Handel and the English

Today I am wildly excited to welcome Sheena Vernon to the salon. Sheena is the author of the wonderful book, Messiah. Love, music and malice at a time of Handel, and is joining us to discuss the composer's life and work in England!

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Handel and the English

Handel was a Saxon yet his home for forty five years (1714-59) was London. He invented a new genre of music, the English dramatic oratorio, yet he came to fame as the composer of Italian opera. He made London the musical capital of Europe with musicians and singers that were almost exclusively foreign. And to complete the conundrum, he created a brand, headed by monarchs who originated from Hanover, that became the epitome of Britishness.

Yes, George Frideric was a mass of wonderful contradictions. Which is possibly why he and the British public had their ups and downs. In fact his ups and downs with pretty much everybody who was anybody were legendary; he was, after all, a ‘creative’ and therefore difficult at times to work with. His Italian singers found him an insufferable dictator. Which is why, in 1733, most of them walked out on him and joined a rival opera company. English composers like Thomas Arne resented the long shadow he cast, getting every commission for public occasions like royal marriages, deaths and coronations. The news sheets liked to deride the Italian Opera for promoting effeminacy and popery and aimed their most excoriating prose at its director, Handel, for encouraging Jonny Eunuch to caper round the stage shrieking in a language that no-one understood. The other accusation was that he was typically German, telling the English what their taste in music should be.

At one stage Handel left London, unable to take the barracking of the tabloids, the tantrums of his singers, and the hissing and growling of London’s beau monde who had divided into factions when the new opera company was set up as a rival to his. In the winter of 1741 he stomped off to Dublin for ten months and it was there that he premiered his greatest oratorio, The Messiah. During the years leading up to this rupture Handel not only endured the media brickbats, factionalism and peer group resentment just mentioned but had come close to bankruptcy, due to audiences being split across two opera companies.

George Frideric Handel by Balthasar Denner, 1726-28 

So why, you might be asking, did Handel make London his home and in 1727 become a naturalised citizen? Why didn’t he move to another Protestant court, in the Netherlands, maybe or Austria, Prussia, and even Hanover where he had once worked? The answer lies with what London had to offer musicians at the time. I think that the close group of sponsors who became his friends also played a part as well as the patronage of the royal family. Finally, Handel eventually hit on a formula which the public loved: he started to compose works in English and to rely on English singers. By the time of his death his airs were being played on every parade ground, in the pleasure gardens of Vauxhall, in the concert halls of provincial cities, and at the ceremonies that trumpeted British triumphs - the Treaty of Utrecht, the Treaty of Aix la Chapelle, the victory at Culloden.

The first half of the eighteenth century saw London became capitalistic, colonial and cosmopolitan (though none of those words existed). The fact that George 1st couldn’t speak English was, for English parliamentarians of the time, part of his charm; they wanted a figurehead who brought stability, they didn’t want a Stuart who believed he had divine rights or who would meddle in running the country. Nowhere else in Europe was there the same libertarian approach to governance that allowed new wealth to be created from trade and finance. For twenty five years Britain made money rather than war. When this period of peace ended in 1739 it was in order to fight the Spanish for trade dominance in the West Indies. 

Handel, being a businessman and entrepreneur, thrived in this ruthless, often brutal and always robust environment even though he was bruised at times. Unlike Mozart, when he died in 1759 he was well-off because there were opportunities to make money as a musician in London which did not exist elsewhere (this was the principal reason why London attracted so many foreign musicians); there were also new audiences from among the mercantile classes and this broke the grip of aristocratic patronage on the arts. 

An additional advantage for Handel was his relationship with the House of Hanover. King George ll was in all senses a philistine, but his father genuinely loved Italian opera and George ll’s spouse, Caroline, and her two eldest daughters - all three of the same Lutheran stock as the composer - were his friends. Handel’s friendship circles were small and tight but very loyal; his right hand man was a fellow Saxon, Johann Christophe Schmidt, but he also moved in several English circles, notably those round Lord Shrewsbury and his near neighbour Mrs Delaney, née Pendarves. When I read about his relations with the British musical and church establishment, I wonder sometimes if Handel wasn’t borderline Aspergers. But the existence of close friends suggests someone capable of considerable, albeit a crusty, charm, and his ongoing popularity with royalty, despite the fact that so many of them loathed each other, is testimony to his diplomatic skills. 

Finally, Handel and the British grew to love one another. After 1741 Handel composed no more Italian operas, focusing instead on English oratorios. Some say this was merely because the opera was just too uneconomic, but maybe Handel himself saw the need to evolve as a musician. Above all of this, he became an institution; the Hallelujah chorus, Zadock the Priest, the water music and the fireworks music are only the tip of a huge Handelian iceberg that defined public life, that made him, truly, one of us.

Sheena Vernon is author of the novel ‘Messiah. Love, music and malice at a time of Handel,’ which is available in paperback, as an ebook or in audio. http://tinyurl.com/povxsus

@BigHandelfan

www.dontyoulovetheeighteenthcentury.com  http://ow.ly/Ioxnv

Written content of this post copyright © Sheena Vernon, 2015.

Marie Sallé in London

It is an absolute pleasure to welcome Corrina Connor to the salon again; following her look at les caractères de la dans, she shares the tale of famed ballet dancer, Marie Sallé!

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‘To grace learned works and crown them with glory’

 Marie Sallé in London

The French ballet dancer, Marie Sallé (1707-1756), was still a child when she made her first appearance on stage in London during the 1716-1717 season at the Lincoln’s Inn Fields theatre. Subsequently, she returned to Lincoln’s Inn Fields in 1725-27, and 1730-31.  Sallé managed to combine these guest appearances in London with her career at the Paris Opéra, where she joined the ballet troupe in 1727, with more visits London for performances during the 1730-31 season at Lincoln’s Inn and 1734-35 season at the Covent Garden Theatre when she danced in several productions of Handel’s operas. These early examples of what would now be called ‘artistic residencies’ are just one example of what continues to make the beautiful and enigmatic Sallé remarkable as a dancer and as a woman. It was not unusual for female performers, particularly opera singers who could obviously sing in Italian opera anywhere where it was performed – London, Venice, or in the court theatres of German principalities – to have international careers, but it was unusual for a female ballet dancer to work in the same way.  

Marie Sallé

In November 1734 Sallé appeared in the dance sequences that Handel composed for her and a small company of dancers in his ‘Scottish’ opera, Ariodante. This was the first new work he wrote for his inaugural season at the Covent Garden Theatre, and the cast of Ariodante formed an exciting international group: the castrato Giovani Carestini sang the role of Ariodante (‘a vassal prince’), whilst Maria Strada del Pó took the role of Ginevra (daughter of the King of Scotland).  A few months later, in April 1735, the same two singers appeared in another of Handel’s new operas, Alcina, with Maria Strada as the malign yet tragic sorceress Alcina, and Carestini as her beloved Ruggerio. Again, Sallé led the dancers music in Handel composed especially for them (or ‘recycled’ from Ariodante);  all the dance music is and vital, a synthesis of French grace and Italian zest, and the sequences in Act II which include the ‘Entrée des songes agréables’ and ‘Entrée des songes funestes are particularly beautiful. Here Handel’s music is especially exquisite and dramatic by turns, demonstrating his capacity for creating wordless eloquence.

Maria Strada

The inclusion of special dance music in Ariodante and Alcina was not only an aesthetic delight for the audience, but also a rather cynical move for Handel.  His opera company, based at Covent Garden, was in direct competition with the rival ‘Opera of the Nobility’ which Frederick, Prince Wales, and a coterie of other nobles established and funded. In the end, both companies were unsustainable, but in his 1734-35 season, Handel was determined to be a success, and he needed every possible novelty (outstanding singers, extravagant staging, and French dancers) to attract audiences. The Opera of the Nobility’s greatest draw card was the castrato Farinelli, whose renown eclipsed that of Senesino (Francesco Bernardi from Sienna, who had formerly worked for Handel, but then defected to the Opera of the Nobility), and Carestini. 

For the opening of the 1734-35 season, Handel also revived his 1712 pastoral opera Il pastor fido, having written an allegorical prologue Terpsichore for it. This was partly a nod towards the French practice of prefacing their tragédies lyrique with prologues or divertissements, and Handel’s Terpsichore provides a beautiful and eloquent introduction to Il pastor fido. In Terpsichore Maria Strada del Pó as Erato, the muse of song and poetry, calls upon Apollo (Carestini) – the god of poetry, music, truth, and light – to descend from the heavens and bestow his benevolence (and that of the other deities and muses) upon Il pastor fido.  Sallé’s role in this prologue was central. Once Apollo arrives, and all have praised the union of words and music, he enquires ‘Mà, Terpsicore snella dov’è? perchè non vien a misurar co’ passi suoi loquaci le tue note vivaci?’ (‘But, graceful Terpsichore, where is she? Why does she not come to match, with her eloquent steps, your lively notes?’)  From the point at which Sallé appears, the rest of the text is one of praise for the eloquence of dance and Apollo and Erato sing of how it is dance which can best express the joy and pain of love:

Apollo Pingi i trasporti d'un amator, che si promette l’amato ben.	Apollo Depict the rapture of a lover, when the beloved loves in return.
Erato La speme e cura d’un fido amor, che la ferita prova nel sen.	Erato The hopes and fears of a faithful lover, as their wounds he feels in the heart.
Apollo & Erato Tuoi passi son dardi, col mezzo de’ sguardi discendono al seno, e piagano il cor. Ma prova diletto ferito anche il petto, perchè sente appieno i vezzi d’amor.	Apollo & Erato Your steps are darts, which, by means of the eyes, descend to the breast and wound the heart. But the heart finds  the wound pleasing, for through it, it feels fully the sweetness of love.

Carestini

Despite Sallé’s expertise in depicting the delights and sorrows of love through dance, her own life off-stage remains mysterious. The reputation of women who ‘exposed’ themselves to the public gaze on stage was of course questionable, as it was a contravention of the modesty, discretion, and chastity which were the ideals of decorous eighteenth-century womanhood. Furthermore, Sallé appeared on stage in daring costumes, and disdained the masks with which female dancers had formerly carried and worn. In London in 1734 Sallé danced the role of Galatea in the ballet-pantomime Pigmalion wearing a costume of alarming naturalism: she appeared on stage ‘without a pannier, without a skirt, with her hair all dishevelled, and no ornament on her head; dressed neither in a corset nor a petticoat, but in a simple muslin robe, arranged as a close fitting drapery, in the manner of a Greek statue.’ In Handel’s Alcina the following year, Sallé appeared as Cupid, and chose – authentically enough – to dance in ‘male attire’, which apparently ‘suited her very ill and was … the cause of her disgrace.’ There was, in reality, no disgrace, as Sallé, who began her professional life when she was still a child, must have been acutely aware of the association between professional dancers and prostitution and thus she endeavoured to develop a public persona that was beyond reproach. As a dancer she specialised in performing as an allegorical representation of Virtue, and Nicholas Lancret painted her in 1732 in the role of chaste Diana. In 1730, the French writer Louis de Boissy (1694-1758) immortalised Sallé in verses which emphasise her moral character:

‘For a decent and noble air,

A light and elegant dance style,

For a decent and noble air,

[Salle] is a charming example.

A prodigy of our age,

She is both witty and sage:

Applaud her well!

Virtue, herself,

Dances at the Opéra.’

However, Sallé’s efforts to counter the reputation of female dancers for lasciviousness, and her resistance to male attention, made her the subject of other rumours. In January 1737, London’s Universal Spectator and Weekly Journal published a story claiming that a young British nobleman (possibly Lord Cadogan) had succeeded in seducing Marie Sallé. Knowing her fabled ‘uncommon Coldness and Indifference to the Male Sex’, the young man dressed as a woman, paid her court and was “permitted to take Part of her Bed.’ The article went on to say that the dancer was “perfectly well reconciled to the Cheat”, and that this encounter with British aristocratic masculinity, would alter her rumoured preference for women. Gossip that Sallé had a female lover, a dancer called Manon Grognet, had circulated since 1735, but there was no material proof, and Sallé herself remained aloof from these stories.  Instead, she continued to devote herself to her art, earning the nickname ‘La Vestale’ in a reference to the inviolable and independent Vestal Virgins of Ancient Rome. 

Now, all that remains of the ‘tender, voluptuous, but always modest’ Sallé are a few paintings and engravings, the verses of Voltaire, de Boissy and other admirers, and the recollections of witnesses who may or may not be reliable. Before the age of photography and film, the artistry of the dancer was entirely ephemeral: even though we know the dances she performed, and may even have records of their choreography, the actual physical presence and unique style of Marie Sallé and her colleagues are lost forever. Thanks to the efforts of scholars, we now know more about Sallé’s career and achievements as a performer, choreographer, dance reformer, and teacher. However, the most tangible ‘living’ record of Sallé’s artistry exists in the music written for her to dance, and she can still live through the mesmerizing Chaconne of Rameau’s Dardanus, or in the Sarabande and Gigue of Handel’s Terpsichore. 

1 Quotation from Vol. 4 of Noverre’s Oeuvres, Letter 14, p. 77, reproduced in Sarah McCleave’s ‘Marie Sallé, a Wise Professional Woman of Influence’, Women’s Work: Making Dance in Europe before 1800, ed. L. Matluck Brookes, (Madison: University of Wisconsin Press, 2007),  p. 166

2 Quotation from Mecure de France, April 1734, reproduced in McCleave (2007), p. 166

3 Quotation reproduced in McCleave (2007), p. 162

4  McCleave (2007), p. 165

5  McCleave (2007), p. 163

About the Author 

Corrina is currently a PhD student at Oxford Brookes University, where she is researching the ways in which Johann Strauss's operetta Die Fledermaus articulates aspects of masculinity. She writes programme notes for a number of music venues, including the Spitalfields Festival and she has contributed programme notes on a range of eighteenth-century repertoire to the London Handel Festival since 2011. As a musician, Corrina regularly plays the music that Handel wrote in London, and she has presented research papers at the Music in Eighteenth-Century Britain Conference and the annual British Society for Eighteenth-Century Studies Conference.

https://corrinaconnor.wordpress.com/

@corrinacellist

Written content of this post copyright © Corrina Connor, 2015.

Les Caractères de la Danse

It is an absolute pleasure to welcome Corrina Connor to the salon today, with a look at les caractères de la dans; join her next week for part two!

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Les caractères de la danse

Part I.

In the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, ballet was an essential element in French opera, and when Louis XIV (himself a skilled dancer) founded the Académie Royale de Danse in 1661, it paved the way for dance to become professionalized. We now tend to associate great dancing with the French who codified ballet steps and choreography, but it fact the Italians were also highly skilled and expressive dancers: the man we know as Jean Baptiste Lully – the great composer of Louis XIV’s court – was born in Florence as Giovanni Battista Lulli, and when he arrived in France (and his arrival in France is another fascinating story), it was his dancing that caught the King’s attention. 

Initially the ballet troupe at the Opéra in Paris was all-male, and men danced female roles: Le triomphe de l’Amour by Lully was one of the first ballets de cour  in which women performed when it opened at the Opéra in 1681, and over the next two decades, men still danced female roles. However, by 1704 it seems that the troupe consisted of eleven men and ten women. Surviving choreography shows that it was men who performed the most virtuosic dances, but demands were also made upon the women in the troupe.  While today we place greatest value upon the technical virtuosity and physical expressivity of ballet dancers, in the early eighteenth century it was the overall construction of each dance – the complexity of patterns formed by the dancers on the stage – which was also very important to choreographers and connoisseurs.  The ballet was a crucial element in the tragédie en musique – the operatic form in which Lully excelled – with dancers appearing for set instrumental numbers (the minuet, the passepied, the gavotte, etc), or occasionally between sections of a chorus or air. The inclusion of ballet here was not just to divert the audience with some athletic distraction: it added to the drama by reinforcing important aspects of the story, or by increasing the ‘affect’ of joyous or sorrowful moments. However, ballet was not an independent art form, and dancers did not have quite the same ‘star’ recognition as some of the singers, despite the fact that they were extremely talented artists who sometimes took the stage solo.  Here you can see the complexity of these dances in a reconstruction of a Passacaille from Lully’s Armide, danced by Catherine Turocy.  

Jean-Féry Rebel: drawing by Antoine Watteau, 

Musée Magnin, Dijon (France)

However, a group of three exquisite women dancers wanted ballet to evolve as an independent art form, in which dance told a story, rather than being a part of the tragédie en musique. One of the first composers to write dance music for the new form of ballet d’action was Jean Férey Rebel (1666-1747). This Parisian musician was born into a family of professional musicians, and was a pupil of Lully. Rebel gained employment at the Opéra sometime before 1700, and later joined the 24 Violons du Roi in 1705, before attaining the status of chamber composer to the king and musician of the Chapelle Royale. His close involvement with instrumental music made Rebel primarily a composer of secular music: he wrote many imaginative and exquisite sonatas, including a divine tribute to his teacher and mentor in Le tombeau de Monsieur de Lully. However, what is most remarkable about Rebel was his innovation of writing ballet music that was independent of larger musical works. The ballet d’action allowed Rebel to write suites of music simply as a showcase for skilled dancers; the sequence of dance types, keys, and musical character allowed the music to have its own narrative impetus. 

Rebel went on to write a series of ballets, including Caprice (1711), Les caractères de la danse (1715), Le Terpsichore (1720), Les plaisirs champêtre (1724), Fantaisie (1729), and Les élémens (1737).  Of these pieces it is Les caractères de la danse which interests us most. The work is through-composed, so there are no pauses between the sequence of sections, which runs: Prelude: Doux – Courante – Menuet – Chaconne – Sarabande – Gigue – Rigaudon – Passepied – Gavotte – Sonate – Loure – Musette – Sonate.  Rebel’s music is extraordinary: sometimes tender and sweet, sometimes intensely sensual, and sometimes histrionically dramatic (especially the final ‘Sonate’), Rebel really gave his dancers something to get their teeth into.  The narrative is not a particularly dramatic one, but presents to the audience a series of lovers in varying moods; the execution of each dance should inspire the audience to reflect on the many facets of love, each of which is an essence in the dances.

Mademoiselle Prévost as a Bacchante by Jean Raoux, c. 1723, Musée des Beaux-Arts de Tours

One of the first dancers to perform in Les caractères de la danse was Françoise Prévost (1680-1741), and two of her most remarkable successors were Marie Sallé (1707-1756) and Marie-Anne Cupis de Camargo (1710-1770). These women were the three most famous and admired dancers of their age. Rebel’s imaginative music allowed each characteristic French dance to shine as an independent piece of art: this fusion of music and dance increased the prestige of the dancers with opportunities for expressive performance. Each woman had a different special ability: for Carmargo it was the entrechat and cabriole – jumping steps which require great agility – while Prévost (who gave the first performance in 1715) epitomised the most ideal classicism and grace required of French dance. Sallé combined outstanding technique with great dramatic flair, and adept as a tragedienne she brought new emotional depth to dance. The rivalry between Carmago and Sallé inspired Voltaire to express his admiration in verse: ‘Ah, Camargo how brilliant you are! / But, great gods, how ravishing is Sallé! / How light your steps, but how sweet are hers! / You are fresh, she is inimitable; / Nymphs jump like you, / And the Graces dance like her!’ 

Sallé travelled to London in the 1730s, where she danced in several of Handel’s operas, as well as performing Les caractères de la danse. It is enticing to imagine how – bearing in mind Voltaire’s verse - these remarkable women might have interpreted Rebel’s musical gestures, and responded to the radiant energy and variety of music Rebel provided. In the next instalment, I shall look more closely at the activities of Sallé in London, and the music Handel wrote for her. 

About the Author 

Corrina is currently a PhD student at Oxford Brookes University, where she is researching the ways in which Johann Strauss's operetta Die Fledermaus articulates aspects of masculinity. She writes programme notes for a number of music venues, including the Spitalfields Festival and she has contributed programme notes on a range of eighteenth-century repertoire to the London Handel Festival since 2011. As a musician, Corrina regularly plays the music that Handel wrote in London, and she has presented research papers at the Music in Eighteenth-Century Britain Conference and the annual British Society for Eighteenth-Century Studies Conference.

https://corrinaconnor.wordpress.com/

@corrinacellist

Written content of this post copyright © Corrina Connor, 2015.

Musical Monday: François-Hippolyte Barthélémon

François-Hippolyte Barthélémon (Bordeaux, France, 27th July 1741 – Christ Church, Sussex, England, 20th July 1808) 

To ease you into the week, here is a little something by Barthélémon; you can read of his remarkable life by clicking here.

Alessandro Besozzi, Oboist

Alessandro Besozzi (Parma, Italy, 22nd July 1702 – Turin, Italy, 26th July 1793) 

Composer and oboist Alessandro Besozzi, was born on this day in Parma. A celebrated man of music, he was a particular favourite at Versailles and I hope this wonderful example of his music will soothe your Wednesday!

Musical Monday: Beethoven by Request

Following two previous engagements with Beethoven, my mother-in-law (a regal lady of impeccable taste) sent me this rather lovely piece by the great man. I do hope you enjoy it!

The Tyburnia Tour

It's my pleasure to share with you today news of a new artistic endeavour currently touring England... the Tyburnia film and live music tour!

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The shadow of the Tyburn Tree extended well beyond London, with assizes, gallows, and gibbets in many market and county towns. To explore this rich and melancholy history Tyburnia will be performed as close to the location of various regional gallows as possible. This means taking a film screening to some pretty unusual places, and to do this we need your help!

Tyburnia is an incredible creative opportunity to explore how systems of civil jurisdiction were enforced across the UK, to examine local history and contemporary life and how these tie in with national narratives.

For over 700 years there was a site of execution at Tyburn in London. Here those who fell foul of political, religious and judicial reforms enacted by the state were executed for public entertainment and instruction. A study of those executed at Tyburn charts a history of the UK, illustrating the twists and turns of monarchical and political whimsy, church and state, and the birth of capitalism.

At our current moment of enforced austerity and social reform, Tyburnia explores the parallels between contemporary and historical notions of crime in relation to business and property, the spectacular nature of punishment, and the state's use of the body as a site for political control.

Shooting on 8mm and 16mm film, James Holcombe gained access to numerous artifacts associated with the Tyburn; reliquaries housing the remains of catholic martyrs, body parts preserved by surgeons, the bell that tolled on the eve of executions, and the eventual resting place of the gallows themselves. Using hand processing and historic chemical techniques the scenes forming Tyburnia bring forth a film that is both visually and thematically engrossing, demonstrating how, despite the gallows having long since vanished, we still stand in the shadow of its punitive ideology.

Tyburnia has provided an opportunity to breath life back into some very peculiar and rare songs. Bringing to bare their gritty, rough hewn interpretations and dextrous multi-instrumentalism, the Dead Rat Orchestra have created a sound track that features songs that were composed by or for those condemned to 'dance the Tyburn jig', bringing a new understanding to the broadside ballads that have become a staple of folk music, but here presented in close association to their original context.

Alongside ballads of the condemned the DRO have undertaken the great challenge of crafting contemporary versions of long forgotten songs in the luridly descriptive language of thieves can't.

Find out more or book your tickets at Tyburnia or DRO.

Watch Tyburnia Live


27th May - London - The Carpenters Arms
29th - London - Apiary Studios
30th May - Norwich -  Norwich Arts Centre
31st May - Colchester  - Colchester Arts Centre
5th June -  Bristol - Cube Cinema
6th June - Lewes - Westgate Chapel
7th June - Cambridge -  Castle End Mission
11th June - Winchester - St John The Baptist
12th June - Reading - Rising Sun Arts Centre
14 June –  Royal Holloway University of London- The Boilerhouse Lecture Theatre
19th  June  - Taunton - Museum of Somerset
20th June -  Lewannick - Lewannick Community Cinema
21st June - Exeter - The Cavern
25th June - Devizes - Wiltshire Museum
26th June - Ipswich  - Think Tank
3rd July - Oxford - Modern Art Oxford
4th July - Northampton - The Victoria
5th July - Shrewsbury - Morris Hall

Musical Monday: Beethoven Take Two

A little while ago, I started the week with a blast of Beethoven. It seems that the music struck a chord in salon visitors and you have asked for more, so here is a second take of Beethoven to see you into Monday!

Musical Monday: Franz Danzi

Franz Ignaz Danzi (Schwetzingen, Germany, 15th June 1763 – Karlsruhe, Germany, 13th April 1826)

Today we mark the melodies of Franz Danzi, a man who mixed with musical royalty. Applauded by Mozart and a contemporary of Beethoven, Danzi came from a musical family and enjoyed a rich career as both composer and Kapellmeister to Frederick I of Württemberg.

Tuneful Tuesday: Domenico Dragonetti

Domenico Carlo Maria Dragonetti (Venice, Italy, 7th April 1763 – London, England, 16th April 1846)

Today we mark the birth of Domenico Dragonetti, a celebrated double bassist and composer who was born in Italy.

Dragonetti enjoyed great success throughout Europe and was passionate about awakening people to the musical potential of his beloved double bass. Despite his continental success as both bassist and composer, it was in England that he felt most at home and here he spent the last fifty years of his life, performing at both public and private events.

Musical Monday: Ludwig van Beethoven

Last week, I marked the death of the iconic composer, Ludwig van Beethoven. Today he visits the salon yet again as I start the week with the 2012 Proms Beethoven cycle, conducted by Daniel Barenboim.

A Gallery of Vien

Joseph-Marie Vien (Montpellier, France, 18th June 1716 – Paris, France, 27th March 1809)

Joseph-Marie Vien was a painter of some renown. The last person to be named Peintre du Roi, whilst the Revolution may have ended this particular office, it did little to blemish Vien's record even though it did much to damage his finances! 

After training in Italy and winning a stable of illustrious patrons, Vien returned to France and acclaim, welcomed to the Bourbon court where he enjoyed enormous favour. Indeed, though the Revolution cut something of a dash through his achievements, the patronage of a certain gentleman named Napoleon saw him restored to prominence and, at his death, he was laid to rest in the Panthéon, his place in history assured.

Sultane Reine, 1748

L'Amour fuyant l'esclavage, 1789

The Oath of Catiline

Sweet Melancholy, 1756

Study of the Head of an Old Bearded Man

La Sultan Noir, 1748

Saint Louis, roi de France, remettant la regence a sa mere Blanche de Castille

"Pity, Pity - Too Late!": The Death of Beethoven

Ludwig van Beethoven (Bonn, Electorate of Cologne, 17th December 1770 – Vienna, Austria, 26th March 1827)

Beethoven by Joseph Karl Stieler, 1820

On this day in 1827, Ludwig van Beethoven died. A musical legend, his name and compositions are feted throughout the world and used across a variety of media. Even if you don't think you know any of Beethoven's work, the chances are that you definitely do. By the time Beethoven died he had lived a life of great triumph and tragedy and even his death was not without some drama!

In the final years of his life, Beethoven’s health had been somewhat precarious and for the three months preceding his death, he had been overcome with vomiting and diarrhoea that caused him to take to his bed. Although he had experienced such episodes before, it soon became apparent to the composer’s friends that this time he would not recover. The efforts of doctors including Andreas Wawruch to relieve his suffering proved fruitless and those who cared for the composer were instructed to visit and pay their last respects, as time was growing short. Still lucid, though weak, the last words spoken by Beethoven were "pity, pity - too late!", when the ailing composer was told that a gift of wine he had been expecting had finally arrived.

Beethoven received the last rites on 24th March, just two days before he lost consciousness. Throughout his final days he was attended by his friend, the composer Anselm Hüttenbrenner, and he recorded his memories of those fateful hours, when a violent thunderstorm raged overhead. In the moments before his death, a thunderclap sounded directly over his Vienna home and Beethoven, for a moment, regained his senses.  He lifted his head and stretched out his arm for a second before the breath deserted him and, sinking back onto the bed, the great composer died.

Beethoven's death mask by Josef Danhauser

Beethoven had been so distressed by his own illness that he requested that an autopsy be performed and this procedure took place on 27^th March. Under the direction of Doctor Johann Wagner, it was revealed that the composer’s liver had suffered severe damage and showed signs of advanced cirrhosis. High levels of metal and lead were found in his blood, presumably having been consumed whilst drinking contaminated alcohol and throughout his organs there were signs of advanced and serious illness. Whether the cirrhosis was a result of alcoholism or other illness has never been adequately proven and explanations including hepatitis and syphilis have been put forward over the years.

Beethoven was laid to rest in the Währing cemetery on 29^th March amid scenes of intense public mourning; though the composer was dead, however, his music lived on and continues to sound to this very day.

Musical Monday: Johannes Matthias Sperger

Johannes Matthias Sperger (Feldsberg, Lower Austria, 23rd March 1750 – Schwerin, Germany, 13th May 1812)

Today is our semi-regular Monday appointment with a composer of the long eighteenth century and Johannes Matthias Sperger is a gentleman I have only encountered in the last six months.

In his long career, Sperger proved himself to be a highly prolific composer who wrote concertos, choral pieces, symphonies and more. He enjoyed a highly successful career in Europe and it is my pleasure to share his work with you today.

A Musical Interlude: Francesco Gasparini

Francesco Gasparini (Camaiore, Italy, 19th March 1661 – Rome, Italy, 22 March 1727)

Italian Baroque composer, Francesco Gasparini, was born on this day. An inspiration to Bach, Gasparini was famed in his native land and enjoyed huge success as both a composer and tutor too.

I hope you enjoy this beautiful example of his work; just right to start the steady road to the weekend!

Tuneful Tuesday: Niccolò Porpora

Niccolò Porpora (Niccolò Antonio Porpora; Naples, Italy, 17th August 1686 – Naples, Italy, 3rd March 1768)

Composer Niccolò Porpora died on this day; to read the story of his remarkable life, click here; otherwise, enjoy a wonderful musical interlude courtesy of this most talented Italian gent!

This is a very long extract but is really a collection of fine pieces, so you can dip in and out...

Tuneful Tuesday: Marc-Antoine Charpentier

Marc-Antoine Charpentier (Paris, France, 1643 – Paris, France, 24th February 1704)

On this day, composer Marc-Antoine Charpentier died. 

His career was long and varied, taking in theatrical music, sonatas, sacred compositions and more. A court favourite, those of you who like a little Eurovision might hear something rather familiar in the opening seconds of his Te Deum, below.

This rather short post will, I hope, allow you plenty of time to listen to the wonderful twenty five minute clip that accompanies it!

Musical Monday: Pierre Rode

Jacques Pierre Joseph Rode (Bordeau, France, 16th February 1774 – Damazon, France, 25th November 1830)

Today marks the anniversary of the birth of Pierre Rode, a child musical prodigy so talented that the famed Giovanni Battista Viotti tutored him on the violin without charging any fee, so impressed was he by the natural skill he detected in the boy.

Rode's career was stratospheric and glittering and, as the personal violist to a certain Napoleon, he travelled Europe garnering such acclaim in Russia that he remained there for more than half a decae. However, these years away from his homeland would come back to haunt Rode when he returned to France and found that his star had faded somewhat.

French audiences detected rather too much Russian style to Rode's playing and, though he continued to enjoy plaudits elsewhere in Europe and Beethoven wrote music for Rode to play, music fans in his adopted home of Paris continued to greet his work with indifference. He died aged fifty six without ever recapturing their adoration yet I hope you will find much to enjoy in his work on this musical Monday.