August 2021, appears to be the only available complete recording of this collection, offering listeners an excellent opportunity to hear this music in its entirety. 

Fischer’s Musikalisches Blumen-Büschlein was originally published as Les pièces de clavessin in 1696, but Fischer enlarged and revised it, and it was published again in 1698 under the new title. The work contains eight suites that comprise a variety of different dances. Each suite opens with a praeludium unique and stylistically different from the others, similar to Bach’s partitas. The ensuing set of dances in each suite differs greatly, and most do not contain the traditional “core movements” (allemande, courante, sarabande, and gigue) as mentioned in the CD liner notes. Booth believes that Fischer’s collection functions as a “survey” of contemporary French dance suites, which allows listeners and performers to become familiar with genres such as plainte (lament), variation sets, branle, and other dance types. 

In his detailed liner notes, Booth discusses Fischer’s life and works and additionally how these works influenced other German composers of the time, namely J. S. Bach, G. F. Handel, and Johann Mattheson. Several of Fischer’s preludes contain textures that Bach borrowed for his Well-Tempered Clavier, Book I, and it is clear that Bach was quite familiar with this set. Suite VI is perhaps the most interesting of the collection, containing the largest praeludium of the entire collection, which Bach later used in his first B-flat-major prelude. The influence of Fischer’s work on Handel is also apparent in this work, given Handel’s later use of the variation form in his suites, in addition to the fact that Handel’s suites are also inconsistent with the types of dances included in each suite. 

Booth recorded this collection on two different instruments from his workshop. The first instrument is a seventeenth-century Italian harpsichord that includes a short-octave bass. Both harpsichords are strung in brass, but the Italian harpsichord is tuned at A = 392 in Werckmeister III. The other harpsichord, a French double manual based on an instrument from 1661, provides a slight tonal contrast. In the liner notes, Booth clarifies the need for a short-octave bass given that the first and sixth suites in the collection require its use; however, he also wanted the additional registration benefits of the double-manual harpsichord.

Throughout the recording, Booth’s performance is strong, and each suite sounds unique from the others. Booth used a variety of registrations and frequently added ornamentation to the repeats of dances. Each dance is infused with character and careful attention to details. The disc includes many highlights; among them are the large “Praeludium” from Suite VI, the deeply pensive “Plainte” from Suite VII, and the rigorous “Chaconne” from Suite VIII. Perhaps most impressive, though, is Booth’s handling of Suite V, which contains an aria with eight variations. Booth performs this suite with varied approaches to articulation, dialogue between the different voices, and a clear arch to unite the whole suite as a singular work.

For those unfamiliar with Fischer’s music, this disc serves as an excellent introduction to his first collection of harpsichord suites. Booth performs Fischer’s harpsichord suites in a convincing manner that helps connect stylistic elements from France to the harpsichord literature of the eighteenth century.

Equally at home with historical keyboards and the piano, Michael Delfín is a top prizewinner of the Jurow International Harpsichord Competition and is a member of The Diapason’s 20 Under 30 Class of 2021. Based in Cincinnati, Ohio, he is artistic director of Seven Hills Baroque. For information: michaeldelfin.com.

Foes find friendship: Händel vs. Scarlatti

Händel vs. Scarlatti, Cristiano Gaudio, harpsichord. L’Encelade, ECL 2003. Available from encelade.net.

Georg Friederich Händel: “Toccata I in G Major,” “Toccata VI in C Major,” “Toccata IX in G Minor,” and “Toccata XI in D Minor” from the Bergamo Manuscript; Sonata in G Minor, HWV 580; Suite II in F Major, HWV 427; Chaconne in G Major, HWV 435; transcription of Violin Sonata No. 10 in A Major, HWV 372. Domenico Scarlatti: Sonata in F Major, K. 82; Sonata in F Minor, K. 69; Sonata in D Minor, K. 32; Sonata in D Minor, K. 64; Sonata in G Minor, K. 43; Sonata in D Major, K. 33; Sonata in D Major, K. 53; Sonata in C Major, K. 86; Sonata in C Minor, K. 84; Sonata in C Minor, K.58.

Competition very often follows musicians throughout their lives, sometimes in healthy ways and sometimes not, and competitive events often yield memorable outcomes. The Saxon Georg Friederich Händel and the Italian Domenico Scarlatti first met in 1708, and at the instigation of the patron of the arts Cardinal Pietro Ottoboni in Rome, the two engaged in a musical duel for an audience drawn from the nobility. Rather than speak critically of each other as Mozart did of Clementi, flee town in fear as Louis Marchand did with Johann Sebastian Bach, or storm out of the city as Daniel Steibelt did after losing to Ludwig van Beethoven, Händel and Scarlatti became friends and admirers of each other’s skill. Händel was declared the superior organist, while Scarlatti was deemed the superior harpsichordist.

Händel (who later Anglicized his name to George Frideric Handel) settled in England and composed in as many genres as he encountered on his travels, while Scarlatti settled in Iberia, eventually marrying into the Spanish royalty and composing over 550 keyboard sonatas, among other works. Although the musical program of this duel has been lost to history, harpsichordist Cristiano Gaudio captures the spirit of two twenty-four-year-old virtuosos vying for the public eye in an impressive and brilliantly played album entitled Händel vs. Scarlatti.

As we know from their careers, Händel and Scarlatti could not be more different as people and composers, but this album pits them together on the level playing field of the harpsichord. Both were lauded for their virtuosity, and both were highly skilled in the art of improvisation at the keyboard, and Gaudio’s album highlights both traits. His program selections stem from Händel’s younger years and most likely Scarlatti’s as well (as best as the Kirkpatrick numbers may yield). The variety of styles places the listener in the front row of the audience, hearing the two young composers show off their skill and challenge each other to more and more daring feats at the keyboard.

Händel starts the first round with a stirring toccata preserved in the newly discovered “Bergamo” manuscript. Händel’s toccatas in this album showcase his brilliant improvisations as an organist, and as this opening selection resembles the more sectional, improvisatory sonata movements of Corelli, perhaps the German Händel is showing his skill at a more Italian vein to impress his hosts. However, Scarlatti takes the Saxon to task and plays a fugue at a presto tempo, showing his mastery of a more German learned style! (Gaudio’s super-charged performance is especially breathtaking.) He then demonstrates a more sensitive, suave approach to the harpsichord that would highlight his slower sonatas to come. In Gaudio’s hands, this Bruce Kennedy Italian harpsichord sings sensuously, and Scarlatti’s Spanish flair enticingly emerges.

Back and forth the composers square off, with Gaudio refereeing the musical melee. Händel takes a turn at fugal style while Scarlatti pares back his fingerwork for a gentler approach. (Gaudio’s tasteful embellishments in the latter seem to emanate from within the sound of the instrument.) Händel produces multi-sectional toccatas, to which Scarlatti replies with paired sonatas. Händel then attempts a languid and suave sound through an organ sonata movement, but Scarlatti disrupts this aria with an allegrissimo in the same key. At this point the composers play off of each other, as Händel continues in G minor with another toccata, this time joined to a capriccio. Perhaps these mutual segues hint at the respect the two men gained for each other upon meeting each other in “battle.”

As the contest progresses, the virtuosi move more into their own worlds—Scarlatti into Spanish dance and keyboard pyrotechnics, and Händel into orchestral writing. K. 33 signals a Spanish jota, a vigorous dance in 3/8, but Scarlatti also takes time to improvise between phrases. Gaudio’s timing of these moments keeps the listener on edge as the movement seemingly halts, then precipitates into the dance once again. Although Scarlatti’s Spanish flavor would come later, its presence in this album makes his music contrast most spiritedly from Händel’s. K. 53 also signals guitar-like writing and more visually the hand-crossings that would make Scarlatti’s sonatas legendary across all keyboard instruments. Gaudio’s fiery virtuosity is so very enjoyable that one almost forgets the demands of this music!

Not to be outdone, Händel enters the fray again, this time with a gem from his first volume of suites. He steps away from the organ and becomes an orchestrator, perhaps attempting to outdo Scarlatti through his own use of the harpsichord’s sonority and register, which differs in each movement. Gaudio equally demonstrates the ability of the harpsichord to imitate orchestral voices in a concertante setting, both solo and grosso. The opening aria’s florid melodic line rivals that of the most beautiful aria-like sonatas that Scarlatti could write, and Gaudio captivates the listener from the very first note. Vigorous violin-like writing characterizes the second movement, which is similar in key and brilliance to the opening soprano aria of Partenope, an opera Händel would write in London some twenty years later. The shock of the third movement’s key paves the way for individual lines in a concerto grosso-like texture to permeate the aura created by this new solemn affect. Gaudio shapes each line elegantly and leaves the listener wondering what could happen next. The final ebullient fugue is a tour de force and features both Händel’s training in counterpoint and zest for flair at their best. Gaudio’s energy is relentlessly exciting, though one may wish at times for more articulated shape in each fugal line, not just pell-mell energy.

For the final stretch of performances, both composers offer their most personal craft. Scarlatti’s three sonatas treat the listener to memorable elegance, more fireworks, and one last demonstration of the learned style. Gaudio highlights the whimsical air of K. 86 with expressive elegance, shows off the brilliance of K. 84 with great freedom and edge, and holds together K. 58’s structure amid gnarly chromaticism. His freedom in timing sometimes detracts from the pieces’ architecture, but the elegance in K. 86 ensures that the listener is never lost in the weeds but is always at home in the flowers. Even though the sense of meter in K. 84 disappears in pauses and drastic tempo shifts, the listener is allowed a glimpse at the overtly brilliant keyboard writing that characterizes Scarlatti’s most difficult sonatas. In this sonata, Scarlatti snarls at his foe! He then continues one-upping Händel in a virtuosic, chromatic fugue, demonstrating both a command of the keyboard and the epitome of learned-style counterpoint, with a subject based entirely on the chromatic scale. Gaudio’s performance of K. 58 breathes more here than in Händel’s imitative writing, but one still might wish the fugue subject were crafted with a greater sensitivity to meter. However, even with occasionally blurred chromatic lines, the overall structure of the fugue is most convincing.

Händel’s wild last toccata and the great “Chaconne” cement his improvisatory prowess in the audience’s memory. Gaudio gives an elaborate and gripping performance of this incredible latter work, and his addictive energy holds the audience’s attention to the very end. His brilliant fingerwork at times relies more on speed and clarity than shape in the many running lines, but the rhythmic energy of the whole movement compels the listener’s attention and applause. Gaudio ends the album with a lovely encore in the form of a transcription from a violin sonata. One can imagine the two composers reading this movement together on separate instruments (or perhaps the same one!) before going their separate ways with newfound reverence at each other’s mastery.

So who carries the day? You be the judge, but Gaudio clearly gives a winning performance as the referee. The two instruments by Bruce Kennedy offer timbral variety, and one can imagine both composers taking turns at each instrument and even the same instrument. This brilliant album leaves the listener inspired, breathlessly excited, and eager for more, and Mr. Gaudio delivers the styles of the two giants with ease, taste, and exuberance.

J. S. Bach: The Well-Tempered Clavier, by Colin Booth, harpsichord. Soundboard, Book One, SBCD-218, $16.98; Book Two, SBCD-219, $16.98. Available from ravencd.com and
colinbooth.co.uk.

Colin Booth, harpsichordist and harpsichord maker, performs Bach’s complete Well-Tempered Clavier in these two CD sets. Making use of his own harpsichord, a copy of an instrument by Nicholas Celini from 1661 built in 2016, Booth here performs a convincing rendition of one of Bach’s most important works for keyboard instruments. The discs were recorded between 2018 and 2019 and demonstrate Booth’s vast knowledge of Bach’s compositional style and notational language.

Booth has a special relationship with the harpsichord used in this recording. Before building his own copy of this double-manual instrument, Booth restored Celini’s original 1661 harpsichord in 2013. In replicating this harpsichord, Booth expanded the compass and strung it in brass. The brass stringing sounds beautiful and allows for exquisite clarity of contrapuntal lines. While the instrument has three choirs of strings, Booth only uses the two 8′ sets of strings—individually and in combination—noting that he wanted to preserve the contrapuntal clarity as much as possible. Regarding tuning, Booth uses Kirnberger III, preferring its conservative qualities while preserving unique characteristics for each of the different keys.

The playing on these discs is of exceptional quality, demonstrating Booth’s thoughtful approach to musical expression, articulation, and pacing at the harpsichord. There are many highlights throughout this recording: the endurance and structural considerations given to the extensive fugues in A minor and B minor (Book One), effective ornamentation in the G-minor prelude and the C-sharp-minor fugue (Book Two), and contrapuntal clarity within the massive five-voice fugues from Book One (C-sharp minor, B-flat minor). Booth’s attention to detail is audible throughout, sensitively shaping phrases with clear articulation and direction. Of particular interest is Booth’s regular use of rhythmic inequality and unevenness in his playing; sometimes the inequality is quite subtle, other times, less so. It is often effective, particularly in the D-major fugue from Book One, in which French overture performance practice and elements of the notation seem to disagree. Some of Booth’s ideas are unconventional—for instance his approach to the rhythmic gestures at the beginning of the D-major prelude from Book Two. In his choice of tempi, Booth diligently considers meter along with character effectively. The F-minor fugue of Book One, as an example, comes to life in Booth’s unhurried rendition with sliding chromatic lines, whereas the grace of the F-minor prelude from Book Two becomes audible in Booth’s fluent choice of tempo. Listening to the entire collection is rewarding and reveals so many beautiful and thoughtful ideas.

In addition to his performances, Booth has included fantastic liner notes for both CD sets. The essays are lengthy, including a variety of information about historical context, model compositions, tuning considerations, and thoughts on his interpretation. The liner notes go far beyond an introduction to this repertoire, thoroughly breaking down recent scholarly debate on tuning and suggesting ideas for future performers to consider in their own interpretations.

Altogether, these CD sets feature outstanding playing, musically and technically, from Booth. His intimate knowledge of the harpsichord, and particularly this harpsichord, helps him to bring out the best of its beautiful sonic qualities. This recording absolutely deserves a listen and a place among other important recordings of Bach’s Well-Tempered Clavier.

Jane Clark: “D’un goût nouveau:” the influence of Evaristo Gherardi’s Théâtre italien in François Couperin’s Pièces de Clavecin

In the Preface to his first book of harpsichord pieces, Couperin praised the work of his “forbears” saying that their music still appealed to people of “refined taste” (ceux qui l’ont exquis). “As for my pieces,” he adds, “their new and diversified character has assured them a favorable reception with the people who matter (le monde).” He also said the pieces were ideas that had occurred to him and that many of them were portraits. Titon du Tillet, in Le Parnasse François, wrote that Couperin’s Pièces de Clavecin were “d’un goût nouveau,” in a new style. He said the same of the playwright Charles Dufresny, writing that the author understood music perfectly and that his lively portraits of almost all the different characteristics of mankind were “d’un goût nouveau.” Was the playwright perhaps an influence?

There is a play by Dufresny called Les Mal-assortis. The stage represents the Room of the Ill-matched Couples where Hymen, god of marriage ceremonies, sits among couples with their backs to one another. He is sitting under a dead tree on which perch birds of evil-omen: cuckoos, owls, and bats. Couperin’s piece, L’Himen-amour (Married Love) from the 16th Ordre, mimics cuckoos (measures 18–22 and 41–43 in the bass), owls (measures 18–21 and 34–36), and bats (measures 30–32), and wedding bells are heard briefly in measure 5. Almost certainly Dufresny was one of Couperin’s inspirations. Like the play, the composer’s piece is a powerful and often sad satire of a universal human condition.

Marked majestueusement, the piece refers back to the previous piece in the 16th Ordre, Les Graces incomparables ou La Conti, also marked majestueusement, a radiant portrait of the popular Prince de Conti, whose marriage was not a great success. We know it to be this Conti because Saint Simon, who was very fond of him, tells us he had a laugh like the braying of an ass (measures 9 and 15). He was also a great patron of the theater. Thus we have had an idea from the theater and a portrait. It seems that many of Couperin’s contemporaries did not understand this “new and diversified character:” “I am always astonished,” he said in the Preface to Book III,

after the pains I have taken to indicate the appropriate ornaments for my pieces, to hear people who have learnt them without heeding my instructions. Such negligence is unpardonable, the more so as it is no arbitrary matter to put in any ornament one wishes. I therefore declare that my pieces must be performed just as I have marked them, and that they will never make much of an impression on people of real discernment if all that I have indicated is not obeyed to the letter, without adding or taking away anything.

Perhaps one example may bring this home. The allemande La Verneüil is presumably a portrait of Achile Varlet, seigneur de Verneüil, a great tragic actor. His wife was a soubrette actress, the subject of the next piece in the 18th Ordre, La Verneüilléte. Couperin has marked ports de voix in the middle of many of the chords, but almost always this important ornament is simply played as part of a spread chord (measures 1, 5, 18, and 19). Surely this is “unpardonable negligence” and reduces this wonderful piece to just one more beautiful allemande. But if the “appropriate ornament” is played the great actor declaims his tragic speech. It is easy to see how one ornament can change the whole meaning of a piece.

But who were “the people who matter,” “le monde?” We know Couperin played at the salon of Mme. de Lambert and that Louis III de Condé employed him to teach his children and engaged him to entertain his guests. A member of his father’s household was La Bruyère, whose literary Caractères, a copy of which Couperin possessed, were clearly an influence. Condé’s sister, and cousin of the Prince de Conti, la duchesse du Maine, was a friend of Mme. de Lambert. All these people were patrons of the great Harlequin, Evaristo Gherardi’s Italian comedians. Dufresny’s play, Les Mal-assortis, comes from the collection published by Gherardi, Le Théâtre italien. There are many specific references to these plays among Couperin’s harpsichord pieces. It is interesting that Charles Couperin, François’s father, taught the duchesse d’Orléans who was the dedicatee of this publication.

As time went on the plays became more and more subversive. They satirized Lully’s operas, thus satirizing the glory of the King who eventually banned the troupe. The reason for this is not clear, but contributing factors included obscenity and that they had overstepped the mark with comments about the unpopular Mme. de Maintenon. However, perhaps the real reason was the subversive undercurrent, with which the patrons would have sympathized. Mme. de Maintenon was a lady of reforming zeal, and she slowly turned the court into what one courtier called “a monastery in court dress.” The courtiers resented this. From 1688, for most of the rest of Louis XIV’s reign, France was at war and conditions at home became appalling for many people, so discontent and subversion rumbled on every side.

Another piece that takes its inspiration from the theatre is L’Arlequine from the 23rd Ordre. It refers to a play by Regnard, Le Divorce, in which Gherardi made his debut, and is a harlequin chaconne. At the beginning Couperin is imitating a fairground organ, remembering that after the troupe was banned the actors took refuge in the fair theatres. The passage of discords towards the end (measures 25–31) is inspired by a scene from Le Divorce in which Harlequin is singing a duet with Mezzetin, the singing master. Harlequin’s efforts are a disaster and Mezzetin pleads, “Do please sing in tune.” Harlequin replies, “Oh, sing in tune yourself, do you think I don’t know that it’s necessary to mark a dissonance there, and that the octave comes in clashing with the unison, forming a B-sharp minor.” Like so much of Book IV, this piece has an element of nostalgia. The previous piece in the 23rd Ordre, L’Audacieuse, refers to Gherardi’s debut, known as la tentative audacieuse.

Sometimes a title seems obvious when it is not. La Sophie from the 26th Ordre is not a pretty girl, but rather a play, Mezzetin en Grand Sofi, which revealed the true meaning, a whirling dervish. Couperin portrays the whirling throughout the piece. To dress La Sophie in pretty girls’ clothes makes a mockery of the music. It comes between the nostalgic Gavotte and the heart-rending portrait of Maria Teresa d’Orsi, L’Epineuse, the Spinetta of Gherardi’s troupe, in the 26th Ordre. Couperin’s theatrical sense never allows him to put three gentle pieces in a row. The final piece, La Pantomime, is described by Gherardi. Scaramouche sits playing his guitar; Pasquariel comes up noiselessly behind him and beats time on his shoulder scaring him stiff:

It was in this pantomime of terror that he made his audience rock with laughter for a good quarter of an hour, without once opening his mouth to speak. He possessed this marvelous talent to such a remarkable degree, that he could, by the simplicity of pure nature alone, touch hearts more effectively than the most expert orators.

The tragicommedia aspect of the plays is strong in this particular piece.

Another reference to Gheradi’s Théâtre is Le Gaillard-Boiteux from the 18th Ordre. It mocks a dancing master at Versailles, Jean Gaillard. In Regnard and Dufresny’s play Les Chinois we are told the actors are going to mock themselves at last: “There is not a profession that has escaped their satire; Attorneys, Doctors, Magistrates. They have not even respected Roman Emperors or dancing masters.” In the scene, from Boisfran’s Arlequin misanthrope, the dancing master has a wooden leg. Harlequin asks: “And what is your profession?” Colafon: “I was the dancing master at the opera house in Lyon, but as the opera has
fallen . . .” Harlequin: “It fell on you I suppose, and there you are, completely crippled?” Marked dans le gout Burlesque this piece limps along cheerfully.    

People have wondered at the sexy words of Couperin’s canons but a glance at Gherardi’s Théâtre reveals similar sexual references. Couperin’s Les Culbutes Jacobines from the 19th Ordre is about somersaulting in bed. These are the somersaults of the Jacobin order of monks and nuns, whose fallen morals were the subject of many satirical poems. If all Couperin’s detailed markings, which include the slurs, commas, and aspirations, are obeyed the piece becomes a sexy romp. Those who attended the salons and appreciated the theatre were among those known as Le Monde. They were in a position to appreciate Couperin’s “new and diversified character,” rather than those of “refined taste” who appreciated his forbears.

His references to the play Les Chinois in his final valedictory 27th Ordre fit the stage directions so exactly it is likely they started as incidental music. The troupe had a large orchestra and these pieces feel like arrangements. The scene referred to satirizes Apollo and the Muses on Mount Parnassus, which implied the whole edifice of the court of Versailles. Pegasus (symbol of literature), portrayed as a winged ass, keeps interrupting the conversation, and when Apollo asks Thalia why the authors have not fed him she says, “The poor devils can scarcely feed themselves these days, you can’t get fat on chewing laurels,” a reference to the fact that the king had withdrawn his support for the troupe. The piece opens with the same figure used for the braying of the ass in La Conti. Later the stage directions instruct that an ensemble of comic instruments is heard. These appear in the second part of the piece.

Les Vieux Seigneurs followed by Les Jeunes Seigneurs, Cy-devant les petit Maîtres from the 24th Ordre proves that Couperin was influenced by Dufresny. In Les Vieux Seigneurs Couperin satirizes obsequious courtiers. To quote Dufresny, from Les Amusemens sérieux et comiques, “The courtier thinks carefully before he speaks, the petit maître talks a lot and scarcely thinks at all . . .”

The courtiers flatter those they scorn, what dissimulation. The petit Maîtres are more sincere, they hide neither their friendship nor their scorn. The courtier’s speech is uniform, always polite, flattering, never direct. The speech of the petit Maître is high and low, a mixture of the sublime and the trivial. The first part is a mixture of “high and low” motifs and idle chatter while the second, still “high and low,” is beautiful. Les Vieux Seigneurs, if all Couperin’s markings are obeyed, is, once again, an apt portrait. Les Jeunes Seigneurs chatter away both high and low during the “trivial” first half, but the second part is “sublime.”   

In the final piece of this Ordre, L’Amphibie, we are back where we started, showing Couperin’s sense of symmetry. Here we must be mindful of eighteenth-century meanings. La Bruyère used the term amphibious to describe the ambitious courtier. Similarly Alexander Pope was scathing in his portrait of Lord Hervey: “Amphibious thing! That acting either part, The trifling head, or the corrupted heart, Fop at the toilet, flatterer at the board, Now trips a lady, and now struts a Lord.” A speech from Boisfran’s Les Bains de la Porte Saint Bernard describes a Lutin Amphibie, who ordains that: “The young men of fashion are by pleasures, by appearances, by gait, by patches, and by manners made less men than women.”

The ambiguity is reflected throughout L’Amphibie. Marked noblement, at the beginning, it is indeed noble, but gradually gives way to “Wit that can creep and pride that licks the dust,” to quote Pope again. We go through caution at the court, obsequious bows, pleading, seeming success, sudden disillusion, anger, resignation, till finally, nobility returns, but with a startling G-natural, which can perhaps imply scorn at the dissimulation needed for success. Recent research has shown that Couperin worked very little at Versailles apart from his organist’s post for three months a year. He was probably a bad courtier himself. Clearly he felt great sympathy with the values expressed in Evaristo Gherardi’s Théâtre italien.

Jane Clark is well known as a harpsichord recitalist in Europe and the United States. Her research into the music of François Couperin and Domenico Scarlatti has received international recognition. The Mirror of Human Life: Reflections on F. Couperin’s Pièces de Clavecin (written in collaboration with Derek Connon) explores the background to these pieces and offers suggestions as to the meaning of many elusive titles. David Tunley, writing in Music and Letters (May 2012) suggested that “this book should be within arm’s reach in every studio where Couperin’s music is loved and practiced.”