This is a private post. All intimate text has been redacted from public view.
Requiem aeternam dona eis, Domine, et lux perpetua luceat eis. Te decet hymnus, Deus, in Sion, et tibi reddetur votum in Jerusalem. Exaudi orationem meam, ad te omnis care veniet. Requiem aeternam dona eis, Domine, et lux perpetua luceat eis...
Hostias et preces tibi, Domine, laudis offerimus. Tu sucipe pro animabus illis, quaram hodie memoriam facimus. Fac eas, Domine, de morte transire ad vitam, Quam olim Abrahae promisisti et semini ejus...
Agnus Dei, qui tollis peccata mundi, dona eis requiem sempiternam. Amen.
May you Rest In Peace. May you and your beautiful sister reunite in a union of unconditional love.
Below:A dedication from Unraveling Musical Myths to the reader of a performance of Music for the Funeral of Queen Mary, set by English composer Henry Purcell for the funeral of his then-Sovereign, Queen Mary II, who succumbed to smallpox in late December of
1694.
It was through the death of Her Majesty that Westminster-born Purcell quite suddenly found himself in charge of
music for a royal funeral that had never originally been planned - the late
Queen having stipulated that there be no such ceremony of state following her
demise. Purcell had been serving as organist at Westminster Abbey at
the time of Queen Mary's death.
It was due to the will and wish of the public, who so loved their Monarch, (a
feeling shared by modern-day loyalists to our own late Sovereign lady, Her
Majesty, Queen Elizabeth II), that a state funeral was scheduled for 5 March,
1695, some three months following Mary's demise.
For the occasion, Purcell composed his
Music for the Funeral of Queen Mary and the funeral sentence,
Thou knowest, Lord, the secrets of our hearts, which were performed
during the occasion alongside works by Thomas Morley and other English
composers.
Purcell had twice previously set music to Thou knowest (from the The
Book of Common Prayer, 1549): first in 1672 to complete sentences by fellow
English composer Henry Cooke for the latters' funeral, and later, with
revisions occurring around 1680). These earlier versions were polyphonic, as
was custom at the time. The composers' third version of Thou knowest,
as well as his March and Canzona were performed during the funeral service of Queen
Mary II. Today, the March, Canzona and the funeral sentence (along with two other sentences set by Purcell, Man that is born of a woman, and In the midst of life we are in death) are often performed together as the composer's Music for the Funeral of Queen Mary (Z. 860).
Recent scholarship suggests that this latest setting may have
been an homage by Purcell not only to his late Sovereign, but possibly to the
composer Thomas Morley, whose own setting of this particular sentence would later be discovered. It is speculated by some musicologists that Purcell donned an
older style to mimic Morley's music, and that this setting was possibly used
to complete sentences by the latter composer. The words for this particular version are set mostly in homophony.
With the question of attribution aside, it would be this third version of
Thou knowest, which would be performed at subsequent royal funerals,
including that of the Queen Mum, and that of her daughter, our late Majesty (and
the Queen Mum's namesake), Elizabeth II, which could be heard echoing resoundingly through the walls of the royal church as
the former Monarch and Head of State's
coffin entered Westminster Abbey
on this most sombre day of 19 September 2022.
Purcell's setting of Thou Knowest would later go on to be performed at
the composers' own funeral following his death (believed to be caused by
tuberculosis) in November 1695, just a mere eight months since the piece was
first performed. He was only 35 at the time of his passing.
Jump to 17:05 to hear Purcell's funeral sentence
Thou knowest, Lord, the secrets of our hearts (Jean Tubéry conducts La
Fenice):
In honor of King Charles III's proclamation as Monarch of the United
Kingdom and of the Commonwealth, I dedicate below to his countrymen and
women and to the citizens of the Territories a piece of special historical
significance - not only to the British Crown but to King Charles himself -
the setting of the choral introit "I was Glad" set by
Sir Hubert Hastings Parry.
The new sovereign has long been vocal of his deep admiration for the choral piece
and for its composer - whom he often refers to as his favorite, and as somewhat of an 'unsung hero' of sorts in the realm of British classical music. His Majesty first heard Parry's anthem performed at the tender age of four whilst
the then-Prince bore witness to the coronation of his late mother, the former Queen and Head of
State, Elizabeth II in 1953.
Parry's musical setting of Psalm 122 (verses 1–3, 6 and 7)[1] has long been embedded in history of
the House of Windsor (fr. Saxe-Coburg and Gotha): Parry originally wrote his version of the anthem for
the coronation of Charles' great-great-grandfather, Edward VII in
1902, and it has been used in every coronation since, even making an
appearance at the wedding of Prince William and
Catherine 'Kate' Middleton at Westminster Abbey in
2011.
"If you're coming into the abbey and you have to walk up the
aisle, and there are an awful lot of people peering at you, some pieces
of music literally do waft you up the aisle and it's so marvellous that
you're sort of carried along on this wave of music. And that's what I
think is so brilliant about this piece, giving you all those tingles up
the spine and tears in the eyes...It has an extraordinary capacity to
lift the spirits, this particular piece of music. It's timeless, really,
isn't it?"
Because of its association with the coronations of British monarchs, the
"vivat(s)" section of the score (Latin for "Long live..." (the
King/Queen)) was/is forbidden to be sung by the Queen's/King's scholars of Westminster
School if the anthem is not performed during a coronation. Instead, the
choir is simply instructed to bypass this section (the redacted version of Parry's anthem was famously heard at the aforementioned nuptials of Prince William and Catherine Middleton).
In 1902, Parry wrote vivats for both King Edward and Queen Alexandria:
"Vivat Regina Alexandra, vivat Regina...vivat Rex Eduardus.."
("Long live King Edward...Long live Queen Alexandra.")
For Elizabeth II's
coronation, there was only one vivat, in custom with British tradition, in
which the husband of a Queen may not be styled as King as he has not
inherited the throne (while the wife of a King, however, may be styled Queen
Consort). It is this truncated version that a young Charles heard during the coronation of his "darling mama" from his
seat in the gallery alongside the Queen Mum and his Auntie (Princess Margaret). Cries of "Vivat Regina! Vivat Regina Elizabetha!" (Long live the Queen! Long
Live Queen Elizabeth!) would have echoed throughout Westminster Abbey and into the future King's ears.
Above: Vivat for Queen Elizabeth II, performed during Her Majesty's coronation in 1953 (begins at 3:08)
This custom means that King Charles' Queen Consort, Camilla, could be included in a new vivat, in addition to the King's (which will likely be sung as
"Vivat Rex Carolus").
As Camilla is already the female equivalent of
the Roman Camillus, she may be referred to as Regina Camilla,
however this - and her inclusion in the revised anthem - remains to be
seen, should His Majesty opt to carry on in the tradition of his royal predecessors by selecting the anthem of his favorite composer for his own coronation.
Below: Vivat for Queen Elizabeth II, with score, performed during Her Majesty's coronation in 1953 (Vivat begins at 3:40)
Footnotes:
[1]from the psalter found in the 1662 Book of Common Prayer.
Above: a touching tribute to Her Majesty, Queen Elizabeth II by Sky
News
As millions of Britons, citizens of the Commonwealth, and others around the
globe mourn the loss of Elizabeth II, I have come to reflect upon my former
Head of State with a sense of bittersweet splendour - pained that Her
Majesty is no longer with us, yet, altogether marveled by the memories of
her glorious reign, stamina, and poise.
For as long as I have lived,
Queen Elizabeth II
has been somewhat omnipresent in my life. I fancied myself quite the
numismatist and philatelist in my most tender years - I am a citizen born
into the commonwealth twice over: as a Canadian by birth, and as the
daughter of an immigrant from the then-commonwealth state of Hong
Kong.
It was during these formative years that my young mind became fascinated by
the striking portraits of our Head of State, ever evolving throughout those
very impressionable phases of my own life: from youth, to teenagehood, to
womanhood. I saw her increasingly aging visage everywhere throughout
the years as my past times seamlessly moulded themselves into a deep passion
for history - both Canadian, and British.
It was the profile, and the face of Elizabeth, embossed on the faces of
coins and printed on the surfaces of stamps from all over the world, that
piqued my curiosity. I wanted to know more about this woman who
seemed to dominate swathes of nations of varying tongues: who she
was, and what she meant to my country and to our British cousins. That
curiosity led me down the path of studying Canadian and European history,
and later - and perhaps most naturally - to the music that helped pave the
path toward our shared freedoms, as our ancestors fought in battle to
create, in my humble opinion, one of - if not the - greatest nation
in the world. As I became more embedded in my studies, I both marveled over
and embraced the legacies of the composers who performed in battle long
before Elizabeth's conception. I learned of the propagandists and musically
inclined courtiers who so crucially and cleverly manipulated, supported, and
volleyed their way through the upper echelons of the British state. In many
ways, it was an early lesson in psychology and an invaluable teaching of the
cunning use (and misuse) of music for purposes of political persuasion and
domination.
Though Great Britain's distant past may be marred by undeniable bloodshed,
where kings were made kings on the battlefield, and men became men through
daring and chivalric conquests, the reign and life of Elizabeth was
different. Having both served in, and survived the Second World War and having
acceded to the throne whilst arguably still a child herself - at the
tender age of 25 - her role was that of a peaceful monarch: a consistently
present and poised ruler who never appeared to take for granted the rich
(albeit often gritty) historical past which would end up making her
unprecedented 70-year long reign possible.
Her Majesty shunned the methods of her royal predecessors, opting instead
to shy away from public conflict by holding close to her breast matters of
both personal and political affairs. She put forward a mask of neutrality in
an ever changing, not always friendly world.
Music and musicians of (and associated with) the court became less thought of as mere political
pawns but rather allowed to triumph in their own right: during her reign,
the so-called 'Land without Music' - England's status as a musical mecca having waned in
popularity since the triumphant days of the English Renaissance - once more
became resplendent as the likes of
Ralph Vaughan Williams,
Arnold Bax,
William Walton, and
Edward Elgar
introduced to a new generation a majestic, and regal shift from the ever
embellished icons of English composers past (men like
Thomas Tallis,
William Byrd,
Orlando Gibbons, Henry Purcell, and German-turned-naturalised citizen,
George Frederic Handel).
Full of fanfare, stateliness, pomp and circumstance, swathes of musicians
(and even non-musicians) the world over would soon recognize the
sound of British royalty in the new Elizabethan age, and envision in their minds images of the resplendent Queen in her
chariot, as regal and dignified as the compositions which flourished
throughout her reign.
Above: Vaughan Williams' grand ceremonial arrangement of the
sixteenth-century hymn "The Old Hundredth", performed at the coronation of
Queen Elizabeth II, 2 June 1953 Westminster Abbey, London (preceded by
fanfare)
To the very end, Her Majesty remained poised even throughout the dishonours
inflicted upon her by those who attempted to corrupt a legacy of leadership - one in which our beloved Sovereign had managed to rule for some seven decades with a refined reticence. It was this sense of stoic disposition which had so notably garnered the admiration and awe of all those who met her, from world
leaders to subjects alike.
There is something to be said for this level of personal conviction.
Throughout the numerous traumas Elizabeth faced, particularly over the course of the
past several years, her stamina and resolve proved to all of those who
supported her that silence speaks volumes, that privacy is a virtue, and
that dignity over historical savagery and present day insolence will always
triumph in the end.
Her Majesty vowed to work until the end of her days, and she has honored
her oath. Having seldom wavered from her steely-faced, yet gentle resolve,
she will be remembered as a ruler of sound mind, a connoisseur of
political adroitness, and as a woman of extraordinary courage, strength, and
heart.
With condolences to all those who mourn the loss of Her Majesty, including
the working members of the Royal family.
A surprise update on the
upcoming theatrical release
inspired by Mozart's prized 1791 opera, Die Zauberflöte (The Magic
Flute) has been announced: the addition to the cast ofF. Murray Abraham, the legendary American actor who once played the role of
Antonio Salieri
in the hugely successful film adaptation of Peter Shaffer's quasi-biopic play
on Mozart,
"Amadeus,"
(dir. Miloš Forman) for which Abraham won the Academy Award for Best Actor as
the musical nemesis and self-deluded assassin of Mozart.
The addition of Abraham to the cast of the upcoming film (cr. Florian Sigl/exec. prod. Roland Emmerich) may serve to entice Mozart purists who
may pre-emptively make the decision to avoid the film due to it's deviation
from the opera's original libretto, penned by the German impresario and
singer-playwright
Emanuel Schikaneder.
The inclusion of the much beloved actor is a clever draw-in to the critics who,
in the mid 1980's and 1990's at first detested Forman's
Amadeus for its extensive use of liberties regarding Mozart's life,
but who later accepted the film as a classic following the publication of
more modern scholarship which included the release of the composers' own
unbowdlerized correspondence, and with additional attention paid to his private
collaborations with other musicians in both the creation and performance of bawdy
canons. (Strangely enough, early critics of the film focused less vitriol on the age
old, long debunked theory of Salieri poisoning his rival - a rumor which
actually did appear in the press
immediately following Mozart's demise[1]
- but more with the composers' potty mouth and rampant flatulence).
While Emmerich's The Magic Flute is expected to take on an extreme
deviation from the opera's plot by introducing new characters (chiefly, a
17-year old aspiring singer and boarding school student, who "stumbles along
a century old passageway" that will lead into the "world of Mozart's Magic
Flute"[2] and with the story
line being set in twenty first century Europe, the decision to include
Abraham, an actor much beloved for his fictional role in a not-so-accurate
retelling of Mozart's death may serve to encourage older fans who once
pooh-poohed
"Amadeus" to view the film with the expectation already in mind
that the film will be based purely on entertaining audiences, and perhaps
with the goal of drawing in younger audiences unfamiliar with Mozart to
further explore the life of the composer and his music.
According to IMDB, Abraham has been
cast in the role of one "Dr. Longbow"
(presumably a professor/conductor). Also joining the cast in the upcoming
film are soprano Sabiene Devieilhe, tenor
Rolando Villazón, and bass Morris Robinson. The forthcoming screen adaptation of The Magic
Flute is currently in post-production with an as-yet
unannounced date of theatrical release, but is expected to premiere sometime during the winter season.
Below: Listen to a heart-wrenching reading of Peter Shaffer's Amadeus by
Academy Award Winning Actor F. Murray Abraham. Achingly beautiful with light touches of gaiety, Shaffer's play would later be adapted into Forman's film of the same name. The latter of which takes on, at times, a more frivolous tone as both composers share equally the spotlight.
Salieri is both narrator and protagonist in Shaffer's original play, and Abraham excels in his reading of the tale, blending equally humor with angst - both egotistical and spiritual. Shaffer's "Salieri" invites the audience to listen to the composer's regaling of his own undoing, marred by an incessant need for vindication, leading up to his final "confession," and, ultimately, to a fate worse than - or perhaps greater than (at least in the mind of the insane former musician) - death itself. (2006, BBC Radio Drama):
This myth was based on the alleged utterance of guilt by an
insane Salieri whilst in asylum, who purportedly told caregivers he had
"poisoned" Mozart. This rumor was widely circulated in the press following
Mozart's death in 1791, leading to the mentally unstable composers'
caregivers issuing a rebuttal in print (see: footnotes,
https://unravelingmusicalmyths.blogspot.com/2018/12/introducing-new-series-mozart-files.html), denying their patient ever uttered such a statement.
Above: The former residence of Giuseppe Verdi, the "Villa Verdi" at
S. Agata
Unfortunate news has traveled down the wire from Italy regarding the current
state of the iconic composer Giuseppe Verdi's former home-turned-museum. After
failing to meet their €100,000 goal to repair serious damage to the structure
though a crowd funding campaign and with no remaining member of the Verdi's
descendants, who presently own the relic (complete with intimate objects
belonging to the composer, left in the same state Verdi left them after his
death some 121 years ago - a stipulation left by the composer in his will)[1]
able to buy out one another, Italian news media reports the home is set to
be put up for sale, likely via auction, pending an order issued by the Court
of Parma and with the State first exercising its right of pre-emption.
I wish to thank those viewers who shared the article previously posted on
Unraveling Musical Myths regarding the dire state of the museum - your passion
for Verdi, his music, and legacy allowed for a stalling fundraiser to kick up
into high gear once more and secure for the descendants (Carrara) Verdi some
€12,494.
Unfortunately, this fundraiser, launched by Verdi's great-great grandson,
Angiolo Carrara-Verdi, was very poorly advertised outside of Italy by the
mainstream press.
It appears this decision is final - potential donors visiting the
official fundraiser website
for the museum are greeted with the notice "Project Completed."
Speaking regretfully with the local Italian newspaper,
Libertà, Angiolo laid bare the feelings of the descendants Verdi:
“There is much regret... it was only a matter of time. Not being able
to find an agreement, the villa has met this unpleasant end...I
respected the wishes of the maestro...I hope that whoever [buys it] in
the future treats it in the same way, as a home. It can’t just become a
cold museum.”
READ (previous article on this story at Unraveling Musical Myths, 30 July,
2020):
Above: Leontyne Price sings her farewell performance as Aida at the Met in
1985. I find the aria "O Patria Mia" to be quite fitting for the subject
matter at hand. Just as Price, as Aida, bids a symbolic adieu to her native
land, so too, do fans of Verdi - especially those residing in Italy - lose a
part of their culture as the composers' former residence is set to leave
family hands.
Footnotes:
[1]Includes the Viennese Fritz piano on which Verdi composed Il
Trovatore and La Traviata, and the gloves worn by the composer to conduct
his famous Requiem Mass for the for Italian poet Alessandro Manzoni on the
occasion of its premiere in Milan in 1874. In fact, virtually every item
contained within the residence has been left untouched by the composers'
descendants, who have personally financed and maintained the structure,
leaving the home - and the contents within it - exactly as Verdi had left
it.
A before and after comparison of the recently discovered portrait of
Chopin, prior to and post restoration. | photos: Dariusz Markowski (l), Jaroslaw Golebiowski (r)
This years' esteemed Frédéric Chopin Piano Competition -
Warsaw's 18th - drew the attention of not only music enthusiasts but also
those who consider themselves aficionados of music iconography.
The once heavily
damaged portrait, now fully restored and safely protected by a gilded frame, was purchased at a flea market near Lublin in the early 1990's. It then
resided for some three decades in a private home, where it modestly hung on an
unidentified family's wall with nary a trace of pomp and circumstance. It was
only recently that the residents of the home, who were experiencing financial
strain, sought out an expert appraisal on the piece, hoping the 11.5" x 9" inch
portrait - although highly degraded and with layers of its paint peeling -
might earn for the family a sizeable windfall.
The Warsaw Chopin, post restoration, seated in a gilded frame |
Jaroslaw Golebiowski via AP
The portrait, undoubtedly of Chopin - landed in the hands of Dariusz
Markowski, Professor at Nicolaus Copernius University in Toruń, Poland, also
Principal of the campus' Conservation and Restoration of Modern Art Department
in 2020. Markowski, who would restore the portrait, placed the year of
manufacture at sometime during the 19th century, basing his conclusion on a thorough analysis of the pigments and materials utilized by the artist, and
taking into account the extent of ageing and damage to the piece. As for the
identity of the painter - only the name "Alfred" has been preserved, believed
by the restorer to be the artists' forename.
As there is no identifiable artist for the piece, establishing its provenance,
thus far, has proved futile. Markowski declined to provide an estimated value
for the artwork, but declared it a portrait of both "emotional" and
"historic" value, calling the find a "real curiosity." He further adds
that he is unsure of its beginnings: did Chopin sit for this particular
portrait, and if so, for whom? Or, is the present work merely a likeness of
the composer, based on a pre-existing portrait?
As for now, these questions remain unanswered for the professor and for many collectors of composer iconography.
At the time of this posting, the family has placed the restored portrait in an
unidentified bank vault while they consider their next steps, and are believed to be planning a
public exhibit at some point in the future.
Author consensus:
I am of the opinion that this find, while interesting, may be somewhat inconsequential. I agree with Markowski that it may hold some "emotional" value,
but I would stop short there.
I believe this likeness to be a later copy, by a less skilled hand, of a ca. 1847 portrait of Chopin executed by Ary Scheffer. To be more precise, of the second version by Scheffer - a bust modeled after an oil painting depicting the composer seated, at half-body's length. That Chopin actually sat for the latter portrait is documented in a letter the composer penned to his family in April the same year in which he states:
"I start this letter for the 4th time today, 16th of April, and don’t know whether I shall even now get it finished, for I must go today to Scheffer, to pose for my portrait..."
I dare to
venture further, and suggest it to be a copy not of Scheffer directly, but a
copy of one of the multitudes of lithographs, paintings and prints by
individual artists working after Scheffer's second, "bust" version.
Chopin by Ary Scheffer | Dordrechts Museum
We know the of the first, original "live" version of Scheffer's Chopin thanks to Cornelia Marjolin, daughter of Ary and an artist herself, who dedicated a
daguerreotype (a reproduction) of the portrait by her father to "Ms. Erskine" (probably
Katherine Erskine, Chopin's former pupil). The daguerreotype features Chopin donning two "popped collars" and is the version less
replicated (and thus less represented) in media today as it is this version, which became the property of the composers' sister,
Izabela Barcińska, which "disappeared" during the tumultuous January Uprising of 1863 at the Zamoyski Palace in Warsaw where she was a resident, and is thus presumed to have been destroyed in a fire set by the Russian Imperial Army during its plunder of the tenement house.
The second version, also by Scheffer (with a single collar visible, pictured above)
was painted on a new canvas, and reduced simply to a bust. It is presently housed in the
Netherlands at the Dordrechts Museum.
"Frédéric Chopin / after a reprod. of the portr. by Ary Scheffer" Cornelia's dedication reads (in French): "à Madame Erskine / Souvenir l'affection / Cornilia Scheffer
Marjolin" | Source: gallica.bnf.fr / BnF
Scores of artists have since reproduced the Dordrechts version - others, model their likeness after a mix of both the original portrait for which Chopin sat with Scheffer and the version at Dordrechts - adding the additional collar present in the daguerreotype, but omitting the composers' torso and the chair on which he sat, thus reducing him to the 2nd, "bust" version (as seen in the example below). Some used Scheffer as source material, whist others opted to reproduce reproductions, using as their prototype not the work of Scheffer himself, but the work of his imitators.
Chopin with a double "popped collar", this version housed in the Bibliothèque Polonaise in Paris
The practice of reproducing a portrait "after" a previous reproduction (by an
artist who was not himself the painter of the original prototype) was extremely common in the
19th century and during the centuries preceeding it - portraits of famous composers were in high demand and spanned the European continent. Their presence in manuscripts, programs and biographies served as status symbols: evidence of the esteem and accomplishments imbued by the sitter. These publications thus demanded a higher price. Where purchasers of regalia were concerned, it was a not-so-subtle proclamation of one's own high taste. Often, the practice of reproducing a portrait after a previous reproduction was employed to skirt copyright barriers (with
details added or omitted to further protect the reproducer), or for lesser
known artists and tricky tradesmen to hawk their wares as "originals" in order
to fetch for themselves top dollar.
Scheffer's Chopin was one of the more frequently reproduced portraits of the
composer, and versions of it can be found in museums around the world - in Paris, at the
Bibliothèque nationale de France (multiple versions), in Austria, at the Austrian National Library[1],[2], (which also houses
Scheffer's own lithographic print), and in the composers' native Poland: in Żelazowa Wola at the Chopin House and at the National Museum in Kraków. These variations on the original boast artist names such as Ivan Boxel, Stanisław Stattler (Scheffer's pupil),
Maximilian Fajans, and include plethora of unidentified names, either intentionally left anonymous, or the result of the artist's signature being degraded and/or lost to the hands of time.
An example of a portrait of Chopin after Scheffer with no identifying artist information, preserved at the NYPL in the Joseph Muller Collection of Music & Other Portraits
Incidentally, there is also a print, housed in the music department at the National Library of France, by a certain "Alfred" - in this case, the lithographer
Alfred Lemoine - whose piece is based after the Scheffer portrait. It includes the two "popped collars" as seen in the Warsaw portrait, and although Lemoine opted to dress his Chopin in what appears to be a double breasted jacket, the composers' visage features a similar set of pursed lips and pronounced chin as seen in the newly discovered piece. A brief search into
Lemoine's catalogue raisonné (what exists of it) points to other prints of composers,
including one of Haydn housed at the British Museum, which too, bears a similar stylistic signature to the Warsaw discovery. It is important to note that where reproductions of reproductions are concerned, stylistic garb would sometimes vary, to keep up with the fashion at the time. For clarity, Scheffer's original portrait of Chopin was executed ca. 1847, whilst Lemoine's 1860 version is dated over a decade later (13 years to be exact), when double-breasted coats were all the rage.
If I were to posit a possible connection between the newfound Polish likeness
and Scheffer, I would look at the less skilled hand of Lemoine, and examine the
significantly less skilled hand in the Warsaw portrait. In my opinion, this
downward trend of artistic ability, seen so often in composer iconography, points
to a separate, unidentified artist, possibly painting his portrait after Alfred
Lemoine's copy of Scheffer's original. We must also take into account the present restoration and its adherence - or lack thereof - to the newly discovered piece at Warsaw.
"Frédéric Chopin / Alfred Lemoine, after Ary Scheffer" Source:
gallica.bnf.fr / BnF
If my hypothesis is correct, I would presume the financial worth of the discovery at Warsaw will prove to be rather negligible - the monetary value on pieces like these are often arbitrary. Unless the
artist was held or is currently held in esteem, a copy after a copy after an
original portrait is worth, frankly, as much as a collector deems it to be
worth - in other words, it's nostalgic, or "emotional" value to the buyer.
This marks the second time in recent years that iconography relating to Chopin has made international news.
In January 2017, the possibility of a newly discovered "daguerreotype" (pictured left) was erroneously announced by worldwide media, sparking an intense, and immediate sense of excitement within the classical music world as numerous journalists pronounced the find as the third, previously unknown "photograph" of the composer to remain extant.
Although its founders never announced the medium used to produce the portrait with any certainty - they merely labelled it a "potential" daguerreotype or "at the very least a photograph of a [since lost] daguerreotype" - like a game of broken telephone, news of an officially recognized, never-before-seen third 'daguerreotype' (sic) seemed to stick.
To this day, this belief persists, despite an announcement made by researchers at the Fryderyk Chopin Institute just nine months later which revealed the portrait to be not an early daguerreotype at all, nor a previously undiscovered likeness of the composer but rather, a modern photograph of a fragment of a reproduction of a pre-existing painting executed by 20th century artist Ludomir Sleńdziński (pictured below).
Art historian Małgorzata Grąbczewska, whose area of specialty is 19th
century photography, was quietly consulted by the institute for further
research amidst the public furore over the portrait. She managed to trace the photograph to Ostrogski castle in Warsaw, where a
reproduction of Sleńdziński 's mid-twentieth century painting had previously been
presented in an exhibition devoted to the Polish pianist, conductor and
founder of the International Chopin Piano Competition, Jerzy Żurawlew.
As self-styled Chopin and photography aficionados analyzed the supposed daguerreotype, confirming for themselves its authenticity by dubious means, Grąbczewska had already made, what she referenced as a very "easy" discovery, incredulously telling Polish media:
""We cooperated, although our
hypotheses were completely different. They were convinced that they had
found a reproduction of the daguerreotype, and in my opinion we were
dealing with a reproduction of a painting. Some [aspects of the
portrait] were clearly of a painterly nature. Until recently, however,
there was no proof that would confirm one of the versions... I managed
to find trace evidence that led me to Ludomir Sleńdziński. He is a
painter whose daughter was a pianist and student of Jerzy Żurawlew, an
outstanding Chopin player. The Chopin portraits that belonged to him
were exhibited at the Chopin Museum from 1984 to at least 2000.
In
1951, Sleńdziński painted a portrait of Fryderyk Chopin, which, I
suspected, was modeled on various images of the composer created during
his lifetime, including the famous daguerreotype created in Bisson's
Paris atelier. It seemed so realistic that one could succumb to the
illusion that we are dealing with photography [however] in the
Sleńdziński Gallery in Białystok, I managed to find a reproduction of
this painting, which provided a solution to the mystery...
...determining the place of storage
of the original work was not difficult. It is [presently] owned by the
Society of Friends of Fine Arts in Krakow. Interestingly, according to
the information provided to me by the curators of these collections, it
was exhibited in Krakow for years. This means that many people saw him
and it is surprising that this portrait, although having been [for a
period of time] extremely successful, was not noted by the [very
capable] researchers at the NIFC [Narodowy Instytut Fryderyka Chopina /
Fryderyk Chopin Institute], nor was it published in any of the dozens or
hundreds of publications about Chopin that appeared in both Poland and
around world since his death."
Below: Aside from
sitting for his portrait with Scheffer in 1847, Chopin was busy putting
the finishing touches on what would become his arguably most
recognizable composition, the famous Waltz in D-flat major, the first of
his iconic Trois Valses, Op. 64. Chopin's biographers have often
repeated the claim that the famous piece (known by its unofficial,
popular name, the "Minute Waltz") was inspired by the composers'
observation of a small dog chasing its tail, prompting him to name the
piece "Valse du petit chien", or "The Little Dog Waltz". Arthur Rubinstein performs:
For more information on the plunder of 1863 at the Zamoyski tenement house (Palace) during which the original, first portrait of Chopin is believed to have been intentionally damaged in a fire by the Russian Imperial Army, see Huneker, James, Chopin: The Man and his Music, C. Scribner's Sons, 1900, p.40
For more on the painting and false "daguerreotype" of Chopin see "AN IMPORTANT UPDATE CONCERNING THE 'RECENTLY DISCOVERED' "DAGUERREOTYPE" OF FREDERIC CHOPIN"here on Unraveling Musical Myths
It's that time of year again - when chill seekers look to the dark side of
classical music to get their creep on.
More often than not, both
newcomers to the genre and seasoned listeners alike are faced with an annually
occurring dilemma: will it be Saint-Saëns' Danse Macabre of Orff'sO Fortuna to set the mood come this All Hallows' Eve?
With list after
list nominating popular, oldie-but-goodie bone-chillers (featured in both
online and in print media), the challenge here at Unraveling Musical Myths
hasn't been which piece from the standard Hallowe'en canon to highlight, but
rather, how to narrow down the spookiest of selections from an arsenal of
less familiar diabolical delights, especially curated by the author of this blog for the season.
I have selected from my boiling cauldron the following 13 bone-chilling rides through hell featuring just enough crazed cacophony to make
even the bravest listener cower beneath the covers.
UPDATE:In honor Unraveling Musical Myths' long-time reader, Classical_Music_Fan, I have added an additional 13 spooky selections to this years' edition. The links for these extra, tumultuously terrifying treats are listed in the comment section at the end of this post.
VÍCTOR AGUDELO - EL SOMBRERÓN
We begin within the dark, humid corridors of a Columbian village in the dead
of night, where, in the distance, sound the ominous din of horse hooves,
steadily clip clopping along cobble stoned streets. Neither quickening or
slowing, they march at a determined pace until a sickening high pitched squeal
breaks the rhythm: it is the whistle of El Sombrerón, the phantom of
the night, sat upon his black steed.
In the distance, a funeral bell tolls - a warning to the would-be hoods,
drunks and gamblers of their fate should they engage in public mischief: a
desperate sprint for their lives under the moonlit night, chased by
El Sombrerón upon his trusty horse. At their side, two angry, vicious
black dogs are released from their metal chains, and are sicced upon his
victims.
The thrilling chase is based on the local legend of El Sombrerón (known in English as The Man in the
[Black] Hat), a mysterious (allegedly real) villager who once roamed the streets upon
his black stallion, clad in all black attire. Although rumored to have never
harmed another living soul while alive, his menacing appearance instilled in
all those who encountered him both curiosity and fear. A constant stern-jawed
expression only added to the ever churning rumor mill:
who was El Sombrerón? What did he want? Was he good, or evil?
The mysterious man in the black hat continued to spook villagers well after
his death, as a
phantom menace of virtue.
But make no mistake, dear reader, Columbian composer Victor Agudelo'sEl Sombrerón dispenses with any trace of virtue: a menacing brass section gruesomely groans to the start-and-stop rhythm of hoof beats, as the listener places himself in the place of the would-be victim. A brief respite - portraying the mysterious chaser "losing" the chased as he cowers behind a brick lined wall under the cover of night - is brazenly interrupted by brash horns as the pace quickens to match the victim's racing heart. With a bone-chilling and sickeningly frustrating pace, El Sombrerón will leave the listener on the edge of his or her seat.
Questions about the ultimate fate of the victim are left unanswered by the brass section, which repeatedly approach crescendi, only to be cut off just before the crestas the mysterious Man in the Black Hat advances and retreats.
ALEXANDER MOSOLOV - THE IRON FOUNDRY
Inspired by The Procession of the Sage from Igor Stavinsky's masterful
Rite of Spring, Alexander Mosolov's steely musical interpretation of an iron factory running at full steam begins methodically, with an unintentionally menacing start of the iron master's machine, represented by the stroke of a tam-tam. Percussion and brass sinfully interplay among each other as the machine reaches full power and as the rest of the factory begins to function in unison.
Considered a prime example of Soviet futurist music by a composer known for his brutalist scores, Mosolov's Iron Foundry unveils the horrific cacophony which can be found in everyday life.
Did You Know? Click pointer to expand/closeThe painting selected for this graphic, Bertalda Assailed by Spirits, c. 1830, was executed by Theodor von Holst, grand-uncle to famed 20th century Planets composer Gustav Holst! Learn more about this artistic family here on Unraveling Musical Myths: DRAWING INSPIRATION: MUSIC, ART & POETRY
As many a reader may have observed, I have been noticeably absent from this
blog, posting only at sparse intervals. I have been, during this lengthy
stretch, focusing my efforts on a separate project that has proven to be an
exciting, yet altogether a mammoth undertaking.
Unraveling Musical Myths will return with regularly scheduled postings at
an as-yet undetermined date. I thank the reader as always, for your
continued support.
As a token of gratitude, I will be taking a brief break from my project to
curate another Hell-o-we'en soundtrack - which has proven to be
a viewer-favorite series on this site - which I aim to have up by
mid-October.
In the interim, enjoy below a personal seasonal favorite film of mine,
Krzysztof Penderecki'sDie Teufel von Loudun (The Devils of
Loudun), an allegorical take on the infamous "mass-demonic possession" that
took over a group of Ursuline nuns in the convent of Loudun, France in the early 17th
century. The bizarre occurrence captured the interest of 20th century
English writer Aldous Huxley who penned a non-fictional account of the
affair in 1952 which was later dramatized by the English dramatist John
Whiting (as "The Devils") in 1961. Whiting's stage play was also adapted into a feature film by the notoriously flamboyant British film director Ken Russell in 1971 under the same title.
Penderecki's treatment of the Loudun Possessions has been noted by scholars
as having an underlying allegorical component, cleverly combining the known,
recorded details of the so-called
Affaire des possédées de Loudun with an unspoken commentary on the
dichotomy between central and local political power, chiefly the many
improprieties committed by totalitarian states in the mid 20th
century.
The 1969 film adaptation of Penderecki's opera, directed by Rolf Liebermann,
is as chilling as it is eccentric, and the late composer doesn't disappoint: true to form, Krzysztof's soundtrack in and of itself paints a tale of
schizophrenic-like paranoia and horror, of the erotic and sublime, of
betrayal and intimidation, and ultimately, of the steely and unforgiving grip of
unchecked power.
(NSFW: adult themes)
Huxley's work of the same title can be read online at no cost to the viewer
on archive.org, or by scrolling though the pages below:
In the interim, should you have missed the live-streamed premiere of Mozart's Allegro in D earlier today from the Great Hall of the Salzburg Mozarteum Foundation, a video of the 94-second performance is available on Deutsche Grammophon's YouTube page and can be seen below.
Performed by South Korean pianist and first prize recipient of the 2015 Chopin International Competition in Warsaw, Seong-Jin Cho, the short piece - composed by a teenaged Mozart, then just 17 - marked the opening of Salzburg's annual Mozartwoche festival, which has been shifted from a series of live concerts and festivities to a virtual format due to the ongoing pandemic. Today also marks the 265th observation of the composer's birth, born at 8:00 in the evening of January 27, 1756 in the then-ecclesiastic principality of Salzburg.
"The Allegro in D K626b/16, preserved on both sides of a single manuscript sheet in Mozart’s hand, probably dates from early 1773, completed towards the end of its seventeen-year-old composer’s third tour of Italy or soon after his return home to Salzburg. The score appears to have passed from the estate of the composer’s youngest son into the collection of Austrian civil servant and amateur musician Aloys Fuchs and then been given away soon after, perhaps by mistake. Owned in the late 1800s by an antiquarian book and art dealer in Vienna, it was brought to auction following his death in 1899. Its existence was noted in the third and subsequent editions of Köchel’s catalogue of the composer’s works, but the work escaped scholarly scrutiny despite having been presented at auction several times between 1900 and 1928."
Watch the premiere below (extended introduction in German and English, closed captioning available. Performance begins at 2:55):
A historic, and even poignant, event is set to occur this Saturday at the St. Burchardi church in the German town of Halberstadt as the cathedral organ - which has been steadily performing a single composition since September 2001 - is set to receive a note change during a lengthy 639-year long performance of American composer John Cage'sOrgan2 / ASLSP (As SLow aS Possible). It will be the first note change since 5 October 2013. The unusual composition commenced performance on the 5th of September 2001 (on what would have been the composer's 89th birthday) with a 17-month long rest. Then, on the 5th of February, 2003, the organ - since dubbed the "Cage Organ" - emitted its first sound. With a scheduled duration of 639 years, the performance, which ends in 2640, has continued to play by aid of electric bellows which provide a constant supply of air, and with a suspension system of weighted sandbags which rest upon the instruments' three wooden pedals, and which are attached and "released" to open up the instrument's stops at scheduled chord changes, allowing the pipes to remain open and resounding.
During previously scheduled intervals, organ pipes were both added and removed from the instrument to realize note changes and thus give complexity to the instrument's tones. Two additional pipes will be installed this Saturday by past John Cage prize recipients: Colombian soprano Johanna Vargas (winner of the John Cage Singing Competition 2018) and German composer Julian Lembke (winner of the John Cage Prize of the City of Halberstadt 2009), allowing a G sharp and an E to sound for a duration of 2,527 days (until the subsequent note change occurs following Saturday's big event - on February 5, 2022). The unusual work, written by Cage for organ, is an adaptation of the composer's earlier piece for piano, ASLSP 1985. Although the average duration of the piano version lasts 20 to 70 minutes, the length of the present rendering was designed by Cage himself to be ambiguous. In 1987, at the suggestion of the German organist Gerd Zacher, Cage arranged the piece for organ, purposely omitting from the 8-page score instructions on the work's duration.
The "Cage organ," designed and built by
Romanus F. Seifert & Son. Three small
sandbags can be seen hanging from three
wooden lever-like "keys," or, pedals.
This latter directive - or lack thereof - has resulted in a myriad of interpretations by a fascinated public - many of which expand far beyond the relative confined space of musical ingenuity. It was at a symposium held in Trossingen some ten years after Cage's arrangement of the piece for organ, that the concept of ASLSP began its deeply philosophical journey as leading musicologists, thinkers, organ builders, theologians and organists alike gathered to discuss the implications of the composer's intentionally indeterminable instructions. They concluded, from a technical standpoint that the piece could be played in perpetuity, or, at the very least, as long as the life of the organ; and from an aesthetic perspective, for as long as there is"peace and creativity in future generations."
Ultimately, it was decided that the present interpretation of Cage's thought provoking piece should last for a whopping 639 years - a nod to the township of Halberstadt and the late renaissance/early baroque composer and music theorist Michael Praetorius, who wrote of an organ which had been built in 1361 by the priest Nikolaus Faber in the community's Halberstadt Cathedral, which presented a claviature of 12 notes - the first modern keyboard arrangement, still in use today.[1]
The year of that instrument's construction was subtracted from the start of the millennial year 2000, when the so-called "Cage organ" was installed at the St. Burchardi church. By the time the present performance of Organ2 / ASLSP is complete in 2640, 639 years will have elapsed since the current interpretation of the piece first commenced at St. Burchardi.
As the staff at the Friend's Association for John Cage Organ Art Project at Halberstadt have so eloquently put it, the present performance is an"attempt at deceleration... a discovery of slowness in a fast-paced world,"and the sowing of a"musical apple tree, understood as a symbol of confidence in the future."
According the Friends Association website, a "few" tickets remain for tomorrow's scheduled note change. Those interested may contact staff atcage-ev@aslsp.org.
Footnote:
[1]See Syntagma Musicum II: De Organographia, beginning withchapter VI "Concerning very large organs" to read Praetorius' references to the organ at Halberstadt (link: Praetorius, Michael and Faulkner, Quentin trans. & ed., "Syntagma Musicum II: De Organographia, Parts III – V with Index" (2014). Zea E-Books. Book 24, pp. 97 - )
Witness Saturday's latest note change below. The founder and longtime director of the master class and competition for contemporary music in Halberstadt, Ute Schatz-Laurenze, acted as organist, replacing the previous sound with 7 pipes to 6. Read more about this latest note change here.
The last change occurred on 5 September, 2020, as discussed above.
