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Henri Mulet: French organist-composer

Donna M. Walters

Donna M. Walters is a graduate of Marywood University and holds a master’s degree in musicology and vocal performance. She is presently a music instructor at Hanover Area High School in Pennsylvania, and is the author of a book of children’s poetry entitled “Dreamland Memories.” Mrs. Walters has been in “Who’s Who in American Education,” “Who’s Who in American Teachers,” and “Who’s Who in American Women.” Currently the music director for St. Casimir’s Church in Hanover Township, she lives in Pennsylvania with her husband Joseph.

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Henri Mulet was born in the Eighteenth District of Paris, France, on October 17, 1878 at eight o’ clock in the evening. He was right-handed and grew to a height of five feet, six and one-half inches. Because of his birth date, he is considered a Middle-Impressionist composer. His parents, Gabriel Leon Mulet and Blanche Victoire Patie Mulet, were Catholic. They were considered first-rate performers, but neither of them composed. Gabriel was a pianist, a singer, and director of the choir at the Basilique du Sacré-Coeur. Blanche was a professor of piano, a singer and an organist at the harmonium of the Basilique. Henri had a brother named Gabriel who died in Paris at the age of sixteen. The brother was quite intelligent and had received a bachelor’s degree by the time of his death. Henri received his early musical training from both his parents, including harmonium and piano lessons from his mother. He began to study the violoncello shortly after he began piano lessons. Other than the piano lessons he received from his mother, he did not continue his study of the piano and remained an average player throughout his life.1

Early life
Around 1888, Mulet began to substitute for his mother, playing the Benediction at the Basilique. He eventually succeeded his mother at the harmonium, but the position had a major drawback: the Basilique was still under construction and every time that rain fell, Mulet had to play beneath an umbrella. He hated the experience so much that later in life, whenever he heard the harmonium he would flee. Because of the great musical ability he displayed as a child, Mulet was enrolled at the Paris Conservatory around 1889. At this time, he was in the solfège class of Paul Rougnon. Rougnon found Mulet to have exceptional talent and enrolled him in the violoncello class of Jules Delsart, one of the most famous cellists of the time. Mulet was also a classmate of the virtuoso cellist Paul Bazilaire. The jury members were Salome, the organ composer, and the arranger
J. B. Weckerlin, whose Bergerette album for voice is still in print.2
In 1891, Mulet won the second prize for solfège. In 1892, he won the first accompaniment prize for violoncello. In 1893, the first three prizes for violoncello were awarded to Mulet (first), Herouard, and Hasselmann. Mulet was not happy with the prize because he felt that all he had to do to win was imitate his teacher. He no longer had an interest in the violoncello, because he felt that one had to be a “showoff” to be a great cellist and he flatly refused to go along with this idea. Even though he stopped taking lessons, he continued to play the cello until he was eighteen. At that time, he became interested in composition.
While at the Paris Conservatory, Mulet played the cello at concerts in the Theatre du Chatelet. Jules Delsart had formed a student trio consisting of a violinist (unknown), a cellist (Mulet), and a pianist (Alfred Cortot). They performed in prestigious homes in Paris, Rouen, and Versailles. Mulet also accompanied his parents when they sang at boarding houses to entertain the other guests who were on holiday at the seashore.

First compositional period
In autumn 1893, Mulet enrolled in the organ class of Widor (for which Vierne was a substitute) and the improvisation class of Guilmant. Widor was considered to be the best organist of the time and was thus nicknamed “The Emperor.” Between 1893 and 1896, Mulet studied composition and orchestration with Widor and harmony with composers Pugno and Leroux. In 1896, Mulet won the first prize in harmony. In 1897, he won the second prize for organ and improvisation. Vierne, in his memoirs, said that Mulet was “rattled by nerves” and that he could have won first prize had he not been. The jury members for this contest were Cesar Franck’s students Dallier and Pierné and the composers Samuel Rousseau, Pugno, and Gabriel Fauré. Although Mulet never knew Fauré personally, he greatly admired him. Also in 1897, Henri was employed by the Church of St. Pierre-du-Petit-Montrouge.3
In 1901 and 1902, Mulet played many recitals and organ dedications in Paris, the French countryside, and in Belgium. Mulet’s favorite composer was César Franck, and he played Franck’s works as often as he could. He also admired the Widor symphonies and played them often. (The Widor symphonies that are played today are the 1914 to 1918 revisions, which were published in 1920. Mulet played only the original versions).

Second compositional period
In 1902, Mulet ceased most of his activity with the outside world. A trip to Lombardy, Italy, during an August holiday may have had some bearing on this decision. His compositions also changed quite drastically. He was hostile to the changes and innovations of the twentieth century, and his style remained strongly rooted in the symphonic organ of Cavaillé-Coll of the nineteenth century. It was during this period that Mulet composed his Esquisses Byzantines (Byzantine Sketches), one of his most famous works. He spent the majority of his time in church meditating and playing the organ. He spoke little with his friends, who referred to him from this point as being secretive and mystical.
Mulet left his position at St. Pierre-du-Petit-Montrouge sometime in 1901, but because of the periodic destruction of church records, the exact dates of Mulet’s church positions are difficult to determine. After his position at St. Pierre-du-Petit-Montrouge, he held the position of organist at St. Marie-des-Batignolles, apparently until sometime in 1904. At some point in 1905, Mulet became the choir organist at St. Eustache, a post he held until 1907. He was joined at this time by Joseph Bonnet, who was also employed as another organist by the church. In 1907, Mulet became the organist at St. Roch. The organ, a two-manual instrument, had a direct influence on Mulet’s compositions. His writing from this period shows less intensity, but greater artistry. Up to this point, Mulet’s scores displayed an interest in calligraphy. Many of his titles were done in ornate script. After this time, it appears that he had lost interest in the subject.

Third compositional period
Around 1909, Mulet was associating with another composer, Albert Perilhou, who was a student of and a companion to Saint-Saëns. He may have met Perilhou through his friend Libert. In this same year, Mulet tried his hand at conducting the St. Nationale Orchestra. At that time, anyone who had both a score and the parts was allowed to conduct. The orchestra consisted of some eighty performers from the Colonne, Lamoreaux and the Schola Cantorum orchestras. Felix Raugel, who played the violin, said that Mulet was an excellent conductor and that he never let his nerves show while conducting; however, his autograph scores have all of the tempi re-marked in gigantic letters written in crayon. Mulet conducted only the St. Nationale Orchestra and only the premieres of his own compositions. He conducted between 1909 and 1914, the greater portion of his premieres taking place between 1909 and 1911. After the St. Nationale concerts had run their course, Mulet’s works were heard at the Colonne, Lamoreaux, and Inghelbrecht concerts. Désiré-Émile Inghelbrecht (1880–1965) was the most important instrumental conductor of the time, and he promoted Mulet’s works more than any other conductor. On many occasions, he conducted Mulet’s works for radio concerts.
By 1909, Mulet’s social life consisted of attending intellectual gatherings comprising mostly teachers of English literature, religion, architecture, history, and music. The gatherings were held in private homes, and the guests were merely acquaintances and not close friends.
In 1910, Henri became a member of the Society des Auteurs, Compositeurs et Editeurs de Musique. He was admitted through Widor and Inghelbrecht. After July 1, 1910, Henri met the famous choral conductor Felix Raugel at the home of Libert. Raugel, a former student of Libert, became Henri’s second closest friend. Raugel said of Henri: “ . . . he hardly ever spoke, and he was very reserved and mystical.” He never knew Henri’s entire compositional output because Henri never spoke of his music. Raugel greatly appreciated what little he understood of Henri and was eager to write several articles about him for various dictionaries. He also conducted Henri’s early choral work, Laudate Dominum, quite often at St. Eustache and St. Honoré d’Eylan. Raugel said that he had also heard Mulet improvise and that he was expert at it.

Married life
It was at one of these gatherings that Mulet met his future wife, Isabelle Marie Board Rochereau. She was born in Lougne in the département of Maine-et-Loire on August 7, 1878. After their initial meeting, Isabelle joined the choir of St. Roch so that she could see Henri quite often. She also saw Mulet conduct in 1909 and was very impressed. Henri courted Isabelle for about one year, and they were married at St. Elizabeth’s Church, Place de la Republique in the Eleventh District of Paris on July 12, 1910. The organist at the wedding ceremony was Joseph Boulnois, to whom Marcel Dupré dedicated the third Prelude and Fugue from his opus 7. The Mulets seemed to have chosen this church out of convenience, as their address after the marriage was 28 Place de la Republique. Prior to his marriage, Henri’s address was 26 rue du 4 Septembre, Paris 2.
Within a year of the marriage, Henri composed four orchestral sketches that he intended to orchestrate. When the sketches were finished, he went to see about conducting one of his works and was flatly refused. Raugel said, “ . . . after 1910, it became more difficult to conduct or to have one’s pieces performed by an orchestra.”4 Because of this, Mulet stopped composing in 1911. Raugel continues, “Prior to 1911, if one felt talented, he had only to climb to the podium.” This is how Berlioz, Busser, Messager, Pasdeloup, Colonne, Lamoreaux, Rheue-Baton, Inghelbrecht, Gaubert, and he (Raugel) started. During the time of Gaubert, conducting classes were introduced.
In 1911, Mulet transcribed the four sketches along with an earlier unperformed orchestral work for the harmonium in a desperate attempt to have his music performed. He submitted some of these pieces to a publisher of religious music, Abbot Delepine, who liked Mulet’s music, and the two became friends.Henri’s student, Henri Heurtel, stated that Isabelle could have pushed Henri to compose after 1911, but she saw no reason for doing so. Isabelle was not a musician, did not understand music, and had no interest in it. She did, however, have an interest in business and, at some time between 1911 and 1913, she convinced Henri to open a real estate office. Henri, however, had no talent for business, and it quickly failed.
Isabelle and her husband did not go out a great deal after they were married. Her explanation for this was that Henri had done many things before the marriage; he did, however, take her to see one opera (Felix Raugel said that Henri sometimes went to hear the performances by the Society of Concerts).5 Henri also forbade Isabelle to dance, which she never understood, but she respected his wishes. At some point, Henri acquired a practice pipe organ so that he no longer had to practice at the churches where he was employed. Because Henri did his practicing at home, Isabelle offered this as an explanation as to why Henri did not marry a musician. She said, “You must understand that a man like my husband who often had to stay home to work on the organ pieces that he played every Sunday at the eleven o’ clock mass could not marry a piano teacher or a singing teacher. He did not like to work on his organ studies while having, in the next room, the stumbling playing or singing of a pupil.”6 At the time of his marriage, Henri still had his cello, although he had not played it for some years. Sometime afterward, he apparently gave it to his former classmate, Hasselmann.

The mystic, Mulet
Mulet improvised in the manner of César Franck. The Mulets and the Raugels often had lunch at the Liberts’ home, and the Raugels also accompanied the Mulets on their month-long holidays in August. Henri owned a small Renault, and he always did the driving. Raugel said that they always visited the scenic rural areas. The countryside had a profound affect upon Henri’s composing.7
When Henri premiered his Fantasie Pastorale, a symphonic poem for orchestra, on May 20, 1911, a review in the Comœdia Illustré stated that it was “the most interesting of the new works, containing spontaneity, drive, vigor, and pace. The work was quite dramatic, developed, and descriptive; moreover, it was well-orchestrated, calling up impressions Mulet felt upon looking at the countryside of the Haute Durance.” The motto of the work is also quoted, “Smiling in the sun or tragic under the storm.” This composition is the best remembered of the missing works. Raugel stated that after Mulet ceased to compose in 1911, he amused himself with his thought and would sit, meditating, without saying anything. He was very reticent and months and years went by in silence.

The Niedermeyer School
From 1911–1922 and from 1922–1936, Henri was employed at St. Phillipe-du-Roule, apparently in two different positions. In 1913, Henri became a professor at the Niedermeyer School in Paris. He acquired the position through Libert, who was teaching piano there. At the time that Henri joined the faculty, the school was being run by Niedermeyer’s granddaughter and her husband, Henry Heurtel, and by his grandson, Lefebvre. The Heurtels had eight children who assisted in administrative duties. At one time, Gabriel Fauré was connected to the school, and the Niedermeyers were very close to him. Fauré was godfather to one of the Heurtel daughters.
Two of the Heurtels’ eight children studied the organ with Mulet: Henri Heurtel and one of his sisters. Henri was the only student of Mulet’s that Isabelle ever knew. She knew the Heurtel family and was invited by Mrs. Heurtel to visit. Apart from the Raugels, the Liberts, and the Heurtels, Isabelle appears to have met very few of Mulet’s professional friends and acquaintances. She never met Joseph Bonnet, despite his and Mulet’s close friendship.
At the Niedermeyer School, Henri taught organ, cello, and solfège. He was noted for his ability to sing solfège, but he never sang anything else. He had even directed choirs without singing a note, a practice also carried out by Raugel. He gave only a few cello lessons at the school and never played at these lessons. This practice stemmed from his bitterness at having imitated Delsart’s playing. He never lost the fear that his students would imitate him and he always said, “You must not imitate anyone; you must be personal.”8
Even though the Niedermeyer School had a varied curriculum, it was considered primarily a school for serious organists. When Henri joined the faculty, its members did not speak with one another; however, Mulet’s earlier acquaintance, Bellenot, and a friend, Albert Perilhou, taught there as well. Henri Heurtel said that nothing was known of the teachers’ private lives because they never discussed their affairs with their students; however, Felix Raugel said that Perilhou was a former student of and companion to Saint-Saëns. He states that Saint-Saëns would visit Perilhou at the Church of St. Severin, where the latter was organist. Saint-Saëns would seat himself at the organ and, at seventy years of age, would improvise like a young man. Raugel also said that Saint-Saëns would improvise an entire fantasy. Additionally, Raugel stated that even though Saint-Saëns had a great talent for improvisation, he hated César Franck and remained envious of Franck until he died. Raugel said that Franck’s music did not become popular until 1900, and the more that Franck’s music was performed, the more bitter Saint-Saëns became.9
Another teacher at the Niedermeyer School was Henri Dallier, who had studied with Franck. It is surprising that Mulet and Dallier remained only acquaintances, because Dallier primarily played Franck’s music, which Henri greatly admired. Dallier’s students called him “The Terror of the Pedals.” Dallier had been a concert pianist and would tell his students that the fourth finger is the most important aspect of playing. Dallier eventually adopted the mystic style of Mulet; when this occurred, he was rejected by his composition students at the Paris Conservatory. They labeled him a bore.
Henri Heurtel, who appears to have been Mulet’s most successful student, said, “Mulet was always very reserved and quiet and never talked about himself or about other people. It was difficult to know what he was thinking about anyone. Mulet never boasted about the success of having his orchestral works performed at the great concerts, and he never talked outside of lessons. He was very witty and joked with a straight face.”10 According to Heurtel, Henri was an excellent organ professor. He never allowed a student to go on with a piece if there was one wrong note. As with cello lessons, he never played the organ for his students. Mulet said, “The secret to learning a piece (he used the Bach Fantasy and Fugue as an example) is to let it ripen,” meaning to work it out for a long time with great care. He also told his students that to play in church, a repertoire of at least fifty major compositions was necessary. Henri’s best-remembered quotation was “Time is precious, for tomorrow you will be seventy years old.”11

Final appearance as conductor
In 1937, Heurtel succeeded Libert as organist at the Basilica of St. Denis and held that position until 1977. Libert had held the post from 1896 to 1937. On May 17, 1914, Mulet made his final appearance as a conductor with the premiere of Le Talion, a song written in declamatory style. It was sung by Georges Mary, a baritone whom Mulet frequently employed for his oratorio concerts. As Mulet became older, he became more and more demanding of his students, to the point that they did not want to attend lessons. Henri Heurtel’s sister would beg her mother to “ . . . spare her this torture.” Her brother said that she cried at every lesson; but one day, she did exactly what Mulet wanted and they became good friends. He used to call her “The Princess.”

Mulet’s bitterness
Heurtel stated that Henri’s bitterness was a result of his observation that high art was on the decline, principally because the younger organists broke the tradition of playing legato at an allegro tempo. Mulet remained strongly enmeshed in the style of the symphonic Cavaillé-Coll organ of the nineteenth century. He detested the playing of Marcel Dupré and considered Joseph Bonnet to be one of the last performers to play the organ correctly with excellent technique. Heurtel himself stated that “ . . . modern performers get drunk on the speed they can attain by using the wrong approach.”12
Two additional things that affected Mulet are revealed in an incident that occurred when Henri Heurtel’s mother questioned Mulet as to why he gave up composing. Mulet was said to have lost his great reserve, showed great bitterness and replied, “ . . . cartloads of music in France are waiting to be played and published. It is not worth the trouble of writing if the music will not be played.”
After 1918, it was very difficult to have music published in France. Raugel said that all of the Parisian musicians ignored Mulet’s music, and he came to hate Paris. After 1911, Mulet displayed a rather overwhelming bitterness. Isabelle Mulet said that Henri never discussed any of these affairs with her. They had no children, and each had their own separate lifestyles. She said that her husband loved her very much, but she never completely understood him. She said of Henri, “ . . . he was like in a dream-world, and later, feeling that he had failed, Henri became even more withdrawn.” She added that he was never really content. The only time that he appeared to be happy was when he was driving somewhere or was on holiday. Isabelle said that driving gave him the greatest pleasure and only then did he become relaxed and sociable; otherwise, he remained very much to himself.13
Around 1914, the Mulets moved to the town of Triel-sur-Seine, which is about thirty-five kilometers from Paris. Between 1914 and 1924, Henri, who had no relatives outside of Paris, rarely returned to the city, except when he visited his paternal grandfather. These visits were infrequent. In 1914, Vierne dedicated his Canon (No. 6 from Twenty-four Pieces in Free Style for Harmonium and Organ) to Mulet. This appears to be the only published work ever dedicated to him.

Mulet’s lectures
Sometime between the 26th and the 31st of July in 1921, Henri gave two lectures to the General Congress of Sacred Music, which took place in Strasbourg, Germany. The members included many Parisian musicians including Raugel, Gabriel Pierné, Henri Rabauch, Samuel Rosseau, Eugène Gigout (who also taught at the Niedermeyer School), and Vincent D’Indy. One lecture dealt solely with the technical placement of pistons on organ consoles and the pitch arrangements for mixtures, the other was titled “The Harmful and Anti-religious Tendencies of the Organ.” This lecture dealt with the so-called “French Registration” and attacked some other items including the tremolo. Below is an excerpt of that lecture:

The Harmful and Anti-religious
Tendencies of the Organ
by Henri Mulet
It is very probable that the invention of the organ occurred from the need that one try to imitate the wind instruments by mechanical means, undoubtedly to save the human soul. The result was rather satisfactory, but it contained a surprise: an inert sound. The inertia of the sound of the organ is its fuel, it is accompanied by homogeneity of duration, of intense stability and creates a sound in the world a world apart. Those who like the Organ like its inertia. If the Organ were not inert any more, it would not be the Organ. The Organ recalls the timbre of certain instruments. It does not imitate them. This is not its role. It has better to do. It is self-sufficient because it is as rich as the richest orchestra. The orchestra is a painting; the organ is stained glass. Its sounds of calmness, imposing and seizing, bathe the atmosphere of our cathedrals; just as the lights of our stained glass, sharp as well as ever so soft, induce faithful meditation. Like stained glass, the organ has its colors. One can say, if one wanted, that the flutes are blue, the reeds red, the pleins jeux yellow, the cornets purple, and the gambas green. As in the stained glass, this inertia precisely constitutes the base of any beauty of the organ. If it did not exist, it would have to be invented. Also, it is necessary to deplore the fact that, from time immemorial, it was people who, not appreciative of this beautiful inertia of the sound, always worked to fight it.
The tremolo does not have any other origin than this, but its beats, being always equal to themselves, produce another kind of inertia which without the good qualities all claimed, has only the disadvantages of primitive inertia.
Fortunately, there are a few organists in France who love the organ in the old manner, who never play transcriptions (such as the overture to Tannhauser) and who will not allow our stained glass to be demolished in order to put in its place a sort of “cinema-organ-orchestra,” the organ of the Antichrist. These orchestral tendencies are, moreover, illogical and one is in vain pursuit of a phantom.
Imitating instruments, even perfectly, is not at all the same as imitating the orchestra. Even if, impossibly, the inertia of sound were completely overcome, you would still have to execute the notes. Those who are generous enough to believe that this has been accomplished make us think that they have never read an orchestra score.
In order to merely play the notes, we would have to have 20 hands and as many keyboards. To make the nuances, we would need at least 20 swell boxes. Even then, it would not be exact, because the instruments of the orchestra change timbre when they change intensity. You can close an organ trumpet in a box, but it will never be a true trumpet pianissimo.14

Mulet, the organist
In 1921, Mulet left his post at St. Roch and the following year became the titular organist at St. Phillipe-du-Roule. He played all of his organ works at this church on a Cavaillé-Coll-Mutin built in 1903. It was noted by the abbot of St. Philippe that Mulet’s playing was well-appreciated among the parishioners.
Shortly after Mulet accepted this position, his student, Henri Heurtel, became his assistant for one year, pulling stops for Mulet’s performances. This seems odd, since Mulet lectured against having an assistant while performing. Heurtel said that Mulet always practiced at home and no one but Isabelle knew how much time he spent at the organ. While at his post at St. Philippe, Mulet improvised to fill in the gaps at the services. Heurtel said that he never improvised a prelude or a postlude. Heurtel questioned Mulet as to how one learned to improvise. Henri answered that, “ . . . one has to be born with the gift of improvisation which cannot be learned under any circumstances.” Henri was in disagreement with what Dupré and others termed “improvising.” He felt that improvising was spontaneous, and that the performer developed ideas immediately, rarely remembering what he had played. Raugel said, “ . . . when Dupré was in his early twenties, he could improvise only short stanzas. He planned everything in advance and memorized it. On one of his early concert tours, he declined to improvise, something that one possessing the true gift would never do.”
The late composer, Georges Migot (1891–1976), who was a contemporary of the last of the French Impressionists, confirms this: “ . . . none of them (referring to Dupré and others) could improvise spontaneously; everything was planned in advance.” Vierne wrote of Mulet, “ . . . Mulet of St.-Phillipe-du-Roule, was a musical personality of the sharpest. He was a solid virtuoso and a beautiful improviser. . . . Mulet has written some very significant pieces which have justly become part of the repertoire for very serious organists.” Isabelle Mulet said of her husband, “ . . . if he had written down all of the improvisations that he played on different occasions, he would have been renowned.”
In 1922, Paul Bedouin became the choir organist at St. Phillipe-du-Roule. Bedouin, who was also a pianist, was a student of Vierne and Gigout and knew Felix Raugel. Despite Bedouin’s association with Mulet’s colleagues, he said that he did not see Mulet often at that time.During the summer of 1923, Mulet met the Canadian-born organist Lynnwood Farnam (1885–1930) through his friend, Libert. Farnam was to achieve considerable success in the United States, especially in New York City. Farnam was studying with Libert while the latter was assisting Widor at the Conservatory of Fontainebleau. Also, at this time, Mulet had his photograph taken with American organist and conductor, Albert Riemenschneider (1878–1950), who often vacationed in France. It seems likely that Mulet knew Riemenschneider from the time that Albert studied with Widor and Guilmant.
From 1924 to 1931, Mulet taught at the Schola Cantorum in Paris as well as at the Niedermeyer School. He may also have done some substitute teaching at the Conservatory of Fontainebleau, but this has not been substantiated. During this time, Mulet received correspondence from two parishioners of St. Phillipe-du-Roule. One, dated January 26, 1926 reads:

Sir:
I should like to ask you for some information. I should be very grateful if you could give it to me. Though I have not had the honor of meeting you, I have often had the pleasure of hearing you play on Sundays at St. Phillipe’s. Last Sunday, January 24th, you played a piece which I would like to know the name of. It must be by Franck, probably.
Thanking you in advance,
I remain very truly yours,
Y. Reul
RSVP
PS. You played the piece in question at the end of the 10:30 mass.

The other letter, which is not dated, reads:

Mr. Georges Thomas would be very grateful to the organist of St. Phillipe-du-Roule for the title of the piece which he played in a most charming manner, on Sunday, January 8th at the 11:30 mass right after the sermon; and requests, if this is not too much trouble, to ask that he leave the title for him at No. 1 Courcelles Street, just a step or two from St. Philippe’s.

(This card was probably written in 1928, as January 8th fell on a Sunday in that year).
In June of 1927, Mulet donated his practice organ to the Gothic church of St. Martin in Triel-sur-Seine. Both Raugel and he gave a dedicatory concert on Sunday, June 26, 1927. Mulet played César Franck’s Choral No. 3, J. S. Bach’s Prelude in E Minor, an excerpt from Widor’s Seventh Symphony, and the Buxtehude Fugue in C Major. Raugel then directed the choir from St. Eustache in works by Pitoni, Marcello, Copulet, Fauré, and Psalm Fifteen by Franck.
Around 1928, the publisher Emile Leduc went with his son, Gilbert, to Triel-sur-Seine to meet with Mulet. (The Leduc Publishing House was founded by Alphonse Leduc in 1848 and was taken over by Emile in 1904 after Alphonse’s death.) Raugel said that Mulet had been at odds with the publishing company for years. When the Esquisses Byzantines was published in 1920, Mulet was given a seventy-dollar advance payment for royalties, but he was never paid another penny, despite the fact that thousands of copies of the collection had been sold. Mulet was well aware of the sales, because Leduc had to file them with the French Composer’s Society. Raugel said that Mulet was like a “shorn lamb” and that composers who dealt with Leduc had to “know how to defend themselves.”15
The April 30, 1930 issue of Le Monde Musicale contained an article about Mulet written by Charles Tournemire: “Henri Mulet, strange and great artist, caught up by a mystical ideal. Calm improviser, sometimes lively, religious. Artist worthy of the Middle Ages, which, in his case, does not exclude the feeling of understanding modern art. Mysterious thinker.”
In 1932, a student of César Franck’s, Louis de Serres, founded the Ecole César Franck. Mulet taught there sometime between 1932 and 1937, along with his friends Vierne, Bonnet, and Bedouin. Felix Raugel said that Mulet made use of Marcel Dupré’s compositions for teaching purposes and that he appreciated their technical properties, especially the ostinati; however, Raugel further states that Mulet found little aesthetic worth in these pieces and refused to play them.16 In 1934, Mulet left the Niedermeyer School because it was too difficult for him to climb the hill on which it stood. The school continued to operate until the end of World War II, when it ran out of funds.
During the 1930s, Bedouin frequently visited the Mulets at his home. Bedouin wrote, “He (Mulet) always greeted me in a very friendly manner when I used to go with my little family to visit him at Triel-sur-Seine where he lived.”17 At some point, Mulet met the famed teacher, Nadia Boulanger. She said of Mulet that she did not really know him, but when they were introduced, “He was that most cordial one.” She added that his talent was widely recognized.18
In 1936, Désiré Inghelbrecht directed Mulet’s Petit Suite sur des Airs Populaires Français, which was played by Inghelbrecht’s radio orchestra. A postcard sent to Mulet by the orchestra’s secretary reads:
15 July 1936
Dear Sir:
Your Petit Suite sur des Airs Populaires Français will conclude the program of the Federal Broadcast of Tuesday, July 21st. Mr. Inghelbrecht has set the rehearsals of your work as follows: Saturday, July 18th at 9:00 AM Salle Gareau and the following Tuesday, the 21st after the intermission, Salle Gareau, also, that is to say at 10:45 AM. At the dress rehearsal in the afternoon, he will see the whole program in order, that is to say that you will be on supposedly toward 4:30 PM. Since the concert is public, I will have at your disposal the number of tickets that you might desire.19

After the performance, Inghelbrecht returned this score to Mulet along with two other orchestral works entitled Souvenirs de Lorin Bardie. Inghelbrecht appears to have had possession of these scores from 1911 until 1936. Also in 1936, Mulet had a small article written about him in an unidentified American music magazine. Mulet kept a copy of the article, which was written by a Dr. G. Bedart. It proved to be quite inaccurate except for his having quoted Mulet as hating “Vainglory.” (In 1921, Mulet had lectured against an article that Bedart had written, labeling Bedart as a “careless thinker.”)

Retirement
In 1937, Mulet felt forced to retire from his musical life in Paris. His feelings of failure coupled with his notion that the “moderns” did not question the validity of ideas were both prevailing influences in his decision; but the final blow came from the church authorities of St. Phillipe-du-Roule. Mulet was informed that “modern” music was favored in place of Franck, Widor, Bach, Buxtehude, or any other master composer whose works were in the standard organ repertoire. By coincidence, Mulet received an inheritance at this time, and he officially retired from St. Philippe on Easter Sunday, March 28, 1937. The postlude was Widor’s Toccata from the Fifth Symphony. Michael Boulnois, the son of organist Joseph Boulnois, was hired to succeed Mulet. He was present at the Easter service and said that Mulet played the Toccata brilliantly.
Before leaving Paris, Mulet gave all of his keyboard music to Paul Bedouin. Bedouin said the music was more or less ruined from having been used so frequently. Mulet gave the three orchestral scores returned by Inghelbrecht in 1936 to Raugel in the hope that he (Raugel) could get them performed.
After his retirement, Henri moved with his wife, her sister, and her mother to a small home in Draguignan, which is in Provence. Their home overlooked the beach at Frejus on the Mediterranean Sea. Before moving, Mulet had added his new address to the title page of his orchestral work Dans le Vallée du Tombeau (In the Valley of the Tomb). “Dans” is an interesting piece to choose to list what was to be the last place where Mulet would live.

The final move
Henri then became the organist at the Cathedral of Draguignan—a position that, for Mulet, proved to be an ordeal, because the organ contained every one of the faults that he had argued against in his 1931 lecture. The instrument was a two-manual Merklin built in 1888. It was unified and did not have one mixture or one mutation rank and the pedalboard only went up to D2. Henri called this organ “The Bagpipes.” While at Draguignan, Henri wrote only to Raugel and Bedouin. Libert had died in 1937, and his position at St. Denis was given to Henri Heurtel, the student of both Libert and Mulet. Of Henri’s correspondence, only one letter has been preserved. It was sent to Felix Raugel, who said that this was the only letter in which Henri exposed his thoughts, although Raugel did not seem to understand it completely:
7 August 1946
My Very Dear Friend,
Three times you have written me and I have not answered! I am very ashamed and I ask your forgiveness. I am down in the dumps, a depression as big as an elephant, and this is what has kept me from writing because it stops up my brain.
You are singing the Lamentations. I don’t have the courage to sing the Ténèbre. Silence alone . . .
All that, after all, is of no importance and surely happens for our greater good. Is it to keep us from missing the life of this lower world? Perhaps, but in any case, this is the result.
We are going to die tomorrow, our agony is long and hard, but the important thing is to have our passport in order. All the rest is beneath our attention. Let us forget, then, the earth and especially its horrible inhabitants. And let us think of that “other world” where the sea is no longer. But I think that there will be beautiful lakes and beautiful mountains and no radio [referred to as T.S.F. . . . Mulet did not like the change to popular music on the radio!]. To reach it we travel in fourth class, at least! But we are being too difficult.
I’ve received nothing from Leduc. He said that he would send the E. B. [Esquisses Byzantines] but he has done nothing about it. He is worthy of being a Dracenois [interpreted by Raugel as being a resident of Draguignan] but it is of no great misfortune and if you meet him, you can tell him that I don’t give a damn . . . [written je m’en f . . . ] Doubtless I would not have done anything about it. Rework them, these pieces? I would not have had the courage because that would be so useless. [Mulet was asked to rewrite his E.B. so that Leduc could gain a new copyright on the collection.] The “Bagpipes” [the Merklin organ] here does not interest me at all and for me it is a punishment (or penance) to go to work there every Sunday. I do it only as penance, just as I do everything else.
Take courage, salvation is perhaps nearer than we think. My best wishes to both of you, Henri Mulet. [Oddly, in the letter, the body is very clear, yet the signature is nearly illegible.]

In 1955, Mulet found a summer home for Paul Bedouin in Draguignan, where Bedouin visited Mulet every summer. Because Bedouin visited every season, he and Mulet did not correspond. Despite their long friendship, Bedouin said that Mulet was a mystic and that he (Mulet) never confided in him. Bedouin summed up their relationship by saying that “Henri Mulet, in spite of his kindness, his willingness to please, never completely abandoned a certain reserve. He did not give himself willingly. He was an interior man.”20
In 1956, the Cathedral of Draguignan was closed for major renovation; consequently, Henri faced another retirement. Isabelle’s sister and mother appear to have died before 1959. In that year, Henri became quite ill and needed the assistance of a cane for mobility. He had dizzy spells and, at one time, he fell his entire length on the ground. Later, he had no memory of the dizzy spell or the fall. Because of this incident, the Mulets moved to the convent of the Little Sisters of the Poor in Draquine between late October and December of 1959. Henri had become so ill after his arrival that he was unable to play. It was discovered that Henri was also afflicted with otosclerosis, a genetic illness which causes the bone in the inner ear to grow. This disease will eventually cause deafness, a ringing in the ears and a softening of the voice. At that time, there was no cure.
Henri remained ill for seven years. The Little Sisters said that during this time he cared only about his wife whom he loved very much. On the morning of September 20, 1967, Henri complained of back pain and his doctor was unable to offer him any relief. At nine o’clock AM, he muttered “I am dying,” and he had a dizzy spell during which he lost consciousness. The doctors were unable to revive him and he died at 10:45 AM. Isabelle said that she believed that he died of an internal hemorrhage. He was buried at the local cemetery in Draguignan. Raugel said that Henri died in silence. No obituary was ever published in any French newspaper.
Sometime after Henri’s death, a letter written by some unknown person (Isabelle could not remember the name) was forwarded to Isabelle requesting information from the authorities of St. Philippe-du-Roule about her husband. The authorities of St. Philippe-du-Roule were unable to remember the dates of Henri’s employment. Ironically, the Abbot had once written that Henri was very much appreciated.
In the March 1968 issue of The Diapason (p. 17) an article was published about Henri’s death, which resulted in Isabelle’s reception of one letter of condolence, sent from a Mr. Jerry Koontz of Washington State, USA. Sometime between 1968 and 1972, Isabelle moved to the convent in Nice. She no longer heard from Bedouin, but the Raugels paid her a surprise visit. Isabelle had a cousin in Paris with whom she kept in touch until the early 1970s. Isabelle became increasingly deaf and blind. Between 1967 and 1975, she read books on archeological findings and the history of France. She also corresponded with the French Society of Archeology. Additionally, Isabelle collected stamps, which were sold to raise money for missionaries in Africa.
By 1975, Isabelle was totally blind and could not read or write. She returned to the convent at Draguignan. The sisters said that she was always an interesting conversationalist, even though there was an occasional language barrier. Many of the sisters were from the United States and were not well versed in the French language. Around November of 1976, Isabelle broke her leg. She never recovered from the trauma of the accident and she died on March 24, 1977.
Henri Mulet had his photograph taken at least five times. There is an undated photograph from his student days that was owned by Felix Raugel. One appeared in the 1910 issue of the Comœdia Illustré. A third was taken with Albert Riemenschneider on the steps of St. Philippe-du-Roule during the 1920s. The fourth photograph was published in the 1936 article by Dr. Bedart. The final photograph is a color picture taken by a cousin of Henri between August 7 and October 17, 1959. According to Isabelle, it was taken “ . . . after a good lunch in the garden of the hotel in Draguignan.”

Mulet, the enigma
By nature of his birth, Henri stands as a Middle Impressionist, if Henri Dallier (b. 1849) is taken as the first French Impressionist and Maurice Duruflé (b. 1902) is taken as the last French Impressionist. Although Mulet lived for 88 years, he composed for only fifteen of them, between 1896 and 1911. Even though this is a relatively brief time, his compositions can be divided into three periods such as those of other composers who wrote over their entire lives.
Because Mulet never dated anything and often published his compositions years after they were written, it is impossible to make a chronological arrangement for some years. The order given is based upon his compositional traits. The three periods range from c. 1896 to c. 1902, c. 1903 to c. 1909, and c. 1909 to c. 1911.
Very few autograph scores have survived, because Mulet simply threw them away when the pieces were published. At present, the author has two of the remaining autograph scores in her possession: Offertoire sur un Alleluia Grégorien and Carillon-Sortie. He only retained originals when the printed scores contained a multitude of errors. For the most part, Mulet did not own copies of his own works. As of the present, eight scores have disappeared, seven of which were written in his third period. Six of these were in the possession of Raugel at one time, but when Raugel returned them to Mulet in 1937, Mulet loaned them to some unknown person who claimed the ability to get them performed. They disappeared and have still to be recovered. As with the scores of many other composers, they may someday be found in some Parisian attic. Of the other missing scores, one was an opera burned by Isabelle at Henri’s request and the other simply went out of print. Although the scores were lost, eight-measure themes to each work were registered with the French Composer’s Society.21
Isabelle said that Henri had no set time for composing. Mulet himself stated that “One composes when seized by the spirit. To be inspired is the most important thing.” Felix Raugel said that Mulet would not permit himself to be influenced by any other composer.22
The music of Henri Mulet is unique. Mulet achieved much tension between any two notes. As a result, Mulet was an extremely efficient and concise composer. Not one note can be extracted from a Mulet piece without causing major disruption of the musical line. According to his friends and his wife, Mulet had to struggle for every idea that came to him; therefore, even though Mulet had an incredible depth of inspiration, he cannot be classified as a compositional genius. The master composers always had a flood of ideas that came rapidly. Henri never achieved this.
When Mulet worked on the autograph scores of his first period, he was fascinated by calligraphy. Three types of writing appear on his scores. The titles are written very thickly with ornaments. Other comments are much smaller and much less ornamental. In the organ manuscript Offertoire, the registrations appear in his normal handwriting. In comparing Mulet’s scores to those of master composers of the time, none other took the time to write things out so carefully.
Mulet’s attention to detail yielded extraordinarily balanced musical parts. His music became more and more flawless, especially in his second period compositions. These are written completely in contrary motion, a trait that is rather unusual for an Impressionist.
Where Mulet succeeded so flawlessly in sound, he was quite the opposite when it came to copying out his scores. He composed sketches first and then transferred his works to an actual autograph score. He thought nothing of putting an oboe part on a clarinet line, he never repaired errors when a piece was published, nor did he bother to tell anyone about the mistakes in his printed scores.
Henri Mulet will probably remain enigmatic in the world of music. Because of his lack of correspondence, few friends, and solitary lifestyle, information regarding his life is limited. The information in this article was gleaned from correspondence to his wife Isabelle, the French Composer’s Society, the Little Sisters of the Poor, Paul Bedouin, Henri Heurtel, and from Felix Raugel. Hopefully, the little information that is available will offer some insight into his life and will elevate his much-deserved standing in the world of classical composers.

Copies of Mulet’s extant works are available from the author at a nominal fee. Send e-mail to <[email protected]> for a list of works and details about ordering.

Author’s note:
This project was begun in the late 1960s by Kenneth Saslaw, who was a doctoral student at the University of Michigan. Kenneth was my vocal coach for many years, and when, at age 35, he lay on his deathbed, he asked me to complete the work and have it published. He had spent a great deal of time corresponding with the above-mentioned people to track down what information was available about Mulet, to the extent that the French Society of Composers and Musicians named him the world authority on Mulet. I acquired the materials several years after his death. The task of sorting through letters and notes was monumental, as I had to spend many hours peering at his handwritten notes with a magnifying glass in order to decipher them. As far as I know, the information is accurate. Kenneth has finally gotten his wish; may he rest in peace.

Related Content

Remembering André Marchal Thirty Years Later

Philip Crozier

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

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

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

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

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

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

Three usual manual and pedal couplers.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Marchal answers stylistic
questions

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

Harpsichord News

Larry Palmer

Larry Palmer is harpsichord editor of THE DIAPASON.

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With some help from our readers

A harpsichord piece by
Henri Mulet?

In response to my article on Castelnuovo-Tedesco and his 1909 English Suite for Harpsichord (December 2009), Thomas Annand (Ottawa) wrote to ask if I was aware of a harpsichord piece by Henri Mulet? I was not, and asked Mr. Annand for further information. He referred me to Grove’s Online (now Oxford Music Online), where the catalog of Mulet’s works included a “Petit lied très facile, hpd/pf, 1910” among instrumental and chamber music listings.
Hoping to locate a score, I checked print sources, but was unable to find anything from the cited major publishers. So I turned to the leading authority on 19th- and 20th-century French organ music, Rollin Smith, who responded immediately that he knew of the piece, but did not have a copy of it. But only a few days later, he provided an Internet address (http://www.evensongmusic.net/muletfree.html) featuring a free PDF file of Mulet’s short piece in an organ adaptation by Stephen H. Best, made “from the harpsichord version.” Although this score is presented on three staves, the piece is indeed “simple” enough to play on the harpsichord manuals without any need for pedal. Beginning and ending in B minor, the “Little Song” comprises 17 measures in a gently asymmetric 5/4.
In notes to the piece, Mr. Best writes that “the Petit Lied was composed by Henri Mulet ca. 1909 and dedicated to Albert Périlhou, organist at Saint Séverin in Paris from 1889 to 1914.” He further points out that Mulet and Périlhou were colleagues at Saint Eustache during 1905.
While not an earth-shaking musical discovery, Mulet’s piece adds another charming item to the gradually increasing number of harpsichord compositions from the earliest years of the 20th-century revival.
I am grateful to Mr. Annand for directing attention to this overlooked item, and to Mr. Best for his online generosity. While visiting the website, note Best’s edition of several additional Mulet pieces for the harmonium.

More on Chopin’s Fugue in A Minor
Several readers responded to our February article, The Chopin Bicentennial: Celebrating at the Harpsichord?
Paul Cienniwa (Boston) sent word of the availability of a pristine score for Chopin’s 1841 work found at <http://www.imslp.org&gt;.
Church musician and clavichordist Judith Conrad (Fall River, MA) wrote to confirm the availability of a harpsichord for Chopin’s use at Nohant, George Sand’s country estate.
And ever-vigilant Dallas researcher John Carroll Collins continued his mining of Chopin source materials, with results shared in two extensive letters. In his letter of 28 February 2010, Mr. Collins cited page 227 of Tad Szulc’s Chopin in Paris [New York, 1998], where the author states (without documentation) that in addition to Chopin’s Pleyel, there was also “another piano and a harpsichord in the sitting room.” (This room, along with the guest rooms, dining room, and kitchen, was situated on the ground floor; the main bedrooms and library were on the second.)
In the same letter, Collins commented on my use of quotations from the authenticity-challenged correspondence between Chopin and Delfina Potocka:
The entire matter of the letters was discussed at length by Arthur Hedley in his essay “The Chopin-Potocka Letters,” which was published as an Appendix in Selected Correspondence of Fryderyk Chopin [London and New York, 1963]. In the seventh edition of Baker’s [Biographical Dictionary] it is stated on page 983 that “Hedley was instrumental in exposing the falsity of the notorious Potocka-Chopin correspondence produced by Mme. Czernicka (who killed herself in 1949 . . . after the fraudulence was irrefutably demonstrated by Hedley at the Chopin Institute in Warsaw)”.

In further correspondence (dated 14 March 2010), Collins provided information concerning a possible date of composition for Chopin’s fugue, as well as some documentation for the composer’s interest in counterpoint:

While reading an interesting little book by Gerald Abraham, Chopin’s Musical Style (London, 1939), I came across a clue that offers a [possible] solution [to the question of the date of composition]. In the Introduction (page xii), Abraham quotes from a letter Chopin sent to Julian Fontana, “undated but apparently written in July or August 1841,” in which Chopin requests that he “send without fail Cherubini’s traité; I think it’s du contrepoint (I don’t remember the title well.” This same letter is given in full on pages 195–6 of [the Hedley book cited earlier], where it is dated “Nohant, early June 1841.”
In Hedley’s translation, Chopin asks Fontana to send him a copy of Kastner’s Treatise on Counterpoint and requests him “to fit the things into a suitable box, have them well packed and dispatch them . . . to the same address as my letters. Do please be quick about it . . . don’t delay the dispatch if he [the bookseller] has not Kastner’s book in stock. Anyhow do send Cherubini’s Treatise—I think—on Counterpoint. I don’t know the exact title.” (This book would have been Cherubini’s Cours de contrepoint et de la fugue, published in 1835.)

Collins also sent several pages from The Journal of Eugene Delacroix (translated from the French by Walter Pach [New York: Grove Press]), in which the painter noted a relevant exchange with his friend, the composer, during the last year of his brief life:

Saturday, 7 April 1849: About half past three, accompanied Chopin on his
drive . . . During the day he talked music with me, and that gave him new animation. I asked him what establishes logic in music. He made me feel what counterpoint and harmony are; how the fugue is like pure logic in music, and that to know the fugue deeply is to be acquainted with the element of all reason and all consistency in music.

Comments and news items are always welcome. Address them to Dr. Larry Palmer, Division of Music, Southern Methodist University, Dallas, TX 75275. E-mails to <[email protected]>.

Joseph Ermend Bonnal, a French Organist-Composer: His Quest for Perfection (Part 2)

Carolyn Shuster Fournier

An international concert artist and musicologist, Carolyn Shuster Fournier is titular of the Aristide Cavaillé-Coll choir organ at La Trinité Church in Paris, France (cf. www.shusterfournier.com). Dr. Shuster Fournier was recently awarded the distinction of Chevalier in the Order of Arts and Letters. This is her fourth article to appear in The Diapason.

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On June 15, Tournemire played the final “Alleluia” movement in a concert at Sainte-Clotilde that was broadcast live on Paris Radio.
In 1931, the Institut de France had awarded Bonnal the Charles Berthault Prize with 500 francs. Bonnal, however, was looking for other financial awards for his compositions. On March 29, 1932, he admitted in a letter to Tournemire that the private music lessons he gave did not at all cover his expenses:

. . . et vous n’êtes pas là pour m’encourager . . . Je desespère parfois! . . . Alors, je m’endette terriblement . . . et je ne sais ce que je vais devenir.

[ . . . and you are not there to encourage me . . . I sometimes become desperate! . . . Then, I am deeply falling into debt . . . and I don’t know what will happen to me.]

He even began to apply for other posts as a conservatory director in Belfort and in Aix (where he was refused). On February 3, 1932, Bonnal wrote to Tournemire to express his gratitude and ongoing support:

sans doute ma destinée est-elle de mourir à Bayonne. Je m’en réjouirais au reste si ma situation y était en rapport avec mes charges familiales. Je vous remercie de tout Coeur de l’aide précieuse qu’une fois encore (après tant d’autres!) vous m’avez généreusement et cordialement consentie.

[without doubt my destiny is to die in Bayonne. I would really be thrilled if my position was in keeping with my family expenses. I thank you from the bottom of my heart for the precious aid (after so many others) which you have so generously and cordially granted.]

On April 25, Bonnal admitted to Tournemire that he was behind schedule and that he hoped to send something to the next competition of the Amis de l’Orgue. In May, 1932, Bonnal composed at Amentcha his most monumental work: his Symphonie d’après “Media vita,” Répons du temps de la Septuagésime in C-sharp minor. Maurice Duruflé played it during the second “Amis de l’Orgue” composition competition, which took place at Saint-François Xavier Church in Paris on June 20, 1932. This time, Bonnal won First Prize and received 4,000 francs. The members of the jury were Gabriel Pierné (president), Alexandre Cellier, Maurice Emmanuel, Arthur Honegger, Paul Le Flem, Henri Mulet, Henri Nibelle, Achille Philip, Gustave Samazeuilh, Florent Schmitt, and Canon François-Xavier Mathias. An honorable mention was granted to André Fleury for his Prélude, Andante et Toccata, and congratulations were given to Daniel-Lesur for his work La Vie intérieure.
Bonnal’s symphony is a free paraphrase in three movements that correspond to the following texts from Septuagesima Sunday, the first of three Sundays before the Lenten season:

1. In the midst of Life we deal with Death. To whom can we turn if not to You, Savior, who has suffered so much for our sins.
2. Holy and Merciful Savior, do not deliver us to a bitter death. Our fathers have hoped in You, and You have delivered them.
3. Our fathers have cried toward You; they cried, and they were not disappointed. Holy God, God full of strength, do not deliver us to a bitter death.
The first movement, rather slow and very calm, presents two themes: the first one is contrapuntal; the second is like a chorale. In the second movement, a luminous trio—a sort of colorful arabesque (with the Positive Nazard, Flute 4' and Tierce 13⁄5' in the right hand, the Swell 8' foundation stops in the left hand and the Pedal 8' and 4' stops)—seems to express the hope mentioned in the text; after a section on the Swell Voix Celeste with a Flute 4' in the Pedal, the piece ends on an A-flat major chord with a quiet 16' in the Pedal. The third movement, which uses themes from the other movements, becomes increasingly flamboyant, leading to a free, lyrical second melody on the Positive Clarinet 8', followed by an arabesque on the Great Harmonic Flute 8'. After a progressive crescendo with the theme announced tutti in the Pedal, two measures of silence and a brief return to the Clarinet solo, there is a final distressful cry. Bonnal dedicated this work to his friend Joseph Bonnet who greatly appreciated it:
Ta nouvelle œuvre est magnifique, d’une grande profondeur de sentiment d’une haute sérénité musicale et poétique. Tu as tiré un parti excellent de la mélodie si belle et traduit les sentiments exprimés par le texte littéraire sous l’âme d’un grand artiste chrétien. Ton œuvre, comme toutes les précédentes du reste, témoigne d’une haute sincérité humaine et artistique.35

[Your new work is magnificent, a very deep, peaceful expression of great musicality and poetry. You have brought out the best in the beautiful melody and translated the feelings contained in the literary text as expressed by a great Christian artist. Your work, like all of your previous ones, testifies to an utmost human and artistic sincerity.]

In this same letter, Bonnet advised Bonnal to contact the publisher Leduc, who, thanks to Bonnet’s intervention, published this work in 1933. Bonnet played this symphony on numerous occasions, notably for a mass at Saint-Eustache Church in Paris on January 28, 1934. He also recorded it for the BBC. Encouraged by these successes, which placed him in the upper ranks of the French organ scene, Bonnal participated in a series of eight recitals organized by the Amis de l’Orgue on the Mutin organ at Saint-Bernard College in Bayonne.

His adherence to the neo-classical organ
Around 1930, Bonnal had been appointed titular organist at Saint-André Church in Bayonne, a neo-Gothic church built 1856–1869. The 32-stop, three-manual organ was built in 1863 by the Wenner et Götty firm from Bordeaux (Georges Wenner and Jacques Götty founded their firm in Bordeaux in 1848). This organ was a gift to the city from Napoléon III. When a vault collapsed above the organ loft in December 1895, Gaston Maille, who had taken over the Wenner firm in 1882, restored this symphonic organ from 1898 to 1902; an electric blower was installed probably during the 1920s. (See photo 3.)
In 1933, Bonnal supervised the restoration of this instrument by Victor Gonzalez, in collaboration with André Marchal, who had a home in Hendaye, and Norbert Dufourcq, much of whose family lived in Labastide-Clairence, a village about 20 kilometers from Bayonne. Bonnal described its neo-classical aesthetic:
on the Swell, we added a Plein-Jeu II and a Clairon that came from the Positive; on the Positive, some new stops were installed: Nazard, Doublette and Tierce, replacing the Gambe, Trompette and Clairon; for early music, the Clarinet was transformed into a Cromorne . . . The deteriorated pneumatic elements were replaced with a modified tubular system which provided more rapid and perfect precision . . .36
Finally, this 35-stop instrument was entirely revoiced to give more fullness to the foundation stops and more distinction to the reed stops. (See photo 4.)

Saint-André Church, Bayonne
Wenner et Götty / Maille (1902) / Gonzalez (1933)

I. GRAND ORGUE (56 notes)
16' Montre
8' Montre
8' Bourdon
8' Flûte Harmonique
4' Prestant
22⁄3' Nazard
2' Doublette
Plein-Jeu IV
Cornet V (C3)
16' Bombarde
8' Trompette
4' Clairon

II. POSITIF (56 notes)
16' Bourdon
8' Principal
8' Bourdon
8' Salicional
4' Flûte
22⁄3' Nazard
2' Doublette
13⁄5' Tierce
8' Cromorne

III. RÉCIT (56 notes)
8' Cor de nuit
8' Violoncelle
8' Flûte Harmonique
8' Voix Céleste
4' Flûte Octaviante
2'/1' Plein-Jeu II
8' Voix Humaine
8' Basson-Hautbois
8' Trompette Harmonique
4' Clairon

PÉDALE (30 notes)
16' Flûte
8' Flûte
16' Bombarde
8' Trompette

Combination Pedals: Thunderstorm Pedal, G.O./Péd, Pos/Péd, Réc/Péd; Pos./G.O., Réc/G.O.; Réc./Pos; Réc/G.O. 4, Pos/G.O. 16. To activate the Reeds: on the Réc, Pos and G.O. To activate the G.O. keyboard. To activate the Pos Mixtures; Réc Tremulant.

Pistons under the G.O. keyboard: Soft Foundation stops, Foundations 8 and 4, Foundations 8, 4 and 2, Tutti Plein-Jeu, General Tutti.

Bonnal performed the inaugural recital on September 27, 1933:

I.
J. S. Bach’s Toccata and Fugue
A Sarabande grave by François Couperin
Father Martini’s Gavotte (for the new “carillon-like stop” [the Swell Plein-Jeu II])
N. de Grigny’s Trio en dialogue (utilizing the Cromorne stop)
D. Buxtehude’s Fugue in C major

II.
C. Franck’s Third Choral
Tournemire’s L’Orgue mystique, Op. 57 (nos. 1–4), which had been dedicated to him
Joseph Bonnet’s Epithalamé, Op. 5 (1909)
E. Bonnal’s Cloches dans le ciel (first public performance).
On November 8, 1933, Bonnal’s organ students gave another concert:

Irène Darricau performed two pieces by J. J. Lemmens
Jeanne Larre (Vierne)
Renée Gemain (Franck)
Marylis Bonnal [his daughter] (a piece by Périlhou)
Mady Galtier, the organist at the Saint-Charles Church in Biarritz (a Bach Fugue)
Christian d’Elbée (Franck’s First Choral)
Ermend Bonnal (his own Paysages euskariens).

This beautiful organ has remained unchanged to this day and was classified as a historical monument in 2001. According to the present titular organist, Etienne Rousseau-Plotto, in addition to the French symphonic repertory, French organ music from the 1930s sounds absolutely spectacular on this organ.37
In 1933, the same year as the restoration of the Saint-André organ in Bayonne, Tournemire had requested the Société Cavaillé-Coll firm to modify his own historic 1858 A. Cavaillé-Coll organ at Sainte-Clotilde Basilica in Paris. According to an article by Bérenger de Miramon Fitz-James,38 following the reinauguration of this organ on June 30, 1933, the following ten stops had been added to this instrument: a Cornet on the Grand-Orgue; a Tierce and a Piccolo on the Positif; a Quintaton 16', a Nazard, a Tierce, a Plein-Jeu IV and a Bombarde on the Récit; and a Bourdon 16' and a Quinte 51⁄3' in the Pedal. The wind pressure was lowered on the Positif, the Positif Unda Maris was transformed into a Salicional, and the Positif Clarinet was moved to the Récit. In addition, a new console was installed with three 61-note manuals and a 32-note pedalboard, along with numerous pedal combinations. Following this restoration, a series of seven benefit recitals was given to help cover the restoration expenses. On March 22, 1934. Bonnal ended the fourth concert, given with the following artists who performed their own works:

Daniel-Lesur – La Vie intérieure
Olivier Messiaen – Diptyque
André Fleury – Prélude, Andante, Toccata
Maurice Duruflé – Adagio and Choral varié on the “Veni Creator”
Ermend Bonnal – Symphonie sur le Répons “Media Vita”

In 1934, Bonnal was awarded the Prix Durand (with Guy Ropartz) as well as the Grand Prix of a wine competition in Bordeaux for his Hymn au Vin. Bonnal then gave a series of prestigious organ concerts. On March 28, 1936, he performed a recital on Emile Bourdon’s organ at the Monaco Cathedral. On September 1, 1936, he inaugurated, with André Marchal, the organ restored by Victor Gonzalez at the Bayonne Cathedral. On January 28, 1937, he performed his own La Vallée du Béhorléguy au matin in the eighth concert of La Spirale at the Schola Cantorum, with his fellow colleagues: Jehan Alain (Suite), Olivier Messiaen (Jules Le Febvre’s Prélude, Aria et Final and selections from his La Nativité du Seigneur [Les Bergers, La Vierge et l’Enfant, and Les Anges]); Daniel-Lesur premiered his own Cinq Hymnes; Jean Langlais, his own Hommage à Francesco Landino and Mors et resurrectio; and André Fleury, his own Deux mouvements (Très lent and Vif et agité). How exciting it must have been to attend this concert! On April 26, 1937, Bonnal inaugurated the Debierre organ in the Preparatory School at the Aire-sur-Adour Seminary.
In the mid 1930s, both Bonnal and Tournemire were drawn to St. Francis of Assisi. On July 19, 1933, Bonnal had thanked Tournemire for having sent him his Fioretti pieces:

J’admire qu’après le monument qu’est l’Orgue mystique vous puissiez écrire d’autres pièces en renouvelant encore votre style. Une telle abondance dans sa richesse est une chose magnifique et si rare qu’on ne l’avait pas vue depuis Bach! Quel haut exemple vous êtes pour nous: vos disciples! Donc merci mon bon maître et ami d’être la lumière qui nous aide à avancer dans la voie difficile, mais belle!

[I admire that after the monument which is the Orgue mystique that you can write other pieces while continually renewing your style. Such a rich abundance, so magnificent and rare, has not been seen since Bach! What a noble example you are for us, your disciples! Therefore, thank you my dear master and friend to be such a light which helps us to advance on the difficult but beautiful path.]

A year and a half later, on May 7, 1935, Bonnal’s Franciscan Poems39 were performed in a concert at the Grand Théâtre in Bordeaux, broadcast live on the radio. That same year, Tournemire and his second wife, Alice, became members of the third order of Saint Francis of Assisi. In 1937, Tournemire finished a theatrical work that crowned his career: Il Poverello di Assisi, Op. 73 (five lyrical episodes in seven scenes on a text by Joséphin Péladan).40 Both Bonnal’s and Tournemire’s two monumental works, centered around this great saint, certainly prepared the way for Olivier Messiaen’s future opera Saint François d’Assise (1983).

His positions in Paris
In 1938, the French Institut awarded Bonnal the coveted Prix Lassere for his compositions. On September 3, 1939, the Second World War broke out. On November 3, Tournemire died mysteriously, leaving the organist post vacant at Sainte-Clotilde Basilica in Paris. However, since the government had closed the church (which was located just across from the Ministry of War) for fear of bombings, no successor was named. Bonnal did indeed write a text for L’Orgue in homage of Tournemire, entitled “L’Homme et L’Oeuvre,” which was published in March, 1940.41
In the summer of 1940, Sainte-Clotilde Basilica reopened. The organ was played during services by Bernard Schulé (1909–1996), an organ student of Joseph Bonnet who was the titular at the British Embassy Church since 1935 and who had substituted at Sainte-Clotilde for Tournemire since fall 1938. Schulé was a close friend of both Norbert Dufourcq and André Marchal.42
In 1941, Bonnal returned to live in Paris, where he was appointed to work with Henri Busser as Inspecteur Général de l’Enseignement Musical à la Direction des Beaux-Arts [General Inspector of Musical Education for the Direction of Fine Arts] throughout France. Dufourcq then organized a competition to determine Tournemire’s successor at Sainte-Clotilde. It was supposed to take place on December 20, 1941, precisely at 1:30 p.m. According to the announcement, the public was invited to attend with free admission; the church was to be heated. The candidates (Jean Langlais, Antoine Reboulot, and Daniel-Lesur) were to improvise a prelude and fugue and the verses of a hymn and to perform a work each by Bach, Franck, and Tournemire. Daniel-Lesur, who was supported by Olivier Messiaen, was hoping to compete. However, this competition was cancelled, due to the fact that many of the possible candidates were held as prisoners or were demobilized in the free zone during the war, thereby preventing them from coming to Paris to officially apply for this post. This was, in any case, Daniel-Lesur’s situation. On December 14, 1941, Norbert Dufourcq wrote a letter to Jean Langlais, informing him that the competition would occur at a later date.43
Then it was decided that an interim organist would be designated at Saint-Clotilde until a competition could be held after the war. When Sainte-Clotilde reopened in February, 1942, Canon Verdrie, the church priest, named Bonnal as titular without a competition, due to his fame as a well-known and respected musician who had been highly recommended by Count Bérenger de Miramon Fitz-James. After his nomination to this prestigious post, Bonnal thus became the successor to his lifelong friend and professor, Charles Tournemire.44 According to Bonnal’s daughter Marylis, numerous prominent musicians encouraged him to accept this post (notably Norbert Dufourcq, Béranger de Miramon Fitz-James, André Marchal, Noëlie Pierront, Gaston Poulet, René Calvet). Bonnal rarely remained in Paris since he often traveled throughout France to inspect conservatories. Thankfully, Schulé was able to substitute for him. (See photo 5, page 28.)
Bonnal felt that making music in French conservatories during this tragic time represented a sign of hope for the future. He encouraged students to maintain the following objectives:

D’abord le travail et la discipline dans l’effort: c’est à dire les deux ferments qui forgent, grandissent et trempent les caractères, purifient et annoblissent les ambitions. Ensuite: la recherche constante de la qualité. Songez qu’il ne doit pas vous suffire d’être d’excellents virtuoses possédant de sérieuses qualités techniques, il vous faut devenir d’authentiques musiciens.
La musique vous la découvrirez dans la pratique quotidienne, dans la fréquentation permanente des grands musiciens, des Bach, Mozart et Beethoven, pour n’en citer que trois parmi les plus grands. Vous devez par la méditation fréquente, essayer d’entrer en communion avec l’âme de ces grands humains qui furent de très grands penseurs. N’en jouer, même parfaitement, que le texte musical, c’est n’en connaître que la lettre, mais cela ne suffit pas, il vous faut en rechercher l’Esprit.
Soyez donc très ambitieux spirituellement et vous aurez un jour la surprise de découvrir la musique là où elle se trouve, en son seul domaine qui est celui des mouvements de l’Ame, de la connaissance humaine . . . en un mot: de la poésie!
Je n’ai jamais oublié ce mot admirable que me dit un jour mon cher ami Paul Dukas: “il n’y a pas d’art sans poésie.”45

[First of all, one must work and discipline one’s efforts: this will forge, expand and solidify one’s character, purify and ennoble one’s ambition . . . Constantly search for quality; it’s not enough to be an excellent virtuoso with a serious technique, you must become authentic musicians.
You must daily discover the great musicians: Bach, Mozart and Beethoven, to mention only these three among the greatest. Through frequent meditations, you must try to enter in communion with the souls of these great people who were very great thinkers. It does not suffice to play the musical text perfectly, this only allows you to know the letter; you must look for the Spirit.
Dare therefore to be spiritually ambitious and you will one day be surprised to discover that music belongs to the exclusive field . . . of poetry!
I’ll never forget the admirable words of my dear friend Paul Dukas who told me one day: “There is no art without poetry.”]

During the war, Bonnal took his vacations each August at Saint-Sever (in the Landes). He stayed in the home of Father Binsoll, the priest in Arièle, a nearby village. Each day, Bonnal visited his dear friends Ambroise Dupouy (organist at the Abbatial Church in Saint-Sever since 1840—who was responsible for the installation of its beautiful A. Cavaillé-Coll organ there in 1898—who died at the end of World War II), and his son Jean Dupouy (1896–1965), who succeeded him. Ambroise Dupouy’s daughter Jeanine, born in 1922, took daily lessons with Bonnal and her father. She has testified to Bonnal’s rigorous and severe approach, emphasizing his noble ideas and his meticulous care concerning details of touch, phrasing and fingering.
At the beginning of his summer vacation in 1844, Bonnal gave an organ concert with Jean Etchepare’s Double Vocal Quartet at Saint-André Church in Bayonne on Monday, July 31, 1944 at 3:45 p.m. This may seem like an odd time to give a concert, but this was due to the fact that many of the organ concerts in churches at that time served as an introduction and a conclusion to the exposition and benediction of the Holy Sacrament. Bonnal’s eclectic programs combined classical music with the popular traditional Basque repertory:

J. S. Bach: Toccata and Fugue (in D minor)
C. Franck: First Choral
A Basque Cantique (sung by the Double Vocal Quartet)
C. Franck: Second Choral
E. Bonnal: Joie et Joie for a men’s choir, set to a text by Loÿs Labèque
C. Franck: Third Choral
Improvisation on a given theme (by E. Bonnal)

E. Bonnal: O Salutaris
Josquin des Près: Ave Vera Virginitas
E. Bonnal: Tantum Ergo (in the Basque style) (sung during the exposition and benediction of the Most Holy Sacrament)
To conclude, Bonnal played J. S. Bach’s Chorale on the Veni Creator (most certainly his Fantasia super “Komm heiliger Geist, Herre Gott,” BWV 651).

Following this concert on July 31, Bonnal went to Saint-Sever to rehearse for a “Grand Concert Spirituel” that he was planning to give on Friday, September 8, 1944, at the Abbatial Church there, in collaboration with the Calvet Quartet and the Parish Schola directed by the organist Jean Dupouy. The proposed program:

I.
J. S. Bach: Toccata and Fugue (in D minor)

II.
N. de Grigny: Trio en dialogue
F. Couperin: Sarabande grave
N. Clérambault: Dialogue du 1er Ton
Cl. Balbastre: Noël (“Joseph est bien marié”)

III.
Händel: Sonata (in D major) for organ and violin (with Joseph Calvet)

IV.
E. Bonnal: Paysage landais
Noël landais
Improvisation (on a given theme)

V.
Maurice Ravel: Quatuor (played by the Calvet Quartet during the exposition and benediction of the Holy Sacrament)
At the end, Bonnal had programmed C. Franck’s Final.

During his visits to rehearse in Saint-Sever, the following photo was taken (See photo 6).
Unfortunately, Bonnal’s deteriorating health, due to his many personal sacrifices and concerns during the war, provoked a stroke that led to his death in Bordeaux, on August 14, 1944. This occurred just two and a half years after his appointment to Sainte-Clotilde46 and only twelve days after Joseph Bonnet’s own death.47 In the midst of the liberation of Paris, Bonnal’s daughter Marylis learned about her father’s death while listening to the radio! During this difficult time, Bonnal was buried in Bordeaux.
In 1945, Bonnal’s wife Hélène moved with her young children to Anglet. She survived, thanks to the generosity of an American organist, Mr. MacEvans, who was an officer in the American Army. He also directed a choir at the American University in Biarritz. To this day, Bonnal’s family is still extremely grateful for Mr. MacEvans’ kindness. In addition, André Marchal gave several benefit concerts for Bonnal’s family. On September 18, 1949, at Saint-André Church in Bayonne, with the singer Madame Malnory-Marsillac, the program included works by Bach, Couperin, Franck, Tournemire, and Bonnal (the second movement of his “Media Vita” Symphony). On May 15, 1952, Marchal performed another concert on the Saint-André organ in Bayonne, in Bonnal’s memory, with commentaries by Norbert Dufourcq, for the Jeunesses Musicales de France. This group was highly promoted in the Basque region by Bonnal’s very close friend, Joseph Calvet. Marchal’s eclectic program displayed the various tonal colors of this organ:

Louis Couperin - Chaconne in G minor
François Couperin – “Kyrie,” 5 verses from the Mass for the Parishes
J. S. Bach – Chorale: Christ lag in Todesbanden
C. Franck – Prélude, Fugue et Variation
Louis Vierne – “Final” from the First Symphony.
In 1975, Ermend Bonnal’s body was transported from Bordeaux to the Arcangues cemetery, in the Pyrenees mountains, an area he loved dearly. For this occasion, Henri Sauguet rendered homage to Bonnal’s positive inspiration on his own personal career as well as his contribution to 20th-century French music. Sauguet evoked Francis Jammes’ poem written in homage to Ermend Bonnal:

Taillé dans le dur bois d’un chêne harmonieux,
Ton pur profil, Bonnal, se confond avec l’orgue;
Mais de nous déchiffrer le silence des cieux
Ne te remplis jamais de vile et sotte morgue.
Comme aux astres, le jour, voilés par leur pudeur,
L’ombre est ce qui convient à ta noble carrière.
Ah! que tombe la nuit, et toute ta splendeur
Saura la consteller de notes de lumières.

[Carved in the hard wood of a harmonious oak tree,
Your pure profile, Bonnal, is merged with the organ;
But we must fathom the silence of the heavens
Which never fills you with a vile and foolish arrogance.
Like the stars, during the day, veiled by their modesty,
Darkness is most suitable to your noble career.
Ah! May the night fall, and all of your splendor
Will spangle it with enlightened notes.]

Conclusion
Joseph Ermend Bonnal belonged to a generation of artists from Bordeaux who possessed a high degree of moral perfection in their art and in their personal lives. They all shared a common, spiritual artistic vision, devoid of material ambitions, only desiring to serve music with deep, devoted love and passion. Inspired by the renewal of both traditional and early music, Bonnal formed numerous musical societies to promote this repertory. He left us an important heritage of deeply poetical pieces inspired by the rich culture of the Basque region. The intact organ at Saint-André Church in Bayonne testifies to his adherence to the French Neo-Classical organ. A prominent composer, music educator and administrator, a first-rate improviser and performer, Bonnal was indeed a dignified successor to his master and friend, Charles Tournemire, as titular organist at the Sainte-Clotilde Basilica in Paris. Bonnal served his art with humility. In spite of the numerous obstacles he encountered during his lifetime, Bonnal’s noble aspirations, along with the faithful support of his friends, enabled him to pursue his ongoing quest for perfection.

Acknowledgements
Carolyn Shuster Fournier warmly expresses her gratitude to: Mayette Bonnal, François and Marylis Raoul-Duval (members of Bonnal’s family), Madame Catherine Massip and Madame Vallet-Collot of the Bibliothèque nationale de France, Cécile Auzolle, Madame Marie-Françoise Romaine Brown-Bonnet, Aurélie Decourt, Madame Janine Dupouy, Brigitte de Leersnyder, Jacqueline Englert-Marchal, Adolphine and François Marchal, Yannick Merlin, Etienne Rousseau-Plotto Marie-Christine Ugo-Lhôte, and to the Ruth and Clarence Mader Memorial Scholarship Fund for its grant in 2006.

The University of Michigan 50th Conference on Organ Music, October 3–6, 2010

Marijim Thoene, Lisa Byers

Marijim Thoene received a D.M.A. in Organ Performance/Church Music from the University of Michigan in 1984. She is an active recitalist and director of music at St. John Lutheran Church in Dundee, Michigan. Her two CDs, Mystics and Spirits and Wind Song are available through Raven Recordings. She is a frequent presenter at medieval conferences on the topic of the image of the pipe organ in medieval manuscripts. Lisa Byers received master’s degrees in music education and organ performance from the University of Michigan, and a J.D. from the University of Toledo, Ohio. She is retired from teaching music in the Jefferson Public Schools in Monroe, Michigan, as well as from her position as organist/choir director at St. Peter’s Episcopal Church in Tecumseh, Michigan. She currently subs as organist in the Monroe area.

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This year’s gathering marked the fiftieth anniversary of the University of Michigan Conference on Organ Music, directed by its creator, Marilyn Mason. Organists from France, Germany, Poland, and the U.S. performed on the Aeolian-Skinner on the stage of Hill Auditorium. The shimmering golden pipes of this organ made this year’s theme especially appropriate: “Pure Gold: Music of Poland, France and Germany.” The conference was dedicated to the memories of Erven Thoma, a Michigan DMA graduate in church music, and William Steinhoff, Professor Emeritus of English at U-M and husband of Marilyn Mason.

Sunday, October 3
Frédéric Blanc, 43-year-old native of Angoulême, opened the conference with a program of all-French music. He introduced his program by saying that Fauré, Ravel, and Debussy are never far away in nineteenth and twentieth-century French organ music. Their influence was undeniable in the works Blanc performed, a mix of well-known and loved repertoire—Franck, Choral in A Minor and Cantabile; Vierne, Carillon de Westminster and Méditation Improvisée (reconstructed by Duruflé), repertoire that is occasionally heard—Prelude in E-flat Minor (from Suite, op. 5) by Duruflé and Allegro (from Symphony VI) by Widor, and repertoire that is rarely heard—Introduction et Aria by Jean-Jacques Gruenwald, Toccata (from Le Tombeau de Titelouze, on Placare Christe Servulis) by Dupré, and Prelude (from the suite Pélleas et Mélisande) by Debussy, transcribed by Duruflé.
Blanc’s technique is formidable and his choice of registration was both poetic and daring; however, his playing became more impassioned and inspired in his improvisation—a Triptych Symphony based on three submitted themes: Jesu, Joy of Man’s Desiring, Hail to the Chief, and Somewhere Over the Rainbow. His imagination and creativity were dazzling as he altered rhythms and keys of the submitted themes, seamlessly moved from dark and somber to warm and brilliant colors, from pensive to ebullient moods, and ending with a bombastic pedal toccata. He delighted in making the instrument hum, growl, and break forth in glorious trumpeting.

Monday, October 4
On Monday afternoon Frederic Blanc gave a lecture entitled “A Mind’s Eye.” He spoke informally of how his life as a musician has been shaped and influenced by unique circumstances, his teachers, and his views on improvisation. While he was a student at the Bordeaux Conservatory, Xavier Durasse heard him play and persuaded him to come to Toulouse, where he was then asked to be organist at St. Sernin. There he had all his nights to play the organ, and there he met Jean-Louis Florentz, André Fleury, and Madame Duruflé. When she heard him improvise, she said, “I will take you to Paris and I will make you work very hard.” He told how he was not prepared to play Dupré’s Variations on a Noël, one of the required pieces for the Chartres competition, and she told him he had to be able to play it from memory in fifteen days or she would never see him again. She was delighted when he came back in fifteen days and played it from memory. Blanc said that the most important thing he learned from her was that “each piece has its own way to be played, you must express yourself, your sensitivity must flow through the music.”
Blanc’s candid answers to questions about his own improvisation left me feeling that here is a man whose life is charmed, who is fully conscious of the rare gift he has been given, and is fully committed to nurturing it. When asked who taught him how to improvise, he answered: “I wasn’t. I listened to Madame Duruflé, Pierre Cochereau, Jean Langlais, and to recordings of Tournemire. Nobody can give you the gift. If you are not given the gift you will never be able to improvise a symphony . . . I heard Cochereau at Notre Dame and it was like magic, like being pierced by a sword, raised to heaven. He was at one with the organ.”
When asked about the state of organ building in France today, Blanc lamented that there are no organs in concert halls, and the organist cannot be seen in the lofts in churches. He commented that Cavaillé-Coll was a builder who turned toward the future and restored his own organs for new music, especially those organs in Notre Dame and Sacré Coeur.
Blanc’s final dictum concerning how to play French organ music: “After historicism, it must be the music and what you have inside.”
Charles Echols, Professor Emeritus of St. Cloud State University, lectured on “Observations on American Organ Music 1900–1950,” covering a large variety of topics: the movement of American composers to create “American” music; changes in musical style and organ building between 1930–1950; approaches to researching organ music by American composers; and an introduction to the organ music of René Louis Becker, whose scores have been given to the University of Michigan by his family, who were present at the lecture.
On Monday evening Martin Bambauer, 40-year-old organist and choirmaster at the Konstantin Basilika in Trier, played Dupré’s Poème héroïque, op. 33; Tournemire’s Triple Choral, op. 41; Liszt’s Eglogue (from Années de Pèlerinage), transcribed for organ by Bambauer; Karg-Elert’s Partita Retrospettiva, op. 151; Iain Farrington’s Fiesta!, plus his own improvisation. He played with great precision and refinement. His performance of Tournemire’s Triple Choral, op. 41 was an Ann Arbor premiere. Farrington’s four-movement work, Fiesta!, was a bit of fresh air, conjuring up all sorts of secular venues, from a stripper’s stage to a cocktail lounge.

Tuesday, October 5
On Tuesday, Martin Bambauer began his lecture, “Tournemire’s Triple Choral,” by saying that it was Tournemire’s first major organ work, and he had learned it in a week (!) and played it for the fourth time in public yesterday, and that it was not a very popular piece. Truly, I would have thought he had been playing the piece for years. This early work of Tournemire is introspective and cerebral, and at the same time hints at the other-worldliness that would characterize his later work. Bambauer mentioned that in 1896 the Liber Usualis became Tournemire’s constant companion, and when he became Franck’s successor at the Basilica of St. Clotilde in 1898 he only improvised on chant in the services. He thought sacred music was the only music worthy of the name, and when Langlais questioned him, asking what about the music of Debussy, Ravel, and Stravinsky, he said it didn’t matter! Bambauer recommended listening to Tournemire’s eight symphonies, among them Search for the Holy Grail and Apocalypse of St. John. Tournemire was drawn to the mysterious and supernatural, apparent not only in his music, but in his biography of Franck in 1931, and the naming of his two cottages “Tristan” and “Isolde”—his Opus 53 bears those names.
Bambauer pointed out that Tournemire was recognized as a great improviser, and Vierne described him as being “impulsive, enthusiastic, erratic, and a born improviser.” Tournemire’s Five Improvisations, recorded in 1930 at St. Clotilde and transcribed by his student, Duruflé, are his most popular works. His L’Orgue Mystique, fifty-one liturgical sets of five pieces each, was composed between 1927–1932 and is the Catholic counterpart to Bach’s Orgelbüchlein. Bambauer explained that the first edition of L’Orgue Mystique was dedicated to César Franck and states in the preface that the performer is free to choose the registration; however, in the second edition Duruflé includes registration and manual changes.
Bambauer’s insightful analysis of Tournemire’s Triple Choral not only focused on his compositional techniques—use of imitation, paraphrase, and inversion—but how and when Tournemire used the same harmonic vocabulary as Franck. Bambauer illustrated the meticulous craftsmanship in this early work of Tournemire based on his newly created chorals entitled “The Father,” “The Son,” and “The Holy Spirit,” and discussed how the prose with which Tournemire prefaced each choral was mirrored in the music. Tournemire’s prose offers a poignant testimony of his profound faith and allows the listener to participate in Tournemire’s personal vision.
Bambauer commented that the highlight of the piece occurs at the end as the three chorals softly merge together. Bambauer treated us to another performance of Tournemire’s Triple Choral and “the knowing made all the difference.”
Tuesday evening James Kibbie, Professor of Organ at U-M, presented a stunning memorized recital. He has a special affinity for the music of Marcel Dupré, Jehan Alain, Dan Locklair, and Jirí Ropek. He played Dupré’s Prelude and Fugue in B Major, op. 7, no. 1, with conviction and assurance. The pleasure of hearing Alain’s rarely played Two Preludes was heightened by being able to read the texts that accompany them. Kibbie’s sensitive interpretation made the images of the text take on a life of their own.
Dan Locklair’s Voyage was another kind of tone poem, providing a journey to fantasy lands filled with sounds of the ebb and flow of tides, jazz, bird song, chimes, and billowing waves evoked by hand glissandi. Kibbie managed to weave together these disparate elements into a fabulous and entertaining voyage.
It was a pleasure to hear Kibbie speak of his meeting Jirí Ropek when he won the Prague Organ Competition in 1979 and of his continuing friendship with this celebrated organist/composer who suffered greatly during the Communist oppression. Kibbie related conversations he had had with Ropek that offered insight into his music. Of the three Ropek pieces on the program, Kibbie said that the Toccata and Fugue (dedicated to Kibbie) was the most complex and dissonant, and mirrored in the work is Ropek’s philosophy: “Life is not only one melody, but many and dissonances, but in general I’m quite melodious. No frightening the audience.” To hear this account made Ropek’s Toccata and Fugue, filled with haunting and aggressive motives, a kind of musical autobiography. Kibbie also explained the compositional process of Ropek’s Fantasy on Mozart’s Theme. In 1775 Mozart improvised a work in a monastery, and only the first 57 measures were written down. Ropek was asked to play it and he added a cadenza. He worked on it over the years and finally he attached his own music to Mozart’s original piece. It was one of the last things he wrote before he died and is dedicated to the students of James Kibbie at the University of Michigan. It was published in 2009.
Kibbie mentioned that he had just played Ropek’s Variations on “Victimae Paschali Laudes” in Prague the week before and made a recording for the radio at the Basilica of St. James where Ropek was organist for 35 years. This beautiful work has become a signature piece for Kibbie.

Wednesday, October 6
Five recitals were performed on Wednesday, an intense day of listening.
The first recital of the day was played by Andrew Lang on the Létourneau organ in the School of Public Health. Lang is a student of James Kibbie and commutes from Chapel Hill, North Carolina. His program was well suited for the room and instrument: “The Primitives” and “Those Americans” (from Five Dances for Organ) by Calvin Hampton; Dies sind die heiligen zehen Gebot, BWV 678, Fughetta super Dies sind die heiligen zehen Gebot, BWV 679, and Prelude and Fugue in B Minor, BWV 544, by Bach. Lang played with verve and energy; the contrapuntal lines were electric with clarity and precision.
The day’s second recital was played at Hill Auditorium by Józef Kotowicz, who received his doctoral degree in 2001 from the Music Academy in Warsaw. He is active, playing recitals in music festivals throughout Europe, producing a radio program devoted to organs of northeast Poland, recording on the organ in the Cathedral Basilica (Bialystok), and teaching and serving as organist at St. Adalbertus Church. Two of the most interesting pieces of his ambitious program were works by Mieczyslaw Surzynski (1886–1924), Improvisation on the Polish Sacred Song “Swiety Boze,” and Stefan Lindblad (b. 1958), Espanordica. Kotowicz explained to me that “Swiety Boze” is a very popular hymn in Poland and is sung often during funeral services. A translation of the first line reads: “Holy God, Holy [and] Mighty, Holy [and] Immortal, have mercy on us.” The hymn has inspired many composers.
After hearing the performance of Surzynski’s Improvisation, it is easily understood why he is the most revered Polish composer of organ music. The work began with a statement of the hymn, and six dramatic variations followed, with variations one and five being the most riveting. In variation one, thundering chords are played in the manuals while the cantus firmus is heard in the pedals. In variation five, a fiery toccata is in the manuals while the cantus firmus thunders in the pedals.
Kotowicz’s performance of Lindblad’s Espanordica was electrifying. Each of the three movements—Rhapsodia, Nocturno, and Litanies—is built on Spanish dance motifs. Kotowicz told me that Stefan Lindblad lives in Göteborg, Sweden. Lindblad has composed two large works for organ, Hommages and Espanordica, which Kotowicz has performed in Ann Arbor. Both of these pieces have never been printed and he is the only Polish organist who has the scores. He also commented, “It’s interesting that Lindblad is almost completely unknown in Sweden, so I feel like his promoter. I know him personally because I often play in Sweden.”
In honor of Chopin’s 200th birth year, Arthur Greene, Professor of Piano at U-M, performed an all-Chopin recital. It was truly a gift to hear such great artistry.
His program provided a rich and tantalizing view of Chopin’s brilliant oeuvre. Greene drew sounds out of the piano like a magician—singing, soaring, langorous melodies, and thunderous, tumultuous chords. Greene is a master in knowing how to use his body in eliciting such sounds, and in controlling the exact timing of each key and creating suspense through poignant pauses. The audience was captivated by the huge gamut of emotions, from laughter to dark despair, that were portrayed in Greene’s memorized recital. In his hands each piece became a sort of microcosm of its own, glowing with its own unique beauty. His program included three short Mazurkas (op. 67, no. 3; op. 24, no. 3; op. 24, no. 4), the well-known Nocturne in E-flat Major, op. 9, no. 2, Écossaise, op. 72, and four Ballades (op. 23, op. 38, op. 47, and op. 52).
The 4 o’clock recital featured graduate students of James Kibbie and Marilyn Mason. Each performer played with such artistry, conviction, and joy. Their discipline and dedication to their art was obvious. Those performing from Kibbie’s studio included Joseph Balistreri (In Organ, Chordis et Choro by Naji Hakim); Susan De Kam (Partita sopra “Nun freut euch” by Lionel Rogg), and Richard Newman (Final from Symphony No. 5, op. 47, by Louis Vierne). Mason’s students included Timothy Tikker (Pièce Héroïque by César Franck) and Louis Canter (Adagio, Fugue from The 94th Psalm by Julius Reubke).
The final concert of the conference was played by Charles Echols. His entire program was devoted to the music of René Louis Becker (1882–1956). In his notes, Professor Echols described Becker’s career as a musician in the Midwest, and commented that among the many churches Becker served as organist were Blessed Sacrament Cathedral in Detroit and St. Alphonsus Church in Dearborn, Michigan. Echols also indicated those pieces that have been published and those that are in manuscript form. Echols’s playing was flawless, and he is to be thanked for advancing this composer’s work, which recalls the music of Mendelssohn.
Professor Marilyn Mason has been responsible for the organ conference at the University of Michigan, a “happening” in Ann Arbor for 50 years. When I asked her what inspired her to begin this incredible conference she told me: “I began the conference for our students; my then manager, Lillian Murtagh, urged me to sponsor Anton Heiller, who had never played in Ann Arbor. Further, I realized since the students could not have a European experience there, we could provide it for them here: especially to hear organists who had not played in Ann Arbor. Some firsts in Ann Arbor were the Duruflés, Mlle Alain, Anton Heiller, and many more. This contact also provided a window of opportunity for the students, many of whom went on to study with the Europeans after having met them here.” This gathering together of world-class performers and teachers continues to nurture and inspire. We are indebted to Marilyn Mason for literally bringing the world to us.

These articles represent the ten sessions that I reviewed (each session is designated by roman numerals I–X).
I. Sunday, October 3, 4 pm, A Grand Night for Singing, Hill Auditorium
This inaugural event was a multi-choir extravaganza led by conductor and artistic director Professor Jerry Blackstone. He was assisted by other U of M faculty conductors, vocalists and instrumentalists. Six U of M student auditioned groups participated, with approximately 650 students. Composers ranged from Monteverdi to Sondheim, fourteen in all, and many various ensembles, representing a variety of musical genres. Each of the sixteen presentations, including choirs, solos, opera, theater, and musicals, was greatly appreciated by the audience, which rendered a standing ovation.

II. Monday, October 4, 10:30 am, dissertation recital by Jason Branham, at Moore Hall, the School of Music, on the Marilyn Mason Organ built by Fisk
Branham’s recital featured Buxtehude’s Praeludium in E Major, BuxWV 141, Bach’s Liebster Jesu, wir sind heir, BWV 731, and Trio Sonata No. 5 in C Major, BWV 529, Clerambault’s Suite du deuxième ton, and Mendelssohn’s Sonata No. 4 in B-flat Major, op. 65. Branham performed with an understanding of musical forms, in a sensitive and confident manner. The variety of works presented allowed him to demonstrate well many registration possibilities of this unique instrument. This performance was acknowledged with great applause.

III. Monday, October 4, 4 pm, dissertation recital by Christopher Reynolds at Hill Auditorium
Cantabile by Franck, Passion, op. 145, No. 4 by Reger, Prelude on Picardy by Near, Meditation on Sacramentum Unitatis by Sowerby, Elegy in B-flat by Thalben-Ball, Praeludium in g, BuxWV 149 by Buxtehude, from Zehn Charakteristische Tonstücke, op. 86, Prologus tragicus by Karg-Elert, and Concert Variations on The Star-Spangled Banner, op. 23 by Buck. Reynolds appropriately approached and performed well the pieces that required a reflective and meditative interpretation. His registrations, musical sensitivity, and facility made his selections interesting for the listeners who aptly responded with approval.

IV. Tuesday, October 5, 9:30 am, Organs of France
IX. Wednesday, October 6, 9:30 am, Organs of Bach Country
X. Wednesday, October 6, 10:30 am, Organs of the Austro-Hungarian Empire

Janice and Bela Feher presented three narrated photographic summaries of the European pipe organs visited and played on University of Michigan Historic Organ Tours, 2005–2009.
Organs of France were viewed via a PowerPoint presentation of pipe organs from various regions of France. The Fehers showed examples of French Baroque, Classic, Romantic, and Symphonic organs, and they highlighted sites and instruments associated with important organists and composers. Instruments included organs built by Dom Bedos, François-Henry, Louis-Alexandre, and Robert Clicquot; Jean-Pierre Cavaillé (grandfather), Dominique (father) and Aristide Cavaillé-Coll (son); and Moucherel. The photographs of the organs were enhanced by illustrations of their settings; highlights of the organs included historical cases, consoles, and principal internal components.
Organs of Bach Country traced the life of Bach, with photographs of the places where he grew up, the churches where he worked, and the organs he designed and played, along with additional photographic documentation of the organs of Andreas and Gottfried Silbermann, and Arp Schnitger.
Organs of the Austro-Hungarian Empire included pipe organs of Hungary (Budapest, Esztergom, Tihany, Zirc), Austria (Vienna, Melk, St. Florian, and Salzburg), and the Czech Republic (Prague). Historic and modern organs were presented from a variety of churches, cathedrals, abbeys, and concert halls. The photographs showed churches and organs associated with Mozart, Bruckner, Haydn, and Liszt. The photographs and information about these organs and their sites will be available in the near future from the University of Michigan Organ Department website.
The photographs described above and information are contained in several books available through <blurb.com>. The Fehers, along with Marilyn Mason, have produced a photo book about historical organs of Germany and Demark related to Bach and Buxtehude, entitled Sacred Spaces of Germany and Denmark. Their second book on the organs of Hungary, Austria, and the Czech Republic is entitled Sacred Spaces of the Austro-Hungarian Empire. They are beginning to work on another book about the organs of France and Northern Spain. All books may be previewed and ordered from <blurb.com>.

V. Tuesday, October 5, 10:30 am, lecture by Christopher Urbiel, “The History of the Frieze Memorial Organ at Hill Auditorium, The University of Michigan”
Urbiel’s interesting history of this grand organ housed in Hill Auditorium began with the early instrument at Festival Hall at the World’s Columbian Exposition in Chicago, Farrand & Votey organ, 1876 and 1893. Albert Stanley purchased the instrument for $15,000 during U of M President Angel’s tenure. It was placed in University Hall and named for Professor Frieze, founder of the University Musical Society and Choral Union, in 1894. In 1912 it was moved from University Hall. The organ has been changed, modified, and “rebuilt” through the years: Hutchings (1913), Moore, Palmer Christian, E.M. Skinner (1928), G. Donald Harrison, Noehren/Aeolian-Skinner (1955), Koontz (1980), renovated in 1900s, and rededicated to Frieze in 1994. Urbiel was very detailed and thorough in his presentation on the Hill Organ, a large unique instrument, and the audience showed great appreciation for his informative and delightful lecture and pictures.

VI. Tuesday, October 5, 11:30 am, lecture by Michael Barone, “Louis Vierne (1870–1937): The ‘Other’ Music (songs, piano pieces, chamber and orchestral works).”
Michael Barone presented the audience with a detailed listing (seven pages), containing comments, performers’ names, disc identification, and other information of Vierne’s “other” music as described in his lecture title. He discussed Vierne’s life and provided insight into the interpretation of his music based on the tragedies and pain Vierne suffered in the losses of his brother and son, coupled with the difficulties Vierne endured in his career, health, and home life. Barone provided more than 20 recorded excerpts, with verbal descriptions and information in an entertaining and interesting manner. Near the end of the seven-page compilation, Barone listed a disc summary of Vierne’s non-organ repertoire. The audience appreciated Barone’s thorough work, sense of humor, and sensitive presentation.

VII. Tuesday, October 5, 1:30 pm, lecture/demonstration by Michele Johns, “Organ ‘Plus’”
Dr. Johns began her lecture/demonstration by sharing some down-to-earth tips when deciding to use the organ with other instruments in services and concerts. She discussed conducting from the organ, getting funding, how to pay performers, ways to obtain band and orchestra members, vocalists, planning rehearsals, and rehearsing. Her program featured three pieces written for organ, two trumpets and two trombones, which she conducted from the organ. In celebration of this 50th annual University of Michigan Conference on Organ Music and in honor of the Organ Department, an arrangement of “Angels We Have Heard on High” for congregation, brass quartet, tympani and organ was premiered. This was a welcomed and enjoyed opportunity for the conferees to participate in this rousing and exciting setting written by Scott M. Hyslop. Dr. Johns received thanks for her expertise.

VIII. Tuesday, October 5, 2:30 pm, lecture by Steven Ball, “Music of René Becker”
Dr. Ball gave a brief history of René Becker, son of Edouard, who was an organist at Chartres Cathedral. Born in 1882, Becker and his four siblings trained at Strasbourg’s Conservatory of Music. In 1904, Becker moved from France to St. Louis and taught piano, organ, and composition at the Becker Conservatory of Music, which he formed with his brothers. He later taught at St. Louis University and Kendride Seminary. In 1912, Becker and his wife moved to Belleville, Illinois, where he became organist at St. Peter and Paul Cathedral. It was at this time that son Julius was born, the only living child of René. Julius, a retired banker, presently lives in Birmingham, Michigan.
René Becker became the first organist of the newly built Blessed Sacrament Cathedral in Detroit in 1930; an AGO member, he helped to establish the Catholic Organists Guild, and with his son founded the Palestrina Institute. Becker retired in 1952 at the age of 70 from St. Alphonsus Church in Detroit. He left over 160 compositions for organ when he died in 1956. Dr. Ball shared some pictures of René Becker and introduced Becker’s son Julius and his family to the conferees. It was a delight to see Julius Becker (keeper of some of Becker’s compositions) in person. Steven Ball received a four-year grant to record René Becker’s compositions. 

 

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

Carolyn Shuster Fournier

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tournemire’s Triple Choral contains three sources of inspiration:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Joris Verdin

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

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