An Overview of the Keyboard Music of Bernardo Pasquini (1637–1710)

Marijim Thoene is a native Californian. She received a B.M. degree in Liturgical Music from Peabody Conservatory, an M.M. in Organ Performance from the University of Southern California, and an M.M and D.M.A. in Church Music/Organ Performance from the University of Michigan. She has also studied at the Queen’s College and University College in Oxford, the Organ Academy in Pistoia, Italy, and at the University of Salamanca. She has been director of music at churches in Baltimore, Oxfordshire, San Diego, Ann Arbor and New Orleans, and has been on the faculty at the University of New Orleans, and Our Lady of Holy Cross College in New Orleans. Her CD, Mystics and Spirits, was recorded on the Dobson organ at St. Joseph Abbey in St. Benedict, Louisiana. Her second CD, Wind Song: Music for Organ and Flute, has just been released and was also recorded at St. Joseph Abbey. Among her favorite topics is “Fierce Beasts and Gentle Creatures Who Play the Organ in Medieval Manuscripts.”

Sublimity flashing forth at the right moment scatters everything before it like a thunderbolt…
—Longinus

As scholars and musicians celebrate the music of Buxtehude three hundred years after his death, I ask myself, as an organist, how would I describe the drawing power of his organ music? What is it that speaks to me and draws me to his music? To be perfectly candid, I ask a lot from the music I choose to learn. I want high drama. Give me Longinus’s aesthetic of great art: “It must have something of the sublime in it.” Great music must have epic qualities like Virgil’s Aeneid or Homer’s Odyssey; in short, it must describe the human condition with tragedy and comedy, tension and release, despair and hope, and it must have the essence of a dance. I chose Buxtehude’s Ciacona in C minor because it contains all of the qualities mentioned above, and all of them occur within the structure of a dance form that Buxtehude calls a “ciacona.”
I think that the greatness of Buxtehude’s writing is based in part on his ability to borrow from the techniques of Frescobaldi and Froberger, and to incorporate them into his own work. Using imitation, Buxtehude follows what Longinus deemed a natural process to attain greatness: “Greatness of soul must be fed and developed by an enthusiastic imitation and emulation of previous great poets and writers.” The similarities in form and motifs of Buxtehude’s Ciacona in C minor and in works by Frescobaldi and Froberger are compelling. The most dramatic “borrowing” apparent in Buxtehude’s Ciacona in C minor is his use of the ostinato ground, as found in Frescobaldi’s Cento Partite sopra Passacagli. By extension, Buxtehude’s use of repetition of a melodic motif as the structural basis of his composition is found in Froberger’s Canzona VII. Frescobaldi’s use of the ostinato ground, and Froberger’s use of a melodic motif, repetition of a harmonic pattern and melodic pattern are fused in Buxtehude’s Ciacona in C minor. His ciacona’s basso ostinato (ground), which occurs sometimes in succession, sometimes intermittently, is the unifying element within the composition. (See Example 1.) As in J. S. Bach’s Passacaglia in C minor, the ostinato pattern is the foundation of the composition. Frescobaldi’s use of ostinato and Froberger’s use of a repeated motif are transformed in Buxtehude’s Ciacona in C minor.

The significance of the Ciacona in C minor, BuxWV 159
Philipp Spitta placed Buxtehude’s Passacaglia in D minor and the two ciaconas in C minor and E minor at the beginning of the first volume of his edition of Buxtehude’s organ works, which was published in 1875. Spitta, in his letter to Brahms, says of these three works: “For beauty and importance [they] take the precedence of all the works of this kind at the time, and are in the first rank of Buxtehude’s compositions.”1 After seeing the D-minor passacaglia, Brahms wrote to Spitta: “ . . . when I become acquainted with such a beautiful piece as the Ciacona in D minor by Buxtehude, I can hardly resist sharing it with a publisher, simply for the purpose of creating joy for others . . . ”2
Kerala Snyder, in her book, Dieterich Buxtehude: Organist in Lübeck, notes that Brahms referred to Buxtehude’s Passacaglia in D minor as the Ciacona in D minor. She makes the observation that in Brahms’s time as well as Buxtehude’s, the terms ciacona or chaconne and passacaglia were interchangeable. Buxtehude himself titles his works ciacona and passacaglia.3
The Ciacona in C minor contains a microcosm of Buxtehude’s compositional devices, which can be found in Frescobaldi and Froberger. In addition to mirroring their form, he quotes rhythmic motifs. The dotted eighth-note followed by a sixteenth and vice versa are prominent motifs in Frescobaldi. See Example 2 from his Toccatas Terza (Per l’Organo da sonarsi all levatione), Quarta, and Sesta from Book II of his Toccatas and Canzonas, etc. of 1637. While Frescobaldi uses these rhythmic patterns sparingly, Buxtehude repeats them throughout a section. (See Example 3, measures 17–20, 21–24, 25–28, 114–117, and 118–121.) Frescobaldi’s dramatic use of suspensions, which dominate the Toccata per Elevatione from Messa delli Apostoli in his Fiori Musicali, is mirrored briefly in Buxtehude’s Ciacona in C in measures 3 and 7. Buxtehude’s mercurial shift in mood from sorrow to joy, the latter characterized by triplet figures, can also be found in the abrupt shifts in mood in Frescobaldi’s Toccata Prima (Book II of Toccatas and Partitas), as well as in Froberger’s Toccata I, II, IV, XII, XIII, XVI XIX, XXV, XXVI; Froberger’s Fantasia I; Froberger’s Canzona III, IV, V, VI; and Froberger’s Capriccio I, II, IV, VII,VIII, X, XII, XIV, and XVIII. Froberger’s burst of joy, a dance section, contrasting with more somber sections, appears in Buxtehude’s Ciacona in C minor in the 9/8 section, measures 122–137.
Using Buxtehude’s Ciacona in C minor as a focus, the following topics will be addressed:
(1) What is the structure of his Ciacona in C minor? (2) How did this Italian ostinato form and the overall persistence of repeated motifs that characterize the canzonas of Froberger reach Buxtehude? The ostinato form is Italian in origin and its first appearance in North German repertoire (with the exception of Martin Radeck, active 1623–83) is in Buxtehude’s ostinato organ works. (3) What elements of form of Frescobaldi’s Cento Partite sopra Passacagli and Froberger’s Canzona VI in A minor are found in Buxtehude? (4) What clues in performance practices can be applied to Buxtehude’s Ciacona in C minor from Italian sources? (5) What elements of Buxtehude’s Ciacona can be seen in J. S. Bach’s Passacaglia in C Minor? (6) What is the significance of repetition in this work?

1. The structure of Buxtehude’s Ciacona in C minor
The structure is succinctly analyzed in Willi Apel’s The History of Keyboard Music to 1700:

The Ciacona in C minor consists of 38 variations on the ostinato subject which is heard in the bass unchanged for the first seven variations and then freely varied in other voices. Sometimes the transformation of the subject goes so far that its contour is entirely lost and only the harmonic scheme remains, as, for example, in variations VIII, IX, and X. . . . Variation XX is also very free, as Buxtehude modulates to G minor. In order to return to C minor, he inserts a fifth measure. Beginning with variation XXI each variation is literally or almost literally repeated (XXI=XXII, XXIII=XXIV, etc). Thus the chaconne falls into three main sections of seven, thirteen, and eighteen variations, respectively, the first marked by a strict ostinato, the second by a particularly free treatment of the subject, and the third by paired variations.4

The Ciacona is mercurial in its moods, beginning in a somber, serious mood and altering to a light, dance-like mood. Then in variations XVII through XXII a dotted eighth and sixteenth note motif dominates, and in variation XXIX through XXX the reverse of that rhythmic figure is heard: the sixteenth note followed by the eighth note. Buxtehude’s meter is in 3/4 throughout, with the exception of variations XXXI–XXXIV, which are in 9/8.
It is this juxtaposition of contrasting moods, i.e., dark versus light, a sort of exaggerated formality with the dotted rhythms versus a rather unbridled exuberance, which makes for high drama in the work. Buxtehude was no stranger to drama. So popular were Buxtehude’s Abendmusiken, an annual concert series of musical drama, sponsored by business men of Lübeck and open to the public free of charge, that in 1682 police were hired to ensure the peace.5 The dramatic flavor of his Abendmusiken is seen in the summary of the libretto of 1684:

Heavenly Joy of the Spirit on Earth over the Incarnation and Birth of Our Dearest Savior Jesus Christ, in separate acts, in opera style, with many arias and ritornelli, brought into a musical harmony for six concerted voices, various instruments and cappella voices.
The Most Frightful and Most Joyful; Namely, the End of Time and Beginning of Eternity, in dialogue style, also shown in five scenes, for five concerted voices, instruments, etc.6

His sense of the dramatic as well as his gift for comedy is seen in a work dated 1688, Wacht! Euch zum Streit, a work originally thought to be by Buxtehude but now in question. Its text is made up of biblical quotations, chorale verses, and new poetry, with the main emphasis on the new strophic poetry. It is scored for five or six vocal soloists, two violins, two violas, and continuo, with a brief and optional appearance for trombones. The characters are all allegorical. In the prologue, Avarice, Wantonness, and Pride (three sopranos) argue among themselves as to who is the most powerful, and the Divine Voice (bass) denounces them all with biblical words.7

2. How was the music of Frescobaldi and Froberger transmitted to Buxtehude?
As mentioned previously, Buxtehude was, with the exception of Martin Radeck, the only north German composer to write keyboard ostinato pieces. They were composed primarily in Italy and South Germany. Although Buxtehude never visited Italy, Italian musicians were engaged at the Marienkirche in Lübeck during Buxtehude’s tenure as organist—an Italian castrato in 1672, the singer ‘Longlio’ in 1687 and another unnamed Italian in 1693.8 It is thought that Buxtehude was introduced to Frescobaldi and Froberger through Matthias Weckmann (1619–1674), organist at the St. Jacobi Church in Hamburg from 1655 who met Froberger in the Dresden court about 1653.9 Weckmann was married in Lübeck and Tunder was his best man. It is important to note that Matthias Weckmann founded a collegium musicum in 1660 in Hamburg. They performed “pieces from Venice, Rome, Vienna, Munich, Dresden, etc. indeed, this collegium attained such fame, that the greatest composers tried to attach their names to it.”10
Buxtehude may have had access to Frescobaldi’s music through the music library of Tunder’s in the Marienkirche in Lübeck, which had the largest collection of Italian publications of church music in Germany. Granted, there are many motives and styles of figuration of Frescobaldi that appear in Buxtehude as mentioned previously.

3. What formal elements of Frescobaldi and Froberger are found in Buxtehude?
Frescobaldi’s monumental harpsichord work, Cento Partite sopra Passacagli, published in 1637, the year of Buxtehude’s birth, contains compositional techniques that are mirrored in some degree in Buxtehude’s C-minor Ciacona. The work is analyzed in detail in Frederick Hammond’s book, Girolamo Frescobaldi: His Life and Music. Hammond summarizes the tonal centers, mensuration and form of each section.11 Both works, for the most part, are based on a repeated harmonic structure.
Frescobaldi’s Cento begins with a Passacaglia that is constructed on a descending tetrachord (D to A). Frescobaldi immediately sets up, within the large construct of a repeated harmonic framework, a series of short melodic motives that add cohesion to the Passacaglia. Following the Passacaglia is a Corrente, then a Ciacona in F major built on this harmonic progression: I-V-vi-I6, IV, VI. (See Example 4.) Here one sees Frescobaldi’s use of an ostinato ground, which forms the foundation for his Ciacona in F within the Cento. In this section, measures 133–140, the harmonic progression is repeated four times.
Compare Example 4 with Example 1 to note the differences between Frescobaldi’s ostinato bass with Buxtehude’s. Here one sees a technique that undergoes transformation in Buxtehude. The rhythm of Buxtehude’s bass-line remains constant, Frescobaldi’s does not, Buxtehude’s is memorable and Frescobaldi’s is not! For Buxtehude the ostinato harmonic structure is inviolable; he may depart from it briefly, but always returns to it. Unlike Frescobaldi’s Cento, the entire composition rests on this hauntingly beautiful bass line while above it soar contrapuntal dialogues, spirited dances, and flights of fantasy.
Yet, no matter how different Frescobaldi is from Buxtehude the compositional technique is the same. Returning to the structure of Cento, following the Ciacona in F major is a Passacaglia in C major characterized by dotted rhythms as in Buxtehude’s C-minor Ciacona; then a C-major Ciacona, a Passacaglia in A minor, another Ciacona in A minor. The Cento ends with a Passacaglia in D minor. In Frescobaldi there are dramatic shifts in mood within sections as in Buxtehude, but in a more diffuse way.
Elements of the remarkable ostinato C-minor Ciacona may also be found in the canzonas of Froberger, which no doubt were influenced, in part, by Frescobaldi. In 1637 Froberger was court organist for Emperor Ferdinand III in Vienna and he was granted leave to study with Frescobaldi in Rome. He studied there until 1640.12 The documents are scant regarding the life of Froberger; however, it is known that he returned to Italy some time before 1649 and may have studied with Carissimi. In a letter to Kircher he mentioned performing in the courts of Florence and Mantua.13 The year 1637 also marks the year of the publication of Frescobaldi’s Second Book of Toccatas, Canzoni, etc. The imitative counterpoint ever present in Frescobaldi’s canzonas is at the heart of Froberger’s canzonas. In Froberger’s Canzona in A minor, a single motif is the basis of the whole composition. See Example 5 showing the opening theme of Froberger’s Canzona VI and its rhythmical transformation. The motif undergoes rhythmical transformation, but is ever present, much like Buxtehude’s ostinato bass line. At the core of Froberger’s Canzona VI is a theme that undergoes transformation but remains singable and memorable.

4. Performance practices
Buxtehude’s Ciacona in C minor is sectional and moves from darkness to light. Is it appropriate to change tempi? In answering that question it may be appropriate to take Frescobaldi’s words to heart. Under the title of “Cento Partite sopra Passacagli” Frescobaldi offers these words: “The Passacaglias may be played separately, like the chaconnes, according to the performer’s wishes, whilst adjusting the movement from one variation to the next.”14 Certainly, one should consider the suspensions at the beginning of Buxtehude's Ciacona and choose a tempo that would not obscure the suspensions. If one must play Buxtehude on a tracker organ with a heavy action, one can look to Girolamo Diruta, who addressed how to approach the sometimes formidable task of playing on such an instrument. Diruta says: Let the arm guide the hand. In other words, use the weight of the arm to depress the keys. He also says that one must press and not strike the keys, one must caress the keys as though one were caressing a child.15

5. Buxtehude’s influence on Bach’s Passacaglia
All of Buxtehude’s ostinato works are found in the Andreas Bach Book,16 an anthology compiled before 1700 by Johann Christoph Bach of Ohrdruf, Johann Sebastian Bach’s older brother and teacher.17 In all probability Bach knew Buxtehude’s Ciacona in C minor in 1705, when at age 20 he received permission to leave his post as organist at the New Church at Arnstadt to travel on foot 250 miles to Lübeck to hear Dieterich Buxtehude. He was there for almost a quarter of a year, staying three times longer than his four weeks of granted leave time. As Christoph Wolff comments, “From Bach’s vantage point in 1705, there was simply no other musician who could offer him so much.”18
Bach’s monumental Passacaglia in C minor, BWV 582, with its twenty variations over its eight measure ground, is reminiscent of Buxtehude’s Ciacona in C minor. As Peter Williams points out, “a series of conventional figurae are used (one after the other) in a texture varying from one to five parts.”19
No autograph of BWV 582 survives; however, an early copy exists and Williams comments that “the earlier the Passacaglia was composed, the more it can be seen as a deliberate essay in genre-composition, very likely under the influence of Buxtehude.”20 Bach emancipates the form, but always, as in Buxtehude, the theme of the Passacaglia is ever present, singable and memorable. Unlike Buxtehude, Bach presents the ostinato bass line first as a solo voice in the pedal, giving emphasis to its importance as the foundation of the entire work.

6. The significance of repetition
Repetition occurs on many levels. In Buxtehude’s Ciacona in C minor, first the ostinato theme in the pedal recurs, unchanging in pitch, sometimes slightly altered rhythmically; variations are repeated, and on a detailed level, motives are repeated within a variation. All of this serves the purpose of creating a unified, organic whole. In repeating a variation he allows the listener to savor music for the second time. At the core of fine art is “artful” repetition . . . it promotes symmetry and patterns that give pleasure to the eye and ear. Buxtehude’s Ciacona in C minor is like a stage on which the characters experience sorrow, joy, conflict and resolution and the conclusion seems to be an affirmation of cosmic harmony.
One has only to look in Corliss Arnold’s Organ Literature: A Comprehensive Survey to see that the ciacona/passacaglia is alive and well. On May 16, 2007, I was in the Duomo in Florence and heard Jean Guillou play a brilliant, memorized recital. He concluded his recital with his transcription of Modest Moussorgsky’s Pictures at an Exhibition, with no fewer than five movements entitled Promenade (“Passeggiata”). How refreshing to hear this majestic and joyous theme recur over and over again. See Example 6 for the opening of the passacaglia. This recurring theme is an “artful” repetition, giving the listener a talisman for his journey, like a stone worn smooth by his touch, something that brings comfort because it is always there. ■

This paper was presented on June 26, 2007 at the 28th International Organ and Church Music Institute, celebrating “Buxtehude and Liturgical Music,” at the University of Michigan.

Gavin Black is Director of the Princeton Early Keyboard Center in Princeton, New Jersey. He can be reached by e-mail at [email protected].

Buxtehude BuxWV 141—Part 4:
Free writing and trillo longo—mm. 51–59
This month’s column is about just a little bit of music—the third overall section of the Praeludium, nine measures long, mm. 51–59. I will provide some analysis of the passage, and offer some thoughts and suggestions about fingering and pedaling.

The Praeludium that we are studying is, as I discussed in the column from June 2010, a one-movement work in several sections. There is both contrast and continuity amongst the sections. Sources of contrast are clear. Some sections are contrapuntal, some are not; some are regular in pulse and rhythm, some are free or essentially unmeasured; some use striking dissonance, some avoid it. Sources of continuity can be more elusive, but can include the use of similar motivic material, or recurring rhythms or harmonies. This is the classic form of the toccata or praeludium as practiced by Frescobaldi and Froberger, among others, and adopted and adapted by Buxtehude as the form of his organ praeludia. It was also used by Bach for organ and harpsichord pieces that we know or believe to come from early in his career: most of the harpsichord toccatas, the famous D-minor organ toccata, BWV 565, and some of the preludes and fugues such as BWV 551.
The section that we are looking at here is essentially non-contrapuntal, in that the writing is not in a set number of voices, although, as we will see, there are recurrent motives. There are fairly quick changes of texture, from one voice in m. 51 and elsewhere to four and five later. Chords are built up out of passagework. There are abrupt changes in the prevailing note values, as in m. 52, which starts with 32nd notes and then somewhat surprisingly sits on the third quarter-note beat with no motion. The lowest notes make up a true pedal part (always a question with Buxtehude, since the sources don’t make it clear, and also since the relationship between the sources and Buxtehude’s original intentions is not always known), since there are stretches that cannot be executed by two hands alone.

Four-note motive
In the following example, some of the notes have been highlighted with either rectangular or oval outlines (see Example 1). The rectangular outlines indicate either an exact form—nine instances, including inversions—or a plausible variant—six instances—of the four-note motive that begins the entire praeludium (see Example 2). This motive is found in crucial spots throughout the praeludium, sometimes as a marker of transitions or important moments, sometimes as part of “officially” motivic material, such as the second half of the fugue subject of the final section of the piece. The section that we are looking at here is clearly chock full of this short motive—it is present almost exactly half the time. This is one of the sources of continuity between this section and the rest of the praeludium.
It could well be argued that this motive is too simple, too ordinary, to count as a real, identifiable motive, or to serve as a source of continuity or unity within a piece. After all, every piece has plenty of short scale passages, and this one in particular is introduced in the most casual possible way. However, it seems to me that if the composer had not intended it to be heard, perhaps subliminally, as a significant motive, then we would not be able to find it quite so consistently through the whole piece. In any case, we do find it, and each teacher and each student—having initially noticed it—can muse about how significant it really is, and decide for him- or herself.

Connections
The second element of this short section that ties it to the rest of the piece is the cluster of notes in the first half of m. 57, highlighted with an oval box. This is a foreshadowing of the fugue subject of the last section of the praeludium (see Example 3), especially as that subject appears when it is in parallel with itself. This happens in several places, such as m. 104, for example (see Example 4).
This section is also clearly related to the rest of the piece by its similarities to the transitional passage that constitutes the end of the second overall section of the piece and that therefore comes just before this section. This transition occupies mm. 47–50. It arises out of the fugue that precedes it without break or interruption. The fugal texture just gives way to non-contrapuntal writing with passagework and built-up quasi-arpeggio chords. This texture resembles that of mm. 51–59, although it has the feeling of both a cadence and coda to the long fugue that has preceded it. The flourish that ends the transitional passage and the pedal solo that begins the third section are more or less versions of each other (see Examples 5 and 6).
(A similar way of linking the end of one section to the beginning of the next was employed by Bach in, for example, the Toccata in C Major, at the transition between the opening manual solo and the ensuing pedal solo, where the first four pedal notes seem to answer the last four manual notes [see Example 7], and in the F-major Toccata and Fugue, where the very last notes of the toccata are echoed in the mordent that begins the fugue subject.)

Trillo longo
One interesting feature of this passage is the use of the term trillo longo, placed over two spots in the pedal part, as seen in Example 1. Of course it seems obvious, on one level, what this term means: long trill. And in both instances it is written above notes that are in the shape of a trill, one that begins on the lower of its two notes. One surprising discovery about this term—trillo longo—is that there is no evidence that it was ever in common use as a technical musical term or as a piece of accepted musical jargon. A bit of research reveals that it is not listed as a musical term in any music dictionary or encyclopedia, and there are no papers or articles that discuss it as a term or that mention any piece in the entire history of music that uses it as a term, other than this piece. (A Google search on the term “trillo longo” returns seven results, one of them about a piece that does not in fact use the term, and all of the other six about this passage. Included in these search results is one prior column in this series.)
So if this term was not in particularly common use—even if its basic meaning is clear—why did Buxtehude (or his copyist: we can’t be sure) use it here? Was he simply observing that the printed notes constitute a “long trill”? Or was he instructing the player to execute a long trill beyond what the notes indicate? If so, is this to be accomplished by adding notes and time, or by adding notes and making them faster? Does the designation of a group of 32nd notes as a “long trill” suggest that they can or should be played freely, or given some particular grouping or shape? (For example, the 16th-note B that falls on “the ‘and’ of three” in m. 51 could be thought of as the beginning of a trill, and the 16th-note/32nd-note rhythm rendered freely, as the gradual beginning of the trill.) Or was he just reminding the player to resist the temptation to shorten or omit or simplify the trill due to its being in the pedal, and therefore tricky to execute? Here’s another possibility: perhaps Buxtehude wanted to employ some Italian language at this point to signify that the trills in question were Italian-style trills, that is, trills beginning on the main note.
I don’t know the answers to these questions, or whether any of these thoughts really apply. I throw them out there for the student—or teacher—to muse about. Meanwhile, the “long trill” continues to be important as the section goes along, especially as manifested by the (very long) trill in one of the inner voices in m. 56. In this spot, unlike in mm. 51, 53, 55, and 57, the trill is accompanied throughout by motion in other voices. This is also the measure in this passage that is in five voices—and five notes are actually sounding throughout the measure—therefore it is literally the loudest measure within this section. It has the largest number of total notes played of any measure at 32. (The following measure is second at 29.) All of this suggests that this measure might be the rhetorical climax or high point of the section. The major interpretive or performance issue in this measure concerns the trill. Should the notes that follow the pattern of a trill on E and D-sharp be played “as written,” that is, as more or less measured 32nd notes, or should they be untethered from that timing and played as a fairly free trill? The latter is, to put it plainly, harder. It requires that the trill pattern be learned and practiced so well that the fingers can execute it while the mind of the player is, in a sense, ignoring it. The player must let those notes go their own way rhythmically and concentrate on playing the other—right hand—notes in the desired rhythm, regardless of how those notes do or don’t line up with the notes of the trill. In any case, the student or player should initially practice the notes of this trill in the “as written” rhythm, learning them more and more securely while thinking about whether to try to set them free from the printed rhythm.

Pedaling
Pedalings in this passage are mostly straightforward. That is, there are easy pedaling solutions involving toes—mostly alternate toes—as would have been the norm in Buxtehude’s time. A possible pedaling—along with some fingering—is suggested in Example 8. The pedal notes marked with asterisks are (some of?) those that could very easily be played with heel if a player is so inclined, either because that happens to be more comfortable for the particular player or to avoid a disjunct articulation at those spots. (Just for the record, I believe that I have usually used the left heel on the asterisked note in m. 51, where my particular posture makes it extremely comfortable and natural to do so, but not on the one in m. 53.) The transaction that takes place between the second and third pedal notes of m. 51 (G# and F#) is interesting. The articulation created by simply using the right toe for both notes, as I have indicated it, is natural and “musical” in that it precedes a note that is on a beat, and confers a slight accent on that note.
However, if in a particular player’s conception of the passage that articulation seems jarring, then it is difficult (but probably not impossible) to figure out a way to avoid it that works. Players with very wide feet can play the G# with the extreme outside of the right toe and rotate the foot in order to play the F# with the inside of the foot—the big toe. Some players might be comfortable initially catching the F# with the left toe and quickly substituting the right toe, in order to free the left toe up to aim for the following note. It is hard to picture getting the heel involved since we are dealing with black notes. It is very possible to turn the logic of this around and say that since it is so much more natural to use a pedaling here that creates an articulation, perhaps that is how the passage was meant to be played.

Fingering
As always, the first step in creating a fingering is to figure out, where there is any possible doubt, which notes belong in which hand. I have indicated some “handing” choices in the example above, using curved lines. There are several other options. For example, it would be possible to take the 16th notes on the second beat of m. 52 in the left hand, or the B# and C# in the second beat of m. 54 in the right hand. In the third beat of m. 57, I have suggested taking the G# in the left hand. This is because I would find it extremely awkward to play the remaining upper-voice notes of that measure while holding the G#, all in the right hand. However, reaching the E/G# dyad with the left hand is indeed also tricky. It certainly involves a break immediately before those notes, and must be practiced carefully to avoid making that break sound jarring or abrupt.
I have included only a few fingerings as examples. Any of them can also be done a number of other ways. For example, changing the numerals printed above the upper staff in m. 52 from 2-3-4-5-4 to 2-3-1-4-5 would result in an also very good fingering (leaving the other fingers the same). In the right hand in m. 53 the fingering could be (instead of 4-3-1-2-1-4-3) 5-4-3-2-3-4-3 or 4-3-1-3-4-5-2 or a number of other possibilities. For that matter either or both D#’s could be taken in the left hand. Comfortable hand position is the main guiding principle, and this is something that varies from player to player, based on posture and the size and shape of the hands.
Notice, however, that in all of these (m. 53) examples I am carefully preserving the use of a different finger to repeat the D# from the one that is already holding it. The suggested fingering for the right hand in m. 56 is also designed to use different fingers on repeated notes. By and large, it is a good idea to keep the thumb off of black keys. In fact, the most physiologically comfortable use of the thumb at the keyboard is for playing white notes just before or just after another finger has played a black note. Much of my approach to fingering a passage like this—in a heavily “black note” key—is derived from this concept of the use of the thumb. This can be seen in essentially all of the fingerings that I have written in here.
The student and teacher can try some of my fingerings, but should primarily work fingerings out from scratch, bearing in mind the ideas discussed above. Then, of course, the next step is what it always is: careful and patient practice, starting with separate hands and feet—doing as much of that as turns out to be needed, better too much then too little—then putting things together at a comfortably slow tempo, speeding up gradually, keeping the hands and feet relaxed.
Next month we will return to Boëllmann, looking at the charismatic and popular Menuet Gothique.

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

In 2010 there are several composers for organ from the 16th to 18th centuries whose anniversaries can be commemorated, albeit only some of the dates are certain. Many of the names listed here will not be well known, but their compositions are well worth exploring and many are suitable for both liturgical and recital use. Although the dances and variations were destined primarily for the harpsichord and clavichord, they would have also been played on the domestic chamber organ—even performance on a church organ can sound most effective when using carefully selected stops based on clarity, rather than thick diapasons. From the 16th century onwards, publishers had an eye for commercial exploitation and frequently included multiple instrumental possibilities on the title pages! This list makes no claim to completeness, but the compiler has copies of almost everything here, although it is entirely possible that some items are out of print and would have to be consulted in libraries.

Antonio de Cabezón (1510–66). Leading 16th-century Spanish composer for keyboard. Several of his works (including 14 tientos, some 15 hymns, and two short diferencias or variations) were published in Venegas de Henestrosa’s Libro de Cifra Nueva (1557), which includes important comments on performance practice, including ornaments and fingering; modern edition by Higinio Anglés in two volumes (Groen’s catalogue mentions a reprint in four volumes) for Monumentos de la Música Española. The posthumous Obras de Música para Tecla, Arpa y Vihuela, published by his son Hernando in 1578 (which also includes invaluable comments on performance practice), contains much liturgical music; after four duos and five pieces in three parts headed “for beginners,” there follow 11 hymns, sets of four versos, four fabordones, six (on the second, third and fifth tones) or seven verses on the Magnificats, and four Kyries on each of the eight tones, in addition to 14 tientos, nine diferencias, a setting of Duinsela, and over 40 glosadas (intabulations) in up to six parts, including four by Hernando, one by Juan de Cabezón, and one anonymous. A modern edition in three volumes excluding the glosadas is edited by Anglés and published by Consejo Superior de Investigaciones Científicas. A new edition is in preparation, edited by Claudio Astronio for Ut Orpheus. The glosadas have been edited by Maria Ester Sala for Union Musical Ediciones. A few pieces in MS 242 at Coimbra published in Portugaliae Musica Vol. XIX have tentatively been assigned to de Cabezón, although the ascription to A.C. may well have meant Antonio Carreira, the leading Portuguese organist of the 16th century.

Ercole Pasquini (ca. 1560–1620). Organist in Verona and Rome, from which post he was apparently dismissed in 1608. He left over 30 pieces in MSS (none autograph), including six toccatas (some with interesting rhythmic patterns in the note groupings), ten canzonas, one fuga, sets of variations including Ruggiero, two on Romanesca and two Pass è Mezzi, an intabulation of Ancor che co’l partire, a sonata, a gagliarda, and the earliest known examples of two durezze and two correnti. Collected edition by W. Richard Shindle, published by American Institute of Musicology, Corpus of Early Keyboard Music 12.

Peter Philips (ca. 1560–1628). Spent much time in Italy, Spain, France, and Belgium, where he died in Brussels. Left some 34 compositions, including pavans, galliards, three fantasias, 15 intabulations of madrigals, and a set of 10 verses on Veni Sancte Spiritus. Nineteen pieces, mainly dances and intabulations, are to be found in the Fitzwilliam Virginal Book Vol. 1. A further eight pieces, including an almande, pavana, fantasia, four intabulations, and the setting of Veni Sancte Spiritus, are edited by John Harley for Stainer & Bell’s Early Keyboard Music K40. The complete keyboard works, edited by David Smith, are in Musica Britannica, Vol. 75.

Hieronymus Praetorius (1560–1629) was organist of the Jakobikirche in Hamburg. He left a large corpus of organ music in the Visby MS, of which the eight Magnificat cycles bear his name. Ascribed to him with some certainty from the same MSS are 19 hymn cycles (of Latin hymns) and 10 Kyrie cycles as well as four sequence cycles, a setting of Psalm 113, of the German Magnificat using the Tonus Peregrinus, and two recently discovered lengthy chorale fantasias, on Christ unser Herr zum Jordan kam and Wenn mein Stündlein vorhanden ist. All of these pieces have been edited by Klaus Beckmann in three volumes for Schott (ED 9581–9583).

Johann Benn (ca. 1590–1660) worked in Messkirch (Baden) and Lucerne, and left seven ricercars and two canzonas in a MS now in the BL. A modern edition by R. Schächer is published by Cornetto Verlag (CP342).

Pedro de Tafalla (1606–1660) was organist at El Escorial, Spain, where his three known compositions for organ are preserved. They include a Tiento lleno on the 2nd Tone, a Medio registro alto on the 2nd Tone, and a Tiento de dos tiples on the 7th Tone. They have been published recently by Ediciones Escurialenses in Música para órgano (siglo XVII) Volume 1-1, which also includes works by Diego de Torrijos and Cristóba1 de San Jerónimo, available from Tritó, Barcelona.

Henri Dumont (1610–84). Born in Belgium, Dumont became organist at St-Paul in Paris and left 17 pieces, including 11 allemandes, one courante, one pavane, and four préludes. Modern edition P. Bonfils, Editions Musicales de la Schola Cantorum et de la Procure Générale de Musique, L’organiste Liturgique 13.

Bernardo Pasquini (1637–1710). Organist in Rome and teacher of Zipoli, Casini, Georg Muffat, composer of over 200 pieces for keyboard conserved in four main MSS, covering all the main genres (17 suites, a few individual dance movements, about 30 short arias, over 35 toccatas, two capriccii, a fantasia, three canzone), one fuga, four ricercari (one of which runs to 345 bars), four sonatas, 22 variations (including four passacagli), and including over 300 versos and 14 sonatas for one and a further 14 for two instruments with just a figured bass. Available in seven volumes, edited by Maurice Brook Haynes, published by American Institute of Musicology, Corpus of Early Keyboard Music 5—this edition is unfortunately very unreliable but does group the works by genres. The far more accurate new Italian edition in seven volumes—which, after volume one that contains an Introduzione and Pastorale, and 60 versetti, all taken from a newly discovered MS in Bologna, follows the haphazard groupings of the (mainly autograph) MSS—is available from Libreria Musicale (www.libreria musicale.com). A facsimile edition of the Landsberg MS has been edited by Emer Buckley in two parts plus CD, published by Anne Fuzeau Classique (www.
editions-classique.com).

Alessandro Scarlatti (1660–1725). Better known for his sacred and secular vocal music, he left many toccatas in MSS, most of which are multi-movement (with some loose fugues as well as dance movements), including lengthy sets of variations on the Folia. Some toccatas are retrospective, others are forward-looking, with many dissonant clashes and lengthy passages of chords to be arpeggiated. An excellent new edition by Andrea Macinanti and Francesco Tasini with a most illuminating introduction on performance is published in five volumes by Ut Orpheus: Alessandro Scarlatti, Complete Works for Keyboard, Vols. 1–5, Ut Orpheus AS 01–AS 05; <www.utorpheus.com&gt;.

Johann Kuhnau (1660–1722) worked in Leipzig and published two sets of seven suites (the first set in major, the second in minor keys, also including a sonata in B-flat), seven sonatas in from three to seven movements, and a set of six sonatas that are multi-movement programmatic pieces entitled Biblical Histories. All are available in facsimile, published by SPES. The edition by Moser for Denkmäler deutscher Tonkunst volume 1/4 is out of print, but a new edition in two volumes has been edited by C. Harris in Art of the Keyboard Vol. 6 for Broude Brothers: Johann Kuhnau: The Collected Works for Keyboard, ed. C. David Harris; AOK 6, 2 volumes; Broude Brothers Limited (www.broude.us/Catalogues/EarlyMusic2006.pdf). The Biblical Sonatas are available separately, AOK 6C.

Christian Witte (ca. 1660–1717), organist in Altenburg, left about 20 pieces in MSS, including suites, preludes, fugues, three chorale preludes, and ciaconas; a passacaglia on D-C-Bb-A with 30 variations was formerly attributed to J. S. Bach. A modern edition of 12 pieces has been edited by Laura Cerutti for Armelin (www.armelin.it) in two volumes (AMM 026/053), of which the pieces best suited to organ are in volume 2. Three pieces from the Mylau Tablaturbuch are edited by John R. Shannon for American Institute of Musicology, Corpus of Early Keyboard Music 39. A capriccio in the Andreas Bach Book has been edited by Robert Hill for Harvard University Press: Keyboard Music from the Andreas Bach Book and the Moller Manuscript, ed. Robert Hill; Harvard University Press (www.hup.harvard.edu/catalog/HILMUS.html).

Georg Leyding (1665–1710) studied with Reincken and Buxtehude and became Jakob Bölsche’s successor at Braunschweig. He left three praeludia, a chorale prelude on Wie schön leucht uns, and a set of six chorale variations on Von Gott will ich nicht lassen, which have been edited by Klaus Beckmann for Breitkopf & Härtel: Georg Dietrich Leyding, Organ Works (EB 8405) (www.breitkopf.com).

Vicent Rodríguez (1690–1760) was organist at Valencia Cathedral, successor to the great Cabanilles. In MSS he left a Libro de Tocatas (30) for harpsichord and a few pieces for organ including a fantasia, six tocatas (several of these are pieces for the clarines or trumpet stops and are much lighter in style than those by Cabanilles), and a partido. New edition by Águeda Pedrero for Tritó edicions (www.trito.es). Ten versos sobre Pange Lingua have been edited by Vicente Ros and included in Música de Tecla Valenciana Vol. 5.

Thomas Arne (1710–78). Left Six favourite concertos for organ, harpsichord or piano-forte published ca. 1787, which may be performed without the accompanying parts; edited by Robin Langley for OUP; and Gwilym Beechey has edited the organ solos from the concerti for Peters (H 1544). Arne also published a set of Eight Sonatas or Lessons for the harpsichord in 1756, facsimile edition edited by Beechey and Dart for Stainer & Bell K27.

Thomas Gladwin (1710–99). Worked in London, where he published Eight Lessons for the Harpsichord or Organ, three of which have violin accompaniment, in the 1750s. Facsimile edition of these two-movement pieces has been published by Jacks, Pipes and Hammers; <www.
btinteret.com/~edjacksph/pub.htm>.

Giuseppe Paganelli (1710–63). Worked in Venice, Bayreuth, Munich, and Madrid, where he may have succeeded D. Scarlatti. He published XXX Ariae pro organo et cembalo in 1756, facsimile edition in Minkoff, and edited by M. Machella for Armelin AMM163. He also published in 1757 Amusement for the fair sex or Six sonatines for the harpsichord, modern edition by Laura Cerutti for Cornetto Verlag (CP388). Three further sonatas are included in volumes 2, 3, and 4 of the Haffner Raccolta. Facsimile edition of volumes 2 and 3 in Raccolta musicale… Bibliotheca Musica Bononiensis IV/56 Bologna.

Wilhelm Friedemann Bach (1710–84). Oldest son of Johann Sebastian, he left relatively few keyboard works, most of which sound best on the clavichord, including eleven sonatas, eight fugues, twelve polonaises, ten fantasias, seven chorale preludes, and eight fugues from isolated MSS, in addition to pieces in the Notebook for W F Bach compiled by Johann Sebastian. The eight fugues have been edited by Paul Simmonds and Mike Daniels (www.paulsimmonds.com/publications/php) and published by themselves. They are also included in volume 1 of the organ works edited by Traugott Fedke for Edition Peters in two volumes (vol. 2 includes the chorale preludes and some more fugues). A new complete edition of the keyboard music in two volumes (vol. 1 just published) is in progress for Carus Verlag (Carus 32.001, 32.002). Best suited to the organ are the fugues and chorale preludes.

Giovanni Battista Pergolesi (1710–36) is better known for his operas and sacred music, but three organ sonatas are included in Splendori del ’700 Napoletano Vol 1. and one in Vol. 2, edited by Maurizio Machella for Armelin as AMM 161 and AMM 240 (www.armelin.it). Many pieces formerly attributed to him in 18th-century sources have now been identified as being by other composers—the one certain thing about Pergolesi is that he died young!

Many of the publishers mentioned have their own websites and accept orders from anywhere; the following would supply “one-stop shopping” for orders from more than one publisher, although they themselves would have to order titles from many of the smaller publishers, including the Spanish and Italian.
Jacks Pipes and Hammers: <www.jackspipesandhammers.com&gt;
Saul Groen: <http://saulgroen.nl&gt;
Sheetmusicplus: <www.sheetmusic plus.com>

Other individual publishers’ sites include:
Edicion Tritó: <www.trito.es&gt;; especially useful for Spanish scores
Corpus of Early Keyboard Music: <www.corpusmusicae.com/cekm&gt;. 

This article is a considerably expanded version of a list originally published in British Clavichord Society Newsletter 46.

Stephanie Burgoyne obtained her ARCT in piano performance in 1990 from the Royal Conservatory of Toronto. She holds the associateship in organ performance from Western Conservatory (now Conservatory Canada), the A.R.C.C.O. from the Royal Canadian College of Organists, and earned an artist diploma in organ performance from Western University, while at the same time obtaining a Ph.D. in mathematics. 

She has served as organist and minister of music at St. Jude’s Anglican Church, Brantford, Ontario, where she instituted both a semi-annual concert series and an organ recital series. In 2011, she became music director and organist at St. Paul’s United Church in Paris, Ontario, where she also began a concert series. She performs recitals both as a soloist and with William Vandertuin. Burgoyne teaches mathematics at Laurier University.

Although much has been written about Sir Charles Villiers Stanford, it is still difficult to understand why (apart from his church music) so little of his output of over 200 compositions is often performed—in particular, his organ works, which include the Six Occasional Preludes (op. 182), Three Preludes and Fugues (op. 193), Six Short Preludes and Postludes (op. 101, op. 105) and his organ sonatas (opp. 149, 151–153, 159). A review of recordings and writings about his organ music revealed a need to further explore Stanford’s five sonatas for organ. This article presents my own personal experience with them, in the hope of inspiring others to explore these neglected works. 

Charles Stanford (Dublin 1852–London 1924) was born into a musical family. His father, a lawyer in Dublin, was an amateur cellist and a noted bass singer, good enough to be chosen to sing the title role in Mendelssohn’s Elijah at its Irish premiere in 1847. His mother, an accomplished pianist, played the solo parts in concertos at various concerts in Dublin. Stanford’s parents encouraged their son, providing instruction in violin, piano, organ, and composition. Nevertheless, they felt it beneficial that he pursue a university education as well, leading towards a degree in law. Yet Stanford not only pursued music study in Britain but early on started travelling to the Continent every year to further increase his musical knowledge. (It is worth noting, in view of his study in Leipzig and Berlin, that his interest for study in Germany might have originated with his early teachers, three of whom had been students of Ignaz Moscheles, a Bohemian pianist of German parents, who spent a number of years in Britain. Moscheles returned to Germany in 1846, to serve as professor of piano at the Leipzig Conservatory.)

Stanford studied with Karl Reinecke in Leipzig and Friedrich Keil in Berlin. He was appointed professor of composition at the Royal College of Music in London in 1883 and professor of music at Cambridge in 1887. As a teacher, conductor, and composer, he exerted a strong influence over future generations of composers and musicians. His former student Ralph Vaughan Williams is reported to have said that Stanford could adopt the technique of any composer he chose. Stanford is mostly recognized for his choral music, which includes several settings of the Magnificat and Nunc Dimittis, and a number of Communion services. He also composed works for solo voice, piano, and organ, as well as orchestral works, including seven symphonies and five Irish rhapsodies.

An examination of Stanford’s organ sonatas reveals that he frequently utilizes many chorale-like phrases. Except for those melodies clearly identified and labeled by Stanford himself, I have decided not to identify any others. 

Sonata No. 1 in F, op. 149

Dated May 1917, it is dedicated to “my old friend Alan Gray” (1855–1935); without subtitle.

I. Allegro molto moderato

The first movement, in common time, opens in F major and is in sonata form. It has some stylistic affinity with the organ sonatas of Josef Rheinberger (1839–1901), who in addition to the usual concluding fugue in most of his organ sonatas would also periodically include a fugal section in the first movement. The principal theme is a two-measure chorale-like phrase in quarter notes; it is restated once, with slight modification (Example 1). Part of this motive is then used for a number of measures, ending with a C-major chord. (The same two-measure theme returns in the final movement, giving this sonata a cyclical structure.)

Stanford then develops this material for thirty-three measures (with the addition of a “trumpet call” on another manual). The exposition section uses very soft dynamics while it serves as a modulating bridge, preparing for the second theme in the tonic minor. The second theme consists of a two-measure fugato subject in sixteenth notes ending in several quarter notes, with the countersubject entering before the subject is complete (Example 2). The opening sixteenth-note portion of the fugato subject continues to appear frequently in different voices, and there is interplay between it and the principal theme, with episodes based on both. Part of the countersubject in augmentation serves as preparation for the recapitulation (in which one can almost hear shades of Stanford’s choral writing). A final restatement of part of the main and secondary themes signals the recapitulation proper, and with the inversion of the “secondary theme” adding further interest, the movement ends very quietly with an octave E-flat. 

II. Tempo di Menuetto

The second movement, in A-flat major, is one of Stanford’s most light-hearted movements for organ. The opening, shown in Example 3, features a dancelike motive in three-quarter time. This motive is stated sequentially twice and is extended by a two-measure eighth-note passage in tenths. Stanford then continues to develop both parts of the subject separately as well as combining them so that the main theme is never far away. The development section utilizes such techniques as inversion, imitation, and modulation. Duplet is changed to triplet motion and added to soprano, alto, and/or pedal parts in turn. After a number of repetitions of the main thematic material, the movement concludes quietly with a restatement of the opening motive. 

III. Allegro maestoso

The third and final movement, in common time and in F minor, is an introduction and fugue (as one finds in many Rheinberger sonatas). The introduction uses the same chorale-like phrase as the first movement. Whereas the first movement starts in F major and ends in F minor, this movement does the reverse (beginning with the bridge passage introducing the fugue subject).

In contrast to the first movement, where the quarter-note chorale-like phrase repeats a number of times without interruption, here each statement alternates with passage runs in triplets and sixteenths (some of which are derived from the countersubject of the first movement’s fugato). After two solo reed additions, the section concludes with a modulation to F major that introduces the key for the fugue subject (which is related to the chorale by using the same three-note opening). The fugue begins with a fairly strict exposition, with a real answer and a “dotted rhythm” countersubject (Example 4). Parts of both themes then are used to create episodes. An imitative passage based on the opening quarter-note motive leads to the fugue’s dotted-rhythm countersubject over a final restatement of the fugue subject in augmentation in the pedal. The recapitulation is prepared for by a repeated appearance of the three-note opening motive and is then established by the chorale-like subject beginning at the final “Maestoso.” After the addition of a solo reed, the sequential three-note chorale subject opening appears a number of times before the movement ends on full organ.

Sonata Eroica No. 2, op. 151

Dated August 1917 and dedicated to “Charles Marie Widor and the great country to which he belongs,” the first and third movements of this sonata refer to two specific battlegrounds where French troops faced very fierce and costly battles during the World War I. Even though Stanford does not quote the French national anthem in its entirety anywhere in the three movements, it does appear in various guises throughout.

I. Allegro moderato

The first movement, in G minor and three-four time, is subtitled “Rheims.” The main theme quotes the hymn O Filii et Filiae, whose text denotes new life and resurrection (Example 5). Stanford may have chosen this tune to relate it to the history of the great cathedral at Rheims, which was burned during World War I. 

The first line presents the main theme in octaves; this theme recurs regularly throughout the movement in various voices. After the first line, Stanford uses sixteenth-note passagework (relating it to some of Widor’s symphonies for organ), which frequently uses the Marseillaise’s melodic rhythms. The themes alternate between extreme agitation (suggesting the hostility of war) and quiet reflection during periods of rest.

Stanford continues to add new material in the middle section, visiting a number of keys (E minor, A-flat major) during development. This section briefly returns to G minor; nevertheless, the movement concludes with a stately reminder of the main theme in G major. 

II. Adagio molto 

The second movement, in E-flat major in common time, presents two distinctly different themes. Might Stanford have intended this as part of a “Requiem Mass” setting (to recall the many deaths on the battlefields)? If so, the first meditative theme might function as the Introit, “Requiem aeternam” (Example 6), while the second theme, with its extensive agitated dotted-rhythm motive depicting the horrific reality of the conflict, might be considered the Sequence, “Dies irae” (Example 7). 

In the loud and boisterous second section, Stanford uses punctuating chords supported by sixteenth notes in the pedal. This is followed immediately by a four-measure imitative polyphonic counterpoint and a restatement of the dotted half-note section, this time in A-flat major. From here on, the chorale tune enters (in part) now and then, prepared for by polyphonic imitation and periodically interrupted by the dotted half-note motive, sometimes in diminution. Toward the end there is a complete mood change through the use of the same four-note motive again. The movement ends as it began.

III. Allegro moderato

The third movement is subtitled “Verdun.” The battle for Verdun was one of the fiercest and costliest battles between the French and German armies during the First World War, and cost an estimated one million lives, without gaining any advantages on either side. This movement quotes the French national anthem melodically and rhythmically more strongly than any of the other movements. It opens with a few loud chords, followed immediately by agitated two-part scale-like passages in sixteenths (Example 8). The chordal sections continue to alternate with fast-moving, sixteenth-note episodes that include parts of the Marseillaise (Example 9). Stanford then develops the themes using modulation, sequence, and imitation. Although this movement contains many quiet sections, it is generally loud, and the sonata ends with the complete first line of the Marseillaise (beginning with a solo trumpet).

Sonata Britannica No. 3 in D Minor, op. 152 

Dated November 1917, it is dedicated to Sir Walter Parratt (English organist and composer, 1841–1924). This sonata contains the most recognizable melodies; the first movement is based on the hymn tune St. Mary and the third movement is built on the tune Hanover. 

I. Allegro non troppo ma con fuoco

The first movement, in D minor, opens with dotted half-note accumulating chords in 12/8 time (Example 10). Even though there are a number of different texts for the St. Mary tune, based on the forte dotted half-note opening section (which repeats in various ways throughout the movement), it is hard to imagine any other text fitting the music except that composed by Cardinal John Henry Newman, the first verse of this hymn beginning with the creedal statement, “Firmly I believe and truly, God is Three and God is One.” Thus Stanford keeps quoting selected phrases of the St. Mary tune in different voices and maintains interest by alternating loud and soft sections using both themes. There is a short section in the key of D major before returning to D minor, and the movement concludes with some wonderfully quiet melodic sections using the St. Mary tune.

II. (Benedictus), Larghetto

The second movement, “Benedictus,” in B-flat major, emerges from an opening melody in common time (Example 11). In the sixth measure, Stanford adds what might be perceived as an interlude (or comment) on this melody (Example 12). This alternating pattern continues until the piu mosso designation in D-flat major where the manual parts make a “hesitating” octave jump before the opening melody continues and the pedal adds to the hesitancy with off-beat eighth notes. Following this, we hear a section characterized by upward chordal octave skips where Stanford asks for reed stops to be added to the ensemble. One can imagine that these bold, ascending chords paint the text “Hosanna in the highest” of the Benedictus (Example 13). There then follows a development utilizing all the previous themes. The movement ends quietly with the opening melody. 

III. Allegro molto e ritmico

The third movement, in 3/4 time and overall in D major, is based on the tune Hanover, and although it is sixteen pages long, presents little in new or innovative ideas. It variously quotes parts of the tune and uses these for further development. There are many short imitative lines, loud emphatic chordal statements, as well as equally short melodic lines with varied accompaniment. The movement ends with a setting of Hanover in its entirety and a repeat of the last line, which adds an energetic close to this sonata.

Sonata Celtica No. 4, op. 153 

Composed 1918–1920, this sonata was dedicated “To my friend Harold Darke” (English organist-composer, 1888–1976). 

I. Allegro molto moderato

The first movement, in C minor and 3/4 time, shows the most Germanic influence of all of Stanford’s compositions; its contrapuntal nature brings to mind the first sonata by Josef Rheinberger (which in turn is related to the style of Bach). This reminds us that no composer lives in isolation or is ignorant of historical models.

After introducing the principal theme (Example 14), Stanford presents a simple melody in various voices, which alternates with the main subject (or parts thereof). This continues until the addition of modified thematic material in an eighth-note pattern leading to another setting of the melody. Following a key change to C major the melody is then enhanced by a running sixteenths pattern in the tenor (Example 15). After reiterating parts of the main theme, Stanford concludes the movement with a number of repeated chords over off-beat pedal notes, reinforcing the C-major ending. In just a few measures Stanford quickly moves from Germanic counterpoint (as in Rheinberger) to an English choral music style. 

II. Tema con variazioni

The second movement, in A-flat major and common time, is a set of variations, sometimes based on melody and other times on harmony. The written-out lower mordent in single notes, which opens the movement, is a motive that appears fairly often (Example 16). At the second variation, there is a time signature change to 6/4 with much use of the imitative lower-mordent motive. In the third variation (in common time), we hear a short reminder of the first movement, with Stanford inverting part of the opening subject (Example 17). This section also features the lower-mordent motive in diminution in the pedal. The movement then returns to material based on excerpts of the original theme at “Tempo della thema” of the fourth variation, which closes the movement quietly.

III. St. Patrick’s Breastplate

The third movement is mostly based on a hymn to the Trinity, a text ascribed to St. Patrick (372–466), translated by Cecil Frances Alexander, set to an ancient Irish hymn melody (St. Patrick) in an arrangement by Stanford. There are also references to the tune Gartan (known to many in North America as “Love came down at Christmas”). The movement begins with forte octaves sounding the first five notes of the hymn, then chordal support ending on a whole-note D-major chord (Example 18). This repeats sequentially a third higher and modifies the opening material, ending in C minor where it introduces the passacaglia unison theme in the pedal (Example 19). The accompaniment to the passacaglia subject appears three times, each time increasing in volume and number of voices. The melody then moves to the soprano, supported by chords and imitative counterpoint, slowly eliminating some voices to a quiet reduction to three-part harmony. Here Stanford introduces the tune Gartan (Example 20).  

Part of this new theme is then developed until the poco piu lento in 6/4 time, when we hear again a reminder of the passacaglia theme. This is accompanied by an accumulative two-note upward chordal leap, emphasizing the beginning of the chorale on the manual, which eventually is supported by rhythmic pedal in octaves. This section gradually becomes softer, utilizing a two-part passage in sixths leading to another passacaglia section, slightly modified (Example 21), which is repeated a number of times with different accompaniment. The following section leads to manuals and pedal imitating and reinforcing each other. After a pedal solo is the final statement of fragments of Gartan and the main theme, which get stronger in preparation for the final entry of the St. Patrick tune. 

Sonata No. 5, op. 159, Quasi una fantasia 

Dated May 1918 with a first printing in 1921, the whole of this sonata is based on Stanford’s own tune Engelberg, written in 1904, when he was in Switzerland. In contrast to the other four, this sonata is not in three distinct movements, but in cyclical form. All three of its sections are based on the same thematic material. 

The first section (Allegro moderato), in A major and common time, opens with the first line of the hymn in octaves (Example 22). It is followed immediately by similar statements using actual note values as well as diminution of the opening three notes of the tune in four parts. This continues with arpeggiated chords in sixteenths (again based on the first three notes) followed by a short chordal section finishing on the dominant. Here Stanford introduces a dotted-rhythm accompaniment (Example 23), which adds to and alternates with previous material until we hear the first line of the hymn as a solo line over triplet accompaniment. It then returns to chordal sections with the solo first line interspersed and modulated until it is stated hymn-like in homophonic style. Stanford then uses parts of the previous thematic material to prepare for the second section.

The second section (Allegretto non troppo mosso), in F# minor, is in 9/8 time and is based on the opening notes of the hymn in diminution (Example 24). A gentle, unison eighth-note passage leads to and serves as the accompaniment for a melody based on the (modified) second line of the hymn on the Swell manual. These different parts continue to interact with each other until the key change to G-flat major, where Stanford returns to the first line of the hymn in 3/4 time. The main subject then continues in the alto-tenor part with a new countersubject in the soprano. When the main theme returns to the soprano, it is undergirded by an eighth-note passage in the pedal before returning to F# minor and 9/8 time. Whereas in the opening section, the (modified) melodic fragment was in the tenor, accompanied by triplet eighths, the roles are here reversed, the melody being in the soprano with triplet eighths in the tenor. A chromatic rise in the soprano is followed by a reiteration of part of the second measure of the hymn-tune and with one last ascending chromatic scale following a descending scale in the pedal, concludes this second section on an A-major dominant-seventh chord.

The third section (Allegro), in 2/4 time and in A major, is a fugal treatment of the last two measures of the hymn tune (Example 25). Although this motive alternates with reminders of other parts of the hymn tune, it returns regularly, either in the tenor or soprano, and it is periodically accompanied by sixteenth-note passages. A modulatory bridge, which features the fugato motive in the pedal, leads to the first complete statement of the hymn melody in quarter notes in A-flat major, supported by staccato pedal eighth notes. After a return to A major, Stanford continues to develop the fugato motive sequentially and imitatively with interludes based on other parts of the tune. This development prepares for the entry of the “Allegro Moderato, ma più largamente” indication of the Engelberg tune in its entirety. The movement concludes after a number of repetitions of the last three notes of the tune, and after a climbing pedal passage, ends gloriously on the complete last line of the hymn, triple forte in A major. 

Some final thoughts

It appears from the foregoing analysis that sonatas one and five treat thematic material differently than do sonatas two through four. In sonata one, Stanford uses the same thematic material throughout the three movements; sonata five comprises one complete movement with three separate sections based on the same theme. Sonatas two through four consist of three separate movements, each with its own theme. In addition, their second movements are derived from a sacred Latin text or from a model from the Middle Ages.

Guelph, and Agincourt Collegiate Institute, Toronto, Ontario. In addition, he served as organist of St. John's Cathedral, Winnipeg, Manitoba, and St. George's Church, Guelph.
In 2003, Scarecrow Press published his book British Organ Music of the Twentieth Century. Over the last two and a half years he has been writing a monograph on the life and music of Kenneth Leighton, which will probably be finished sometime this year. Dr. Hardwick has written feature articles and numerous reviews of recordings and organ music for The Diapason.

Works of the 1970s

The title of the ten-minute The Second Service
style='font-weight:normal;font-style:normal'>, Op. 62 (1971) is puzzling, for
there is no known first service, unless one counts the Magnificat
style='font-style:normal'> and Nunc Dimittis
style='font-style:normal'> (Collegium Magdalenae Oxoniense) of 1959. If this is
the case, then surely opus 62 should be titled The Second Evening
Service, since it consists only of settings
of the two evening canticles. The title is an enigma, but it is clear that the
work is packed with attractive ideas that are convincingly developed. It is a
staple of cathedral and major churches’ repertories.

The soft, intimate opening for trebles and manuals-only
organ accompaniment is perhaps reminiscent of the beginning of Howells’
famous Magnificat in his Collegium
Regale (1945). Like Howells, Leighton leads
from the single boys’ line at the outset to polyphonic imitation, and the
vocal lines are, like the older man’s, slow, melismatic, and
plainsong-like. Leighton’s organ accompaniment of ostinato figures
involving cluster chords sets an intimate reflective tone that is very
appropriate in an “In memoriam” work.16 A lengthy section that
begins with “For he that is mighty” follows this. Here, the
organ’s accompaniment of short, dancing, staccatissimo motifs stand in
sharp contrast to the choir’s bold, more legato, chordal declamation of
the text. During the development in this section, there are instances of
Leighton’s characteristic writing in octaves for the whole choir, and he
also uses the two-part texture that he liked, with soprano and tenor sections
singing the same an octave apart, and altos and basses the other part in
octaves. A calmer mood is introduced at “He remembering his mercy,”
with the choir singing imitative counterpoint that is lyrical and legato, while
the organ, as a counterbalance, provides faster moving, syncopated, rhythmic
motifs that are frequently repeated before being relinquished. The setting of
“Glory be to the Father” contains strong reminiscences of the music
with which the movement began, music that has not been heard since the start.
Following the choir’s a cappella, hushed, mysterious close on C-sharp
major, the organ has the last word in a series of rich, intense repeated
dissonant chords alternating with C-sharp chords.

Marked Molto lento e sostenuto, the organ’s opening of the Nunc Dimittis
style='font-style:normal'> parallels the atmospheric, mysterious mood of the
start of the Magnificat. Again,
there are ostinato figures in the organ accompaniment, as in bars 10-13,
where the ostinato is in the manuals over a pedal point. (Example 6)

The choir, at first hesitant and somewhat aimless, gradually
begins to gather momentum towards the first of the movement’s two
climaxes, at “To be a light to lighten the Gentiles, and to be the glory
of thy people Israel.” In this passage, there is an increase of energy
and volume, and the voices sound more emphatic, due in part to their pairing
off--sopranos and tenors singing the same music in octaves, and,
simultaneously, altos and basses in octaves. The word “glory”
erupts joyfully in florid lines, followed by the voices coming together with
short repeated tones on an A major chords for “Israel.” (Example 7)
The Gloria Patri is reminiscent of the calm, mystical mood of the setting of
Gloria in the Magnificat, but is
shorter. Astringent harmony pervades the soft closing three-fold
“Amen,” but there is peace at the last when the voices finally
settle on an F major chord, and the organ echoes this tonality in a deep,
low-pitched, enchanting whisper.

The ten-minute Awake My Glory
style='font-weight:normal;font-style:normal'>, Op. 79 (1979), for soprano
soloist, SATB choir, and organ, is Leighton’s longest anthem. St.
Mary’s Episcopal Cathedral, Edinburgh, commissioned the work for a
concert in the Cathedral on October 3, 1979, as part of the institution’s
centenary celebrations.17 Since the composer was a member of the congregation
of St. Mary’s, this must have been a particularly special assignment for
him personally, and he responded with an inspired work that is replete with
felicitous eloquence and deeply moving mysticism. The first performance was
give by the Cathedral Choir under the composer’s direction and
accompanied on the organ by his friend, the cathedral’s organist, Dennis
Townhill.18

Awake My Glory falls
into the multi-section, through-composed form of which Leighton is so fond.
Though the excerpt he set to music from the poem On the Eternity of
the Supreme Being (1750) by Christopher
Smart contains no palpably religious references, one might safely infer that
the poet had God in mind in such phrases as “My fellow subjects of the
eternal King,” and “Confess his Presence and report his
praise.” There is also a spiritual ambiance running through the verse.
However, Smart is mainly concerned with depicting dawn and the awakening of the
animals in the countryside, which he does fluently and with great joy. Leighton
is, as usual, extremely responsive to the text, and writes music that is
appropriately graphic--sometimes quite madrigalian, in fact--and
atmospheric.

The composition opens with a lengthy organ prelude depicting
night. Low-pitched, rhythmically vague shifting chords become increasingly
active and loud. This musical impression of dawn’s initial glimmer ushers
in the first of a series of imitative contrapuntal choral sections that occupy
the first half of the work. In the initial polyphonic choral section, the
voices, like heraldic fanfare trumpeters, sing out the words “Awake my
glory” to a rapid ascending motif whose energetic rhythm and melodic
contour are quite Bachian. The voices and organ grow in emotional intensity,
dynamics, and contrapuntal activity, and finally coalesce in a last ecstatic
chordal presentation of “Awake my glory,” after which the music
gradually subsides and comes to a peaceful close.

The ensuing section, marked Molto allegro e leggiero
style='font-style:normal'>, is based on a languorous lyrical setting of the
words “Soon as the stately, night-exploding bird,” accompanied on
the organ by a very dry, bird-like, twittering that is developed along very
similar lines to the first section. Momentum increases little by little as the
poet declares, “List ye! how nature with ten thousand tongues, Begins the
glad thanksgiving,” and joyous choral melismas ring out on the word
“welcome” in the setting of the phrase “In lively lay, sings
welcome to the dawn.”

Various musical techniques are used to unify this work.
Cohesion is achieved through the use, in each of the major sections, of a
constantly evolving motif in the manuals part of the organ accompaniment. This
may be illustrated in a central section of the work, in which the ground swell
of bird song at the words “welcome to the dawn” is described. A
rhythmic eighth-note ostinato motif is introduced at bar 127 in the organ part.
(Example 8) This figure is repeated, and, with each repetition, is exposed to
variation treatment.

At last, the grand fortississimo apotheosis is reached in an
exuberant cacophony of vocal and organ sound at the words “My fellow
subjects of the eternal King, I gladly join your matins and with you Confess
his Presence and report his praise.” (Example 9) Returning to the opening
words of the anthem at the end also has a unifying effect. The choir sings with
pleasure mixed with overtones of sadness the text with which the work began,
“Awake my glory,” after which the organ, alone, cadences on a
simple C major chord.

Last Masses

Between 1972 and Leighton’s death in 1988, five more
Masses were written: The Sarum Mass, Op.
66 (1972), Mass for Ampleforth,
Op. 67 (1973), Missa Cornelia,
Op. 81 (1979), Missa Sancti Petri
(1987), and Missa Christi (1988).
All, except Mass for Ampleforth,
are English settings, and none is longer than fifteen minutes.

Missa Sancti Petri, for SATB choir, soprano, tenor, and bass soloists,
and organ, is a setting of words from the Church of England’s Anglican
Liturgy Rite B, and requires performers of a high caliber.

The Kyrie Eleison,
probably one of the composer’s most sublime religious pieces, resonates
with the human’s feelings of prayerfulness and utter awe as he requests
Christ’s mercy for his sins. Choral imitation and linear counterpoint
provide a dense eerie texture of complex, sonorous sound, that is constantly
sparking with flashes of transient dissonances, while the organ accompanies
with a foundation of supporting rhythmic motivic interjections and sustained
chords. As well as obeisance and reverential wonder, the mood is also one of
uneasiness, almost of agony, which is injected into the music partly through
the syncopations, including Scotch snap rhythms. The rhythmic freedom, together
with the gently undulating, lyrical vocal lines, is reminiscent of medieval
plainsong, especially the two highly melismatic solo tenor phrases, marked Più
calma, un po’ liberamente, that rise
and fall over sustained organ chords. The movement ends with references to the
melodic idea with which the movement began.

The Gloria in Excelsis Deo is through composed, and divided into clearly marked contrasting
sections. In order to create a sense of homogeneity in this long movement,
Leighton engineers a certain amount of unity by means of repeated bass patterns
in the organ accompaniment that frequently undergo metamorphosis, and are
usually accompaniments for passages of choral imitative counterpoint. For
instance, cohesion is provided in the brilliant, majestic, fortissimo opening
setting of the words “Glory to God on high,” by the organ’s
four-note, conjunct-motion, descending pattern that is never repeated at the
same pitch.

The setting of the next lines of text, beginning with
“We praise thee, we worship thee,” is similar, and equally
sparkling. The vivacious, fanfare-like, and highly ornamented choral melodic
idea is set in imitative contrapuntal style, supported by an organ part that
not only has a repeated, ever-changing descending pedal pattern, but also a
motif that is treated imitatively for the manuals. As the section draws to a
close, the densely textured counterpoint is reduced to a two-part, canon-like,
6/8, lilting stretto, between sopranos and tenors singing simultaneously the
same line in octaves, and the altos and basses singing the other line in
octaves, while the organ articulates bold cluster chords in syncopated duple
meter. The section ends with the voices and organ finally coalescing on a
sustained chord on the last word of “For thy great glory.”

“For thou only art holy” is set as a peaceful
and quiet a cappella two-voice canon for
sopranos. This brief moment of quiet reflection is short-lived, and the final
cataclysmic buildup to the Gloria’s end begins.

The surge to the final climax is inaugurated by the choir,
which sings out happily “Thou only O Christ, with the Holy Ghost art most
high” in imitative counterpoint, over an organ part that is reminiscent
of the accompaniment to the setting of “We praise thee, we worship
thee” earlier in the movement. Over heavy sustained organ cluster chords,
the choral “Amen” is set in complex imitative counterpoint, based
on a motif that opens with reminiscences of the idea with which the Kyrie
Eleison movement started.

There is a return to the swinging, 6/8 melodic idea heard
previously at the opening of the Gloria for the Sanctus section of the third
movement. The start consists of a brilliant choral passage in imitative
polyphonic style, with a flamboyant organ accompaniment. The cut and thrust of
this imitative linear counterpoint continues with a new melodic idea in the
setting of “Glory be to thee, O Lord most high.” While the voices
weave a tapestry of cogently argued counterpoint, the organ has a contrapuntal
part based on an oscillating sixteenth note figure. This energetic hustle and
bustle of choral and organ sound eventually comes to a halt on an extremely
acrid cluster chord, followed by a general pause.

The extreme mental anguish and pain in the setting of the
first part of the Agnus Dei, “O
lamb of God that takest away the sins of the world,” may call to mind the
morbidity of the composer’s Crucifixus Pro Nobis
style='font-style:normal'>, Op. 38 (1961), especially the “Christ in His
Passion” movement of that work. In any case, both the Agnus Dei
style='font-style:normal'> text from this Mass and the “Christ in His Passion”
words of the earlier composition, deal with Christ’s sacrifice on the
cross as the expiation for the Christians’ sins. However, the dissonances
in the Agnus Dei are even more
searingly acrid than in the cantata movement. In particular, one might note the
composer’s use of some of his favorite dissonances: simultaneous seconds,
and augmented fourths and diminished fifths. Anguish and pain felt by Christ on
the cross, and by grieving witnesses of his fate, are expressed in the angular,
awkward vocal lines, notably the ascending major and minor seventh leaps.
Clearly, this expresses gravely troubling feelings about human sin. The anxiety
expressed here perhaps also reflects a facet of the personality of the
composer, for, although usually a very positive kind of person, he suffered
extreme bouts of depression on several occasions during his life, and
throughout his career made excessively high demands of himself as a composer.19
Rejoicing, Leighton reaches the high ground of salvation and confidence in the
final section, “Grant us they peace.” Here, the dissonances of the
tenor solo are disturbing, but there is relative calm in the choral writing,
and, after the voices have finished, the organ’s final three sustained
chords of A-flat major, F major, and D major leave one calm and optimistic.
Leighton’s enduring affection for writing church music, and his
outstanding gifts in the field, are

reflected marvelously in these closing pages of movingly
beautiful, ethereal music.   

Paul Collins lectures in music at Mary Immaculate College, University of Limerick, Ireland. He is a graduate of Trinity College, Dublin, and holds a first class honors MA degree in Performance and Musicology (Organ) from the National University of Ireland, Maynooth. He is currently pursuing doctoral research at the music department of that university, where his supervisor is Professor Gerard Gillen. His dissertation will investigate the stylus phantasticus and its expression in north German organ music of the seventeenth century. Collins studied organ and harpsichord at the Dublin Institute of Technology Conservatory of Music and Drama, where he was awarded the Actors' Church Union Prize for advanced organ playing. He also holds a Fellowship Diploma in organ from Trinity College, London. He has performed in Ireland, the US, and Italy and is director of the Marmion Recital Series at Holy Cross Church in Dundrum, Dublin, where he is resident organist. In addition to his activities as musicologist and performer, he has composed works for keyboard, voice and chamber ensemble.

The music encyclopedist Johann Mattheson (1681-1764), in Part 1, chapter 10, of Der vollkommene Capellmeister (1739) mentions the names of  two Italian composers whom he believes to have been exquisite executants of the "fantastic" style, namely Claudio Merulo (1533-1604) and Michelangelo Rossi (1602-1656). Before offering his readers a thumbnail sketch of their work, Mattheson expresses the hope that neither of these "fleissige Fantasten," or "diligent fantasy makers" will ever have their names consigned to oblivion. In choosing this term to describe these Italians and also Johann Jakob Froberger (1616-1667), Mattheson highlights the inherent tension in the dual r?¥le of performer-composer, that of the "fantastic" spontaneous performer or improviser and the "diligent" composer who must commit structured ideas to paper.

We know, for example, that Rossi, like the later Nicolaus Bruhns (1665-1697) in northern Europe, was renowned as a virtuoso violinist in Rome, so much so that it was recorded in the register of his death in 1656. "Michelangelo il Violino," as he was referred to on occasion, even graced the performance of his single extant opera Erminia sul Giordano (1633) with his own playing, in which he took the part of Apollo in the last act. The Rome-based Jesuit polymath Athanasius Kircher (1602-1680), who first coined the term "fantasy style" or stylus phantasticus in his Musurgia Universalis (1650), was among those who witnessed Rossi's playing at first hand at a private concert given, in Kircher's own words, by "three incomparable musicians, whom I would not be wrong in describing as the Orpheuses of our age."1 The three musicians in question were Rossi, Salvator Mazzella and the lutenist Lelio Colista (1629-1680) and the concert featured music for two violins and the-orbo. Describing the experience in his Itinerarium exstaticum (1656), Kircher leaves us in no doubt that this recital, the exact date of which has been consigned to oblivion, left a deep impression on him. He writes:

. . . though I may avow that I have delved with some distinction in the field of Music I cannot recall having heard anything like it, as they mingled diatonic with chromatic harmonies, and these with enharmonic modulations: it is scarcely possible to express the degree to which the unaccustomed mixing of these styles aroused the emotions of the mind.2

This concert performed before a single auditor--Kircher himself--is significant in itself in terms of the musicians it brought together. Musicologists in recent times have regarded the perspectives of Kircher and Mattheson on the "fantastic" style as being, by and large, mutually exclusive, but it is interesting to note that Kircher chose a sinfonia for four lutes by Colista as one of his five examples of the stylus phantasticus, while Mattheson, eighty-nine years later, considered the works of Rossi--in this context the composer's fourteen toccatas--as examples of the fantastischer Styl. Of further interest is the fact that Mattheson, in his Capellmeister treatise (§92), also mentions the violin and the lute as two of the most appropriate instruments for the realization of this style.

The German theorist's biographical information is not always as accurate as one would wish, however and in the case of Rossi, he can state merely that the composer "lived around 1635, the time of [Giovanni Battista] Doni."3 If we wish to further understand Mattheson's enthusiasm for Rossi's toccatas we must consider these works in the light of the "rules" for would-be "fantasy makers" given by Mattheson in §93 and §94 of his tenth chapter "On the Style of Music." The fantastic style, according to Mattheson, is above all an improvisatory style, with the primary focus on the performer and his extemporary ability. This is underlined by the fact that Mattheson situates his discussion of the fantasy style within the broader context of the genus theatralis, or theatrical style. One is restricted in this a mente non a penna style ("improvised, not written down") only by harmonic considerations, Mattheson making the general comment that "order and constraint" are the antithesis of its aesthetic. The style is to be a vehicle for the spontaneous musical orator, who is exhorted by Mattheson to please, dazzle and astound his listeners. It is characterised by much freedom with respect to "beat and pitch," even though these, as Mattheson notes, may have previously been carefully committed to paper. The fantasist was to avoid developing a "regular" motive or melody and rather incorporate all sorts of strange musical detours and embellishments, the object of which were, to quote another of Mattheson's works, "the movement of the affections and the touching of the heart."4

How then, does a work like Rossi's Toccata prima (measures 1-8 of which are shown in Example 1) realise Mattheson's "rules"? The variety of styles encountered in this and other Rossi toccatas realise Mattheson's aesthetic of immediacy, in which a work's surface features are all-important. Rossi's multi-sectional pieces in the toccata genre constitute, in the words of Erich Valentin, a Mosaikform5, in which many musical patterns and procedures are juxtaposed to form a quasi-improvisatory whole. In the Toccata prima we can see the composer's penchant for distinct, non-interdependent sections, giving the impression of a constantly changing musical landscape in which no one idea is, to paraphrase Mattheson, properly "worked out." It is possible to divide the toccata into four main sections, namely measures 1-8, /9-22, 23-45, /46-53. After the typical chordal incipit, section one comprises an imitative-style passage based on an angular motive. Following this is a section that begins imitatively but quickly becomes much freer, with the introduction of a rising-scale figure in the left hand in measure 10 and the abrupt and almost arbitrary harmonic shift in measures 10-11 (Example 2). Such daring harmonic juxtapositions and rising-scale ideas in fast note values are most often associated with the free or "loosely pulsatile"6 sections of toccatas and in measures 15-16 the full rhetorical import of the section is most clearly captured in the dramatic drop in register from a≤ to d# (Example 3). After the cadence in measure 22 the third, fugato section begins. This is the most "clearly pulsatile"7 of the toccata's sections, there being no dissolution of the texture until measure 42. The fourth and final section, another imitative section, begins on the upbeat to measure 46 and here again there is a necessary constraint on pulse fluctuation.

Mattheson would clearly have been attracted to Rossi's work for many reasons. The division of the toccatas into discrete sections, with little recapitulation of previous material, affords the performer the opportunity to vary the pulse between and frequently even within sections, thus heightening the sense of drama. In the Toccata prima, with the exception of measures 23-42 and 46-52 where we find purely imitative writing, the term con discrezione could be used to describe the manner of playing throughout.8 The idea of not being tied to a pulse in the interest of expression had, of course, been discussed in Italian prefatory writings from the beginning of the seventeenth century, most notably in the preface to Le nuove musiche (1602) by Giulio Caccini (c1545-1618) and in Frescobaldi's preface to his first volume of toccatas (1615). Caccini's concept of sprezzatura, or "artful carelessness," despite its original association with vocal performance, can also be applied to keyboard music, while Frescobaldi's instruction to the player not to be subject to the beat ("non stare soggetto ?† battuta") has its roots in the affetti of the madrigal. To return to Mattheson, we can easily imagine the German theorist praising the Toccata prima of Rossi for its lack of "a regular principal motif and melody" as well as for its textural variety, with two-, three- and four-part writing throughout. Furthermore, he would have favored Rossi's arresting harmonic shifts in measures 7-8 and 10-11, with their potential to "astonish" the listener. Mention of the keyboard works of Rossi in the eleven-paragraph section devoted to a discussion of the fantastischer Styl in Der vollkommene Capellmeister is, therefore, wholly appropriate, given the dramatic nature of the Italian composer's toccatas. These "wordless madrigals" aptly illustrate Mattheson's concept of the stylus phantasticus, with its clear focus on histrionics.

Rossi's importance in the context of a discussion of the stylus phantasticus in the north German organ school is borne out on two main fronts. Firstly, research carried out by Alexander Silbiger and published in 1983 has suggested that we should view Rossi as a contemporary rival of Frescobaldi, rather than as a mere "emulator of the older master."9 The continued esteem in which Rossi's volume of Toccate e Correnti was held is evidenced by the fact that after its initial appearance, probably in the early 1630s, at least three further editions appeared over the next thirty years. Thus, by the beginning of the 1640s in Italy, Rossi's name as a composer of keyboard music was second only to that of Frescobaldi. It seems more than likely that if the older composer's publications were in circulation in the north German region during the seventeenth century that Rossi's keyboard music would have been known there also. Secondly, we know that one of the main bearers of Italian keyboard music to northern Europe, Froberger, was in Rome during the years 1637-1640/1 and in addition to his student-master relationship with Frescobaldi would undoubtedly have had some links with Rossi. Even more than Johann Kaspar Kerll (1627-1693) and Johann Philipp Krieger (1649-1725), two other prominent south German musicians who studied in Italy during the seventeenth century, Froberger was to influence free keyboard writing in north Germany.

As noted earlier, Mattheson praises Froberger as a "diligent fantasy maker" in his Capellmeister treatise, remarking that the Stuttgart-born composer "did much especially in this style of writing."10 He quotes what he believes to be the incipits of two works by Froberger for those of his readers who need written examples of pieces in the fantasy style. Neither of these two incipits appears, however, among Froberger's works. Mattheson's first example, the "beginning of a toccata by Froberger," has been shown by Kerala Snyder to be the opening three bars of Buxtehude's Phrygian praeludium BuxWV 152, as transmitted by the manuscript "E.B.-1688" held at Yale University.11 The second incipit, entitled "beginning of a fantasy by the same person," features a single rhapsodic melodic line as in Mattheson's first example. This, likewise, could not come from the toccatas or fantasias of Froberger, as the former always commence with a sustained chord and the latter with a line in long note values. It is possible, given the similarity of the two incipits, that the second example also originated in the north German region. Of further interest is the fact that the opening motif of the Buxtehude example also appears at the start of Froberger's Capriccio, FbWV 502, from the composer's Libro di Capricci e Ricercate of c1658.12 While it is impossible to ascertain whether or not the Phrygian praeludium of  Buxtehude was influenced by Froberger's capriccio, we have evidence to suggest that north German composers wrote parodies on Italianate works composed by south Germans. For example, Friedrich W. Riedel has pointed to the similarity between a fuga contained in Yale University New Haven manuscript LM 5056 (ascribed in that source to "P. Heidorn ?¢ Crempe") and Kerll's Canzona III.13

Apart from the existence of north German parodies on south German, Italian-influenced works, we know that one important conduit for the transmission of Italian influence to the north German region during the second half of the seventeenth century was the Thuringian-born organist and composer Matthias Weckmann (c1616-1674). Weckmann, appointed organist of the Jacobikirche in Hamburg in 1655 was an admirer of Froberger's music and gained a legendary reputation as both a composer and virtuoso performer. Educated in Dresden and Hamburg, Weckmann studied with, among others, Heinrich Sch?ºtz (1585-1672) and Jacob Praetorius II (1586-1651). While he was most probably introduced to Italian music by Sch?ºtz in Dresden, his later friendship with Froberger was undoubtedly an important factor in his becoming acquainted with Italian keyboard music. The bold and imaginative writing that characterizes Froberger's toccatas is found in Weckmann's works in the same genre, which were probably intended for harpsichord performance. These are among the most remarkable free works to come from seventeenth-century north Germany.

A brief comparison between compositional procedures in the toccatas of Froberger and Weckmann may serve to highlight their similarities. Both composers wrote pieces in each of the two toccata "formats" common in Italy during the seventeenth century, i.e., toccatas in free style throughout and those that contain distinct imitative sections in canzona style. If we examine Froberger's Toccata IV, FbWV104, from the Libro Secondo of 1649 we find an example of the latter toccata type, with free sections framing the fugal material. This work is in four sections (in Rampe's 1993 edition, measures 1-8; 9-15; 16-22; 23-29), section three being a re-working of the preceding fugal material in triple time. The opening "free" section  falls into two halves: measures 1-4 and 5-8 (Example 4). In the first subsection we hear a stepwise rising-fourth idea followed by a falling fourth and thirty-second-note figure. These together comprise the raw material from which this initial eight-measure section is fashioned. The texture of the first four bars has been aptly described by John Butt as that of "imitative homophony,"14 while in the second subsection the imitation (based on the rising fourth idea) and harmonic rhythm become more regular. The section as a whole illustrates Froberger's delight in obfuscating the listener with regard to the "free" and the fugal, in this case within the context of an "improvisatory" section. The two fugal sections that follow form the core of the toccata and each concludes with free material that alludes to the opening section (Examples 5a and 5b). From measure 23 to the end of the work further allusions, this time to material from both free and fugal sections, are heard. The resulting fusion of previously disparate elements achieves a resolution of the work's contrasting free and fugal material, culminating in a cascade of sixteenth-note motion in both hands.

Weckmann's compositional strategy in his Toccata vel praeludium Primi Toni is similar to that in Froberger's toccata. This Weckmann toccata is one of six works in the genre to appear in the 1991 Siegbert Rampe edition of the composer's free keyboard works. Here again we can break the work into four sections: an opening free section (ms.1-10); a fugal section (ms.10-20); a tripla section featuring a variant of the fugal theme (ms.21-27) and a concluding free section (ms.28-40). As in the Froberger toccata, imitation features much throughout the opening section, Weckmann also making use of an up-beat suspirans figure (Example 6). In measure 2, we again hear a stepwise rising fourth idea followed by a downward leap of a fourth, while in the tripla section  (ms. 24-25) and concluding free section, rising and falling fourths constitute much of the motivic fabric. Measures 30-33, in particular, feature figuration very similar to that heard in the second half of Froberger's opening free section (Example 7; cf. Example 4). Common to both pieces also is an unexpected twist to the minor, Froberger, for example, offering the listener what Mattheson might have considered a delightful instance of musical deception at the end of his toccata, where a flattened e# colors the final cadence in C major.

Weckmann's toccata in A minor represents one of the seventeenth-century's most "fantastic" works. It is an example of the toccata type that consisted entirely of free material. During the course of its 78 measures we encounter a kaleidoscopic variety of moods and figuration, yielding a work full of drama and contrasting Affekten. We can see from the outset that this work perfectly fulfils Mattheson's "rules" governing the fantastic style, with its "ingenious turns and embellishments . . . without close observation of the beat . . . without a regular principal motif and melody . . . sometimes fast sometimes slow . . . yet not without a view to pleasing, to dazzling and to astounding" (§92). Weckmann, in short, seeks to delight his listener throughout with the element of surprise and focuses on the toccata as a vehicle for demonstrating performance skill. Chordal passages such as those in measures 8-11, 14-20 and 34-38 alternate with passages featuring scurrying sixteenth notes that are sometimes broken off in mid-flight. These latter abruptio gestures, found in measures 4, 13 and 24, are also part of the musical and rhetorical vocabulary of the composer's toccata in D minor,15 which, again, is in free style throughout. The employment of this rhetorical device in these works was, no doubt, inspired by Froberger's use of similar dramatic gestures in his toccatas (e.g., the end of Toccata III in G, FbWV 103).

One would expect Weckmann's contemporary, Franz Tunder (1614-1667), to have been a key influence on the compositional style of Dieterich Buxtehude (1637-1707), given that Tunder was the younger composer's predecessor at L?ºbeck's Marienkirche. While Tunder's large-scale chorale fantasias are probably the better known of his fifteen surviving works for organ, his four complete praeludia constitute a significant development of the hitherto short, undemonstrative praeambula of Scheidemann. Each of these four, more extrovert Tunder praeludia begins with a monodic flourish, a new textural device in north German organ music. The concluding free sections of the same works also feature animated writing. Such beginnings and endings sparkle with the brilliance and spontaneity that Mattheson associated with the fantasy style and like similar passages in works by Buxtehude and other later north German composers, would appear to have their origin in improvisational practice. In addition to Tunder's four complete praeludia, there exists a five-and-a-half-measure fragment of a fifth praeludium by the composer, which is of particular interest (Example 8). Here we see perhaps the most striking passage in all of Tunder's praeludia, one that appears to herald a new stylistic departure. This fragment resembles very closely the energetic passages that typically open Buxtehude's works in the same genre. Equally dramatic double flourishes, for example, are heard at the outset of the praeludia in D minor, BuxWV 140 and G minor, BuxWV 148, the latter opening being perhaps the closest Buxtehudian parallel to Tunder's fragment (Example 9).

With the establishment of his "Stock Exchange" concerts around 1646, Tunder began to provide the L?ºbeck merchants with musical entertainment when they gathered at the Marienkirche before the opening of the outdoor Stock Exchange. Central to these concerts, no doubt, was Tunder's playing of his own works, probably in their nascent, improvised form. Just as a praeambulum or praeludium had been used as introductory service music, so the performance of such works at the beginning of one of these concerts would have been entirely appropriate. Tunder can be credited, therefore, with the raising of the praeludium genre to the level of art music, liberating it from its hitherto purely liturgical function.

Given the opportunity to develop Tunder's Marienkirche concert series with his Abendmusiken, it comes as no surprise that Buxtehude, more than any other composer of the period, developed the praeludium into a dramatic monolith. In so doing, he put the genre on an equal footing with chorale-based works, which had been greater in importance during the first half of the seventeenth century. Without doubt, Buxtehude was the most "diligent fantasy maker" of the north German Baroque. Both free and chorale-based organ works share in this accolade, as do the composer's sonatas, which, following the principle of contrasting sections, have formal structures similar to those of his twenty-two pedaliter praeludia. The praeludia may be commented upon from a variety of perspectives, as Kerala Snyder has shown,16 and despite its limited application, Mattheson's concept of the stylus phantasticus constitutes one "lens" through which we can view these works. The exuberance, drama and virtuosity associated with the free sections, as well as the constantly shifting textures, square perfectly with Mattheson's description of the style. Indeed those praeludia that favor free writing above fugal sections, like the F-sharp minor, BuxWV 146 and D major, BuxWV 139 exhibit Mattheson's concept most successfully. As much has been written about the "fantastic" nature of Buxtehude's F-sharp minor praeludium, a comment on the D major work as an expression of Mattheson's stylus phantasticus concept is merited. Containing only one fugue lasting 35 measures, BuxWV 139 has substantial opening and closing free sections of 20 and 41 measures respectively. Like the praeludium in F sharp minor, with its famous "recitative," the D major praeludium contains a decorated chordal interlude (measures 87-94) that introduces much harmonic color (Example 10). Other features shared by these two praeludia include the motoristic rhythms and an extended sequential passage, while the Peroratio of the D major work offers an example of the abruptio gesture (measure 103) typical of many of the praeludia which have a closing free section (Example 11).

Buxtehude's praeludia reveal both a skilled composer and an accomplished performer at work and could be said to represent a synthesis of the ideas of both Kircher and Mattheson regarding the "fantastic style." Most discussions of the concept of stylus phantasticus in relation to the composer's free organ works have nevertheless focused on Mattheson's description of the style in order to account for the inherent drama of these works. By exploring a middle way, however, a concept of "fantastic" that embraces Buxtehude the composer, skilled in learned counterpoint, and Buxtehude the accomplished performer, we can, perhaps, reconcile two concepts with very different emphases in one musical persona. Such a meeting of opposites can only do justice to the composer's multi-faceted praeludia.

It is also possible to discuss the "fantastic" elements in the free works of Buxtehude and other north German composers within the broader context of rhetorical analysis. According to the latter perspective, the late seventeenth-century north German praeludium may be regarded as a tightly organised work and an accomplished example of musical rhetoric in its fulfilment of even the minimal demands of a classical dispositio. An analytical approach to praeludia of the late seventeenth century based on one or more concepts of the stylus phantasticus need not omit a consideration of the structural sophistication and eloquent rhetoric that such works exhibit. The two approaches, that of a stylus phantasticus perspective and one based on rhetorical analysis, are complementary, if individually subjective and limited in their application. An analysis of, for example, Buxtehude's praeludia from the perspective of the stylus phantasticus is impoverished if it fails to draw on musical-rhetorical concepts and figures, using the template of rhetorical analysis to highlight the significance of each of the various sections within the context of a complete praeludium. A rhetorical analysis, on the other hand, which omits a consideration of the chameleon-like concept of stylus phantasticus is in danger of offering an assumed compositional "recipe," or to quote Mattheson, albeit out of context, "something . . . inflexible."17 Both forms of analysis focus on a work in relation to how it "speaks" to the listener, and on the composer's attempts to transform what is, in the case of a praeludium, wordless music into dramatic speech. While the alternating textures of a Buxtehude praeludium may indeed suggest a careful sequence reflecting the traditional parts of a classical oration (i.e., Exordium, Narratio, Confirmatio and Peroratio), we must be wary of assuming that the achievement of such a rhetorical sequence was foremost in the composer's mind. We are not on safe ground if, with reference only to Mattheson's concept, we try to play down the importance of the stylus phantasticus in such free works.

This article has concerned itself with following what could be termed the "fantastic thread" in the toccata genre from Italy, the origin of "diligent fantasy making" for Mattheson, through south Germany to northern Europe. We could say that the following of this thread to north Germany parallels an investigation of the progress of Italian influence in that region during the latter half of the seventeenth century.