Montreal group works to save century-old church, and its Casavant pipe organ

Follow the money

In August of 1974, Richard Nixon resigned as President of the United States, ending a long process of suspicion, investigation, and Senate hearings into allegations that the Committee to Re-elect the President (CREEP) used subterfuge and “dirty tricks” to sabotage the efforts of the Democratic Party leading up to the presidential election in 1972. Bob Woodward and Carl Bernstein, reporters for the Washington Post, were central to that investigation, jumping on the story of the notorious break-in at the headquarters of the Democratic Party at the Watergate complex near the John F. Kennedy Center for the Performing Arts in the Foggy Bottom neighborhood of Washington, D.C. They worked so closely together that they were known by their names melded as “Woodstein.” The story as they told it is widely regarded as the birth of modern investigative journalism.

Shortly after Nixon’s resignation, Woodward and Bernstein published All the President’s Men (Simon & Schuster, 1974), which was a precursor to the 1976 movie of the same name, starring Robert Redford and Dustin Hoffman. There’s a scene in the film where Bernstein (Dustin Hoffman) is interviewing an accountant who worked for CREEP, who revealed that there was a stash of money—a secret fund—that was used to bankroll those dirty tricks. As Bernstein questioned her, she said, “Follow the money.” I suppose that phrase had been used before, but it’s popularly understood that it originated in that movie.

Woodward and Bernstein followed the money, which led them to discovering how many White House officials and Nixon appointees were involved in the scandal, ultimately unraveling Nixon’s presidency. I’m writing this in mid-September, and I realize that you will likely be reading it a few days before Americans go to the polls to decide what must be one of the nastiest presidential campaigns in the nation’s history.

Don’t take it for granted.

When I was a kid, I had practice privileges in four different local churches. I came and went as I pleased and made plenty of noise while I was there. I even had keys to a couple of them. One was the church where I had my lessons. Looking back, I suppose my teacher had made the arrangements for me, but I don’t remember any of the details. If I remember right, I played for an occasional funeral—I guess that was in return for the right to practice. I’m pretty sure that money never changed hands, and I know I took it for granted. Wasn’t I lucky?

When I arrived at Oberlin as a student in the fall of 1974, I was flabbergasted by the number of organs. There were sixteen practice organs, four in teaching studios, a big Aeolian-Skinner in Finney Chapel, and the brand-new Flentrop in Warner Concert Hall. Organ majors had two weekly lessons—one in the studio and one in the concert hall. And of course, we needed practice time in the hall. That was the way things worked, and I never paid attention to how frustrating it must have been for students studying other instruments. If you wanted to rehearse a string quartet in Warner Hall, you had to sneak past all those organists.

Of course, Oberlin also had a lot of pianos—hundreds of them. There was a marble plaque on the wall near the dean’s office that read, “Steinway & Sons Commemorates Oberlin’s Century of Service to Music.”¹ I remember paraphrasing it: “Steinway & Sons Commemorates Oberlin’s Century of Service to Steinway & Sons.” There were close to two hundred Steinways in the practice building, Robertson Hall. There was a Steinway “B” in every teaching studio, and two Bs in every piano teacher’s studio. Two Bs, or not two Bs, there was no question that we had access to excellent instruments wherever we turned. I suppose there were close to three hundred pianos. I wonder what that cost? The pianos were there in support of all the students—flautists, singers, violinists—but the organists sure ate up most of the real estate. 

We all had our favorite instruments. I certainly knew which practice organs I preferred, but I also had a half-dozen favorite pianos. I knew them by room number and serial number. Wasn’t I lucky to have a half dozen favorites out of the multitude? I once had a dream that Oberlin was replacing all the pianos at once, and they were discarding all the old ones. To make the disposal easier in the wacky world of dreams, the pianos were placed on the curb in front of houses all over town for trash day, and we raced about, looking at serial numbers to claim our favorites. I found mine on the curb in front of Fenner Douglass’s house on Morgan Street—the one with the big organ pipe out front. Lucky guy.

WWFS? What would Freud say? That I took it for granted that lovely instruments would be provided for me wherever I went? That I felt it was somehow my right? That was the time when I was getting deep into organ building and started to realize how much money was involved.

I’ve heard colleagues say something like this: “I’ll accept that job, but I told them they’ll have to buy me a new organ.” Have you ever heard anything like that? Have you ever said anything like that?

A crazy business

Picture a parish church with 250 “pledging units.” The organ is a broken-down, tired relic, and someone gets the idea that it should be replaced. How do we get started? What’s it going to cost? However they get started, somewhere along the line they start receiving proposals from organbuilders. $650,000. $800,000. $1,200,000. Wow! I had no idea.

To pay for an $800,000 instrument, every family in that church would have to donate $3,200. To pay for $1.2M instrument, more like $4,800. Of course, it never works like that. More likely, one family gives a third of the cost, three other families split the second third, and the rest comes in small gifts from the other 246 families. The smallest gift comes from the First Grade Class of the Sunday School.

Let’s think about this. A small community of people ponies up an average of $3,200 a head to buy a musical instrument. Crazy. Are they doing that as a gift to the organist? I doubt it. They may be doing it in recognition and appreciation for the wonderful music. The organist’s artistry may have inspired them. And they may be doing it in part to be sure they’ll be able to attract the next good musician. Whatever the motivation, we shouldn’t fail to notice what a remarkable process that is.

One brick at a time

Last April, Wendy and I spent ten days in the UK. She was attending the London Book Fair, so I had a few days on my own to explore the big city. After the fair, we traveled to Durham, to York, and to Oxford, especially visiting big churches and their organs.

I wrote about that trip in the June and July 2016 issues of The Diapason and touched on how the British National Lottery provides funding for the restoration of the pipe organs and church buildings through a program called Heritage Lottery Fund, which is dedicated to preserving the nation’s heritage. Durham Cathedral was built between 1093 and 1133, and a major renovation project is underway now. Dubbed “Open Treasure,” the project is focused not only on the fabric of the building, but on programming involving the use of the spaces as well. You can read about the project on the website: www.durhamcathedral.co.uk/open-treasure. 

The Heritage Lottery Fund is supporting the project in large part, but Durham Cathedral is responsible for raising a huge amount of the money. And there’s a marvelous project as part of that campaign. In the gift shop, a large and ancient room that also houses a restaurant, there was a Lego™ model of the cathedral under construction. It’s more than 12½ feet long, 5½ feet tall, and includes more than 300,000 bricks. For a donation of £1 per brick, you could add to the model. We gave £20, and with the help of a cheerful volunteer wearing an “Open Treasure” sweatshirt, I followed architectural drawings to install my 20 bricks.

There’s a website describing that project: www.durhamcathedral.co.uk/visit/what-to-visit/durham-cathedral-lego-bui…. When I looked at it this morning, I learned that the project, which started in July of 2013, is now complete. That webpage includes a video in five parts that animates the history of the cathedral using Lego™ bricks, with terrific singing by the cathedral choir in the background.

A note to readers: I hope you open the links I publish with this column. And Google “Durham Cathedral Lego.” You’ll find lots of newspaper coverage of this unique project.

In the July issue, I shared the tenth-century story of St. Cuthbert and the missing cow, part of the legend of the founding of the cathedral. There’s a commemorative statue of a cow high on the exterior of the cathedral, and there’s a Lego™ cow in the model, along with a representation of the famous poly-chromed façade of the cathedral organ, notable because it sports two 16′ Open Wood Diapasons, one which extends to 32′! Now we’re talking.

Buy a pipe.

The idea of buying bricks is not new. There are a couple bricks with our names on them in the path leading to the Skidompha² Library in Damariscotta, Maine (population 2,218). And my grandparents donated stones in honor of me, my three siblings, and ten first cousins for the construction of the Washington National Cathedral in Washington, D.C. I have no idea where those stones are located, but whenever I’m there, I look up and think about it.

A common gimmick for raising money for an organ project is “Buy a Pipe,” or “Adopt a Pipe.” The organbuilder and organ committee team up to create a catalogue of prices. You could list anything from a 13/5′ Tierce ($800) to a 32′ Bombarde ($75,000); a keyboard ($3,500) to a blower ($5,000). Donors could mark boxes on a form, and send in their checks. I’ve seen organ benches, carved pipe shades, and swell boxes listed as family gifts in dedication booklets. I’ve even seen an antiphonal Trompette-en-Chamade with the knob engraved Trompette Boyd, in memory of the son who died in the war.

This exercise is always a little mythical—it’s hard to make a list that accurately covers the entire cost of an organ. Windlines, schwimmers, ladders, and walkboards don’t make appealing memorials. Maybe you inflate the value of a music rack to cover a tuner’s perch. But it certainly is meaningful to donors to know they supported something specific. I often quip that raising money to build an organ is easier if there will be lots of space on the case for a plaque.

Place a big organ pipe, at least an 8-footer, in the narthex. Mark it with increments of $100,000, and fit it with a gold tuning sleeve. As gifts come in, move the sleeve up the pipe. Nice visual.

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There are lots of reasons for a church to purchase a new organ. The old one is worn out, or the old one was never any good. A new instrument would help revitalize the place. We care deeply about the meaning and role of music in our worship.

And there are reasons not to. A couple years ago I worked with a church, helping them to sell a large tracker organ. It was less than twenty years old, and very fancy, with carvings and moldings, shiny façade pipes, and turned rosewood drawknobs. But a significant number of members had been bitterly opposed to the acquisition. Many of those people left the church, and the opposition that remained carried on the battle. The installation of the new organ could be traced directly to the failure of the church and the disbanding of the congregation. Soli Deo Gloria. 

Wendy and I recently joined a church that installed a new organ a few years earlier. It was named the Bicentennial Organ, commemorating the bicentennial of the parish, and it was paid for by the wide membership of the parish and surrounding community. As a new member, I’ve enjoyed meeting people there. When they learn that I’m involved with pipe organs, they light up and speak eloquently about the church’s new instrument. They’re well informed about it. They not only know it’s a good and important organ, but they know why. They’re proud of it, and its presence in the building means a lot to them.

Care for the money.

The people who paid for the organ are entrusting it to you. Be sure that it’s always well cared for. That means tuning and mechanical issues, but there are some bigger, less obvious reasons. There’s someone on the property committee, the finance committee, or the board of trustees who is responsible for the church’s insurance policies. You are the advocate for the care of the organ. Take a moment to ask if the organ is properly insured. The organ should be specified on the policy, with a letter of assessment attached. If the organ is damaged by fire, by a roof leak, or by vandalism, they’ll find out very quickly how much it will cost to repair. If the organ was purchased for $200,000 thirty years ago, it may have a replacement value of over $1,000,000—$200,000 wouldn’t even cover the Rückpositiv. It’s remarkable how many organs are not adequately insured.

When the parish is planning renovation in the sanctuary, you are the advocate for the care of the organ. Be sure the organ is properly covered. If it’s going to be really dusty, the reeds should be removed to storage. New carpets, sanding the floors, painting, and carpentry are all enemies of the organ. I once saw a painter standing on top of the swell box in an antique organ, working over his head, a drop cloth and roller pan at his feet. Paint was dripping onto the Great pipes, and the guy had no idea how little structure there was under him. He could have fallen though and wrecked the organ. Might have gotten hurt, too.

Make sure that your music is well chosen and beautifully played—an inspiration to everyone in the pews. Use the organ to nurture and lead the congregation, not to aggrandize yourself. Use the organ as if it’s a privilege to play it. The people who paid for it are entrusting it to you. It’s there to provide beautiful music, but more fundamentally, it’s there as an expression of the congregation’s faith.

The new organ is a gift to future generations of worshipers. Your gift to those future generations is the inspiration you’ve provided—the magic, mystery, and majesty you’ve added to worship—that has encouraged the congregation to express their faith by supporting that new organ. Aren’t we lucky? ν

Notes

1. While writing this, I learned that Steinway provided a second plaque celebrating 150 years, honoring Oberlin as an “All-Steinway School.”

2. “Skidompha” is an acronym using the first initials of the names of the members of the club that founded the library. First Lady Laura Bush awarded the National Medal for Museum and Library Services to the Skidompha Library in 2008.

What’s it going to cost?

When you’re shopping for a car, it’s reasonable to start by setting a budget. Whether you say $10,000, $30,000, or $75,000, you can expect to find a vehicle within a given price range. Of course, it’s up to you whether or not you stick to your budget, but we all have experience with the exercise, and there’s plenty of solid information available. Printed advertisements broadcast prices in huge type, and you can fill in forms online with details about a given car to receive a generated price.

When you set out to buy a piano, you can start with a simple search, and get a quick idea of price ranges. I just spent a minute or two surfing the internet to learn that a new Steinway “B” (that’s the seven-foot model) sells for over $80,000, and that you should expect to pay about 75% the price of a new instrument to purchase a reconditioned used piano. If you start with that in mind and do some serious shopping, you may well get lucky and find a beautiful instrument for less, but at least you have a realistic price range in mind before you start.

There is simply no such information or formulas available for the acquisition of a pipe organ, whether you are considering a new or vintage instrument. In a usual week at the Organ Clearing House, I receive at least two, and as many as ten first-time inquiries from people considering the purchase of an organ. These messages often include a stated budget, usually $100,000, sometimes $200,000, and they typically specify that it should be a three-manual organ. Each time, I wonder how that number was generated. Was it the largest amount they could imagine spending? Did they really think that an organ could be purchased for such an amount?

It’s as if you were shopping for that car, but you promised yourself that this time, you’re going to get your dream car. You test-drive a Mercedes, a Maserati, and a Bentley, and oh boy, that Bentley is just the thing. You offer the salesman $20,000. He rolls his eyes and charges you for the gas. It’s a $250,000 car.

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There’s a popular myth out there that people think that organ companies can be compared by their “price per stop.” The most common source for public information about the price of an organ is the publicity surrounding the dedication of a monumental new organ. You read in the newspaper that Symphony Hall spent $6,500,000 on a new organ with 100 stops. Wow. That’s $65,000 per stop. We only need a ten-stop organ. We could never raise $650,000.

The problem with this math is that the big concert hall organ has special features that make it so expensive. The most obvious is the 32′ façade. How much do you think those pipes cost? If they’re polished tin, the most expensive common material, maybe the bottom octave of the 32′ Principal costs $200,000? $250,000? More? And if the organbuilder pays that to purchase the pipes, what does it cost to ship them? A rank of 32-footers is most of a semi-trailer load. What does it cost to build the structure and racks that hold them up? This week, the Organ Clearing House crew is helping a colleague company install the 32′ Open Wood Diapason for a new organ. It takes ten people to carry low CCCC, and once you have it in the church, you have to get it standing upright. Years ago, after finishing the installation of a full-length 32′ Wood Diapason in the high-altitude chamber of a huge cathedral, my colleague Amory said, “Twelve pipes, twelve men, six days.” It’s things like that that pump up the “price per stop.” In that six-million-dollar organ, the 32′ Principal costs $400,000, and the 13⁄5′ Tierce costs $700.

Here’s another way to look at the “price per stop” myth. Imagine a two-manual organ with twenty stops­—Swell, Great, and Pedal, 8′ Principal on the Great, three reeds, and the Pedal 16′ stops are a Bourdon and a half-length Bassoon. The biggest pipes in the organ are low CC of the Principal, and low CCC of the Bourdon, and the organ case is 18 feet tall. Add one stop, a 16′ Principal. Suddenly, the case is twice as large, the wind system has greater capacity, and the organ’s internal structure has to support an extra ton-and-a-half of pipe metal. The addition of that single stop increased the cost of the organ by $125,000, which is now divided over the “price per stop.”

Or take that 21-stop organ with the added 16′ Principal, but instead of housing it in an organ case, you install it in a chamber. In that comparison, the savings from not building a case likely exceeded the cost of the 16′ Principal.

Ballpark figures

On June 10, 1946, a construction manager named Joseph Boucher from Albany, New York, was sitting in seat 21, row 33 of the bleachers in Boston’s Fenway Park, 502 feet from home plate. Ted Williams hit a home run that bounced off Boucher’s head and wound up 12 rows further away. Boucher’s oft-repeated comment was, “How far away does a guy have to sit to be safe in this place.” That still stands as the longest home run hit at Fenway, and Boucher’s is a solitary red seat in a sea of blue. That’s a ballpark figure I can feel comfortable with. I have other stories saved up that I use sometimes as sassy answers when someone asks for a “ballpark figure” for the cost of moving an organ.

If you’re thinking about acquiring a vintage organ, you’ll learn that the purchase prices for most instruments are $40,000 or less. Organs are often offered “free to a good home,” especially when the present owner is planning a renovation or demolition project, and the organ has transformed from being a beloved asset to a huge obstacle. But the purchase price is just the beginning. 

If it’s an organ of average size, it would take a crew of four or five experts a week to dismantle it. Including the cost of building crates and packaging materials, dismantling might cost $20,000. If it’s an out-of-town job for the crew, add transportation, lodging, and meals, and it’ll cost more like $30,000. If it’s a big organ, in a high balcony, in a building with lots of stairs, and you can’t drive a truck close to the door, the cost increases accordingly. With the Organ Clearing House, we might joke that there’s a surcharge for spiral staircases, but you might imagine that such a condition would likely add to the cost of a project.

Once you’ve purchased and dismantled the organ, it’s likely to need renovation, releathering, and perhaps reconstruction to make it fit in the new location. Several years ago, we had a transaction in which a “free” organ was renovated and relocated for over $800,000. The most economical time to releather an organ is when it’s dismantled for relocation. Your organbuilder can place windchests on sawhorses in his shop and perform the complex work standing comfortably with good lighting, rather than slithering around on a filthy floor in the bottom of an organ.

The cost of renovating an organ is a factor of its size and complexity. For example, we might figure a basic price-per-note for releathering, but the keyboard primary of a Skinner pitman chest with its double primaries costs more than twice as much to releather as does a chest with single primary valves. A slider chest is relatively easy to recondition, unless the windchest table is cracked and split, and the renovation becomes costly reconstruction.

It was my privilege to serve as clerk of the works for the Centennial Renovation of the 100-stop Austin organ in Merrill Auditorium of City Hall in Portland, Maine. (It’s known as the Kotzschmar Organ, dedicated to the memory of the prominent nineteenth-century Portland musician, Hermann Kotzschmar.) That project included the usual replacement of leathered pneumatic actions, but once the organ was dismantled and the windchests were disassembled, many significant cracks were discovered that had affected the speed of the actions for generations. Another aspect of the condition of that organ that affected the cost of the renovation was the fact that many of the solder seams in larger zinc bass pipes were broken. The effect was that low-range pipe speech was generally poor throughout the organ, and it was costly to “re-solder” all of those joints, a process that’s not needed in many organ renovations.

It’s generally true that if an organ that’s relatively new and in good condition is offered for sale, the asking price will be higher knowing that the renovation cost would be low or minimal. But sometimes newer organs are offered for low prices because they urgently need to be moved.

Let’s consider some of the choices and variables that affect the price of an organ:

Reeds

With the exception of lavish and huge bass stops, like that 32-footer I mentioned above, reeds are the most expensive stops in the organ. They’re the most expensive to build, to voice, to maintain­—and when they get old, to recondition. When you’re relocating an organ, the quality of work engaged for reconditioning reeds will affect the cost of the project and is important to ensuring the success of the instrument. You would choose between simply cleaning the pipes and making them speak again by tuning and fiddling with them or sending them to a specialist who would charge a hefty fee to repair any damage, replace and voice the tongues, mill new wedges, and deliver reeds that sound and stay in tune like new.

Keyboards

An organbuilder can purchase new keyboards from a supplier for around $1,000 each to over $10,000. The differences are determined by the sophistication of balance, weighting, tracker-touch, bushings, and of course, the choice of playing surfaces. Plastic covered keys are cheaper than tropical woods, bone, or ivory, which is now officially no-touch according to the United States Department of the Interior (remember President Obama and Cecil the Lion). Some organbuilders make their own keyboards and don’t offer choices, but especially in renovations, such choices can make a difference.

Climate

If an older organ has been exposed to extremes of dryness, moisture, or sunlight, it’s likely that the cost of renovation will be higher because of the need to contain mold, splits, and weakened glue joints.

Casework

A fancy decorated organ case with moldings, carvings, and gold leaf is an expensive item by itself. As with keyboards, some builders have a “house style” that is built into the price of every organ they build. If you don’t want moldings, towers, and pipe shades, you can ask someone else to build the organ. Especially with electro-pneumatic organs, chamber installations are often an option, and are considerably less expensive than building ornate casework. However, I believe that it’s desirable for a pipe organ to have a significant architectural presence in its room, whether it’s a free-standing case or a well-proportioned façade across the arched opening of a chamber.

Console

Drawknob consoles are typically more expensive than those with stoptabs
or tilting tablets. Sumptuous and dramatic curved jambs speak to our imagination through the heritage of the great Cavaille-Coll organs, especially the unique and iconic console at Saint-Sulpice in Paris. Those dramatic monumental consoles were the successors of the seventeenth- and eighteenth-century stop panels, as found on the Müller organ at Haarlem or the Schnitger at Zwolle, both in the Netherlands. The default settings of most woodworking machinery are “straight” and “square,” and by extension, curves require more work and greater expense.

Many modern consoles and most renovation projects include the installation of solid-state controls and switching. There is a range of different prices in the choice of which supplier to use, and the cost of individual components, such as electric drawknob motors, vary widely.

What’s the point?

Some of the items I’ve listed represent significant differences in the cost of an organ, while some are little more than nit-picking. Saving $30 a pop by using cheap drawknob motors isn’t going to affect the price of the organ all that much. And what’s your philosophy? Is cheap the most important factor? When you’re commissioning, building, purchasing, or relocating a pipe organ, you’re creating monumental liturgical art. I know as well as anyone that every church or institution that’s considering the acquisition of an organ has some practical and real limit to the extent of the budget. I’ve never seen any of the paperwork between Michelangelo and Pope Julius II, who commissioned the painting of the Sistine Chapel, but it’s hard to imagine that the Pope complained that the scheme included too many saints and should be diminished.  

You may reply that putting a 20-stop organ in a local church is hardly on the scale of the Sistine Chapel, but I like to make the point that the heart of planning a pipe organ should be its artistic content, not its price. If you as a local organist dream of playing on a big three-manual organ, and you imagine it sounding like the real thing, and functioning reliably, you can no more press a job for $100,000 or $200,000 than you can drive away in the Bentley for $20,000.

Let’s think about that three-manual organ. Money is tight, so we think we can manage 25 stops, which means that while you’ve gained some flexibility with the third keyboard, that extra division might only have five or six stops, not enough to develop a chorus and provide a variety of 8′ tone or a choice of reeds. Sit down with your organbuilder and work out a stoplist for 25 stops on two manuals, and you’ll probably find that to be a larger organ because without the third manual you don’t need to duplicate basic stops at fundamental pitches. Manual divisions with eight or ten stops are more fully developed than those of five or eight, and let’s face it, there’s very little music that simply cannot be played on a two-manual organ. Further, when we’re thinking about relatively modest organs in which an extra keyboard means an extra windchest, reservoir, and keyboard action, by choosing two manuals instead of three, you may be reducing the cost of the mechanics and structure of the organ enough to cover the cost of a few extra stops.

Let the building do the talking.

Because a pipe organ is a monumental presence in a building and its tonal structure should be planned to maximize the building’s acoustics, the consideration of the building is central to the planning of the instrument. It’s easy to overpower a room with an organ that’s too large. Likewise, it’s easy to set the stage for disappointment by planning a meager, minimal instrument.

Maybe you have in your mind and heart the concept of your ideal organ. Maybe that’s an organ you played while a student or a visiting recitalist. Or maybe it’s one you’ve seen in photos and heard on recordings. But unless you have the rare gift of being able to picture a hypothetical organ in a given room, there’s a good chance that you’re barking up the wrong tree.

While I state that the building defines what the organ should be, five different organbuilders will propose at least five different organs. Think about what the room calls for, think about the needs of the congregation and the music it loves, and conceive what the organ should be. Then we’ll figure out how to pay for it.

Situated on a hill overlooking the city of Lewiston, Maine, the Gothic Basilica of Saints Peter and Paul is visible from a great distance in any direction. Its grand architecture beckons visitors from all over. The interior of the basilica is as sumptuous as its exterior. And among the many treasures of the edifice are the organs.

Lewiston was founded in 1795 along the Androscoggin River. Its industry was supported by cotton mills for many years. By the 1850s the Bates Mill, named for Benjamin E. Bates, for whom Bates College is also named, became the largest employer in Lewiston, remaining so for a century. In the late 1850s, French Canadians began to migrate to Lewiston for job opportunities. A section of Lewiston became known as “Little Canada,” and the city has celebrated its French Canadian character to this day.

Various Protestant congregations were formed, but it would be 1857 before the first Catholic parish, Saint Joseph, was founded. The parish, which was English speaking and serving primarily Irish immigrants, laid the cornerstone for a church along Main Street on June 13, 1864, and finished construction in 1867. The architect was Patrick C. Keely.

The Catholic Bishop of Portland assigned the Reverend Louis Mutsaers to minister to the French-speaking Catholics of Saint Joseph Church. With more than 1,000 souls in the French-speaking Catholic community, Saint Peter Church was founded in 1870, the first French ethnic parish in the diocese. Father Edouard Létourneau of Saint-Hyacinthe, Québec, was named first pastor. The fledgling congregation moved to Saint John Chapel, the second floor of a house on Lincoln Street, coincidentally the first home of Saint Joseph Church. The first Mass, a wedding, was said on July 2, 1870. The Reverend Pierre Hévey became pastor the following year.

The first church

Father Hévey constructed a Gothic church building on Ayers Hill, on Bartlett Street between Ash and College Streets. The cornerstone was laid July 7, 1872, and the edifice was dedicated on May 4, 1873. The substantial building was 116 feet long, 32 feet wide, and crowned by a 160-foot bell tower. The total cost of the building, including land and furnishings, was approximately $100,000. The dedication Mass, attended by 2,000 and presided over by the Bishop of Portland, also witnessed the confirmation of 215 children. The parish school was opened in 1878, and a cemetery was developed. The Sisters of Charity of Saint-Hyacinthe would also establish a hospital, an orphan asylum, and a home for the aged, in addition to teaching in the school. A five-story brick school building accommodating 700 students was opened in 1883 at Lincoln and Chestnut Streets. A second school, for boys, was opened on Bates Street in 1887. By the close of the century, there were 1,721 students in the parish schools.

When Father Hévey left the parish in 1881, administration was turned over to the Dominican Fathers of Lille, France. About this time, Saint Peter became known as Saints Peter and Paul Church. By the late 1890s, church membership neared 10,000 persons, and galleries were added to the church nave, and the building’s basement was enlarged. A brick monastery was built for the Dominicans on Bartlett Street, a building that still stands behind the basilica today. The Dominicans would live here until they returned the parish to the diocese in 1987.

In 1902, Saint Louis Church was founded in Auburn, across the river, but this did little to lessen overcrowding at Saints Peter and Paul Church. In 1904, Father Alexandre Louis Mothon, OP, then pastor of the parish, retained Belgian-native Noël Coumont of Lewiston to design a neo-Gothic edifice to be built of Maine granite at an estimated cost of $250,000. Portland diocesan authorities were duly impressed with Coumont’s work and named him diocesan architect.

Building the present church

The final Mass in the old church was celebrated on February 5, 1905, after which the building was dismantled and demolished. A temporary wooden structure seating 1,200 persons was erected. Adjacent property was acquired, and construction of the lower church was commenced on February 22, 1906. Despite the collapse of a wall on November 9, the lower church was in use for Midnight Mass at Christmas, December 25, 1906. Father Mouthon had resigned and was replaced by the Reverend Antonin Dellaire, OP.

The parish would not complete the upper church for another three decades. In the interim, the diocese created three other parishes in Lewiston: Saint Mary, founded in 1907 in “Little Canada” with 820 families; Holy Family, founded in 1923; and Holy Cross, founded that same year with 575 families.

The diocese granted the Reverend Mannès Marchand, OP, pastor, permission to complete the upper church in 1933. A bid of $361,510 was accepted in April of the following year. Timothy G. O’Connell of Boston had become architect. Construction began in May, and the project would require some 516 boxcars of granite. Slate, copper, and limestone support the roofs.

The exterior was completed in 1935, crowned by twin steeples rising 168 feet with eight spires of granite and concrete. Two fairs would be held in the unfinished interior to raise funds for its completion. The interior was finished on July 18, 1936. The Most Reverend Joseph E. McCarthy, DD, dedicated Saints Peter and Paul Church on October 23, 1938. An all-male choir, recently formed, provided music for the occasion. The total construction price was estimated at $625,000. Five bells, cast for the previous church in 1884 by the McShane foundry of Baltimore, Maryland, were retained for the new towers. In 1948, the magnificent stained glass windows of the nave were installed to the designs of Boston’s Terence O’Duggan, at a cost of $40,000. The building measures 330 feet long, 135 feet wide, and the ceiling rises 64 feet. The pews seat 1,800 persons.

There was considerable posturing to making Saints Peter and Paul the cathedral of the diocese, supplanting Portland’s Cathedral of the Immaculate Conception, founded in 1856 with its church built between 1866 and 1869 to the designs of Patrick C. Keely. Postcards of the Lewiston church were printed and sold, designating it a “cathedral.” However, the move of the seat of the bishop from Portland to Lewiston never occurred.

The building was listed on the National Register of Historic Places on July 14 (Bastille Day), 1983. The second-largest Catholic church in New England, Saints Peter and Paul is exceeded only by Saint Joseph Cathedral of Hartford, Connecticut. In the past two decades, the building has been restored, a heroic multi-million dollar project. The first part of the project, the exterior, took nine years to complete. The interior restoration of the upper church was completed in 2002.

The church’s music history is remarkable. In 1872, a reed organ was acquired, and a Mrs. Martel became organist. Mr. Alcibiad Beique succeeded her. Considered an accomplished organist as he had studied in Belgium, Beique would play the opening program/Mass on the church’s first pipe organ, described below. Beique would leave Lewiston to become organist for the church of Notre Dame in Montréal, Canada. Mr. F. Desanniers next served the parish, though he died about a year after beginning service, having consumed poison thinking it was medicine. Henry F. Roy then served Saints Peter and Paul, remaining until 1925. George C. Giboin then served from 1925 until his death in 1945. From 1945 until 1966, Bernard Piché was organist, while Roland Pineau directed the choirs. Piché was of considerable repute, and was managed as a recitalist by the Colbert-Laberge management group. Pineau continued as organist and choir director until 1973. Luciene Bédard also served as organist, beginning in 1942 and continuing for 54 years. Ida Rocheleau provided music from 1973 until 1982. Kathy Brooks was named music director in 1990. Scott Vaillancourt became music director in 2003 and continues today.

In addition to choral groups for children and adults, the parish sponsored a boys’ band (Fanfare Ste. Cécile) from 1898 until 1947. An extensive boys’ choir for grades 5 through 8 (Les Petits Chanteurs de Lewiston) was established in 1945 and performed operettas and other works in Lewiston and throughout New England until it was disbanded in 1964.

The pipe organs

The first pipe organ for the parish was 1880 Hook & Hastings Opus 1011, a two-manual, 24-rank instrument located in the 1873 church. The case of ash measured 25 feet high, 13 feet wide, nine feet deep. The organ cost $3,500 and was dedicated on Thanksgiving Day, November 25.

The organ was removed from the building prior to demolition and reinstalled in the new lower church in 1906. It was rebuilt and enlarged by Casavant Frères of Saint-Hyacinthe, Québec, Canada, in 1916, as their Opus 665, retaining the Hook & Hastings case and much of the pipework.

In 2004, Casavant Opus 665 was sold to the Church of the Resurrection (Episcopal), New York City, where it was moved and rebuilt by the Organ Clearing House. A series of dedicatory recitals were held for this organ in its new home in 2011.

The upper church Casavant organs together make up the largest church organ in Maine. There are 4,695 pipes in five divisions in the rear gallery, 737 in three divisions in the sanctuary. A four-manual, drawknob console controls the entire organ from the rear gallery; a two-manual console in the sanctuary, which does not function at this time, controls the sanctuary divisions. The organ was designed by Charles-Marie Courboin of Saint Patrick Cathedral, New York City. The contract specification was dated April 4, 1937. Manual compass is 61 notes (C–C); pedal compass (concave, radiating pedalboard) is 32 notes (C–G). The instrument cost $28,000 for the gallery organ, $10,000 for the sanctuary organ. A fifteen-horsepower blower was provided for the gallery organ, and a one-horsepower blower for the sanctuary organ.

Courboin, who travelled to Saint-Hyacinthe to inspect the organ in the factory, played the opening recital on the completed organ, October 4, 1938. An estimated 2,000 persons filled the nave of the church, the first public event to occur in the upper church. The following was his program (a local choral group, Orpheon, also presented three works):

Part I

Concert Overture R. Maitland

Aria No. 3, Suite in D
Johann Sebastian Bach

Sketch No. 3 Schumann

Cantabile Cesar Franck 

Pastorale 2d Symphony
Charles-Marie Widor

Passacaglia and Fugue, C minor
J. S. Bach

Part II

Ave Maria Schubert-Courboin

Choral Prelude J. S. Bach

Choral No. 3 Cesar Franck 

The Lost Chord Sullivan-Courboin

March Heroique Saint-Saens

Casavant crafted the extensive woodworking lining the church nave, including an ornate screen in the sanctuary and the extensive wood supporting the organ and choir gallery, the transept galleries, and the narthex. The project utilizing Maine native red cedar and oak took a year and a half to complete.

Over the years, various renowned organists have concertized on the upper church organs. For instance, the Lewiston-Auburn Chapter of the American Guild of Organists sponsored Marcel Dupré in recital on Monday evening, October 4, 1948, along with three selections presented by the Saint Paul Choral Society. (Admission was $1.20, tax included, students $0.75.) The program for the organ’s tenth anniversary included works by Johann Sebastian Bach, George Frederick Handel, Eric DeLamarter, César Franck, Mr. Dupré, as well as an improvisation on submitted themes—Yankee Doodle and Turkeys in the Tree Top.

The fiftieth anniversary of the Casavant organs was celebrated with a concert on October 4, 1988, given by Brian Franck, organist, with l’Orpheon, conducted by Alexis Cote and accompanied by Luciene Bédard. Alan Laufman of the Organ Historical Society presented Historic Organ Citation #100 for the upper church organs. The upper church organs were heard in recitals during the national convention of the Organ Historical Society on August 19, 1992.

The gallery Casavant has experienced only three tonal alterations since installation. During Mr. Pinché’s tenure, the Grand Orgue 16′ Bombarde was replaced by an 8′ Bourdon. The Solo 16′ Tuba Magna was replaced by a 4′ Orchestral Flute. And the Récit 8′ Trompette was replaced by an 8′ open flute. The 8′ Trompette rank was used for many years in the Casavant in the lower church. It is now in storage, awaiting restoration and reinstallation, or perhaps replacement with a copy, if necessary.

Saints Peter and Paul experienced its largest membership in the 1950s, with more than 15,000 souls on the records. Twenty years later, membership was less than half that number. In 1986, the Dominicans turned administration of the parish back to the diocese. In June of 1996, Saints Peter and Paul was “twinned” with nearby Saint Patrick Catholic Church.

On October 4, 2004, the Vatican raised Saints Peter and Paul Church to the dignity of a minor basilica. The basilica was inaugurated on May 22, 2005, by the Most Reverend Richard Malone, Bishop of Portland. In 2008, the basilica became part of the newly-formed Prince of Peace Parish, which in due time has included all the Catholic parishes of Lewiston. The parish today includes the basilica, Holy Cross, Holy Family, as well as cluster parishes: Holy Trinity, Lisbon Falls, Our Lady of the Rosary, Sabattus, and Saint Francis Mission, Greene (in the summer only). Holy Cross Church has a Casavant organ of two manuals, 25 ranks, installed in 1967.

Saint Mary Church would close in 2000 and become the home of the Franco-American Heritage Center. The Gothic edifice of stone was completed in 1927 to the designs of the same architect as Saints Peter and Paul. It is now used as a performing arts and cultural center, preserving much of the feel of the old church, including its stained glass windows. A photograph at the center’s website reveals that at least the twin cases of the church’s Frazee organ are still present. The organ itself is in storage at the center, awaiting funding for reinstallation.

Saint Joseph Catholic Church was closed October 13, 2009, and sits empty. It is listed on the National Register of Historic Places. Now owned by Central Maine Healthcare, the redbrick Gothic building has been threatened with demolition, though these plans are on hold as of this writing. The building once housed a two-manual Henry Erben organ from 1870, long since replaced by an electronic substitute.

Saint Patrick Catholic Church, facing Kennedy Park along Bates Street at Walnut Street, was founded in 1886. The parish, under the leadership of Monsignor Thomas Wallace, built a grand Gothic church, completed in 1890. Monsignor Wallace was buried in the church crypt. On October 27, 2009, Saint Patrick closed its doors. Its 1893 two-manual Hook & Hastings organ, Opus 1580 (electrified about 1960 by Rostron Kershaw, with minor tonal changes), was removed for relocation to Holy Family Catholic Church of Lewiston, a project partially completed by the Faucher Organ Company of Biddeford, Maine. Completion awaits sufficient funding. This is the first pipe organ for Holy Family Church.

Despite losing its claim as an industrial center in the state, Lewiston today remains the second largest city in Maine, behind Portland. Auburn is located across the Androscoggin River from Lewiston, and the two communities are often considered a single entity. The Lewiston community has experienced a renaissance in recent years.

The seventy-fifth anniversary of the Casavant organs in the upper church was celebrated throughout 2013. The parish sponsors a summer recital series, and that year’s performers included: Karel Paukert; Chris Ganza with Karen Pierce (vocalist); Albert Melton; Randall Mullin; Jacques Boucher with Anne Robert (violinist); Ray Cornils; Julie Huang; Harold Stover; Sean Fleming; and the author. The final program of this series occurred on September 27, featuring Kevin Birch, organist, the Androscoggin Chorale, John Corrie, conductor, and the Men’s Choir of the Basilica, Scott Vaillancourt, director. The program included: Prelude and Fugue in E-flat, BWV 552i, Johann Sebastian Bach; Andante Sostenuto, Symphonie IV, Charles-Marie Widor; Cloches, Marcel Fournier; Carillon de Westminster, Louis Vierne; Sonata I, Alexandre Guilmant, and the Mass for Two Choirs and Two Organs, Widor. Some restorative repairs have been made to the Casavant organs by the Faucher Organ Company of Biddeford, Maine. Ongoing efforts are made to raise funds to complete the project and bring this world-class organ back to its original glory. 

Sources

A Rich Past—A Challenging Future: A Tribute to Ss. Peter and Paul Parish, Saints Peter and Paul Parish, Lewiston, Maine, 1996.

Organ Handbook 1992, Alan M. Laufman, editor, The Organ Historical Society, Richmond, Virginia, 1992, pp. 60–63.

“The Organs of the Church of Ss. Peter & Paul Lewiston, Maine,” Brian Franck and Alan Laufman, The Tracker, vol. 36, no. 2, 1992, pp. 8–13.

Newspaper clippings, Casavant contract information from the basilica archives.

Photography by Stephen Schnurr, except as noted.

Ronald Ebrecht, an international performer for more than three decades, has been heard in concert on four continents. His articles have been published on three continents, including two forthcoming in Russian and the present article, which was requested for the Bulletin de l’Association Maurice et Marie-Madeleine Duruflé, where it appeared in a French version in December 2008. He continues work on his next book on the Cavaillé-Coll project for Saint Peter’s, Rome, to be published in 2011. As University Organist at Wesleyan University, he has taught for more than twenty years. Ebrecht has commissioned works from composers such as William Albright, Xiaoyong Chen, Raul de Zaldo Fabila, David Hurd, Christian Wolff and Wesleyan composers Anthony Braxton, Neely Bruce, Jay Hoggard, Ron Kuivila and Alvin Lucier. Many are available from major publishers. His latest performances of the Poulenc Concerto were at Minsk Philharmonic Hall on November 5.

Maurice Duruflé altered his organ works many times from when he composed them in his youth to the end of his life. My intent to know the original led me to strip away these layers.1 I now perform from my restored early versions in which I include Duruflé’s later note corrections. Duruflé’s changes to the Scherzo, opus 2 and Prélude, Adagio et choral varié sur le thème du “Veni Creator,” opus 4 are quite extensive. Informed listeners are often surprised to hear the original published scores.

The Polignac organ
In the process of researching these first editions and my book, I studied the earliest version of the Poulenc Organ Concerto and the instrument where it was premiered by Maurice Duruflé, the Cavaillé-Coll house organ of the Princesse de Polignac, who commissioned the work—the last in her distinguished collection of commissions.2 She was a capable organist and patroness of the arts, who also commissioned Poulenc’s Concerto for Two Pianos. Poulenc, with no skills as an organist, sought advice from the Princesse’s house concert director, Nadia Boulanger, regarding the solo part. Her interest in early music is revealed in the concerto’s reminiscence of two German Baroque pieces: Buxtehude’s and Bach’s Fantasias in G Minor.
From manuscript sources, I have reconstructed the specification of the Cavaillé-Coll as it was for the premiere, December 16, 1938. Most performers reference the sound of the organ in the 1961 recording of the concerto as performed by Duruflé on the newly restored organ of Saint-Étienne-du-Mont; however, there was no west-end organ in this church when the concerto was premiered, nor when Poulenc consulted with him for the registrations in the published score, because it was removed in spring 1939. Two newspaper articles, one with a photo showing the pipes being removed, chronicle this planned rebuild: Anonymous, “Les Orgues de St-Étienne-du-Mont,” Le Petit Journal, Paris (28 April 1939), and Stephane Faugier, “On transforme les orgues de Saint-Étienne du Mont,” Le Journal, Paris (3 March 1939).
During the previous summer, with Felix Raugel and Marcel Dupré, Duruflé prepared a proposed specification to rebuild the organ.3 The neo-Classic sounds he imagined from the 1938 specification (or those of the quite different 1956 specification of the organ once restored after the war), were not available to the performer on the Polignac organ at the time of the private premiere, nor the Mutin of the public one (see below). The Polignac concert room allowed only a small orchestra, which, combined with its Romantic Cavaillé-Coll organ, certainly produced a melded ensemble quite apart from the ‘oil and water’ effects of Duruflé’s famous recording.
Unfortunately the manuscript does not give the registrations initially used, leaving the problem that the published registrations would not have been possible on the two organs where it was first played. On these the effect was certainly more blended with the orchestra, and more importantly, the timbre of these instruments was decidedly Romantic.
Winnaretta Singer originally commissioned her Cavaillé-Coll in 1892 for the balcony of the atelier of her residence on the corner of what was then the Avenue Henri Martin and is now the Avenue Georges Mandel and the rue Cortambert. After her divorce from her first husband, the Prince de Scey-Montbéliard, she married the Prince Edmond de Polignac, thirty years her senior, in 1893. When Polignac died in 1901, she took down the house leaving the atelier, and built a grand mansion with a separate music room incorporated into the main house on her property. The two-story atelier was also reconstructed, with an apartment on the upper level and a large music room with the rebuilt organ provided on the ground floor. In these two spaces many concerts were given, and the musical and artistic elite of the age gathered: Cocteau, Colbert, Dupré, Fauré, Proust, Stravinsky, etc. Prominent organists often gave recitals, but Duruflé seems not to have been among them, and only had access to the instrument to practice the day before the premiere of the concerto.
Jesse Eschbach in “A Compendium of Known Stoplists by Aristide Cavaillé-Coll 1838–1898” (Aristide Cavaillé-Coll, Vol. 1; Paderborn: Verlag Peter Ewars, 2003, p. 557) omits the Grand orgue Bourdon 16. However, as Eschbach remarks in a footnote, it is included in René Desplat, “L’Orgue de salon dans la région parisienne depuis un siècle,” L’Orgue 83 (April-September 1957): 79–90.4 Similarly, Carolyn Shuster-Fournier in “Les Orgues de Salon d’Aristide Cavaillé-Coll Paris,” L’Orgue: Cahiers et Mémoires, 1997, p. 95, omits it in the specification but mentions it in a footnote. I will prove Desplat correct. The Bourdon 16 was present in all versions of the organ.

Princesse de Polignac, Cavaillé-Coll, 1892, 56-note manuals, 30-note pedal

Grand orgue expressif
Bourdon 16
Montre 8
Flûte harmonique 8
Bourdon 8
Prestant 4
Flûte douce 4
Basson 16
Trompette 8
Clairon 4

Récit expressif
Flûte traversière 8
Gambe 8
Voix céleste 8
Flûte octaviante 4
Octavin 2
Plein jeu
Basson-Hautbois 8
Clarinette 8

Pédale
Soubasse 16
Flûte 8

Orage
Tirasse GO
Tirasse Récit
Anches Récit
Anches GO
Copula
Trémolo
Nadia Boulanger, known in the USA as “the famous French organist,” gave the premiere of the Copland Organ Symphony, written for her, with the New York Philharmonic on January 11, 1925. The Princesse was also quite an accomplished organist, and continued to play and study major works of Bach in her London exile during World War II. The Poulenc Organ Concerto was originally intended to be performed by the Princesse. Duruflé was Mlle. Boulanger’s very natural suggestion: she knew him from having judged him in the organ contests he won in 1929 and 1930, and from his teaching of harmony at the Conservatoire Americain at Fontaine-
bleau, which she directed.
The organ was again rebuilt in 1933 before Duruflé played for the premiere of the concerto under the baton of Nadia Boulanger.5 The Princesse wrote to Nadia Boulanger from Italy October 23, 1933, authorizing the work to be done to her organ to cost 11,500 francs.6 These alterations made by Victor Gonzalez, when Rudolf von Beckerath was in his employ, are as follows: make the expression boxes open more fully, repair the pedal mechanism, and most importantly, add a Plein jeu 4 ranks to the Grand orgue in the place of the Basson 16, which is transferred to the Pédale.7 Also enumerated at a cost of 500 francs is removal of the 32′ stop. Though it is possible that one may have been added in 1904, given the size and reduced height of the space where the organ was re-installed and the fact that no one who saw the organ remarked upon such an addition, I think it most unlikely. This expense was probably for the removal of the Orage mechanism.
The Princesse encloses the typed estimate from Gonzalez:

WORK TO BE DONE
I—The most urgent
1. Take the pipes out, clean them, repair them and clean the organ: 11,000 frs
2. Take apart the bass windchests and modify them to have more wind for the pipes: 4,000 frs
X 3. Do away with the 32 foot stop and take it out of the organ: 500 frs X
4. Move the Bourdon 16′ wood pipes to permit the placement of a three-rank cornet on the main chest: 1,500 frs
5. Redo the lead windlines that are oxidized: 4,000 frs
X X 6. Give the expression boxes maximum opening—redo the mechanism: 1,000 frs X
X X 7. Move the Basson 16′ of manual I to the Pédale: 4,000 frs X
X 8. Replace the Basson 16′ on G.O. with a Plein jeu of 4 ranks, which will brighten the main manual: 4,500 frs X
9. Redo the voicing of the organ to make stops more distinct: 7,000 frs
X 10. Repair the mechanism of the Pédale, which has frequent ciphers: 1,500 frs X
11. Modify the Bourdon 8′ and Flûte douce stops of the G.O. which must serve as bass for the Cornet, by giving them chimneys: 800 frs
12. Make new pipes for: Nasard 22⁄3′, Doublette 2′, Tierce 13⁄5′: 6,000 frs
13. Make a new chest for these three stops (Nasard, Doublette, Tierce): 2,800 frs
= 48,600 frs X

On it she makes annotations mentioned in her letter and marked X.8 The total for the work to be done equals the 11,500 francs she agrees to pay for those items on the invoice she accepts. This offers much to consider, as much by what she decides to do as by what she declines—changes that would have given the organ a neo-Classic sound. How fortunate that the efficient person who typed the estimate provides precisions that allow one to establish the original and modified specifications. The estimate references the addition of a 3-rank Cornet (by moving the Bourdon 16′ pipes and modifying the Bourdon 8′ and Flûte douce), and completing it with pipes and a new chest.
We thus know that originally there were both 16′ and 8′ Bourdons on the Grand orgue and that there was no Cornet, even though Duruflé suggests Cornets on both the Récit and Positif in his concerto registrations. It is clear that it was the Baroque-minded Mlle. Boulanger who wanted the Cornet, not the Princesse herself.9 More importantly, we can establish what the balance was between this organ and the small orchestra. Some have thought of the work as a chamber piece, but the Princesse’s instrument was certainly very powerful relative to the smaller cubic volume of the space where it was re-installed in 1904. Thus, the Organ Concerto is not like the Concert Champêtre where the orchestra overwhelms the harpsichord, but rather the reverse. Duruflé had to exercise care in registration not to swamp the orchestra. Performers with large orchestras in large halls can therefore use more organ to achieve the appropriate balance.

Princesse de Polignac, Cavaillé-Coll, 56-note manuals, 30-note pedal, as modified in 1933

Grand orgue expressif
Bourdon 16
Montre 8
Flûte harmonique 8
Bourdon 8
Prestant 4
Flûte douce 4
Plein jeu IV
Trompette 8
Clairon 4

Récit expressif
Flûte traversière 8
Gambe 8
Voix céleste 8
Flûte octaviante 4
Octavin 2
Plein jeu III
Basson-Hautbois 8
Clarinette 8

Pédale
Soubasse 16
Flûte 8
Basson 16

Tirasse GO
Tirasse Récit
Anches Récit
Anches GO
Copula
Trémolo

Six months after the private premiere was the first public performance, June 21, 1939 on the Mutin in the Salle Gaveau.

Salle Gaveau, Mutin, III/36, 56/3010
Grand orgue
Bourdon 16
Montre 8
Gambe 8
Flûte harmonique 8
Bourdon 8
Praestant 4
Nasard 22⁄3
Doublette 2
Fourniture III
Basson 16
Trompette 8
Clairon 4

Positif expressif
Principal 8
Salicional 8
Cor de nuit 8
Flûte douce 4
Flageolet 2
Carillon III
Cromorne 8

Récit expressif
Diapason 8
Flûte traversière 8
Viola de gambe 8
Voix céleste 8
Flûte octaviante 4
Octavin 2
Plein jeu IV
Trompette harmonique 8
Basson-Hautbois 8
Soprano 4

Pédale
Contrebasse 16
Soubasse 16
Basse 8
Violoncelle 8
Bourdon 8
Flûte 4
Tuba Magna 16

Tirasse GO
Tirasse P
Tirasse R
Forte Péd
FF Péd
Positif/Récit
Machine GO
P/GO
R/GO
Anches GO
Anches R
Récit/R 16

Poulenc dedicates his score to the “Princesse Edmond de Polignac” and credits Duruflé for the registrations: “La registration a été établie avec le concours de Monsieur Maurice Duruflé.” (The registration was established with the assistance of Maurice Duruflé.) The following specification is derived from Duruflé’s suggested registrations for the Concerto. It produces an organ that is interesting to compare with those at his disposal for the first two performances, as well as that of Saint-Étienne-du-Mont at the time of the first recording: the specification as below concurs with none of these three. Normal type is used for stops inferred from generic suggestions, viz: fonds. Italics indicates specific stop names.

Grand orgue expressif
Montre 16
Bourdon 16
Montre 8
Flûte 8
Bourdon 8
Gambe 8
Octave 4
Flûte 4
Mixture
Trompette 8
Clairon 4
Positif/G.O. 8
Récit/G.O. 8
Positif/G.O. 4
Récit/G.O. 4

Positif expressif
Montre 8
Flûte 8
Bourdon 8
Gambe 8
Dulciane 8
Octave 4
Flûte 4
Nazard
Mixture
Cornet
Clarinette 8
Trompette 8
Clairon 4
Récit/P.

Récit expressif
Quintaton 16
Montre 8
Gambe 8
Flûte 8
Cor de nuit 8
Voix céleste
Octave 4
Flûte 4
Octavin 2
Cornet
Mixture
Hautbois 8
Trompette 8
Clairon 4

Pédale
Bourdon 32
Montre 16
Bourdon 16
Montre 8
Flûte 8
Bourdon 8
Octave 4
Bombarde 16
Trompette 8
Clairon 4
Grand orgue/Péd.
Positif/Péd.
Récit/Péd.

Since these Poulenc Concerto registration suggestions follow those of Duruflé for his own works so closely, readers seeking more background are referred to my discussion of the organs he knew at this time.11 Of note, there is no request for sixteen-foot manual reeds. The suggestions of mixtures on secondary and tertiary divisions and for super-couplers to the main division are curious, as these were normally not commonly available in France at that time. Also of particular interest is the Dulciane in the Positif, which he did not have on any organ he knew or designed, but he also suggested in the “Sicilienne” of Suite, opus 5.
The Princesse wished to perpetuate her artistic and philanthropic activities by establishing the Fondation Singer-Polignac in 1928. The first president was Raymond Poincaré, former President of France. After the Princesse’s death in London during the war (November 26, 1943), she left her organ to the singer Marie-Blanche, la comtesse Jean de Polignac, niece of Edmond. Marie-Blanche was not an organist, and the organ remained in the house until she donated it to the Séminaire du Merville, where it was reinstalled by Victor Gonzalez with a revised specification and electric pedal chest. Carolyn Shuster-Fournier publishes its present disposition in her excellent book.12 Though the organ is no longer extant in the Paris house, the spaces are still used regularly for performances sponsored by the foundation.

The Woolsey Hall performance
The New Haven Symphony Orchestra, founded in 1894, is the fourth oldest in America. Since the completion of Yale’s splendid Woolsey Hall in 1901, the NHSO has performed on that stage, beneath one of the grandest of all organ façades in an ample, embracing acoustic. The orchestra programs an occasional organ concerto, featuring the 200-rank E. M. Skinner organ. When I was asked to perform, nothing seemed more appropriate than the Poulenc with my new registrations, which I premiered two years before at the Forbidden City Concert Hall in Beijing. Given the Poulenc/Duruflé connection, some of Duruflé’s music was de rigueur. I invited the Yale Camerata, directed by Marguerite Brooks, to perform the Requiem, opus 9, and I arranged with the Association Duruflé to include the American premiere of the orchestrated “Sicilienne.”
As far as we know, Duruflé orchestrated only two of his organ works: the Scherzo, opus 2, published as Andante and Scherzo, opus 8, and the “Sicilienne,” from Suite opus 5 (b), which is unpublished. Duruflé’s adaptation of these scores is quite similar in approach. I have long theorized that harmonic and stylistic links join the Scherzo and “Sicilienne.” I add to that argument another: Duruflé orchestrated them alike.
The Andante and Scherzo, and “Sicilienne” together with the Trois Danses, opus 3, comprise the entire solo orchestral oeuvre of Duruflé. William Boughton, the new conductor of the New Haven Symphony Orchestra, shares my passion for them. Eventually the NHSO will present the complete orchestral pieces over the next few seasons, but in Boughton’s October 18, 2007 début concert with the orchestra it seemed appropriate to begin with a premiere of the unpublished “Sicilienne.” Though presented several years ago at the American Cathedral in Paris, it has not been programmed by a regular orchestra. Though his instrumentation of the largest version of the Requiem and of his Trois Danses for orchestra has the punch and verve of the most energetic orchestral compositions of Dukas or Ravel, the gentle, intimate and lilting “Sicilienne” required a quite different approach.
Maestro Boughton began the program with Fauré’s orchestral suite Pelleas et Melisande. Much of Fauré’s music gained a hearing only in the salons of cultivated aristocrats like the Princesse Edmond de Polignac, to whom this piece is dedicated. Fauré’s haunting “Sicilienne” set the scene for that of Duruflé—not just in genre and atmosphere, but it also prepared the audience with the familiar Fauré work to appreciate the unknown one that followed. Organists in the audience were given much to think about from hearing the orchestrated version of the second movement of the Suite. For instance, a clarinet plays the triplets in the accompaniment in the final da capo of the A theme. At the organ, this is often played faster than is possible for a clarinet. One also could note solo lines given to a single stop on the organ that are shared between instruments quite different in timbre in the orchestrated version. Closing the first half of the program, I played the Poulenc.
Readers may be interested in a synopsis of what is unique about my re-edition of the registrations and how I adapted it to this large symphonic organ. As an example, phrases in the concerto pass from first violins to second violins when they are repeated. Since this organ has multiple possibilities—with two clarinets, several solo flutes, two French horns, etc.—I followed the orchestration and registered repeated phrases on similar solo stops in alternate locations. Since the timbres suggested by Duruflé in the score were not available to him in the first two performances nor to me on this instrument, I applied the pattern of Duruflé’s revisions of registrations in his organ works. In these, as an example, Flûte harmonique later becomes Flûte, then even later in some cases Cornet. Neither the Princesse’s Cavaillé-Coll nor the Salle Gaveau Mutin had a Cornet. The Princesse had a solo flute, a Clarinette, a Basson-Hautbois, and a Trompette. In the Poulenc, I therefore used a few beautiful solo flute registrations rather than synthesizing a poor cornet with the available stops where it was suggested, except in the left-hand entry at measure 142, where I used alternating French horns instead of a cornet. Similarly, I used the two exquisite orchestral clarinets for the clarinet lines and did not try to produce a buzzy Baroque-sounding one. For some other solo lines, I used various oboe stops.
In general the effect made the organ more blended into the orchestra because the Woolsey solo stops are more orchestral in timbre than neo-Classic ones, and the foundations are smoother. The solo lines therefore arose from the organ-plus-orchestra texture sounding like orchestral instruments. Even informed audience listeners thought they were hearing orchestral wind instrument solos. At other points, to bring out the organ more, I made other adjustments. For instance, the multiple mixture plenums suggested in the score are not as snappy as reed choruses, and Duruflé did not have access to them. In Woolsey at measure 325 I used the Great mixtures, but answered with the Swell chorus reeds.
After intermission, to accompany the procession of the choir onto the stage, a select group of Yale Camerata men sang the Gregorian Introit. Thus began a marvelous rendition of the Requiem, opus 9. I am very grateful to the Yale Institute of Sacred Music (Martin Jean, director) for their substantial support of this concert. To introduce the audience to the program, musicologist and Polignac biographer Sylvia Kahan gave a pre-concert lecture.13 All were gratified to read the review by David J. Baker in the New Haven Register, which appeared on October 21. 

Creative freedom

Last Wednesday I was doing a service call at a church in New Jersey, where the Organ Clearing House installed a relocated organ a couple years ago. The pastor was holding keys as I tuned the reeds—a little unusual perhaps, except that this pastor was an organist before he was ordained. It was he who conceived and drove the acquisition of the organ, and we’ve enjoyed a friendly relationship since.

It’s a real pleasure for an organbuilder when a parish appreciates an instrument he has provided and uses it well. Along with the pastor’s affinity for the instrument, that church’s organist is doing a wonderful job finding his way around the organ, and using it creatively as he leads worship for the parish.

An organ tuner can tell a lot about a local organist by the character and quality of the list left on the console, and this organist’s lists are concise, accurate, and correct. When I commented on that, the pastor waxed enthusiastic about the organist’s work, and said something to the effect that although once in a while he disagreed with a choice, he knew he had to stay out of it and let his organist be creative. Terrific. How many organists out there would quail at the idea of working with (or for) an organist-pastor?

Yes, chef

A couple days later, Wendy and I went to the movies followed by a light supper at the friendly bar at the end of the block. While Wendy’s literary pull often draws us toward weighty films, this time we saw Chef. It included some personally painful scenes about divorced parents struggling to do right by their son, but otherwise it was fun, funny, and scintillating.

Carl Casper (John Favreau) is chef of a popular and prominent restaurant in Los Angeles owned by Riva (Dustin Hoffman). They learn that the big-shot restaurant critic (played by Oliver Platt) is coming to review the place, and Casper drums up excitement among the kitchen staff planning a special knockout menu. There are fantastic scenes involving a whole pig arriving in the kitchen in a big plastic bag, and a lot of mouth-watering test cooking. When Riva gets wind of this, he storms into the kitchen brandishing the regular menu and essentially orders Casper to present the usual fare. “It’s what we’re known for.” Casper protests, referring to their agreement that Riva wouldn’t interfere in the kitchen, but to no avail.

Predictably, the critic pans the place. Enter Casper’s son, the quintessential smarty-pants kid with a smart phone, who shares the resulting Twitter traffic with his dad. The critic has thousands of followers. Casper, the quintessential social-media newbie, pours fuel on the fire by mouthing off, thinking he was tweeting to the critic, and only the critic, and the fun really starts as Casper challenges the critic to return for a “real meal.” Hearing that news, Riva repeats his insistence, adds an ultimatum, and Casper storms out of the kitchen to find himself in an adventure that includes some mouth-watering food scenes and a hilarious caper with his ex-wife’s first husband. It’s all about creative freedom.

For all the saints

Fifth Avenue in New York City is a classy address, but with the Disney Store between 55th and 56th Streets, and the NBA (National Basketball Association) store between 47th and 48th Streets, it’s not quite as elegant as it once was. It’s hard to imagine Mrs. Astor or Mrs. Vanderbilt stopping in to buy an eight-foot-tall Mickey Mouse, even though either of them would have had help to carry it home. We’ll not discuss the Dennis Rodman sunglasses.

Halfway between these two tacky icons you’ll find St. Thomas Church. It’s a wonderful place for worship, a legendary place to hear music, and a refreshing respite from the million-dollar huckstering going on elsewhere in the neighborhood. (People routinely spend more on handbags in that neighborhood than I will ever spend to buy a car!) Walk into the nave and allow your breath to be taken away.

The reredos behind the high altar includes sixty figures of carved stone. I wonder if the artist proposed sixty-five, and the vestry voted to limit the project? People often refer to the “price per stop” of pipe organs. Do you suppose there’s a “price per saint” for a reredos?

In 1499, the 24-year-old Michelangelo completed Pietà, commissioned as the funeral monument to a French cardinal who was a representative to Rome. It’s a little over 68 inches tall and nearly 77 inches wide, and it weighs about 6,600 pounds. I did a Google search and learned that the current price of Carrara marble is $2.25 per pound. (Believe it or not, even though it’s prone to stains, people use it for kitchen counters. You shouldn’t carry coffee in paper cups inside St. Peter’s.) Looking at photos of Pietà, it’s hard to tell just how much of the original block of marble is left, but let’s guess that Michelangelo took away two thirds of the material to reveal his masterpiece. If so, the original block would have weighed 19,800 pounds. At today’s price, that’s $44,550. (I don’t know if that includes shipping.) Did Michelangelo’s commission specify the maximum weight and cost of the marble? Or did they simply provide him with a block? I wonder if Michelangelo tried to hold out for a larger block? Given cost-saving devices such as laser cutting tools, hydraulic cranes, diesel engines, and railroads, I bet the cost of marble relative to other consumer items is lower than it was in 1500. Just imagine the effort involved in bringing a 20,000-pound block down a mountain and 400 kilometers to Rome using technology available in 1500 AD.

A few years later, Pope Julius II commissioned Michelangelo to paint frescos on the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel. Michelangelo worked on that project from 1508 until 1512. I wonder if the Pope established a budget. I wonder if he put a limit on the number of scenes depicted. Did Michelangelo provide sketches for the client’s approval? I wonder if Julius II stopped in once in a while to check on the progress, and if so, did he ever put in his two cents’ worth about color choices? Did he pay attention to the vibrancy of the colors? “Mickey, that blue looks pretty rich. What’s the price per tube?” Did he fuss about how slow it was going? Or did he say, “Knock yourself out. Have a blast. Don’t worry about the cost.” I doubt it.  

A related thought: We have just finished dismantling an organ in a church where the pastor was downright unfriendly. I wonder if Julius II and Michelangelo liked each other? Early in the movie, the kitchen staff spreads the word to Chef Casper that “Riva is coming,” in sharp, explosive whispers. Think of Michelangelo’s young assistant hissing, “The Pope is coming . . . ”

You say you want a revolution…

In the early 1960s, the Beatles turned the music world upside down. The radical messages in the lyrics of their songs thrilled some people and terrified others. Old-timers fretted about the end of civilization, what with those hippie hairstyles and all. Funny, because looking at photos of the Fab Four from those days with dark jackets buttoned up, and skinny dark ties with white button-down shirts, they might as well be a quartet of congressmen—except they were too creative for that.  

Those songs were innovative and provocative. Millions of young people were influenced by them. And each of those millions has experienced the moment of hearing the Beatles for the first time in an elevator soundtrack—the music that changed the world reduced to twinkling away in the background. And what a gold mine is that twinkling. After pop-music icon Michael Jackson recorded a couple songs with former Beatle Sir Paul McCartney, Jackson seized an opportunity to incense McCartney by outbidding him to purchase the rights to the Beatles’ catalogue, putting McCartney in the position of having to pay licensing fees every time he wanted to sing Hey Jude.

According to the website Mail Online (of the British newspaper Daily Mail), following Jackson’s death, copyright laws allow the rights to return piecemeal to McCartney.  A revolution at what price?

Leave the driving to us

A week ago, I was waiting for a bus in the teeming New York Port Authority Bus Terminal, listening to a nondescript Vivaldi concerto for strings over tinny public speakers. I’ve been present for plenty of serious recording sessions where microphones and music stands are set about on a wood floor. There are open instrument cases strewn about along with half-finished bottles of water. A small group of musicians is playing their hearts out to the microphones for posterity. Together they listen to playbacks of each take, discuss, and start again. Do you suppose they realize that all that effort is destined for broadcast in a bus station? Does that define commercial success for a musical ensemble? Artistic fulfillment?

The parish organist spends all day Saturday at the console preparing a blockbuster postlude for the next morning. The recessional hymn is finished, benediction and response checked off, and he launches into it. Ten minutes later, with a paper cup of coffee in the narthex, the smiling congregants tell him, “The music was beautiful, as always.” I once appreciated that feedback, but when the same person says the same words with the same inflections week after week, year after year, it gets a little hollow. Was she listening? Did she notice anything special about it this week? Or does “as always” cover it for her, taking away the responsibility to listen critically?

Classical radio stations love listener surveys, inviting their audiences to vote on their favorite music. It’s like a sprawling focus group and allows the stations’ librarians to cull all that complicated overbearing music that no one likes from their record collections. No votes for Alban Berg? Out it goes. As a teenager listening faithfully to WCRB in Boston in the 1970s, I was already aware that it was a pretty short list of music they played: a Mozart symphony (number 40 in G minor), a Vivaldi concerto (Four Seasons), something by Respighi (Ancient Airs and Dances), another Vivaldi concerto (another season down, two to go).

The Louvre in Paris is one of the world’s largest museums with over 650,000 square feet of exhibit space. It’s the most visited in the world with nearly ten million visitors a year. There are more than 35,000 objects on display, but for most visitors only one is a focus point. It’s a painting about the size of a coffee-table book, thirty inches by twenty-one inches. Because it’s so very iconic and valuable it’s pretty much buried, concealed in a transparent vault. So many people throng to see it that most only get a quick glimpse. Of course it’s an essential artwork—enigmatic, mysterious, beautiful, wistful. But you can make more of your time in those hallowed halls if you simply don’t bother. Miss Mona will be fine without you. Go the other way and see all the rest of that glorious art at your own pace.

The art of organ building

It’s fun to wax poetic about organbuilding from the point of view of the humanities. The Greek physicist and inventor, Ctesibius (ca. 285–222 BC) created the hydraulis, widely considered to be not only a forerunner to the organ, but the actual first example of one. The remains of a primitive pipe organ were found in the ruins of Pompeii, the ancient Italian city destroyed by the eruption of Mt. Vesuvius in 79 AD. The organ in the Basilica of Valère in Switzerland, made famous by E. Power Biggs’s 1967 recording, Historic Organs of Switzerland, is accepted as the oldest playable organ in the world. Biggs’s jacket notes stated that the organ was built in 1390. Others now think it was more like 1435. But whether or not we need to quibble about a difference of 45 years, that’s a mighty old organ.

Twentieth-century organbuilders used sixteenth-century models as the basis for contemporary instruments around which developed a revolution in the trade. And many of those original sixteenth-century instruments survive and are played regularly, proof that such ancient ideals remain vital and relevant to modern musicians.

Organs built in the sixteenth and twenty-first centuries all combine the fruits of many skills. Take a close look at a metal organ pipe and marvel at the precision of the hand-drawn solder seams that join the various pieces of metal. Inspect the edges of leather gussets on a pipe organ bellows and see how the craftsman’s knife tapered the edge to microscopic thickness, just to ensure that there was no loose edge to get snagged and delaminate.

See the precision of the playing actions (either electro-pneumatic or mechanical)—how fast the notes repeat, how uniform is the touch and feel of the keys. And marvel at the glorious architectural casework, beautifully designed, built, and decorated to promote and project the instrument it contains, and to enhance its surroundings.

The company that built that organ is surely a collection of high-minded individuals, capable of the creation of such a masterpiece. But wait. You have no idea how many cooks might have been involved.

Art by committee

A church invites an organbuilder to present a proposal for a new instrument. He delivers a drawing or a model. Using blue tape, someone in the church marks off the space to be occupied by the proposed organ. That Saturday, the women of the altar guild arrive to prepare the sanctuary for tomorrow’s services. They see the tape outline—to them it looks like a police photo of a crime scene. They storm the rector’s office, demanding that the organ not cross a specified but imaginary line. Please don’t take offense, all you members of altar guilds. You do wonderful work and we’re grateful. But I know of one fine organ that was sorely compromised in the design stage by exactly this scenario.  

The same rector reviews the proposal. It looks a little imposing. Too fancy, too shiny. That organist has enough of an ego problem. Let’s tone it down a little.

The organist reviews the proposal. There’s no Larigot, there’s only one soft solo reed, and nothing at 32-foot. I’m not sure I can manage without a third (or fourth) keyboard. Can we beef it up a little?

The vestry/board of trustees/finance committee/session (your choice) reviews the proposal. No, our data suggests that we will not be able to raise more than…

And if the architect is still around, “How can you do this to my building?”

In the 1960s, comedian Allan Sherman (Hello muddah, hello fadduh . . .) produced a hilarious parody of Prokofiev’s Peter and the Wolf in collaboration with Arthur Fiedler and the Boston Pops Orchestra. The recording of Peter and the Commissar was released in 1964, at the height of the Cold War—it was just two years after the Cuban Missile Crisis—and using the familiar tunes and orchestrations of Prokofiev’s score (apparently no one had gotten their hands on those rights!), Sherman told in outrageous verse of how the fictional Peter had written a new tune, but had to obtain approval from the Commissars of Music before releasing it.

The Commissars had all sorts of ideas about how to improve it, including giving it the beat of a bossa nova—and gave Peter examples of their alterations to previous applications from famous composers like “Beethoven’s Fifth Cha-cha-cha,” “Brahms’ Lullaby Rock-n-Roll,” and “Pete Tschaikovsky’s Blues.” This kind of buffoonery was perfect for Fiedler and the Boston Pops. You can hear this terrific and biting romp online at www.youtube.com/watch?v=MFseskG8JTY.

Allan Sherman’s poetry reminds us of the stories of Julius II and Michelangelo, Riva and Chef Casper, Paul McCartney and his struggle to retain control of the artistic output of the combo that changed the world, and countless other examples in which a creator is disappointed by the influence of outside forces.  

One memorable line from Peter and the Commissar stands out: 

We all have heard the saying that is true as well as witty, 

A camel is a horse that was designed by a committee.